Can I Please Be Added To Tag Me For Reborn?

I’m so excitedddd 😩😩 can’t wait

Ayyy me too🤩🤩

A Cut Above the Rest (Sugawara x Reader) *Request*

*GIF not mine* 

Summary: At the Shiratorizawa vs Karasuno game, it breaks your heart to see Sugawara get so excited by Kiyoko’s touch. After a long day of the silent treatment, your boyfriend must show you just how much more you affect him than any other girl around.

A/N: Honestly, this ended up better than I thought. Sorry it took me a while, and I’m not gonna lie, the other requests are probably gonna take just as long. My life is just a little sucky right now, so please have some patience. Still, hope you like it!

Word count: 2923

        Sugawara and Kiyoko were close-- they were friends, after all. But seeing him blush after she held his hands during a volleyball game was too much. 

        The sight of it made your stomach churn. His face was completely red as he jerked his hands away with a shout before bobbing and weaving the others. 

        “It’s mine! Get your own!”

        You could hear him from all the way in the stands, and there was no way the cameras hadn’t caught some of it. 

        The game against Shiratorizawa was possibly your boyfriend’s last game ever, and he had begged and begged you to come and watch. Of course, you had agreed without much coaxing, but now, all you wanted to do was go home. 

        Deep in your chest, your heart twinged. When was the last time Sugwara had ever been so aggressive over your touch like that? You couldn’t remember. Part of you felt alienated the instant it happened. 

        They’re just friends.

        Kiyoko’s not the kind of girl to do that.

        Koushi would never hurt me like that. 

        I’m not jealous. I’m not jealous. I’m not… 

        Was there really a point in lying to yourself? No, the answer is no. 

        The bitter taste of betrayal slapped you in the face the moment Sugawara had fought so hard to hide Kiyoko’s contact from another’s touch. Maybe your touch just wasn’t as precious to him. 

        Maybe… maybe Sugawara actually wanted Kiyoko. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had found her more attractive over you. The girl could wear shoes made of dog dookie and boys would still kiss the floor beneath her feet.

        But your sweet, loyal boyfriend was the last person you ever expected to jump on that bandwagon when he was in a relationship. 

        It hurt. Plain and simple. Your heart clenched and your stomach tightened and all you wanted was space, space, space. 

        So when Sugawara jogged onto the court for the fifth and final set of what could’ve been his last game, he glanced into the stands with an excited grin to see… no one. 

        “Where’s YN?”

                                ~~~

        The next day at school was hard, but ignoring Sugawara was even harder. Though he wasn’t in your class as you were only a second year, it seemed like he was everywhere, all at once. 

        Every corner you turned, he was there. Each class you passed, he was inside, asking a question you already knew the answer to.

        I’m right here, I just don’t want you to see me.

        A majority of it was just pure pettiness, but the last little inkling was fear. After avoiding him for so long, you still weren’t sure you could keep it together once he finally caught up to you. 

        Last night, your phone was blown up with texts, every one of them inquisitive. 

        “Did you hear we won our game?”

        “Where did you go?”

        “Are you gonna answer me?”

        “Did something happen?”

        “Are you okay?” 

        You didn’t answer a single one of them, instead choosing the age-old tradition of a silent treatment. 

        Lunch was the hardest. You always ate with Sugawara out in the courtyard under your favorite tree. Your back would rest against his chest and you would feed him part of your lunch, him always returning the favor. 

        So you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty while you nibbled on a chip, watching from your desk in a classroom on the second level of the school as Sugawara bolted out into the courtyard. His gray head of hair hung low as he made his way back inside the second he noticed you weren’t there. He shoved his hands into his pockets and lowered his gaze, observing his shoes as he scuffed them with every step.

        You weren’t an evil bitch-- why would seeing him like that not hurt you? It was just… you couldn’t forget his look of pure awe as Kiyoko touched him, like he had just been blessed by a goddess. 

        You knew you were nothing special. No matter how many times Sugawara told you that was wrong, you just knew it. But a part of you still wanted to believe that Sugawara had meant what he said all those times. 

                                ~~~

        “YN, open up!”

