#thanks for ruining everything with your selfishness :)))

[b14augrana]

Write for Ona Batlle please 🙏🏼

ona appreciation hour 😈 i loved writing this one , lmk if anyone wants a pt. 2 !!

‘Te Espero’ — Ona Batlle

Summary: You and Ona have been best friends since you could talk. After having to play against her and Manchester United, you bump into each other in the changing rooms.

Warnings: Some angst because it’s about damn time

A/N: Ona skips Levante and goes straight to Man Utd. in this fic , this isn’t proofread because I’m too lazy so ignore every error thanks x

Your childhood memories came in vague little snippets, like a broken film reel. You could remember that one afternoon you spent sitting on the curb, your popsicle dripping into your lap as you ate it with your best friend, but you couldn’t remember when you learned to ride a bike.

You remembered the little things that gave you happiness but didn’t really matter. Something that stuck with you consistently and made those little things a bit more memorable was your best friend, Ona.

When you had to leave your hometown and move to Barcelona in order to develop as a footballer in La Masia, Ona was there with you, fulfilling the same dream. She grew up with you, supported you endlessly, and knew everything about you.

Well, not quite everything.

You were very open with her. She knew how to read your emotions like a book and somehow she had the perfect response to them every time. When you were nervous, it was holding your hand and rubbing the top with her thumb. When you were angry, it was squeezing your wrist gently.

However, the one thing it seemed she couldn’t read was love. You were hopelessly in love with her against your will. You never wanted to be, not because she was a bad person to be in love with, but because you didn’t want to ruin the friendship you two had.

You only began to pay attention to the signs when you were a teenager. Seeing her everyday at training started to provoke a funny feeling in your stomach, even though it was a daily occurrence. Despite your best efforts to ignore your emotions for the sake of football and your friendship, you couldn’t help but let it keep you up at night.

When you two entered your senior careers though, things changed. You went on to play for Barcelona Femeni’s first team, whereas she decided to play for an entirely different club, in an entirely different league. When she told you she was transferring to Manchester United, you wanted to beg her to stay, tell her that Barcelona was where she belonged, but the excited look on her face wouldn’t allow that. Instead, you said, “Oh my God, Ona! I’m so happy for you!” and pulled her into the tightest hug you could muster.

“Estoy muy emocionado, (Y/N),” she exclaimed, sitting down on one of the beds in your shared dorm in the academy complex. You hated that deep down, you weren’t as excited as you seemed because she was slipping away. You didn't want to be selfish and hold her back, so you let her go. It was the biggest regret of your life.

As you pursued your career at Barcelona, you couldn't help but find yourself staying up a couple hours after your recommended bedtime to watch a Manchester United match, just to see her, just to jog your memory and make sure you would still be able to remember that smile for years to come. And on the not-so-rare occasion when Aitana would walk in on you in your shared apartment complex and explain that the light was on, you'd say that you were just analysing the game, and she would shake her head the same way she always did when she knew you were lying and say, ¨Sé que la ecas de menos. Yo también.¨

Aitana was the only person you had opened up to about your feelings for Ona. It's not like you were ashamed, but you had known her for many years since you joined La Masia, and she knew you almost as well as Ona. She also missed Ona, but she knew that it was in a different way. It wasn't as deep and akin to grief like you. The poets do say, 'What is grief if not love persevering?' You had hopeless faith in the idea that she would come home. Not home to Barcelona, but home to you, and that's what hurt most.

Season after season and match after match without your left-back proved to be easier as time passed. You were far from over it, but you were coping. As much as you would’ve liked to move to Manchester, Barcelona was your girlhood club. You couldn’t ever imagine leaving, and you wanted to win everything you could with them and retire there… hence why the upcoming UEFA Women’s Champions League was such a big deal for you.

The last few UWCL campaigns for Barcelona didn’t consist of you. In fact, you made the decision to not participate in the squad. It wasn’t management issues or injury, it was just the desire to get as good as you possibly could and prepare for the future, so when you eventually did participate in the UWCL, you would be at your best.

It also gave you an opportunity to collect yourself and relearn how to focus and get back into the flow state that you depended on when playing football. You felt like you didn’t have much control or focus at all since Ona left, which left your mind clouded and your heart heavy. The headlines depicted you as out of form, some of them even resorted to suspecting you of having an injury. You wished it was that simple.

Over the many months your team spent competing in foreign countries and battling it out for the title, you were putting back the pieces of the footballer you once were and temporarily discarding your feelings to prioritise your career. You wanted to lift that trophy more than anything, and it was that burning desire that gave you the strength to move past Ona, at least while it mattered.

From then on, the tournament consumed your life and your schedule. Ona — who still remained as a thought in the back of your mind — barely existed in your head during that period, except for when you were left alone in your hotel room, staring up at the ceiling at an ungodly hour, left with the scariest thing there could be; your own thoughts.

The knockout stages of the UWCL were right around the corner. Eindhoven had treated you well up until now and you were in awe of the Netherlands — even though you had only seen a small bit of the country. The match draws hadn’t yet been announced so you spent most of your time in coffee shops and scenic hikes if you weren’t training. Frido, Ingrid, and Aitana accompanied you the most around town.

When the day of the draws finally came, you and your teammates huddled around the television in Patri’s hotel room. Chelsea vs Rosengård, PSG vs Bayern München, Real Madrid vs Wolfsburg and finally…

Your heart sunk.

Barcelona vs Manchester United.

Aitana’s gaze shifted to you almost immediately. It only took her one glance at your pale-faced expression to know that you weren’t prepared for that draw.

It only lasted a second though, because suddenly you cheered. Everyone else around you was celebrating, and you had dreamt of that moment for so long, it was only suitable. Deep down inside, you were actually excited to come up against Ona. Your team had a winning mentality and you weren’t going to ruin that by getting caught up in your own feelings so yes, you were excited.

You trained day after day in preparation for the first leg of the match and when you finally sunk into bed, you opened Instagram to see your page flooded with news about the fixtures.

‘UEFA Women’s Champions League fixtures: FC Barcelona vs. Manchester United, what to expect from both teams.

Based on both teams’ recent campaigns, it’s easy to tell who has the upper hand in terms of experience and overall performance, and that is Barcelona. They have made it to the knockout stages of the UEFA Women’s Champions League 3 consecutive times, whereas Manchester United haven’t had as much luck.

The big question everyone seems to be asking is, how will these teams line up? Will we finally be able to see (Y/N) (Y/L/N) make her Champions League debut, or will she sit out of the tournament once again?’

You paused and took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the rest of the article. ‘Will she sit out of the tournament once again?’ That annoyed you. You sat out for a reason, you just couldn’t say. It’s not like it was anybody’s business; the world didn’t need to know that the reason was in the other team.

‘…What we do know for certain is that Ona Batlle, Manchester United’s star left-back, will be making an appearance in the starting XI, as said by Marc Skinner, the manager of the women’s team. Batlle emerged from Barcelona’s youth academy and made her senior debut at Manchester United 3 seasons ago, so the upcoming first leg of the semi finals may bring back some memories. Manchester United will use a 4-3-3 false 9 formation for the first leg —”

You switched off your phone and exhaled sharply, grumbling to yourself. Fucking journalists and their nerve. You had better things to do during the group stages, the whole point of you not playing was to get better so you could play in one of the most important stages!

“I need sleep,” you mumbled, turning over and putting your phone on the bedside table. Within moments of shutting your eyes, you were asleep. It didn’t feel like long before you were woken up and forced to go through the same mundane day all over again.

Friday, 7:00 PM. You had no time to register what was happening until you were already in the walkway, shaking out your limbs and the hands of the other team as you lined up. A quick glance over your shoulder alerted you that Ona was all the way at the back of her line, shaking the hand of Irene and conversing with her international teammate.

The stadium was loud. Deafening, even. You could vaguely hear the Barcelona chant being sung and from whatever little vision of the stands you had from the walkway, you could see the famous blaugrana colours everywhere. The atmosphere gave you chills.

When the match officials gave both teams the signal, they filed out of the walkway. The sound of the fans and the music blaring on the speakers rang in your ears ten times louder, and as you walked beneath that archway, everything settled in.

Your team sung your chant, tears threatening to spill from your waterline, proud tears. You watched Sandra hand the banner over to the Manchester United captain and then the handshakes commenced, proceeding down the line of players.

When your hand reached Ona’s, you held it for a bit longer. Her skin was soft, her fingers slender. Your eyes were fixed on your hands until your gaze lifted and met hers; brown eyes staring at you, her lips barely curved upwards. They held a look of uncertainty that made you pull away and hurriedly shake the hand of the next woman in line.

Your squad took their positions on the pitch, and you went to the midfield, awaiting kickoff. You had made the starting XI, and it felt amazing to be back, bossing the midfield alongside Aitana. The whistle blew as loud as ever, and Alexia kicked the ball straight down the middle, landing at your feet. From there, it was all instinctual; it felt like your mind was a spirit of its own as it directed your feet.

Perhaps it wasn’t your mind, but your emotions driving your movements. Maybe it was those waves of sadness that moved your feet and the nostalgia that put your body in front of the ball. Maybe it was simply her presence that made you feel like you had something to prove and everything to lose.

When the whistle was blown 30 minutes into the match and you looked at where the commotion was coming from to see Ona springing up from the ground, arguing with Claudia, you jolted forwards to intervene but a firm grip on your arm tugging you backwards told you to do otherwise. You turned to look at Aitana with furrowed eyebrows, and she shook her head as she muttered, “Déjalo así, no interfieras.”

It was a back and forth match of goals and lobbed balls, and you felt an involuntary wave of relief and happiness when the final whistle blew and the stands erupted in cheers; you had beaten Manchester United 5-2.

Everyone jumped into a group hug, one on top of the other, with Aitana and Claudia flying on top. You happily joined in and celebrated your victory — your cheeks had never hurt more. The lap around the field felt like a millennial as you greeted fans, took photos, signed merchandise and answered questions.

When you finally ventured into the locker rooms, you let out an exasperated sigh as you rolled down your socks and took off your boots. You were thankful for the thinking that led you to packing sandals, and you slipped them on quickly.

The changing room was almost deserted and your conclusion was that everyone hadn’t made it back yet because they were still in the stadium. Alexia and Patri’s bags were stacked on top of each other in the corner and one of Ingrid’s slides was on the other side of the room; thankfully, they hadn’t left.

You sighed and leaned against the wall, processing the events of the match and mulling over every little mistake you had fretted about when at the end, they didn’t matter. You lazily squeezed some water into your mouth and let the bottle clatter onto the bench and out of your hand, and you stayed in your motionless position.

After ages of nobody returning to the changing rooms, you got suspicious and stood up. First you raised your eyebrow, and then you checked your phone to see if you missed any phone calls or texts. Nothing.

You walked towards the door, and you were about to peer around the corner when suddenly you collided with someone else. You expected it to be someone like Aitana or Alexia, but when you saw that it was neither of them, your eyes widened in surprise.

Right there, in front of you, was Ona.

Her bambi eyes were glazed over with tears, her cheeks were damp and flushed pink, her lips were parted and slightly puffy. She looked up at you and then behind you, suddenly realising she was about to stumble into the wrong changing room.

“Lo siento, wrong changing room–” she started, about to turn away, but you reached out for her.

“No, no. Stay with me. Nobody is here,” you replied, beckoning to the empty room. She didn’t move from her spot in the doorway, she didn’t take another step forward or turn away.

When sobs started to erupt from her mouth, you thought something was seriously wrong, which compelled you to bring her into your embrace. Her tears dampened your jersey as she rested her cheek on your shoulder.

“Has jugado tan bien, como siempre,” she said. You rubbed her back gently as you spoke, “Tú también. Manchester te ha estado enseñando bien, ya veo.” She laughed, and it was music to your ears hearing that melodious laugh again.

“I wish we had won today, but we had no chance,” Ona whispered.

There was a short period of silence and the only noises were your synced breaths and her quiet sniffles.

“Come back to Barça, Ona. Come home,” you finally responded. “I miss you while you’re in Manchester. I don’t like that.” She pulled away to look at you as she spoke. “Un día, (Y/N). I promise.”

Her hands slipped from your back and her hips escaped your gentle grasp, but before she could turn around, your words rung through the air — “Te quiero, Ona. Vuelve enseguida.”

She smiled sadly at you, knowing that the words on her tongue were just as heavy as yours were to you, but turned the corner not knowing if it was reciprocated.

“Yo también te quiero.”

#fc barcelona #fc barcelona femeni #fcb femení #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #ona batlle #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagines #x reader #ona battle x reader #woso imagine #football

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Christmas

Feelings become warmer as the weather outside gets colder.

Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Jungkook's ex wife, fluff, flirty Jungkook, fluff!!, smut, Mutual masturbation, my heart is so full

Length: 4k words (oops)

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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If you ask Jungkook what he’d like for Christmas, won’t the surprise be ruined?

Then again, what if he genuinely doesn’t want anything from you for such an intimate occasion? You’re not really the textbook definition of a couple after all, the dreaded ‘L’ word having never been spoken, so maybe that’s moving too quickly too soon.

Maybe just some sweets? But he seems rather conscious about his physique, maybe he won’t eat it because it doesn’t fit his diet or something. Wait, does he even diet? How come you never thought about that?

You whine loudly in your apartment, letting your head fall into your arms on the table as your laptop offers you no advice on what to do these days. Every question that’s similar to you always includes the mention of a sugar daddy situation or whatnot, or their partners are more than twenty years apart in age, and that’s just not your problem. Jungkook isn’t.. really your sugar daddy or anything. Sure he's been paying your rent, but he’s been doing that because he wants to- you’re offering him nothing in return, and neither does he ask for something.

What are you two, really?

Is he getting you something for Christmas? He seems awfully busy these days after having returned to work from his accident, despite doctor's advice to rest a few days longer. You’re not sure why he was so eager, but you guess that that’s just who he is.

You could ask Taehyung, but that guy could never keep a secret even if held at gunpoint. One stern look from his friend and he’d spill your plan, you’re sure of it- so who else could you ask?

You wonder if Evelyn ever got him anything for Christmas. You’d love to know just to have at least some sort of measurement to go for- but then again, maybe that’s not the best idea to get inspiration from his ex wife.

Something’s heard from your bathroom. You frown.

The moment you open it, water greets you- old washing machine having given up for real now this time, as it’s got just about half an hour left of the current program running, water seeping out from the side of the door. You quickly shut it off, ripping the plug out from the socket on the wall to at least not make an even worse mess, socks soaking up the soapy smelling water.

Great.

At least your mind’s been taken off of your earlier predicament by that.

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Jungkook sighs as he leans back in his office chair, reading over the schedules and meetings again and again. He needs to make sure everything’s alright before he announces his plans to the rest of the company, not wanting to cause trouble for the new year just because of his own selfish reasons.

His secretary brings in a few signed documents, smiling kindly. “everyone’s on board with the dates.” She offers, and Jungkook nods, taking the documents to check the signatures.

“Thank you. Could you file them for me?” he asks, and she nods as always, taking them back.

“and, your uhm.. Miss Evelyn is in the lobby again, asking for you.” She cringes out a smile, making Jungkook groan in dramatized pain as he throws his head back, flinching a bit from the sudden move.

“What the hell does she want?” He whines, making his secretary send him a shrug.

“she refused to tell, as always.” She sighs. “demanded to see you.”

“And I’m about to demand a restraining order..” he mumbles to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. “send her up. We both know she’s not going to leave on her own accord.” He waves off, and his secretary bows politely before she disappears out of his office.

The second Evelyn enters, he’s feeling odd again. Like he’s just even more agitated to see her than normal.

“Why did you change the pass code on our apartment?” she demands to know, and Jungkook frowns harshly at that.

“Because you no longer live there, nor have any right to enter.” He explains. “what were you doing there in the first place?”

“You said I could have my Christmas party there?” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“I said that last year, because I was not in the country anyways. “ He sighs.

“so?” she wonders, caught off guard.

“so?” He parrots. “this year I’m spending Christmas home. And I no longer need the apartment- its been up for sale since June.”

“But I need it? And you shouldn’t be alone on Christmas anyways, you could’ve attended the party.” She says, walking closer now. “I know we no longer-“

“Who said I’m spending it alone?” He asks, arms crossed to block her off, leaving back in his office chair. “Evelyn, I’ve moved on. You should do the same.”

“You can’t be serious with that kid.” She scoffs. “Jungkook do you know how ridiculous you look? They’re talking about you, you know?” she complains.

“who? Your friends?” He asks. “as if they didn’t talk about me before.”

“That’s different.” She shakes her head. “You’re in your late thirties, Jungkook. She’s what, twenty? Is she even legal?” she laughs, but Jungkook doesn’t bite the bait.

She’s got no business with you.

“I can assure you that our relationship is that of two consenting adults.” He makes sure to pronounce. “and what I do or who I’m doing what with, is none of your business, and it hasn’t been since we divorced. A choice that you happily agreed to, might I add.” He says, hitting a sore spot for her. “I ask you to leave me alone one last time, Evelyn.”

“or what.” She sneers, leaning on his table now.

“the next time you overstep a boundary, no matter which, I will be speaking to you through legal means.” He simply answers. “if I can’t get through you, maybe my lawyer can.” He shrugs off.

“Jungkook I know we ended on not so great terms, but this is stupid.” She begs. “I told you we could try again-“

“Evelyn I’m in a relationship with this woman because I want to, not because I’m in some strange crisis over the loss of you.” He hisses. “not everything is always about you, get it through your head.” He shakes his head, before he gets up to open the door of his office. “and now leave. Or I will have someone help you with that.”

It's quiet, even some of the staff outside looking anxiously as to what’s about to happen, when Evelyn walks into the doorframe.

“I hope you come to your senses soon.” She sighs, disappointed. “before you hurt another woman.” She says, before she leaves, heels loud on the floor as they disappear along with her, leaving him to close his office, and sit back down.

He's not hurting you. He’d never.

He knows he’s been very lenient with Evelyn even long after they divorced, but that was because he truly didn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter, but these days, it does. He doesn’t want her in his life anymore, because that spot she was taking up is now filled with you-

And you fit it so much better than her.

He takes his phone out to call you- a strange urgency inside of him to hear your voice right now as the call is sent out, waiting to be picked up by you. When you do, you sound out of breath. “Hey.” You say, and he chuckles.

