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you & me yuna! because this cover wasn’t talked about enough imo

watched a fan cam of this again recently and felt that it needed its kudos!!

Here's this stupid animatic video that's been sitting in my gallery for almost a year because I never finished it. I thought it would be better to just share it even if the second half is sketchy

— out of this world (and into another) : genshin impact

premise: you could've sworn the transmigration curse didn't have an effect on you... so what exactly are you doing here?! (alternatively, you tumble straight into your favorite video game; and you're kinda fucked)

...or, a genshin manhwa otome game inspired au.

act i: scaramouche, alhaitham, wriothesley.

↳ act ii: lyney, neuvilette, kazuha, kaeya. (next)

warnings. fem!reader but can be imagined as genderless if u'd like hehe, a shit ton of manhwa tropes in one, this is a hot mess aka not proofread all that much, half clunky half decent writing

a/n: as promised via the poll heh,, while i do plan to make this an actual au, im not that sure ^^; just the tip of the iceberg here tho!!

MAIN MASTERLIST | AU MASTERLIST (coming soon)

YOU — unsuspecting civilian turnt transmigrator

you've always been too attached to fictional characters for your own good.

yes, even the ones that are remarkably irredeemable (the power of a backstory is very formidable) and complex (complexity is a virtue!)

villains have always been destined to die, be cursed, or destined to curse others. it was heartbreaking, really. you've wished for a chance to rewrite their fates for them to find even a sliver of happiness, even when the fate of their plot says otherwise.

which is why when you find yourself awake into the game of your dreams, “Teyvat's Seven Stars”, like any lover of cliche novel and manhwa tropes, this is the time you think that maybe life wasn't so shitty on you.

....there's only one tiny, teensy, itty bitty problem here, actually.

you're not the protagonist. you're not even one of the protagonist's faithful friends and underlings that light protagonist's road to conquering the world and its men (and as of the 4.0 update, it's women); no, you're none of those.

you're a no name extra, and not to mention, a character involved with the game's main villain characters who are coincidentally the love interests of the game's black route!

[ unlock transmigration package: ultimate transmigrator's route ( ????? MODE ) ]

[ no ] [ yes ]

( 国崩 ) SCARAMOUCHE — the tyrant

“as of today, you will be engaged to crown prince kunikuzushi, who is her grace the shogun's rightful heir to the throne.”

when given approval to stare at your so-called soon to be husband, you expect the worst, mostly. the multitudes of character dialogue you've played through detailing his rather discourteous personality (which basically meant he was a huge asshole) don't exactly paint a pretty picture.

however...

who was this tender hearted looking scaramouche that ‘obliterated armies in the blink of an eye?’ the t in tyrant stands for tyrannical, not timid!

eyes like lighting framed by the longest eyelashes you've ever seen and an unfairly pretty face, comparable to a fair lotus. after fawning over his otherworldly countenance, a sinking realization of dread pools in your stomach.

oh, you are so screwed.

essentially tied to the indigo-haired ticking time bomb of a future tyrant due to the strong standing of your family for a period of until the main story starts, you're destined to never get crown prince scaramouche's affection, being his fiancée who scaramouche is arranged to for political means only.

not to mention, you're in an even more deadly position; of all the characters you switched souls with, it's the one that essentially dies by their own fiancé's hand because they were horrible to him! what atrocious luck!

frantic, you wrack up about three ways to survive.

plan a) win over the shogun's favor by being an appropriate partner unlike the original flavor of this body, who resorted to bullying the innocent prince and unknowingly digging their own grave or b) be a guiding friend to scaramouche as he learns the ways of the world and c) make sure you don't end up giving the protagonist a bad ending via his twisted personality.

weighing all these options, you decide to do all three in hopes to cement a life instead of a deathflag. prevention is better than the cure (aka: the protagonist) after all!

(you may also just want to spend time with your favorite character. having a time limit and a sign that says ‘i'll die in the future!’ should at least warrant you extra time to show some affection to scaramouche, at least.)

so, you do what anyone in your position would do: give affection! lots of it.

admittedly, it wasn't all flowers and rainbows. scaramouche—ahem, kunikuzushi—was very shy and reserved indeed, with his mother ei even worse off! (besides, who trains and studies all day and has to stop crying every time they were injured?! that was just too much!)

it was rather hard at first, the frigid atmosphere of the usually silent Tenshukaku Palace almost impossible to permeate. but with your amazing charm (read: deathflag radar) and social skills, you manage to let the members of the Royal family open up to you.

speaking words of praise in ei's cooking (a very difficult feat to accomplish), spending afternoons with your fiancé and teaching him ‘how to be a shoujo worthy male lead, name-version’ (very confusing to explain), and the cherry on top, driving away that vile teacher of his—the Doctor—once word got out that he'd been taking advantage of scaramouche as a political puppet king in the future. trauma enabler destroyed! look at your immeasurable powers!

(“you're not a failure.” clasping kunikuzushi's hands in yours as he reels back from you. damn that doctor.

his tears shot a wave of heartache through you. you can't bear to see your favorite in such suffering. “whatever happens in the future, i won't abandon you.

no matter what, i'll always be on your side, okay?”

kunikuzushi looks at you with something in his eyes—something like adoration. “do you promise that?”

“yeah.” you say without hesitation, the glow of the sunlight hitting your face so dazzlingly that kunikuzushi's eyes widen that his mouth hangs agape in awe. “i promise, kuni.”)

to your greatest delight, your efforts worked in your favor.

ei now spends time with her son, and though it's almost always just a tad bit awkward, you and the guuji yae miko get the two to strike up conversation, and overtime, kunikuzushi becomes more open to you.

(“[name], what kind of man is your type?”

“huh? well...” you think for a while. this was a great opportunity to say it, right? that life changing protagonist quote!

“to me, the only person i'll ever like the most is you, kunikuzushi.”

“do you really, really mean that?” and oh, he looks so cute—flustered and red from your words. worth it.

“yup! now, i made some shimi chazuke, try some—”)

(admittedly, lots of favoritism is involved.)

—and while you reap the fruits of your hard work, you spend warm, sunlit afternoons with ei at tea, even learning about other nations from scaramouche's aunt nahida and even befriended a few of his future affiliates—childe (though for some reason, kunikuzushi always pulls you away from him whenever he spots the two of you together), signora (she tolerates you, you think) and etcetera.

(“then, if i do well, can you kiss me on the cheek, [name]?”

you agree, much to his delight. scaramouche avoids the gaze of a certain pink haired fox eyeing him questionably. unbeknownst to you, he glares at the woman's scrutiny.)

unprecedented things unrelated to the plot happen too; like how your family, which basically only saw you as a political bargaining chip and an unwanted child they could get rid of easily—no longer sent you any demeaning letters demanding money once scaramouche found out....

(“they've been leeching off of you for how long?” so scary... is this was kunikuzushi is like when he's worried?)

(“...kunikuzushi, how long will you keep up that weak-hearted facade of yours? if they find out how.... dishonest you are....”

“i don't need the reminders of a foxy old hag that doesn't know her place. this is fine as it is.”)

(you don't need to know.)

but, you're nothing compared to the inevitable flow of the plot. inazuma is wracked with war, and it just so happened that you'd been unceremoniously kidnapped by a certain resistance leader's trusted general, used as a hostage bargain for approximately the majority of your life. in the worst moments in your dreary cell, there's only one thought in your mind.

....kunikuzushi's face, devastated when he tries to reach for you, before slipping away from him like sand— face morphing into an unbridled state of rage that's too natural, too familiar. when did he learn to make a face like that?

(they say the kingdom was wracked with thunderstorms all night that day.)

afterwards, fate doesn't make it kind for you.

years go by in the blink of an eye, with your capture fervently forgotten in the midst of the growing animosity of the two conflicting forces.

although you did hear that yae sent out a search party for you while at the resistance's base, the shogun's forces never reached you.

eventually, you got released secretly by sympathy of kokomi, the leader of the resistance, who felt pity for you getting caught in the crossfire. letting you go under the condition that you'd likely never meet any of the precious characters you've gotten to know and change was a heavy price to pay, but you didn't have any choice.

indeed, no matter how much you tried to divert the plot, your duty as an extra has ended, and you were even lucky to even be alive. you could only hope that your fiancé—ex-fiancé—took note of your lessons well, bidding farewell to inazuma as you hop on the boat to mondsdat.

by now, you at least hoped that scaramouche and the protagonist met, his true chance at happiness starting now that you were basically dead.

