Operation Breakup Backfires (Bakugou X Reader)

I was thinking about a Tendou Satori soulmate au where they can see bits and pieces of their soulmates’ life

i've always considered doing a soulmate au for tendou, but it's been so long since i've watched haikyuu i literally forgot how to get into his headspace for this. also liek how would they see bits and pieces like in dreams or when they in the bathroom like pls explain anon lemme see this folder in ur massive brain

i mean honestly im a sucker for the names on the wrists and thats about it when it comes to the soulmate aus...call me lame idc :(

heyy i’ve been reading ur fic for a good while now and i have to say i just constantly find myself coming back to it. you write with clarity (seems simple but it’s hard to find writing as well done as urs) and emote really well and your fics are always soooo entertaining to boot! idk if that last one is the right word but bdjdjdjf i just love ur fics. thank u sm for sharing them :’)

Awww thank you so much! It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a message as kind as yours, and I really appreciate it!! I’m glad you like my stories🥰🥰

Garou General Relationship Headcanons (Partly NSFW) *Request*

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Yep, I’m just gonna combine these two requests bc they’re basically the same thing. As you can see, the nsfw part is labeled, so for those of you who are okay with my cussing but not with my dirty cussing, ur welcome. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1459

SFW:

I gotta be honest. Initially, I think Garou would see your relationship as a waste of his time. He could be training or fighting people or… y’know, fighting people. 

But then you hug him for the first time and he’s just like *surprised pikachu face*

The cuddles with this man. Really, it’s not hard to see that he’s a little starved of love and other intimacies, so you best believe you're making up for that slack. 

Spooning in bed is a must, and as much as I hate to say it, you’re always the little spoon😔. Yes, yes, I know you’re thirsting over his beautiful back, but this guy’s paranoid, and he likes to feel like the man in the relationship. Under no circumstances are you ever holding him from behind. Not even when you try to sneak up on him. 

Rip you. Guess who has to wash the blood out of his hair. Sorry not sorry. 

“How tf did you get blood in your eye??”

“Just get it out!” 

Moving on, just consider this one for a sec:

The hickeys with this dude. Have you seen his teeth??

They look more like bite marks than anything, but Garou just loves to show that you're his.

People called him Wolf Man for a reason, amirite

N E ways, you’re more become his personal nurse than his girlfriend. The goddamn blood he tracks into your house has you almost pulling your hair out, but before you can give him a good talking to, he usually crashes on your couch. 

It’s covered in a plastic liner for just this occasion.

After years of healing himself, he much prefers your gentle touch to his often shaky one. You wrap his wounds with disappointing looks 24/7, but God it just reminds him that someone finally cares about him. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t do this, Garou. I don’t want you to not come home one of these days.” Not over, but “home.” He almost spontaneously combusts after you imply that you live in the same house. 

Speaking of, he doesn’t really ask to move in, you just find a shrine of hero pictures in your spare room one day, some covered in red Xs and others left bare. Then you see him, conked out on the mattress that doesn’t even have sheets. You try to crawl in and hug his back, but this guy’s always attentive. The second the bed shifts, he rolls over and tugs you down against him. 

“Don’t move, I’m tired.” 

“LET ME SPOON YOU, YOU BEEFY BASTARD!”

“Shhh.”

Size doesn’t matter with this one. Garou’s got muscles for days, so he’s gonna haul you around whenever he can. You can be literally in the process of making dinner and he’ll just swoop you up into his arms, bridal style or your thighs wrapped around his hips, and he’ll just swing you around. Fite me, but he loves holding you. 

Everybody, say it with me now: Touch Starved.

Only five months into the relationship does he mention kids. I mean, you’ve stuck around this long, surely you’re in for the long haul, right?

He wants kids, simple as that. You figure you wouldn’t mind a couple baby Garous runnin’ around, and that’s all he needs to hear before he jumps you.

SORRY, SORRY, SORRY, one more thing, I swear.

Garou is the definition of 🤩 Ass Man 🤩

Your ass? Smacked. Hotel? Trivago.

Whether he’s in a mood to just follow you around the house, or he’s on his way out to kick some heroic booty, you best believe he’s got one hand on your cheeks. 

Cup ‘em, spank ‘em, stick ‘em in-- wait, wrong meme.

Nah but seriously, Garou just likes holding your butt, and after you’ve gotten over scolding him and turning into a tomato about it, it’s actually kinda nice. 

Legit, have you seen those hands? B r u h, they’re big bois. 

I’m going to hell for this, so just know that this man smacks your ass instead of saying hello. 

Hope you keep soothing lotion on hand🤷‍♀️

NSFW:

Excuse me, hello sub? You’ve found your dom. 

This guy is fucking… mwah *chefs kiss*

Though he doesn’t have much experience, we all know he learns quickly. 

Using those 🥵 fingers of his (hand kink anyone?), he’ll figure out what exactly makes you fall apart before his eyes. 

I mean damn, could you imagine his gaze watching you? Fuck, those golden eyes swallowing up your fucked out face as he grins that wolfish grin of his. 

Smug Bastard™

LISTEN LINDA!!

👏spank-👏ings. 

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. 

Like I said, he just wants to see that ass jiggle. God forbid you ever try to get your own smack on him tho. 

“Are you trying to test me, Angel?”

Tbh, I don’t think he wants to choke you. Yeah sure, if you want him to, he will, but like… he’s pretty young. Of course he knows his own strength and when to stop but… idk, I feel like that’s just too far, even for him. He doesn’t want to get too into it and, ya know… bye bye YN. 

You’re not on top. Nope, not happening. Not even once, sweetheart.

Well, maybe once. 

“You know what? Pretty sure I don’t like this. Untie me please before I break these bed posts.”

“I didn’t even do anything yet!”

Lemme just bring your attention back to the wonderful provider that is Garou. 

His teeth: sharp. His tongue: long. His fingers: Good lordy, how many times am I gonna talk about ‘em. 

He’ll hold you down and eat you out anywhere you want him. At a restaurant? Oof, hold up, give him a sec to just slip under the table, and if the waitress asks, he’s in the bathroom. 

The marks between your thighs, whether from his fingernails for holding you in place or his teeth for biting your irresistible skin, keep you from wearing shorts for quite a while. 

Seriously, I’m never gonna stop saying this, but Garou is like the guy for biting and marking you up. There’s just an animalistic side that you draw out of him whenever you cry out his name.

All right, so you help him discover this one, but thigh riding. 

This one. This. One.

Fuck, this guy’s so pretty. Tiny waist, but he got them thicc thighs, u know?

Anyways, lemme just paint you a lil picture of how he figured out he liked this. 

We all know Garou’s a lil closed off, so he’s not really one to try anything unless you’re the one to bring it up. 

Back to it, you guys were just making out on your couch. At some point, you had straddled his lap and hot damn, now we’re gettin’ somewhere.

Before he even realizes, you’ve slithered one of your legs between his and plopped down on top of his thigh. It was the perfect size, you were needy, and oh fuck, when he subconsciously flexes it bc he’s so anxious to kiss you? Ughhhh

Then he hears your moans and the hands he’s got gripping your hips with the intent to leave bruises feels you moving back and forth and he’s like “oh, well hello.”

“Ugh, fuck YN, you like this? Holy shit, Angel.”

Garou starts to help you move back and forth and before you know it, you’re releasing on his thigh. Rip those gray sweatpants, they will be missed. Damn, I mean the fabric is just soaked and-- oop, when did this ride get so slippery?

Your shuddering underneath his rough hands, but if you thought it was over, you’re severely mistaken. He loves the idea that he can get you off so effortlessly, so don’t think for once that you’re in control. *Overstimulation has entered the chat*

“Nuh-uh, Angel. One more time, I know you can do it. You wanted to cum so bad, now you get to. Keep moving.”

Fairly certain I’ve preached this one before, but… breeding kink???

Yeah, he definitely wants to fill you full of his… kids.

Hmm, not sure if he’s a huge fan of being called daddy, but if you like it, he likes it too so whatever🤷‍♀️

Aight, aight, last kink y’all, cuz this is gettin’ too long. Here’s the ultimate reveal.

You really wanna know what gets Garou off the most? 

H*nd H*lding🥵

I just finished lajall 5 if reborn and I friking love it🤩😍 how can someone wrote THIS GOOD🤯🤩😍

Ah shit thank you🥺🥺

Talk about a boost of confidence like damn☺️☺️

I’m glad you like it so much, and honestly I can’t stop thinking about how I should add more to the plot and stuff👀👀 hmmmmm, maybe...

What about an Alternate Ending to pumpkin eater reader where Kuroo sees Y/n dating someone else months or a year later (maybe she can end up with one of the other Haikyuu characters or something?) Cause I don’t forgive cheaters 😤

Pumpkin Eater (Kuroo x Reader) ~Part 2~ Never Again 

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Last night, your friend sent you pictures of Kuroo with some girl at a random club. Not only was he a liar, but he was also a cheater, and you couldn’t stand to be with him after this.

Part 1

Part 2 (Second Chance)

A/N: Uhhh, sooooo, ermmmm. Here you go…? I hope you like it…? Idk honestly. I mean, I totally agree with you on never forgiving a cheater, but also… my other fic was written so much better. Like I’m tired as hell dude. And I’m sorry it’s late, but I rly, rly hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3335

        Buzz. Buzz. 

        “Good God, is that him again?” 

        “...Maybe.” 

        Buzz. Buzz. 

        “Son of a bitch, YN! Just block him already.” 

        “All right, all right fine! I will.” 

        …

        Buzz. Buzz. 

        “OH COME ON!”

        Terushima throws his hands in the air, giving up. You flush and tuck your phone under your thigh, hoping it will silence the buzzing. 

