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willowser · 5 months

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now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to.

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress.

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought.

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek.

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon.

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

#i was so nervous about getting the quirk right kahfkahf #and then i was so nervous about it being fluffy enough bc the first draft of this was too angsty ??#SO I REWROTE IT LOL #i hope this is okay !! 🥺#i love the idea of bakugou being able to express how he feels in emotion only #that the fear he doesn't know how to name or how to explain or understand is conveyed to you somehow #whenever he touches you #🥺#tysm for giving me the chance to write it !!!#literally no but seriously you're the only reason i haven't privated this blog again LMAOOO tysm 🥺#✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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canisalbus · 3 months

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I also followed for the silly dog boyfriend shenanigans and was genuinely shocked when Seperation didn't end with them running away to live in the Italian countryside together

#hah! sorry #I hope you weren't too put off #I tried to warn that it would be angsty #anonymous #answered #fic Separation #brb running away to live in the italian countryside

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factual-fantasy · 2 years

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(Part 1) 😈 I should have never been given the power to draw.

#submas #submas angst #Subway Masters #ingo and emmet #Ingo you don't feel ill all of the sudden #that's just called an anxiety attack #Although I am happy with how this comic came out visually #I am worried that I strayed too far from the cannon characters #considering I've never played legends arceus #This could be super out of character for ingo #I know that this is actually a very fanon interpretation of lady sneasler..#and I worry that this comic is just me being stupidly indulgent with angst and what not...#this comic took a VERY long time for me to make #and I hope that my efforts were worth it #in that it was deliciously angsty #but also didn't feel that far disconnected from the original characters

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orykorioart · 8 months

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TAZ Sapphic Week Day 5: Haunted

Couldn’t finish what I originally scheduled for day 5 (so itll have to be pushed back), but I still wanted to have something. So let’s have a quick experimental Lureen (if that is the ship name?) angst! Because that little scene in the GN really got me 😔✌️.

#i suppose this could also be interpreted as Lupcretia #Bc the ghostly figure is intentionally vague and distorted. So it’s up to your interpretation!#This... feels too angsty for Sapphic week. I’m sorry yall. Next days will be very cute dont worry #but then again the bingo does include Betrayal and Haunted. which are ripe for angst #taz sapphic week #taz #the adventure zone #tazb #taz balance #lucretia #maureen miller #anw. I had fun doing this. now back into my internship report woo (crying)#hopefully i will have time before i go to sleep to finish more for day 6 & 7 #also I hope the ID is okay - I’m not sure how I would best describe whatever this is #is Impressionistic even the right Art Movement. Its been three years since I touched that stuff.

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ninyard · 14 days

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"if you can't figure it out by now, then i don't have anything else to tell you."

This would be perfect for Andrew to say to Neil

“If you can’t figure it out by now, then I don’t have anything else to tell you,”

(aka an Andreil “what are we?” conversation.)

“Allison hasn’t stopped calling you my boyfriend since we got back from the cabins.” Neil was sat parallel to Andrew with his arms wrapped around his knees in a meagre attempt at keeping warm, next to Andrew’s outstretched legs. The air on the roof of the dorms was crisp with a fresh Spring breeze, the wind swirling debris in little whirls around them. “I haven’t told her to stop, but I will if it bothers you. ”

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about for the last twenty minutes?” Andrew asked, a rhetorical air to the question he didn’t really want answered at all. The smoke that left his lips disappeared quickly in the wind, miraculous that his cigarette was still burning. He brought it back up to his lips and inhaled before turning to look at Neil. He didn’t say anything, and his bored gaze didn’t say much either.

“It’s Allison.” Neil settled for, as if it were explanation enough. He sat up straight to match Andrew’s eye-line. “It’ll catch on.”

Andrew regarded Neil for only a second longer before turning back towards the view in front. “She has never strayed far from being a tabloid princess. It’s nothing more than front page news to her.”

“I told you she was betting on us,” Neil said, but Andrew held up a finger to stop him. “What?”