        A fist pounded on your door with hefty conviction. It hadn’t backed down for the past twenty minutes, and honestly, it seemed like it never would. 

        “I know you’re home, YN! Please, just answer the door!”

        With parents still at work, you were all alone at the house. There were no school projects or assignments, no homework or work-work; it was one of those few days in a year you would use to go to your boyfriend’s house and “study.”

        “I’m not leaving until you let me in, YN!” 

        After ignoring him all day at school, you knew you wouldn’t be off the hook for long. Sugawara always worried about you like this. There wasn’t a day gone by that you two hadn’t at least contacted each other via phone, so there was no doubt he knew something was up. 

        But you stayed put on the living room couch, wrapped up in a blanket and hugging yourself while trying to convince yourself the tears were just allergies. 

        “YN!”

        There was a saddened whine in his voice, like a hint of desperation. 

        You wondered if he was hurting like you. Would he be as jealous if you acted that way with somebody else? Would it pain him to see you blush and value another boy’s touch? Would he even care?

        Or were you just being childish?

        In every relationship lies one secret insecurity. One person’s more attractive, another’s skinnier, another’s taller. Another may be smarter or another may have a more stable life. There’s always a possible hamartia. And yours?

        Sugawara was older than you. 

        He never treated you like a child, though he had that habit. His friend group was all older, and yours, of course, was younger. 

        It was only a year, but in high school, that made all the difference. Girls his age, in his class, always spending time around him were bound to go after him at some point. At least, that’s what you always assumed. You’ve never told Sugawara any of it-- of your fears that there was another girl who he talked to that one day might just peel him right from your grasp-- you didn’t want him to think you were being childishly insecure. 

        And so, seeing Sugawara with Kiyoko made your volcano of unease erupt. 

        “YN, please!”

        But you didn’t want to lose him. God, you really didn’t want to let him go. He was kind and loving and made you feel things you’d never felt before. 

        “Hey.”

        So you slithered out of your nest of blankets and opened the door. 

        In a word, he looked disheveled. His hair stuck up in every which way, unkempt tufts barely catching the light of your porch. His hand, still frozen in the air to keep knocking, shook in place. But what most rattled you to your core was his face. 

        He looked… scared. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought a murderer was after him. The cold of what was eight p.m. in March had bitten his cheeks and nose to a nice pink color. Angry lines framed worried, hazel eyes that widened at the sight of you. Or more, the tear streaks you had failed to hide. 

        “YN,” he sounded winded, “what happened?” 

        Now. Right now was the moment you had been dreading. Unloading all of your personal insecurities onto another person was quite possibly the hardest thing to do, mostly because you knew nothing could be done about it. 

        “I…” The words were trapped, caught in your throat in a nasty combination of crap you could only hack up in the form of a sob. “I, um.” And that’s all you could say. 

        For a solid two minutes, Sugawara waited patiently for nothing. His brows rose in a gesture of take your time, but after seeing your lips stay zipped instead of opening and closing with the possibility of words, he must’ve gotten the hint. 

        He nodded then pursed his lips. “Okay then. Why don’t we… well, come with me. I want to show you something.”

        Without another word, he snagged your hand and tugged you out of your house before closing the door. 

        “Maybe you can tell me what’s up once we’re there.”

                                ~~~

        The drive wasn’t long, but by the time it was over, Sugawara’s headlights and the moon were the only lights around. 

        The local park sign greeted you once he helped you out of his car, closing the door for you before grabbing your hand and leading you away. 

        You were surprised at how warm his fingers were when they intertwined with your own, flexing against yours out of habit while Sugawara tugged you around. 

        “There,” he muttered under his breath, leading you right to the thickest oak tree around. The trees were few and far between in the clearing where you two settled, and just barely in the distance could you see the plastic playground of the city. 

        “Come on.” After taking a seat against the rough trunk, he pulled you down into his lap with a soft smile. Like always, your back leaned into his front, which worked as a heater in the slight breeze of the night. His hands wound around your waist and hugged you flush against him with not even an inch to spare. Both of your guys' legs lay straight out, his just outside your own but pushing them close enough together that one almost sat on top of the other. 