        It was movie night with your new friend/roommate and he had been seriously invested in the film up until about ten o’ clock, or, as you called it, “Kuroo’s whine time.”

        “BLOCK THAT FUCKER!” 

        You knew he wasn’t wrong. In fact, you should have blocked him months ago. Six, to be exact. But deep down, you just weren’t ready to move on yet. 

        “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I turn it on silent.”

        Terushima shook his head and held out his hand, giving you a pointed look. “Gimme it.” 

        “... Nuh-uh.”

        “YN,” he dragged out your name, leering closer to you. “Give me the phone.”

        “I’m good, thank you.”

        “YN!” Terushima didn’t give you another chance. His home, his rules. 

        In an instant, your back is pushed down against the couch and you’re gasping for air as Terushima viciously attacks your sides with his long fingers. Giggle after giggle tumbles out of your mouth as you curl in like an armadillo. 

        “I yield, I yield!” You hold your hands after the pain in your abdomen grows to be too much. Terushima smiles at the win and he slows his hands, but keeps them on your sides. 

        His eyes glow with… something. Something you hadn’t seen since being with him. 

        But whatever. Maybe it was just the lighting.

        The blond squeezes your sides before slipping a hand under your thigh and locating the phone. Before pulling it away, he pinches your soft flesh, completely uncovered thanks to your night shorts, and chuckles at the squeal that leaves you. 

        “Yuuji!” 

        “What?” He gives you an innocent look while tossing your phone across the room. Thankfully, it lands on his armchair. 

        All you can do is sigh and straighten yourself back up, reclaiming your original position by Terushima’s side and returning your attention to the movie. His eyes stay locked on you, so close, for just a second longer before he copies your movements, focusing back in on the movie with a small quirk of his mouth. 

        You met Terushima a month after breaking things off with Kuroo. He was the only apartment renter who wasn’t a freakshow or a cult leader, and you decided it was high time to get your own place. Especially after your friend, who had hosted you for one angsty, miserable month, kicked you out. 

        “You need to get over it, YN,” she had hissed, shoving your suitcase back into your arms before slamming the door in your face. 

        And while you were still working on moving on, Terushima was a big help. He was now your guy friend, who had many guy friends that could potentially become your boyfriends. But every time you asked him about setting you up with one of them, you were instantly shut down. 

        “You’re too good for them, YN. I’ll help you find someone better, I promise.” 

        It’s been five months, and you’re still waiting for that “someone better” to come along. 

        Now, when you had first moved in with Terushima, he seemed to be a bit of a mess. Clothes, his or someone else's, were always strewn everywhere. Girls were common midnight visitors, always sneaking out with their heels in their hands and giving you bashful smiles before slipping out the door. You would only sigh and roll your eyes. 

        “Your new girlfriend overstayed her welcome this round. I think she stole our Netflix password.”

        Terushima would then purse his lips and avoid your gaze, gulping swiftly. “She’s not my girlfriend. I promise.” 

        “Sure sure. But your one-night stand still stole our password.” 

        Since then, he’s really cleaned up his act. You haven’t seen a girl come over in weeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say you were becoming a good influence on him, much like he was on you. Little by little, day by day, Terushima was beginning to help take your mind off Kuroo. 

        Since the day you broke down in the blond’s arms and admitted you were still stuck on him, he’s tried to help you. He even takes you on “dates” from time to time. Just yesterday you two had gone clubbing, and though you had gotten shitfaced, you figure something weird must have happened since Terushima’s been a tad awkward around you. But then he threw open your door an hour ago, scared the shit out of you, and reminded you that it was movie night. 

        You couldn’t help it. Your eyes were constantly drawn back and forth between the horror movie and the constantly-buzzing phone. 

        “YN look! A jumpscare’s coming!” 

        Just as you turned back to the TV, the serial killer flashed back into frame, leaving you to screech in terror and burrow into Terushima’s side. His arm wraps around your shoulders and rubs your arms for comfort. 

        “It’s okay, the killer’s gone now.” His voice is low and honeyed, accompanying a slight smile as he peers down at you with his affectionate gaze. 

        God how you missed being looked at like that. But you couldn’t get attached. Terushima was like Kuroo, but ten times worse. This was because he wasn’t secretive about his love life. Your very attractive roommate had a higher body count than a war general. 

        So you kept things platonic, no matter how much your body yearned for another route. 

        No. Terushima was your friend. Your best supporter at the moment. You couldn’t lose him like you had lost Kuroo. 

        So even though you cuddled deeper into his side with every heart-stopping scene, and hugged him whenever you were feeling down, and kissed his cheek as a thank you after he would massage your back and scratch your scalp after a long day at work, you would never throw any different labels on your relationship with Terushima. 

        You just couldn’t lose this one. And with him being a player, there was no point in making your feelings more than what they were. 

                                ~~~

        Kuroo missed you. God, he missed you so much. 

        He loved you, and he would never stop trying to get you back!

        That girl, she was a mistake. One Kuroo would never make again, because you were it for him. You were his one. 

        He will call you a million more times, text you, hell even track you down to the ends of the Earth just to have you back in his arms again. 

        He would give everything just to hear you say “I love you” one more time. He would die happy if he got to see those words fall from your soft lips, carefully quirked into a smile, just once. To have you back in his arms, wearing his clothes and kissing only him….

        Fuck. He had to get you back. 

        There was no sign of you at your friend’s apartment when he finally gathered the guts to visit. Only a slap in the face courtesy of one vengeful friend of yours. He knew he deserved it, too. 

        But then… God, five more months passed. Not a single woman had been in his bed, your bed, since you left. Every flirtation was turned down, every grabby hand pushed off. The only person he wanted was you. 

        So imagine his relief when he finally found you. 

                                ~~~

        “Yuuji, do you ever accidentally hurt someone with the piercing?” Your eyes were locked on the ball of metal sitting directly on his tongue while you took tentative sips of your hot chocolate. 

        Terushima sat across from you and smirked lazily, sticking his tongue out through his teeth as blatantly as he could. “Boy YN, you sure do ask a lot of questions about my piercing.” He sets his elbows on the small, circular table and leans closer to you. “It makes me wonder if you ever want to feel it for yourself.” 

        His cologne fills your nostrils, but you don’t mind. It’s become your favorite, most comforting scent. You lean closer and mock his smirk, lowering your voice just enough so only he can hear in the crowded cafe. 

        “I do.” 

        Terushima’s pupils widen in the slightest and he subconsciously leans closer. 

        You do the same, grin growing on your face before you swiftly reach out a thumb and forefinger and snag his tongue, giggling at the surprised yelp he lets out. 

        “YN!” he pouts with a lisp, smacking your hand away and hiding his mouth behind his own. “Why are you always like this?!”

        “I don’t know Yuuji, it must be your piercing or something,” you snicker, picking up your drink once more and taking another sip. You allow your eyes to wander around the cafe, only to lock on the worst sight imaginable just behind Terushima’s head. 

        It’s him. 

        He shoves the glass doors open and barges through the crowd. Your companion takes in your panicked gaze and glances over his shoulder, sneering at the person approaching quickly. 

        “YN,” Kuroo breathes out in disbelief, hazel eyes locked on your tense form. A relieved smile overtakes his face as he reaches out for your hand. “I found you-”

        You tear away from him and jump out of your chair, stepping away as your eyes begin to water. “Don’t touch me.” 

        “YN, I-” 

        “You heard her, dude. She said don’t touch her.” Terushima fixes an enraged glare on the black-haired man, standing out of his own chair and creating a barrier between your solemn form and him. 

        “And who are you,” Kuroo spits through clenched teeth, “her new boyfriend?”

        “It-...” the blond’s jaw irks before he glances back at you, “it doesn’t matter who I am. If she doesn’t want you around, then you need to leave.” 

        “You’re not her guard dog, or even her new boyfriend. You’re just a rebound.”

        “Guys…” 

        “YN doesn’t want you-”

        “GUYS! SHUT UP!” You breathe heavily after the shout before smiling at the other customers as an apology. “Let’s take this outside,” you snarl lowly.

        Like scolded children, the two men trail after you, almost fighting over who gets to squeeze through the door first until you throw them a warning look. 

        Kuroo pushes past the blond and strides towards you in an instant, capturing you in a hug that you don’t return. “God, you don’t know how much I’ve missed you.” 

        “Kuroo, I-”

        “Tetsurou.” He corrects, voice muffled against your neck. 

        “... I didn’t answer your calls for a reason. We broke up. I don’t-... we can’t be together anymore.” 

        Your ex leans back enough to look at your face and scans it for any sign of lying. “YN, I didn’t mean to hurt you. That girl,” he shakes his head, biting his lip, “she meant nothing to me. But you-”

        “Kuroo…”

        “-You mean everything to me!” A tear trails its way down his cheek, but you don’t care to wipe it away. Your face hardens at the words. 

        “Then why did you cheat?”

        “I was wasted. And she looked like you and I missed you and I miss you still! YN, you need to understand, I love you! And if you give me another chance, I won’t fuck it up.” Kuroo brushes a hair behind your cheek and your eyes widen at the contact. “I love you so much. Please don’t let this be the end of us.” 

        “...” 

        “YN, we’re meant to be. It can’t end here. Not for us.” 

        Kuroo was wrong, and so clearly mistaken. Months ago, you would have collapsed back into his arms. Months ago, you would have cried and muttered that you loved him too, that you still loved him. 

        But now…. 

        Your eyes drifted past Kuroo, locking on a silent, dejected-looking Terushima. 

        You just didn’t. 

        “Kuroo, I can’t forgive you for what you did. I just can’t.” He shakes his head and opens his mouth to respond, but you smoothly press a finger against his lips and continue. “Even if I did, I could never trust you again.” 

