#well I say ‘all red’ but it’s just high red because I’m a coward

[flhoarder]

Peak PE teacher moment

[beanghostprincess]

Sorry I really didn’t mean I’m attacking you or your ship. I also don’t think it’s a red flag, most gay men I saw don’t really like shuggy either. I mean, probably the entire world prefers any other shanks ships? On almost every site, con or store there’s always tons of mishanks and Bennshanks and never shuggy. I get it’s also about dynamic and connection those two pairs have, like with the parallels to other ships the base for them is extremely strong. But the minimal shuggy does speak volumes. I genuinely wonder about this. Shuggy is unpopular and again while I do agree there’s strong connection between “rival ships” I don’t think that’s the only reason… and like…. Buggy is ugly, isn’t he? He doesn’t have cool style, doesn’t look cool, makes ugly faces all the time, also is a coward. I like him as comedy character and shanks brother though!

I understand where you're coming from when you say Shuggy is unpopular amongst some people (actually, before anyone says anything. It IS an extremely popular ship in Japan but I have seen A LOT of hatred towards it in this side of the fandom, so that's what I'm talking about when I say it's unpopular). I have talked about this before. And I have said a lot of times that the reason why is often because people only focus on looks and Buggy is not conventionally attractive for the fangirly twinkified sexualized gaze numerous sides of the fandom and the general audience seek. Like, I am not forcing people to ship them, but I have had people admitting the only reason they don't is because of the looks, and I personally believe that is a very (despite valid, of course) dull way of seeing ships. And respectfully, I don't care that other gay dudes or all the people in the world agree with you. It's not a red flag to not like Shuggy, what it is a red flag, though, is to come into people's inboxes to do what you're doing!

I know you don't mean to attack me or anybody who ships them but your tone does wonders showing otherwise. Your perception of shipping is just based on looks and the fact that you came here, to a blog that explicitly ships these characters and is fond of Buggy, talking shit about one of the characters' looks... Is just straight-up mean and not following the social etiquette this site should follow, which is "let people do whatever the fuck they want".

So with all due respect, what makes you think I won't find your questions offensive in any way? Because you keep talking bad about a character I like in my inbox for literally no reason. Do you expect me to admit that the ship is unpopular because Buggy is ugly and boring? Well, I do admit people view him as ugly and only a comedy relief, but I don't. Expecting others to find beautiful and interesting the same things you do is having a very close-minded vision that One Piece's plot itself is against.

By the way, you're showing that you clearly don't like Buggy in the slightest because you're only talking about the traits that you find negative about him. But of course, you like him as comedy relief. Of course, you like him as a character in Shanks' story and not as a character himself. Despite Buggy having lots of depth. Your perception of these characters seems, in my opinion, extremely empty and, as I said, only based on looks. And you're free of shipping whatever you want however you want! But please, please, don't do this anymore. This is just petty high school mean girl behavior. Even Regina George would word this in a more polite way.

So, as a little advice for you, let people ship whatever they want without questioning their favorite characters! I am sure you will live a more peaceful life!

[plumsfromyouricebox]

lolol i did it

mike wheeler x max mayfield - 1.2k words

rating: T

summary: in which Max tries to break up with Mike and he’s having none of it.

***

East Hallway Alcove, Hawkins High School, Hawkins, Indiana

“…so, yeah,” Max finished, trying to keep her voice steady as she stared down at her shoes, toes dragging across aged beige linoleum. “Six months was a good run, but I think we’re better off as just friends.”

Her chest felt tight. Getting over him was going to hurt like a bitch, but it was better in the long run. She didn’t fit into his perfect, cookie-cutter life. It hadn’t worked with Lucas, so she wasn’t sure why she’d let herself think it was going to be any different with Mike. He would have realized it himself sooner or later.

There was a heavy silence. She held her breath as she prepared herself for his reaction; for anger or resigned acceptance or even tears.

What she was not prepared for, however, was the matter-of-fact, almost flippant way in which he said, “No.”

“No?” She raised her head sharply. He had a look on his face of mild disappointment as if she’d just told him she didn’t believe in evolution.

Mike shook his head. “We’re not breaking up.”

“What? It–it’s not a two-way street, Wheel–”

“I know what you’re doing, Max. This is all because dinner with my parents was less than stellar and my mom made that asshole comment about the trailer park so now you’re doing your whole self-sabotaging thing and pushing me away,” he said dismissively.

“Well, I’m not letting you.” He shrugged. “So, yeah, breakup declined.”

Max leapt to her feet from the bench they were sitting on, ignoring the fact that he’d just verbalized exactly what she was feeling.

Who the hell did he think he was? He wasn’t allowed to just brush her off like that.

“That’s not– You can’t–”

Mike stood as well, using his height to loom over her. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this anymore.”

Her hands clenched into fists as she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I don’t.”

Something in her expression must have given her away because he simply tilted his head to the side, brow furrowed. “Maxine. You’re being ridiculous.”

Max bristled at the patronizing use of her full name. “I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one trying to refuse a breakup like it’s a letter of resignation!”

“Because this isn’t what you want.”

“Oh, you think it’s so unbelievable that I don’t want to be your girlfriend anymore?” She scoffed. “Conceited prick.”

“Pathetic coward,” he shot back.

“Presumptuous asshole.”

“Crazy bitch.”

A crack echoed out around the small alcove as her palm connected with the side of his face. Mike blinked and snapped his head forward, expression unreadable.

Clutching her stinging hand, Max backed away from him, shocked at what she’d just done. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He just always knew exactly how to provoke her.

He stepped closer, seemingly unfazed by the bright red mark blooming across his cheek. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I don’t want to be with you!” she insisted, taking another step back in an attempt to keep some distance between them. But Mike just followed, not letting her.

“That’s not the reason,” he said calmly, stepping closer still. “Tell me.”

Her heart beat faster as she racked her brain, trying to think of what else she could say to convince him.

“Because I don’t love–”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Her back hit the brick wall as Mike continued crowding her, heat radiating off of his body. She raised her hands to shove him away but he was faster, grabbing her wrists and pinning them next to her head.

He bent down so they were face to face. “Max.”

Her tear ducts burned as she struggled against his hold, refusing to meet his eyes. Why was he making this so hard? “Let me go.”

“No. Not until you tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Because I–” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her resolve break. “I don’t want you to realize I’m not good enough for you!”

His lips descended onto hers, silencing the surprised squeak that escaped her throat. Damn him, Max thought as her mouth automatically softened beneath his. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t love this. And he knew that, the cocky bastard.

Mike released her wrists, sliding his hands up to interlace their fingers. Their tongues slid languidly together, sending a torrent of sparks throughout her entire being. Their bodies pressed flush together as they nipped and sucked at each other’s lips, and she was suddenly very glad it was after school and there was nobody else in the hallway.

“You’re a dick,” she sniffled when they finally broke apart to catch their breath.

“I know,” Mike said, resting his forehead against hers. “But I’m a dick who loves you more than anything, okay? You think you’re not good enough for me?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Max, I ask myself every day what you see in me. These past six months have been the best of my life. Trust me, if one of us is ending up with a broken heart here, it’s not gonna be you.

“You make me so insanely happy, and I think I make you happy too. So please don’t ruin this just because you’re scared.”

Max blinked back tears as she stared into those dark, earnest eyes she loved so much. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that the universe was finally allowing her to be happy. But it was terrifying how deeply he’d already burrowed into her heart.

If he ever got tired of her and decided to end things she wasn’t sure she could handle the pain.

“If us being over is what you really, truly want then I’ll accept that.” He let go of her hands and pressed his own against the wall on either side of her, caging her in. “So, is it?”

She shook her head wordlessly, somewhat embarrassed by how transparent she’d apparently been. Or maybe he just knew her that well.

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and tugged lightly on one of her braids before pushing off the wall, digging around in his pocket for his car keys. “Let’s go to the mall. I’ll buy you Dippin’ Dots.”

Max blinked as she watched him start down the hall. She felt glued to the wall, still bewildered at how he’d so easily derailed the plan she’d been agonizing over for days. And now he just… wanted to go to the mall? Like nothing had even happened?

Then again, everything had been easy between them since they’d started dating, much to the surprise of their friends who were certain they were far too similar to ever work as a couple.

But what Max had realized was that it was because she and Mike were so alike that they knew their little fights were never serious, that the names they called each other came from a place of playful affection rather than malice. Being with him was just… really fun.

And she didn’t want it to end.

He glanced back, flashing her that dreamy smile that always made her heart skip a beat as he held out his hand. “You coming?”

[goldrushzukka]

as promised. the first 1k words of aidays10:

“Jet,” Sokka repeats. Nearly chokes on it.

He thinks, fleetingly, terribly, that this must be how wild animals feel before an earthquake. 

“It’s good to finally meet you, Sokka,” Jet says. Something icy prickles up Sokka’s spine at the sound of his name in Jet’s mouth. “Zuko’s told me a lot about you.”

Jet is handsome, athletically built, and his smile drips charm like venom on the fangs of a snake.

Sokka’s gaze shifts to Zuko and finds him looking right back, his cheeks burning red. 

“I would’ve let you know,” Zuko says, uncharacteristically shy, “but we were already running late –”

“And I can’t say no to a party,” Jet – fucking hell, breathe, Sokka – says. “I hope I’m not crashing.”

Sokka can feel everything starting to bottleneck inside him; all the feelings – the shock, the fondness, the anger, the bone-deep wanting – trying to overwhelm him at once. There’s no time to breathe, no time to think through any of it, no time to process. 

The world is ending, and Sokka is still shaking the guy’s fucking hand.

He needs another drink.

“No, it’s, um –” Sokka clears his throat. It doesn’t help. “You said it yourself, man, it’s a party. The more the merrier.”

Jet opens his mouth to speak again, anxiety grips Sokka’s heart in a tight fist –

Someone bumps into Sokka, and he drops Jet’s hand to steady them by the shoulders. Ty Lee giggles as she thanks him. Her lips are the colour of sparkling rosé.

She’s still laughing as she says, “This place looks amazing, thanks so much for inviting us!”

“Thank you for coming,” Sokka says, manners tumbling out on autopilot. He’s not even sure if he means it, it’s just what he knows he’s supposed to say. He needs to get out of here, before he says something stupid – or worse, something he does mean.

“I see you’ve met Jet,” she preens, “isn’t he just a peach?”

She smacks a loud kiss onto Jet’s blushing cheek. He doesn’t wipe away the smear of lipgloss she leaves behind.

“Oh, he’s a charmer,” Sokka says, scanning over her head for a way out, any way out of this nightmare.

Jet starts to say, “Well, I –” when Sokka finally spots an opening. Katara, standing by the bar, waiting to be served. Her fingers tap out a rapid beat on the glass display case.

Sokka puts on the most apologetic smile he can muster and does not look at Zuko. “Would you excuse me? I think my sister needs me for a minute.”

“Oh, I know all about that,” Ty Lee says, and a laugh spills from Jet’s mouth, like it’s an inside joke. 

“Good!” Sokka says, in response to nothing but the anxiety bubbling in his blood. “Great. Thanks. Uh –” He snags Aang by the arm on his way past, presumably also heading for Katara, and turns him to face Ty Lee and Jet and Zuko. “This is my best friend, Aang. He’ll give you guys a tour, okay?”

Aang throws Sokka a bewildered glance over his shoulder, asking with his eyes, I will?

Sokka gives him a pleading look, hoping to high heaven that no one else sees it, and Aang plasters on a crooked grin. Right before he slinks away, Sokka hears him ask, “Did you know the Dance Dance Revolution here has the Star Wars soundtrack?”

Sokka doesn’t falter a single step on his way to Katara, even when he’s sure he can feel eyes on his back. He just throws back the rest of his drink and keeps walking.

Katara is ordering when he reaches her. He tells Haru, “I’ll have what she’s having,” because if he knows his sister at all, she’s having something strong and evil.

“You don’t like what I drink,” Katara says, as Haru sets down four shot glasses. “In fact, I believe the word you use for what I drink is yucky.”

“That’s because what you drink is basically moonshine,” Sokka says. “And moonshine is yucky.”

“Coward,” she says. Haru pours, and she raises a shot glass. “Bottoms up.”

Sokka taps his shot against hers with a quiet, plastic clink, and drinks before he can talk himself out of it. He holds his breath and chases it with the second one.

The burn is cruel and merciless and exactly what he needs. It grounds him. Gives him something to focus on that won’t send him into a spiral of what if and maybe and should have.

He buries his head in his hands.

Katara scoffs. “That yucky?”

Sokka groans and looks up. He glances over his shoulder. Aang is at the concession stand explaining the intricacies of the Suki-related pun names of each menu item to Ty Lee and Jet and Mai, who Sokka swears wasn’t there when he left them, and –

Zuko is looking right at him. 

That spiral starts up again, deeper than before. 

Sokka looks away.

There’s another shot in front of him. He takes it, to clear his head, to cloud his inhibitions.

He turns to Katara.

“Don’t look now,” he tells her, “but the guy listening to Aang talk about onion rings is Jet.”

She ignores his advice, frowning as she cranes her neck to see over the other partygoers. “The one who broke up you and Zuko?”

“We didn’t – we were never together. There was nothing to break up.”

The jacket stretched across Sokka’s shoulders still smells of tea leaves and lilies. A voice in the back of his mind whispers, yes, there was.

Katara looks back at him, eyes rolling. “Forgive me if stopped sleeping together so one of you could try dating another guy and it didn’t work out but you didn’t start sleeping together again because you don’t think he loves you back takes too long to say.”

Sokka puts his head in his hands again.

read and i'll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) here

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

this is a bit of a weird question and i’m sorry for that but i’m really curious.. it’s for the pack, does y/n still get her period? i’ve never seen in mentioned in the stories, but i’m very curious, i know she gets ruts, but i’m curious to know about it.

does she get her period? and if so how is it ?

"Not weird at all!" You laugh, waving your hands in consolation. "That's a perfectly normal question to be curious about, and one I'm more than happy to talk about!"