(even if your heart felt like breaking into a million pieces.)

....is what you thought would happen, but why is it that after three years from your supposed capture, inazuma was still at war?

“that crazy prince... he's still working to find his former fiancée... and he's razing almost every village apart looking for them!”

“—didn't the shogunate say that whoever finds her would receive almost 3 million mora?”

“the entire lot of them are lunatics, i tell you. all because of a missing person, too!”

what's more, why was it still going because of you?!

( 艾尔海森 ) AL-HAITHAM: the information guild master

to be fair, normal people don't really run into one of their favorite characters often after transmigrating.

but to be fair, again, you certainly didn't think you'd actually be in your favorite video game franchise caged in bed with essentially one of its main love interests.

eyes wide and unceremoniously looking—definitely not ogling— at the toned body that's currently enveloping you in its arms, the soft tuft of ashy gray hair caressing the crook of your neck, murmuring incoherent mumbles of—is that another language?

???????

you blink, looking down at the bare body currently embracing you. oh. oh.

you're an extra.

you're just an extra, but why are you in bed, currently being served breakfast by the most gorgeous man you've ever laid your eyes on, with a pretty view of the rainforests' canopy?

“you should lie down. if i recall, sufficient sleep is required in order for the human body to perform its basic bodily functions. although our partnership is temporary, to let you fall to harm is a situation i'd like to avoid as much as possible.”

“....what?”

“...?”

the guild master, al-haitham, is a character in Teyvat's Seven Stars that is heavily debated on whether he's technically a villain or not. in the game, he's the right hand of sumeru's leader, nahida, working as the overseer of the AKASHA, a guild that gathers information to the nation's leader. he's a pretty shady character—always working behind the scenes and very unfalteringly blunt—and a ‘villain’ for crown prince scaramouche's route, helping the protagonist escape his clutches.

he's often the subject of comedic ire, his banters with a certain broke architect always the highlight of any bonafide al-haitham fan.

“we're expected to work together by lord kusanali's decree in the duration of investigating the hivemind project the lord suspects the baron siraj is partaking in.”

right, that one scene in the game where al-haitham needed to go undercover to infiltrate a coup de etat staged by one of the factions against nahida... right... what.

you were that extra! the one that fell in love with him and pined for his affection!

(“well, i get that part, but does sleeping together really have to play a part in this...?”

al-haitham gives you a mere quirk of the lip, tilting his head. “we do have to play the part of a married couple in dire straights, do we not? this cover is more efficient.

...besides, i don't have anything to complain about. you're certainly better company than kaveh.” )

in truth, al-haitham wasn't bad company. far from it. aside from the internal giggling and fangirling (you) and the incredible stack of books (alhaitham) that you have to see more than the grey haired man on a daily basis, the two of you work out a rapport that stems from memories of the body you transmigrated in.

he's nice to be around, surprisingly considerate when he wants to be—he tells you about the books he always reads....

(who even reads ‘20 Tongues Language Memorization Guidebook: A Basic Overview of Vocabulary and Terms’ for enjoyment?

the content makes your head run in circles because of how complicated it is; but who wouldn't like to listen to an extremely attractive man overexplain to you with a calm and pretty voice?)

...is generous enough to provide meals and cook dinners that have you crying tears of gratitude because you know how awful yours compares (it was either too bland or too seasoned; al-haitham is surprisingly picky when he wants to be)

(you assigned al-haitham the title of “absolute s-tier husband material”— his capabilities are out of this world!)

by chance, you once gave al-haitham a little tidbit of information that proved to be valuable later in the investigation—courtesy of your avid game knowledge—when you two had been lost to the psychological illusion magic cast by siraj when you two finally broke in his estate.

(“whatever happens, if siraj messes with your mind, just make sure to think of me instead of anything else.” al-haitham lets his hand find yours.

“you once asked me if i trusted you, [name].”

“....” you're treated to one of al-haitham's rare smiles, one that warms you up from within. “i do. so don't let yourself get hurt.”)

however, your temporary partner had faltered for once, flinching when siraj took the form of his old grandmother who'd passed to exploit al-haitham's mind, hesitating and frozen in place while siraj inched ever closer to finding out his weakness.

and you couldn't stand it, the character you cared for—the al-haitham that always had a plan, always knew how to stay calm, had looked so unsure and hopeless.

(“wake up, al-haitham!”

with you cradling his face, al-haitham stares back at the only constant in the memories of his grief, eyes meeting yours. “you don't have to do it all alone. i'm right here, aren't i? believe in me.”)

your (fake) husband snaps back to reality, finally allowing enough time to apprehend siraj and put a stop to his malicious project.

(“thank you.” al-haitham tells you solemnly. it hits you that this may be the last time you may ever see him. “i'm grateful that you brought me back to y— to my senses.”

there's a sincerity in your voice that rings from your heart. “anytime, al-haitham.”)

you thought that was the end of it.

defeating siraj meant you two no longer had to associate with each other, but somehow, to your great surprise, al-haitham doesn't stick to the plot at all. you were sure you didn't interfere with the game, though?

for some reason, al-haitham doesn't erase himself from your life, unlike the original route's flow.

in fact, he's become... easy to run into, a constant in your otherwise mundane life. he takes you out to lambad's tavern for an occasional drink, says he's lending you his headphones when you find yourself overwhelmed by the city (you were never good with noises) and even helps you out as you vent your problems to him.

(the day after, said problem conveniently disappears. how strange....)

and most of all, allowing you to enter his personal space... leaving kaveh's jaw dropping when he accuses al-haitham of having a lover.

“you're always going who knows where with them! what else is there to figure out?”

“...we are merely friends.”

“a friend that you let into your personal library? do they know that you still keep the ‘fake’ ring in a box inside the closet?” kaveh laughs. “nice try, al-haitham.”

(after all, kaveh could never unsee the way al-haitham's eyes softened at the feeling of the head on his shoulder lean onto him, with you no doubt asleep. he even took his headphones off! kaveh has never seen him actually take them off in order to keep the person who's sleeping on his shoulder as undisturbed as possible.

in fact, kaveh doesn't think he's ever seen al-haitham be this touchy or considerate with anyone this much before.

.....and most importantly, kaveh would never forget the way al-haitham, a man who found no merit in politeness and preferred bluntness, a man who preferred solitude rather than company—deliberately getting close to someone—pressing a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head.

kaveh blinks. it seems even the throes of love can reach even the most unconquerable of peaks....)

( 莱欧斯利 ) WRIOTHESLEY — the monster duke of the north

“—i need you to gather information on duke wriothesley. serve him undercover as one of the prisoners of the fortress.”

the duke of meropide—a man swamped with terrible rumors. they say he was exiled from the nation due to murdering his entire family. they say he possessed a face worthy of the title of a beast— grotesque, littered in scars. they say that any who end up in his estate, the iron prison of the north, meropide, never saw the light of day again.

(“only criminals of the worst kind are fated to be sentenced there. nobody returns, so we've stopped questioning it...” )

so to say you're not fearing for your life that bad right now is a massive understatement.

“now, mind telling me how you were able to sneak into the most impenetrable prison in all the land, miss prisoner?”

how did it end up like this?

so you wake up and find yourself in jail. lovely.

seriously, of all the places you can transmigrate into, why did it have to be fontaine?! Teyvat's Seven Stars chapter 4's main starting point, the nation of justice is littered with dark themes and high difficulty capture targets.

.... such is the case with the man in front of you. unlike what the rumors of him say, duke wriothesley paints a rugged yet dashing picture of a nobleman, even if he was —if you recall— one of the hardest capture targets to conquer in the game.

a villain character who you played once during one game route, acting as the driving force during one of the love events of one of the protagonist's other love interest, lyney. duke wriothesley almost assassinates lyney's younger brother, freminent, leading lyney to rally up a certain group to bring the nobleman down.... a typical side character villain, who's existence was added as late as 3 patches away from lyney's.

(even inazuma would be better than this! at least the tyrant route could be avoided, and let's not mention the easy sumeru route as well...)