        “YN, if you still love me, then that’s the only reason you need to take me back. I will work every day to regain your trust, no matter how long it takes. I’ll never hurt you again. God, I love you so much, just please, please don’t let us end here.” 

        Your relationship with Kuroo ended months ago. You both were just struggling to accept that. 

        “No, Kuroo. No.” 

        His eyes close and his head hangs, allowing his remaining tears to dribble down his cheeks. “Okay,” he finally whispers, voice silent and cracking. Then he tips his head up and presses a long kiss to your forehead, his final goodbye. 

        “I love you, YN.” 

        “I know, Tetsurou.” 

        Somehow he finds it in himself to smile bitterly at you saying his name, and he nods in thankfulness. 

        With a deep sigh, he releases you and steps back, scanning over you one last time before turning away with tear-stained cheeks. 

        You had loved him for so long. He was your first everything, your high school sweetheart, and much like him, you thought Kuroo was it for you. Your happy ending. 

        You were wrong. And deep down, you were glad you were wrong. 

        Kuroo halts in his stance on the sidewalk, just barely passing Terushima before he slams his hand down on the blond’s shoulder and grips it tightly. 

        “Don’t-” he cuts himself off to purse his lips. “Don’t hurt her like I did. Don’t let this one go.” 

        The skin under Terushima’s eye twitches before he glances up at your face. “I won’t. I’m not stupid enough to make that mistake.” 

        Kuroo smiles bitterly and releases your roommate, walking away down the street and never looking back. 

                                ~~~

        A day passed, and you avoided Terushima like the plague. 

        After seeing Kuroo once again, it reminded you of why you hadn’t ever tried moving on since the breakup even once. 

        You had gotten so attached, fallen so deeply so quickly, only to be replaced for another woman for one night. You couldn’t handle that again. The pain of feeling so easily replaceable wasn’t worth the risk.

        At least, that’s what you used to think. 

        “YN.” 

        Terushima finally snagged your wrist just in time after hours of trying to stop you. You shivered in his grip, almost horrified with how eerily similar it was. 

        “Please stop avoiding me.” Terushima stared at your face with natural puppy dog eyes, and after much internal scolding, you just couldn’t resist. 

        “I’m sorry.” 

        “It’s okay. But can we at least talk about it?”

        “It” was a lot more complex than it sounded. “It” was a commitment. “It” was a major change in your life. “It” was… was…. 

        “Yeah.” “It” was accepting you might be hurt again, but trying it anyway for love.

        Terushima led you to the couch and sat you down to face him, even though your gaze was locked on everything else. 

        “YN.”

        “...”

        “YN.”

        “...” 

        “YN, please look at me,” Terushima pleaded, palming your cheek and urging you to make eye contact. When you did was when the walls broke down. 

        The sparks his touch left against your skin weren’t right. Because why did they feel so right? 

        You loved Kuroo. Some part of you always would, along with the memories you two shared. So surely falling for someone this soon, this hard was wrong, right?

        “Yuuji.” 

        “Just… let me speak first, okay?” Terushima dropped his hand to your criss-crossed lap, running his fingers along your kneecap nervously. Tingles erupted from the contact, and fuck, they felt so right. 

        You nod and his lips quirk up gently. “YN, I know you’re probably still stuck on… umm, y’know, that guy, but I also know you must be feeling something for me too.” 

        If he had said it any other way, you would have smacked him for the cockiness of the words. But the slight nervousness that tinged his tone made you love it all the more. 

        “A-and I know that you two were like,” he rolls his eyes, “perfect for each other, but I mean come on, there’s something between us too.” 

        There was. Even Kuroo had seen it, as blinded by love as he was. 

        “But I know why you’re reluctant too. And YN,” he shakes his head hopelessly and caresses your lower thigh, keeping his gaze locked on yours, “I don’t know how else to show you, but I’m not that guy anymore. Ever since you moved in, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” 

        “Yuuji….”

        “No other woman has made me feel the way you do,” he whispers. “And that thought kind of scares me. But I… I just can’t have anyone else. So I’m not gonna let you go.”

        You cup one side of his face with your hand and your heart stutters when he leans into the hold. Throughout all of his speech, a small grin had etched onto your face, which was nothing compared to the beaming you felt inside you. 

        Waves upon waves of adrenaline, elation, and anything akin to utter euphoria lit up your chest. A zoo stomped and trampled over the tiny butterflies in your stomach as you let out a small giggle. Terushima’s eyes widened at the sound and he instantly tried to pull away, but you swiftly smack your other hand on the other side of his face, effectively trapping him.  

        He looks down and drags his fingers away from your lap reluctantly. “Why are you laughing?” 

        You almost felt bad, but oh fuck you were so happy! You just couldn’t help it as you let out another chuckle, causing Terushima to struggle in your grip like a floppy fish. 

        “YN-”

        You finally shut him up with a kiss, pressing your smiling, giddy lips against his. So much joy bursts through your chest at the contact, and your heart flutters when the blond groans and tightly grabs at your hips. 

        He can feel your uncontrollable smiling and laughing against his mouth, and he can’t help but pull away with a confused-- but relieved-- chuckle. “Why are you laughing?” 

        “I just, hehe, I just can’t…” you trail off in snickers before yanking Terushima closer, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him while you attempt to stop your cackles against his collarbone. “FUCK!”

        Terushima scoffs in disbelief as he holds you against him tightly, baffled at your confusing actions. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

        “I don’t know,” you laugh into his skin, tickling him a bit. You creep your hands into his hair and tug on the strands in an attempt to focus yourself on something more serious. It doesn’t work, but Terushima lets out a surprised moan. 

        “YN!”

        “I’m sorry, I’m just,” you press an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, giggles finally slowing, “I’m really happy right now.” 

        A corner of the blond’s mouth lifts at the words and he presses you closer to his chest. “I’m happy too.” Then he tugs you far enough away that he can see your bright red face. “Now do you wanna feel my tongue piercing for real?”

        He licks his bottom lip, displaying the enticing metal bar that lights the pit of your stomach on fire. Well, at least you weren’t laughing anymore. 

        “Fuck yes.”

Kuroo was probably looking at kenma like "My son...He grew up so fast"

Deadass dude😌 U already know Rooster Head is like

If It Ain’t Broke (Bokuto x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: You broke up with Bokuto for a good reason. At least, what you thought was a good reason. But right now you can’t help but miss him terribly, and according to Akaashi, he’s feeling the exact same. But did you really break him like his friend said?

A/N: Did y’all know Bokuto is 6’1”? God, he’s a fucking dreamboat. How some people don’t like his beefy ass, I will never know. I’m just gonna warn y’all now, this is only well-written bc I had my cat by my side literally the whole time I wrote this. He’s given off fuckin’ good-writing vibes, I swear. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy!

Word count: 2299

        “Fix him.” You flinch as a palm slams down on your desk, crumpling your assignment. Unimpressed, you raise a brow. 

        “Excuse me?” With a glance --- Akaashi --- you huff and turn to face the intruder.

        “Fix him. You broke him.”

        “Broke who?”

        “Bokuto!” Your classmate’s sudden outburst is unlike his usual, aloof self as he throws his hands in the air. “I can’t remember the last time he hit one of my sets after you talked to him.”

        “Maybe that’s not my problem,” you snicker. 

        “Oh hardy har har.” He rolls his eyes before lowering himself to your level. “Just fix him. We have a game coming up and our team can’t handle another depressed Bokuto phase. We almost lost the last one because of him.” 

        You wanted to make another snide comment, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. After breaking up with your owl-haired boyfriend, every sighting of him, even the mention of his name pained your heart. One time, you had spotted him at the same time he noticed you in the hall and he only whimpered before sprinting in the opposite direction. Most of the time, you regretted ending things, but you had to respect your own feelings. Although maybe, just maybe this once you could do the boys’ volleyball team a solid. 

        “Fine,” you avoided his gaze and fiddled with your hands. “I’ll talk to him. But don’t expect it to make everything all sunshine and rainbows afterwards!” 

        “C’mon YN,” he smirks at you, “we both know that’ll be inevitable.” 

        That smug bastard was always right.

                                ~~~

        You attended their practice that night, attempting to sit in the corner discreetly but that plan didn’t pan out. The second Bokuto walked through the gym doors it was like he caught a whiff of your scent. Some kind of animal instincts inside of him awakened as his eyes darted around the room, quickly spotting you with your legs splayed out as you tapped away on your phone against the wall. Not a sound of acknowledgement was made, but the impact of your presence was instantaneous. 

        Like a true captain, he took charge of his team right off the bat, even though practice wouldn’t start for another twenty minutes. 

        “Time for stretching, boys!” 

        “Bokuto, nobody’s dressed yet.”

        “Then hurry up!” 

        Every jump was a tad higher, every spike a tad harder, and near the middle of practice Akaashi gave you a pointed look. 

        ‘I told you so,’ he mouthed while dodging a stray volleyball of Bokuto’s. Your middle finger was raring to go, but you held back with much personal restraint. There was no way your ex was this pumped only at the sight of you- oh wait, this is Bokuto. Nevermind. 

        “Akaashi, set me up one more time!” The ace’s eyes strayed to you for a split second before he ran up and jumped, rearing back and spiking the ball so intensely you shivered at the sound. How did it not pop after that? It was his hardest hit yet, and a miniscule ounce of pride warmed your chest when Bokuto turned and grinned at you. 

        “Hey, hey, hey!” he fist-pumped, returning his attention to his team. For the last thirty minutes of practice, they decided to work on serves, and the outcome was just the same. 

        The hair on the back of your neck raised as you watched his bulky form take a couple purposeful steps before smack! The ball whistled through the air and landed perfectly in the corner of the court, blasting the water bottle away like a rocket into a forgotten area of the gym. His signature shout was interrupted by a sudden voice by your side. 