"Basically, I get regular, monthly periods-that's my human cycle-and it's due to my female primary gender right? And then I get my yearly rut as well-my wolf cycle-because of my subgender. Does that make sense?"

"So the short answer is yes, I get a period each month just like normal."

"Funny, cause if you get it every month, you'd think you'd be prepared and have enough tampons on hand." Minho smirks.

"I do that on purpose." You quip back quickly, meeting the alpha's gaze. You let your eyes slide over to Changbin with a smirk of your own. "Just so Binnie has to go to the store for me and call me to ask what he needs to get every time."

"Fuck you." Changbin says with no malice, just obvious exasperation.

"Do it yourself, you coward."

"Do you know how many terribly awkward conversations I've had to have with the female conveinence store clerk because of you?"

"Oh, I'm aware. We laugh at you when I go on my weekly snack runs."

"Again. Fuck you."

"Again. Please do."

"Anyway." You turn back to the question at hand after sufficiently teasing Changbin, a grin still on your lips. "My periods were super terrible when I first started having them. We're talking like, throwing up because of the cramps, flat in bed for the entire week, going through a box of tampons in like 24 hours, kinda thing."

"Woof." Jisung says with an obvious grimace. "Glad I'm not a girl."

"And then-" You shrug. "I got on birth control when I graduated high school, it's usually a precautionary required measure to attend subgendered colleges when you're either a primary female or subgender omega, and all the symptoms got a whole lot better."

"I'm not saying it's fun, by any means, but it's manageable now."

"We're all matching birth control besties." Jeongin says with a grin, as he holds out his arm where the implant is just barely visible as a tiny bump beneath his tan skin. "BCBs."

"Never say that again."

"What's a matter, hyung? Jealous you can't be a BCB too?"

"The farthest thing from actually."

"I think we've talked about it before, but the omegas get much more clingy when it's your time of the month." Chan remarks, and you nod thoughtfully. "They don't leave your side, and they're more vocally protective than usual."

"It's because heats have made us sensitive to the same feeling in others. Periods mimic heats, and they're both hell." Hyunjin offers, glancing to you. "My omega gets all twitchy and restless during noona's period."

"Mine basically screams at me 24/7 to comfort." Felix laughs ruefully. "So I snuggle a lot and buy snacks and run baths and watch stupid movies."

"And it's the best thing you could do." You reply truthfully, shooting the omega a grateful look. "It makes me feel so much better."

"Innie has an interesting reaction, to say the least." Changbin glances at the youngest omega, one eyebrow raised, a slight smirk curving the corners of his mouth now.

"Why do you always have to bring this up?" The omega whines, covering his face with his hands, the tips of his ears going red.

Seungmin chortles. "Because it's so goddamn entertaining. Even to this day."

Jeongin shoots the older beta a glare.

"Ah yes." Minho sits back on the couch, looking smug now. "I remember. The fateful head alpha/baby omega incident."

You roll your eyes. "It wasn't that bad."

"I mean." Chan grins, his eyes twinkling with mirth, as he gives a half shrug. "I was kind of worried I was going to lose a finger, but other than that-"

"Oh my god." Jeongin wails, burying his face into Felix's arm. "I hate you guys."

"Wait, wait, wait-" Jisung sits up now, eyes bright, as he glances at the buried omega with open amusement. "-we're talking about the time the baby actually growled at Channie-hyung right?"

"The one and only."

"Once upon a time," You sigh at their teasing, and Jeongin shoots you a grateful look from the safety of Felix's embrace as you get on with it already. "I was on my period, and I was pretty sick, because my birth control had lapsed and couldn't be replaced until the next week. The omegas hadn't left my side, and when Chan came to check on me, Innie was with me, we were watching a movie in my bed."

"I was just bringing her food, okay?" Chan defends himself, though he's still biting back a smile.

"He came into the room, and Innie immediately tensed, and when he approached the bed and tried to reach out to touch me, Innie growled at him."

"I legitimately thought you might bite me." Chan chuckles, shaking his head ruefully.

"Hyung came out of that room and I've never seen him so confused in his entire life." Jisung cackles, clapping his hands together in glee. "He looked at Minho-hyung and he just said, 'Innie growled at me.' And then he shook his head and disappeared to his own room."

"To be fair-" Jeongin speaks up for himself, the apples of his cheek still adorably red. "-the hyungs told me their omegas get protective around the alphas when it's that time of the month too! So!"

"Yeah, but I've never actually growled at hyung, so." Hyunjin replies smugly, his arm looped loosely over the couch behind a still giggling Jisung.

You glance at the baby and give him a soft smile.

"I thought it was very sweet, puppy. You were just protecting me."

"From hyung!" Jisung laughs so hard he can't breathe, slapping his knee, as Jeongin glowers at him from the other couch.

"Fuck you, hyung."

Changbin looks proud, even as Minho looks scandalized at the youngest's language.

"That's my boy."

[jiuwi]

— a proposal 𓄹

、! synopsis. two lovers cornered in a rough situation where fate continues to pull them apart. the other sought for freedom and a life with her beau. while the other offers a chance that can change their lives forever.

、! featuring. kaedehara kazuha x f!reader

、! genre. slight angst to comfort

you and kazuha are passionate lovers, both smitten by each other. the only twist is that none of the people around you knows of your romantic relationship. you are from a prominent family in inazuma, and kazuha is but a lone vagrant, one from a fallen clan. if the elders knew you were in love with him, they’d do anything to get rid of him. in result to that, you and kazuha both agreed to keep your relationship in private and away from the prying eyes of the nation. if there’s anything that he’s afraid of, it’s you being taken away from him.

through busy mornings and late nights, you’re in a constant state of ennui. with all the servants prepping you from left to right, and your personal guards keeping their eyes on you, there’s no way kazuha will come again! —or so you thought.

the cold air hits your skin as you casually sip your hot tea outside your enclosed prison of a home. you sigh, eyes looking down at the cup between your palms and fingers gripping the ceramic teacup. how many weeks has it been? two, three? you don’t remember. after suspicious sightings of a man dressed in black and red had been reported to have come and gone in your room, your father was beyond furious and ordered for tight security around you. he cares most about his reputation; after all, would he want scandalous rumors to spread amongst the nobility concerning you, his daughter? how ridiculous. he’s just afraid that your dignity and value as a woman would lower and you wouldn’t be married off to a man with a high and respectable position. however, your father is a sly man as he hastily arranged an engagement for you without even bothering to tell you who the man is, afraid that you might cause even more trouble for the family and no one would agree to let their son marry such a crude lady.

perhaps it would be better to just commit something that’s highly improper for a lady to do and run away? no, wait. where would you even go?

your thoughts eat up your mind before you calmly take a sip of your tea again. you bite your lips, chewing on the smooth flesh and a sudden gust of wind passes by swiftly. “biting your lips again, i see.” a familiar voice rings and you almost drop your cup in surprise when you look up to see who it is. “kazuha!” you spring up from your seat to give him a tight hug. tears were beginning to well up in your eyes and you close them shut to prevent any from spilling. “kazuha..” a series of broken hiccups and small whispers of his name has him gripping you firmly against his body. he doesn’t say anything, instead he lets you bury your head on his shoulders and sob uncontrollably, all the while rubbing tiny circles on your back to soothe your despondent soul. “kazuha, my father— he.. hic!” you clutch onto his clothes and try to get words out as clearly as you can but to no avail. “shh, i know.” he speaks softly, neither enraged nor taken aback by the news, as if he knew it was going to happen.

“i’m sorry, because of me you’re suffering and— and i feel such a coward for not seeing you,” he continues, “i was afraid and guilty, i... truly have no excuse from hiding from you.” he holds a deep sense of shame and guilt as his eyes flutter open and shut. you back away to look at him, cupping his cheek as you go. “but you came back for me, didn’t you?” his eyes widen a little and a gentle smile touches the corners of your mouth. “that alone is enough.”

as if by pure impulse, he clashes his lips onto yours. it has you stunned and you thoughtlessly went along with your instincts. his lips move carefully on yours, gently caressing the plump flesh as he cups your cheeks and backs you up against the wall. he pulls away, but just for a split second before he dives in again. “forgive me.” he says along with bated breaths and breathless whispers. “i love you,” his words pierce your heart and tears stream down your face in response. it was the type of reassurance you needed, something that only he can give. after weeks of being alone in a blanket of loneliness, you’re finally here with him. you both never want this moment to end, not when you finally found true comfort and safety in his arms.

you are his as he is to yours.

once the both of you pull away, you’re breathless and panting for air and so is he. just then, he pauses for a moment, and his gaze lands on you. “y/n,” he calls your name in a calmly manner and your full attention goes to him. “marry me.” his voice is unwavering and firm with his intent, waiting for your answer. “what do you...” you're stunned beyond belief, eyes nervously shifting around your surroundings; not because you don’t want to marry him, but because he proposed it so suddenly and—! you’re too flustered to even respond straight.

with a tug on your yukata and a pair of fierce crimson eyes set on yours, he answers. “a proposal to elope.”

[oh-katsuki]

Golden Boy (Izuku x Reader)

Masterlist 

Pairing: Izuku x Reader

Summary: Izuku was a nice boy, except when it came to you. Yup, UA’s golden boy really knew how to treat a slut like you. 

Content Warnings: Dubcon, slight noncon, dacryphilia, size kink, face fucking, overstimulation, creampie, degradation, humiliation, spit kink, choking, finger choking, pet names, ooc izuku

Word Count: 5.6k 

A/N: I got SCARY h-word over this man and decided that I literally wanted him to hurt me and spit in my mouth. He’s too nice to not be a fucking freak, goodbye. 

Anyway, thank you to @eremiie , @mikaberries , and @veroyktv for beta-reading this!! I appreciate y’all !

Izuku tormented you all through high school. It was almost shameful to admit the way that his gentle teases melted into something far more sinister as the weeks bled into months and years. What started as subtle comments turned into  outright taunts and then the contactless threats no longer remained empty. 

No one believed you. And who would? 

Izuku was a model student and a good friend, someone with a kind disposition who wanted nothing more than to become the greatest hero. What reason could he possibly have to bully you? You’d never done anything to him. 

But he did. For three years he mercilessly taunted you and it only got worse your final year. 

Izuku would pinch at your thighs, sneering at you in the hallways when no one was looking. He’d snake his hand up your skirt and squeeze the supple flesh hard enough to leave bruises that eventually littered the entire inside of your thigh. They looked incredibly vulgar and Izuku would torment you about it endlessly, despite knowing that he’s the one who left them. 

He’d crowd you against the lockers after most people had gone home, knowing you’d be there late after your tutoring sessions. 

“Tsk. Quite some marks you’ve got there.” He’d say, stepping up to you, his broad shoulders squared, a half smile creeping onto his face as his eyes studied the inside of your thighs. The marks littered the otherwise smooth skin, visible when looking at you from the front. 

“You get them from slutting yourself out?” Izuku would ask, stepping toward you again. “Y’look like a bit of a whore, don’t you?” 

He’d lean in close to your ear, venom seeping into each of his words as he cornered you. His hand crept up your skirt, eyes trained on yours which widened with fear as he pinched down, relishing in the yelp of pain that escaped you.

You wondered how someone like Izuku could make you feel so small and so insignificant.You couldn’t even bat his hand away as he made a fool of you, pinching at the inside of your leg with thick, calloused, and scarred fingers. It didn’t matter how tall or strong you were because it always seemed that Izuku was bigger, domineering in attitude and words. He really did know how to reduce you to a helpless thing. 

It seemed Izuku was growing more desperate by the day as graduation gradually crept closer. It was like he made less of an effort to hide it, blowing into your ear and whispering vile shit to you while in class, things that would make anyone squirm in their seat. He’d start bumping into you, singling you out, making an effort to get you noticed by his friends so he could have you as a little plaything whenever they hung out. 

And you let him. You let him make a toy out of you, tagging along with Iida, Uraraka, and Asui on Saturday outings, letting Izuku pinch and prod at you from across a restaurant table.

The truth was, Izuku Midoriya fucking terrified you. 

So you couldn’t say no to him. To everyone else you looked like nothing more or less than one of his many admirable friends. Promising quirk and a promising future, what a match for UA’s golden boy. 

You were at your wits end and by the time graduation rolled around. No one listened to you. Hell, people often brushed off Izuku’s very genuine threats as classic childhood teasing. “You’re such a good sport!” they’d say as Izuku patted your back, laughing an all too cheery “just kidding!”

How were you supposed to focus on graduation day, all dolled up in your cap and gown, unwilling to admit to yourself that maybe it was for him? Still, you found yourself automatically flinching whenever Izuku came around, eyes following him across the lawn as he ignored you in favor of photos. Izuku had a promising job offer waiting for him, and his many awards won during the ceremony earned him several congratulatory handshakes as well as pictures for the school’s newsletter. 

Still, he’d catch your eye when smiling for the camera, an all to familiar glint in them. His smile made you sick to your stomach, made it churn in the worst of ways. It was doing back flips as he stalked across the lawn towards you until his sturdy frame was against yours. He leaned down, lips brushing beside your ear to whisper one final taunt. 

“It’s a shame you’re not wearing that little skirt of yours,” Izuku breathed, eyes flitting over the cap and gown. “Would have liked to pinch those skank thighs of yours one last time. S’what you deserve.”  

And then he stood there, watching the way tears began to crowd your waterline, threatening to spill over as three years of tormentation came to what felt like an underwhelming head. Izuku tilted his head, watching the way water stained your made-up cheeks, before taking his thumb and wiping the tears from your eyes. 

“Don’t cry, doll.” He taunted, voice far too sweet for the words that fell from his lips. “I’m not near done with you yet.” 

Why was his tone so comforting? So confusing that you weren’t sure if it was dread or relief that filled your senses, ears suddenly feeling clogged with water. Your eyes darted from his to anyone on the lawn who could see you, who might be watching as Izuku pushed you to tears with only a few words, until you caught Bakugou’s gaze. 

Ah, Bakugou Katsuki, someone who’s done to Izuku what he does to you. It’s a bit of a fucked up little triangle because while Izuku was bullied by him and you are bullied by Izuku, you couldn’t help but hope that Bakugou would be the one taunting you, the one pinching your thighs. At least that’s what you told yourself. Maybe he’d help you, after all, he was probably the only person who’d believe you in the first place. 