“Their poor choices in gambling are not my business.” He said, stubbing out the finished cigarette next to him and flicking the butt over the edge. His hands found rest in his lap, interlaced into each other. “They chose a horse in a race and think that they’ve won. I don’t care.”

“Tell me to ask her to stop, then.” Neil looked away as well, arms crossed over his chest, close to asking Andrew to go inside. They could talk in their dorm, except for the fact that Kevin had surprisingly invited Matt over to discuss his playing strategy, and this was not the kind of conversation Neil wanted to have with company. They could speak in German; but he’d made a conscious effort to speak in English in front of his teammates since he promised not to keep secrets from them anymore. “Say the word and I’ll tell her, because I don’t care.”

“Evidently not.” Andrew said. “Why bring it up if you didn’t?”

“Well, does it?” Neil didn’t want to indulge in his desire to dodge his questions by changing the subject. “Bother you, I mean.”

“Irrelevant bullshit doesn’t bother me.” Andrew pedantically emphasised the word bother with quotation marks in the air. “You’re asking stupid questions.”

“Valid questions.” Neil corrected.

“Needless questions.”

Neil sighed and extended his legs. He had to brush the hair from out of his eyes to look over at Andrew, reminding himself that he needed a haircut. “I’ll tell her to stop, then.”

“That is not what I said.” Andrew brushed him off with a wave of his hand.

“So are you my boyfriend?” Neil wasn’t sure why he cared so much, or if he even cared at all, because he knew in truth he would never go out of his way to call Andrew his boyfriend anyway. But in some ways it felt important to understand what was really happening, and how exclusive was their nothing? In his own mind, never to be spoken aloud, did Andrew even believe that they were a thing?

Andrew looked at him, his gaze falling from the top of Neil’s head to the bottom of his chest and back up again. He tilted his head, and landed on Neil’s eyes. After a small inhale, he nodded forward, “No.”

Even expecting it, even knowing that was what he was always going to say, it still felt like a surprise punch to his stomach. That’s what Andrew had done to him, he’d turned him soft, he’d turned him into someone with an interest in normality. He’d turned him into someone who longed for a boyfriend and a life, a home, a future, even if his stomach twisted at the thought.

He pushed down the tiny feeling of disappointment that radiated through his gut, and smiled, “Okay.” Andrew didn’t look away, but he remained silent, and Neil filled the space with a question he knew he shouldn’t ask, but had to ask anyways, “So what are we?”

“You are living inside a movie.” Andrew didn’t laugh, but Neil was sure that the desire to was buried somewhere beneath his stoic expression. “Is that how far removed you’ve become in your freedom, that you think that is something you have to ask me?” He shuffled himself over so he was better facing Neil, and he glanced between his eyes. “We are nothing.”

“A truth?” Neil tested.

“Fuck off,” Andrew poked Neil’s chest hard enough to hurt. “That is the truth.”

“So I’ll tell Allison to stop.” Neil’s head bowed in an over exaggerated nod of understanding. “I’ll tell her that you are not my boyfriend, and you don’t want to be called that. I’ll tell her you said that.”

“I hope that is not supposed to be a threat.” Neil had hoped his response would be more telling, but Andrew continued with, “Would you like to be called my boyfriend?” His tone was less inquisitive than it was mocking, the slightest grimace in his face telling Neil that he hated even saying it.

“I don’t know.” Neil reached a hand out towards Andrew, pausing for a silent glance of approval from him before he placed it on his chest, playing with the strings of the black hoodie he wore. “I’m mostly tired of not knowing what I mean to you.” Andrew’s expression hardened into something resembling annoyance as he continued to speak. “I’m not asking you to call me your boyfriend, okay? I just want to know if you‘re going to meet another guy, and think it’s okay to get him off, because we’re not together.”

Andrew didn’t move to reciprocate the touch Neil had given him, but raised an eyebrow at the hypothetical. “It sounds like it would be a problem for you if I did.”

Neil matched his stare and coolness in his response, “And what if it is?”