        “He hasn’t been like this in weeks,” Akaashi squatted next to you, taking a sip from his water. “I don’t understand how you got him so hyped up, but I’m glad.” He glances away from the court and watches your face from the corner of his eye, flashing you a small smile. “I’m glad you came today. We needed this.” 

        “I just came to watch, nothing more.”

        “We both know that’s a lie.” He quirks a brow at your slightly flushed face. “Just talk to him this time, okay? He’s not-”

        “Akaashi!” Bokuto orders from the far benches, “Come set for me again!” His voice is more demanding than usual, and his eyes burn with jealousy. The setter only chuckles under his breath at the sight of the green-eyed monster, and stands to face him. 

        “I will,” you grab his hand to halt him and stare into his eyes, nodding with certainty, “I promise. I’ll talk to him.”

        “AKAASHI!” You both jump at the abrupt, irritable shout. Frantically, the setter nods back at you and wriggles his hand out of your grasp before jogging away, visibly shaken. With a gulp, you dare to peek over at the court, only to nervously shift on the floor after making eye contact with Bokuto. His orbs, normally yellow and glowing with excitement, are dark and pouring with envy. Pursing your lips, you can’t help but slump a little lower against the gym wall, hesitantly trying to hide yourself from the palpable heat that rolls off him in waves. 

                                ~~~

        Practice ended quicker and louder than you imagined. Everything the ball made contact with-- Bokuto’s hand, the floor, that one door that flew open after impact-- it all created a sound that boomed and echoed around the room. Akaashi decided to call it quits after the door almost blew off its hinges. 

        Bokuto silently picked up stray volleyballs and loaded them up in the basket before wheeling them into the storage room. It was around this time that the co-captain of the team gave you the signal. With about four or five frenzied head nods towards the private closet, you finally caught his drift and made your way over. 

        The stench of sweat made you nauseous, but you powered through as you walked nearer to the boys, ignoring how their chatter had subsided when you shuffled past them. 

        The room was dark and dusty, with the only light coming from the outside. Bokuto perked up at the sound of your tennis shoes squeaking against the mopped floor. He parks the bucket of balls in an unlit corner next to some brooms before facing you.

        “You came today. I was surprised.” His voice is wobbly and uncertain, and you’re shocked to finally notice just how ruffled he appeared. The normally wild hair atop his head sat in drooping grey and black tufts, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He flashes a small smile at you, but it’s forced and trembling. He was coming off the high of you watching him practice just like the old days, and he’s regretablly remembering that the old days have passed. You broke up with him. 

        “Yeah, I did.” You sway back and forth on your feet while twiddling your thumbs. Pursing your lips, you take a hesitant step closer and say, “I thought you did great, by the way.”

        The life returns to his eyes for a split second, but it disappears just as fast. “Thank you,” he mumbles. The room returns to a deafening silence, and you bite the inside of your cheek to pass the time. 

        “Why,” he pipes up once more, killing the quiet. “Why did we have to break up again?” His arms hang limply at his sides while his feet scuff the floor. He didn’t dare to look you in the eyes at the moment, and you understood the feeling. The atmosphere was tense and choked up, like a glass teetering precariously on the edge of a table. One wrong move and everything would shatter. 

        “Because,” you force out, breathing shakily, “you just… you just never had enough time for me.”

        “But I do now!” The cup falls. Everything breaks. 

        “Do you?” you whimper, pressing a hand against your lips to contain a sob. He steps closer instinctively, eyes watering at the sight of your walls collapsing.

        “I do, I swear!” His rough hands grab your shoulders and yank you closer. His golden orbs search your face one, two, three times before he leans closer. “I promise, YN! Please, I promise!” His strong fingers trail down and grasp your wrists, tugging you into his chest while he pulls your arms around his back, free of their own volition. You don’t deny his needs and melt into the embrace, shedding a few stray tears into his shirt which you clutch tightly.  

        “I promise,” he whispers once more into your hair, wrapping his own muscular arms around your shaky form. “I don’t want to be without you ever again.” His voice trembles against your ear, and you begin to notice just how much your body missed his own. You fit perfectly against his chest, and his warmth makes you feel just right. Your heart races in a good way, and the pit of your stomach fills with a joy only he can provide effortlessly. You were made for each other, and you were perfect for each other. 

        Oh shit… you were perfect for each other. 

        “Okay,” you whisper, nodding into his shirt. “Okay, let’s give it another shot.” The reaction is instantaneous. 

        “Hey, hey, hey!” he whoops victoriously into your ear, hugging just tight enough that the only sound you can muster is a wheeze. You hang on for dear life when he lifts you up and spins you around while cheering even louder.

        The atmosphere of the room grows ten times softer and brighter thanks to his beaming, and his hands trail down to the backs of your thighs and tap twice. You understand and hop with complete faith that he will catch you, and you will continue to do that until he drops you one day, which is highly unlikely. In a seasoned fashion, you wrap your legs around his waist and wind your arms around his neck for stability. He settles his hands under the tips of your thighs and stares up at you like you’re the light of his life. You wouldn’t mind if he kept doing that forever. 

        “I missed you so much,” he admits, completely unashamed. You can’t contain your smile, even though your cheeks are a bit puffy from your breakdown earlier, and your eyes crease at the corners. 

        “I missed you too.” 

        “I won’t leave you alone ever again. I swear!” You giggle and run your hands behind his neck and into his nape, just barely brushing through his hair.

        “Okay,” you nod happily and stroke his peppered tufts. “I’ll hold you to that.”

                                ~~~

        A body crashes into the desk next to yours, but you don’t pay it any mind. 

        “Whatcha doin’?” The voice is playful and overjoyed, ecstatic even. 

        “Homework.” Your response is the opposite. 

        “Awesome!” Bokuto cheers, grabbing the attention of the rest of the class. While you palm your face, he loudly scooches his chair closer, ignorant to the noisy squeaks it causes. The racket finally stops when he deems himself an appropriate distance from you, which just so happens to be a roomy six inches. The only thing more palpable than his presence is the warm breaths hitting your neck. 

        “It’s homework.” 

        “I know, but you’re doing it, so it must be amazing!” You didn’t know whether to smack him silly or kiss his lips off. Neither idea seemed more desirable at the moment.

        He’s practically bouncing in his seat beside you while his head plops down onto your shoulder. 

        “I think x equals six,” he points down on your paper, chin bobbing on your collarbone with every syllable. 

        “X equals two.”

        “Oh.” 

        His grin doesn’t falter even once while he basks in your less-than-satisfied presence. You’re about to blow your top, and you just can’t take it any longer. 

        “What are you doing here, Koutarou?”

        “I’m spending more time with you like you wanted!” You sigh exasperatedly and glance up at the ceiling.

        “Kou, I meant more like after-school stuff! This,” you turn in your seat and gesture to him, “you sneaking into my class to visit while my teacher’s in the bathroom?” You shake your head. “It’s a bit excessive.”

        He throws you a whiny pout at puppy dog eyes.

        “But I wanted to see you!” Your hardened exterior cracks just a bit. God, he was an irresistible, beefy pain in the ass. With a huff, you cup his cheeks and peer into his sparkling eyes.

        “I know,” you smile reassuringly, “I wanted to see you too. But you need to go back before-”

        “Bokuto!” Your teacher stands in the doorway with folded arms and a tapping shoe. “Please return to your classroom right now!” Your boyfriend chuckles at the sight and spins up out of his seat.

        “Oops, gotta go babe!” He presses a swift kiss to your lips that rattles your brain and widens your eyes. With a breathless gasp, you watch as he dashes out of the room with a cheeky grin, waving excitedly on the way.

        “At least he’s fixed now.” Akaashi reclaims his chair and sits at his desk beside yours, observing as the class door closes with a slam. The teacher shakes his head and rubs his temples while returning to the front of the class, shuffling a stack of papers. 

        You, on the other hand, are still in a daze, slowly running your fingers over your lips to revel in the lasting tingles. Then you break out into a smile. 

        “Yeah. He’s fixed now.”

Don't mind me, I'll just be reading everything your masterlist, thank you. Your writing is *chefs kiss" 🥰

Oop, thank youuu🥺💜💜 have fun my friend✨

What's in a Virtue (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)---Part 3

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

Gaz wants you, but the hotel bar you work at has rules; when a bartender calls dibs, all others have to back off. It’s how the peace is kept, and as the new girl just trying to rack up some savings, you’re not willing to rock the boat.

But Gaz doesn’t take kindly to you avoiding him, and he’s never been one to beat around the bush. From confessing his love on the first night you met to shouting your name seven times from across the bar, he’s not letting you off the hook that easy. Not when he’s seen the proof that you’ve fallen just as hard for him.

A/N: mwahaha, and they said it couldn't be done. those who doubted me shall gaze upon my very first (and perhaps last) complete series! Victoryyyyy! I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 8374

Part 1 Part 2

   You’re pretty sure you didn’t hear him right. 

You’ve got morning-after brain, and his chest is so hot and adamant behind you, and his breath is right next to your ear. Plus, your stomach is growling with a pit only chocolate-chip pancakes and white peach oolong can fill. 

And he’s doing that tracing thingy again. G. A. Then what?

R. Maybe.

And that leads you to think you might’ve just maybe heard him correctly, because why the hell is he drawing his last name on your hip so brutishly that it twinges? 

“Um.” You stiffen. “What.” 

Not really a question. The way you say it, it comes out more like you don’t want to know the answer even if you really did ask. 

Kyle groans that long, gruff way, husked past his vocal cords and throbbing a path through your entire body. “Look, I get it.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Just let me… ah, fuck, I know it sounds ridiculous, love, but hear me out.” He moves away, giving you space to think while he leans against the counter and grips the edge, tight. 