“You sound busy.” He greets. “is it a bad time?” He asks, and you don’t answer for a second.

“A little? Not really.” You sigh. “honestly I could use the distraction.” You laugh.

“What’s wrong?” He wonders, signing out of his work laptop.

“my washing machine broke. There’s soap everywhere!” You whine. “my apartment smells like a laundry service.” You complain.

“Is it bad?” He asks, shutting the lid of his laptop. “I can come over in like, half an hour and help you clean up. Did you turn it off?” He worries, getting up to walk over and turn off the AC.

“Yeah I.. pulled the plug in a panic.” You answer. “and no, it’s not… that bad, just my bathroom flooded, it’s already draining.” You sigh. “don’t worry.”

“Hm, too late.” He teases. “I’ll come over as soon as I get out of here, okay?” He asks.

“Alright, but I’m not letting you do much anyways.” You say. “I’m still upset you went to work already.”

“I know.” He agrees, looking out the tall windows for a moment. “thank you for worrying about me.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and he’s wondering if you hung up- when you answer, softly.

“of course.” You say. “that’s what.. you know.. people like us do.” You say.

“people like us?” He wonders.

“Yeah. People who.. like each other.” You tell him.

“I think our feelings extend that of.. liking a little, don’t you think?” He chuckles.

“Maybe?” You ask. “I’m not sure. Like, I feel.. a lot more than just like I like you, but, you know..”

“I’ve not been very clear, haven’t I.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m.. a bit out of practice you could say.” He apologizes.

“No, no its fine.” You wave him off. “just… we’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” You encourage- both of you, in a way.

“I’m sure of that too.” He agrees. “text me what you’d like to eat later. I’ll pick up some food on the way over to you.” He offers.

“Will you stay over?” You wonder.

“Do you want me to?” He asks.

“…yes.” You answer, for the first time actually requesting something from him. “I want you to stay.” You say, and he can feel his heart beat faster, louder.

“Then I’ll stay.” He answers.

Unaware that after you end the call, you’re squealing into your hands like a teenage girl, while he hides his face behind his own hand, a little overwhelmed by it all.

This truly feels like love.

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“The sealing around the door has become loose.” Jungkook mentions as he inspects the old machine for what might’ve caused the soapy disaster, sleeves of his white button up rolled up to his elbows as he finds the issue. “You can just buy a new one, but to be honest, I’d rather you have an entirely new machine.” He shakes his head, leaning back on his heels where he sits on the bathroom floor. “this thing is over ten years old.”

“But they’re expensive..” you huff. “and it’s still working though?” You wonder.

“Sure, but it’s not efficient. It’s too costly to run it.” He shrugs. “what you’re saving in not getting a new one, you basically throw out every time you use it.” He explains. “I’ll buy you a new one, it’s really no big deal.” Jungkook offers as he gets up, moving to dry his hands with a towel. “For now you can wash your stuff at my house. I don’t mind at all.”

You wonder. Does he really not mind?

You’ve only spent a little less than a week at his house, but it felt a little strange. Like he was a guest in his own home the entire time. He didn’t know where certain things were, other stuff like cooking utensils seemed way too new to be used.

“What’re you thinking about?” He wonders, walking up to you to move your hands, lifting them onto his shoulders in a request to have you hug him. His own palms find their resting place on your waist, swaying you a little to the slow beat of the TV playing a Christmas commercial.

“Nothing.” You deny, hands moving to play with the short hairs on his neck.

“liar.” He accuses. “What’s on your mind?”

“Christmas?” You burst out, before you shake your head, Jungkook looking at you a bit confused. “I- I mean, do you want to.. maybe spend, you know, a day of Christmas with me?” You ask, meekly so, averting eye contact. “we could I don’t know.. bake something or..” fuck, you think. Baking?! How childish is that-

“I’d love to.” He answers, an oddly shy grin on his face as he looks at you with eyes sparkling. “I’ve never done that before.” He admits.

“never?” You ask, and he shakes his head. “what do you.. how do you usually spend Christmas?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“I don’t.”

What?

“Evelyn held her Christmas parties, but I’m not a very social guy. So I usually worked during the holidays to escape the whole trouble.” He chuckles.

“Oh.” You simply say, unsure now. You didn’t really think about the possibility of him not wanting to celebrate Christmas at all.

“But, I’d like to have a.. quiet Christmas.” He says suddenly, stepping closer to you. “with you.”

“Oh?” You wonder, finding his gaze again.

“If you’ll have me, that is.” He shrugs. “I’m not upset if you say it’s.. too fast too soon.”

Your lips part-

Before you laugh, tearfully, hiding in his chest as you begin to cry a little. He’s not sure what’s wrong, all he can offer a hand in your back as he lets you calm down.

“I’m sorry- I don’t know why I’m crying.” You laugh, wiping your eyes. “its just- I was.. I was thinking the same. The whole week.” You confess, tired of keeping it all in. “I was stressing- I want to, I want to do so many things now because I feel like I finally have a person to do them with, but I’m worried I might be doing too much now and-“

“Hey.” He says, helping you breathe for a second as he holds your face, cheeks in his palms. “Thank you so much.” He answers.

“..what?” You wonder, sniffling.

“For telling me. For.. trusting me.” He simply answers, wiping your tears. “I thought christmas presents are meant to be given on the 24th?” He chuckles, and you laugh along.

“I was actually wondering what to get you.. if you even want anything..” you shrug, looking down now.

“it really doesn’t matter.” He confesses. “You can simply.. spend that day with me, and I’m happy.”

“But, can I give you a present?” you ask, and he nods.

“if you want to, of course.” He accepts. “I.. actually have a bit of a confession of my own.” He laughs a bit shy now, sitting down on the couch with you. “I’ve worked a bit overtime. To.. do something special, not just for us, but the company as well.” He shrugs. “and you’re the main reason for it.

“Huh?” You wonder, as he opens his phone, showing some of his emails coming in.

All of them are replies to a Company schedule he’s sent out- and all of the preview texts are a variation of gratitude towards it.

“I’ve given most of the company the option to take the holidays off.” He says. “it’s not much- just the last two weeks of December, but.. it felt right.”

“How am I the reason for that?” You wonder.

“You made me realize that there’s.. things more important than work sometimes.” He shrugs, locking his phone to put it on the small coffee table. “I have so many fathers and mothers in my company. Just because I didn’t have children, or a family or just a single person to spend those days with, I never thought about them potentially needing those days off.” He shakes his head. "and if I take those days off to be with.. my own family, why not give them the option as well?” He offers. “it’s only Fair.”

“Do you never visit your parents?” You ask, unsure.

“not really. I didn’t want them to.. ask questions.” He chuckles. “when are the grandkids coming, why is your wife never here, all that.” He laughs. “Eve.. never visited my family much.”

“That sounds like she never really cared much about the holidays.” You mumble.

“She did.” Jungkook denies. “she just didn’t care about me.”

For a moment, you’re quiet- before you jump over your shadow, boldly leaning over to peck his lips, making him almost chase after you a little.

“Well, I care about you.” You confess-

And at that, he truly can’t help but lean over to kiss you properly, eagerly, to make up for the lack of words he’s able to find.

Whatever this is, he no longer cares. He just wants to keep it close, never lose it, bind you to him and have you sheltered in his own home to never have to face any bad things the world seems to throw your way ever again.

“I care about you too.” He breathes against your lips, keeping you close, hands on your waist happily welcoming you onto his lap. It’s the first time he’s seemingly demanding now- taking the upper hand as he encourages the movements of your hips grinding on him with a bit of hesitance.

He'd love to take you, right now, right here- but he also doesn’t have any protection with him.

Maybe he should always have one on hand when meeting you. His hunger is starting to grow with each time he has you, after all. “we don’t.. “ you breathlessly try and argue, as he leans hisnhead into the crook of your neck, kissing the skin. “I have no-“

“Figured.” He chuckles. “Do you want to stop?” He asks, leaning back to look at you.

“I mean.. we have to..” you shrug, and he can see the slight disappointment in your face as you try and adjust yourself.

“Not really.” He shrugs. “There’s more to sex than.. just that, after all.” He suggests, and you look at him, before your eyes can’t help but travel a bit, unsure. Of course he’d be more experienced than you- he’s got a lot more time to have been fooling around after all, and you’re not at all upset at that-

You’re just a bit.. pressured now. What if he thinks you’re boring if he realizes that your past sexual experiences have been.. standard at best?

“don’t feel like you have to.” He makes sure to tell you, and you nod.

“I do want to.” You confess, and even thought you can’t look at him, he still thinks it’s a huge step for you to even reveal this. “I just.. it’s like the Christmas situation, you know?” You shrug. “I want to do so much but, I also worry I might be overwhelming, or that I screw things up and then you got excited for nothing-“

“Hey.” He chuckles, holding your face in his hands again, pecking your lips. “let’s agree that we will probably not get everything right all the time.” He tells you. “we’ll both screw up. I’ll do something that going to make you upset, you’ll do something that’ll make me upset. That’s called living together.” He laughs. “But I’m convinced that we’ll figure it out.”

“Why?” You ask, looking at him- surprised to see his eyes swimming with emotions, not used to seeing him so vulnerable.

“Because I want to believe.” He answers, voice barely anything above a whisper.

And it makes you realize that it’s not just you who got attached. He’s obviously just as invested in you as you are in him, and maybe, just maybe, you’ve never really thought about that. About his worries, what he might fear, what he struggles with. For you, he’s always been that person who has full control over everything.

But can you control who you fall in love with?

“Then..” you adjust your position a little, before you start to play with the buttons of his shirt. “I’ll believe in it, too.”

The kiss you’re offering is gentle, it’s a promise given, and also something more than that. You’re giving yourself to him with this, trusting him to both care for you- but also accepting his trust to handle him with just as much care. You feel sorry for not understanding his situation sooner, but you do now- and it makes a lot of things look a lot less scary.

Living together means making mistakes. And loving each other means working through those mistakes.

You’re moved by his hands to sit on his thigh instead, hips moving over the muscles beneath his pants, while your hands have undone his shirt by now, causing him to shiver a bit, both from the cool touch of your fingers, but also from the gentle manner in which you treat him.

He feels valued. Cherished.

Loved.

The moment your hand undoes his belt to gain access to what’s beneath, his kisses grow more heated, needy almost, his own hands guiding your hips over his leg. But he needs more, moves your legs again to straddle him once more, one of his hands easily slipping into your underwear to find you more than just a little affected.

There’s frustration in him. A need.

He really needs to start carrying a condom around for situations like this.

And it’s obvious this stress is shared by you, if the expression you have and the way you shamelessly run into his fingers are anything to go by. But it’ll have to do, he doesn’t want to risk things, and considering that he’ll spend Christmas with you anyways, it’s not like this is the last time he’ll ever see you.

And he can’t deny that your hands make him feel good enough already.

Mostly because it’s yours that touch him- the emotional connection you both have established at this point making him feel even more sensitive to every form of affection you offer. He feels comfortable and frankly safe enough to let himself fall into your arms freely- trusting you enough that you’ll catch him, just as much as he’d always catch you.

Your hands aren’t even on him- his underwear still between your fingers and his very obvious election, and yet he’s sure he could cum from this alone. You’re clearly chasing your own high as well by now, head leaned on his shoulder, soft whines beneath your heavy breaths causing him to twitch in your hands.

It's when two fingers slip inside you that you become restless, hands on him moving with more urgency as he plays your body like an instrument he’s been professionally trained in. Thumb flicking over your sensitive bud, slick making an almost obscene sound, but it oddly adds to the intimacy of it all.

This is your moment. No one can take this from you.

Your hands stutter a bit in their movements as you reach your peak, but you push though nonetheless to push him over the edge as well- a very particular movement as your fingers trace his outline making him spill, seed staining the fabric of his underwear a darker shade of its grey color.

It's quiet as you catch your breaths, his hand lazily wiping itself on your cotton shorts.

“You want to come to my place for tonight?” He whispers, slowly calming down again.

“Cause you need to change?” You tease, and he chuckles.

“That too.” He admits. “but mostly because I don’t want to sleep without you tonight.” He tells you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. “we could.. uhm. You know, the stores are still open.” He mumbles a bit more hesitant now, as you open your eyes to look at him. “if you.. want to help decorate the house with me.” He tells you almost incoherently.

Just for you to grin brightly, giggling happily into the crook of his neck.

“I’d love to.”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook smut #bts jeon jungkook imagine

[woahjo]

The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings:  fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else. 

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost. 

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment. 

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire. 

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear. 

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters. 

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell. 

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse. 

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent. 

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight. 

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula." 

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these. 

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity. 

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent. 

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands. 

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed." 

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs. 

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him. 

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you. 

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?" 

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit." 

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane. 

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid." 

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess." 

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now. 

"Got a name?" he asks. 

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?” 

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling. 

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?" 

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat. 

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am." 

He nods his understanding. 

"Come with me." 

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both. 

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed." 

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost. 

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?" 

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising. 

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to." 

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?" 

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase. 

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it. 

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step. 

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees. 

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you. 

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation? 

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!" 

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room. 

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him. 

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned." 

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost. 

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while." 

"Well, I'm back," he says. 

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word. 

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?" 

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check." 

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.” 

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?" 

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?" 

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone." 

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell? 

"Sounds like a good deal," you say. 

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock. 

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki. 

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..." 

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him. 

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you. 

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.” 

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting. 

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't." 

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation. 

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?" 

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day." 

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen. 

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this." 

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it. 

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can." 

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months. 

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up. 

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit. 

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks. 

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words. 

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.” 

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together. 

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.” 

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” 

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away. 

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”  

You nod. 

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.” 

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric. 

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet. 

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks. 

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them. 

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant. 

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing. 

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge. 

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring. 

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark. 

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back. 

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit. 

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway. 

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment. 

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now. 

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner. 

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner. 

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?” 

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.” 

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.” 

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group. 

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows. 

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.” 

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder. 

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.” 

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina. 

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.” 

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning. 

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues. 

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.” 

“Mhm,” Mina says. 

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.” 

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.” 

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy. 

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.” 

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask. 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri. 

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever. 

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.” 

You swallow thick and nod a little. 

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.” 

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree. 

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from. 

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink. 

“Nothing really,” Mina says. 

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly. 

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?” 

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask. 

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?” 

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides. 

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.” 

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.” 

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude. 

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?” 

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond. 

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.” 

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting. 

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.” 

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds. 

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.” 

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in. 

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us. 

— 

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation. 

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop. 

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it. 

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough. 

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago. 

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize. 

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.” 

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.” 

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.” 

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?” 

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.” 

You recognize Katsuki’s voice. 

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.” 

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman. 

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.” 

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays. 

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?” 

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto. 

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?” 

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding. 

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.” 

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice. 

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.” 

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg. 

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit. 

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.” 

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find. 

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts. 

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod. 

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look. 

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.” 

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen. 

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop. 

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.” 

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you. 

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.” 

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes. 

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary. 

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant. 

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.” 

You listen as you eat your crackers. 

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.” 

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat. 

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.” 

Mina laughs a little. 

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.” 

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile. 

“You’re really forthcoming with information.” 

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers. 

“Can you blame me?” 

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked. 

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.” 

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you. 

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop. 

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder. 

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down. 

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl. 

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it. 

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula. 

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper. 

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.” 

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely. 

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering. 

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners. 

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at. 

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now. 

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly. 

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask. 

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from. 

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back. 

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it. 

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it. 

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from. 

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it. 

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him. 

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up. 

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones. 

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward. 

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind. 

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks. 

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.” 

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion. 

“Got everything?” 

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it. 

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers. 

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread. 

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well. 

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out. 

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe. 

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way. 

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk. 

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation. 

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says. 

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?” 

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?” 

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again. 

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something. 

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?” 

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm. 

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world. 

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.” 

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way. 

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.” 

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb. 

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days. 

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any. 

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it. 

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be. 

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source. 

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet. 

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.” 

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice. 

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.” 

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.” 

The group grows quiet for a moment. 

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group. 

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”  

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.” 

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says. 

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?” 

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.  

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.” 

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?” 

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?” 

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.” 

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?” 

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.” 

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds. 

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control. 

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it. 

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect? 

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open. 

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house. 

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place. 

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal. 

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling. 

—

“Need some help?” You say. 

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck. 

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?” 

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him. 

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably. 

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?” 

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.” 

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work. 

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly. 

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch. 

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively. 

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.” 

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.” 

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?” 

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others. 

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.” 

You tilt your head. 

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?” 

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is. 

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.” 

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little. 

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-” 

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.” 

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side. 

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun. 

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable. 

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that. 

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character. 

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow. 

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task. 

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket. 

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.” 

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him. 

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out. 

“You’re doing laundry.” 

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.” 

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.” 

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face. 

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit. 

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.” 

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive. 

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick. 

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering. 

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence. 

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace. 

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.” 

You furrow your eyebrows. 

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.” 

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid. 

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond. 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little. 

“Were you?” 

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.” 

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway. 

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh. 

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?” 

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?” 

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.” 

“She’s pretty,” you say. 

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.” 

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you. 

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little. 

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant. 

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?” 

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused. 

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little. 

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry. 

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.” 

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food. 

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him. 

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into. 

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you. 

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both. 

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position. 

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet. 

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.” 

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope. 

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.” 

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes. 

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier. 

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house. 

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel. 

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better. 

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator. 

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?” 

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in. 

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #mha smut #bakugou fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #apocalypse au #tw.violence #tw.blood #tw.loss of identity #tw.derealization #tw.depersonalization #tw.exhaustion #cal.writing #char.bakugou

[bettymylove]

hello! I really love your work and I was thinking if you could write a one-shot of theo inspired by the song " Open Arms by SZA ". but somehow make it a good ending? idk 😓 ( like a slow burn or something ) reader had to let theo go but theo is kind of begging..? for reader to stay in his life and so on! idk if I explained it good enough but you can search up the song and take a look at the lyrics, you'll see what topic I'm going for!

thank you if your write this! you're an amazingg writer ‼️

never leaving

pairing: theo nott x reader

content: your insecurities push you to break your friendship with Theo, only to realize you were wrong all along.

a/n: hope this matches your expectations, I'm sorry if it didn't<33 (also I feel like I'm apologizing in every a/n)

You could say that Theo took you in, he was the only person in your life that ever made you feel too comfortable. When you were on the train, he had befriended you and he never let his friendship falter.