“well, miss prisoner, cat got your tongue?”

in summary: fortunately for you, the body you transmigrated is in the position to spy on the current affairs of the fortress of meropide, with courtesy and with permission of one of Fontaine's leaders, neuvillette. unfortunately for you, it seems our dear monsieur wasn't able to inform wriothesley beforehand, leading to the current situation.

aka, you're pressed dangerously close to wriothesley's chest, with a knife at his throat and his hands pinning you against the wall, noses almost touching. you're not sure if this is even the kind of tension that two people who are trying to kill each other are supposed to have...

(“i'm an ally!” you sputter out. wriothesley raises an eyebrow at you. “monsieur neuvillette sent me.”

“how am i supposed to trust you after i saw you slinking around here, knife at my throat?” he replies, eyes narrowing. “i know that i'm labelled as a beast, but i don't really know what came over that pretty little head of yours when trying to sneak into my chambers.”

what does he take you for?! “...are you accusing me of something indecent?!”

“just saying — i've met lots of prisoners with your excuse, my lady.”

“i'm prepared to use this knife, you know.”

“hah.” wriothesley grins. “how aggressive. more aggressive than most. do you want me that bad?”

“stop twisting my words!”)

in any case, you hate wriothesley. you know he's one of the characters in Teyvat's Seven Stars and is a villain for one of the easy love interest routes in the game, but his personality is... a real piece of work.

you'd rather the protective and kind kazuha, or even the charming and elusive lyney! why did it have to be him?

not only did he not believe you, he even told you to prove your authenticity! you're just glad that his assistant sigewinne had been there to vouch for you — you're not sure if you'd even be on your two feet right now if she didn't.

so now you're stuck constantly on your feet, running to and fro — helping the dark-haired man record new prisoners, establishing trading routes to the main city of Fontaine, and treating other prisoners of the fortress with sigewinne.

your biggest surprise by far, though, is just how... different the duke is from the rumors. his scars were merely battle scars of honor (to which sigewinne rolls her eyes, “your grace, please stop trying to look cool”) he got from various succession fights, not scars to show how he was cursed to turn into a beast. he has a love for tea, but always seems to have a cup of your favorite blend with him when you feel tired after a long day of working (laboring) for him and the estate.

(“your daily report of new convicts, your grace.”

“-this is the tea you like, your grace. i've prepared it in advance.”

“you're very adamant on proving yourself. aren't you sick of such tasks by now, miss prisoner?”

“no.” wriothesley's expression screams 'why not?' on it. “ it's because of my own misjudgement of you.”

“...elaborate.”

“i may have had unnecessary prejudices on your conduct thus far. but you're... not like what the rumors paint you out to be.” you say sincerely. “you're more amazing and incredible than anyone else. i truly do admire you.”

wriothesley's expression; you couldn't decipher it. “i see.”)

he's battered, but caring. sigewinne makes you watch (in horror) as she doodles cartoonish looking characters on his face when he's asleep — wriothesley never fusses, only an exasperated sigh to his assistant. he's harsh with his tasks and duties, but is the first to rush you into sigewinne's infirmary to tend to you after you pass out from overwork.

(“don't worry, [name]. the duke may not look it, but he's very gentle!” sigewinne giggles. humoring the little girl who was the first to show you actual decency in this place, you try to nod. sigewinne doesn't seem convinced.

“i'm serious! after all, compared to other people who've snuck into the fortress, you're the first he's treated this way.” she says cheerily.

“what does that mean?” you can't help but scoff at that. “so he just works someone to the bone from the get go?” you shudder. damn production zone...

sigewinne blinks. “ oh no, not like that. it's just that he's never been so lenient before. in fact, when you fainted, he even gave me the order to prioritize treating you over anything else.”)

well, this wasn't exactly what you thought you would be doing when you transmigrated into your favorite game, but you suppose you can take it.

besides, you'd miss a certain duke otherwise. life truly is full of strange twists....

a/n: thank you for making it this far! if anyone asks why wriothesley's was short, listen, this was completely impulsive and i was out of inspiration LOL, but i do hope you enjoy! look forward to new parts though hehe :3

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

Our prison. 💧🩸

tags: p.2 to THIS DRABBLE but can be read alone i think, yakuza!suna/escort!reader

It took you a long time to learn how to walk in heels.

It didn't come to you naturally like it does for some, the movement instinctively fluid and swanlike and effortlessly simple. You had to practice at it, starting with shorter heels and smaller steps and a slower pace, before eventually working your way up to any degree of grace.

The process wasn't without its failings, to be sure. Not without stumbling or blisters or icepacks that you had to press to your aching feet at the end of a long day. But you got the hang of it eventually, it just took a bit of time.

It feels like a lifetime ago now as your steps click across the marble floor of the lobby with an easy, steady gait. You listen to the rhythmic noise each meeting of your heels make against the tile and remember the girl you were all those years ago, in much shorter heels, with a whole lot less life under her belt.

She'd never be able to walk in these shoes.

Especially not in this place.

The day had started out like any other, showing up to the club in the evening and getting yourself ready in the little room you'd been assigned to for the day. It was neither particularly luxurious nor notably shabby, the same as the rest of the suites that line the hallway at the back of the members only club at which you're employed—each close to any average hotel room, though perhaps a little more sterile. First you showered in the adjoining washroom, and then you changed into the outfit you'd brought with you for that evening. You were just in the process of styling your hair when a knock at the door interrupted you.

Your eyes flashed to the clock hanging on the wall, a little startled—you still had almost 25 minutes to the start of your scheduled shift, so no one ought to be calling on you so soon.

"Come in," you'd called out, though your voice sounded a bit confused.

Your manager's face appeared around the edge of the door once it creaked open, and your confusion only grew.

Kaito has never been someone you like. He isn't far from your age, from what you can tell, but he's a man who errs perpetually on the wrong side of sleazy—what with his over-gelled hair, his tastelessly flashy suits, and his sharp, insincere smile that always has the infallible effect of setting your own teeth on edge.

That day was no different.

"You're out today," Kaito said as you dipped your body in his direction in greeting. You froze, still hunched in your shallow bow.

"What?" you asked him as your head popped up in shock, your tone cold.

You'd checked your schedule at least three times that day. You were sure you'd been on the schedule to start at 7, and the guy manning the front desk had given you the key to this suite when you checked in, so clearly when you'd arrived half an hour prior he'd seen your name there too.

"Change of plans. You were requested." Kaito shot you a particularly implicative look you didn't like, and you cared for the way his gaze slipped down to the dip of your neckline even less. "You've been so popular lately."

"Who called for me?" You questioned him, clearing your throat pointedly as Kaito's canine caught his lower lip in a subtle bite. His eyes flickered up to meet yours after another moment of appreciating your tits.

"Who do you think?" he asked you as his brows lifted tauntingly.

Heat flared in your face at his words, and at the sudden prospects they implied.

"A driver will pick you up in half an hour," Kaito added dismissively before stepping back towards the door to leave.

"Why can't Toma take me to the hotel?" you asked, referring to the club's driver who usually took you to your calls out.

(You're fond of Toma—a quiet man in middle age who always treats you kindly. Just knowing that he'll be there waiting to pick you up at a scheduled time always feels like a quiet reassurance on nights like these.)

"They've been nice enough to send one of their own tonight, and you're not going to the hotel," Kaito paused to explain.

Not going to the hotel?

"Inarizaki has been incredibly good to us, you know." Kaito's voice suddenly lost the affectation of charm that he usually laid on thick. The mere mention of the name was enough to make goosebumps raise along your skin. Still hesitating in the doorway, Kaito glanced over at you—and for a moment you wondered if the look you were seeing behind his eyes was insistence or worry. "Just... be sure to return the favour, yeah?"

You're not sure where you were dropped off by the driver.

It's not that you find yourself in some remote place on the edge of town—you're in the heart of the city's centre, on a street you've travelled a hundred times—the high rise just isn't one that you've ever frequented before. As you step across the threshold, you can't help but think the sumptuous interiors remind you more of a luxury hotel than a complex of condominiums like the sign says outside.

There had been a note waiting for you in the back of the sleek black car that had picked you up at the club, though all that had been written on the piece of paper was an apartment number and a code—which you could only assume was for a door. It's tucked away in your pocket now, out of sight, and you've committed the code to memory.

As your heels click against the marble while you cross the glistering lobby towards the elevators—the tap, tap, tap counting out your pace metronomically—something squirms in the pit of your stomach.