“Wait,” you hold up a hand before he can start talking again, because you need a minute. Several minutes, actually. A whole assload of minutes to comprehend the suggestion he’s just thrown at you. “Wait, wait, wait. Are you serious?”

This is probably just what Kyle’s morning-after brain is like. It makes stupid, sudden suggestions that he just blurts out on a whim with no regard for how it’ll land. In all fairness, you doubt it’s ever done him wrong before. Even in a regular headspace it’d be hard to tell him no. 

Never mind that he’s shirtless, and that his broad shoulders eat up the space of three cupboards, and that his gaze is doing that thing again—that unfair thing where he towers over you but can still make you feel like he’s kneeling, dips his head so those pleading irises look up at you. 

“Dead serious, love.”

There’s an air about him that’s resolute, despite it all. He’s tender but stern, decided and confident in his conclusion. He’s shedding his clothes and skin, leaving himself belly-up for you to bite. 

“Kyle…”

“Too soon?” He doesn’t even look hurt. Just expectant. 

You shrug helplessly. “Yes? Very too soon, don’t you think?” You spin around, fiddle with the pancake mix but don’t open it. The mug you’ve microwaved for your tea is probably cool at this point, and you try to turn that into your biggest problem of this morning. 

Not the special forces sergeant who lives life at three-hundred miles an hour, exuding such a new energy in here that you can’t remember the basics. It’s the morning after, and as beautifully new as Kyle is, like the stretch of new blue jeans, he’s not threadbare enough in here yet. Too tight, sucking the air out of your own home and leaving you all prickly and sweaty and nervous. 

And he wants you to move in with him? Right now? This soon?

It’s easy, when you turn your back to him and lob your hand towards the microwave handle, to pretend that your biggest problem can be amended in minutes. 

Because now, despite that itchiness of Kyle’s gaze on your face, your biggest problem is that you haven’t even begun to steep your tea. That’s a huge deal. You’re supposed to do it seconds after the microwave beeps, pull the mug out and let the steam soak into the tea bag that you swing for a bit, always have to watch the foggy-air disruptions back and forth. Then you steep it, let the water grow murky for ten minutes as you cook the rest of the meal. Add sugar, an ice cube because you’re scared it’ll burn your tongue like the first time, and stir while you pour syrup on your plate. 

You’re horribly set in your ways, so much so that you hate—actually hate—the newness Kyle’s thrust upon you. It took him twenty-four hours to upset everything. 

Well, not everything. Just you. While you feel fresh out of the box, everything around you has been preserved in mundanity. 

If you took two rights and a left from this building, you’d find a sandwich shop owned by a short man with an orange cat. If you went two floors up, you’d find a pack of graduate students; one more floor, and you’d see Mrs. Beverly and her purse dog. If you went into your living room, finagled with your window a bit, the shutters would close in a perfect angle so that the sun falls on your couch but doesn’t glare on your TV. 

You know it takes you twenty-seven minutes to get to work in the morning right after you brush your teeth. It takes you fourteen minutes to walk home after you clock off. Thirty more minutes to order food and settle in, Netflix the pinnacle of your night before you nod off in a tank top with exactly three holes and short shorts you’d bought under the duress of a busted AC.

You have milk and eggs both two days away from expiration in your fridge, along with old Chinese takeout. You have books with crackled spines and ruffled pages on your bookshelf, and a muddy stain on your entryway carpet from two days after you’d bought it. A bedroom unruly and unbidden, clothes strewn everywhere.

You could envision it all, see it all because you knew it all. Have known it all for the months that this place has been your home and you’d begun working at the hotel bar. You could have the rest of your life mapped out by tomorrow if you really wanted to. It’d be safe. Predictable. Boring, in that average way you’ve always known. None of it would be moving by so fast that you wouldn’t get a break to think of the consequences. 

None of it would make you feel like you’re reaching new heights by jumping off cliffs, taking big, stupid risks that wind up working all the damn time—and solely because Kyle makes them work. Because he runs seven steps ahead of you and lays out the golden carpet for you to step on, telling you it’s okay to keep pushing forward.

The phone calls, the talks, his touch and voice. All of it closing in on you, molding you into something fresh and unseen. 

But that’s just it. It’s still just you who’s changed. 

Not Kyle, who’s certainly been like this his whole life. Who’s used to making snap decisions that have an impact, gotten so damn used to doing that that he carries it with him now. 

And it’s not Mariano or his cat Garfield, or the ham and swiss you get on Fridays. It’s not Jared and Samantha, both of whom play Mario Kart after writing another page in their theses. It’s not Mrs. Beverly and Chloe, or Jeanne, or your family or friends you haven’t texted in a while. 

Only you. 

You’re stripped to your marrow, neurons and fibers spilling all over the place because—oh hell—you’ve grown too big for all this. Kyle’s had you melting and flowing fast and sharp since he first showed up in your life, and you’re moving too fast to feel out that old stagnancy. 

But there’s an ugliness that lives inside of you too, that hates how uncomfortable every little step forward is, even if you can’t stop taking them. 

It’s exposing. You feel naked, but not in the new, comfortable way Kyle’s helped you discover by virtue of his longing. More naked like school nightmares and too-small bath towels. Naked like someone’s going to douse you in lemon juice and salt any second to watch you writhe. 

“Kyle.” Your hand’s still propped on the handle. The microwave beeps again, impatient. “Last night was—God, it was amazing.” You open the door, pull out the mug despite how lukewarm it’s grown. “Best I’ve ever had, by a long shot. But…”

“But what, love? You’re scared?” His voice is barely above a whisper, and you’ve no doubt he’d watched your mind run and run circles around itself, and had had enough time to form an argument of his own. “It’s too much? A lot to ask? I think that too, love, but we’re running out of time.” He rises to his full height, and you try not to shy away at how much space he takes up when he’s grim and serious. 

He’s massive, bigger when he’s panting over you, sleek hips pressing down, suppressing your twists and jolts. He’s gotten better at trapping you, too. It’s intimidating. Thrilling, in better circumstances.

You can’t think straight anymore. He smells like pine all over again, and looks it too. 

“Come back with me to England. We’ve got bars—bars I can bother you at. We’ve got universities for second chances. I’ve got a flat with plenty of room, plenty of money to—”

“Kyle, please.” The whine rips from your throat, and you drag two hands over your face. 

In the corner of your vision, you don’t miss the way he stiffens and swallows a bit. But then he says your name through choked sigh, and rasps, “I know it sounds fuckin’ crazy—I feel like a bloody fool saying it out loud. But I don’t want to lose this, and I can’t keep comin’ back here to start us from scratch every few months.”

You don’t know what to say to that, can’t stop bobbing your mouth open and closed, trying to find those useless words that might explain what’s holding you back.

Something like, It’s only been three months.

Yes, but Kyle knows that too. And he still wants you. 

You don’t even really know him.

Sure. But what was there to learn that he wouldn’t offer you on a silver platter?

It’s going to fall apart. It always does for you. Months will pass, and he’ll realize he made a mistake. He’ll kick you to the curb, and you’ll be back to square one. 

A coaxing palm cradles your cheek, and a warm thumb prods over your lower lip, both of which make you flinch out of your thoughts. Kyle tips your head up, up, up until you’re looking at him, brown irises gentle and luring.

“I can see it, you know. That cruel little brain of yours is whirring so loud it’s makin’ me nauseous.”

Your eyes fall closed, and you reach up, grapple at Kyle’s wrist, massage the tender spot at its center. “I’m sorry.”

He inhales, ragged and slow. Exhales, blowing past your flyaways. “For what, bunny?”

You continue to caress the baby-soft skin of his wrist, marveling a bit at how different it feels from his rough fingertips, from his scarred thighs, his bruised back. “I need… time. A little bit to think. Consider things.”

The last thing you wanted to do was tell him to leave. You felt like an idiot for even implying that space from him was the something you needed right now. You know the silence will swallow you whole when he’s gone. 

“You want me to go?” he breathes out, and his face crumbles. Likely, he didn’t want to leave. He could barely be goaded out of your bed, and now this? 

Kyle looks like he wished he hadn’t asked, hadn’t said anything. Those mournful brown eyes slip to the counter, where your mug and pancake box sit, then back to you, to your eyes and nose and lips. 

Your lips. He prods at the bottom one, like he can’t help it. The caress slows to a stop when he pinches his eyes closed and tips forward, dropping his forehead to yours. “But I don’t wanna leave, love,” he mumbles. “Scared if I do, you won’t let me back.”

You don’t think you could ever keep him out. Not out of your house, and not out of your head. But your brain feels unspooled and uncollected, and all that’s left are too-sweet cotton-candy wisps that can’t quite latch onto anything. 

“I…”

Don’t want you to leave either.

I want you to stay. I want to move in with you. I want every night to be like last night, and every morning to begin like ours did.

I want it all to be ours.

Your hands rise up and brush against the dips and swells of his chest. Goosebumps blossom under your touch. 

“Kyle, you know this isn’t goodbye. It can’t be. I need you to tell me you understand that.”

He sighs again.

“I know, love. I know that.” His thumb wanders over the arch of your cheek. “I’m used to all this, with you. All the pullin’ away and coming back.” He chuckles bitterly, a bit breathy. “It’s just so fuckin’ hard this time ’round.”

Your chest feels like it’s split open, gaping and pouring out. But your mind, or what’s left of it, knows you need this. You need the separation from him, deserve time to think through all he’s offering, all you could barely repay him for in return. 

The debt between the two of you is yawning. But if you gave in and told him yes, all you’d be left with is uncertainty. 

Not even a man as perfect as Kyle can make up your mind for you. 

“One more kiss before you go?”

He takes you up on it before you can say any more. 

His lips are a harsh press against yours, bruising enough to leave them puffy for hours. He kisses to consume, to swallow you up and spit you out wanting more. 