Theo was everything, he was all you could ever need and it scared you how much you were dependent on him. You had never needed anyone, always doing everything by yourself but you could see that changing.

Friends weren't a usual sight in your life and Theo had changed that, but you still had your doubts and maybe that's why you had decided to tell him.

You always had a lingering feeling, that he was taking pity on you because who would willingly spend so much time with you, call themselves your best friend, he had no reason to do it.

You spotted Theo in the hallway along with Mattheo and Enzo. The former two were smoking, and Theo's eyes met yours, and he immediately threw down his cigarette, crushing it using the sole of his shoe.

His eyes stayed on you while yours diverted here and there, ashamed to even meet his gaze. You wanted to be with him, but he was ruining his life for you, he was way too enamored and you wanted to help him.

You reached the group and scrunched your nose at the nicotine smell, Theo noticed this and dragged you away. Why does he have to be sweet and make this harder? you thought.

"Theo, I-" You questioned yourself, he was the only person who knew you but it would be too selfish to make him stay, so you continued, "I don't think we should be friends anymore"

Maybe friends wasn't the right word to describe you two, you weren't dating but he never dated anyone else and it's not like you could. You always hoped it was because he harbored some feelings for you but that had been a foolish fantasy.

"Y/n, I'm sorry sweetheart, I won't ever smoke again, I mean this was the first time in weeks, I really am trying" what? he thought this was about him smoking?

"No, Theo it's not about that." you simply stated trying to make him understand about you suddenly pulling away. He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but really could find the words.

"You can't do this, you cannot wake up on a random day and decide to remove me from your life as if I'm a pawn in your chess board" he was almost yelling, Theo had never yelled at you nor had he ever gotten angry at you, it was always you being mad and him picking up on it.

You remembered a scenario from second year and how different times had gotten now, you had changed and him not so much but you guess it was for his better.

"Where's y/n?" The twelve year old Theodore Nott asked his friend and said friend just shrugged in response before saying, "She hasn't been talking to anyone."

You're mad, he knew you were you always shut everyone out when you were, falling silent and Theo knew just how to better your mood and so he headed in your direction.

Your flashback stopped when you saw a tear fall from his eyes, you had never seen Theo cry either, only once and that too not intentionally. He was showing every emotion of his and you stood there unable to think, mumbling a sorry before leaving him stranded in that hallway.

Theo was shocked, hurt, angry and was feeling all these emotions at once. He had known you for six years and you had left him in six minutes. He loved you and you couldn't see it.

He knocked on your door for the fifteenth time, and you finally opened it. Your eyes were red and puffed up, you were crying.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a small voice unlike the one he used in the hallway, he was scared to lose you.

"You don't need to take anymore pity on me, Theo, go live your life" you said with a sniffle in the end and your statement had only made him more confused.

Pity? he had never taken pity on you, and it hurt himself that you believed that nonsense. "You can't replace me y/n, I'm forever, no matter what."

You so wanted to believe him, you so wanted to be in his arms right now, you so wanted him to stop as he was doing right now but you just couldn't.

"I'm sorry Theo, but I have to" Those were last words to him before you shut the door and Theo couldn't sleep that night.

It had been 2 months, 18 days of you ignoring him and he thought he might go mad, you were driving him crazy, you not being there was so much worse than he had anticipated.

It was late in the night when he spotted you leaning against a railing, breathing hard, and when he got a bit closer he noticed you were crying.

He went to stand beside you, you flinched but then sort of relaxed when you noticed who it was. You laid your head in your hands and started crying even harder and without missing a beat or saying something spiteful, Theo took you in his arms.

It was much later that you realized that you could not live without him, he was your Theo. Your tears wet his shirt but he didn't seem to mind, he never seemed to mind.

"You won't leave again, would you?" He asked as if he knew you were coming back and he was right. "You could try, but this time I won't let you."

You smiled at him, god he was the only person in the world who would never make you feel bad about what you did, and you realise it was only your insecurities holding you back from him.

He kissed your forehead lovingly and hugged you even tighter, "I love you" he whispered, half hoping you didn't hear him, but you did.

#harry potter #slytherin #draco malfoy #theo nott #enzo berkshire #theo nott fic #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theo nott one shot

[justporo]

Hello! Love your writing SO much. I’ve always wondered though, what would Astarion do if he was in love with Tav but she was insecure about how pretty he was and how she wasn’t good looking enough for him??

So first of all, Anon, let me apologise for letting this sit in my inbox so long - and thank you so much! I guess at some point I've gotten a little overwhelmed with all ideas and requests. I'll still try and answer as many as possible!

So, back on topic:

Headcanons for Astarion battling his partner's insecurity

When you open up about how you feel insecure - especially compared to him - you get a staredown first of all; it does nothing to help with your anxiety and insecurity

"Darling, we don't talk bad about ourselves in this relationship, only about others!"

Expect a lot of aggressive and kind of hysteric support (because this man can talk himself into a fit)

"You'd seriously think I'd settle with anything below heartbreakingly beautiful? Really? You think too much of me!"

He's serious (but also you know it's more than about surface stuff)

He tries everything: aggressive flattery, poetically pointing out all the most beautiful things about you, just staring into your eyes while holding your face (until you might start to cry because damn, this is about you but he's so beautiful)

In all seriousness, when he realises none of it is helping, he will make you stand up, in the middle of the room

His hands wander over your spine, make you straighten your back, lift your chin up, maybe put a strand of hair back behind your ear

One of his hands softly grabs your chin, his brows furrow: "You've done this for me once, now let me be your mirror, my love. When I look at you - I see these eyes, first of all. They're capable of so much: the greatest warmth I've ever felt, fierceness that would make even the strongest foe quiver, deep admiration for all the beauty in the world that you always tend to find. And this smile that never fails to almost make me stumble. Gods be damned, if my heart wasn't cold and dead in my chest it would skip a beat every time you smiled at me. And this body - do you even understand what it has accomplished? Carried you through every step, every battle, every blow and blast - to me if I may be so selfish. So I can admire and worship it everyday." "I thought this wasn't supposed to be poetry?"

And Astarion hushes you and pulls you to him, kisses you until you forget whatever it was you had been feeling in the first place

To be sure, very very sure, Astarion repeats this time and again - especially the worshipping part - that's his favourite

(He casually ruins it by making jokes about how you're "the second most beautiful person in the room", but you forgive him quickly)

Astarion is just very good at getting his point across, don't you think? So you should better believe him!

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #bg3 #headcanons #astarion headcanons #imagine #poro headcanons #astarion x you #astarion fluff

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 28

part 1 | part 27 | bonus stobin scene | ao3

cw: anxiety attack, graphic thoughts of death

Chapter 7

Steve's mom leaves the week before Thanksgiving.

No preamble, no notice, no "so long and thanks for paying rent," just— poof. Gone. Ta-ta, kiddo. Have a great life!

(Or don't!

Who cares?

Not me, that's for sure!)

The worst part is Steve finds out from Ernie of all people. Ma couldn’t even tell him to his face that she’s abandoning him to the gaping maw of this hellish town because she’s a good-for-nothing coward. Some day this place is gonna swallow him whole, splinter the bones and cough up the pellet, and Florence Harrington will be somewhere far, far away, sighing empty condolences over a fresh glass of red. “Just dreadful, isn’t it? Such a pity; what a shame.”

Steve’s hanging towels on the clothes line the day after the party — after the ride to drop off Max and the hangover brunch with Robin; after drowning his headache in Tylenol and finally getting home, only to realize that he can’t shower yet because all the towels are soaking wet — when Ernie looks up from his yardwork and casually ruins his goddamn life.

“You're wastin' your time with that,” he says, propping his weight against a rake and squinting at Steve in the mid-afternoon sun.

“What?” Steve frowns; hangs another towel. It's not like they're going to dry themselves. "Why?"

"Too cold."

"It's not supposed to rain, though, is it?"

"No, but the humidity—"

Screw the humidity. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ernie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He turns his attention back to his yard, dragging the rake over a smattering of damp leaves; obsessed with keeping his little patch of lawn pristine; and Steve reaches into the hamper and sincerely hopes that Ernie’s wrong. He needs a shower, and if the towels don't dry fast enough they get that gross mildew smell to them, and then it gets in Steve's hair, and how is he supposed to flirt with Eddie if he smells like musty lake water?

"Where's your mom off to, anyway?" Ernie asks after a moment. "Saw her leave this morning with two big suitcases,” he explains when Steve throws him a questioning look. “Figured she was off somewhere nice.”

Steve blanches.

Two big suitcases?

He didn’t even notice that she wasn’t here. Feels like a stupid, selfish asshole now, because he’d called ‘ma, I’m home!’ when he got in earlier and had thought nothing of her complete lack of response, the peaceful silence of the house; had welcomed it at the time, even, and what if—

Oh, god, what if she’d died?

What if she’d been lying there dead in her room, and Steve didn’t bother to check because he was too busy thinking about himself and how nice it was not to hear reruns on the TV for once? How long would she have lain there, rotting and bloated, and— and how long would his dad have, if the gunshot hadn’t rung out? How long; how long? Bleeding out on the carpet gurgling fish sounds everything red and Steve can’t breathe—

“Did she—?” he pants. Brings a hand to his throat; tries again. “Did you- see who she left with?”

“Some woman. Relative of yours, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at her. Had a real fancy car, though. Mercedes, think it was.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. Feels his throat close up, his heart pound and his ears ring and the yellow-purple-black start creeping in like vines at the edge of his vision, like demogorgon claws; like death’s shark-toothed grin. Hungry, howling, happy as it takes a bite out of him.

“You alright?” Ernie asks.

Steve grinds his jaw so hard he feels something crack. "Excuse me," he grits out, stomping back into the house.

—

"Fuck!" Steve shouts to his empty house — to the sun-faded paneling, to the weird stain in the orange carpet. Fucking Cecelia; fucking hell.

He cleans the house in a rage, eyes hot with unshed tears, and there's a note on the breakfast table. Crisply folded on plain paper, prim cursive letters, almost comically estranged:

Steven,

Apologies for short notice. Gone to stay with Aunt Cece in Evanston. Call or visit if you like.

— Mom

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving

The words leave papercuts in his throat. Steve rips the note to tiny pieces, can hardly see for the tears swimming in his eyes, but he's not crying over this; he's not. He fucking refuses.

Somewhere along the way, the cleaning turns to blind destruction, demolition of the all the little scraps of life mom left behind: her creepy angel figurines, her vintage Pyrex dishes, an empty bottle of old perfume. Steve hurls them all against the living room wall, delights in the shimmering pile of broken glass at his bare feet. Wants to crawl over it on hands and knees. Wants to burn this place to the ground.

When the sun dips below the trees he goes back out to check the towels. The air is wet, bitterly cold; nips at his hands when the wind blows, and the towels hang heavy on the line, just as damp as before but now the slightest bit stiff with the first creep of frost.

"FUCK!" Steve roars, ripping a towel down off the line. Yanking each one down in turn, throwing them into the dirt, raging, "What! Is! The fucking! Point!"

His tears spill over then, hot and wet as he sinks to his knees with a wounded growl, and he chokes there in the dirt; the cold, wet mud, the patchy grass. Gravel digs into his shins, and sobs wrack his chest, capsize him like plunging waves, and he can't do anything but shake and cry where the whole neighborhood can see. Making a commotion; making a scene, as his mother would say, but his mother's not here. She fucking left. She left him here, and his dad did, too, and Steve is utterly, truly, hopelessly alone.

"Come on, son."

And there’s Wayne Munson, coaxing him up off the ground with a sure, strong grip. Steve makes animal sounds as Wayne lifts him under the arms — ruined hiccups, mangled wails. There's mud in his lungs. Ocean silt; sucking sludge.

His mother's gone.

"Easy now," Wayne shushes; hugs him hard against his side. "You're alright, kid. You're alright."

—

part 29

tag list under separate reblogs, comment if you’re over 21 and want to be added tomorrow

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic #wayne munson #cw: angst

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Lucifer finding out his s/o was once engaged but got divorced because her ex-fiancé cheated on her with another woman? The worst part? After finding out how much of a greedy, incompetent, and selfish woman his new wife is, her ex now wants to get back with her.

Lucifer x Reader - Running into an Ex

He usually didn’t like going up to the human world, but it seemed he was making exceptions for [Y/N] more & more. His will was weak when it came to their requests. Though he justified it by it only being fair for them to go on their dates ‘up top’ from time to time as they spent most of their time in the Devildom.

Plus with all the mischief, misadventures, and just plain in-fighting between him & his brothers, they could use a break.

They had just finished dinner at a restaurant almost as nice as Ristorante Six when someone called [Y/N]’s name out on the street like a common beggar. “I thought that was you. How have you been?”

“I’m…fine…” Lucifer could tell they were uncomfortable. Clearly this person was someone they knew but was not thrilled to run into. Sensing this would take a moment, Lucifer waved off the car waiting for them and told them to take another lap. “What are you doing here? I thought you moved.”

“Keeping tabs on me, eh?” His fake laugh was insufferable. “I uh…moved back with my wife last year. With the economy crash and everything, it was just better to stay back home.”

“Oh. Your mother didn’t mention it.”

“You still take to my mom? Well, I guess that makes sense. You two were always close. You look….great, by the way.”

“…thank you…”

The tension and conversation were getting tighter. To the point that Lucifer felt obligated to step in. “We should get going, [Y/N]. We don’t want to be late for our travels tomorrow.” He’s never wanted to return home immediately so much in his life, but he wouldn’t open a portal, or ruin [Y/N]’s trip, like that.

“Yes. We should go-“Wait [Y/N]. Can I…talk to you for a minute before you go? You don’t mind right, do you my guy?”

Lucifer glared at the man, but turned to [Y/N] who nodded and said it was alright. He nodded back and pressed his hand to the small of their back to let them know he was still there, but moved off to the side to give them space. Not that he couldn’t hear every word with his demon hearing.

“You really do look great by the way.”

“What do you want [X/N]? Shouldn’t you be home with your wife.”

“Gah…don’t say it like that…” The man scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. Clearly a man defeated. “Look, I know now what I did to you was wrong. I shouldn’t have broken up with you, or our engagement. I just….had cold feet about the marriage thing.”

Lucifer was shocked. He didn’t know [Y/N] had been engaged. But, if what the man said was true, then he could see why they didn’t mention it to him. It sounded painful.

“You didn’t seem too un-keen on the idea when you jumped right in to marry the woman you cheated on me with.”

“Grass is always greener…” Lucifer sneered at the man’s second untimely joke. He then stepped closer to [Y/N]; raising Lucifer’s hackles. “I wanted to let you know I made a mistake. What I did…who I’m with now…it’s all wrong. I wanted to reach out to you but I could never get a hold of you since everyone said you were abroad or something.” Yes, or something. “When I ran into you now, I knew it was fate. Please. Give me another chance.”

[Y/N] wrenched their hand away from them but stood their ground. “You think I would give you another chance after what you did?! I can never trust you. Besides, you’re married now. What are you doing to get a divorce and jump into another marriage just like that? Out with the old in with the new? Oh, I’m sorry, out with the new in with the old.”

“Hey! I came to you and told you I made a mistake. That I’m unhappy and I want to try again. The least you can do is consider it!”

“ ‘Consider it’?? So I’m doing you the favor here. In case you missed it, along with you being married, I’m here with someone as well.”

“That guy?? He’s too posh for you. A guy like that is just using you probably for sex or arm candy. Make him look more down to Earth. Do you really want to be with someone so far out of your league that you just feel inferior all the time? You should be with someone on your level. Like me.”

“I can assure you sir, the levels [Y/N] would have to stoop to be on your level would require excavation equipment to access.”

The man seemed startled by Lucifer’s sudden reappearance in their conversation. Also likely from his looming figure. Not his demon form, but not his full human disguise either. The full weight of his anger and disgust at this insect talking to [Y/N] like that making him seem probably 10 feet tall to the man.

“Please cease this horrendous display of accosting people on the street who had the unfortune of knowing you and go home to your wife. You may have regretted your decision in a mate, but I have not. There’s no way in hell,” [Y/N] snorted once at that, “that I am going to let you talk to them this way or ruin our evening any further.”

As if summoned by his magic, the car pulled up again beside them and Lucifer opened the door. “Come my love. We have no longer a need to be here anymore.” [Y/N] slide in and he closed the door, before turning to face the man again. “And should you ever be stupid enough to contact [Y/N] again with these ridiculous notions and your own inflated ego, I will personally see to it that you are torn limb from limb by wild dogs by the time I’m through with you.” His eyes flashed red once. Obviously startling the man who almost fell into the street before he rounded the car and got in on the other side.

“I’m sorry I never mentioned him before.” [Y/N] apologized as they drove off.

Lucifer shrugged. “Having met him, he doesn’t seem like a man worth mentioning.” He reached out his hand and clasped it with their own. Such a horrible person would not ruin their evening. And he would see to it that [Y/N] never thought of them again, as he would do everything in his power to make sure they felt love and adored. Second to no one.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers) #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #lucifer #lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me x reader #scenarios #imagine

[rachalixie]

a/n: min told me that he had nightmares so i had to write about making him feel better

it takes you longer than you want to admit to notice it - the fact that minho doesn’t sleep in front of you. 

you don’t get it at first. you’ve slept together, in the same bed, and yet as you comb through your mind for any memory of a sleeping minho you can’t find any. 

he’s always awake when you wake up. either he’s propped up on one elbow, watching the planes of your face as you slowly rise from whatever dream you were having of him, or he’s up in the kitchen making breakfast. sometimes you catch him playing a game on his phone next to you, but he denies it and says he was reading the news. i can’t be seen getting addicted to candy crush again, he would claim, locking his phone so fast that you couldn’t catch more than a glimpse. 

but it stands - you haven’t seen him sleep. even with the amount of times you’ve laid over him and fallen asleep pressed against him, he’s never done the same. and you’re only realizing this now because his head is on your lap and he’s drowsy from the way you’re scratching gently at his scalp with your fingers and all you can think about is that it’s happening. 

his brown eyes are hidden by his rapidly lowering lids, the slivers of white getting smaller and smaller until they’re completely covered. his breath evens out and he slumps that much further into your lap and you don’t even want to move just in case. you keep your breathing even, you don't let your legs twitch even when they begin to fall asleep under his weight. you don’t want to ruin this blatant display of trust that he’s showing you. 

but as it turns out, you don’t have to. it happens on his own, starting with a hitch of his breath and the frantic movements of his eyes under his lids. it’s when he lets out a heartbreakingly small whimper that you realize - he’s having a nightmare. 

you tentatively move your hand back to his hair, hoping that the action that comforted him before would do it again. he relaxes almost immediately at your touch and you sigh, both in relief and worry. 

he wakes not long after, wide eyes opening and pink lips parted in a yawn that is so cute that you can’t help but coo at him. he scrunches up his nose in distaste, but his pink ears betray how much he likes it when you find him cute. 