        Instinctively, your hands relaxed down onto his thighs, and you finally let yourself relax back into his form. 

        The silence was nice and peaceful. For a moment, you forgot why he had even brought you there. When you truly let go and wound your arms up behind Sugawara’s neck, he decided to break it. 

        “So… do you want to talk about it?”

        Not really, but you knew you had to. Tonight, you just wanted this undisturbed moment with him. You just wanted to listen to the trees rustle and the crickets chirp, all with him by your side. But you knew that if you wanted more moments like this, you had to start talking. 

        “Koushi,” you sighed and shook your head, “yesterday, at… at the game, right?”

        “Yeah?”

        “You and Kiyoko got really, um, really close.” You could feel him suck in a breath, but he let it out slowly before humming for you to continue. 

        “I think I see where this is going.” 

        You weren’t sure what to make of that response, so you kept speaking. “You held hands and-- God, I feel so stupid, but it made me kind of… jealous.” 

        “And that’s why you ignored me all day?”

        Out loud, it sounded ridiculous-- ridiculous and foolish. So why did the memory of them still hurt?

        “Yeah. Basically.” 

        You wanted to say more. You wanted to explode and confess, just let loose of all the feelings you’ve kept rammed up for months of being with him, but you just didn’t want to run the risk of losing him. 

        You loved him. At least, you think you did. It’s only been so many months, but when he wasn’t around, you missed him, and when he was around, your heart raced with excitement. Seeing him with Kiyoko almost made it look like things were one-sided. 

        “Kiyoko and I are just friends.” 

        A log broke away from the dam in your chest, increasing your need to let loose. 

        “Yeah, I know.” Your voice was tight, and there was no chance Sugawara hadn’t heard it. His fingers started dancing along your stomach, slipping up your shirt only so far as the skin below your belly button before splaying along the hot flesh. 

        “YN, I know you’re still not telling me something. Please, you can talk to me. I’m your boyfriend, and I’m here for you.” 

        The level of comfort those words held, Sugawara had no idea. Your heart fluttered at just their meaning. Someone was there for you, and they wanted to listen.

        So you spoke.

        “I just,” you didn’t know why, but your eyes began to burn with tears, “I know I’m not that girl, you know? The one that everybody would love to talk to and stops and stares at. The one that people would kill to touch or smell or something. And I know that’s weird or selfish, but God, I just hated seeing you with a girl like that.”

        “YN-”

        “Kiyoko’s perfect,” you continued, throat constricting the more you choked out. “I know that. Everyone loves her and wants her, but…” The first salty trail paved its way down your cheek. “Koushi, I want to be that girl sometimes. It’s gonna sound vain, but I really wanted to be that girl to you. But maybe I needed to be knocked down a peg like that.”

        “YN!” His voice rose and cracked, and his forehead dropped to your shoulder. “Please, please don’t think those things about yourself. Please.” With an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, he shook his head. “I don’t want the girl I love thinking these things. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy. You must not see it, but you’re that girl to me all the time.”

        Another kiss, this one sloppier as he bit back his own tears. 

        “Koushi-”

        “I hate making a fool of myself in front of you.” Kiss. “I hate how I still feel like a little schoolboy whenever I see you.” Kiss. “Fuck, I mean, my hands shake and my heart flutters and I just know my damn palms are sweating but I still want to hold you.” Kiss. “And YN, when I hold you, I can’t even think straight.” His entire back has curled in over your form like a shield. “My heart just pounds like crazy and I feel so stupid because I keep thinking that we’ve been together for so long and I still get so excited to see you, like a damn toddler on Christmas.” 

        The two hands under your shirt travel to your sides so Sugawara can turn you in his lap until you’re facing him head on. Then they peel away and cup your face, fingers stroking the skin while Sugawara stares at you with what could only be described as pure love in his eyes. 

        Just the sight of it robs the air from your chest. Breathless couldn’t describe it, but a rush of elation could. Your stomach twinged with excitement as you swallowed up the unfiltered allegiance Sugawara was swearing to you with his soft, hazel eyes. 