Gentlemanly as Kyle can be, there’s not a glimpse of it to be seen now. He’s not playing fair, at the moment. 

He hooks a finger under your chin and holds you steady, keeps you close and running out of air as he slips past your defenses, the hot, wet press of his tongue on top of yours. It’s instantly dominating before you have a chance to fight.

And then he’s toying with you, kneading you back into the fray with long prods and swipes, his stubble from the morning a heady friction on your skin. He’s playing and caressing and devilishly stroking needy whimpers from you, fingers dancing along your skin, drawing circles on your skin and whines from your throat. That dangerous tongue of his performs another sweep about your mouth, then slips back. Kyle begins worrying at your bottom lip, teeth digging in so harsh and quick —

—and he tears away from you so abruptly that you gasp, can’t even see straight. Suddenly you’re cold and alone, panting and losing your balance without Kyle’s sturdy form keeping you upright. 

You only realize what had happened when you hear a rustling from your bedroom. Kyle reappears seconds later, avoiding your gaze as he zips his jacket up over his bare chest, legs and hips clad in last night’s jeans. 

Subconsciously, you pick at the neckline of the black cotton tee you’re wearing—his shirt, one you guess he doesn’t want back before he leaves. “You don’t want your—”

“Don’t take it off—not yet, yeah?” He meets your eyes for the first time in two minutes, and there’s little brown left to them, all dilated pupils and a consternated furrow. Even his lips, wonderfully swelled, are tugged into a small frown. “Keep it on f’me. I’ll come back for it when you’re ready.”

But you don’t know when that’ll be. How could you possibly make an unbiased decision when the damn thing still smells like him and you can’t forget that ravenous look in his eyes when he’d first found you in it?

Kyle’s hovers near the door, hand tight around the knob like he can’t quite figure out how to open it again. He glances back at you over his shoulder, lets himself take you in, take the entire scene in. He even looks back at your bedroom, where the sheets are rumpled and need to be washed. Then he settles on you one last time, jaw set, muscle feathering a bit.

“Call me. Text me. Anything, darling. But don’t you dare forget about me.”

The door closes with a slam.  

~~~~~~

The first day, Gaz is sure it’s fine. You need time to think, and that’s okay. He can handle that. He’s handled it multiple times.

And, yeah, when he’d gotten back to his hotel room, he had to sit for a moment, staring at the wall. Had to replay that whole night all over again. 

Then again. 

He did the same thing with that morning, reimagining licking the sweat off your thighs, sliding up and burying his face into your stomach, pawing at your body wherever you’d get the loudest. Replayed the feeling of your supple palms and soft fingertips—every inch of you was so damn soft, fleshy and yielding in his hands—wandering over his cheeks, his lips, his scalp. 

Fucking beautiful. Every goddamn second of it. 

Gaz, that first day, tries not to linger too long on how it’d ended. 

So stupid of him to bring that up. Suggest for you to move in with him when obviously you both functioned at two vastly different paces. 

Isn’t it ridiculous that he can’t even bring himself to think it’s crazy? He can’t find it in him to say no, that’s bullshit, because who are you and why the hell did he ever think moving with a woman he’d only known for three months was okay—desirable, even?

So bloody desirable it almost crossed that line and became imperative. 

He spends that night checking his phone, wondering if you’ll call him again, borderline tears and needy like yesterday.

That was his favorite aspect of yours so far—when you needed him, you needed him badly. You needed him while you choked back gasps and almost-sobs. You needed him while you breathed a little sigh of relief at the sight of him and jumped into his arms. You needed him with that first kiss, shy and tentative, but trying your best to imitate reckless abandon—until he taught you properly. 

He’d spent that whole night watching you be shocked at yourself for how badly could want him, all confused and flushed when you’d noticed your fingers digging into the buttons of his trousers. A little stunned “o” formed on your lips when you’d dug your nails in, body trembling with exhaustion, and still begged him for more. Kyle, please. More.

Gaz only convinces himself to take a shower for the night when the thoughts become too much. He almost trips over his own feet in a mad scramble when he sees his phone flash, only to find a notification for an update. 

He goes to sleep in a sour mood. 

The second day goes about the same. He wakes up late in the afternoon (because, due to your midnight upset, he was still on his Middle-East sleep schedule), spends way too much time remembering and staring at his phone, waiting for a buzz or a ring. Eats his dinner and drinks in a deathly silence. 

Because silence is unnerving to him now. You’ve changed that much in him. Every second spent in lonely quiet feels like a waste of his time. 

But you don’t call. And you don’t text. 

You don’t do any of it for the next three days. 

Gaz wallows even worse. He gets antsy, goes to the hotel gym and sprints on the treadmill, because he knows if he runs outside he’ll find himself at your place. He goes to stores, buys himself another black t-shirt, same size and brand as the one that you’d worn, that’d cinched in at your waist and flared out to capture your hips and thighs. 

He wanders into the bookstore next door and finds a few of the ones he’d spotted on your bedroom bookshelf whenever you’d tapped out on him. He flits through a few pages, eyes catching on the naughty words, and reads through for… wistful entertainment, at least. 

Research purposes, at most. 

And Gaz chuckles to himself, winking at the girls that try to wander into the section inconspicuously. The same ones who surely have as good a poker face as you, and who immediately vacate the area at the sight of an invader. 

It would be more fun if it was you he was teasing. Same pink ears and face, same eyes avoiding contact at all cost, fingers fidgeting at the hems of your sleeves.

A longing ache floods his chest so directly and intensely that he has to take a second, breathe and set down the book so he can center himself again. That same flood of cognizance about his situation hits him when he’s on missions, when the victims’ sobs finally get to him or he looks too long in the eyes of a dead man. 

Like he’s yanked to the surface after hours underneath the tide, and the sun shines so brightly his eyes burn. But he’s seeing and feeling everything he’d shoved deep down, knows exactly what led him to this moment. 

Gaz doesn’t go out much after that. 

Not the next day, or the day after that. Not even the next two days after those. 

It’s around this point that he wishes you would just put him out of his fucking misery. He’s so tired of thinking of you before he goes to bed, dreaming of you, then waking up to phantom touches all over his body. He’s driving himself up the walls trying not to call you, break into your house and just steal you back to England anyway. 

Patience. Son of a bitch—patience. God, you strung it out so thin with him that it could snap like a rubber band and hurt you both. 

It’s midnight of the tenth day of no contact with you that Gaz’s finally got his sleep schedule under control, and he’s twisted up in the sheets, body caked with sweat. 

Well, actually, he’s in Prague.

He’s rapidly approaching a target in a dusty, dark alleyway. Just before they turn the corner and get into public view—can’t let that happen, have to maintain cover—Gaz wrestles them away from the glow of the streetlamps and back behind a dumpster, kicking away their gun while he wrenches a biceps around their neck—

But it’s your voice ringing through the air. Your pleas and sobs pierce his conscious too late. Your neck snaps so loud he flinches, and all the while his mind is screaming no, no this can’t be right. She’s not the target. She’s never the target. 

Gaz scrambles away, tearing off the sheets and rolling out of bed. 

Jesus Christ.

He has to see you. 

After that, just needs to make sure. Needs to check that you’re still in tact, your sweet neck not cracked and limp, eyes not dim and silenced. 

He rises to his feet and can’t find his Goddamn socks anywhere. A yellow glow from the window lets Gaz catch himself in the mirror at the perfect moment, and he can see the thick sheen of sweat that covers his body head to toe. 

You deserve better than that. Better than a sweaty, desperate man with no patience pushing his way into your house and demanding an answer, a single word, fucking anything from you. 

Even a nod or a shake of your head would settle his poor heart. The damn thing aches in his chest all the time now. 

Gaz slips into the bathroom for a quick, cold shower, stubs his toes against the not-wide-enough walls of the tub several times, and ambles out a bit slower and far more jittery than he’d gone in. 

He’s shifting a pair of pants up his not-yet-dry legs when he spots it. 

A dim flash from the hotel nightstand, where his phone is plugged in. 

Gaz freezes.

Surely it’s not…

Well, it might be…

But he’d been gone for not even five bloody minutes; that’s not even fair!

Suddenly, he’s kicking off the pants and hurdling over the bed, buck-naked and scrambling for his phone.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.

But yes. It’s a voicemail from you. Three minutes and forty-seven seconds, and he wasn’t there for any of it. 

He presses it with wide eyes and a heaving chest, and something stabs him, hard, cruel, and swift right in the center of his gut when he hears your voice. 

“Wow, I’m getting deja vu.” You laugh, but it’s empty and short. “I’m really hoping you didn’t sneak off to a mission without telling me. That would, uh…” Your tone grows dreary, even as you huff another laugh. “That would really suck. But I’m sure I deserve it.”

You thought he’d leave you?

You can’t see him, and he knows that, but he still shakes his head, brow furrowed because no, no, no, he would never do that to you. Damn that evil brain of yours. 

“I just… um, I just had a dream, though. Wanted to tell you about it. It wasn’t even bad so, like, I don’t even know why it woke me up.” Some shuffling, and a sniffle. “Well, I mean I do, but… okay, fine, I’ll just tell you. 

“It was pretty lame. Nothing big, but I was hanging out in an apartment—a flat, you might say—which is a stupid name for an apartment, but you Brits don’t even know what chips are, so whatever. I’ll let it go. 

“Anyway, I was sitting on the couch kinda bored, and then you came in. Came back, really. It’s like that background knowledge thing you get in a dream, where you only know exactly what’s going on the moment it happens? But you were back from a mission, and I had dinner and a hot bath ready, and you…”

Another sniffle. Gaz hovers over the phone, waiting for those seconds to dwindle down, needing to know how you felt when the message ended so he could call you and be…well, be whatever the fuck you needed him to be in that moment. 

“I don’t know. We were about to kiss, and then I woke up and you weren’t even there and I just…hated that. The idea of that. Of you not being there when you could’ve been. And knowing that the only reason you weren’t was because I was being so stupidly stubborn.”

You sigh, then, and get too quiet for him to hear without crouching closer. “Kyle, if you still want me even at all after this, I…” You suck in a long breath, and he hears that little hitch at the back of your throat. “I need it to be slow. Slower than what it’s been. Especially if… if it’s gonna be the same apartment. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never felt it. And I’m scared of, well, all of it, honestly.

“But I’m more scared of never taking that chance with you. And you’ve been commuting to my home, my country all this time, so… you know, maybe it’s time I reciprocate. Reciprocate a lot of things.”

Then someone knocks on his door.