“is that why you don’t let me see you sleep?” you ask, keeping your voice soft as if he’s a cornered kitten that you don’t want to spook. “you don’t want me to see that you’re having nightmares?”

“yes,” he says, surprising you with how readily he provided an answer. he never stops surprising you like that, you really don’t know what to expect from him until he acts. you love that about him. 

“baby,” you smile down at him to where he’s still curled up in your lap. “you know you don’t have to hide these things from me. i want to know everything about you, i’m selfish like that. let me.”

“i didn’t want to worry you,” he starts, trailing off a bit. “but you. being here. it helps.”

“then i’ll never stop being here.”

and so it happens again. and again. until it becomes kind of a routine - he’ll curl up on your lap like the cat you know he wishes he was and will blink up at you until your hand moves to his head. at some point it becomes second nature for you, your fingers gravitating towards his hair before you even have to think. 

and every time your fingers still, he whimpers a little in his sleep, stirring just enough for you to realize and start your ministrations again. every time he wakes up it’s with a smile, and he mumbles a thank you and presses a kiss to your fingers. 

you don’t know how to tell him he doesn’t need to thank you. you don’t know how to show him that you’re not doing something for him, you’re doing it for both of you. you don’t know how to reveal to him that the way he trusts you with his vulnerability makes your heart catch fire. 

so, you just keep up your routine. he’ll learn, eventually, what it means to you. 

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids drabbles #stray kids soft thoughts #stray kids soft hours #lee know fluff #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #soft

[bedoballoons]

Hello, could i request a Jealous! Lyney who has yet to confess to reader who receives gifts and letters during valentines day?

Awwwe valentines day!! One of my favourites because it's so lovely! Thank you so much for your request and I hope you enjoy <3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Valentines from all but him~༺}

CW: Lyney gets jealous! Confessions and reader is well liked by many!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

You stood there in shock as the mailbox spilled its contents onto the ground, absolutely overflowing with candies, love letters and even a rose...which was more like a group of random petals after being crushed by everything else. By the looks of it you had probably received almost thirty confessions...maybe more and you took care picking each one up, even the petals despite the fact you'd most likely wouldn't reciprocate their feelings. The least you could do was be kind about it.

Meanwhile, Lyney stood next to you...doing his best to keep face while you smiled at all the cutesy letters and blushed at all of the gifts you'd received. If only he could have confessed before valentine's day...then you wouldn't have received any letters at all because the two of you would be dating, or at least he hoped you'd be dating. Currently he was just your friend, a friend who was so desperately in love with you that he got jealous from little love notes. "My you've sure got a lot of confessions, are you...interested in anyone in particular?"

You set all the mailboxes contents in your bag carefully and smiled at Lyney, if only he knew you were holding out hope that he might like you they do..."Oh, well I suppose there is one guy I like alot...." You blushed slightly, wondering if maybe it was a bit to forward...or maybe not forward enough?

"Who?" Lyney felt a little sick upon hearing you liked someone, it was like his chances were getting slimmer with every second, at least if he knew he could compare himself and see if he could win you over...maybe he could show you some of his prototype magic tricks he'd never shown anyone else or rearrange the stars, he knew whoever you liked couldn't possibly do that.

"I cant tell you that!" You panicked, you couldn't let him find out you liked him, it could ruin your friendship...and you'd loose one of the most incredible people you'd ever met. "I mean...sorry I'm just not ready to share that yet. I really want to know he likes me back first..."

Lyney bit his lip, this was truly a dilemma...you liked someone and he didn't know who, he had a confession all ready for you, but he didn't want to upset you by being to forward...but he also didn't want to never try, then his eyes meeting yours for a moment and he just...couldn't let someone else have you, "Please, don't hesitate to tell me no...but I...I have a gift for you as well."

"What?" You felt your heart skip a beat, the world was suddenly spinning...you had dreamt of this and yet it didn't feel real, no you should stay calm, what if it was a platonic gift, but then again who gives platonic gifts on valentine's day?! You felt like you could explode...

Lyney reached into his pocket and pulled out paper butterflies that flew all around you... sprinkling heart confetti everywhere until the biggest of them landed in your hands... unfolding to reveal a letter...

To my dearest,

I must admit...I've written this letter at least a hundred times and I've just never had the confidence to give you it till now...I know, hows that possible when you're able to put on shows in front of thousands of people and put yourself in crazy situations that could have dire consequences...

Well none of those things terrify me as much as the idea of loosing you as a friend...but keeping my feelings to myself...I can't do it anymore. Maybe this is selfish of me...maybe you won't want to ever speak to me again..but I'm hoping I can convince you...to feel the same...

In truth, I've loved you for so long that I don't know if I could ever truly not love you now, you're everything I could ever want and so much more. So beautiful...that even now as I write this I'm having to stop myself from getting lost in my thoughts about you...

I could go on forever, but this letter has already gotten rather long so...I'll just say what I've been meaning to..

I love you.

-Lyney

You'd never read anything like it, nothing had ever come close to having so many feelings behind written words and you had to reread it a few times to actually make yourself believe it was really for you...that Lyney had really written it. "Lyney...I don't even...know what to say. I don't think I've ever felt anything close to this before..."

"It's perfectly fine if you don't accept-"

You cut him off with a hug, tears rolling down your cheeks from all the wonderful emotions you just couldn't control..."I do accept! I accept your feelings with all my heart Lyney, archons I love you so much, i-im so happy!"

He didn't know how to respond to such good news...so he just hugged you back, letting what you had just said sink in. This was...everything he had wished! "I love you too"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin x you #lyney genshin #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyneyfluff #lyneyhcs #lyney headcanons

[heavenlyhischier]

𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

word count: 2.5k

summary: it’s your turn to choose, and you just hope that you made the right choice.

warnings: angst, reader is kinda ‘pick me choose me’ but it’s okay, kissing, unedited as usual

part one

Luke broke up with his girlfriend the day after you left. Gave her some half-assed excuse of his life being too busy with hockey, but she knew the truth, and she didn’t fault him for it. He wanted to reach out to you, to call you, to text you, but he was smart enough to know it wasn’t a good idea. After the things he said to you and the way he undoubtedly made you feel, he knew you needed space away from him. How much space was the question that he didn’t know the answer to.

The first text you’d gotten from Luke was a simple ‘I’m sorry’ a week after you’d left that day. You were in class when it came through, and all you could do was stare at the message. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t focus on the rest of the lecture, so you retreated to your apartment for the day and left the text unanswered. You opted to not tell Sage about the text, especially because she thought you had blocked him already.

The next text you got from him was the following day, and it was significantly longer than his previous one. He explained how sorry he was, how he had broken up with his girlfriend, how he wishes he could take it all back and have you in his life again, how he missed you. You didn’t respond to that one either, though you really wanted to, but he had hurt you. Luke had caused you the most heart stopping pain you’d ever felt in your life, and you needed to get rid of those feelings before you accepted him back as a part of your life.

Luke texted you every day now, telling you how sorry he was and he wasn’t going to give up on you so easily this time unless you explicitly told him not to. You never texted him and told him no, so he took that as an open invitation. The more time went on, the more descriptive his texts got and they started to chip away at the wall you had built between the two of you. There was one text you’d gotten from him that said he loved you, and if you didn’t know better, based on the context of the rest of the message, you would’ve thought he meant he was in love with you.

The one time you had texted Luke back, it was for selfish reasons and with the hope that it would make him a teeny bit mad. It was childish and immature, you knew that, but you couldn’t help it. It was the first time he’d worked up the courage to ask to see you, and you had texted him back saying that you couldn’t. Because you had a date that night. Luke’s heart fell to his stomach as he read the message over and over again.

“Jack,” Luke called out as he barged into his brother's room, “She’s going on a date. I told her that I love her, and she’s going on a date. What the fuck do I do?”

Jack sat on his bed, phone in hand as he glared at his brother. Ever since he got home that day and asked what had happened, Jack’s been pissed at his brother. He was an idiot who ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Jack had no sympathy for that.

“Nothing,” He shrugged, gaze darting back to his phone as he scrolled through social media, “You do nothing, Luke. You fucked up. Bad. Now you have to deal with the consequences.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luke scoffed, “I was hoping for some advice.”

“What do you want me to say, dude,” Jack angrily spoke, throwing his phone next to him, “That it’ll be okay? That you’ll get her back? Well, honestly I don’t think you should get her back. You don’t deserve her, Luke. She did everything for you. She was there for you anytime you needed her. She fucking chose you no matter what and you went and fucked that up for some girl you don’t even really know! I love you and I always will, but you don’t fucking deserve her forgiveness after the shit you did.”

While Luke was kicked out his brothers room, you were busy getting ready for your date that Sage was forcing you to go on. She claimed that he was a nice guy, a breath of fresh air after everything that had happened with Luke. You agreed to go, but told her that you would be driving yourself in case you weren’t feeling it and wanted to leave early. She, reluctantly, agreed to the terms and sent you on your way once you were ready.

About halfway through your drive to the restaurant, you realized that you were going the complete wrong direction. You were driving towards Luke’s apartment without even meaning to, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to turn around. The twisted part of your brain was telling you this was a sign, that you should give him a chance and talk to him, that maybe the two of you could give what had been broken between you. The logical part of your brain was telling you to turn around, go to the restaurant and forget that Luke Hughes ever existed. You weren’t sure what to do, but then you found yourself standing outside of his apartment door.

You stared at the door, your heart and mind waging the ultimate war within you. The urge to turn around and walk away dwindled by the second. You wanted to see him so you could yell at him, to tell him how badly he hurt you. You wanted to see if he missed you as much as you missed him, so you knocked on the door. If Jack was the one who answered, you were going to take that as a sign that Luke was gone for good, but it seemed as if fate was on your side.

Luke swung the door open, the greeting he had dying in his tongue when he saw you standing in front of him. You glared at him as you racked your brain for the angry speech you had planned out, but you were coming up empty now. Only one phrase on your mind as you were harshly brought back to the memories of that day in Luke’s room. The day he chose someone else over you.

“I hate you,” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it wavered as your bottom lip wobbled.

Luke didn’t know what to say as you stood in front of him in the outfit he assumed was for your date. Your eyes were lined with uncried tears, glassy and broken as they bore into his own. He felt his heart shatter inside of his chest when he noticed that the necklace he had gotten you for your sixteenth birthday and had worn ever since, was missing from your neck.

“I know,” Luke finally breathed out as he took every inch of you in like it was going to be the last time he was going to see you. To him, he thought it was going to be.

“I hate you,” You repeated, voice barely above a whisper as tears spilled over onto your cheeks. You felt pathetic for breaking so easily, but the plan you had to scream and yell at him went out the window the second you saw him in front of you.

“I know,” He swallowed thickly, hand twitching towards you, aching to pull you close, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why am I not worth choosing,” You sobbed as your gaze fell to the ground and you hugged your arms to your body.

In an instant, Luke was pulling you into his apartment, and into his arms. He held you as you cried into his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt, but he didn’t care. He rubbed circles in your back, not sure what the fuck he was supposed to say to you right now. He’d thought about this moment ever since you left two months ago, but now that you were right in front of him, he was clueless.

While Luke’s arms were holding you close, yours remained wrapped around yourself as sobs tore through your body. You wanted to reach out and never let him go, but you were scared and hurt. After what he’d done, you were afraid to let any part of him back in. You couldn’t go through that pain all over again; you’re not sure you would make it out this time.

Luke was glad that Jack was gone for the afternoon, off doing who knows what with who knows who. He knows that if he saw you crying in Luke’s arms, Jack would give him another earful of words he’s heard for the last two months. He didn’t want to hear how he didn’t deserve you or your forgiveness because he knew that he didn’t, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been clinging onto hope. Hope was the only thing getting him through the day.

“I hate you so much,” You whispered, voice thick with emotion as you finally wound your arms around his waist.

Luke pulls you closer into his chest, tears of his own falling down on his cheeks as he listens to how broken you sound. He wants to say that he hates himself too, that he hates what he did to you, but he doesn’t want to make it about himself. At the end of the day, the way he felt was his own doing. He ruined your friendship and shut you out. He hurt himself.

“I’m so sorry,” Luke mumbled your name as if it was the most delicate thing in the entire world, “I’m sorry I hurt you. If I could— If I could take it all back I would. I would change everything if I could. But, I just— I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me I’m worth choosing,” You begged, grasping at his shirt, “Or at least tell me why I'm not.”

Luke pulls away from you, but keeps his hands on your biceps as he looks at you. His cheeks are red and eyes heavy, but his face is serious. He’s sporting the same look he had when he forced you to listen to him tell you how much your ex boyfriend didn’t deserve you and how amazing you are.

“Listen to me, okay,” He started, his voice shaky and hesitant, “You are worth choosing, Y/N. In fact, you were always my only choice. You always have been, but that’s why I did what I did. I’m so fucking sorry I let you walk away that day. It was the worst mistake of my life, but I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“I don’t understand,” You shook your head, “Why would cutting me off be the right thing? Do you not want me in your life anymore?”

Panic bubbled in your chest as you let your mind run rampant with anxious thoughts. Regret in the form of bile rose in your throat, the desire to turn around and run away creeping back up. Your hands began to shake, an action Luke was quick to pick up on as he let go of your arms to capture them in his own.

“That’s not what I’m saying, I promise,” He softly reassured as he rubbed circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, “I thought it was the right thing because I thought it would help me move on. I’ve loved you since we were fifteen and I knew you didn’t feel the same way, so I thought choosing someone else would help me do that. Obviously, I was wrong.”

Your jaw went slack and your glassy eyes widened, your heart beating against your chest as you listened to him. It felt too good to be true; Luke admitting that he loved you the same way you loved him. It almost felt like you were dreaming, like you’d finally clawed your way out of the nightmarish reality that has been your life.

Luke felt like he was about to pass out the longer he sat with your silence surrounding him. He knew that confessing his feelings was a risky move given everything that had happened, but he needed you to know. He was hoping and praying that you felt the same, or that you’d at least welcome him back into your life as your friend again.

“You were wrong,” You swallowed the lump in your throat, “I did feel the same way about you.” Luke felt his heart fall to his feet. “I do still, but, Luke, you hurt me. I can’t just look past that. I’m not saying I can’t ever get over it, but it’ll take time.”

Without a second thought, Luke’s pulling you into his chest and wrapping his arms around you. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as you bury your face into his chest, taking in the way he felt against you. While you were still upset with him, there was no better feeling than in his embrace. It was always where you felt safest, and you hoped that that feeling would come back with time. Though, a small part of you was telling you it never left.

“I will do whatever it takes to earn your trust back,” Luke mumbled into the crook of your neck, “I love you, and I will spend my life proving that to you.”

“Luke,” You pulled away, eyes wide and pleading, “I don’t care if this is too soon, but can you please kiss m—”

He didn’t let you finish your sentence before crashing his lips onto your own. He pulled you into him by your waist as your hands moved up to tangle in his hair. Luke moved his mouth against yours, tasting the salt from both of your tears as he slipped his tongue into yours. It was a tangled mess of emotions as the two of you pushed against each other, but it was perfect.

After five years of what the two of you thought was unrequited love, you expected nothing short of desperation and yearning. You poured your entire being into the kiss, and by the way Luke was holding you like you would disappear, you knew he was too. The last time you were in the Hughes’ apartment, you felt like your entire world was collapsing below your feet. Now, you felt the world around you rise again and it was even more beautiful than before.

#luke hughes #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

[wannab-urs]

Title: Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: After some particularly awful shit goes down, Javi distances himself from you. But he always comes crawling back. 

Tags: Angst, smut, more angst, reference to s2e3 events w Carillo, Javi sleeps with Gabriela (that’s the one from S2E3 y’all), sad!Javi, self hating!Javi, references to blood, wounds, rot, etc, all metaphorical, drinking/alcohol, as always: excessive cursing, me trying to speak spanish (translations provided), arguing, manhandling, dry humping, fingering, oral f receiving, face riding but while lying down, hair pulling, actual riding, Javi very briefly picks you up, that one position from s1e2, unprotected PiV, creampie, Javi crying, Javi yelling, reader yelling, did I mention angst? WC: 2130

A/N: I'm sorry? And thanks to the HBH for beta reading &lt;3

Series Masterlist | Javier Peña Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Crawling back to you Ever thought of calling when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do

Javi has avoided you for two weeks now. He got himself involved in some truly fucked up shit with Carillo and couldn’t bear to face you after that. He couldn’t let you see him like that – completely ashamed of himself, broken. He went to Gabriela instead. He knew she wouldn’t ask too many questions, that she would let him take out his anger and helplessness and shame on her. 

When he got home that night he still almost called you, just to hear your voice. You calm something inside him, something dark and violent. But it feels like a sin to expose you to it in the first place. He’s terrified of letting you in. Sure, he’s afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of giving his heart to you and possibly watching you crush it in your hands. But what he’s really scared of is letting you get close enough to see the blood in his teeth, to smell the rot in his chest. Afraid his darkness will infect you, ruin the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on. He is a bad man and you are so so good. You deserve better than him.

And yet he can’t truly let you go. Just another reason he doesn’t deserve you. He’s selfish enough to keep going back to you, to keep knocking on your apartment door and burying his pain in your body, only to tuck tail and run the second you push him for more. Most selfish of all is how much he wants more with you. Wants to come home to you every day. To cook dinner with you, to share a bed with you, to share his life with you. He wants everything you want and more and he’s terrified and horrified at the prospect. 