So once Izuku had wiped your tears with a condescending thumb and left to go partake of other party activities, you pulled Katsuki aside by the shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of his bicep. 

“What in th- you?! The fuck are you doing?” Bakugou asked, eyebrows furrowed in the permanent scowl that he wore so frequently. 

“Sh, look please just, hear me out.” You spoke, voice hushed as your eyes shifted around. You had the feeling that if Izu saw you with him, you’d be in for it. “I just- I really need help.” 

Bakugou was about to scoff, was about to roll his eyes and walk away until he saw the redness under your eyes that the makeup couldn’t hide. The way you sniffled slightly as you asked and the way you looked to the floor. He’d never seen you like this, almost broken. It was something he’d seen often in Izuku, but something about seeing you like this made him ache. 

“What?” He responded, trying not to seem too invested. 

“It’s Midoriya.” Your voice grew quiet, almost in shame as you spoke the formal version of his name. 

“And?” Bakugou was impatient. He cared about you but not enough to sit here for five minutes while you stuttered. “Spit it out.” 

“He- he won’t leave me alone.” The words tumble from your lips so fast and before you know it, your hands are balled into fists on his chest, the material of his gown scrunched inside them in a plea. “He’s a nightmare, he pinches me and says the most awful shit to me. I- I mean, the inside of my legs and thighs are littered with bruises and n-no one believes me.” 

“Midoriya? As in, ‘shitty deku’ Midoriya?” Bakugou takes a step back in slight shock. 

“Yes!” You shout, far louder than you intended, pulling him closer slightly as you hush your tone in a whisper. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” 

He nudged you off of him, brushing off his gown. Bakugou would be lying if he said it didn’t make his blood boil. Sure, him and Midoriya had buried the hatchet a long time ago but he still wanted dirt on the guy, plus he thought it was a coward move for him to bully someone as pretty as you. Though after seeing the way your eyes get wide in fear, he can’t say that it wasn’t incredibly tempting. There was something enticing about how you looked when you begged, no doubt Izuku saw it too. 

“You’re too sensitive.” He scoffed, meeting you gaze and watching the way your expression fell. “What you do is graduate and forget about that shitty extra. There’s really nothing else to it.”

You reached for him again out of habit this time, like if he turned around now you’d really be thrown to the wolves. 

“N-no, Bakugou, please.” You plead again, tears once again gathering in the corners of your eyes. “I-I can’t. I just need help.” 

Oh, he gets it now. 

He sees what makes you so appealing, what makes it so easy to walk all over you. You looked pretty when you cried. So he leaned in, his scowl turning into a smirk before speaking again. 

“No.” Bakugou’s smirk turned into an outright grin, eyes crinkling at the corners before he stood back up. “I graduated. Shitty Deku is your problem, not mine. Deal with it yourself. Just stop talking to him or whatever.” 

And with a wave of his hand he was off, walking towards his group of friends. Well, there goes your life line, the one person who actually believed that Izuku was tormenting you wouldn’t even lend you a helping hand. You supposed it was too much to hope though, and he was right, you could forget… stop talking to him. Why did the idea of that suck almost as much as staying under this thumb? 

“____!” Bunette locks bounced as your friend came towards you, hand outstretched in a wave before she pulled you into a hug. “We’re all going to Midoriya’s place to celebrate graduating, come with?” 

You liked Uraraka. Well, you actually liked all of Izuku’s friends. They were sweet and honestly none-the-wiser to Izuku’s torments and taunts. She wore the kindest smile, eyes bright with the excitement of finally starting her adult life. 

You glanced at the rest of them, eyes flitting around friendly faces until your gaze met Izuku’s. He looked upset, eyebrows furrowed slightly and eyes cold as he stood there. They all agreed, urging you to go before Izuku spoke up, smiling gently at you over the top of Uraraka’s head. 

“You should come. We’ll miss you if you don’t.” The rest of the group nods their agreement, but it wasn’t them that pulled the small okay from your lips. It was Izuku, the way his eyes had a threatening glint to them as he spoke, a smile creeping into them in the most unsettling of ways. Your stomach was turning again, twisting over and over because something about the way Izuku looked at you made you squirm. 

“Yay! Okay, we’re all gonna meet there after!” She smiled, taking your hands in hers and giving a small squeal. “It’s gonna be so fun!” 

And with that she was bouncing off with Asui in the direction of Kaminari and Kirishima. 

Izuku stayed behind, walking slower than his friends so he could bend down to speak to you. You could feel his breath against your neck as he spoke, words sending shivers down your spine. Despite the way your heart hammered against your rib cage, you tilted your head to hear him better. 

“You better be there, doll.” He muttered. “It’ll be worse for you if you’re not. Be a good girl for once, yeah?” 

He sounded more upset than usual, hand coming up to squeeze your shoulder hard enough to make you flinch, and when you looked up to meet his eyes, he didn’t wear his standard grin. Izuku looked angry, furious even. It made your skin crawl, made heat creep up your neck and onto your cheeks so furiously that you found it hard to see through. 

All you could do was nod, fighting the pout that tried so hard to paint your face. You squeezed your thighs together instinctively at the phrase. He never praised you, not even once. Hearing the words “good girl” drip from his lips so angrily made them fly shamefully south. He gave a small laugh before walking off. It was almost like he knew, leaving you to rub at your sore shoulder. 

---

Why were you here? You could have just not come and then you never would have had to see Izuku again, never would have had to deal with him until one day in the future when you’re too successful a hero to pinch. Still, you wouldn’t admit it to yourself or anyone else, but you might miss him. The teasing was a nightmare but it was attention, something that reminded you that at least Izuku still saw you. 

He couldn’t be ignoring you if he was calling you a slut. 

You arrived after everyone and Izuku opened the door for you with a jeering grin before stepping aside to let you in, pinching at your thigh again. He noticed immediately that you wore a skirt and he didn’t have to wonder why. It was an invitation for him, of course. 

You’d actually never been to Izuku’s house, so sitting in his living room eating snacks and drinking was unusual to say the least. It was surprising because beyond pinching you in the doorway, Izuku was being oddly kind. 

He sat next to you, his thigh pressed against yours, but he didn’t try anything. Didn’t whisper in your ear or grab at the fat on your side. You couldn’t help but ask yourself why. Even as the latter half of the day droned on, you were on edge despite being treated, finally, like one of the group. What did you do wrong? Was he no longer interested in you? Most importantly though, why were you upset that he wasn’t pushing your buttons? 

The end of the day came quickly, dark settling over the house while everyone gathered their things to leave. You’d all walk home together, leaving Izuku alone in his house. He smiled as everyone waved goodbye, bittersweet tears in his eyes as his final high school hang out came to a close. He cried at the ceremony while delivering his speech and then again at his house while Uraraka babbled on about her appreciation of UA. You can’t say you felt the same. 

“Not ____.” He said as you slipped on your shoes, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll walk her home since she lives in the opposite direction. Plus, I gotta give her something.” 

Izuku smiles at his friends, who all nod their understanding. They wouldn’t suspect that he’d do anything wrong, that he’d be keeping you behind to maybe, finally, torment you. What a fucked up way of thinking. The door to his house clicked shut and your blood ran far colder than you thought it would as he approached you. 

“What’s wrong, doll?” He taunted, a fake pout adorning his features. “Thought I’d let you off easy? After today?” 

Izuku raised an eyebrow before rolling his eyes at the realization that you don’t know what he’s talking about. 

“Wow, you really are a slut aren’t you? Clinging to Bakugou so shamelessly today?” He scowled looked over you. 

Your eyes widened, lips parting as you remembered grabbing at Bakugou’s shirt, pulling him towards you earlier that day in a plea for help. 

“Did you think he would help you?” He sneered. “Bakugou’s just like me. He doesn’t care about a whore like you. Did you think that if you pushed against him like that he’d cave? Fold because your perfect body was flush on him?”

Izuku took your face between his pointer and thumb, spitting venom at you, waiting for you to respond. His compliment flew over your head. 

“N-no.” Yes. “I swear Izuku… I- I didn’t-” 

“You- you- you didn’t what?” Izuku responded, mocking your miserable stutter. “You’re my toy. Pisses me off when you let other people play with you.” 

And then he’s dragging you towards his room, pulling you into the cramped space and closing the door behind him. He’s muttering like he usually does, pushing you onto his bed so you’re sitting on the edge. 

Why were you so relieved right now? Why was your cunt already sticky with arousal? Why did every single word he was saying to you go straight south? You take your bottom lip between your teeth trying to find a way to shake your head in protest— to get up and leave— but the movement just wouldn’t come. Instead, you hang your head, eyebrows pulled up and cheeks flushed with heat as he stares you down. 

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice is barely a whisper, hardly audible over the sound of his frustrated breathing and your own rampant heart beat. “I’ve never done anything to you.” 

Izuku scoffed this time, stepping forward and taking your face in his hands again. 

“Haven’t done anything?” His words are venomous and his face is inches from yours, hot breath fanning across your cheeks. Were his hands always this big? “Dressing like that and saying you ‘haven’t done anything’?” 

His eyes flit down to the fat of your thighs, free hand groping the flesh hungrily, hard enough that it had you sucking in a sharp breath. Izuku couldn’t take it anymore, squeezing your cheeks and pressing his lips to yours in an aggressive kiss. 

Truth was, you drove Izuku batshit crazy. Right from the moment he saw you he could hardly contain himself, prancing around in that tiny fucking skirt with an ass like that. Daring to act so innocent when he was gripping the edge of his desk to keep from pouncing on you as you introduced yourself to him, as you hung all over his middle school bully, or as you flashed your hot pink panties while in class. 

To him, you were asking for it and the way you played dumb only made his blood boil further. Izuku was a nice boy, always had been, but the day that he made you cry, telling you that you kind of looked like a slut in your skirt, was the day he knew that he’d have way too much fun with you. 

Your eyes got so big, welled up so quickly with tears that he knew were caused by him. It made him proud, made his chest swell at how quickly he could completely ruin your day. This must be how Bakugou felt, to some degree, except chances are that he wasn’t thinking about what your puffy, swollen lips might look like when you’re choking on his cock. 

He’d been thinking about it since he met you. Pushing you further and further because you were just so fucking cute when you cried and if he couldn’t consume your thoughts because you like him, then he’d have to settle for consuming them because you’re afraid of him. 

You grunted against him, eyes going wide as his lips crashed into yours. You were spinning, heart pounding as his tongue dipped into your mouth hungrily. He pulled away from you quickly. 

“Drive me fuckin’ crazy, looking like that.” Izuku seethed. “If you’re gonna play clueless, y’might as well make use of yourself. S’what you deserve.” 

And without asking he pushed you from the bed and onto your knees in front of him. You knew where it was going, knew that Izuku wasn’t going to let up because this boundary was being crossed. Still, you shamefully rubbed your thighs together, blinking up at him in confusion and arousal. 

“Such a whore.” He said, freeing his cock from his pants and letting it slap against his stomach. Izuku relished in the way your eyes widened, in the way you unconsciously licked your lips. And then he’s tapping the side of your mouth with his cock, head tilted back in a taunt as he watches the way your eyes brim with premature tears. He’d show you real crying. 

“Suck it.” A simple command, but one that had you shivering. He kept his hand on your shoulder while his fingers dug into it with a force that was all too familiar. is cock throbbed in his hands as you sniffled and parted those pretty, glossed lips. 

Izuku didn’t wait, no, he couldn’t wait, pushing his full length to the back of your throat and beyond, groaning when it entered the tight, wet space beyond your mouth. His head fell back and his mouth fell open at the way you choked on him. Tears forced their way out of your eyes and down your cheeks as he began fucking your mouth. 

“Y-you’re a real crybaby, huh?” He cooed, a lazy half-smirk gracing his face. “You did this to yourself. Such– a fucking– tease.” 

He accentuated his words with harsh thrusts into your throat, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down his cock to his balls. It ran down your chin, mingling with tears as he continued to fuck your throat. 

Izuku was big, far bigger than you expected him to be. He completely filled your throat, stretching your unprepared mouth open. You could feel the sides of your mouth pulling at his size, lips cracking as you struggled to take all of him with each of his thrusts. Still, when you looked up at him through big teary eyes, knees growing sore from the way his fist held you to the floor, other hand pulling you against his cock, your cunt grew wet with arousal. 

He pulled you off him by your hair, watching the way you gasped and sputtered and sobbed. He loved the scratch in your throat as you coughed and he picked you up by the arm and crawled between your legs. 

“Wearing such a tiny skirt to my house.” He spit. “You knew what you were doing, lookin’ like that with your ass out and shit.” 

Izuku’s eyes scanned over you hungrily, like he’s been waiting to get you here for so long. Fuck, he still looked big, hovering over you and supporting his entire weight on one of his arms as his other hand wandered down. He flipped up the fabric of your skirt, admiring the way you flinched as his hand ran up your inner thigh. 

His hands ran over your figure, squeezing at the fat of your stomach, thighs, and chest. Izuku has been dying to get a piece of you since you met, since he first laid eyes on that frustratingly sexy figure of yours that led him to spiral to this moment. His hands dipped back to your inner thigh, ensuring that your skirt was out of the way, though it was so small already that it proved no obstacle at all. 

His breathing grew heavy, hand gently gliding along the supple flesh that he’s pinched so many times, marks from your final day of classes still fading. Izuku’s eyebrows were furrowed together as his hands found your panties, touching you over the fabric that was now soaked through. His eyes snapped to you so fast as he pulled the fabric aside with calloused fingers, wasting no time dipping his fingers into your soaking folds. 

“You fucking pervert.” He sneered, glancing down to show you just how wet you’d gotten, all for him. “You like it when I’m mean to you? So fucking dirty.” 

Izuku rubbed a swift circle around your clit and you brought your arm up to hide your face, biting into your forearm to muffle the sounds. You shook your head, squeaking out a no as his fingers curled up into you. 