“This is an entirely unproductive conversation to have,” Andrew rested a wrist on Neil’s shoulder and brushed a piece of hair back behind his neck. A small but meaningful gesture that perhaps was given in lieu of ensuring Neil that his example would never happen. “I will not give you the pleasure of reassurance. If you haven’t figured it out by now, then I don’t have anything else to tell you.”

“How can I figure it out, when you keep telling me it doesn’t exist?” Neil’s voice was low, and Andrew’s sigh meant he heard the gentleness in it. He heard the way Neil hadn’t meant to sound so pleading, the words leaving his lips in such a way that felt like a desperate whisper for answers. “I want to hear you say it.”

Andrew looked down at the hair by Neil’s neck. “You know that I won’t.”

“Then tell me that we’re not just fucking for fun.”

Andrew dropped his hand and pushed Neil off, seemingly thrown by his bluntness. His laugh was a single short breath, not a semblance of a smile or humour in it. He shook his head as he took a cigarette from the packet he’d pulled from his pocket. Once the cigarette was placed between his lips, he stopped with the lighter a few inches away from his face, pointing the fire starter at Neil. “Well, we’re certainly not fucking for love.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Neil watched as he struggled to ignite the lighter, hand cupped around the flame, the wind set on blowing it out. After the third unsuccessful try, Neil reached forward to help him shield it with both his hands, until three short puffs in from Andrew told him it was lit. Andrew leaned back and exhaled. He watched as Neil pulled his hands away.

“You want to know if I’m going to get bored of you, then.” He said through smoke. Andrew adjusted himself to tuck one of his legs beneath the other, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You want to know if I have feelings, is that it?”

Neil shrugged his shoulders and looked at his hands. “Maybe.”

Neil listened as Andrew let out another smoky exhale. He cleared his throat, and when Neil thought he might speak, he instead filled his lungs again. There was no need to flick off the ash as the wind did that job for him, but from instinct he did it anyway. He let out another humourless laugh, two short puffs following in order to keep the stick lit. Andrew was not looking at Neil as he lifted his eyes to watch him, Andrew’s hazel gaze fixed on something in the distance. Using the thumb and index finger of his free hand he wiped the sides of his lips, tensing his jaw like the words took it out of him just to say. “Fuck you for even asking.”

The tug in Neil’s chest was impossible to ignore. It felt wrong to hear Andrew’s voice wrapped around those words, words that separately read like an insult, yet meant something different to their original form when he uttered them. Like watching a fish out of water, like listening to a mime sing; to have these moments of vulnerability from Andrew were as beautiful as they were rare. He hadn’t intended to steer their conversation to the place where it had landed, and part of him felt guilty as he watched Andrew silently struggle through the side of himself he swore did not exist. The side of Andrew that kept itself buried six feet below, hidden from anyone who asked, except for Neil, who’d been digging a hole for months trying to find it.

“When you put a name to something it gives it permanency, yet an opportunity to end,” Andrew sat up and moved closer to Neil, finding his position with one knee in between his legs, sitting back on a spot on the lower half of Neil’s thigh. He threw the cigarette somewhere behind him as he settled. Taking Neil’s hair into his fists, he examined the look on his face with his lips slightly pursed. He considered his words and took one hand out of Neil’s hair to hold his chin up, making sure he was listening. “You label it however you wish. I will not. Do you understand?”

Neil nodded, afraid to speak, as if any words insufficient would cause Andrew to change his mind about where he rested his body weight. It was reassurance enough that he’d found his way there, and that he remained, comfortable by his own volition.

“And for the record, Abram,” Andrew leaned in close, wisps of his hair tickling Neil’s face, his breath hot as he left a gentle kiss on his jawline. Neil shut his eyes and breathed in the moment, hiding his fists in the pocket of Andrew’s hoodie. “To answer the question you so annoyingly want answered,” He left another kiss higher up on his jaw, brushing his lip against his ear lobe as he moved, slowly, so gently Neil was both afraid he would fall apart, or that he would be able to feel his quickly beating heart through his skin. The hand that had sat in his hair moved to cup the opposite side of his face, the other tucking Neil’s hair behind his ear and holding him by his neck. Neil couldn’t help but shiver as he whispered in his ear, “I will not be fucking anyone else, and I am not just fucking you for fun. Happy?”