Up on one of the highest floors of the towering building, your fingers shake slightly as you type in the code to the keypad outside the specified door. You pause and fight to steady them after you begin to press the six digits into their corresponding keys—no one likes a girl who's trembling, after all—and after a few breaths you manage to get it right: the light on the upper right hand corner of the automated lock blinks green three times, and you're able to turn the knob of the door.

It's quiet when you step inside, which surprises you.

You half expected to be walking into a party, or an orgy, or the former that would eventually lead to the latter. But instead, you're met with a perfectly still, and pristinely tidy, living space.

You hesitate for a moment as the front door swings closed behind you, processing the shock, and then you bend down to slip your shoes off of your feet. If he wants you to put them back on later, you'll do so without complaint—but for now you don't want to make any presumptions. Next you shuck your thin coat, folding it over your arm, and you tiptoe across the threshold of the genkan—creeping further into the home as quietly as you can.

Your pulse is thrumming under your skin unpleasantly, the unfamiliarity of the place setting you on edge.

"Hello?" you call out weakly in the condo, but you receive no answer back.

You're alone.

Or you seem to be, at least.

You pause in the middle of the expansive living space, next to a long L-shaped sofa in the centre of the room with a square table in front of it. Along one side of the high ceilinged home is a kitchen so sparkling you can't help but think it's never been used. There's a broad dining table with eight chairs poised before a wall of windows not far from you too, with a remarkable view of the city just beyond the glass. Along the opposite side of the space to the kitchen is a set of stairs that passes more windows, leading to a second level that you can't see much of from your place on the first floor, but can only assume is where the bedrooms are found.

The place is gorgeous, you make no effort to deny it. You just don't know where the hell you are.

You rest your hand on the back of the sofa as you stand beside it, and the leather is buttery-soft under your touch. You run your fingers along it to appreciate it for a moment.

"Oh, you're here."

Your eyes snap up to the top of the stairs, in the direction of where you hear the words originate.

Suna stands at the landing of the second floor with a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips and a towel around his neck. His hair is wet, seemingly fresh from the shower if the droplets of water clinging to his tattooed neck and chest are anything to go by, and he's got one hand ruffling through it with the edge of his white towel. He peers down at you, his usual secretive little smile on his face.

"Hello, Suna-san," you greet him with a polite little bow.

"I wasn't expecting you here so soon," he remarks, letting his towel drop to rest around his neck again and shuffling towards the staircase's railing. He leans over it, peering down at you. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, I only just arrived. Thank you for sending a driver for me," you say quietly, averting your eyes down towards the coat still looped over your arm. You bite the inside of your cheek as you gather up the nerve to say more. "There's really no need for you to go out of your way like that. I'm more than happy to be escorted by the club's—"

Suna clicks his tongue, interrupting you before you can finish your thought. You don't even have time to be frustrated, because his reply is so perplexing. "No can do, unfortunately. This place has to stay just between the two of us."

Your gaze snaps up to him again in surprise, and you catch the way the corner of his mouth curls up more noticeably. Even from the opposite side of the grand room you see the flash of mischief behind his eyes, warm and mirthful. He lets his long arms dangle over the railing, leaning his body further out across it.

"I wouldn't want just anyone knowing where I live, after all."

Your heartbeat is still racing in your throat, but it feels less threatening now—a hum of anticipation singing underneath your skin. You swallow over the knot of your pulse.

"You live here?" you ask him, your voice sounding a little higher than you intend it to—the surprise you feel evident in the tone even in spite of your efforts to conceal it.

He hums, pushing himself back from the railing and descending the staircase at a lazy pace. Once he reaches the last step, and eventually the main floor, that hammering of your pulse kicks up in intensity again.

"What do you think?" he asks, looking around at the home—his home—around you.

You glance around, though you barely register anything you're looking at, too overwhelmed to take anything in. You clear your throat a little before replying, "It's very nice."

Suna tilts his head to the side, a look of quiet confusion on his face as he considers you. He approaches you slowly, his eyes fixed firmly on you all the while.

"You're nervous," he remarks.

He reaches up, his fingertips brushing against the skin of your shoulder—not dissimilarly to the way you'd been appreciating the smooth leather of his sofa a few moments prior. You shiver at the gentle touch.

"I'm not nervous," you say, a lie if you've ever told one. But you shouldn't be nervous. You've been doing this job for too long to get so rattled over a simple change of scenery.

But the change of scenery isn't simple. Nothing about Suna Rintarou is, after all.

It's not lost on you just who the man you stand before is. Just what he does that affords him such a beautiful home. Why it's imperative that the address be kept secret.

Suna Rintarou is a dangerous man, even as he stands at your side running his fingertips along the ridge of your clavicle with the ends of his hair still dripping wet from the shower and hanging in his deceptively sweet eyes.

But it's not his profession that you fear might bring you harm, it's the little smile that shows his teeth which spreads across his face when he catches how you shiver under his touch, and the way it makes your heart knock against your ribs when you see it that scares you more than anything.

"Okay, you're not nervous," he says quietly, but there's a knowing, placating lilt in his low voice. He reaches up and takes your coat from your arms, laying it over the back of the sofa. Next, he catches your wrists in his large hands, his touch slipping slowly along your arms until he uses his hands to guide them up around his neck. You let him move you how he wants to—obliging, just as you were trained to be—and in one easy movement he wraps an arm behind you and hitches you up to his waist.

You cling to him tightly, your lips hovering a hairsbreadth away from his own. The hem of your dress has crept up in the movement, now rucked up around your hips like a belt. You can feel the heat of Suna's skin radiating through the thin lace of your panties where your core is pressed against the firm plane of his lower abdomen, and it makes your breath hitch in your throat when the sensation registers.

Suna groans a little at the soft sound you let out, pulling you even more firmly against him as his mouth descends upon your throat. The hand he's not using to support your weight cradles the crown of your head, tipping it back slightly so your neck is bared to him more openly. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses right over the place when your pulse is beating most violently.

"I planned to give you a tour," he murmurs into your skin, and your fingers tangle in his hair as you feel the brush of his teeth against the sensitive little spot where your throat slopes down into your shoulder. He pulls away, staring up at you with eyes heavy-lidded with desire. "I think it's gonna have to wait."

Suna carries you over to the massive dining room table on the other side of the room, but keeps his mouth pressed to yours all the while, his tongue sliding noisily against your own. Your head is spinning so terribly as you try to match his pace that you hardly even realize what's happening before he lays you down flat against the cool marble tabletop, and you hiss as the stone meets your heat-flooded skin.

Suna pulls away and stares down at you from above, your legs still wrapped around his waist. The weight of his gaze is overwhelming, and you turn your face away as you fight to catch the breath that evades you. The cityscape lit beyond the glass makes you pause for a moment, even prettier from up close than it was on the other side of the room. Suna's hands slip up your thighs, inching towards the delicate waistband of your underwear.

"This view is nice," you comment breathily, and in the faint reflection that you can make out in the window's pane you see Suna glance in its direction only briefly.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, before taking your chin in his hand and tipping your face back up in his direction to kiss you again. You whimper against his lips as you feel his fingertips dip beneath the lace between your legs, and he pulls away from your mouth only far enough so he can mutter a final, rasping "I've seen better."

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ match my freak !!

ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)

featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha

౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA

your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.

you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...

well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.

"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.

he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.

when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.

tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.

౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA

haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)

he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.

atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.

"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.

in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.

"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"

he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.

"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."

your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.

౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO

the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."

you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.

"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.

but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.

"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.

with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.

"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.

he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."

you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.

and he's going to give it to you.

౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA

the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?

he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.

even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.

he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.

"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."

౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA

everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?

he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.

"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.

"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.

"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.

"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"

tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?

as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.

౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA

your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—

suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.

you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.

because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.

your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.

your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.