“You sure about that? You’re dripping.” Izuku grunted, curling his fingers with his entire forearm and hearing a moan from you. “See? Fucking slut, giving me those eyes, like a lost puppy.” 

It was undeniable how you clenched around him and he let out a curt laugh of disbelief. 

“Oh… you like that name, don’t you, puppy?” He dipped down to bite at your neck, humming into the skin. 

You squirm beneath him but he has you caged in under, your legs unable to move around. Your stomach still turned in fear of him, but that fear was mixing with the intense pleasure building in your core. Even his fingers were a stretch and you could feel his thick cock hitting your abdomen with each aggressive curl, your mind consumed with just how good it would feel for him to break you open. After all, he’s chipped away at almost every ounce of self respect you had. In fact, he practically already owned you mentally, now he was just claiming what he should rightfully own physically. 

“I hate girls like you.” He spat, fingers picking up their pace as you were sent barrelling towards your high. “Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing to me. So fucking stupid. But look at you now— Your cunt is practically drooling on me— pathetic.” 

You were close, hot with arousal as he lifted your arm from your face. 

“Getting close huh? I can feel your whore cunt clenching. Y’wanna cum?” He grinned widely through furrowed brows. 

Your eyes were glossed over, tears spilling onto your cheeks and for a moment Izuku almost felt bad for you. Still though, you were just too fun to fuck with, too fun to absolutely ruin. You looked prettier than he could have imagined right now; face sticky with tears of arousal, embarrassment, and fear. Izuku was a nice boy, he really was, except when it came to you because now he just couldn’t stop himself from ruining your cunt. 

You were close, impossibly close as you bit your lip in an attempt to muffle the whiney yes that breached your lips. It was involuntarily, almost a survival response as his fingers continued making that delicious squelching sound. Those years of torment were beginning to twist. You were beginning to convince yourself that no, it wasn’t so bad, it’s okay to want to cream on his fingers and be his good girl. 

So you nodded, dew-filled eyes stricken with fear meeting his predatory ones in a confirmation. He was building you up so well, your stomach turning over and over, the knot tightening and set to break. And then he pulled his fingers from you as you clenched around nothing, a blinding orgasm ripped from you all by his fingers. Your back arched up off the bed and pathetic whines left your lips. 

“You’ll have to beg for it.” He smirked, sitting back on his knees, discarding your panties with a hard tug and running the head of his cock through your slick while you whimper. “Tell me you like it. C’mon. I’ll let you cum on my cock if you do.” 

Right now you were certain you’d do anything if it meant you were allowed to cream over him, so you parted your lips, hiccuping through broken sobs. 

“P-please Izu, need to cum.” Your voice was low and quiet. 

Izuku pushed the head of his cock against your entrance, glowering down at you as he pushed the fabric of your shirt up over those perfect tits that he couldn’t get enough of. He sucked in a sharp breath, facade falling for a moment until he brought his eyes back to yours. 

“You like it when I’m mean, huh? Lemme hear you say it.” Izuku gave a cruel smile, eyes darkened with lust. 

“Yes! Yes, I like it.” You shout, hand coming up to grab his arm, speaking through desperate tears. “Please fuck me, please Izu.” 

Izuku bottomed out in one fell swoop, hearing all he needed as he throws his head back, a groan of fucking pathetic falling lazily from his lips. He rolled his head across his shoulders, starting to move in and out of you, stretching your cunt open with each push and pull. 

“So fucking tight. You a virgin?” His tongue swiped at his teeth as he relished in the stretch and the way pain wet your cheeks. 

God, he fucking hated you. Hated every part of you. He hated the way your lips looked so good around him, the way your thighs squeezed so nicely around his waist, the way your tears only egged him on. It all made him want to hurt you. You brought out the worst in him. You were too fucking tempting, too easy. 

You weren’t a virgin but the stretch of his cock made you feel like one. God, you could feel him in your throat as you gripped pathetically at his biceps, a plea to get him to slow down. Izuku wouldn’t listen though, pounding into your gummy walls mercilessly. 

“Not gonna answer?” He laughed, low and threatening before folding your knees to your chest. “Tells me all I need to know. How many men have fucked this cunt of yours, huh? Bet it’s more than I can count on one hand.” 

Izuku brought his hand up to your face once more, squeezing your plump cheeks together. 

“Don’t worry, puppy. Gonna make it so you can’t take anyone else.” He spits in your mouth, forcing it closed. “Fuckin’ mine now, yeah? My little whore, always have been, right?”

You screw your eyes shut, swallowing sloppily as spit drips down your chin and tears streak from your eyes. Where did he learn to speak like this? 

“Say it.” 

You’re close again, so full of him, so desperate for him to give you what you want. You can’t resist him, so you might as well submit. Maybe it will make everything easier because you were finding it harder to pretend that you didn’t like it now. 

“Yours, m’yours.” You choke out, hand flying to his large one to move it over your throat. “Belong only to you.” 

Izuku squeezed the sides of your neck with startling force. It’s almost hateful in how strong it was but it made you whine out against him, voice raking against vocal chords that he forced closed. 

“Slut. S-such a slut.” He stuttered as you clenched around him, hitting your high with a roll of your hips and a pathetic whimper. “C’mon, gimme it, puppy.” 

Oh god, the pay off was unbelievable. The way you whined his name was better than any sob he pulled from you to date.You were so helpless,your body wracking with waves of pleasure and your pussy clamping down around him. This is what he saw in you the first time he made you cry— this expression. He knew you could make it, eyes big and wide, filled with tears and your mouth open in a deep moan. Fuck, he loved it. 

“God, so tight. Good puppy, good fucking puppy.” He fucked into you faster, chasing his own high now as he assaulted your overstimulated cunt. 

Your head spun, no longer preoccupied with the taunting or the tormenting. You were stupid on his cock, his good little puppy, like you were meant to be. You should have given in earlier, should have let him shove his dick down your throat sooner because even though you were struggling to get off his fat cock, you couldn’t, and you loved every single second of it. Izuku was only mean to you, only mean to his puppy. 

You’re so overstimulated, barreling towards another orgasm and now all you can think about is how bad you want him to fill you up. 

“C-cum inside.” You managed to choke out between pathetic sobs and whimpers. You’re crying for it, begging. “Please cum inside of me.” 

Izuku let out a low chuckle before bottoming out one final time, shoving his thick fingers down your throat and filling you up. When Izuku came, he came a lot. It flooded your cunt before leaking out the sides where he had you split open. Izuku couldn’t hide his true nature for long, his thighs beginning to quiver and a low groan becoming a high pitched whine as he emptied his balls inside of you like he’d been wanting to for so long. 

He stayed there for a moment before pulling out of you and crouching down to watch the way he spilled out of you, admiring your ruined pussy and body. You’re stretched out from him, tears staining your cheeks and cunt gaping from his cock.

And then he’s biting at your thighs, marking up the inside of your leg as you can barely manage to push out a squeal. He’s leaving the marks he’s always wanted to. Those pinches on the inside of your leg were a stand in for the ones he’d create with his teeth. He nipped at the sensitive skin before dipping his tongue into your folds to collect the mixture of him and you in his mouth. 

Izuku watched the way you twitched as he cleaned you up, admiring the way your legs flinched whenever he ran his tongue over your sensitive clit. He’s much gentler now but his eyes still frightened you when he came up from between your legs to spit the mixture of cum and arousal back into your slightly parted mouth, ordering you to swallow puppy. 

When you finally do— too tired and fucked out to think about protesting, he smiles— standing up off the bed and buttoning his pants with a heaving sigh.

Izuku turned back to your form on the bed, watching the way your chest heaved and the way your pleated skirt crowded at your hips, ruined cunt on display and shirt pushed up over your bitten up breasts. He made a mental note to remember to take your clothes off next time.

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[kkusuka]

Have I told you I hate weak y/n’s that get pushed around by fangirls? No? Well, I hate them 😊

Let’s have Oikawa, Atsumu, Akaashi, Semi, and Terushima react to their normally calm gf, beat the dog shit out of a fangirl that tried to intimidate her for dating said men above. Reader just has a soft smile before cocking her fist back and boxing her shit before holding up the fangirl and looking to the rest like “You wanna end up like her? No? Then know your place~ ☺️”. Then she faces her bf with a sweet smile and says something affectionate like “I brought you lunch, dear. I made it just how you like it 😄” before kissing his cheek like she didn’t go Muhammad Ali on a bitch

<3

Oikawa Tooru<3

Oikawa’s had more than a few less than pleasant experiences with women

Considering he’s always been surrounded by them, from his sister's friends in middle school and being swarmed by them in High school and college- having women around him was nothing new

And for the most part, they were all pleasant

Giving him little gifts and food- that he always gave to you- and just telling him how much they loved watching him play

All things he can deal with before talking to his favorite girl, you

Though, there have been instances of some bold woman who just never get the hint

Whether it be drunkenness or some weird dream of having Oikawa to herself or just blatant disregard of his relationship

And right now just happens to be one of those times- but now you got a firsthand view of the madness.

Whoever this was clearly didn't understand relationships or personal space for that matter

She had a hand on his chest and was just blubbering about how she would be the best wife for him and would make life so much easier- much more than you do for him- and that was just what you saw from the ten seconds you were in earshot

He would normally laugh it offend continue seeking out autographs but he seemed to be locked in an iron maiden

“I promise! Forget about your girlfriend, she’s useless anyways!” and finally a perfect chance to make yourself known

“Tooru, I have your lun-” you attempted to grab him away, him shooting a pleading look to save him before your wrist was snatched from his arm and tugged away and shoved to the side then pushing your body away from the two

“Back off bitch!”

Now,  you were normally a pretty calm person, you knew how to deal with the women and you have been for years.

But you stand by the fact that it was never ok to put your hands on someone- no matter the situation.

But at that moment, you could care less about your silly reparations and breathing methods, that lady put a hand on you and pushed you

You could hear Tooru telling her to keep her hands off you but you just looked around and made sure that everyone saw what had happened, you don't need to be arrested anytime soon

Grabber her arm you detached her from your boyfriends and in the next second your fist was connecting with her face, watching her wither on the floor you turn to your boyfriend who’s now coming towards you

“As I was saying, I have your lunch.”

Atsumu Miya<3

Another guy who’s constantly surrounded by women

Although he is far less appreciative and nice to them, and he makes it a point to be abundantly clear that you are the only woman he will spend the rest of his life with

Something that wasn't too popular with a few specific fans

Every blue moon someone will find his phone number and blow it up with loving messages or try and get his address

The worst it’s been was someone finding his apartment number and thankfully being too far away to come by themselves but they did send some inappropriate images to his PO box and that led him to create an even thinker line between fans and himself

Thankful, the whole of them understood and respected his boundaries

Buuuuut there are always people who go the extra step

Like whoever this is crowding your boyfriend after a win against the Alders with a giant poster of him and a …. Thong

If you were the slightest more stoic you would have held in the laugh that started it all but it seems crazy is crazy no matter how you provoke them

That lady heard you laugh and the flood gates opened, in a split second her hand was on your cheek then she was on the floor holding what you could hope was a broken jaw

You didn't even realize you punched her until a shooting pain went up your wrist

Though before you had a chance to return to your lovely boyfriend, who was standing in the same spot shell shocked (and slightly turned on)  hand grabbed your ankle the flung you to the ground

It was, for lack of a better term, a catfight

She was hitting you and you were hitting her and she was screaming random shit about how awful you were to her precious Atsumu- seriously this lady was insane

Nevertheless, security arrived, and let’s just say that you were in much better condition than she was, who knew you could fight so well?

Though you weren't allowed to come to the next game and had to apologize to the heads of the Volleyball association, Tsumu was proud of you and the internet was on your side- so it was kind of a win-win

Akaashi Keiji<3

He surprisingly doesn't have a swarm of fangirls around him

But it’s much much worse, you’d rather have a mob of girls around him than the four specific psychos that never leave the poor guy alone

Everywhere in school at least one of them is watching the two of you, in class, at lunch- no matter where you try and eat- you swear you even saw one at the boba show you pass on your walk home with him

The worst part?

He thinks it’s funny.

It is hilarious to him that you try so hard to keep them away full knowing he would never leave you for the likes of them. It’s just too cute how you puff up your cheeks and huff about them and honestly, it's a breath of fresh air considering how much everyone kisses up to him

Well- he likes it when they are at a distance

On the off chance they get close to him, it's a different story. They truly are intolerable, and they away try bad-mouthing you to him like it was supposed to mean something that they don't like you

And they only ever do it when you’re away- cowards they truly are. And since they’re always watching, as soon as you left to buy the two of you lunch, one of them was on him in an instant

She was annoying and all she could say was ho you were a ‘poison’ in his life and he had to leave you as soon as possible

He didn't even realize you were there until a hand grabbed the back of her uniform and flung her off him. And from the looks of it, falling on the ground really hurt

“I’m a poison? That’s all you could come up with?”

You didn't even have to say another word, she was already out of sight

Not missing a beat, you handed him his lunch and started talking about the latest episode of the volleyball anime you loved.

Semi Eita<3

First off- a total power couple

Not only are you willing to beat a bitch, but he’s also ready to hype you up while you do it

It’s not confirmed you have, but there are rumors that you fought more than a few girls who were less than pleasant. And it’s not like you do anything for rumor control, you just laugh and turn the other way

Still, even with the rumor mill running rampant, some girls still try and shoot their shot

But this girl has to be the boldest woman on planet earth

Not only was she flirting with an openly taken man, but she was flirting with him as he held his arm around your waist. She even looked at you as she spoke to him, the audacity of people these days

“You like music? That’s crazy, I do too!” you wanted her to shut the fuck up as soon as possible.

What pissed you off more was that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was letting it happen to spite you.

What happened after this you blame solely on the alcohol the party was providing and not on the fact you wanted to clock this girl the moment you saw her

It was just that suddenly your drink was in her face

Then her drink was in her face, and she was running to the bathroom, maybe she should listen to rumors more often because you don't think strawberry daiquiri will come out of a white crop too so easily

Terushima Yuji<3

He’s an ass

But he’s your ass, somehow

He’s a manwhore and an attention-whore, mix that should have been shot before it could grow into something more

By now you're used to the girls slipping him their numbers and hitting him up on every social media site possible and you remain happy to say he doesn't respond- probably too busy dicking you down to care about any of them

Plus, less than 1%  of them actually approach them in public, and they just happen to be the most insufferable people on the planet.