You haven’t called him. Maybe you finally listened to him. Finally accepted he’s not what you want or need. Do you think about calling him? Maybe after a bottle of wine, listening to your maudlin records and relaxing on your couch. Do you drink yourself into a stupor before you can make that mistake like he does? 

He dreams about you, about your body wrapped tightly around his, your nails dragging down his back so sharply it snaps him awake. He finds his whiskey glass turned over and spilled on his couch. His back aches from falling asleep sitting up. He eyes the phone. 

Fuck calling. 

Javi stares at the brass numbers on your apartment door. What the fuck is he doing here? He just can’t leave well enough alone. He pounds on the door until you answer. 

“No.” You slam the door closed. 

He bangs on the door again, fist pausing mid-air as the door swings open. 

“You can’t just come crawling back to me when you get tired of your whores, Javi.” You look beautiful. Standing in your doorway in one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. Righteous anger puts a fire in your eyes, gives a hard set to your jaw.  

“No es así y tú lo sabes.” (It’s not like that and you know it).” Javi steps closer to you, you don’t step back. “Me haces falta. (I miss you). Let me in.” 

“Oh you fucking miss me? It’s been two weeks. Y no llamaste. (and you didn’t call).” You didn’t call him either, but that’s not the point. You didn’t show up at his apartment.

“Sé, lo siento. (I know, I’m sorry).”

“No. No lo eres. Déjame en paz.” (No. You’re not. Leave me alone.).  

“No puedo. You know I can’t.” Javi looks defeated, run down. You know he needs you. Despite the advice of everyone you know and your own better judgment, you step aside and let him in. “Gracias, cariño.” And he sounds so relieved, you almost feel bad for keeping him out, for not calling him. Almost. 

He closes the door behind him and you stalk off to the kitchen, still not quite ready to face him. You pour yourself a glass of whiskey and shoot it, wincing a little at the burn, before grabbing another glass and pouring one for each of you. You set both on the coffee table and sit on the couch, folding your legs beneath you. 

“Why are you here, Javi?” He’d asked himself as much.

He picks his glass up off the table and sits on the couch next to you. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I need you. I don’t know what else you want me to say.” 

“Start with why you disappeared.”

“Classified.”

“Bullshit.”

Javi sets his glass down and manhandles you into his lap. He crashes his mouth into yours and at first you don’t even respond to his touch, but it doesn’t take long to fall into him. You can’t deny that you’ve been miserable without him. Craving his touch, missing him so much it hurts. He’s like an itch you can never scratch enough to satisfy. A festering wound that won’t ever heal. So you may as well pick at the scab. 

Javi pulls your crotch flush with his. He’s already hard against you. You bury your hands in his too-long hair where it curls at the nape and lose yourself in him. You grind down on him and he thrusts up against you, the denim of his jeans and hard line of his cock creating delicious friction even through your panties. 

He breaks the kiss, dragging his lips up your jaw, and whispers in your ear, “Can you come for me like this?” You don’t answer him, simply grind down on him harder, faster, nearly rubbing your thighs raw on his jeans. He peels his t-shirt off your body, throws it behind the couch, and immediately sucks a nipple between his plush lips. He bites down and it sends a jolt straight through your core. 

“Fuck, Javi. More, baby. More,” you whine. He grabs your hips and drags you along his clothed length hard and fast. You feel your core tighten around nothing, and a keening moan falls from your lips as you come. 

You don’t even have time to catch your breath before he’s thrown you onto the couch. He drags your ruined underwear down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder, and buries his face between your thighs. He sucks your clit into his mouth and pushes two fingers inside you, pumping slowly and rolling your clit gently between his teeth. 

You arch up into him, and instead of pinning you down like he often does, he lets you grind your pussy on his face. The hard ridge of his nose, the rough drag of his mustache, the plush softness of his lips, so many different sensations hitting you as his fingers plunge into your cunt, curling into your g-spot over and over. It’s completely and utterly overwhelming. You fist his hair and hold him tight to you as you ride his face, and he moans into your cunt. He fucking loves it when you let go like this, unabashed moans filling the room, probably filling the whole apartment complex. 

You fall apart again, like this, hips stuttering to a stop as you squeeze his fingers so hard it almost hurts. Javi peers up at your blissed out face, the rapid rise and fall of your chest, takes in just how beautiful you are. He drags his tongue through your slick one more time before hovering over you and licking into your mouth. 

You suck your own slick off his tongue, licking into his mouth as you feel him shove his jeans down enough to free his cock. He pulls back, sits on the couch and drags you into his lap. You straddle him and he helps you line up before grabbing your hips and pulling you down on him. 

You collapse forward, the feeling of him inside you is like being split apart and it would probably hurt if you weren’t so wet. He grabs your hair and pulls backward until your back is arched. “Montarme, cariño.” (Ride me, baby). You start moving your hips, slowly picking up in speed until you’re bouncing on his cock so hard and fast you can barely catch your breath.

He hitches your thighs around his waist and wraps his arm around your back, dropping you on the couch. He shoves his jeans down, stepping out of them, and drops one knee to the couch. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping your legs around his hips. You cling to his shoulders with your left arm and drop your other one behind you for leverage, rolling your hips into his. He meets you with his own thrusts, holding your body to his and burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

He’s so close, you’re so tangled up in each other, he’s so fucking deep inside you, barely even pulling out before rolling back up into you. You fall back onto the couch and he follows, still holding you in his arms as he fucks you. Your orgasm hits you like a wave, rolling over your body and giving you chills as your cunt flutters around his cock. 

He comes with you, fully collapsing down onto you. You should feel crushed under his weight, but it’s comforting. He holds you so tightly it’s like he’s afraid to let go of you. Afraid that when this moment is over you’ll kick him out and he’ll be alone again. Afraid this is the last time he’ll ever get to touch you. 

You pet his hair gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. It’s late. You’re so fucked out you feel high and maybe the whiskey is loosening your tongue a little.  

“I don’t understand, Javi. If it feels like this, why won’t you love me? What more could you want from me? What am I missing that you need?” This is going to ruin everything.

Javi pushes up on his elbows to look you in the eye. “Cariño. It’s not you–” 

“I swear to God, Javi, if you use that line on me I will burn your apartment down with you in it.” 

“You don’t understand. You won’t understand. I’m not good. I’m only going to get you hurt or killed.” 

“You already are hurting me, Javi,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him back down to you. 

He’s silent for a long time before he half whispers into your shoulder, “I’m just so afraid.” His voice breaks and you feel a tear land on your skin. You stroke his hair, drag your fingers along his heated skin. 

“I know you, Javi. I know who you are and I don’t care. I think about you all the time. All the fucking time. I can’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard I fucking try. It’s torture.” 

Javi shoves himself away from you, standing and grabbing his jeans off the floor.“That’s my fucking point!” You flinch at his volume. He pulls his jeans on, grabs his boots and crams his feet into them, already heading to the door. He turns around. “I am only ever going to hurt you. I am a bad fucking person. I hurt people on purpose and you are not immune from that just because I care about you or because I love you.”  

You stand and try to take his face in your hands but he grabs your arms and holds you away from him. “I’d let you crack open my chest, rib by rib, while I watched if it meant I could have you. If it meant you’d be mine. Stop running away from me! I’m begging you!” You’re sobbing, yelling, pleading with him to just listen. 

Javi looks at you, brow furrowed, big brown eyes shiny and bloodshot with tears. He lets go of you and steps away slowly, putting distance between the two of you. His mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. He drops his head and closes his eyes, takes a shaky breath, and walks out the door.

He knows he will come crawling back to you, tomorrow or a week from now, he can’t ever stay away. But maybe this time the wound will be too raw. He will have hurt you too much, and you will shut him out. He fucking hates it, hates the thought of being without you, hates the way it feels like he’s clawing out his own organs hurting you like this. But this hurt is so much less than what he would do to you given enough time. This wound will scab over, form an angry scar, he will have left his mark on you. But you will heal. 

dividers by @saradika

#Javier Peña #Javier Peña fics #Javier Peña fanfiction #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javi Peña #Javi Peña fics #Javi Peña fanfiction #Javi Peña x reader #Javi Peña x you #Javi P #Javi P fics #Javi P fanfiction #Javi P x reader #Javi P x you #Narcos #Narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

[astolary]

APRIL SHOWERS BRING MAY FLOWERS .

( Synopsis ) ✿ freesia – going on a strawberry picking outing

( Author's Note ) @xianyoon has created a lovely event called when the spring light hits the field! Please check out her event >< Ying thank you so much again for letting me write with these prompts :D Up next, Neuvillette hehehe

( Pairings ) Diluc x GN! Spouse Reader

( Content Warnings ) Reader likes strawberries, reader is Diluc's spouse, set towards at least 7-10 years into the future?

( Word Count ) 1.0k+ words

DILUC DESPISES THE MONTH OF APRIL. It does not bring back fond memories. If anything, it reminded him of the times when he was sheltered, naïveté, weak, foolish. How he failed to stand on his own two feet to protect his father; how he pushed everyone away from him; how he ruined everything around him like a corrupt flame choking nature into black ashes. 

It was hard for him to create relationships with others after that incident. And if something was hard for him outside of work-related matters, indulgence in desires was something he did not deserve. That is too selfish and self-centred for a man of his calibre.

Diluc had everything; the Dawn Winery, mora, a stable business, a loving father, and a reliable brother.  His future was all planned out for him. And everything collapsed because of a birthday wish.

Of course, fate had plans for him. Or was it chance? After all, April showers bring May flowers.

“Good morning, Master Diluc!”

“Master Diluc, good day.”

“Greetings, Master Diluc.”

“Good morning everyone.” Diluc greeted his staff.

Quick footsteps padded the floor. “Master Diluc, here’s your coat.” Moco diligently stood behind him, coat neatly hanging on her arm. “Are you going to pick the strawberries today with (Name)?”

“That’s right.” Diluc nodded. “Do you happen to know of my spouse’s whereabouts?”

Spouse. If you asked him a decade ago if he were ever to find a partner, he would have promptly dismissed the idea and made a mental note to close the tavern early to resume his evening duties.

“(Name) has already started harvesting the strawberries,” Moco informed him.

“I see, they must be in a rush.” Diluc mused. “Thank you, Moco.”

Tsk, cheater. Diluc brooded in the back of his mind.

Hastily, he walked down the cobblestone stairs, quickly spotting a head popping out in the strawberry farm

The post-winter breeze tousled his face like a bygone dream, greeting the animals from slumber; welcoming the birds from the 7 nations; and the plants full in flourish. Spring has come once again.

Which also meant…

“It’s time to harvest the strawberries.” Diluc voiced out loud. He watched your head snap up from the strawberries quickly, freezing like a deer in headlights. “I thought we said we would compete fairly this year.”

Preposterously, you mockingly stood up and pointed an accusing finger towards him. “I would have competed fairly if someone didn’t eat my basket of strawberries last year!” 

Clutching your strawberry basket tightly to your chest, you feigned offence. You marched towards him, holding your chin up high in defiance. “This year, I will win, and I will get to be the one to spoil you for a whole month!” You kicked his basket with your hip

“Really now?” He smirked. Diluc pinched your nose, watching you scrunch your face cutely. 

“Of course! In fact, I’ll harvest more strawberries than you ever had.” You announced, “I’m winning this year’s strawberry-picking competition!”

As if ignoring the fact that he has always helped in the seasonal fruit harvests since childhood— just like every other year, you deliberately testified your demise. “I’m sure you will.” Diluc replied.

“Just you wait,” You laughed. “Because I have a plan,”

It wasn’t a pretend cackle, your laugh was a joyous laugh, a tinkling melody that burst straight from your heart and enveloped the entire area. A laugh that showed that you were enjoying your time with Diluc over a competition on who could harvest the most strawberries. (Because you both knew it was out of character for Diluc to have fun over a competition.)

(Years ago, when you both carefully strengthened your relationship through time—Diluc did not spare time, but for you he was more willing to take care of himself. And trust—trusting himself was so much more harder than trusting you. Because how can you trust someone wholeheartedly when you can barely trust yourself?

“It’s alright if you don’t trust yourself,” You spoke to him under the orange tavern lights. “Most of the time, we barely trust ourselves to make decisions. But that’s why I’m here.” You smiled, the most beautiful smile he’s seen you show him. “I knew what I was getting into by being with you, and when you don’t trust yourself, I’ll trust you.”)

He’s so, so grateful for being you being in his life.

In a daze, Diluc stood still, holding his basket idly in his hand— soaking in your happiness. Your laugh made him so happy…

You were comfortable living in the manor, with him. You were comfortable laughing, with him. You pushed him to be the best he can be, not because he loves you, but because it’s something he must do to become a better person. To be more worthy to receive your love.

You’re so amazing…

A gust of wind passed by him. Diluc snapped out of his daze.

“But of course, you can’t win the strawberry picking competition if you don’t have your basket!” You yelled. Your legs burned as you ran as fast as possible away from him. (Maybe you’ll reconsider working out with him.)

Diluc chuckled. “Oh you sneaky…”

And Diluc ran after you— of course, while deliberating keeping his pace slow. Because, you know, you should really reconsider working out with him.

Diluc does not despise the month of April.

—

“Elzer.”

He looked up from the documents in his hand.

“Adeline?”

“Look.”

Adeline’s gaze was fixed on the window, fondness swirling in her eyes and an affectionate smile touching her lips.

Curiously, Elzer rose from his chair and took quick strides towards Adeline.

“Master Diluc is chasing (Name) around the vineyard.”

Chasing (Name) around the vineyard…? 

He shifted his gaze towards the window. Ah.

“If Master Diluc is fond of grapes, then (Name) is certainly fond of strawberries.” Adeline sighed wistfully.

“Doesn’t it bring back such fond memories?” 

Elzer rested his hip against the window ledge. “It does.” 

“Just like when Master Crepus and My Lady were younger.” Elzer sighed nostalgicly.

“Just like when Master Crepus and My Lady were younger.” Adeline agreed.

Ah, Master Crepsus would be so proud of the man you became, Master Diluc.

astolary 2024 — do not edit, repost, or translate. © genshin impact official art © @/h-aewo dividers © @xianyoon : when the spring light hits the field event

#when the spring light hits the field #（ ❁ଓ.° ） astro! genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc x reader #genshin diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #ok im kinda scared this is my first post in how long HSJSKSLSLDJWKWH

[janeyseymour]

Love Thy Neighbor- pt 4

Summary: the aftermath, and your first day of work. good lord.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

WC: ~4.15k

You kiss her back- of course you do. You would be an idiot to pretend that you weren’t attracted to your neighbor turned coworker.

But as soon as you pull away, there’s a look of panic written on your face. “Uh-”

“I- I’m sorry,” the redhead apologizes quickly. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“No. No,” you state. “Don’t apologize. I just, uh…” you turn bright red, nearly as red as the woman’s hair next to you.

She stands awkwardly.

“No,” you sigh. “I- I liked that.”

She sits back down and looks you in the eye. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you admit quietly. “I did… I just-“ you purse your lips, trying to figure out how to say this without ruining everything that you have going on right now.

“Just say what you’re thinkin’, hun,” Melissa encourages gently.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” you say softly as you evade her eye contact.

“You won’t,” she promises, laying a warm hand over yours.

You suck in a breath before spilling out, “I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but I- I just divorced my husband, I have Ellie to worry about and look after, we’re coworkers now! I- this is all so complicated. I just don’t think now is a great time, and maybe not… maybe not ever.”

Those green eyes look at you with such an understanding that it hurts you- it pains you so much to not be able to give into what you so desperately want to do. You want to be selfish and pull the redhead into your bedroom, tell her that even though you’ve only known her for a short time, she makes you feel more than Jared ever had. But you can’t- because you know there are too many risks involved with this woman, and you do not want to lose a good friend, coworker, and someone that your daughter trusts and loves.

“I understand, hun,” Melissa tells you softly. “I do. It’s okay.”

“Melissa,” you sigh quietly. You stare at your hands, one of hers on top. “I am so-”

“Don’t apologize,” she instructs gently, yet also somehow sternly. “I will not hear it.”

You nod hesitantly before looking into her striking emerald eyes with tear filled eyes of your own.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Don’t cry. There’s no need to cry. We’re okay. I promise.” She tugs you in, allowing you fall into her arms. You cling to her, the perfume that she’s wearing surrounding you.

After a few seconds, you pull back. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asks. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

“For-” you bite your bottom lip nervously. “For helping out when I need it, and for being there for Ellie, and for helping me get a job, and for… being so understanding about all of this.”

“Of course,” she smiles softly, patting your arm. “I’ll always be here to help in any way I can.” She stands. “I guess I should head back over to my place- school tomorrow.”

“I guess,” you shrug. “Or… you could stay for a little longer? Have another glass and keep watching the movie with me?”

It’s clear that you don’t want to be alone right now.

“You okay?” she asks as she sits back down and wraps an arm around you. She chuckles. “I promise I’m not trying to make any more moves on you- just trying to provide comfort. Barb is a lot better at it than I am.”

“You’re not doing too bad,” you give a choked out laugh, tears still in your eyes. “Y-yeah, I’ll be okay. Just a bit overwhelmed with this new life… missing my old one. The divorce is still pretty raw too.”

“I know that feeling,” she sighs. “My ex-husband and I divorced years ago, and sometimes it still haunts me. So, know that you aren’t alone in those feelings.”

You nod and relax into the couch cushion.

The two of you sit quietly, thoughtfully and neither of you watching the screen in front of you, before she really does have to go get to bed if she’s going to be a functional teacher tomorrow.

You see her out, thanking her again, before sighing. You close the door gently before leaning up against it. Deciding that you still don’t want to be alone, you go to Ellie’s room. She’s fast asleep surrounded by her stuffed animals, but she’s clutching something in her arms. 

You gently arrange her so that you can see what she’s- she’s holding onto a picture of you, her, and your ex-husband. Jared has an arm wrapped around you, his smile is bright. You have Ellie on your hip, and she’s giggling at something that he had said to make her laugh for the picture. You have a clear look of love in your eyes as you look down on your sweet little girl.

Those times were… so good. Simple. Full of what you thought was love. If only you had known he was sleeping around with Sharon, and Sarah, and Heather, and Autumn, and… whoever the hell else he was before finally deciding to dedicate most of his time to Jen and not you.