        “YN, I can’t believe you thought anybody else could make me feel something more than you.” A thumb brushes over your lips while he shakes his head. “You must be blind.” 

        When your hands reach up to tangle into his hair, he only allows one of them to complete the trip. The other, meanwhile, is caught by the wrist. Sugawara leads your hand to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the space hiding his heart. 

        “Can you feel it?” You do. His heart is pounding, much like your own. The speed and force of each thump under your palm has you leaning your cheek into his other hand. “There’s that smile I love so much.” His thumb runs over your upturned lips once more, and you can’t help but blush. 

        “Koushi.”

        “Hmm?” His eyes are still locked on your lips, but they slam shut once you pull him into a kiss. A moan escapes his throat at the feeling. It’s passionate and thankful and loving. It washes your worries away and has you confront the warm, soft truth: you’re in love with him, and that’s what matters. You’re urged to separate only for a truly desperate need of air, and even then the distance between you barely grows.

        His hot breath warms your cheeks as he dips his forehead against yours, dropping his hands to wrap your legs around his waist. Fingers massage the flesh of your thighs as he keeps his eyes closed, lips searching for yours once again only to be stopped by a giggle. His eyes flash open at the sound, crinkling at the corners when his mouth curls into a confused smile. 

        “What?”

        “Nothing, nothing.” In all honesty, you feel like you're on cloud nine, riding a wave of pure bliss. “It’s just…” your hand pats against his chest, rumpling the white t-shirt he’s wearing. “Your heart’s beating really fast. Maybe we should take a little break.” 

        Sugawara chuckles and leans back against the tree, ducking your face into the crook between his neck and his shoulder with a hand in your hair. 

        “Trust me, princess. When you’re nearby, it always beats this fast.”

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

*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: idk man i accidentally googled who ghost was like a week ago and fell so deep into the hot cod men rabbit hole so here we are. Enjoy!

Word count: 8261

Gaz is pretty sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a surprising discovery at 11 pm in an American hotel bar drinking the worst scotch he’s ever had. It’s even more surprising because he just discovered you existed all of thirty minutes ago. 

He’s got his glass swirling between two nimble fingers, trying to find that line between hating his drink and actually putting it down. And he’s watching you. 

You’re the same bartender who’d asked him (in a horrible imitation of his accent) if he’d wanted his neat scotch “shaken, not stirred.” You’d flushed after you said it and promised to leave him joke-free for the rest of the night. He’d laughed, a bit hollow from his circumstances, and told you it was all right. That he liked it, and that made you flush a little more. 

Now, you scuttle like an ant past the other worker, a blonde who’s been making eyes at him all night. Your face is split into this unabashed grin, grippable hips bouncing off the counter as you sweep by and reach below for a bottle, giving him a view of the enviable dip between your breasts. 

At first, he thinks it’s just that. Too much American booze, not enough inhibitions; both sending him into that post-mission spiral that makes him touchy and want to touch all at the same time. And he finds it’s nice to watch you rattling glasses and wiping up spills; it’s soothing, the way your eyes are alight with life in this ritzy place, seemingly unbothered by the high level of customers. He especially likes the way you mock the spoiled sods when you can get away with it. 

The hotel must be experiencing the perfect storm of weddings, proms, and business meetings—not to mention one very unfortunate layover for one very unlucky special forces sergeant. 

He watches as teens keep stumbling back to the counter with pink cheeks, flashing their IDs every time they ask for a new drink. Despite their prom getups and obvious ages, they swear they’re just guests from Mr. and Mrs. Weddington’s ceremony. 

The girl you’re with now, stumbling from her heels but selling it as though she’s tipsy, begs and begs for another lemon drop before she “goes back to work on Monday.”

You nod either way, and he watches as you make a display of pouring alcohol into one shaker and juice into another, swapping them out when the teen looks back towards her friends. 

You send her on her merry way with a sugared rim and a lemon rind, saying something like “Go easy” as she wanders back to her table. You smile to yourself, amused at this little game you’re playing with half the customers here. 

You must feel the heat of his gaze, because you glance at him then. He hopes it’s burning you up as much as it looks, that nervous pinkening of your face as you give him a shrug like what else was there to do?