Desperation doesn't even describe it

Of that 1%, at least half of them try to touch him, running a hand on his arm, tugging at his clothes, maybe even a strand of his hair, all you can deal with because he knows what’ll happen if he even entertains their advances

But for some reason, the only thing that sets you off is when they mention the tongue piercing.

It invokes a rage unknown within you, the second the metal ball’s mentioned you see red. And he fucking loves it, you could be three prefectures over and the second the girl mentions it, you magically appear at his side like you’d been there the whole time

All of a sudden you’re all over him, disregarding this girls words as she tries to bring the conversation back to her, going as far as grabbing your shoulder, and since she touched you first- you had the green light

Your arm pulled back and your fist connected to her cheek

And like nothing ever happened you turned back to the blond

tags: @diamond-3 @rinsangel @heyheyitsne @angelalje @monisi @crystal-lilac @sadpotato10

[izaanagi]

❅ you’re going about it in the worst way.

pairing: gojō satoru x reader

synopsis: you thought you let the feelings for Gojō go when you decided to be friends. the way his eyes on you make you feel, tell another story. you honestly don’t know which version scares you more.

“I was into you, but I’m over it now,” you blurt out while sitting somewhere not too close, but not too far from Gojō Satoru, manspreading less than one meter away from you on an old worn couch, sitting in the living room of his high-end apartment. He shamelessly stops watching whatever it is that was on the TV, and his head spins so fast towards your direction you are sure it gave him whiplash.

“What did you just say?” he asks, as if to make sure that his ears heard you well. Which they did - but he is not taking any chances, and before he is about to make any reckless action he wants to be sure whether it is case.

“I did not want to make it awkward. I just said that I have a crush on you.” You stop and blink once, “Had. At some point. In the past.”

Satoru stares. “It’s totally over now,” you try to justify yourself, red apples blossoming on your cheeks and a sense of embarrassment overtaking you. You put your hands over your face, because this is just the worst thing. What the fuck were you even thinking when you said that?

“So which one is it?” Satoru teases, after a few beats of dead silence. But the question just makes you groan into your hands and fall into despair even more; because Satoru won’t be letting you live it down anytime soon - and a secret part of you is deadly afraid all the teasing might just re-ignite the buried deep inside you part that was very much more than crushing on Satoru.

“Had. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this,” you narrate, more to yourself than to him, in a futile attempt to lighten up the situation. But in order to do that you have the get over the stupid thump in your chest, the butterflies in your stomach and the burn you can feel from Satoru’s ocean eyes drilling into your hunched self. You need to stop being a coward and face the truth, and Satoru, in the face to call it quits once and for all; but the moment your eyes meet his, they don’t find the mockery and amusement you though would pervade them. It’s quite something else entirely, the thing shining in them.

“Now you don’t have any feelings left for me?” Satoru asks, and it’s the redundancy of it that makes your skin break in goosebumps, your heart threatening to spill onto the table. You want to deny the sliver of hope you can see tinkling at the back of his eyes, because it’s the right thing to do. And yet.

“Would it change anything?” you defeatedly ask, wishing that battling a question with another question would knock some sense into this stupidly gorgeous man sitting two inches from touching your thigh - and kidnapping your heart.

“It’s because you think nothing would have changed that you never told me?” he rebuttals again, and you find yourself gaping like a fish, no words forming on your tongue. The truth is, you don’t know. And lying to yourself about saying it is like Satoru hypothesised, it’s way easier than acknowledging that it might be entirely the opposite. That you’re more scared of a possible commitment with a man with whom it’s always all-or-nothing.

“It doesn’t matter now, Satoru. It’s old news, just forget that I said anything about it in the first place,” you close the episode exactly the way you opened it. But Satoru is stubborn and while you attention is focused on the screen in front of you now, he shifts closer to you and takes your head in between his hands, his eyes locking into yours.

“Tell me you don’t have any feelings left for me and I’ll let you go.”

But instead of functioning properly, your brain shuts down; you observe the clean surface of Gojo’s face, his straight nose, the way the curve of his lips is slight but pronounced more on the left side, the mole sitting on top of his eyebrow, almost fading into the milk shade of his skin. The way his eyelashes curl and form a white crown around the lapislazzuli of his irises, moulding it into a ring of power and deception, safety and danger. There is incoherency in his soft touch, and the hard platform you know you’re going to fall into if you don’t hurry up and say something, but words gets stuck in your throat and Satoru has never been a patient man.

It should not surprise you as much as it does then, when his lips press against yours, his eyes closed. It’s just a brush of lips, a minimal contact, but the door to melt inside you and claim a permanent place in your heart has already been ambushed by Satoru and all you can do is to let yourself go, and reciprocate the kiss. It does not last long, but when you break apart Satoru is panting slightly and you have your breath knocked out of your lungs.

You sit with your hands on your thighs, head down staring into nowhere, and Satoru is no different. Where do you go from here? is the question lingering int you mind, because while words may not do a lot, this changes everything.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, so that wasn’t enough. I am going to kiss you stupid,” he announces them, and there is no time to process nor to yield, nor to shift, not to breathe: Gojō’s lips are on yours in seconds and he finally sighs like a content man, his features mellowing out. His tongue licks your lower lip, so you grant him access into your mouth, and it’s like you have been kissing for the past hundred years: Satoru knows exactly where to put his tongue, when to suck and when to change up the pace, when to lick the roof of you mouth and when to listen to your low moans. He ventures a hand inside your shirt after the make-out session has become long, and addictively frenzied, both of you wanting more from each other but not daring to ask.

You thought you’ll lose your shit if something like this ever happened, but Gojō’s hands in your pants and his bites on your neck feel more natural than the friendship you had going on before that. And it’s sickening, it’s scary and nauseating at the same time: but you can’t stop coming back for more, your hips buckling and meeting Satoru’s in between; you can’t help yourself but to take another fill at this man staring at your with hope, delight and hunger in his eyes, as if there is nothing he would want more from life than to sit on an old couch and feel your touch. More than you just being there with him.

sans’ corner: happiest birthday Gojō! p.s. comments and reblogs are always welcome and appreciated! thank you for reading.

[florencwrites]

ignoring is bliss 〚technoblade〛

in which [reader] struggles with her lover's inconsequent affection, and a good talk is unfortunately inevitable; the silent treatment has never worked well with techno.

"I don't know what you want me to say." His back had still been turned towards me at this point, the rake heavy in my hands as I tried using it to steady myself in the muddy stable. He kept loading dirty plucks of hay onto his pitchfork, the thinly lined buttoned shirt he was wearing easily letting his back muscles shine through.

I stood silently behind him, deliberating my words thoroughly. I hated when he acted like this, I absolutely despised him. He was one of the smartest men I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, however, the second things went sideways conversation-wise he always played it painfully personally. He would start correcting my grammar or suggest synonyms for otherwise satisfactory sentences. "I don't either."

"I guess that marks the end of this conversation." He turned around to dump his gathered muck in the makeshift wheelbarrow Phil had built us. His face was hard, his brows furrowed and his features lax. He seemed indifferent, his attitude scaring me to pieces.

"Tech, please." I tried, putting one of my hands up to gesture for him to stop walking. He was now barely lifting the barrow from the ground, ready to head off to the dump. He huffed, his eyes meeting the floor as he put the wagon down. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

"I'm sorry," I muttered softly.

He ducked to grip his hands around the handles again, lifting it from the ground. His knuckles were white where they held onto the leather-covered grips. "Speak up."

"I want to have a conversation with you, okay? Stop acting so fucking stuck up and talk to me." His shoulder brushed past mine as he exited the stables, my voice was high in emotions, definitely on the verge of breaking with desperation.

He snorted. "I'll listen to whatever you have to say when you've calmed down."

-

"He won't talk to me, Phil." I groaned almost obnoxiously loud, taking a sip of water to wash down both my dinner and my agitation. "You know how he gets."

"All pissy? Tell me about it." He chuckled softly, his forearm shielding his bowl from my sight. He shoveled another spoonful of beef stew into his mouth. Phil and I had never been extraordinarily close, he reckoned Techno and me to be undeserving of each other. A terrible pair. And perhaps we were, at times like this I couldn't help but doubt whether or not we truly were the destined lovers we often thought ourselves to be. "I'll bring him some food later."

I laughed at him, a father at heart. A father to anyone but his actual sons, really. A playful grin on my lips, "You're an enabler, Phil."

-

That night I crawled into an empty bed. One I hadn't even doubted would be just that; empty. He was weak like that, he'd do anything to avoid conflict. Whether that was because he was afraid of what his blinding rage fits would conjure, or whether he was just an impotent coward. Someone who didn't know how to act around uncertainty and immorality and thus resorted to blaming everything on his treacherous temper.

The sheets still smelled of him, I held them to my nose.

There was no reason for us to fight, I hadn't meant to start one. I simply wanted him to realize how different he acted towards me when surrounded by any crowd. He acted so distant it made me doubt not only us, but myself. My heart ached anytime he pulled his hand away from where I tried leaving him a subtle touch. My skin crawled when he no longer referred to me by the mild, but unmissably warm names he had for me.

However, nothing would ever hurt me as much as meeting his eyes in a room of our friends and seeing the love seep from his irises. Physically witnessing his affection turn into nothing short of mere acquaintance.

Everyone knew us. There was no reason for him to act so cold, so distant. Though, I also recognized that perhaps there was an underlying reason. One I simply hadn't thought of, or perhaps one that I couldn't ever imagine. One that he had retained from his troublesome past.

The thing is, it hurt me to think he didn't trust me enough with his reasoning. That he didn't want to tell me about his thoughts. I'd been extremely careful and meticulous with any information he'd granted me, I was sure to never let what he told me change my opinion of him. I vowed to never look at him any different.

So, why could he not promise me the same?

-

There was no point in pushing myself from my sheets the next morning. I knew how long his episodes usually lasted, I wouldn't even have to try talking to him for at least two more days. Normally, I'd try, though. I'd sit in the grass right next to where he was working outside, just talking to him about anything and everything I could think of. Back then I thought for his silence to mean confusion, I thought his swirling mind simply needed a break. That a distraction would do him good.

I sat in the barely-molten grass for hours, never getting a reply.

His smell was constricting my airways slowly, every inhale making it harder and harder to breathe. What if Phil was right, what if he truly didn't love me, or not anymore at least? What if it was all an act to have a warm body to fall asleep next to, to have an extra set of hands around the cottage.

I kicked at the sheets, desperate to get them away from me, to get them from clinging to my sweaty body. I only tangled my legs further into the mess. The bed creaked loudly against the wooden floor of the attic, a gust of wind running through a small gap in the roof.

I shot up, finally being able to rid my body of the sheets. I huffed a few times, the annoyance getting the better of me. I slung my legs over the side of the bed, now just sitting on the wooden frame, letting my eyes wander over the walls. The pictures of us that were tightly tacked to the planks, photos of our favorite pets and our best of friends. Photos of us with Phil and Tommy, and even a stray photo of me and Wilbur, back when we were kids.

My gaze found its way towards the singular window behind our bed, the only one of two walls that weren't entirely slanted. His red robe stood out like a sore thumb in the feeble blanket of slushy snow that had been slowly accumulating over the course of the night. Summer was officially over once again, and the cold would soon make it so we could no longer afford to sleep alone.

He rarely wore his robe outside of special occasions, he usually would simply opt for one of his brown ones. One was trimmed with a thick deer fur, the leather on it sure to keep all frost out. The other one was his summer one, the more dirty one of the two. It was always stained with blood, since it would also be the one he went hunting with. He disliked hunting in the winter, the harsh winds and easily discernible prints made it no fun, according to him. He stacked up during the summer, drying his meats to allow them to be kept safe for months, if not years.

But now he was wearing his red robe, lined with the finest of polar bear fur. The one that had the special compartments for his potions, and the one I had sown a totem into. For good luck. He rarely wore it for any occasion but war.

He pushed himself from the ground, turning around swiftly; the velocity making his cape whisk dramatically up in the wind. His eyes seemed fixated on the ground until they unwarrantedly shot up to the window I was sitting at. Any other day, I would've averted my gaze. Not now. He knew I was staring, and he was allowed to know so. I held my eyes on him until his feet carried him out of sight, into the house. I sighed softly, I felt entirely forlorn without him, without his caring hands and loving eyes. I let myself fall back into the bed, cuddling the sheets once again as I curled away from the entrance. I reckoned he would have to change out of his robe soon, and I didn't want to face him when he did.

-

I heard the front door slam, and as predicted the rungs of the many ladders soon creaked in his hold. The worn, practically ancient, trapdoor was pushed ajar behind me. I couldn't be bothered to turn to meet his eyes. However, instead of quietly changing out of his clothes, I felt the bed dip. He sat on the side of it, much alike to how I had found myself just minutes before.

"I don't like feeling weak." His voice was rougher than usual, it kept its usual monotone aura, but for some reason, it felt more emotional than ever before. He cleared his throat as if to try and mask it, to no avail, "I don't love you any less."

I shifted in the bed, though, he quickly stopped me, "Don't look at me, that just makes it harder."

I obliged. He let out a trembling sigh, taking his sweet time to deliberate his next words, "Sometimes we are outside together and I'm afraid that when they see how much I care about you, they will realize that you make me weak." I stared at the wall, still curled into the blankets. I wanted nothing more than to hold his face, look at him as he spoke. Instead, I had to make do with the pictures of his face plastered on the wood. His pointy, flappy ears and peaked nose. The two sharp-looking fangs set in the corners of his lips, ones that seemed to disappear when he smiled. He didn't like smiling for pictures, I didn't have a single one of the two of us together where he smiled. The only ones that showed his beautiful pearly whites were the ones that had me behind the camera, something I only then realized might've not been a coincidence.