Neil nodded as he turned into his lips, melting into the kiss that warmed him up as the wind persisted. His hands pulled out of the hoodie pocket, and he tapped Andrew’s neck for permission to hold him. When Andrew hummed with a barely there nod, he hooked his hands around the back of his neck and pulled him closer.

There were a million things Neil could label Andrew;

Terrifying but caring. Gentle while violent.

Beautiful, like something that deserved to be hung on a wall, yet so precious Neil wished nobody else could see.

Rough. Jagged.

Talented. Human.

Misunderstood, perhaps. Genuine, most of the time.

When he thought about Andrew, there were a million things he could identify him as before landing on Neil’s boyfriend.

He would not tell Allison to stop, nor correct Nicky when he joined in. He would not say it out loud, either, as if their nothing that is something was so sacred it couldn’t be uttered. It was a relief of course to know that Andrew was his, and though he felt embarrassment rush through his blood at the idea of it, he was certain that what they had both found in each other was glaringly rare and hauntingly perfect. He noticed how perfect they fit together in each others space, lips on lips, hands on skin, and wondered how he ever doubted this was it; that this was real.

He was sure that no one else could experience such a thing.

#this got a little too long but I could keep going #the prompt is supposed to be angsty but <3 look at these two <3 #look at how they love each other #I hope this is okay! I hope you enjoy!#I love these funky little guys #Neil josten #Andrew minyard #aftg #all for the game #andreil #andreil fic

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caelanglang · 2 years

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Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship across alternate universes (part 2)

once more it’s me doing style and coloring exploration with soukoku as my muses once more, thank yall for the kind words from part one they gave me a lot of strength and motivation for part two <3

In an alternate universe they are…

Powerful cultivators from the Port Mafia sect: the Young Master, Dazai Osamu, and his right hand man Gravity Cultivator, Nakahara Chuuya. But after Nakahara’s sudden disappearance, and Dazai turning into the first ever demonic cultivator, the whole sect fell into chaos. Banished from the realm of martial arts, the grandmaster of demonic cultivation and his demonic familiar now wander across the five realms as cultivation partners known as Double Black. (Danmei cultivator setting level of angst and adventure)

“You can’t… you can’t be with me, the demonic energy around me is too much for a human body… you can’t stay with me, Dazai.”

“Chuuya, we both know that I’m way too inhuman to be affected by your energy.”

“Dammit, Dazai! Thanks to the cursed blood running in my veins— I am now at the brink of awakening into a mindless demon, and you’re still here prattling about your nonsense! Your body is just as fragile as a mortal one— no cultivator has ever withstood a demonic awakening!”

“Then I’ll just have to be the first one.” The bandaged man grinned smugly, as if he were talking about being the victor of a competition. “I’ll be the first ever demonic cultivator of the realm and turn you into my dog familiar!”

“You’ll get yourself banished, young master.” The fiery-haired man spat out the last words like venom in his mouth. They both know the weight of those words. “The whole realm will turn against you.”

“I’ll get us banished, and the whole realm will turn against me and my dog.” Dazai corrected. “Which is perfect to me because annoying you will always be better than dealing with the responsibilities those self-righteous cultivators always throw at me.”

They both looked at each other for a moment; a tense silence hung in the air that was only broken by a defeated sigh. “I’m never getting rid of you now, am I…”

The bandaged face cracks into a sincere smile. “Never.”