You wipe the tears that have rolled down your cheek with the back of your hand before you simply curl up next to your daughter and hold her as you try to ground yourself. You fall asleep. holding her protectively- as if you could shield her from all of the terrible things that happen in the world. She snuggles into your body, smiling in her sleep and letting out a soft hum.

The next morning, Ellie is jumping on your chest to wake you up at the ass crack of dawn.

“Momma, momma, momma!” she shakes you.

You groan, keeping your eyes closed. “Momma’s sleeping, baby.”

“No you’re not! I’m hungry, and I wanna go to school!”

You open one eye, just barely, to see that beautiful girl of yours. You turn your head to look at the unicorn alarm clock on her pink bedside table. Next to it is the picture of your torn apart family, and your heart hurts for just a second before you see the time: 5:30.

“Elizabeth, it’s too early to be awake,” you groan as you pull her from off of you and gently set her next to you. You pull her in close to your chest. “Go back to sleep, baby girl.”

“But I’m wide awake!” she tells you.

“And I am not,” you chuckle. “Lay with me until the clock says six, and then we can talk about breakfast and getting up.”

Your daughter sighs, but she does relax against you. You hold her tight, reveling in the fact that while everything has been turned upside down in your world, Ellie is your one constant. You have your little girl- she’s all yours, and you’re going to do everything you can for her.

The next time you wake up, you’re slamming your fist on the alarm clock, turning it off. Ellie is fast asleep on your chest, the smallest droplet of drool falling from her mouth.

“Ellie Belly,” you jostle her gently. “It’s time to wake up for school, my love.”

Her little head pops up, and you chuckle at her wild bedhead. “Mrs. Howard?”

“Yes, my love,” you smile. “It’s time to start getting ready to go see Mrs. Howard.”

She uses you as a launch pad to jump up, and you let out a small groan. She’s opening her closet to pick out her outfit before you can even sit up.

You get her ready before starting on breakfast and getting yourself at least somewhat presentable for the day. You know you’re going to head into the school to set up your new room before you start to DoorDash. You should look at least somewhat professional entering the school.

As you shuffle your daughter out the door, you’re met with the redhead.

“Hey,” she smiles at the two of you, sunglasses already over her eyes.

“Miss Mel!” Ellie absolutely lights up. “Are you gonna take me to school again today?”

“Not today, little love,” you tut softly. “Momma’s gonna bring you. We’re gonna take the bike.”

The redhead frowns. “When are you getting your car out here?”

“Not for another few weeks,” you sigh.

“I can give the two of you a lift if you want,” Melissa tells you. “I really don’t mind.”

“Oh, I have to get back home somehow,” you chuckle nervously. 

“You can bring my car back, so long as you promise to pick us back up at the end of the day,” the woman counters.

You bite your lip, hesitant to accept her offer to help. But Ellie is looking up at you with pleading eyes. So you nod before opening your front door back up and grabbing the booster seat for her.

You get Ellie settled in the car before climbing into the passenger seat. “Thank you.”

She just smiles at you as she pulls out of the parking garage and onto the busy streets of center city Philadelphia.

She hums softly to the music that is coming from the speakers before turning and asking you, “Any big plans for the day?”

You shrug. “I’ll probably be biking back and forth today with the supplies from the storage locker for my new room.” 

“Use my car for the day,” she tells you without any sort of hesitation. “Less trips, more time to set up.”

“I- I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“You didn’t,” she chuckles. “I’m offering to help.”

“I’m paying you for gas,” you tell her, hitting her with a look that leaves no room for argument.

“No you ain’t,” your coworker laughs. “Just make dinner again sometime soon, and we’ll call it even.”

“I like it more when you cook, Miss Mel,” Ellie makes her thoughts very clear.

You roll your eyes at that comment and look back at her. She’s giving you the most innocent little smile, and your heart melts. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Melissa pulls into a spot in the parking lot before grabbing her bags. “C’mon. I’ll show you where your room is.”

It happens to be the room right next to hers. You glance around, and you can make this work. It just needs some brightening up.

“Ellie,” the redhead says softly, gathering the attention of your daughter. “Your momma has to get going, and Miss Mel is gonna head into the teacher’s lounge for some coffee and morning news. You coming?”

Your daughter nods excitedly. “Can I bring my book?”

“Of course,” the second grade teacher smiles softly. “Say goodbye to your momma though first.”

Ellie bounces over to you and flings herself into you. You chuckle, crouching down to her level before hugging her tightly. You release her, and Melissa plants her car keys in your hands.

“Seriously,” you say softly. “Thank you. I’ll be making my poppyseed chicken tonight if you want to join us.”

She nods. “I’ll bring the wine.”

You spend most of your day heading back and forth between the storage locker that has your teaching supplies and the school. You have a thin sheen of sweat dousing your brow by the time the school bell rings to signify that the day is over, but your classroom looks great. It’s bright and full of positivity, and you couldn’t be more satisfied with the progress that you had made.

You gather your purse and a few things that you won’t be needing before heading outside to gather your girl in your arms.

“Momma!” Ellie catches sight of you before you can make your way out the door. She’s holding onto Melissa’s hand tightly with a grin on her face.

You open your arms up wide for her, and she drops your neighbors hand to come running into your arms. “Hi, my love. Did you have a good day at school?”

She nods enthusiastically before looking back at Melissa. “Mrs. Howard let me sneak into the secret room to give her a hug again. I love Miss Mel.”

“I know you do,” you chuckle.

“Can I be her helper while we wait for her to go home?” your daughter requests softly. “She needs help making sure everyone gets to their people.”

“If that’s okay with Miss Mel,” you chuckle.

Ellie walks on her toes back over to the redhead and tugs gently on her sleeve. She asks before raising her arms up for Melissa to pick her up. Of course, your neighbor obliges with a smile. Ellie wraps her arms around her neck and lays her head on the leather jacket gently.

You can’t help but smile as you watch the two of them together. Ellie is so comfortable with Melissa, and it makes your heart so happy to see that she’s content with someone besides you- she had always been a bit more hesitant around new adults. But Melissa had swooped right in and made her way into Ellie’s heart. You know that Melissa has a special place in your daughter’s heart too.

Dismissal is over, and you follow Melissa back into the school for her to gather her things, Ellie still on the redhead’s hip slumped over and clearly asleep.

You offer to take Ellie off her hands for her.

“I got her,” Melissa smiles, holding Ellie with such tender love and care.

You chuckle. “Are you sure? I know she gets heavy after a while, and you’ve been holding her for the past twenty minutes.”

“I got her,” the redhead is adamant as she grabs her purse and slings it over her other shoulder. “How’s your room coming along? Mind if I sneak in and take a look?”

You nod, although you’re nervous. You hope she finds it to be suitable. She walks in and her eyes go wide.

“Wow, Y/N,” she says softly. “This looks incredible. The kids are going to love it.”

You blush and mumble a thanks before following her out the door to head to her car. Melissa puts Ellie in the car and buckles her in with a soft chuckle. She moves the stray hairs out of her face before closing the door gently. You hand her the keys that she puts her hand out for before climbing into the car.

The ride home is peaceful. She tells you what some of your future students are up to, and she explains that they are more than excited to meet you. That makes you smile- although you hope you can live up to the hype.

When you get home, Ellie is awake and feeling refreshed from her nap. She’s immediately asking if she can help you make dinner for her favorite person. You allow her to mix the sauce together, and you can’t help the chuckle you let out when she steals a taste.

“My silly girl,” you say softly. She’s growing up before your eyes.

“Can I go get Miss Mel?!” she asks.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I think someone has a new favorite person… and it isn’t Momma! How rude!”

“No! No!” Ellie is quick to hug you tightly. “You’re my favoritest person in the whole wide world! Miss Mel is just my second favoritest person.”

You squeeze her right back. “That’s so kind of you to say. Go ahead… get Mel.”

She runs off, and you take a deep breath to collect yourself. Hearing that you were her favorite person in the world- it melts your heart. But you also remember a time where a five year old Ellie would proudly announce that Momma and Daddy were her two favorite people in the world. Now it’s just you.

A stray tear falls down your face, and you’re quick to wipe it away when you hear the front door open again.

“-And I helped Momma make it!” Ellie finishes her sentence as she drags Melissa into your kitchen.

You quickly wipe away the second tear that makes its way down your cheek before turning around with a broad smile on your face. Melissa sees right through your act though, and she gives you a questioning look. You silently shake your head, indicating that you’re fine. She doesn’t believe you and mouths that you’ll talk about it later.

Ellie launches herself up at you, and you’re quick to hold her close to you, peppering her cheeks with the kisses that she deserves. “Little miss was the best co-chef,” you let out a thick chuckle.

Dinner goes on as it usually does, and then the three of you settle on the couch. Ellie watches the usual cartoon that she loves in Melissa’s lap before she’s dozing off. You suppose that her nap only kept her refreshed for a bit.

The redhead looks down and laughs softly, rubbing Ellie’s back soothingly. “She was exhausted after recess today… told me all about the crazy game of tag she was playing with her classmates.”

“Sounds like my little girl,” you say as you settle your gaze on your sweet girl. “At least she’ll sleep through the night.”

“She doesn’t let you sleep?” the woman laughs as she looks down again.

“She uses the bathroom at least three times a night most nights… and every time, she bellows for me- poor thing is scared of the dark,” you sigh. “Even with all of the nightlights we have around. And then she’s up at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Sounds like a six year old,” Melissa laughs. “Well, I guess I should get going. School tomorrow and everything.”

You nod and take Ellie off of her. Your little girl scrunches her nose in her sleep, and you pray she doesn’t wake up. If she does, it’ll be at least another twenty minutes before your neighbor can leave for the night. Thankfully, she settles into your hold, clinging to your shirt.

“Goodnight, Mel,” you say softly. “Thank you again for helping us out today.”

“Have her ready to go at the same time tomorrow,” Melissa instructs. “I’ll take her in while you do whatever you have to get done tomorrow.” You go to protest. “And I will not be taking no for an answer.”

You close your eyes and huff. “Okay.”

The next few days continue on the same way, with Melissa taking you and Ellie to and from the school. It’s very kind of her to do. The three of you have meals together, and you and Melissa have started cooking together.

On Friday, you finish your DoorDashing shift a bit early, bike your way back to the apartment complex, and pick up Melissa’s car. You grab the things that you want to place on the desks before heading out. You pull in and get buzzed into the school.

The secretary smiles as she sees you, handing you the badge that they’ve been promising you the entire week, and you head down to your classroom.

You set the little trinkets on the desks for your students and then head over to Melissa’s room.

The weekend is nice. The three of you actually spend most of your time together. You and Melissa take Ellie to the park, you get coffee at the redhead’s favorite little shop, and then you make dinner together. Melissa helps put your daughter to bed, and it’s all good and fine.

Come Monday, you’re a nervous wreck. Ellie is exhausted from the extravagant weekend, and she is not a happy camper. Even Melissa coming over to make breakfast can’t quite wake her up.

“Momma cannot deal with this Elizabeth,” you grit out as she squirms. 

At her full first name, your daughter pauses. Her little mouth forms into an ‘O’, and she stops her protests until it’s time to shuffle her out the door.

“I don’t wanna take the bike!” she groans and stomps her feet. “I wanna drive with Miss Mel!”

“And Momma wants to bike.”

“I don’t care!”

“Elizabeth Ruth,” you say sternly. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to ground yourself.

Melissa lays a gentle hand on your shoulder, and it’s so comforting.

“Miss Mel will take us today, but we cannot keep bumming rides off of her,” you tell your daughter. You get her into the car, and only when you’re pulling out of the garage does the redhead offer you a gentle smile.

“Hey. It’s all gonna be okay,” she tells you softly. “And you ain’t bumming rides off me. I like giving you guys rides.”

You shake your head and your hands out in attempts to soothe yourself.

“I know you’re nervous, but today is going to be just fine, you’ll be with me, and-”

“Why do you get to spend all day with Miss Mel?!” Ellie screeches from the back seat. The idea of you spending time with the redhead without her throws her into an absolute fit. She’s kicking your seat and crying, and you finally snap.

“Elizabeth Ruth!” you whip around. “Enough! I will only be with Melissa because I will be doing my job, and you’ll still get to see us both when Mrs. Howard walks you down to the staff room, and you will see her during dismissal!”

Your sharp voice makes your daughter freeze. Her tears subside, and she’s reduced to sniffles.

You soften. “I’m sorry, love. Momma’s just a bit stressed this morning.”

“It’s okay, Momma,” Ellie whimpers. “”s ‘kay.”

You feel bad for snapping on her, and when the three of you get out of the car, Ellie insists on staying by Melissa’s side.

“For today, you’re just sticking by my side and observing, but feel free to run out whenever you have to,” the redhead tells you once she’s gotten her stuff settled, and Ellie is sitting in one of the bean bag chairs in the back of the room. “If you need to make copies, continue setting up your room, use the bathroom… anything like that.”

“You nod.”

“I’m heading down to the staff lounge for some coffee and to watch the news if you want to join,” the redhead tells you. Ellie is immediately at her side and asking to be picked up, to which Melissa does immediately.

You follow them down to the lounge silently, nerves coming back full force.

The second grade teacher introduces you to her friends and tells them that you’re Ellie’s mother, but also their newest staff member.

Janine is quick to introduce herself and tell you that she’s willing to help you in any way you might need, that you’re so lucky to have Melissa as your mentor, and that your daughter is just the cutest thing.

Everyone else is just as kind, although not quite as interested in you. Barbara just smiles gently at you and nods- she already knows of you and the interest her work wife has taken on you.

The lounge time is nice, a time for you to recollect yourself, but it’s over far too soon. You walk Ellie down to her kindergarten classroom and give her a warm hug and kiss. 

“I love you, little girl,” you whisper to her, kissing her hairline.

“I love you too, Momma,” she says just as softly. She lets you go and hugs Melissa just as tightly before telling the woman that she loves her too.

Although Ellie had said it before, this one feels much more heartfelt from your little girl, and the redhead can’t help the tears that well in her eyes. “I love you too, El.”

The two of you leave your daughter with Barbara and head back to her room.

“You okay?” the redhead asks you gently.

You nod as confidently as you can, but she can read your body language. “Nervous.”

She reaches for your hand gently and squeezes it. It’s so warm, and full of comfort, and just everything you need right now. Her eyes are soft and you can see the amount of love and care that she has for you in her eyes. You swoon- almost. 

You squeeze hers back, as if to silently say thank you. And then neither of you let go. You just continue on down to her room, your hand in her own.

When you get there and pull apart, your cheeks turn red. You shouldn’t have held her hand the whole way down. But before you can apologize or say anything to her, one of the kids is running in, so excited to tell Melissa all about her day after school yesterday.

You retreat back to her back table where your things are and sigh. You watch her handle this child with so much care, but it’s just not the same as when it’s Ellie. It melts your heart that you now know that your girl has a special place in her heart. But at the same time, it makes it so much more complicated- your feelings for her. 

This is going to be interesting.

#melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary

[badkitty3000]

Weak

Even Five Hargreeves is no stranger to temptation. He tries so hard to stay away. He wants to do the right thing for once in his life. If not for himself, then for her. But every man has his breaking point.

Five Hargreeves x Reader Smut

This one shot is an accompaniment to my other work "Addicted". This can be read on its own, but is a different side of the story, as told from Five's point of view.

As always, I am open to requests. Thank you!

My Master List Of Number Five Fanfiction

Weak:

I never meant to take it this far. I never meant to be cruel. That’s not who I am, or at least I didn’t think I was. I also thought I was strong and had will power. But I guess I was wrong about that, too. Because as much as I try to stay away, I don’t.

I know who I am and what I’m made of. The terrible things I’ve done. That’s not a secret and I’ve never lied to myself about that. My morals can’t even be called a gray area anymore; they’re more like an indistinct blur. But in this one tiny part of my soul, I was trying to be better. For her, at least.

I have failed miserably.

She knows what I am. When things got too comfortable and too familiar, I told her as a way to push her away and to scare her. It didn’t work, though. In fact, it had the opposite effect. She fucking loved it…and I didn’t know how to say no to that.

How could I say no when she was tearing at my clothes, practically panting with desire, and shoving her hand down my pants? All over a bloody stain on a shirt collar and the feel of my Glock against her skin. I’m sure there’s a way to resist that, but fuck if I know what it is. I’m not smart enough or strong enough to figure that one out.

I don’t particularly like all of the killing. But I’m pretty fucking good at it and someone has to do it, I suppose. I certainly never considered it sexy in any way. Then, after that first time, when she begged me to tell her all of the gruesome details, and I watched her skin start to flush and her pupils dilate…well, fuck, that put a new spin on everything.

I still don’t like it, that part hasn’t changed. I get no pleasure from pulling that trigger and watching their skull break open like a fucking pinata, spraying the contents of their brains all over the floor like the world’s worst party game. Now, however, there is a sick little spark that will ignite in me after it’s done. Because I know how it will turn her on.

And, fuck, I am weak.

That’s what this all boils down to. Weakness. For most people that meet me or know me in any way, weak is probably the last word they would use to describe me. Cold; bitter; sarcastic; asshole. Those adjectives are much more likely to be used. But weak? Doubtful.

I know the truth, though. Deep down, that is what I am. Because when you continue to break someone’s heart time and time again, just because you can’t control your own basic urges…that’s weakness. Pure and simple.

She has told me how much I’ve hurt her, and how much I am ruining her life. She has screamed and cried and told me all of the things I know I deserve to hear. She has called me an asshole more times than I can remember, and I have never disputed it. So, I stay away, like I know I should. Until she inevitably calls again. And I slip right back into it without another thought. Like the absolute fucking bastard that I am.

Weak.

Because even though I know it’s wrong and I’m slowly poisoning her with my selfishness, each time I think maybe it will be different. Maybe this time will be the time when I stay. When I will finally be the person I should be and really want to be.

All the way up until the early morning, I will convince myself that this is it. I’ve finally seen the light and I can be the man she deserves; it will be so easy. Because when it’s just the two of us, in our own little cocoon, hidden away from the outside world, the idea is magical. I would give anything to stay there, tucked away, fucking like animals until we’re both too exhausted to talk anymore. I want to stay there and listen to her voice, and her laugh, and feel her hands on my touch-starved body. And I think, yes, this is it. This is what I want.

Then morning comes and the spell is broken.

Once that first peek of dawn starts to light up the sky, all of my anxieties come rushing back, and I remember why I can’t stay. Morning brings back the real world, and with it all of its problems.