"It scares me to think they could hurt you for loving me, that's why I don't like holding your hand in town." I shot a quick look over my shoulder, his back was slouched over, his head in his hands with his elbows propped on his knees. He wasn't crying, he simply seemed lost."I never realized that what scares me even more is the idea of you not loving me at all."

I slowly crept from under the sheets as his words fell silent. I crawled over towards where he was sat, near the foot-end of the bed. I took one of his hands from where he had rested his face on it and pulled it out of the way.

I snaked my arms around his neck, pulling my body into his. I draped my legs over his lap as I held him. His built arms felt tender against my exposed back, however, he held me tight. He squeezed softly as another quivering breath escaped his lips. We sat in embrace for a while.

"That's all I asked for, Tech." I smiled into his neck. "I just wanted to talk, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Shut up." He playfully tried pushing me away from his torso, underestimating the power of my cling. "You know I hate it when you call me that."

[narutogwriting]

Ruin the Friendship

⋇✦ Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

⋇✦ Genre: angst; fluff; oneshot

⋇✦ CW: none

⋇✦ Length: 2.5k+

⋇✦ @gaarasandpit just a angst/fluff naruto x reader request if you’re up for it 🥰 maybe where the reader and him are somewhat close friends and he notices she’s drifting from him because her feelings get in the way? he’s oblivious and hurt about it then confrontation happens ending up in a good old love confession

“Cmon! Open up!” Naruto called from outside your house, pounding on the door like he had been incessantly for the past five minutes. “I know you’re in there!”

He did not, in fact, know whether or not you were in there, but he couldn’t imagine where else you would be.

All week you’d been missing; Naruto couldn’t find you anywhere. Sometimes he would see the flick of your hair from the corner of his eye or his ears would pick up the sound of your laugh, but by the time he turned to find you, you’d be gone.

Your absence in Naruto’s life wasn’t something of a minor inconvenience; it was a constant pain, as if he was missing a part of his own body. Iruka had joked that Naruto missing you was akin to that of a phantom limb, like there was something of him that should be there and it wasn’t and he ached because of it.

“No, Naruto. We haven’t seen her,” Shikamaru shrugged. Ino nodded her agreement.

“Sorry. Maybe she’s on a mission or something.

Naruto frowned, sighing in frustration. “Alright, well, thanks.” He muttered before he sulked off. Shikamaru and Ino watched him go, waiting until he disappeared before Ino gave you a kick under the table.

“Ow!” you whined as you crawled out from underneath, rubbing your shoulder.

Ino rolled her eyes at you. “You’re lucky Naruto’s an idiot, or he definitely would have seen you.” She told you as you slid yourself down into the seat next to her. “Remind me: why are you avoiding him again?”

Propping your elbows on the table, you rested your head in your hands as you gave a forlorn sigh. That was a loaded question. You were avoiding Naruto because the absolute worse thing that could ever occur had happened.

You’d fallen in love with the idiot blond.

And how could you not? You’d been best friends with Naruto for the longest time. He was a constant in your life, always at your side. It was rare that one of you was seen without the other.

There was no one in the entire world that could make you smile or laugh the way that he could. Whenever you were sad or hurt, he always had the words to make it all better. Naruto had the type of smile that could save people, and you were no exception. There wasn’t a person in the world that could meet someone with a heart like Naruto’s and not walk away changed.

It had been a slow thing, a soft, unsure growing. It wasn’t a feeling you’d recognized at all once, because you always loved Naruto.

It wasn’t totally strange for you to get excited when you saw him or miss him when he was gone. It wasn’t unusual to think about him before you went to sleep.

But when you began to wake up and your first thought was, “my god he’s beautiful” when you looked at the picture of the two of you on your night stand, that was a little strange. You never used to spend extra time in the morning doing your makeup when you knew you were going to see him soon.

And you never used to blush when he smiled at you. Even you could tell you laughed a little too hard when he said something even remotely funny.

It was one day when the two of you were taking a walk that it happened. He was telling you a story, his motions large and exaggerated. Of course, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. As he turned to you, arms raised high over his head, his foot hit a rock. Naruto went sprawling to the floor, rolling across the ground and landing flat on his back.

You burst out laughing at the scene, hurrying to kneel at his side. “Are you okay!?” You asked him between giggles.

Naruto’s face was bright red with embarrassment as he laid on the floor. He looked up at you, smiling sheepishly. “Oops…”

It was such a simple thing, but you’d looked at Naruto and thought, “I love him so much.”

Nothing had ever startled you more.

Of course you loved Naruto; that was a given. It was never anything that needed to be thought or said. It was just a fact. But as soon as you had thought the words, you knew that it was different this time. You didn’t just love Naruto.

You were in love with him.

You’d hoped that the feelings would fade. Maybe it was just a fluke or a passing crush. Day in and day out, you waited for your feelings to go back to normal, but now that you’d acknowledged them, they only seemed to grow stronger. It got to the point where you couldn’t even look at naruto without turning into a blushing mess. It was pathetic.

So you’d decided there was only one reasonable solution: you would have to avoid him for as long as it took for the feelings to go away.

And of course you didn’t want to stay away from him. Being with him was as natural as breathing. But the way you saw it, if he found out about your feelings, your friendship could be ruined forever. This way, you could take some space, move on, and resume your friendship like nothing happened.

But Naruto wasn’t making that easy.

You hadn’t realized just how much time you and Naruto spent together until you were trying to distance yourself from him. He was everywhere. Every meal, every free moment, he was by your side or trying to be at least.

“Wanna go eat?” “Wanna go train with me?” “Let’s watch a movie!” “I heard there’s gonna be a festival in the next town over!”

You couldn’t get away from him. So this past week, you’d taken to hiding from him every time you saw him, deciding it was easiest to just avoid him completely. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe just how much time and effort Naruto was putting in to trying to find you.

But of course he was putting in effort. Because you were his best friend and he couldn’t understand it; where you’d gone or why you weren’t talking to him. Had he done something wrong? Were you mad at him or something? Your absence in Naruto’s life was drawing out every insecurity he hadn’t even realized he still had. He was worried, drowning in anxiety.

What if you’d decided you didn’t want to be his friend anymore? Maybe you were annoyed with him, found him to be too much. When you and Naruto had first become friends, he thought it was too good to be true. There was no way that someone as nice and pretty and cool as you would want to be friends with him. No one had ever wanted to be his friend before.

But there you were with your sweet smile and calming presence. You had accepted Naruto, every piece of him, without question or reservation. You meant everything to him, so the thought of losing you had sent Naruto into a panic.

You’d managed to avoid Naruto for a full week and a half. The past three days, as far as you knew, he hadn’t even made an effort to find you. It was a relief and heartbreaking all at once. You needed your space, but it hurt to think that maybe Naruto didn’t miss you at all anymore.

These were the thoughts racing through your head when you crawled into bed that night. You doubted you’d be getting much sleep; you’d barely gotten any since you had started avoiding Naruto.

Pulling the covers over yourself, you closed your eyes and tried to get comfortable. It seemed like hours you laid there awake before tiredness finally started to drift over you. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off to sleep when a sudden loud noise startled you awake. Sitting up quickly, your eyes darted to the window where the noise had come from.

Naruto had forcefully pried open the window, shoving himself not-so-gracefully through the opening and crashing onto the floor.

He quickly jumped to his feet, rubbing his head with a small wince before his eyes landed on you, widening slightly.

“Ah ha! I got you!” He shouted victoriously, pointing his finger in your direction. “You can’t hide from me anymore, believe it!”

God, he was too cute for words and that was exactly the problem. Your heart practically burst just looking at him as he appeared so accomplished and excited.

But the triumphant look on his face slowly vanished as he stared at you. When he spoke, his voice came out quietly, dripping with dejection. “Where have you been?”

Quietness settled over the room as the two of you stared at each other. Naruto made no move to get closer to you, and you likewise stayed strapped in your seat. “I’m sorry…” You offered weakly, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t be sorry!” Naruto snapped, anger quickly replacing his despaired features. “Tell me why! What the hell? You think you can just avoid a guy? Cut me off like I’m nothing to you!?” He was trembling, his usual happy grin twisted into a broken grimace so despondent it took you off guard. You had caused that hurt that Naruto was feeling. The thought made you sick.

“If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, at least say something!” Naruto spat. “Don’t just run from me like a coward! If you have something to say, say it to my face!”

There was a harsh edge to Naruto’s voice that he never used with you before. Not in all of your years of friendship. You realized suddenly just how badly you’d hurt Naruto by avoiding him. It wasn’t something you’d considered; you’d only wanted some space so you could get back to normal with him.

But you saw it clearly now, the damage that you had done. Suddenly, in this moment, he was the lonely, isolated child that he had been before you met, feeling alone and abandoned in the world. And this time, it was because of you.

The regret was like bile on your tongue, and you wished fiercely that you could take back the past week and do it differently. You couldn’t stand the thought that it was you who had caused this damage to your best friend, the guy you loved so much.

You didn’t have any words to fix it. All you had was the truth.

“I love you.”

The words slipped from your mouth before you could pull them back in. And once they were out, they couldn’t be taken back.

Confusion quickly settled on Naruto’s face. It was as if you could see the anger dissipate from his body. He stared at you, mouth slightly agape, while he tried to process what you’d just said. “You… What?”

Turning bright red, you pulled the blanket back over your head in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe you’d just said that! Now there would never be any going back to the way that things were, but you had to tell him. You couldn’t just let him think that you were cutting him off without reason.

“I said I love you…” You muttered from under the blanket. “I’m in love with you, Naruto. I have been for a while now, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. So I thought if I just took some space and didn’t see you for a while, then maybe I would get over it, and then we could just keep things the way they were…”

It was much easier to get the words out when you were under the blanket and couldn’t see him, but you were still nauseous with anxiety as you told him how you felt. Your heart was steeling itself for rejection as you waited for his response.

The only noise was shuffling as Naruto came to your bed. You could feel the indent as he sat down next to you. He grabbed your blanket, slowly peeling it off of you and despite your reluctance, you let him.

You didn’t look at him as you pushed yourself back up into a sitting position. You’d never been so embarrassed before.

“Did it work?” He asked you quietly.

Fidgeting with the hem of your night shirt, you mumbled, “Did what work?”

“Are you over me?”

The question took you off guard, lingering between the two of you, and you couldn’t help but flicker your eyes to his. He was staring earnestly at you with those wide blue eyes you loved so much. You wanted to lie to him but you just couldn’t.

“No.”

Naruto’s focused expression stretched into a wide grin as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to him. You were too startled to respond, so you just stared at him, confused, instead.

“You scared me!” Naruto laughed happily as he rested his cheek against your head. “I thought you didn’t want to be my friend anymore! You didn’t have to completely avoid me, ya know.”

There was a mix of relief and disappointment at his reaction. So, he wasn’t weirded out about your confession? Things didn’t have to change. The two of you could stay ‘just friends.’

“So, we’re okay?” You asked him nervously. “We’re still friends?”

Naruto gave a puzzled hum as he pulled away from the hug to stare at you. He raised his eyebrow as he studied you for a moment. You could almost see the light bulb go off above his head as he realized.

“Oh!” He laughed, grinning sheepishly and rubbing his neck. “I guess I forgot to tell you it back, huh? I thought it was obvious! I love you too, believe it!”

You blinked as he giggled embarrassedly, that signature smile of his on his lips. “Naruto!” You snapped at him, lunging and knocking you both off the bed. He landed on his back with you on top of him as you rubbed your fist into his head. “You dummy!”

“Hey! Cut it out!” Naruto whined, squirming under your touch. “Is that any way to treat your boyfriend!?”

The question was enough to make you stop, your mouth frozen in a surprised “o” shape, just like he hoped. He laughed, sitting up and holding you to him before he placed a happy kiss to your cheek, making your face flush over red.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, looking at him as it finally sunk in what he said. He loved you too. He called himself your boyfriend. “Is that your way of asking me?” You questioned.

Naruto nodded earnestly. “And my way to get you to stop giving me a noogie! It’s a win win! Well, if you say yes, that is…”

Shaking your head, you laughed as your whole body softened in relief. Your arms slipped around his neck as you hugged him tightly. “Yes, obviously!” You told him. “Yes! I love you.” Naruto hugged you back just as fiercely. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t hesitate. His hand reached up to cup your cheek as he leaned forward, pressing a sweet, soft kiss to your lips.

Well, you guessed your friendship was officially ruined. But suddenly, you didn’t mind so much.

[onecanonlife]

Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

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

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.

[gemstone-roses]

Giving in to their feelings for you headcannons-includes mentions of smut and fucking.

Featuring some of my favourite characters, teen wolf and hannibal: Chris argent, Derek hale, hannibal lecter, and coach finstock.

I thought I'd do something for hitting 100 followers, except I've been very busy and I wanted to write full on fics for all of them but I didn't have time so I did this instead.

Female reader

Warnings: age gap, mentions of smut, teasing, swearing, 18+ please and thankyou.

Gifs not mine credit to the owners.

Chris argent

- you two became close after his wife's death.

-you would stay late at his house sometimes and talk for hours

-his hand would linger longer than it should whenever you hugged goodbye

-you always felt a little deflated whenever he broke the hug

-he'd been wrestling with it for a while, you were a fair bit younger than him, being Derek's friend.

-the more he ignored it, the worse it got

-he began distancing from you

-you were upset, giving him lingering looks from across rooms, and he'd just look away

-and that broke your heart

-you stopped going round as much

- you even stopped going to pack meetings, getting any relevant info from stiles

-it hurt him, to not see your face all the time

- you got hurt one night, protecting derek

-Chris was very worried, immediately rushing out to your place

-Derek had told him you'd basically taken the hits for him

-Chris was furious you'd ever put yourself in that position

-he banged on your door, angry, out of breath from rushing

-"y/n" his face instantly melted to relief

-he's so glad your okay

-your not pleased with him, just showing up when your hurt all of a sudden

-"you don't get to just.." you start shouting at him, he's stood in the doorway

-he cuts off your words by smashing his lips to yours.