"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.

from the start ; sae itoshi x f!reader P2 [CH1]

note: here's part 2!

wc ; 4.5k | content ; slow burn, swearing, tension, angst, situationship, kissing, making out, crying, more angst, not proofread, reader is Over It but sae is down bad, sae is rich, cringe cliche tropes i'm sorry, english isn't my first language, two parter?, no prns but reader wears a dress, ooc, reader and sae both have rich and absent, implied smut? maybe, alcohol, reader and sae are both 19

summary ; the world has a different kind of birthday present for you today

You barely make it to your room before you break down, sobbing so hard you can barely breathe. White-hot tears trace paths down your cheeks like lava, dripping off your face onto the sheets. The sheets that still smell of him. Your clothes smell of him. Even when he's leaving you, going off to another fucking continent, he still surrounds you, follows you around like a ghost. Your hands fist the sheets; you're curled into a ball, chest heaving. It hurts; everything hurts. Your heart and your soul and your chest and your life and even the thought of him, it’s all so painful you can’t even think properly.

You don’t know when exactly you pass out again, but when you finally wake up, it’s about eight. In the evening. You stare at your phone; to your surprise there’s over a hundred missed calls, and almost 400 texts from your friends. What the hell?

Asa’s calling you again. You pick up, confused. “What–”

“What the actual fuck, y/n, where were you? And what was Sae Itoshi doing at your house last night?”

“What?” you say dumbly, voice groggy. You’ve barely just woken up.

“Okay, yeah, not just last night, but my point still stands!” she appears to have misread the reason for your confusion. “It’s all over our social media! I mean, you’re literally standing there with your face in his fucking hands like a fucking romcom!”

“What?” you repeat hoarsely.

“Quit repeating yourself, you goat,” she snaps. “Open up, I’m coming over.”

You take this opportunity to change out of Sae’s clothes – the t-shirt has “SAE” emblazoned on the front in bright red letters against white fabric, and it’s not exactly something that’ll help your current situation – and fix up your hair. You’re getting yourself some breakfast [dinner?] when the doorbell rings. You open it cautiously, slightly terrified, but to your relief it’s only Asa and Maki. And Asa looks mad as hell.

She struts in right past you, but Maki waits until you invite her in. She offers you a sheepish smile in lieu of an apology. When you turn back, she’s seated on the couch, next to the–

Shit. The bouquet.

Asa tosses it towards you with a wry smile; you fumble twice before catching it. She watches you as you put it away with more care than you should, then turns her phone towards you, no longer smiling.

“When were you gonna tell us about this?”

It’s an Instagram post. The image is blurry, so it takes a moment for it to register, for you to realize just what you’re looking at – it’s a photograph of the front of your house, late at night. You know it’s late at night, specifically because the door is open, and you’re standing there, and Sae’s there too, hands cupping your face. His back is turned to the camera but the shaggy reddish-brown hair is too noticeable for it to be anyone else. It looks like you’re holding his hands, like some sort of romantic gesture. It had been a romantic moment, but not on your part. but you’re not the internet, after all. Asa swipes, and the next photograph is Sae kissing you behind the bleachers. Your head is tilted up, half-covered by his black-gloved hand. He’s still in his soccer uniform, sweat glistening on his temple. You’re holding a water bottle –presumably his, and it’d be an adorable scene elsewhere. But not here, not now, not as a secret that everyone’s suddenly finding out about. The third picture shows you leaning back against a car – Sae’s car – in an empty parking lot, with a giddy smile on your face. You’re wearing his jacket over your tank top and shorts, and he’s brushing a wisp of your hair away from your face. The fourth – god, how many of these are there – is him bending down to whisper something in your ear when he thought no one was looking. Although the camera is zoomed in to a degree that should be illegal, the burning blush on your face is still apparent, and so is the wicked grin on Sae’s face. To your chagrin, you can remember the exact details of this conversation; it had been something along the lines of this.

Sae: y/n

You: what

Sae: wanna go to my car and make out?

You’d said no, and he hadn’t questioned it. You like that about him. You’d both still ended up in the car, though.

You’re silent, watching, as she scrolls through the rest of the images, no sarcasm or wit or snarky replies. And according to her, that’s only the first post. Maki, on the other hand, doesn’t quite care about the fact that you’ve been doing… things… with Sae as much as you not telling her about it. Her lips turn up into a pout as she leans back into your couch. “Shame you didn’t tell us, though…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just couldn’t–”

Asa interrupts you. “How long has this been going on?”

Maki whistles. “Interrogation time, I guess!”

You sit down on the love seat opposite Asa.

“Well?”

“Prom,” you admit guiltily.

“Like… two years ago?” Asa sounds hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head impatiently. “So what about his other girlfriends?”

“We never did anything when he was dating,” you defend yourself. Even though it’s true, it still feels like a lame excuse.

“So you were like his – backup girlfriend,” Maki observes.

“Can we stop talking about it like this?” you interject, suddenly snappy. You hug yourself defensively, suddenly unable to breathe properly. You’re inhaling as deep as you can, but it’s as if the air isn’t quite reaching your lungs. Before you know it, you’re shaking, a new onslaught of tears spilling out from your eyes. You sniffle, trying in vain to wipe your tears away. But then there’s a sudden warmth surrounding you, and you feel Asa and Maki’s arms around you, hugging you, holding you close. For some reason, you’re crying harder now that they’re holding you. Asa whispers apologies into your hair, and Maki whispers, “It’s okay.”

It’s not. It won’t be, ever again.

It takes a while for you to finally calm down.

“I’m sorry,” says Asa again. “We won’t talk about it anymore. But still! The Sae Itoshi! What was it like?”

“Yeah…” you smile awkwardly. “He was nice, I guess.”

“You–”

“I’m going to sleep,” announces Maki. “You two talk or whatever.”

She turns over, and you look at Asa again, waiting for her to continue.

“You guess?” she asks, skeptically. “What’d he even do?”

“He was like a boyfriend,” you say, thinking aloud. “But also not really a boyfriend, y’know?”

“It’s one or the other, l/n, choose,” she huffs, glaring at you. There’s no actual vexation behind it, though, and you both burst into awkward laughter. It dies down pretty fast, but the atmosphere is way more relaxed now.

“It was pretty physical,” you admit. “But also we broke it off last night before he left, because it was–”

“Pretty physical,” Asa finishes for you.

“Yeah, that. It wouldn’t work over text.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “What’s going on? With everyone else, I mean.”

“About that…” Asa smiles uncomfortably, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re not exactly on the right side of the story.”

“Of course not,” you sigh tiredly.

“They think he cheated on all the girls with you,” she explains.

“Of course they do.” You bury your face in your hands with a tired groan. “Dude, fuck all this. Fuck Sae, I wish I’d never said yes.”

“Said yes to what?”

You flush, dark red hues spreading and spilling across your cheeks like splashes of paint. “Nothing.”

Asa doesn’t question you, but a moment later she leans forward to squeeze your hand all the same. “Now what are we gonna do about tomorrow?”

“They won’t believe me, will they?”

Asa smiles tightly. “Uh…”

School is… worse than expected. Everyone eyes you like hawks – not just his girlfriends and their friends, everyone and their mother are staring at you, unsmiling. Even the damn teacher. It’s almost unfair, the way you’ve suddenly been alienated from everyone; even your other friends aren’t talking to you. Almost. Because you’re at fault, too. You shouldn’t have gotten carried away, whisked off into some fairytale world where you’re common folk, and he’s a prince, secretly in love. There wasn’t even love, you think, and your heart hurts because you’re so in love with him, and he’d probably been using you the entire time.

Except last night, a voice pipes up in your head. And yeah, last night had been different. But what does it matter now? He’s gone, and someone’s leaked pictures of the two of you like he’s some sort of high-up celebrity.

The voices die down as time passes by, and between taking deep breaths and Asa squeezing your hand protectively, things do get better. That’s not to say that they stop, however, and you do overhear yourself being referred to as “Sae Itoshi’s side chick” once or twice. You can’t even complain, because that’s kind of what you actually were. Minus the cheating. And there are a few outstanding incidents, every now and then.

The first one takes place maybe two days after he leaves; you’re about to dig into the shitty cafeteria lunch when someone slams their tray down onto the table opposite you. Considering the fact that Asa will be sitting with her boyfriend, you’ve already accepted the fact that you’ll be sitting alone. So you’re pleasantly surprised – or not, because the person sitting opposite you is no other than Sae’s latest ex, Mira. She sneers at your surprise, then leans forward, whispering conspiratorially. “So, you’re why he was always so distracted, huh? Fucking side hoe.”

The last part comes out as a hiss, and you flinch back in shock. She’s laughing at first, but it slowly fades off into silence when she realizes you’re genuinely confused. “What–”

“What do you mean distracted?” you interrupt her. “It’s because of soccer, not me.”