~~~~~~

Kyle never directly told you which hotel room he was in. But when he’d kicked his pants off and you’d watched them soar over your bedroom floor that night you’d called him over, you’d laughed into his kiss at the sight of his wallet, his key card, and some loose change rattling across the floor. 

The next morning, you’d picked it all up while he was in the bathroom, where he was hopefully not glaring at the impulsive hickey you’d given him. You’d snagged his t-shirt for yourself, some womanly, possessive part of you wanting to squeeze yourself into his clothes, whether it would fit or not. You’d felt like a damn fool crammed into it—until Kyle saw you for the first time, and the look he gave you made your stomach clench. 

You’d organized the rest of his things onto your dresser, only eyeing the room card, and the number sharpied on the back, passively. 

Room 428. 

You knocked on the door now, pulse thump-thump-thumping against your eardrums. 

An “Oh fuck” was muffled and low through the door. 

It didn’t sound like you’d woken Kyle up, and you admit that you’d been seriously considering the fact that he might’ve left for a mission while you were in AWOL mode. A bit of luck, really, that it was actually him, still here after ten days of radio silence. 

But you’d know that gruff, British grumbling anywhere, and your body began to tremor. Small, at first, in your fingertips and toes. Then your knees felt a little loose as time went on and all you could hear from Kyle’s end was quick footsteps and the snap of fabric. By the time the door whipped open, your every breath came out stumbling, like waves over jagged rocks.

And Kyle…

Oh. 

Oh, Goddamnit. 

Ten days was too long for both of you. 

Because Kyle, for all his effortless handsomeness, was a wreck. Untidy stubble’s laid claim to his jaw and throat, and his lips look bitten raw. Deep-seated crescents curve under each eye, lined and dark and angry. He’s draping himself against the door with the black curls on top of his head in complete disarray, and watching you with a low-lidded gaze. 

Gaunt, worn, weakened. Like the life has been drained out of him. 

But it’s still Kyle. There’s a phantom of his old self in his form now, a tautness to his shoulders and neck, slight bend in his knees, vigilance in his whiskey eyes. You’ll have to reel his spirit to the surface.

Looking at him now, though, it hurts to think you’re the one who’d done it to him. So damn hard to believe that he takes absences of you like shots to the heart. It’s lovely, to be so wanted by Kyle Garrick. 

Harrowing, too. 

There’s a learning curve to holding his tender heart in your hands and trying not to squeeze it too hard, too often, but you get the feeling you’ve been treating it like a stress ball. You forget that he keeps himself at this rough idle for you. That he always carries soft, warm feelings all the time, and lets them fester behind the velvet steel of his abdomen.

“Did you get my voicemail?”

He nods a little. 

“So you heard that I…?”

Another nod. 

The air is thick and straining with his silence. All he is right now is two eyes watching you and ten long fingers flexed against the door, features bordering on unreadable. 

But there’s yearning. There’s always that fierce yearning with Kyle.

You lean a little closer, don’t quite know whether to be disturbed or flattered at how his nostrils flare when he suddenly sniffs. 

Then he hums, low and deep.

“Peaches,” you mumble, recalling months ago, a staunch memory of his words about your perfume. 

“Tha’s right, bunny,” he mutters. His fingers peel off the door before he lurches toward you, a lovely swoop in your gut when he hauls his arms around your waist, tilting his face to yours. He takes another sniff, this one nestled against the top of your scalp. “It’ll smell like peaches.”

When Kyle takes a step backward, his arms remain iron-stiff around your back, dragging you with him. Step for step for step until you’re in his hotel room, kicking his door shut with the heel of your shoe. 

His hand rises and sweeps back the hair stuck to your neck, already slanting his lips over your pulse point, teething at the skin. “My flat,” he whispers. Then he scoops up your jaw, tilts your head to the other side and reattaches his mouth to the next indent in your throat. “My bedroom.” Another readjustment of your head, aligning himself just below your chin, your head tipped all the way back, blurry, blissed-out eyes locked on the ceiling. “My sheets.”

“Kyle.”

His fingertips dig in hard enough to leave purple dots against your lower back. “All of it’ll smell like peaches. Like you.”

You pry him off with a tugging grip at his damp hair, only slightly intrigued by the water droplets that you now notice litter his skin. 

A bit too busy trying to think back to why you’re here, outside of getting his hot mouth all over you again, to try and care about something so minor. 

There’s an indignant huff against your bobbing throat before he draws back. Kyle looks damn near put out by the fact that you hadn’t let him keep sucking distractions into your skin, and his teeth bare slightly when he grumbles, “What is it, love?”

Lest you forget Kyle first and foremost loves to grope at the plush of your thighs, he does so now, mindlessly, detrimentally to your train of thought. “There’s—there’s so much to figure out, Kyle.” Your words are more like a sputter, wild spilling past your teeth. “There’s getting my stuff there, and passports, and visas. Things that take more time than how long we’ve known each other.”

The golden gleam of his smirk almost takes you out of commission. One second he’s bitter about his mouth and the lack of your skin against it, the next he’s pulled back far enough to meet your eyes dead on, confident like he knows you inside out. 

“Bunny, when you first started to walk, did you go ’round asking everyone what running felt like instead of trying it?”

You… don’t know what that means. Like at all. 

And you’re fairly certain you wouldn’t be able to figure it out even if you weren’t exhausted from four-hour sleep and the wandering of calloused fingers. 

“Kyle—what?”

The deep timber of his chuckle floods your ears like spools of silk. It’d almost be mean if it wasn’t the same playful laugh he used to give you from across the counter, one hand on a drink, the other reaching for yours, and if he hadn’t done it with little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. 

“I just mean…” he pauses and strokes at your thighs a little slower, “that all of this has felt so bloody natural. Like I’m made to be doing this. Like I’m learnin’ how to walk all over again. And you…” One hand departs, rises and encompasses your cheek, thumb swiping over its swell. Kyle’s features soften. “Love, you make me want to run so badly.”

Your hands fist against his chest, but you know he can still feel the quivering that’s begun. That slowly showers over your body, tip of your skull down to the bottoms of your feet, electrifying and frightening.

You say his name again, startled at how much you want him. 

He’s not wrong. Not even close. Being with him is like warm sweaters, or old socks, or scuffed shoes. Things that always just fit.

But it’s new, these butterflies frenzied in your stomach, this chain reaction of shivers and sparks of pleasure and licks of sweet heat. 

New, and timeless. Confusing, and so damn easy. 

“I’ve got connections, love. And so much time for you. All the time in the goddamn world.” His hips press into yours, and once more, he begins to sway.

And, once more, you follow suit.

“And there’s bars aplenty in England, love,” Kyle whispers the words against your forehead. “If that kickin’ little mind o’ yours feels like it has to repay me—pain in my arse, but I’d let you do it. Even though I wouldn’t mind it if you could just sit in my apartment and look real pretty. That’s always on the table for you.”