I will freeze up, practically paralyzed with fear, as she sleeps next to me, an arm draped over my chest. I will remember what kind of person I really am, and how that just doesn’t translate to boyfriend material. And it’s not just the little fact that I am a hired assassin, although that does put a slight snag in any future meetings with parents and the like.

It’s the mixing bowl of fucked up thoughts and feelings and history that lives inside my brain. Guilt. Regret. Sadness. Rage. Take your pick, none of them are great. And I can mask them for a night or two, while I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. But they will come back again, and that’s just not something anyone needs. Especially someone you care about.

So, I do the worst, shittiest thing in the world, and leave while she’s asleep. No kiss goodbye. No note. Not even a quick morning fuck. I grab my shit and leave in a flash of blue light, like the weak coward I am. Can’t even bother to use the god damn door.

I will stay away after that. At least for a while. I will ignore the incoming texts and voice mails that sometimes will follow, and sometimes don’t. I’ll pretend I don’t care about the lectures and pleas and rightly-deserved insults. But I do care. And that’s why I won’t answer.

A month might go past, maybe more. Just enough time for me to start thinking she really is done with me. Then the call will come through, late at night, and I won’t ignore it. Because, as we’ve determined…I am weak.

She is the only one, although I’ve never told her that and I bet she thinks she’s not. I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. And when she stops calling for good, which one day I know will happen, that will be it. It’s either her or nobody. And it’s barely even her.

Our paths almost never cross outside of our little midnight meetings. After that first night when all of this started, I’ve never seen her anywhere else besides her apartment. I assume it’s because the types of bars and clubs I frequent are not anywhere a normal, sane person would want to spend their free evenings. But tonight, as fate would have it, I do see her. After I grab my drink off the cracked and peeling bar top and turn to look at the room behind me, I see her. And she’s not alone.

With my glass half way to my mouth, our eyes meet, and for a second neither of us move. It’s not a big place, so we aren’t that far away from one another. But it’s loud and crowded, and the guy is leaning in close to her ear, talking loudly to be heard over the constant bass thumping through the shitty speakers on the walls. Who the fuck is this guy?

It’s not fair, I know that. Believe me, I know that. And I try to give myself a stern talking-to inside my head. She is not yours. Not even remotely. You are an asshole and she deserves better. Leave her the fuck alone.

I take a drink. And then I see his hand disappear under the table, and I can see everything from where I’m standing. He’s squeezing her thigh, leaving his hand there to rest on her leg, rubbing his thumb across the bare skin that isn’t covered by her short skirt. A skirt I know I’ve had my face under before.

Fuck. I hate this guy.

In the thirty seconds that it takes for all of this to happen, she is watching me. Reading me. A faint smile plays on her lips and I know I’m caught. My thoughts must be written all over my face like a fucking billboard, and it’s too late to pretend I haven’t seen or that I don’t care. She’s got me.

If I were stronger, or a better person, I would leave. Pay my tab, collect my coat, and get the fuck out of there without another glance in her direction. Leave her be. Let her live her fucking life. But I am not. And I’m pissed.

My first instinct is to reach behind me, grab the Glock that’s hidden in the waistband of my pants and covered up by my suit jacket, and take care of this asshole right then and there. That would probably be the nicer thing to do, honestly. Then she’d finally see what a fucking psycho I am and that would end things once and for all. But I’m also not that stupid. Or that nice.

Instead, I stay and watch. I let her see me watching, too. I lean with my back against the bar, casually sipping my drink, and my eyes never leave her. I want her to know, even if it makes me more of a giant dick than I already am. I want her to know I am not pleased.

I have no idea who this guy is, and I don’t care. Maybe it’s their first date; maybe it’s their tenth. It doesn’t matter, I want him dead. And now that she knows that, because it’s pretty fucking obvious by the way I’m coiled like a cobra ready to strike right now, it’s quickly become a game. If she had feelings for him before, that seems to have been forgotten now. Because everything she is doing is for me.

Her eyes leave mine and she returns to what I can only imagine is a very dull conversation with the Neanderthal sitting next to her. She smiles and laughs, and moves her leg closer to his so that they are touching. She reaches up and fixes his hair, tucking a stray piece of it over his ear. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at him like he’s the most interesting person she’s ever encountered. And he’s eating this shit up; kicking his game up a notch with even more inane talk and rubbing her thigh up and down with his whole hand. He thinks she’s into him. Fucking dumbass.

That’s the only thing keeping me slightly calm at the moment. Knowing it’s all a play. She is a really good actress, I’ll give her that, but I’ve paid more attention to her than she realizes. I know her tells. I know the difference between her fake laugh and her real one. I can tell when she’s actively engaged in the conversation or she is just waiting for you to shut up. I know how she touches her face when she’s nervous and I know what she looks like when she wants to fuck you.

And, buddy…I got bad news for you.

The corner of my mouth lifts in an arrogant smirk as I take another drink. I shouldn’t be proud of this; I should be appalled. How dare I think I have any right to any of her little traits and quirks? I haven’t earned that. That kind of thing is reserved for boyfriends and husbands and people that can stand to stick around for more than a few hours.

When she runs her tongue over her lips in an obvious gesture meant only for me, I actually laugh out loud. Fuck, she knows what she’s doing. And it’s one hundred percent working.

As I order my second drink, feeling the calming buzz of the booze fill my brain, I start to care less and less. I don’t care if this is not fair. I don’t care that I’m being a complete and utter shit head. I don’t care if I’m weak. I’ll deal with all of that later.

I take out my phone and type out a quick text.

Enjoying yourself?

I watch as she glances to her phone on the table as it lights up. She picks it up, angling it away from Caveman Cliff, and reads it. It’s subtle, but I saw it. A brief twitch of her mouth and a quick flit of her eyes in my direction. I see her type out a quick reply and then she is back to him, completely enrapt in his droning.

Immensely, thank you

Not able to resist, I counter with:

Even I can tell from way over here that your panties are as dry as the desert

She holds in a smile as she responds back.

Too bad you’re not going to find out

Honey, if that pussy of yours is even slightly wet, it’s only because you’re thinking of me bending you over that table you’re sitting at right now

I see her legs shift and she crosses one over the other, squeezing them together as a faint blush covers her cheeks.

And why would I be thinking that?

Because that dipshit you’re with isn’t going to give you what I know you want

I watch as she swallows and then glances at the idiot to her left that is oblivious to all of this, the poor bastard. Her response is short.

Fuck you

She puts her phone away to end this exchange, but I see the small smile she is trying to hide and the way she touches her hand to her face. I can see her chest expand as she sucks in a deep breath, biting at the inside of her cheek.

I give a short snort of satisfaction and put my phone back in my inside jacket pocket. I got what I wanted. I throw back the rest of my drink, leave a few dollars for a tip, and head for the door without another look in her direction. But I know she saw me leave.

As I wait there in the dark, I think about how awful I’m being; what a shit bag move this is. I’m using her, that’s what it boils down to. Using her for her warmth and her openness, and to temporarily calm my mind. Also, for her body and her touch. She sees something in me that isn’t there; or at least something I can’t see. But I can’t or won’t give her what she needs, and I’m also not letting her move on.

Fuck, I’m an asshole.

I hear their voices coming down the hall, the rattle of keys in her hand. As they near the door, I can hear her made up excuses. She’s tired; she had too much to drink; she has a headache. Maybe next time. She’ll call him tomorrow. Then she slips inside her darkened apartment and the door closes behind her.

I’m on her before she has a chance to turn the light on, pressing her against the door as she drops her keys on the floor. Since I’ve been waiting, the anticipation has already made me fully hard and I push my groin into her while I circle my hand lightly around her neck.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? No love connection tonight?” I growl next to her ear.

She never even screams or fights back. She knew I would be there. But her hands grab my forearm and I hear her suck in a loud breath.

“I never knew you were the jealous type,” she smarts back.

 “Only when I see someone try to take what’s mine,” I hiss hotly against her neck, drawing my lips and then my tongue across her skin.

“I’m not your fucking property,” she snarls, but I can hear the break in her voice and she swallows hard against my hand.

I laugh cynically. “Well, then I can go and you can let him fuck you instead. Is that what you want?”

There’s a long pause and it’s just our loud breathing in the dark of the room. Then I feel her head move slowly from side to side.

“No,” she whispers.

As I crash my mouth onto hers, my hands in her hair and on her face, and down to her tits, she is reaching for the front of my pants. I had already removed my jacket and belt when I got there, as well as the pistol that I always carry with me. Our little act back at the bar was already enough foreplay and our bodies are screaming for each other.

Our hands can’t work fast enough as she is shoving my pants down my legs and tearing my shirt open while I rip her top off and yank her skirt up. My fingers are already pushing her panties to the side and entering her, sliding right in with no resistance.

I smile proudly against her neck. “I knew you were wet for me.”

As she moans and throws her head back, she is reaching down to stroke my cock, her warm hand tight and firm as she drags it slowly over my shaft.

My hips are already jerking into her and I want to be inside of her so badly I can’t think straight.

“Get these panties off so I can fuck you,” I snarl.

I pull my fingers out, pushing her underwear down roughly and she quickly steps out of them. With one pull of her hips into me, her arms clutching tightly to my shoulders, I lift her up and start fucking her against the door.

I tip my head back and groan loudly as she whines and pulls her legs tighter around my waist.

“Can he make you feel this good?” I ask between clenched teeth as I ram into her harder and the door rattles in its frame.

“No!” she cries out.

“Do you think about him when you’re alone and fingering yourself?”

Her moans are punctuated by the slamming of my body against hers and her fingers press deeper into my skin.

“No,” she breathes out. “No.”

“You think about me, don’t you?” I say with a sneer. When she doesn’t answer fast enough, I ask again, louder. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpers pitifully, her nails digging sharply into my shoulder blades.

I can’t believe what I’m saying and what I’m doing. But she’s loving it and so I continue.

“I’m going to fuck you until you forget all about him, and then I’m going to fuck you some more. And if I ever see you with him again, I will kill him.”

“You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?” she asks, and that knowing smile starts to form as she closes her eyes and bites her lip. “When you saw him with me?”

“Fuck yes I did,” I groan loudly into her neck.

She’s almost there, I can tell. So am I, but I’m going to make her finish first. I pick up the pace, thrusting into her as hard as I can, her back and head slamming against the door, my fingers digging deeper into the flesh of her thighs and ass. I’m practically ripping into the side of her neck, latching on with my mouth and teeth, desperate to mark her as my own.

I listen as she repeats my name over and over in gasps and moans and I can’t hold back anymore.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You are all mine.”

She is falling apart in my arms, violently shaking against me as I penetrate her one last time, letting out a loud, guttural moan. I’m as deep inside of her as I can be, and I fill her up with so much cum, I know it will start sliding out; dripping down her legs and onto the floor. Somewhere deep inside, in the primordial part of my brain, I take satisfaction in knowing that it’s my seed, and only mine, that is coating her insides.

Once the last spasm has left my body, I let her down and she falls back against the door, breathing hard. Her bra is still on, but the straps have fallen down, and her skirt is bunched up around her waist. I look at the painful looking purple bruise I left on her neck, which is large enough and obvious enough that she won’t be able to cover it. Her eye makeup is smeared and her lips are swollen and red. She looks completely ravished. And then she starts to cry.

It’s because of me, I know it is. Because of the things I said and the things I did, and the way I needed her so desperately. She had been trying to break away from me and I reeled her back in. And I did it knowingly and deliberately, just to feed my ego and maybe not feel so alone. I could have found anyone for that. But, like the prick I am, I only wanted her.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, my lungs still working hard to get air in and out.

She just nods silently, wiping her face with her hand, and pulls down her skirt. She picks her shirt and underwear off the floor and heads to the bathroom without a word. I’m left standing there with a softening dick and my pants around my ankles.

Fuck.

I could leave now, while she’s in there, and maybe I should. That feels wrong, though. But then again, so does staying. I feel like shit and I’m so full of shame that I want to punch my fist through the wall. Instead, I zip my pants back up and walk over to her couch to wait. I turn on the table lamp and even though it’s dim, it feels blaringly bright and I have to squint my eyes.

When she comes out, she has changed into some soft shorts and a t-shirt. Her face is cleaned up and I assume her thighs and the area between them are too. She is no longer crying, but I can still see the tell-tale signs of red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. I’m surprised when she comes and sits down next to me, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, because I can’t think of anything better to say.

“I know. Me too,” she says and she leans her body against mine.

She has nothing to be sorry for and I’m not sure what to do, so I put my arm around her and hug her to me. I kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes. I don’t know why she’s letting me do this, but it feels good and I like it. Just like every other time, I tell myself that maybe this time will be different. I can do this; I can be that person. I don’t want to be that other jealous, callous, hurtful person. I don’t want to be the asshole.

“Just don’t go yet, ok?” she says quietly with her cheek resting against my chest.

I smooth her hair and run my hand down her back. I don’t want to go. She feels good and warm and soft against my tension-filled body. She feels right. I want to tell her all of that, too. I want to say I’m sorry a million times over and beg for her forgiveness. I want to wake up with her next to me every day.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” I murmur into her hair as I brush my chin across the top of her head.

“Don’t do that,” she pleads, her voice soft. “Please.”

I decide I’m going to tell her how I really feel. Before the night is over, I’ll come clean. And then I’ll stay. If she’ll still have me.

“You are, though. I mean it.”

She doesn’t respond, but sighs and nestles in, holding me around my waist. Fuck, I have craved this. More than the dirty talk and the biting and the ferocious fucking. I want this. I want her. And I’m going to tell her.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. It’s there, on the tip of my tongue the whole time. All I have to do is say it. But I don’t.

We fuck again, rough and hard, on the couch and on the floor. I leave more marks on her chest, branding her as my own. I tell her she’s mine, and I make her scream my name again, but I don’t say what I really mean.

We fuck in her bed, while we’re both tired and slightly drunk. I pump lazily into her while she lies underneath me and moans softly. I kiss her lips and tell her how gorgeous she is, and it’s not a lie because she is. I worship her body, running my tongue over every part of it, tasting her skin and her delicious arousal. I can taste my own cum as I lick into her soft folds and inside her pussy that’s been stretched and abused by my cock several times over.

There are so many opportunities and I don’t take any of them. I let her fold her body into mine as I hold her in the dark and I can say it right now. It would be easy and it would be the truth.

I want to be with you.

I want to be yours.

I want you to be mine and mine alone.

I want to stay.

But I am weak, and so I don’t.

She sleeps against me and I listen to her rhythmic breathing while I lie there wide awake. I think about all of the things I should have said. Everything I should have done and should not have done. I hate myself for all of it.

When the sun creeps in, and the faintest light is leaking through the curtains and cutting through the safety of the darkness, it all comes crashing back. I remember why I can’t stay and why those words just wouldn’t come out. The reality of the real world is glaringly obvious in the light of day and I remember all of it.

The real world is filled with everyday things like jobs and homes and bills to pay. Coworkers and families that want to meet you. Graduation and birthday parties. Movie and dinner dates, holidays and vacations. Marriage. Children. Normalcy.

There’s just no way any of that would work. I can’t fit into that life, even though I want to. I think of all of the things holding me back and they keep piling up until they are crushing me and I feel like I can’t breathe.

I am an assassin. A killer. A murderer. I have seen the end of the world and survived the most horrific things. I have PTSD and crippling anxiety. There are nightmares and paranoia and episodes of manic rage. I am old and I am tired. There is nothing left of me and nothing left to give. I am not meant for normalcy.

As I slowly remove her arm from across my chest, she stirs but she doesn’t wake. I take a moment to look at her. Her mind isn’t betraying her with vivid dreams of the world collapsing around her in a fiery blaze or sprays of bullets piercing her body. She is at peace and I am envious of that.

I am not good for her, I know that. I need to go and stay gone. She deserves stability and happiness and a million other things I cannot give her. So, I will be the asshole that leaves in the morning before she wakes, just like I always do. She will hate me and curse me and cry for me. And I will stay away this time. I have to.

I chance it by leaning in and brushing my lips across her forehead. Her face wrinkles up and then relaxes again, but she doesn’t wake. I slip out of the bed and out of the room, following the trail of discarded clothes and put them back on one by one. Then I am gone in the same flash of light that allowed me to enter there in the first place. A convenient exit that I have misused way too many times.

Outside, the sun is bright and the world is waking up. I can feel my resolve growing stronger as the new day builds. That was it, I am done. It was awful and I shouldn’t have done it, but it’s over now and I will not be repeating it. I am a pillar of inner strength. That was the last time and she is finally free of me. I am doing the right thing.

My strength is impressive, both inside and out. But it is not impenetrable, especially when darkness falls and the world around me grows quiet. When I am alone with nothing but my thoughts, and I just need to feel something good again.

Everyone has a weakness.   

#number five x reader #five x reader #five hargreeves smut #number five smut #smut #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #number five #tua #umbrella academy #number five fanfic #five hargreeves x reader #one shot #female reader #five hargreeves imagine #umbrella academy fanfic #fanfiction requests #tua fanfiction #tua fanfic #fanfiction #requests open

[dollwrites]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 — 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐢

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!suiseki!reader, noise control, finger sucking, king of tsundere himself, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ i didn’t plan on writing this, but i can’t get the idea of kanata shoving his fingers in my mouth out of my head. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“You’re being too loud again.” Kanata was panting out a ragged whisper in your ear, but you could hardly hear it over your own, loud whimpering and the table thump-thumping to the rhythm of his greedy thrusting. he may have been a self-centered lover, a learned selfishness from years of neglect or, perhaps, because he had to steal everything else he’d ever had. but, you’d be damned if you didn’t love the way he stole you, too. “You trying to get me killed?”

there’s a tinge of amusement lacing the sarcasm dripping from his husky voice, but the threat was a very possible outcome if anyone found out that he claimed you like this. quick, needy, disrespectful fucking. against the wall, in a closet, or — like this time — on a table. whenever and wherever Kanata could get his hands on you, usually on the way out after meeting with Iori and picking up his pay. “Shh…”

“K, K! H—harder, oh god, harder!” he was already pounding hard, the legs of the table you’re boosted on to grinding into the floor, leaving skid marks, and he was hilt deep already. his sweatpants shoved down around his thighs, his balls were heavy with need for you, and made a deliciously wet slap due to the way you squelch when he pushes deep. Kanata made you so wet that you couldn’t help but erupt like a geyser when he hit your sweet spots, and thankfully he didn’t mind the mess you always left on him. you knew it’d be the same today, he’d pull the frayed hems of his hoodie down to cover the wide, damp stain that smelled like you on his crotch. his clothes weren’t the only ones that suffered, though. your panties, pulled to one side for the quickest access to your cunt he could get, were soaked, too.