“No, it was you,” she states again, obtusely. “I know men, y/n. It wasn’t anything other than a girl, and considering the two of you’ve had some sort of fucked up situationship going on since who-knows-when…” she trails off.

“It wasn’t like that,” you plead desperately. You’re not sure why. “I liked him, yeah, but he was just looking for something that he didn’t have to stay committed to.”

“Are you fucked in the head?” she demands. “I don’t know if he was trying to look out for you in his own fucked up way by not making things official, but that man was fucking whipped. I knew it going in.”

“What?” you ask weakly.

“His mind was never in it,” she explains impatiently. “He wanted you badly.” She looks you up and down, somewhat judgmentally. “Dunno what he saw, exactly, but he did. I came here to be a bitch to you, maybe cuss you out, but you’re so pathetic.”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms defensively, finally coming back to your senses. You open your mouth to respond with a nasty retort, but she interrupts you before you can.

“I don’t mean it in a rude way, but you seriously are. I mean, how stupid would you have to be to not notice?”

You blink at her dumbly, confused, and she shakes her head resignedly. “Never mind. I’m Mira, but I guess you already know that. I know who you are too. Wanna be friends?”

“I thought you hated me,” you say slowly.

“Long story short, I don’t.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Not anymore, anyways.”

It really is surprising how some things turn out.

If you initially don’t trust Mira all that much at first, you can’t really be blamed. But then one day you’re cornered by two of Sae’s other exes – he has like seventeen of them now – and before you know it, she’s flying to your rescue. You don’t exactly get to hear what she screams at them, but apparently it’s enough to make them back off, leaving you alone with Mira as she smiles down at you triumphantly. She’s actually shorter than you, but those stupidly tall platforms the two of you found in the back of your closet have done wonders for her height.

And if she treats you like a pitiful homeless puppy, she’s not doing it on purpose.

Mira is a stereotypical rich girl, but she’s nice when you get used to it. And she’s generous with her money. Even when you try to stop her, even when you’re able to afford the same things without worrying about the price.

For your eighteenth birthday, she throws you a huge party; there aren’t a lot of people there but the expenses are quite high. She pays for your dress, your makeup, your shoes. She also pays for the tissues and ice cream after the party ends and you start crying because you miss Sae. You can’t stop apologizing to her, considering the fact that he’s someone she liked, too. She shuts you up with a haughty sniff and dismissive wave, and hands you another tissue.

Your nineteenth birthday, however, is when she goes all out. You wake up to exactly one notification – it’s nothing you aren’t used to now, considering even Asa’s drifted away from you now that school’s ended, and your only friend is Mira, of all people. Your parents aren’t home, of course, but the notification is from them – about $10k has been deposited into your bank account. You crack a sleepy smile. At least they remembered, even if no one else did. But then when you’re halfway through eating your breakfast, someone starts banging at your door. You open it cautiously once you realize it’s Mira, and she walks in without acknowledging you, then turns to thrust a large purple duffle bag into your arms. When you stare at her blankly, unmoving, she locks your door again, then turns to you, arms crossed.

“I hope you didn’t notice half your clothes are missing, because I stole them,” she says briskly. “The ones that aren’t yours in there are also yours now, I bought them for you.”

“What?” you’re almost disorientated at this point.

“We’re going on a trip,” she tells you impatiently. “Happy birthday, bitch.”

Maybe you are the pitiful puppy she treats you like. Because instead of protesting, you follow her silently like you are one.

The trip isn’t quite what you’d expected at first. You find yourself shuffled into a helicopter – it’s not like you’ve never been on one, but it’s still a… startling experience. You’re still clutching onto your duffle bag; you must look like an absolute fool right now. Mira’s made you change into “presentable” clothes, a white tank top with jeans. No one’s even there to see you right now, you think, so why’d she make you change out of your sweats? But then you disembark onto a cruise ship?

“What the hell?” you shriek.

Mira just smiles.

The two of you are escorted to your rooms, and you watch as she gives curt instructions to the stewards about preparations for some kind of party. Then she turns to you. “Listen up, y/n.”

You blink at her, confused. Confusion seems to be a large part of your friendship.

“We’ll be trying on dresses now. The stylists will be over in an hour, and the party starts at seven.” You open your mouth to speak, but she ignores you. “I know six hours is an awfully short time to get ready, sorry not sorry. I invited some of our old friends too.”

“Okay,” you breathe. This shit’s overwhelming.

Everything goes well until it’s time to pick jewelry. You’ve never been much of anything other than a minimalist when it comes to it, and this time there’s only one piece you want to wear. Everyone in the room’s disagreeing with you; from Mira to the stylists to the makeup artists. It’s gold, it won’t go with the black and silver of your dress. It’s too little, it’s too simple. A single heart-shaped locket on a chain looped around your neck. You shake your head obstinately. “I want this, Mira.”

Suddenly, her eyes light up with understanding. “Oh. That brat gave it to you, yes?”

There’s only one person who she’d refer to like this – Sae. You bite your lip, wondering whether to say yes or not. She narrows her eyes knowingly, and you finally nod, nervous. She smiles condescendingly, then snaps her fingers at the two women messing with your hair and clothing. “Let her have it.”

You smile at her gratefully.

The birthday banquet is exquisite. It’s much more than you could’ve ever expected from anyone. You greet your old friends with light hugs and feathery cheek-kisses, trying not to ruin their makeup. You thank everyone for coming, thank Mira for the surprise. The night passes by surprisingly fast, and around the end of the party you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Your makeup is smudged, and you’re somewhat tipsy from the alcohol being passed around. You splash water onto your face, then clean yourself up. Before you fix your makeup, you experience a surprising moment of weakness; you miss Sae, you wish he were here tonight. You press the locket to your lips with a quiet sigh.

The walk back to your party hall is confusing, and your feet hurt in your heels. When you reach the door of the party hall, it’s as if it’s a different one. Cheers and yells echo from within, and someone bumps into you as they exit from it. “Wrong hall,” they say, and your eyes meet, and holy shit, you must be drunk as hell because what the fuck is Sae Itoshi doing here?

“Sae?” you breathe. Your voice is unsteady — what if you’re wrong, what if he’s someone else? But then he steps into the light, and it is Sae, pretty teal eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, glancing around quickly. Grabbing your hand, he gives it a quick squeeze, then clears his throat. There's an unusually serious expression on his face. “Don't get me wrong, y/n, I’m absolutely ecstatic to see you, but what the hell are you doing here?”

“My birthday,” you whisper.

Realization flits across his face, only to be replaced by confusion. “Wait, but Mira–”

“My best friend, apparently.”

“Oh,” he replies, seeming unsure of what to say. “Oh.”

There's an awkward silence before either of you try to speak again.

“So–”

“Uh–”

“You go first,” you venture.

“You,” Sae clears his throat again. “You look, ah, pretty.”

Without your approval, your lips turn up into a smile. He makes it so easy for you to smile.

“You wanna go somewhere else?” he suggests. “I can't be seen with anyone who, you know…” Sae trails off, but you understand.

“Sure.”

Suddenly you're back in high school, fingers intertwined as you sneak away from the crowds to get a little time to yourselves. Just as you're about to round a corner, you hear footsteps approaching, and Sae tugs you into a small room, lit up only by a flickering lightbulb.

The place is cramped, and you find yourself pushed up against him. Your hand rests lightly on his chest, right above his heart, beating erratically, so fast you can’t not feel it. He wishes he could calm down, stop whatever the hell his heart is up to right now. But he can’t exactly control it, can he? So all he can do is hope. Hope that you don’t notice the way his heart spells iloveyous over and over again into the palm of your hand – the very same one that’s held him in a chokehold ever since prom, when he’d decided to indulge in your silly crush. Not that he’d ever cared about it, of course not. He was just bored. And he’s spent the last two years of his life trying to convince himself that he isn’t in love with you, that it’s only ever been a physical attraction. But then his eyes flit down to your neck – he isn’t quite sure why he looks, but it’s surprisingly bare, considering you’re the center of attention today. There’s only a single piece of jewelry adorning it, a simple gold necklace with a heart-shaped locket. Oh. Shit, he is in love with you. Not just that, he’s never been this down bad for anyone, or anything. He’d probably choose you over soccer right now, if you gave him a chance. But you won’t. Not like this, not when he’d hurt you this bad just because of his own emotional immaturity. And knowing you, you’ll probably try to hurt him back first. Revenge. Sae’s breath catches in his throat as you stare up at him, eyes a queer mixture of vulnerability and calculation.