In another,

They were once roommates and academic rivals in law school. Bringing such enmity to their careers as professional lawyers, their court sessions would always shake the entire courthouse. Everyone knows how much Prosecutor Nakahara Chuuya, the guard dog of justice, hates Defense Attorney Dazai Osamu, the demon prodigy who would do anything to get a not guilty verdict. But only Chuuya knows that after the death of Dazai’s friend, Detective Oda Sakunosuke, during the Mimic Case he was handling, something about Dazai had changed. He no longer took up clients who were guilty; no longer forged evidence or bribed officials. Instead, he took up innocent clients that seemed too impossible to defend; he took the side that truly saves people. And deep down they both knew that they were partners in the pursuit of the truth with every case they took. (Whoooop it’s the ace attorney au for me)

“Chuuuuyyyaaaaaa~”

“What do you want from me, you bandage-waste-of-space?”

“I want you to take up the Weretiger Case.” A pause. “It has to be you.” A whisper.

The teasing atmosphere took a serious turn. “What about this case? You’re gonna be defending Nakajima Atsushi?! You idiot, all the evidence and testimonies point to him!”

“That’s the point, slug.” The man in a blue suit says as he lightly pokes at the shorter man’s forehead, earning a slap directed at his hand, which he quickly dodged. “Atsushi-kun is innocent, but all the evidence and testimonies say he’s guilty.”

Which is why I need you to be the prosecutor of this case, was left unsaid but understood by the other.

The prosecutor scrunched up his nose, unsatisfied by the explanation. “There are other prosecutors skilled enough to investigate this on a deeper level. Stop putting more work on my plate. I’ve been going overtime more often these days, just so you know.”

“Aw~ come on, you always go overtime, Chuuya.” Dazai grins, but something clouds over his eyes as he continues. “The headmaster of Atsushi-kun’s orphanage was the one who filed the case. Funny enough, he’s also the very same man who ‘went out for drinks’ with multiple people involved in this case.” His voice lowered, “At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the actual culprit behind the crime he’s filed against my client.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened. Back then, before Dazai changed for the better, he would always hurl the insult of ‘going out for a drink’ at Dazai for his dirty ways. They both know the meaning behind those words. He hates to admit it, but knowing the man in front of him for nearly a decade, he knows just how important this request is for Dazai to use that term.

“…… Fine, I’ll take that case.” He grumbles, trying to ignore the twisting feeling inside his chest as he sees the taller man beam at him. “If you don’t get that not-guilty verdict, I’m whacking your head with all the court records I’ll be gathering from my investigation!”

“Gotcha~ my dearest prosecutor!” Dazai winks. Smiling at his rival in court; his partner in pursuing the truth.

In yet another,

They were children who would never reach adulthood, and perhaps it was better that way. Despite being born into different eras, having lived different lives and dying different deaths, they had one thing in common: their fate to roam the land of the living as lost souls, barred from passing through the gates to the afterlife. But that’s alright; they didn’t mind being ghosts. To watch different kinds of sunsets as they fly through the sky; to pull different kinds of pranks on the living; to watch the changes of the world like how the living does with the changes of seasons—for the rest of eternity…... as long as they have each other to annoy and look out for nothing else seems to matter… (Summer Ghost and Harry Styles’ Two Ghost inspired I’m sorry not sorry)

“Oi, Dazai… I wanna ask you something, but I dunno if it’ll remind you of the time when you were still alive…”

The boy wrapped in bandages hums in response, letting the wind envelope his thin frame—a tiny speck in contrast to the clouds around him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of watching sunsets? I mean, I get that they’re all beautiful and unique but… we’ve been watching them for hundreds of years…” Everyday for the past centuries since they’ve known each other, Dazai would, without fail, drag him to the sky just to watch the setting sun. Chuuya always looked forward to it, but today his curiosity finally got the better of him.

Dazai glances over to his companion; something inside him itches to lie his way out of this. But after being together for centuries, wandering as lost souls around the world, Chuuya had long mastered the art of recognizing his lies. He smiles softly as he drifts closer to the other. “Chuuya will you ever get tired of me?”

The answer was as natural and as definitive as the sun’s movements. “No. But that’s not the answer to my question.” The ginger haired boy rolls his eyes, “Look, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine.”