“Shut up,” he grunted, thin brows furrowing close together and teeth grinding when you grasp a handful of lavender locks, skewing his lazy side pony further, and jerking hard. expelling a heavy breath into your neck before pulling back, his head tilted upwards to accommodate your vice, lips parted, amethyst gems sparkling and pupils blown out with lust as he watches you squirm and cry out for him, against his demands to quieten down. “They’ll hear you.”

you couldn’t keep quiet, anyways. you couldn’t stifle your pleasured whines or the way you wanted to scream his name until your voice went hoarse. with your trembling knees dug into his ribs, your manicured nails biting at his shoulder and his scalp, your voice was your last line of defense against the haphazard way he fucked you. you didn’t care about the other boys in the building, the ones that you called your family, the ones that could — at any moment — hear you scream for Kanata and come running to ruin this beautiful, depraved moment with him.

all you cared about in this moment was Kanata, and how fucking good his cock felt inside you.

“Gonna cum!” you yip, your eyes threatening to roll back, toes curling. your knees tighten against his ribs, trying to lock him in place so you could ride out your high, “G—gonna c—!”

Kanata cut your mewling short, his middle and ring finger pushing into your mouth, muffling the sounds. they reach to the back of your throat in an instance, teasing your gag reflex as the rough, calloused pads press down hard on your tongue. your first instinct is to gurgle, eyes widening and flitting to look up at him. he was so close to you, his breath tickling the apples of your cheeks as his thumb anchors itself under your jaw, keeping you from pushing his fingers out as he fucked you into bliss. “Spoiled brat,” he spat, but there was a subtle yet undeniable fondness in his degradation. “I said shut up… You’re just gonna make me shut you up myself?” he moves them in your mouth, back and forth, to the reckless rhythm in which his hips snap to yours, and your eyes start to water as his digit tips prod at the opening of your throat each time, but this new way to keep you quiet had your pussy clenching, clamping down in his cock until he was breathless and struggling to keep his composure. “That’s— it… come on, princess,” the nickname sounded more like an insult coming from him, but it only made you wetter, “just keep… milking me… fuck, suck my fingers, baby.”

you obey, but only to keep as quiet as you could, sealing your glossy pink tiers around his fingers, you tasted the salt in his skin, your moaning turning to muffled vibrations as you struggle to keep your eyes open and on him.

but, you knew he was close and you wanted to see him cum.

his lip twitched, as if he were about to bare his teeth, his eyes glazing and falling out of focus as he becomes solely zeroed in on reaching his peak. his free hand grips tight on your hip, pulling you in to his movements, as the last few, erratic thrusts send you into your own tizzy. Kanata lets out a raspy moan, pushing you back and separating your bodies just in time for him to cum. wrenching his hands away, he uses them to pry your knees off of him, holding them far apart so he can pull out. as soon as he does, with a strangled cry from you, he releases, painting your panties and netherlips, the glaze dripping on to the table under you.

your chest was heaving for a moment, and you stare down at the mess he’s made of you, too, until you notice he’s staring at your face. it was only then that you felt the thin strings of saliva that he’d pulled from your mouth as they dribble on to your chin and leave little, damp patches on your top. you look up at him and smile. it was a half-dick drunk, silly grin, but it was enough to at least soften his gaze with a hint of adoration. “How the hell do I keep ending up here?” he asked in a low voice, pulling away to tuck himself back into his pants.

you sit up, and lean forward to catch him in a tight back hug, nuzzling your face in his shoulders. “Maybe you like me?” you ask, before adding, “I like you.”

Kanata’s silent, but he also doesn’t push you off for several moments, as if he’s deep in thought about something, before he scoffs and mutters, “I just fucked your brains out. You don’t even know what your own name is, much less what you like. You’ll think better of it later.” with that, now he does shrug you off, but he keeps his face partially hidden, trying to conceal the faint pink blush to his cheeks. “I gotta go. You know to clean up before you come out, right?” his eyeline falls to your ruined panties and the puddle of his spunk on the table. Iori would lose his mind if it left a stain, and the last thing Kanata needed was Zen on his ass. you make a face, scrunching your nose at his curt nature, even after doing something so intimate, but nod, and he heads out. you can swear, however, that you hear him murmur under his breath. “See you again… princess.”

#kanata yatonokami x reader #kanata x reader #kanata smut #kanata x you #kanata #kanata yatonokami #kanata yatonokami x you #kanata yatonokami smut #paradox live x you #paradox live smut #paralive smut #paralive x reader #paradox live x reader #paradox live #paralive

[pinkaditty]

How will the TWST characters react to you having to leave? (Pt 1)

summary: Crowley had finally lived up to his promise. You were going to go home. All he needed was around a month to get the mirror set up for your return. Your eventual departure made each of the TWST boys turn into a ticking time bomb.

a/n: okay. so. i watched a tiktok today on my fyp. and i was inspired. i wrote this in hours and grappled with whether or not i should post it bc... well, i have a lot of requests piled up...! but, in the end i decided, why not? its my blog and ill do what i want with it. not to worry though, i am still working on your asks, i promise. i won't post part two of this (even though it's already written) until i've done at least 2 more asks, so no worries! i do see your requests, and i am working on them!

cw: creepy behavior (kinda), drugging, manipulation, and angst. i think that's all!! mc is mentioned but has no pronouns nor physical attributes mentioned.

minors... are actually allowed to interact with this post specifically. i don't mind it this time. NOT THE REST OF MY BLOG THOUGH. MINORS THAT INTERACT WITH MY NSFW POSTS WILL BE BLOCKED. thanks!

HEARTSLABYUL:

Ace:

He really has a hard time with it. Like, a really, really hard time. Once news reaches him, he almost can’t handle it. The anxiety that the thoughts of your departure cause will eat him alive. It will eventually get so bad that it prevents him from living in the moment, or enjoying his time around you. He falls into a depression, losing motivation to go on, keep living, or keep having fun. The wind has been taken from his sails. His grades slip as the weeks pass, but he can’t be bothered to care. He won’t show up anywhere unless it’s where you are. Despite his inability to enjoy anything anymore, he still spends time with you because, somewhere in him, he hopes you will be too attached to leave. He won’t do anything to damage, destroy, or hide the mirror, but when it comes down to it, he will plead with you not to leave right in front of the mirror on the day you are to go. He will also look the other way, should it end up mysteriously disappearing or broken. He refuses to be the culprit, but he will do everything in his power to make you stay, so long as it’s within the rules. Even begging. Please don’t go. You’re not all he has, but you’re all he wants. Please don’t leave him. 

Deuce: 

Recognizes the importance of family and knows what it’s like to disappoint them or be separated from them. He doesn’t want that for you. But at the same time, he considers you family. The real question is whether he will put himself and his feelings for you first, or if he’ll put you and your feelings first. He grapples with this a lot. He’s not selfish, and has no desire to be, but he found himself wanting to be selfish with you. He wants to keep you around, at least for a little while longer. A month is not enough. Whenever he passes by the summoning room, and sees that dreaded mirror, a rage awakens in him. The urge to return to his old ways burns within him, and for a moment, he can see himself punching the mirror, shattering it to pieces, forever ruining the chance you have to return home. But then he imagines the despair you will feel, and he is left with an empty hole in his heart. Should that mirror end up missing or broken, he will do everything he can to help fix it or find it. He knows he must let you go, and he will, but he will not be happy about it. He will clench his fists and mumble goodbye and try to act like it is all right. It is not. It is not alright. 

Riddle: 

He also recognizes the importance of family, but to a lesser degree. Rather values friendship and found family more, which is what spurs his desire to keep you around. You were a part of his found family, the one he desires to keep. Sure, he had to get used to having you around, but you had grown on him a lot. Far more than he wished to admit. His heart breaks at the news. What was he going to do? He’s uptight. Can’t bring himself to break nor bend the rules, so he won’t. Instead he puts on a mask and slightly distances himself. He acts pleased for you, happy that you have a way to return home, at last. The thought of sabotaging you doesn’t even cross his mind, but should he find out you have been, he will help you. He knows what is best. Come the dreaded day, when he watches you walk away, his heart will crumble. He will spill enough tears to create a river. He will not beg you to stay. He will not convince you. He will not do anything to prevent you from going. But he will cling to the sleeves of his ceremonial robes and bawl quietly. Why did his found family have to leave him all over again?

Trey:

His heart just sort of… sinks. It doesn’t hit him immediately, the despair of you leaving, but it approaches. When he finds himself baking sweets, and thinks of you, it hits him. When he finds himself scoring well in class, and thinks of you, it hits him. When he’s hanging in the Heartslabyul common room, and thinks of you, it hits him. It hits him over and over and over again until he can’t do a single thing without somehow connecting it to you and thinking about your eventual departure. He starts to spiral internally, despite usually keeping a cool head. Just the thought of you leaving will have him grip his pen so hard it snaps, pouring far too much sugar into his sweets and staring down at the ruined mixture, staring up at the ceiling of his dorm at night wondering how time continues to pass. He’s so far gone, so out of it, yet no one else seems to notice because they’re all so wrapped up in their own heads. He won’t beg, he won’t cry, he won’t plead, he won’t break anything, so long as it’s someone else breaking the mirror. But if you leave, the blood may rush to his head and he may find himself fainting, the shock of it all finally reaching him. Is this what loss is? What it feels like?

Cater:

No. Oh god, no. Immediately his spiral starts. He already knew he shouldn’t have become attached to you, knowing that you would have to leave. But the longer you stayed, the more he opened up to you. And the more he opened up to you, the more he liked you. You were Ramshackle dorm’s Prefect, or more like “perfect” if you asked him. There was something so fitting about you to him, and having someone leave all over again… At this point, he should be used to it. But he’s not. He never will be. He knew opening up was a bad idea, he knew indulging himself in this friendship would lead to nothing but despair, he knew, he knew, he knew. The guilt and anger at betraying himself and the building feelings he harbored for you eat him alive at night, and haunt him during the day. However, should that mirror end up broken, he won’t exactly do anything about it. If it doesn’t break, of course, he puts on a brave face, acts like everything’s normal, but he’s so far in his own head he doesn’t even realize how clingy and attached he’s become. He will act normal to the end, even wave a final goodbye as you leave, and will return to Heartslabyul like nothing’s happened. When he’s alone, the tears come. He cries harder than he’s ever cried before. Everything’s back to normal, but now he realizes he never wants normal ever again. Every day, he misses your chaos. Why can’t you come back to him? You were perfect, not normal.

SAVANACLAW:

Leona:

To hell with rules. This herbivore may not have been his favorite at first, but it’s not quite like he can imagine a life without them now. Instead of fear or sadness, he feels anger and entitlement. He should be getting what he wants. He’s a prince, for seven’s sakes. He may not be any type of inherent heir, but he had his rights, and the way he saw it, that also gave him the ability to do whatever he pleased. It’s not like you even spoke about your past a lot anyway, or the world you came from. It didn’t matter more than him and his need to have you nearby. Nothing mattered more than that. He soon hatches a plan to try and destroy that mirror; either through breaking it with his fists or turning it to sand, he would do it, and he wouldn’t care if you knew it was him. As long as you were here, by his side. If all else fails, he will prevent you from even approaching that mirror. He won’t kidnap you, he’s not crazy, but he might just block your way or try to convince you to reconsider. If you remain hard-set, he may become angry, but the more stubborn you are, the more the despair will finally grip him. He may even break down and beg, hoping that the humility of a prince will force you to feel guilt and regret. He could never have cared for an herbivore this much, but it was you. He can’t let you go. And if you really do leave, he won’t sleep at all for weeks.

Ruggie:

Will 100% act nonchalant about it, but on the inside he’s freaking out. He immediately goes into hyperdrive, and will do anything and everything to get you off his mind. He studies until his mind melts, stays after classes for extra tutoring, idles in the cafeteria, hangs out with friends, and whatever else he can possibly think of doing that means he gets to avoid you and the thought of you leaving. May even go as far as starving himself so he can think of food and water instead of you. Of course, this all fails because no matter how much he denies you, he still sees you. He still knows you’re around. He caves at long last when he cannot ignore your presence any longer. He goes to see you all the time, to make up for time lost. Every minute he can spare, he’s with you. Doesn’t think of breaking the mirror, but won’t stop Leona if he tries. He’ll look the other way, because just as badly as you may want to go home… he wants you to be here with them. If you do end up leaving, his heart will be empty as he watches you go. He won’t so much as hug you, but wave a weak goodbye and wish you well. He crumples in the time that follows and is a hollow shell of who he once was. It could’ve been different. You could’ve stayed.

Jack:

He’s an upstanding character. He has a moral compass and knows what is best. He is also stubborn and hard to sway. That said, every single day of the month that leads up to your departure, he finds himself standing in front of that mirror for some time, contemplating. He could break it. Technically, he could. He could just punch it and no one would be able to pin it directly on him, at least not immediately. That way, you would be here. You would have to stay. It may not be the best outcome for you, but he could be a shoulder to rely on. However, he shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and ends up scampering away from the mirror, lest his thoughts get the best of him. Every time he lays down in bed, he tries to resist it, but then he finds he can’t sleep. So he creeps around to the summoning room, looks that mirror head on, and battles with himself. In the end, he does not break it. He has a hard time not doing it, but in the end, he knows what’s best. He will inevitably run into someone attempting to sabotage you, but he will be far too caught up deciding what to do to stop them. He will inevitably fail to stop a sabotage, but the guilt will claw at him, and he will do all he can do to help. Should you go, he will feel happy that you are returning home, but squeeze you very tight for a little longer than usual. The tears will come when he is alone, contemplating on that mirror, staring at his fists and imagining if they were bloody and stuck with glass. What would have changed?

OCTAVINELLE: 

Azul:

Is as cool as ever externally, but freaking out internally. He tries to play it off to himself as being concerned about outstanding debts, or bemoaning about less free labor, or even worrying about what will happen to Ramshackle if he can’t get his hands on it when no one but Grim resides in it? Oh, the horror…! Or, so he tries to say. In reality, he actually can’t stand to see you go. Sure, it hadn’t been very long, but you’d been through quite a lot together, and you had become quite reliable. It was nice having someone he could depend on, trust in, and enjoy one another’s company without the looming threat of becoming disinteresting, like Jade and Floyd. He’d actually come to like you. Perhaps more than that. Before long, he stops moping and starts thinking of ways to get you to stay. He even enlists Jade and Floyd’s help, fully aware they already have their own tactics in mind. He doesn’t care what works, he just hopes something will. He scribbles up contracts, some that would be appealing to you, and give you more benefits than him, but in small fine print reads: “Upon signing this contract, the signer agrees to remain in Twisted Wonderland for as long as the contractor sees fit.” He makes so many that you feel guilty turning him down. It gets to the point where he is begging and pleading with you not to go through that mirror. Not to leave them all behind. If it all fails, he collapses as he watches you go. He returns to his office and rips those contracts to shreds. It was all for naught. All for naught. For the first time in his life, he feels as though he’s drowning.

Jade:

Oh, he cannot let this happen. He cannot simply let you leave. Not when he’s grown so fond of you! He’s not letting you leave him behind. He puts on a brave face, as though he’s self-assured, but in truth, he’s shattered. He feels hopeless. Of course he knew you had a home, but he did not expect you to leave, so soon, and so quickly. Maybe he didn’t want you to leave at all. No matter though, this could be fixed. When Azul entrusts him and Floyd with similar tasks, he can tell that Azul is just as desperate to keep you here. They work mostly independent, but as long as something works, none of them mind which one’s plan did the trick. Jade uses his signature spell on you to pry the truth from you. When he finds that even the smallest part of you does want to return, he finds himself sinking. He must stop this, he has to. A twisted idea is born and soon enacted on the day of, when he encourages you to have a final meal he’s prepared. When you finally collapse, he takes great care to ensure that you won’t make it. But, should you be found and carried to the summoning room, assuming you are in a deep sleep, it will have failed. No surprise will show on his face, and when you finally wake to leave, he will nod and smile, wishing you well. His hands are curled into fists and he is boiling with anger. His room will soon be trashed and he will be shaking with rage. This could have changed. It could have all changed.

Floyd:

Little Shrimpy? Leaving him behind? No way! He’s already pouty about this, but somehow he is assured that you won’t leave. As though he trusts that whatever plan he puts into action specifically will stop you. This is why he is the only one seemingly totally carefree. For everyone else, the stress shows somewhere: in their eyes, in their expressions, in their hands, in their jaw, in their movements, in their behaviors… somewhere. But for Floyd, it just can’t be found. He is 100% carefree and confident that you won’t leave him behind. He intends to make sure of that, no matter what he must do. Of course, he does pout for show around you, complaining about how you have to leave, and might even blubber about it to earn your sympathy. When Azul puts him and Jade up the task of making you stay, he’s elated because he already has the ball rolling. You have to stay - no ifs, ands, or buts about it! And he does his best to convince you. He earns your guilt and remorse in every way he can, even popping up at the most inconvenient times to hang out so you can turn him down and he can pretend to feel bad about it. He lets the guilt fester in your heart, playing the long game. At last, when he’s certain he has you under his thumb, he waits until the day you are to leave. As you are stepping towards the mirror, he grabs your arm, looking at you with false pleading eyes, and begs you to stay. He watches the turmoil boil in your eyes, and almost feels that he has won. But if you ultimately tell him you have to go, he will go blank. His face will lose all emotion, and he will let go. In the coldest voice ever, he will murmur his goodbyes. And some time later, when he’s swimming through the cold, deep sea to get his mind off of everything, he will wish he didn’t have gills. He will wish he couldn’t breathe. He will wish he could drown.

a/n: wowie this was soooooo much fun!!! i totes forgot how much i ADORE writing angst ouuuugghhh!!! best thing ever awaaaaaa!! anyways, i hope you all enjoyed! leave a like, comment, or just reblog if you liked it!! please tell me how much you enjoyed it, i love catering to you all! shameless bit that i do adore asks just as well, so if you come up with a request, my asks are open! thank you!

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