Your head tilts every so slightly to one side as you study his face, yours devoid of any emotion. There’s something different about him, though. Has he started shaving? Maybe it’s the light blush on his cheeks. Maybe it’s the way he looks like he can’t breathe properly, or maybe, just maybe it’s his overly fast heartbeat against his chest, and then against your hand. And maybe it’s all three.

“You’ve gone all soft, Sae Itoshi,” you observe.

If it were any other day, any other person, he’d deny it. But it’s you. So he squeezes your hand on top of his chest with his own, and allows himself to smile. “Only for you, you know.”

“The fuck?” you demand, pulling away, but there’s a sly little grin on your face – you know you've got him wrapped around your finger. You’re still holding his hand – or letting him hold it, you suppose. “You actually missed me?”

“I said I would,” he says. He looks you up and down once, and holy fuck you’re gorgeous. A string of curses runs through his mind; it almost ceases to function at the sight of the fluffy black dress you’re wearing. It’s made up of a glittery black material, and the skirt is a semi-transparent tulle, floating around your legs like wisps of smoke. Even clad in black, a stark contrast to white, the standard color of purity, you’re still so angelic. You’re positively sparkling, like champagne, like sunlight. You’re bright, energy in its purest form. Your smile is contagious under the strong white lights, and still, you’re somehow glowing even brighter. Your presence itself makes him feel lighter than he has in ages. You’re pleasantly intoxicating, like a drink too many on a good night. He’s never done drugs, but he’s confident that he doesn’t need any, not when he’s already high off of the feel of your hand in his. The very sight of you right now is making his mind blank out, setting free butterflies in his stomach, the existence of which he’d never been aware.

And then, fueled by the alcohol in his system, and the way you intoxicate him, his hands find their way to cup your face. This is stupid, he thinks. He's going to fuck it up again. But then again, he'd rather risk things now than never find out how you feel.

“I’m in love with you,” he blurts, childishly. “Can I kiss you?”

You don't respond, grabbing him by the collar again – just like prom night – to press your lips together. After the few seconds it takes for him to process this, one of his hands flies to your waist, pulling you into him even more. The kiss is slow and fervent, unlike any of the ones before. It's full of everything left unsaid over the last few years, heavy with all the emotion that you've been too scared to show all along.

You're the first to pull away, albeit unwillingly. You really don't want to stop kissing him, but you have to breathe, too. Speaking of which – loving Sae is like breathing. It's easy, and natural, and you can't imagine yourself ever not doing it. Even now, you're filled with an overwhelming amount of adoration for him, tangling your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck while he presses soft kisses along yours, murmuring breathy promises alongside them.

“I'll come back to Japan,” he whispers. “I'll love you forever, fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, and it's like a secret that the two of you share, wrapped up within shy smiles and awkward grins and being in love and your intertwined fingers and you being his and him being yours.

And maybe you're smiling giddily just like back then, unsure of what to say as the two of you sneak into Sae’s cabin, and then into his bed. And like before, he's pulling out his own clothes for you to wear, and pulling you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your hair. This time, though, he kisses the nape of your neck, and lets himself whisper three words into the comfortable silence between you two.

“I love you,” he says again, and you smile, pulling his hands up from your waist to kiss them before you say it back, a solemn, reverent whisper for him to hold and to keep.

You lie motionless in his arms, and although he doesn't know whether you're awake or asleep, he starts talking anyways, as he plays with a lock of your hair. “It's always been you, you know. From the start, every day. I was just stupid, but it's always been you, and I love you, and–”

He's cut off by a loud sniffle as you try not to cry, twisting around to kiss him. When you're finally satisfied with how flushed and breathless he is, you let him kiss your tears away too.

Sae hasn't slept this well in years.

The next morning, you pull out your phone to save his – your boyfriend's, you correct yourself triumphantly – number, and that's when you see the singular text from Mira.

Did you like my surprise?

While the text in itself is somewhat creepy, it all makes sense now – of course she would've known, considering she booked the cabins and halls herself. And possibly pulled a few strings too. You really have to thank her later.

Sae is lying with his head on your chest, playing with your necklace again when someone bangs on the door. “Itoshi, wake up! You're running late!”

“I'm busy!” he yells back, not making any preparations to move.

“With what?” demands the person on the other side of the door.

“My girlfriend, fuck off, Aiku!” his lips curve up into a smile as he sees you flush prettily after hearing yourself being referred to as his girlfriend, and he leans forward to kiss your scarlet cheeks with a laugh.

This is a snippet I made about Hemlock and Locke. The dealy with how they work is basically: one day when Hemlock was early into their career as an assassin, they fucked up bad, got help from a demon named Locke. Locke needed a body, Hemlock needed to not die. Name of Locke might change in the future cus it might not function well being so similar

Idk how to describe their accents but they have always been sort of conceived talking in this sort of Brooklyn accent

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

"That's the thing Hemlock. Wounds never go away forever. You always have some sort of reminder of them. Either scars or the memories themselves, escapin' is pretty futile."

"Oh you sound like you're real fun at parties," Hemlock took a swig of their shared liqour, and coughed at its bitter feel on their tongue, "fuck- you sound like my dad actually."

Locke gave the impression of a snort from inside Hemlock's mind, "Oh please. That old man doesn't think that crap. Why d'ya think he's in charge of the whole damn mafia? He doesn't have to lift a finger-- gimme some more'a that stuff."

"Yeah, cheers." They let him take over the body momentarily, but they could tell he liked the taste of vodka much more than them, it lingered bitter-sweet for just a moment. "I'll never know how you could like this stuff for taste. I'm just 'ere to get drunk, hell." They ruminated on that idea, of their dad not having to do anything dangerous, not obviously dangerous, anyway. "Certainly a thought though."

"As if you or I would be able to do shit about that. Seriously Hemlock, I don't recommend it."

They idly fiddled with their boot laces, "Bigger idiots have tried?"

"They got killed in the process," he chided, "Don't be that bigger idiot."

They put the forming plan away into a vault within their head, "Stupid idea anyway. I'm goin' to bed."

the love of a father (Saturn and his son)

THE TRUTH IS IN THE MIDRIFF.

A comic inspired by a phone call with a friend and a really bad smut fic we shared.

Don’t tag this futa, shemale or trap or i’ll literally put a curse on your computer.

Sleeping Dogs: PROFILES [Youngbin]

heyo!

based on my SF9 as: Mafia post found here

so this is a way for you all to get portions of each boy’s backstory prior to Sleeping Dogs; don’t be fooled though, there’s more to these stories than you think, and the scars, oh they run deep.

+ admin L

    They are one of the most feared gangs in all of Seoul, their names spoken only in hushed tones. Nine brothers with an unbreakable bond thicker than blood, who will kill all those who oppose them.

    But, in order to understand how these boys’ stories and hearts are intertwined, one must first know who they were as individuals.

    Enter: The Red Dragons

Youngbin // Inseong // Jaeyoon // Dawon // Zuho // Rowoon // Taeyang // Hwiyoung // Chani

NAME: KIM YOUNGBIN

ALIAS: YOUNGBIN

D.O.B: November 23rd, 1993

STATUS: Alive; Leader of the Red Dragons

NOTES: Youngbin had lived a relatively normal life; his parents owned a local bakery, he attended University and achieved above average grades, and had a woman he loved since high school.

Continuar lendo

ice prince | jjk

summary: when, due to inexplicable and total clumsiness, your reliable, talented ice dancing partner of five years breaks his leg right before the largest competition of your life, desperate times call for desperate measures. and for a brief, brief moment, you think that everything might actually end up not-that-shitty, until you find out that the aforementioned desperate measures go by the name of jeon jungkook.

{figure skating!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader word count: 22k (when will she (i) stop) genre: fluff, very minor angst that probably shouldn’t even be listed warnings: mentions of bruising + stuff from falling a/n: i honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me. one day i’m finishing up a 28k jungkook enemies to lovers fic and suddenly two weeks later i have another 22k jungkook enemies to lovers fic on my hands. tagging @cinnaminsvga​ and @workofteaguk​ as a thanks for the support and my relentless screaming! DISCLAIMER: i am not a professional figure skater and this does not accurately represent the lives of professional figure skaters. it’s a fic, for fuck’s sake. don’t take the logistics of it seriously.