“Definitely off the table, Kyle.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He peppers kisses over your face. “So long as you’re there each time I walk through that door, yeah?”

~~~~~~

Gaz can smell it from the hallway. 

The heavy scent of chocolate and those pretty candles you love to light, along with a lingering hint of peach. The door to his flat towers, ominous and contingent, like if he doesn’t open it now, any second it’ll slip away and he’ll be back on the field, gunsmoke thick in his eyes and throat. 

Coming home is always a little hard.

 He’s unwinding vertebra by vertebra, trying to fracture himself into small enough pieces to fit through the door. And there’s the crotchety stiffness of his limbs, too long for these halls, too sturdy for a scene soft as this. 

Gaz shoots for quiet and hits dead silence when he twists the knob. Slips through the doorway and takes in this little fault he’s discovered in reality, phenomenon he’s kept under wraps for the past year or so. 

Because entering the pocket dimension of his flat is nothing short of ascendant. Every damn time. 

The air in here is velvety smooth and warm. Not unbearably, for July—it almost feels like the warmth of a sweaty palm still interlaced with his, making his body all syrupy slow. The lights have been dimmed and everything in view from the doorway is more shadow than actual features. London, like the determined sadist it is, is gray and drizzly outside each of his wide-open windows, helping none with his search.

That is something he’d had to bargain for—open windows. Gaz doesn’t mind the subpar reward any creeper might receive peeking into his home, but you weren’t as convinced. The task to win you over had become almost insurmountable when he’d grown too greedy in the living room and you, with eyes only barely comprehensive over his shoulder, locked gazes with an elderly woman across the way and screeched.

But he’d won, and it seemed you honored your promise now. 

Speaking of you, he doesn’t even spot you the first look-around. Even as his nerves meld into the sleek familiarity, panic splices through his gut when he glances once, twice, then thrice around. You’re not running toward him like he desperately wishes you would. You’re not hovering over the kitchen stove, or digging through the fridge. You’re not even curled up in the window seat, sipping on a steaming mug. 

Gaz knows he was quiet, but he didn’t know he was too quiet. 

It becomes increasingly obvious that you’d had plans to greet him. 

Because not only is his favorite meal still sitting over the burner, and the kitchen’s covered in dirty dishes, but you’re lounging on the couch, plush thighs crossed one over the other with a book in hand, clad in fantastically sparse lingerie of frilly black lace that leaves meager gaps for his memories to fill in.

With a stuttering breath, he fills the gaps in tight. 

Your lazy fingers scrape at the corner of a page, then you flip it with a bored sigh, shifting a little by hooking your heel over the top of a sofa cushion, splitting your legs wide so he can see—

His pack drops to the floor with a thunderclap of noise. 

Your body jerks all at once, a quick shriek splitting the viscid atmosphere in half. 

Your wide, prey eyes latch onto his while you grapple at your chest, book having been launched halfway across the carpet. “Kyle, you son of a—could you have been any quieter? What the hell?!”

He barks out a laugh. The potency of your voice saying his name is already swimming through his mind, and he reaches back and closes the door while you rise to your feet. “Sorry, love. Next time I’ll just crawl through the window, yeah?”

“Fuckin’ may as well have,” you grumble, adjusting the stringy straps of your bra. Your skin is all blank and pale right now from months of his absence, white space where amaranthine marks should be. 

Four months. The longest the two of you have been apart, and every step you come closer that heady scent of your perfume prickles its way up his spine. 

“My sweet little bunny, precious love of my life—what have you been up to, hmm?”

Your hands slot on your hips, and you pout up at him. The build-up of energy crackles all over his skin the longer you stand so far away from him, but you’ve still settled for a lecture instead of a kiss. “Well, I had this whole plan where I’d feed you and bathe you, and then we’d fuck like rabbits, but I guess that’s out of the question now.”

Gaz snickers, the abject disappointment raw on your face. “How is that out of the question?”

“Timing’s off and you ruined the whole sexy vibe I was aiming for.” You fold your arms, and Gaz shamelessly drags his gaze down from your face. “You really suck, you know that?”

His lips part in that effortless grin you so easily drag out of him. “So sorry, love. If you come over here, I’ll be sure to apologize quite thoroughly.” Gaz lifts his arms, holds them out and gestures his fingers enticingly. “I’ll have your forgiveness in a matter of seconds.”

Your expression’s all stubborn and prickly, but you sway forward a little anyway. “I…” You grunt and stomp toward him, let him wind his entire body around you, and relax a little when his palms massage and dig into your shoulder blades. “I really did have everything planned,” you mumble into his chest, fingertips all twisted up in the back of his shirt. 

Gaz is starting to get an idea about what’s going on. 

Only about half the candles are lit throughout the flat, the majority of which are near the bedroom. The bathroom light is still on, door opened a crack, but there’s unpacked bath bombs strewn about like you gave up halfway through. Even the kitchen is more messy than usual after the nights that you cook. Only half the pots and pans look actually used, the rest an anxious jumble of utensils and ingredients he knows you didn’t need to make chocolate-chip pancakes alone. 

It looks like you were distracted. So very terribly disturbed by something that you could only commit half a mind to all your ideas. 

With him, you’re rarely left to your own devices for this long, and it shows. 

Gaz can see it, feel it, and practically smell it all over you. Despite his embrace and what should be relief about his return, the muscle and tissue all over your body are pulled taut, bowstring-tight and ready to pitch forward at any second. 

He hums, feels the tension in your spine only grow as he draws little circles against your skin. “I know, love. I see it. Candles, and the dinner, and the bath.” He kisses your forehead, grins wider when all you do is huff and puff. “Did so well. I know it’s hard.”

It only serves to wind you up more. “I’m supposed to be the one massaging and calming you. Feeding you and taking care of you after your mission. This is…” you hiss a curse, nails scraping at his waist now. 

“S’okay. I’ve been through this hundreds of times.” His fingers dance a little lower, teasing that arch in your back that you curve a little harder against him. “I know exactly what you need, bunny. Sort you out so you can get back to your plan, yeah? Just need you to let me take care of it.”

“I don’t…” you shake your head. “I don’t know why I just—I mean, all of the sudden it’s you, and I can’t—”

You fall silent so fast when he shushes you, presses a too-short kiss to your lips. Already, he can feel the verve traveling through your very bones. He lets his words brush along your lips when he repeats his promise. 

“Know jus’ what you need. Let me handle it.”

~~~~~~

You’re straddling his thighs with a fork in hand, watching in a satisfied stupor as the plate balanced on his chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. 

Sticky, flushed, and sated all over, you saw off another sliver of pancake and hold it up to Kyle’s lips. He accepts it greedily, lets his head knock back against the headboard with a euphoric, close-lipped smile. 

He hadn’t been… wrong. 

Which is to say, you’d somehow managed to get yourself so worked up in his absence that the second he returned, all you’d wanted to do was jump his bones, sans any of the prelude you’d planned.

A warning would have been nice, now that you think about it. Anytime around four months earlier when he’d first begun preparing you for his absence without you even knowing it, would have been superb. 

Instead, he’d let it fester in you, like he’d planted himself a gift, fruit ripe for the plucking at a later date. 

You want to be mad. 

Can’t quite bring yourself to, though. 

A bit too… preoccupied. 

There’s still sweat dripping at Kyle’s temples when he cleans off the plate, hands still squeezing in distracting patterns around the meat of your thighs. 

“Fucking delicious, love.” He laves his tongue at the corner of his lips. “My two favorite meals.”

“You’re horrible.” You scramble off him unsteadily, trying to keep both you and the dishes in your hands balanced. “I should get a bar of soap for that mouth of yours.”

Kyle laughs first, then groans, swiping his hands down his face. “If you’d said that shit in the barracks, love…” he calls after you, tutting in the distance while you deposit the plate in the sink. You almost trip on your skimpy lingerie set from a couple hours ago while stumbling your way back to the bedroom. 

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” You raise a brow at him even as you tug on his arm, drag him out of the bed and down the hall. 

After it all, Kyle had insisted you keep up the plan. Didn’t want that guilty conscience of yours to fester and, even worse, those pancakes to grow cold. He’d poked at your cheek, voice slurring a little from exhaustion as he whispered, “Gotta stay awake, love, or your li’l rabbit heart’ll feel all sad tomorrow.”

So you’d rolled off the mattress and made the trek back through the apartment, and, admittedly, you started to feel guilty about the mess you’d left during your hazy planning earlier. 

You recalled trying to think of ways you could impress Kyle but not being able to think clearly after slipping on the lacy panties; too caught in imagining how he’d tear them off to really notice how half-baked the rest of your plan was. 

And how all you could think about was him serving you, which really wasn’t fair. It’d been over a year since you’d started living together, and when he went off on missions, it was an unspoken promise on your end that you’d welcome him back in calm and comfortable ways. 

His first few missions had been just that—romantic kisses and big, sweeping arcs of hugs; slow dances around the living room and the kitchen, sweet, bubbly champagne with dinner. 

All you’d managed this time around was half-assed pancakes, lacy panties, and a cold bath that you hadn’t been patient enough to finish prepping. 

You remember that you hadn’t even been exhausted today. The opposite, really. You’d been buzzing from head to toe the moment you got his call, mind too frantic to ever really stick to your old habits. 

Kyle kneels down beside you outside of the tub, three bath bombs encompassed in just one of his absurdly large hands. The other is curling your hair around a single index finger. He’s patiently busying himself by touching you, playing with some part of your body or other like he’s always done. 

One morning he’d had an absurd obsession with your left heel, and he’d nipped at the tendon out of sheer curiosity. 

You’d almost kicked him square in the face. 

But he gets new little obsessions with you all the time. Each day, he’s poking and investigating at a different part of your body, and he always—always—has to feel it against his teeth. 

And you let him. Even now, as he hinges his jaw around your shoulder. 

A true adventurer, unafraid to explore with all that he is. Wants to discover every little thing in a million different ways. 

You lean forward and wrench the faucet off, then pat at Kyle’s cheek. “Bath bombs, please.”

When he thunks them in the water, the air in the room floods with lavender and chamomile. The tub’s still fizzing purple when he clambers in and hauls you in after him, slowing your descent into his lap just enough that only a bit of water dumps over the edge. 

A long, drawn out sigh ruffles the loose hairs atop your scalp. Kyle’s hands sweep all the way up to the underside of your breasts, then way back down to the middle of your thighs, back and forth, back and forth. For the most part, you try not to move, try to let the aches melt away with the heat.

You drop your head back into the crook of Kyle’s neck and shoulder, tipping your face a bit to look at him. 

Everything’s fuzzy. Pleasant. Legs and arms weighed down by gratification, gut slick with sated heat. And your heart thumps wild and proud, bum-rushed red and gold. Natural and gleaming. Normal and perfect. 

“Can we stay like this forever?” Kyle asks again, a lifetime later. You’re only one year wiser when you nod yes, of course, how else would we be?

He burrows you deeper against him, trying to meld your skin into his because it’ll never be close enough. Touching and bruising and biting only mollifies it, this wonderful new appetite only Kyle can feed. 

It’s crumbs of food, or the tiniest sips of water. 

Or spare oxygen.

Kyle hunches over you, hard body slipping against yours. Soughs, like you hit just the spot. 

“Can’t believe you kept gettin’ away from me before all this. Tested my patience so bloody much to get here, bunny.”

You smile, tilting your head and pressing a tender kiss to his cheek. “It’s your best virtue, Kyle.”

Calling Him by His Name (Haikyuu!! Fake Texts)

(Third Gym Version) Part 1

Bokuto, Akaashi, Hinata

A/N: Yes yes I am the writer who diPPed for a solid week, and I apologize for that y’all😔 Here is a lil text post to say sorry for not existing and THANK YOU FOR 1.8k FOLLOWERS BC HOW TF DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN WHILE I POST LITERALLY NOTHING— enjoy!