Hannibal lecter

- you were an fbi agent

- you had known each other for a while

- you were always invited to his dinner party's and he enjoyed your company

-hannibal didn't do partners, he was far too busy committing several crimes

- but you

-you had somehow worked your way into his heart

-he'd never felt like this before about anyone

-and that made him uncomfortable

- hannibal was good, very good, he could remain profesional whilst battling his feelings for you

- you had been intrigued by the man for a while

- he was so pleasant

-it threw you off sometimes

- one night you were in his office

-you came by after work, you were having a bad day

-hannibal could smell you before you'd even stepped through the door

-you sat comfy in the chair, legs crossed

-hannibal had to take a deep breath when he saw you

-just so laid back

-you smiled at him from your chair

-and oh did he love that smile

-hannibal shook his head slightly

-"forgive me, y/n, I'm about to do something very unprofessional"

- you raised your eyebrows as he made his way to you

-his hands landed on either side of your chair

-his stare was intense

-having hannibal this close to you made your heart flutter

-in a good way not the medical emergency way

-"I've wanted this for a long time y/n"

-he admitted, his hand caressing your face

-"me too", you agreed as he leaned in to finally kiss you.

- hannibal was very delicate with you

-"if you think that was unprofessional, I'd hate for you too see what I've imagined us doing on your couch, doctor lecter"

Derek Hale

-he was such a dick to you

-all. The. Time

-it drove you mad

-but you could wind him up just as good

-funny thing is, Derek somehow didn't like being teased

-he'd growl, quietly, whenever you teased him too much

-and oh god did that make you wet

-whenever something went wrong he'd find a way to blame you

-barista got his coffee wrong? Your fault because he was busy thinking about you instead of correcting them

-you hated being partnerd with him for any missions

- the silence was too loud

-he'd talk to you like you were a child

-telling you exact and simple instructions

-that made you mad

-and he could tell

-but one day

-you don't tease him back

-there's no sassy reply, no sarcasm, you just agree and move on

-it shakes him

-it's on Derek's mind all day

-and he can't concentrate

-he decides to go check on you

-your unimpressed when you answer the door

-"y/n I, I just wanted to make sure, you, your okay"?

-he stumbles over his words

-"why are you such a dick to me Derek"

-you say it so quiet if it wasn't for his werewolf senses he wouldn't hear it

-his eyes softened

- "I, uhm I thought you liked it, you always tease me back and.. Well, I like you y/n, a lot"

-your face turned from defeated to anger in seconds

-"WHAT THE FUCK DEREK?? ARE WE IN HIGH SCHOOL?? NO WE'RE FUCKING ADULTS, ACT LIKE ONE"

-he growled at you as he stepped in, causing you to step back

-"don't, yell, at, me"

-he said calmly

-his hand reaches out to wrap around your throat

-you end up fucking all night

Bobby Finstock

-coach finstock is a major a hole

-that's evident from his comments to stiles

-and greenberg

-you were his assistant coach

-and he'd be lying if he hadn't checked you out

-because oh did you look fine in that white top and red shorts

-thankfully, he was marginally nicer to you than he was to his team

-you enjoyed working with him

-you had even drunk with him a few times

-you realised you had feelings for the coach not long after you'd taken the job

-but apart from being slightly more friendly to you, there was no indication he liked you back

-you were wrong

-he adored you

-every night after practise, he'd have an internal debate about whether to invite you to go out with him

-but he always ended up being a coward

-sticking with a pleasant "goodnight" and a nod of the head

- each time you drove out of the lot he'd get a sinking feeling

-and he'd say to himself "next time, I'll ask her next time"

- fortunately, he didn't have to

- you offered to stay late after a match and help him with paperwork

-and his heart soared at the thought

- he sat on his chair

- you perched on his desk in front of him

-he raised his eyebrows from behind his paper

-"what are you doing"

-"I'm sitting, I can sit somewhere else if you like.. On your knee.. On your face.. On your.."

- "you don't know what you do to me"

-"oh I think I do, coach"

-you licked your lips

-and that was all he needed to clear the messy paper off his desk and push you down

-"I, hm, y/n, I, love you"

-you chuckled, of course, he would admit his feelings to you, laying on top of you, whilst your in your sweaty uniform

-"I love you too"

[remingtonisleithal]

Caught in the Storm

pairing: female!reader x Remington Leith

summary: two besties, being friends, sharing a bed because of a storm, definitely not going to lead to anything more.

warnings: smut, mentions of loneliness, no use of protection (don't be silly, wrap your willy), thigh riding? If you squint sub!remington

author note: if you like this please reblog! also, editing fics in the same room as family is bloody hard. Thank you @bidet-and-legolas for reading it first :)

oh gosh, that smile. He told himself he'd never fall but the moment he spoke to you, it was too late. Remington had fallen for Y/N. Years later, no one knew, but he couldn't keep it to himself for much longer.

You'd just spent the last few hours on his make shift bed on the tour bus, watching movies together. After hours had pasted, he was laying on his back, you were lying on him, back against his chest, and he was wishing that he could just kiss your head, your mouth, all of you. If he was going to make a move, now would be the right time, the guys had gone out for drinks hours ago so you had the bus to yourselves. This way no one would witness the rejection. No, no, he can't think like that. He needs you in his life.

You rolled over to face him more and mumbled a little 'I'm so tired Remi.' You looked at the computer in front of you both and saw it was 11:30pm. The sound of rain thundered down on the bus, as a violent storm began. "Shit, that weather's sounding bad." You were worried to go out into the pouring night. Remington was thinking the same things and said, much more softly than he intended, "Stay?". He coughed a bit and you pushed away the thought that he cared about you more than just a friend. It's just an offer after all, he's not asking you to kiss him... no matter how much you wanted to.

It was then that you realised you were still staring into his beautiful eyes. You wriggled gently to get up, claiming that nature calls and then turning red and regretting saying it instantly. In the small bathroom you hid for a moment, and wondered what to do. Maybe another movie? But you were exhausted and needed to go to sleep. Maybe he wouldn't mind you going to sleep?

"hey Remi?" you asked

"what's up Y/N/N?"

"Do you mind if I have a nap or something? i didn't sleep last night an-"

"Sure, I mean you can stay over if you want. It doesn't look like this storm is leaving." He cut you off.

Moments later, you had stripped into your undies (because no way are you trying to sleep in skinny jeans. Nope) and put on a baggy top Remington handed you, and he had changed into some shorts. And you were squished into his bed, Remington against the wall, you against him, no mattress to spare. It was going to be a long, long night of false unrequited love.

By the 2 am mark, the guys were not back, thunder jolted you awake. A groan.

"I can't fucking sleep with this storm" He groaned, and you agreed.

A moment passed. Silence except the storm.

"So. How's life?" Remington asked with a playful smile and you giggled.

"To be honest? Pretty bad." For once you answered the question with truth. Remington tried to wiggle around onto his back, but it failed. You shuffled over so you were facing each other.

"What's wrong?" his eyes and voice portrayed equal concern

"Nothing is right. To quote a very handsome man, I'm so sick and tired of being alone." he let out a half laugh as you called him handsome. "There's this guy. I love him so much and he will never know. I can't tell him."

"Well that's just dumb. You should tell him, no matter what happens, you have to be honest with yourself." He mentally punched himself for his hypocrisy, but he couldn't think of any other advice. What would he say, 'that's rough buddy'?

"It's not that easy. It's all just so hard. You know my track record with guys and girls, I never pick the right ones, I always get hurt and not in the fun way."

"The fun way? Oh so you like that?" He teased you with a laugh, without realising just how he was teasing you.

"Fuck off Remi. I know you have no rights to judge. My point is no one ever loves me, or seems to know how."

"Are we talking physical or emotional?"

"Both."

Conversations were always easy between you, and you saw no point in ignoring topics like sex.

You had both been looking away from each other for fear that the other might read their eyes and see the love in their souls. You were the first to look back.

"I just wish someone would kiss me. At this point, I'll take anyone! I'm just so fucking lonely. I know he'd never love me back, and-"

"Then he's a coward. He's not worthy for your love or of you if you feel you can't tell him this." He got so mad with jealousy, but overall he just felt horrible, as he believed he'd never be worthy of you. "You're perfect, do you know that?" He mumbled. He lent in, eyes pulling you closer, until the thunder boomed and you jolted apart.

You rolled over, scared, and there wasn't anywhere for Remington to put his arms besides around you. Slowly, you shuffled back into his warm arms and breathed a sigh. He moved around to get comfortable. You moved a little more, moving your hips a bit. You felt something hard against your butt and you let out a silent sigh. Neither of you were comfortable, and it was clear why when you moved your hips again and Remington couldn't hold it in. He let out the sexiest moan you'd ever heard.

"... Ah, Remi?"

"Shit, I'm sorry I didn't mean to I..." He rambled on, mortified and you moved your hips again. That made him shut up.

Turning around you looked into his eyes. They were pleading with you not to leave, not to freak. To just stay with him forever. Before he could stop himself, he lifted a hand to brush some hair away from your face, and, unable to form words, you let out a light whimper.

Neither of you could form coherent sentences, the conversation was held by your eyes. His, full of surprise, asking, 'do you like me?', biting your lip your eyes said yes. He smiled. Your hearts were beating so fast, but he moved slow towards you, gently placing an open mouthed kiss on your lips. A sea of emotions erupted in you as electricity flooded your body. He pulled away to look you in the eyes.

"Y/N, I have loved you since the moment I met you. I'm sorry I've been so scared to tell you, i can't handle the though of losing you."

"I- you- ah-" you couldn't form the words back, but you pulled him closer and kissed him with all the fire you felt in your heart. he responded with a groan and licked your lips, asking for entrance into your mouth.

You didn't hold back, and you explored each others mouths in a moment of excitement, bodies pressed against each other. You pulled away, needing oxygen, but he pulled you back, needing you more than air. Soon your were against each other, moaning, desperate for more.

"Remington?"

"Yes?"

"Take my shirt off?"

His response was immediate, tugging it off you, and claiming your mouth once again. Your hand wandered down his chest to his boxers. He released your mouth for a loud moan and you felt yourself instantly get wetter.

After muttering 'fuck' he kissed down your chest to your boobs, taking one nipple in his mouths and gently pinching the other, until your back was arched in pleasure. You nudged him back up, so you could reach down into his boxers.

He was painfully hard, and he was groaning in a mixture of pleasure and pain, as he had been hard for an hour trying to ignore your beauty.

"Please." he mumbled in your ear. Immediately, you moved your hand and put your leg in between his, starting to rub yourself onto his thigh as he did to yours. You were both a mess, sweaty and begging each other for more, more, more, until eventually you stopped humping him. You kissed down his chest but he stopped you.

"No. Please, I just need you now." So you both searched for a condom. You couldn't find one. He couldn't find one. You were dripping for him and he was painfully hard, you surrendered to your instincts.

You asked "are you good without?"

"I hope so."

You giggled a little but stopped when he took his undies off. He was perfect, enough to stretch you but not to hurt, and you felt your chest constrict without meaning to.

"How do you want me?" You asked

"However you want. I just need you." he said with a sigh

"Fuck" you moaned and climbed onto him.

You fell gently, both crying out in pleasure as you felt in all the way in you. You clenched and he moaned a high pitched moan that only turned you on more. Soon you were a mess, riding him, him thrusting into you in perfect timing, getting closer, closer, closer. Without saying a word he started to rub your clit gently. You screamed in pleasure and asked for him to go harder, faster. You cupped his balls and he groaned.

"I'm not gonna last much longer." he grunted into you, and you lay on top of him, boobs pressed to his chest, turning you on like nothing else. You ran a hand through his spiky, sweat-dampened hair and whispered:

"come into me, then"

You clenched and he was done, and seeing the face he made of pure ecstasy sent you over the edge, coming undone harder than ever before. Hands on your hips he helped you ride it out, and breathing heavy, you stayed like that for a long time.

"wow" was all Remington said and you laughed, rolling over. He climbed across you to find a wet wash cloth and clean you both up, taking time to kiss you softly and he cleaned you, only making you wet again.

"I love you Remington."

"I lov-" the doors to the bus suddenly opened, Sebastian screeched and shut it immediately, not wanting any more of a visual than he got. Neither of you realised the rain had stopped.

[wooteena]

technoblade speedrunning adopting ranboo (high school edition): the fanfic

also on ao3!

hey remember this post? well i got so attatched and impatient that i wrote over 1k words for a pilot type chapter for it <3

chapter one: officer in my defense i punched that guy because he deserves it

-

Techno Blade-Minecraft would call himself smart. He got good grades without trying, learned second, then third languages with ease, read textbooks for fun, etcetera etcetera. Wisdom without experience was a rare thing to possess, especially in a high school senior but techno had it tight in his grasp, easily making him a ‘Model Student’. He understood he got unneeded attention from that, which sucked, but it was an easy trade-off to be the automatic teacher’s favourite.

But Techno was a man of wisdom, not a man of sense. So naturally, he remembered a fact about baby birds he learnt when he was six years old:

‘Classical "imprinting", as seen with for example, ducks or geese, means that the animal's instinctive programming says "the first big animal you see after hatching is your mom, follow them and look to her for food, warmth, love and learning’

Actually, Techno decided he was the man of Most Sense because at that very moment, the tallest, yet somehow weakest looking freshmen he’d ever seen was being cornered by a group of hefty looking seniors.

And the baby bird, with its innocent, scared eyes was looking right at him.

He looked around the hallway, a desperate scan for other students he could push his growing parental responsibility on to. It was a ghost town, as empty as the remakes of towns from the old west he saw on childhood school excursions.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuck.’

Technoblade took a deep breath in through his nose, then released it out of his mouth like if he breathed hard enough, his empathy could be taken away with the non existent wind in the soul-crushing grey hallways. It obviously didn’t work because Jesus Christ that kid looked helpless.

As quickly as one could without compromising a freshmen’s still intact nose, Techno examined the seniors. They all wore the school football team’s letterman jacket (‘what is this, Heathers?’), a classic pointer for internalized insecurity, toxic masculinity and most importantly unrightfully self diagnosed Strong Guy syndrome, which meant that they definitely were only beating up a freshmen because that was the most they could actually fight. One point to Technoblade. They also were all at least a solid five inches shorter than him, which Techno would have laughed at if the situation wasn’t so dire. Point two for Technoblade.