“I’m dead and have been so for centuries, Chuuya; nothing really matters at this point.” Dazai chuckles, “Just like how you’ll never get tired of me. I’ll never get tired of sunsets.”

A pair of bandaged arms gestures to the sky. “Look, when the sky is azure, they are like your eyes. When the sun starts to set, it goes pink like your cheeks, then goes orange like your hair, then goes red like your lips.” Brown eyes twinkle as he speaks, “then it goes purple and blue, like the bruises you hide under your sleeves; and then when night falls it the sky becomes decorated with stars like how freckles decorate your cheeks.

“Yes, sunsets are always beautiful and always unique; one could argue that many things in nature are like that. But, we’ve both seen how forests can burn down, and seas can dry up; mountains can collapse, and glaciers can melt.” Dazai turns to look at the other boy gaping at him, his own voice laced with fondness. “But sunsets are a constant in this world. And you know what else is constant in my world that the setting sun reminds me of?”

They both know the answer to that.

Chuuya stares back at the chocolate-haired boy. A feeling started growing inside his chest; he wasn’t sure what word could describe its movement. Twisting? Aching? Blooming? Beating? Oh, it’s beating. “... Y’know… if I were still alive, I’m sure my heart would be beating real fast at your words.”

“Whoa, Chuuya still remembers what a beating heart feels like?” Dazai marvels, a childlike wonder spreads across his face. “You died waaaay earlier than me, but you remember it better than me. Unfair~”

“Tch, just you wait, idiot Dazai! I’ll make sure that you remember how it feels like to have a heartbeat.” Chuuya huffed, the sunset light dyeing his cheeks pink. “So that you’ll experience what I felt when you said all that to me!”

Laughter like the sound of tiny bells echo across the clouds. They’re just two ghosts… trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.

In a mundane one,

They were teenagers with a passion for music. Spending all the time they had messing around with instruments and lyrical word plays, they were later on scouted by big companies who recognized their talents. Debuting with a hit single and a record breaking album, they became known as the musical duo “Double Black”. They’ve always been known for their catchy songs about life and reasons to live, about corruption and sorrow, about the world and humans… And so it was a shock for the whole industry to witness them dropping an album with over thirty different love songs dedicated to ‘the love of their lives’ which they never once mentioned. (They only realized they were in love when they started writing about love, and it’s hilarious because they’ve been each other’s muse after all this time without realizing it)

“This is actually a really good love song.” It was rare for Chuuya to give an honest and straightforward compliment to Dazai; they both always prefer to stab each other with criticism after all. “Who did you write it for?”

Dazai stares blankly at the shorter boy in front of him. Brown eyes blinking slowly at him. “Who do you think I wrote it for?” He answers with a question.

Ginger curls frame a frowning face. “Dunno. I’m not the scheming bastard between the two of us, mackerel.”

“Well…… The title is ‘Sunset Man’... Who do you think is this sunset man, Chuuya?” Each word leaves Dazai’s mouth slowly and carefully, like he’s taming a wild beast approaching him.

Perhaps Chuuya lost his patience, or maybe he’s just too tired today to bother with this. He gives up his pursuit, muttering as he turns away from the other boy. “Whatever. Keep your muse to yourself. I just asked since you never wrote a love song before. But do bring that piece when we meet with our manager next time.”

He misses the frustrated face Dazai makes from the couch as he starts busying himself with dinner preparations. Ignoring the bugging feeling he gets for not knowing who inspired that Dazai to write something so sickeningly sweet and romantic. “A love song is a good change of pace though,” he forces out, trying to distract himself from his feelings. “We better start brainstorming concepts for our next album, maybe we can include that one if we get approval.”

Chuuya’s words were followed by a loud thud on the floor.

“Oi, what’s wrong?” He turned back to see Dazai on the floor, groaning miserably, covering his face with both hands. “I swear if you hit your head and get even dumber than you are now, I’m kicking you out of this place.” Is what he says as he hurries over to the fallen mackerel, just to double-check if the fall was serious or not.