Keep reading

Oli and Lizzie singing Paint the Town Red on stream >:D

Oli and Lizzie singing Paint the Town Red on stream >:D

𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮, 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙨𝙤 𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧?

synopsis; dabi has always had a hard time communicating his emotions - but he tries anyway for you. he'll fight because it's all he's ever known - but your tear stricken face as he's leaving never fails to bring him crawling back to you - the only home he'll ever know.

cw; angst to comfort. pairing dabi x reader!

Dabi's been pacing back and forth outside your apartment complex for a while now - how long? Well, he didn't know. All he knew was that the hot chocolate he'd picked up for you was getting cold and he needed to go inside eventually.

He'd face your anger - your insults and wrath and rage because he deserved it. Anything you'd throw at him - he'd take it without complaint. He didn't get the right to complain when he walked out on your pleads - your cries following him all the way out into the hall as his trembling hands slammed the door in your face.

He didn't deserve you. That's what he told himself as he knocked on your door - propping an arm against the door frame as he leaned his forehead against it with a sigh. He tapped his finger against the rim of your hot chocolate cup impatiently

Medium with a bit of whip cream and two cherries - you liked two cherries so you and Dabi could each feed each other one. He'd always groan - saying you were an idiot for paying ten scents for that stupid little cherry, but the warmth that spread in his chest when you popped it in his mouth managed to snuff out any ounce of embarrassment from your sweet antics.

I don't deserve anything good.

He squeezes his eyes shut harder, trying to smother the intense burn behind his eyes as his hands curl into a fist

"C'mon sweetheart. Open the door for me, will ya?"

His voice sounded strained - tired and stressed and you can't find the strength in you to open the door as you hand hovers over the handle. You merely tighten your blanket around you and slowly press your back against the door - telling yourself you were just waiting for him to leave. In reality - you're hoping he'd say something else. Give you something to work with - something that can salvage your relationship. Anything.

He blinks in frustration when he hears no movement on the other side of the door, trying his best to keep his eyes dry as he swallows down the lump in his throat

"I'm an asshole - biggest one out there. So why don't you come swinging at me with a bat or something? I promise I'll even let you get a few hits in." He breathes out with an emotionless huff of laughter following his words as he closes his eyes.

Say something. Anything. Please.

He hears the slow clicks of the locks turning - and he's backing up in an instant as his fingers subconsciously tighten around your drink.

It opens slowly, and he holds his breath as he prepares himself to see your face once again. No doubt you'd be pissed - his lips twitched just the slightest bit as he imagined you standing on the other side of the door with one of his knives or something - prepared to pounce.

The hopeful gleam in his eyes is killed within an instant when he sees your red eyes and puffy cheeks - lash line wet with tears as you grip the door handle.

His eyes widen - and he takes one long stride forward to catch you in his arms the moment your lip trembles.

He eases you inside, muffling things you don't understand into your scalp as you sob - heartbroken cries sound through the air as he hurriedly rubs your back - cradling the back of your head as he tries to get you to look at him

"Hey...hey now. I'm here right? Look at me y/n." He whispers, his fingers grazing your chin as he gently tilted it upwards so you were peering up at him - and a small, tucked away part of him absolutely shatters from the look on your face

"I hate you sometimes. So much - " You say - your voice a whisper as he quietly wraps his arms around you, bringing you to the small couch in your living room to lay down on - the same couch you and Dabi have spent countless nights watching horror movies with each other on

"I'm sorry." He whispers, moving his fingers through your hair as a way to comfort you as your small cries continue. He feels helpless - and so stupid. He made you feel like this - he truly deserved nothing.

"I hate you-" you say again, voice rising just the slightest bit as you lift your head from his chest, screwing your eyes shut in hurt

"I hate that you always leave me worrying - how you don't talk to me when you're feeling down and how you always leave me wondering whether you're ok or not - and - and I hate how you treat your life like it's worth nothing! Do you know how much that hurts?" You finally cry, fisting his shirt in your hands as you let out a broken sob

You want to slap him - yell and scream and maybe even take him up on that offer of giving him a few hits with a bat

But you can't. Not when you were so relieved to see his face again - not when your sadness overpowered your rage like a tidal wave.

He's silent - his hands still threading through the strands of your hair as you relax into his body, ease taking over your brain as the thundering storm in your heart finally calms - it was hard talking to Dabi - it was even harder to communicate your feelings.

But the sound of his thumping heartbeat under the palm of your hand shows you that he hears you - he's listening and he's understanding and he's trying. Trying to be better for you.

The next few minutes are spent in silence, with him splayed on the couch with you hugging him like a baby koala holding onto it's mother - desperate and scared.

"Y/n." He finally rasps, breaking the silence as you lift your cheek from his chest to meet his eyes

He's crying.

You blink in confusion - then in frustration

"Stop - please stop. You'll hurt yourself." you whisper, and he can't help the bittersweet smile that stretches across his lips

"You should stop worrying about me so much. You can't get rid of me that easily." he says, slowly dragging his knuckles down your cheek as you lean into his touch with a frown

"You know I can't stop."

He covers his eyes with the back of his hand for a second, wiping away the blood that trickled down his cheek

"I don't deserve you."

His words reach your ears - a broken whisper as he avoids your gaze, the back of his hand is still pressed against his eyes and preventing you from seeing his face

"Stop it. Dabi - "

"I know. I know - just - I'm trying. I know I'm not perfect, but I swear I'll be better. You know I'll try - I don't wanna see you crying like this again." He finishes, and you slowly press your face back up against his chest - feeling the gentle drum of his heartbeat as its erratic thumping slowed to something more calm.

"Ok." You whisper

He shifts, laying on his side to look at you as he sighs. His eyes were glossy - and the sight tugged at your heart strings

"Your hot chocolates probably all cold by now." He mumbles, brushing his thumb over the curve of your cheek before moving them down to trace your lips

You smile just the slightest bit - and the sight has his eyes softening

"That's ok. I don't care about that right now." You whisper - finally moving your hand forward to cradle his face. He watched you closely as you swiped away the stray bit of blood trickling down his face

"You'll stay the night, right?" You whisper - and you hate how meek your voice sounds as you ask

He moves closer, intertwining his hands with yours and huffing out a short breath of laughter

"What the hell do you think, sweetheart?"

Smiling, you poke his cheek with your knuckle

"Warm up my drink for me?" You ask with a pout, grinning when he lets out an annoyed groan. Nonetheless, he gets up after pressing a kiss onto your cheek

"Thought you didn't care about it anymore?" He calls from the kitchen

You don't respond. Instead - you sneak up behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you stuff your face into the large expanse of his back. He pokes your side as you smile, reaching your hand out to pick up a single cherry from your hot chocolate

"Open up!"

He does as you say, sticking his tongue out with a playful gleam in his eyes as you place the fruit on his tongue - he chews slowly, holding your gaze intensely and smirking as he swallows

He picks up the second cherry - your cherry - and places it in his mouth.

"Hey!" You argue with a laugh - but he's leaning forward and enveloping you in a passionate kiss - pushing the cherry from his lips forward and into your mouth

You pull away with a laugh, seeing his cherry smudged lips only made you laugh harder

"You know I actually paid for this overpriced hot chocolate crap, right? Could've stolen it, but I felt like you'd have throw a fit over it." He says, turning away to open the microwave and take out your drink as he takes an experimental sip - confirming it was hot enough before turning to you with a grin

"I get a sip right?" He asks, smugly bringing the cup back up to his lips as his tongue grazes the rim - he's obviously trying to get a reaction out of you.

"You'll swallow it all in one gulp like the ass you are." You tease - and he laughs

"Uh huh. I love you too."

The wish

You can't win me, I can't be beat.

I won't hurt you, unless you cheat!

OG from over a year or so ago:

the thief

tagging @cradlesonanetwork ! I know the prompt was meant to show our cradlesonas as heroes but I just couldn’t help myself for this one! I made a playlist for the event and the story that goes with it is under the cut.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4DFtEZHRlMjpfHBIzz1ku5

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