Catching himself before letting his wandering mind think up a full five paragraph M.L.A sighted essay to why he could crush these nerds, he decided that two points was enough leverage to still crush these nerds, but with slightly less confidence.

With as much patience as he could, he slowly walked up to the group like a silent lion hunting his soon to be, very dead* (maybe not dead, *slightly bruised) prey. The baby bird, trapped in one of his prey’s chokehold, stared at him like he was a madman. Techno’s objective changed: knock out the dickhead choking a kid.

They stood in a corner, the choker in the middle, the other two blocking off the only escapes and laughing cruelly at the baby bird. Completely distracted.

Techno curled his fist, aiming to punch that asshole’s teeth in or at least break his nose. He starts to run, about five feet away from his target and oh god this is a terrible idea he does fencing not hand to ha-

BAM.

Choker’s nose made a resounding crack and fell back onto the jock on the left. Probably because it’d be ‘too gay’, or whatever, the guy sidesteps and lets a knocked out, nose broken, probably popular kid by comparing his ego to the size of his dick, fall onto the ground

The two awake bullies look between their knocked out friend, then at Techno, then at each other.

“MISS NIIIIHACHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!”

Techno knew they’d call a teacher because they’re cowards but really? Nihachu?

That lady is TERRIFYING what did he do to deserve this.

He let out a long, disappointed ‘bruh’ before with a jolt, remembering the whole reason he punched that jock in the first.

The child.

He doesn’t bother trying to pick up him up because holy hell he’s tall, but pulls one of the kid’s arms over his shoulder, and with his other arm holds their waist and sprints as fast as he can down the hall.

“What the…” murmurs the half dead lump on his back, and while Techno’s surprised his vocal chords aren’t dead? Not even a ‘thank you’? Techno thinks he should start doing charity work at this point.

He continues to run though, because he’s a generous soul, until slowing to open a door that opens the blinding sunlight of the free world outside their prison.

Despite himself, Techno lets his mouth slip into a big enough smile that actually shows his teeth because he just did that. His celebratory moment is cut off though, because the weight on his back suddenly felt even heavier and-

Oh my God the baby bird just fell asleep on me.

Am I a father now?

What do I tell Phil? Does this make him a grandfather?

I can’t just take him home.

What’s stopping you?

Oh my God, I’m a genius.

Techno may be a proclaimed genius, but he is not immune to the inherent propaganda of cute children, so he sets down the kid on the least grimey part of a battered metal bench to get his first proper look at the sleeping giant.

Apart from his injuries (a bleeding nose, bruises forming on his arms, a black eye and a red handprint on his neck) the kid looked… Weird. Techno had subconsciously noticed it while carrying him, but only now the complete oddity of him. His skin from the jaw down was a uniform, warm, dark brown, which was decidedly normal, but his face was… different. Not ugly, no, he looked average, if not perpetually awkward, even in his sleep. The right side of his face was a similar, if not slightly darker tone than the rest of his skin, but where it got weird weird was from the middle of his face and leftward, his face was pale. As pale as Techno, which is saying something because Techno himself has albinism; he has no melanin in his skin.

He found himself sympathizing for the kid again. Techno himself got bullied for his reddish eyes - a symptom of his albinism, and his naturally stark-white skin and hair. It got to the point that he dyed his hair pink, which decidedly made it worse because a guy dying his hair pink ? apparently high school treason to both students and the school rules. His bullies had a colourful range of insults, at least; Techno’s personal favourites being from after he died his hair: homophobic slurs. The teachers had constant complaints and even a couple suspensions, which didn’t stop Techno, obviously. What a wonder public school is.

So yes, Techno understood the baby bird, because despite Techno’s only weakness being himself (and apparently non-threatening freshmen?) as of now, it wasn’t like he came out of the womb a scary pink haired senior. He knew bullying like the hair dye aisle at his local department store.

He knew that helping the kid would make him more attached to the point of no return, but he’d accepted it. It felt like feeding a wild animal more food after making the mistake the first time, it’s not like it’ll get less annoying to have it following you around.

The moment Techno processed his own thought, his face blanched - somehow getting whiter despite literally being the textbook definition of a white boy.

He’d fallen into the ‘senior adopting a defenseless freshmen’ trap.

Shit.

Even more embarrassingly, this didn't deter Techno from pulling his first aid kit, for once his anxious over-packing doing some good.

-

acording to tumblr statistics, only a small percentage of people who like the post actually reblog it. so if you liked it, give it a reblog! it takes five seconds and you can always delete the reblog later.

[feiwelinchen]

How Tsukishima would react when you bring home a kitten

Tsukishima Kei x reader (I’m not sure I’m using pronouns, but I wrote it for a f!reader)

Warnings: angst, Tsuki is an idiot; this is my first post, so I don’t know what else I should warn you about; English is not my first language; copy pasted it from Word, sorry if the layout or such is messed up.

Word Count: 2k

I upload it on ao3 as well. Please don’t repost. Reblogs and comments appreciated

I don’t own Haikyuu or the characters

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

You heard the click of the lock just before the front door opened and closed. Then the rattle of keys hitting the glass of the bowl by the door.

"I'm home." Tsukishima's voice rang through the apartment. He furrowed his brow when there was no answer. Your shoes were in the small genkan; you should be home. "I said I'm home!" He repeated himself; it wasn't like you not to answer. Tsukishima entered the light living room.

And there you were, sitting on the couch, hunched over and looking absolutely guilt-ridden.

"What did you do?", Tsukishima's annoyance was clear as day. He knew that look on your face. It was the exact look you had that day you broke his favourite dinosaur cup. The same look, when you ate all the strawberry chocolate while on your period, the particular look you wore the day you confessed to him.

 You were still in high school back then, but you had known Tsukishima Kei for a few years already since you have been seated next to him on your first day in middle school. He became your friend first, but after a year of friendship, he became your first love. Your only love, for that matter. You kept it quiet, though. You knew how he could be and how this revelation might alter your dynamic. So you kept your mouth shut as long as you could. But at the end of your second year at Karasuno, you couldn't keep it in any longer. You met him on the rooftop, and he stopped the moment he saw you. Your face was tilted to the left, your lower lip between your left canines. Your brows were ever so slightly furrowed, with your tear trimmed eyes looking upwards directly into his soul.

"Even though this might destroy our friendship", you started, "even though you might never talk to me again after that."

"I-", Tsukishima starts but was immediately interrupted.

"Please." You stammered. "Let me finish before I lose my courage and become the coward I am again."

"You're not a coward.", his voice was stern.

"Tsuki. Please." And to your surprise, he kept his mouth shut. "Even… even though you will probably laugh at me or make fun of me or whatever… I have to tell you because I can't anymore." You took a deep breath. "Tsukishima Kei." He straightened at his full name. "I'm in love with you. And I have been for four years already. And I know you don't like me like that, and that's fine. I don't expect anything, and I really want to stay friends. But if you can't, I understand. I just… needed you to know. I needed you to know how I feel." Your facial expression hadn't changed throughout all of this. "You can say something now, Tsuki." Your mumble barely reached him. "Please say something.", you pleaded after a few more moments of deafening silence.

"I knew you were dense, but wow," Tsukishima smirked. "And a good actress, I might add. Four years. Really? That's an awfully long time for a teen crush. And I would know. So how about we go to your place and talk about how utterly simple-minded you must be not to pick up any signal I send you over the last five years, huh?" At that, you perked up. "I was watching you closely, but you never gave anything away. Not once did you give me any indication you might like me more than just a friend. I'm honestly a bit impressed by all of that. Why the heck did you wait so long?"

"I didn't want to ruin our friendship", you mumbled.

"Yeah, well. Congrats. You will get upgraded to girlfriend anyway. Now come. If we hurry, we can get some strawberry shortcake from the bakery on our way." He turned around and left, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart and force the blush on his cheeks to vanish with sheer willpower.

 He would never admit it out loud, but this look of yours, this very facial expression: Head tilted to the left, bottom lip between your left canines and eyebrows slightly furrowed, this was his favourite demeanour of yours, for it brought him back to the day on the rooftop. When his heart had been beating faster and louder than anything. When you confessed and put an end to his silent misery. When you became his, and he became yours.

So when you were sitting there, all guilt-ridden and lovely, he had to fight down his smile and the blush creeping its way onto his cheeks – just like all those years ago. Just like always when you looked like that. He knew he wouldn't like what was to come, but still, he knew this wouldn't be too bad – nothing could.

"What did you do?" He repeated with an annoyance laced voice. "Just get it over with."

You didn't answer but slowly lifted your hands and a tiny fluffy looking kitten with them. A high pitch mewl escaped the small pink mouth of the little black furball.

"Did you… did you buy a cat?" Tsukishima asked, utterly perplexed. He had some ideas about what you could have done. Getting a cat without even asking was not one of them.

"He is so cute. I was at Yachi's –"

"Was it her idea?" He butted in, in a frighteningly calm voice.

"We were just looking at the shelter's website, and then I saw him, and I immediately fell in love with him and I… I just got him." You cradled the kitten in your arm, and he nuzzled your hand.

"And you didn't think of asking first?" Tsukishima's voice cracked a bit. His temper was coming out.

"You would have said no."

"Of course, I would have said no!" His speech got louder. "We can't have a cat. We're living in an apartment!"

"I talked to the landlord. Cats are ok!" You stated quickly. Hoping to bring some peace to his mind. Unfortunately, quite the opposite was the case.

"So you called the landlord, but not your boyfriend, who will have to live with your decision and should get a say in what kind of animal he is sharing his home with?"

The sound of his voice scared the black cat. He jumped out of your arms, looking for protection under the TV cabinet.

"Kei! You're scaring him!" You fell to your knees, trying to coax the small feline out of his hiding spot. But nothing worked, and the little one stayed put in his place.

"Get dressed and pack him up; we are bringing him back." That was all he said before vanishing in the bathroom.

It took nearly half an hour for the little furball to come out from under the TV. The whole time you pleaded with your boyfriend to just let you keep him, but Tsukishima didn't budge.

"If I wanted a cat, I would have brought it up with you, and we would have talked about it and made a decision together. You know we are supposed to make these kinds of decisions as a couple and not solo, right?" He snarled while fastening his seatbelt. "And stop heaving like a brat. What did you think would happen?" He asked. "That I would come home finding a cat in my living room and instantly fall in love with it?"

"Kind of… yeah." You mumbled, stroking the soft fur between the ears of the kitten in your lap. He purred heavily, not knowing what was happening around him.

"Do you even know me? When did I ever fall instantly in love with anything?"

"You instantly fell in love with me!" You retorted.

"I should never have told you that."

The car ride was silent, apart from your sniffles and the mewls of the cat that desperately tried to cheer you up by licking your nimble fingers and purring his heart out.

Tsukishima, at one point, tried to take one of your hands – to hold it like he always did while driving – but you slapped him away.

"Did you name him already?" He asked after a few more minutes with both hands on the steering wheel.

You shook your head.

"Good. That will make it easier."

 He pulled the car into the parking lot of the shelter. It was just before closing. Tsukishima was lucky – you were not.

He looked at the animal shelter and then back at you. You stared at him.

"Kei… please…"

Tsukishima swiped away a stray tear with his thumb and held your face. "Come on. They are closing soon."

He got out of the car, walked around it and opened your door – something he usually wouldn't do, but Tsukishima knew what had to be done to get you out of the car. You left with the kitten pressed to your chest.

You were waiting in the entrance room of the animal shelter. An employee said she would be with you shortly and scurried away. Tsukishima looked around and read a few posters and flyers while he waited. His glance drifted to you every once in a while, observing your interactions with the cat in your arms. He watched how you kissed the little furry head and scratched the tiny chin, and he saw the pink tongue licking your fingers. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up while doing so, before shifting his focus back to his flyer.

"Sorry for the wait.", the blonde employee was back. "How can I help you with?"

Tsukishima was at the counter in no time. "My girlfriend adopted this kitten today." He motioned in your direction and waved you over. "And…" He watched you walking towards him and spotted new tears in your eyes. He took a deep breath.

"Oh no. Is your partner allergic?" The employee immediately inquired.

"No… That's not it." Tsukishima said. "I… We…" He looked at you again, then at the kitten in your arms. His eyes fell down to the flyer still in his hands. "Well… this flyer says house cats should better not be raised alone. So we are here to get another cat. Preferably one he gets along with." He pointed at the cat.

It took Tsukishima less than 2 minutes to decide on a red male kitten from the same litter, who climbed up his leg the very moment Tsukishima set foot into the enclosure.

 You were sitting in the car while your wonderful, lovely, and absolutely adorable boyfriend was driving. Two little cats cuddled into each other and sleeping on your lap. You grinned at him.

"Be glad I love you so much, dumbass." He said drily.

"I am, Kei. I love you." You answered and took his hand.

"You're an idiot."

"But I am your idiot." You planted a kiss on the back of his hand, which made him smile.

"We still need names.", he said after a while.

"Ok… How about Hinata for the red one and Kageyama for the black one?"

"We are not naming our cats after my former teammates, especially not after that hyperactive moron Hinata Shoyo, nor his Highness King Kageyama Tobio!" Tsukishima warned you.

"What?" Your eyes were blown wide. "But I thought you chose him because he looked so much like Chibi-chan."

"Absolutely not! And he does not look like that Ginger."

"… well… he does, though."

"He does not, or I turn around, and we return both!" He threatened.

 A week later, you came back from the grocery store when you found your boyfriend on the couch with two sleeping kittens on his chest. You quickly snapped a couple of photos.

"If anyone ever sees these, I'm renaming them to Ankylosaurus and Iguanodon! Are we clear?" He warned you with a dangerous sparkle in his eyes – one that promised much more later on.

"Crystal clear, Tsukki-poo."

He growled at the nickname. But everything was forgiven and forgotten when he saw the strawberries you bought to bake him some shortcake the next day.