“Chuuya!” Dazai sits up all of a sudden, with a face that’s slightly flushed. “I’m gonna write another love song!”

“???” Chuuya was startled. “Okay?? Go ahead?? Whatever makes you happy??”

“The title…” Dazai looks at him directly in the eyes, wearing an extremely serious expression that further puzzles Chuuya. “is called ‘Idiots to Lovers, Slow-burn at the speed of 220k words’ what do you think?”

Chuuya smacks Dazai’s head at this, forgetting the latter’s fall from the couch just moments ago. “I knew it, you dramatic idiot! You were reading those cringey fanfics about us on the internet again, weren’t you! Stop rotting in fanfictions and start writing songs already!”

“But they serve as good inspiration for me~” The brown-haired musician whines. “Do you think someone who’s too busy babying a chibi dog has the chance to experience something romantic enough to write a song like ‘Sunset Man’?”

“Who’s babying who you whiny bastard!?” The other musician retorts, once more ignoring the feeling of relief that washes over him knowing that Dazai was using cringe works of fiction as inspiration for his love song instead of an actual muse—no, he is definitely not relieved by this piece of information, nor did he feel any better with the fact that said works of fictions are about them written in the twisted perspectives and assumptions of their fanbase about his professional relationship with Dazai. He definitely is not—

“Chuuya~” Dazai cuts his thoughts with a teasing voice, “wanna see who writes a better love song between the two of us?”

Mischief and signs of scheming flash in his brown eyes, Chuuya’s heart skips a beat at the challenge.

“Bring it on, mackerel. I’m gonna compose love songs that are so sickeningly romantic that they’d make yours look like a cheesy pile of lyrics and notes.”

“The game is on, my chibi.” My muse.

In which two musicians decided to write love songs as a competition. Only to realize how easily it comes for them to do so, only to realize that they had a muse to always write about and associate love songs with, only to realize that somewhere along the lines of music that they’ve been in love with each other since a long time ago.

And in one other universe…and galaxy,

They grew up and trained together as space rangers, but time had warped their relationship into something as astronomical and as twisted and as dense as the celestial bodies in the galaxy. After years of turmoil, they’re finally reunited under the blaring emergency lights of a spacecraft—not as space rangers, but one as the emperor of the galaxy and the other as the general commander of the galactic fleet. (did y’all know that Dazai’s voice actor also voiced for Reinhard from The Legend of the Galactic Heroes, and guess what else do they have in common?? thEY BOTH LOVE THEIR RED HEAD RIGHT HAND MAN)

“Dazai. You have to leave. Now.”

“Now, now, Chuuya, that’s a really rude way to greet someone you haven’t met in years.”

“You idiot! Reinforcements are coming, at this rate, you’ll really get assassinated—”

“And get the peaceful death I longed to have? I sure could wait for it—”

“This isn’t the time to be joking, Dazai!” Glaring emergency lights dye the room bloody red, as the general’s grip on the emperor’s collars tighten. “You have to leave before someone else other than me finds you!”

“Chuuya, do you know of the legend about the stars?” Was the calm response to the angry voice. Dazai Osamu was talking as if he wasn’t standing inside a spacecraft that might as well be his coffin. “They say that each star represents a timeline similar to ours. If science were advanced enough, we might be able to get into a different timeline by flying directly into the core of the star.”

“What nonsense are you spouting right now?” Chuuya could hear his own voice shake with emotions he chose to label as anger. They both know that this isn’t the right time for idle talk. But they were once space rangers— fighters who were used to waltzing with death, a duo as unstoppable as a storm, before duties and responsibilities chained them down. This isn’t the first time they have had such moments while at the doors of death.

“I’m sorry I ruined our dream of becoming space cowboys.” The emperor of the galaxy whispered. It was a soft and quiet voice, but to Chuuya it was enough to silence all the blaring noises around them.

“You had promises to keep. I had responsibilities to carry out.” The general commander whispered back. “We both couldn’t let go. Space cowboys and bounty hunts be damned.”

A sad smile twisted its way onto the bandaged face. “And this time, the whole galaxy and duties be damned.”

Sparks of explosions waltz around the spaceship as a small spacecraft escapes into the empty void of space.

Dazai Osamu’s final lie. Nakahara Chuuya’s last promise

“In the next life, or perhaps a universe parallel to ours, let’s be the most legendary space cowboys the galaxy will ever see.”

Somewhere in the galaxy, the core of a star dies—collapsing from the force of gravity, giving birth to a black hole.

In another universe,

Human experiment test subject A5158 did not know if he was an artificial being or if there were really mermaids out there in the vast wild waters. No one bothered to tell him. Until the newest recruit, a young science prodigy, told him that mermaids did exist deep down the oceans. He thought that he was already content with having that knowledge— knowing that he wasn’t a lonely existence in this world. But that sense of contentment was immediately shattered when that very same young scientist, a boy, really, asked him: “Would you like to escape with me and see it for yourself?” (late mermay thingz aksjdhglasg)

A year after their grand escape, in a local town by the sea, sits the humble shack of a young fisherman. The townsfolk who passed by would always sigh and say “What a waste it is for a brilliant mind like him to spend the rest of his days throwing nets over the sea!”

Yet whenever they tried to encourage him to reach for greater heights in the world, the young brunette would simply chuckle and say, “A bird who flies into the skies will never reach the fish that swims into the seas.”

“Oh young man,” they would reply, “but the city is ever changing, and ever growing. Once you see it, surely you won’t miss the boring waters of this lowly town.”

“It’s not the waters that keep me by the sea.” The former scientist replies, “It’s my anchor, that has reached deep under these waters, that keeps me here.” A gentle smile lingers on his lips.

And later that night, he visits the town to distribute his ‘catch’—a variety of fish, many that could only be caught at the heart of the sea. “No way, Dazai-san! These are all extremely hard to catch, how could you just give it to us for free?”

“Don’t sweat on it.” He grins, “They aren’t that hard to catch for me.”

“Now that you say it, I actually haven’t seen you set up your boat to fish for the day. Yet you managed to get so much harvest today?” The townsfolk wondered.

“Well, there are some trade secrets I’d like to keep to myself~” He waves it off as he returns to his cozy shack and is welcomed by a salty splash to the face.

“You went out to get credited for my catch again, you sly mackerel.” A brilliant red tail lazily swims through a passage of water, one that Dazai had built into the shack so that the merman could enter anytime he wished.

“Chuuya~ they loved it! I wanted to make sure that me being a fisherman here would greatly benefit them so that they’d stop trying to convince me to leave for the city and what other nonsense, you should praise me for being smart!”

The merman rolled his eyes as he sighs. “They’re not wrong, though.” He ignores the betrayed gasp the man makes, “Try to live for yourself for once, Dazai.”

“Chuuya, I am living for myself! Can’t you see it? I’m shellfish-ly keeping this wonderful mermaid all to myself~”

“You’re impossible.” Another sigh, this time exasperated with fondness. “Like a damned barnacle sticking to me for the rest of my life.”

Hazel eyes that were once bandaged now shine as a pair as plans for the rest of their lives flash through them like a whirlwind of ideas. “For the rest of our lives.” He agrees.

…📖✍️… (part 1, part 2)

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanart #bsd skk #soukoku #double black #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #alternate universe #art study #bsd dazai osamu #bsd nakahara chuuya #i had fun making these hope you had fun going through them too :3 #their dynamic will always be something special to me 😭#they are partners your honor #part three in coming soon maybe #okay but soukoku in space concepts unlocked something emotional to me idk how to explain #i wanted to make these all angsty but for some reason they all ended up not so angsty???#if you get all the references for these aus you get a cake from me lol #people in part one were reblogging about reading fics about the aus so i tried my best *key word: tried* to write bite size dialogues #please forgive my rustyass writing ;-;#if yall wanna expand on any of these feel free to reblog bc i’s read the heck out of it!!!!!#let me know in the tags which ones are your favs too! owo #my art

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