And Gaz, again, thinks it’s just that. Lust. He thinks about wiping that small smile off your face with his lips, stumbling with you into his hotel room, frantic fingers peeling off clothes. He thinks about how it would be—giggly, probably, despite his surprising coordination when he’s plastered. It’d be you and him swapping words back and forth, back and forth the whole time, silence only filling the room when you’re kissing him and when you feel so fucking new it steals your and his words away. 

He doesn’t know why he latches more onto the idea of the moments afterward, the biggest thing being that you decide to stay. Then it’s more back and forth, hobbies and pet peeves and every little thing that’s been on your minds since the 2000s. He gets to know you inside and out, inside again a few more times even as your conversation runs on. 

It’s no longer lust at that point. He knows that. 

He’s ruthlessly torn from the fantasy by the blonde bartender who, judging by the looks you’re swapping with her, has gotten the entirely wrong idea about the direction of his stare. 

He swears to God he was being obvious about it. It was you—it was fucking you that whole time. 

But he’s noticed a couple things about you.

The first is that you’re quiet when your customers aren’t overwhelmingly sloshed; awkwardly so, for a bartender. You’re something of a mirror when they are, far more relaxed, laughing easy and cracking jokes, like you preferred your real self be forgotten the next morning. 

The second is that you’re soft. Around the edges, all pillowy at the hips and thighs, a sloping curve down each side. And you were soft with your words, no yelling, no arguing with customers, just easy little jabs that no drunk mind would ever cotton onto. 

You were only snappy with him the second his head started growing fuzzy. 

He wants more of it, even as the pretty bartender makes friendly conversation. 

She asks about his day, then his job, then his adventures. Three of the last things he wanted to think about tonight, let alone discuss with a stranger who wants in his pants. However, because she “loves a man with a British accent” and he’s too damn polite to give her the boot, he reveals a little. 

Yes, his job is hard. Yes, he’s jumped from an airplane. Yes, he’s killed someone. Of course they were bad.

Until they weren’t. But he won’t tell her that. 

However, above all things, Gaz is a planner. And though he’s caught the wrong fish with his bait, his plan B is working excellently. 

Gaz glances at you, brushing your hair behind your ear in the increasingly crowded room. The wide array of customers spread out among the limited seating are starting to flood the bar. You can’t pass out beers and shake cosmopolitans at the same time, and a wonderful warmth blossoms in his chest the second you glance at him too, growing desperate. 

There’s something like an apology in your eyes. You’re sad you have to ruin your friend’s chances; meanwhile, he thinks it may just be the best part of his night.

The third thing he discovers about you: you’re trying to be the wingwoman for your pretty friend here, and Gaz won’t have it. 

You’re going to have to come over here. Beg for help from your friend.

Ruin this little flirtation she’s got going on—what a shame. 

You’re too damn polite, just like him. The second he talks to you when you make your way over, you’ll think you have to stay. Humor him for a bit. He’ll ask you for a drink, forcing you to come back a second time around, when the bustle has slowed. He’ll rope you in for the rest of the night by then, and the wait’ll be over. 

He feels like a damn schoolboy when you take that first step toward him, and he’s practically vibrating when you get close enough that he can hear your voice for the second time today. It’s far less grating than your friend’s, he’s certain of it—he wouldn’t mind if it was you badgering him, is what he means.

After all, Gaz was on leave, and when Gaz was on leave, he liked things slow. Fresh off a mission, he liked to roll through the motions, order drinks and let the memories turn into static from the corner of the bar. He’d planned on calling Price and damning him for saying it was a blessing to get trapped in the US, set up at a posh hotel on the task force’s budget. 

But you stop before him, contrite eyes softening, and he’s getting better at seeing the upside of it all. 

“Hate to interrupt—I know you two are trying to get all cozy in the dark over here, but I could use your help, Jeanne. ‘Hugh Janus’ is asking for another beer and our non-alcoholic tap just ran dry.” You look off into the distance, frowning slightly. “I fear we may have genuinely drunk teens on our hands soon.”

Jesus, was her name Jeanne? Gaz hadn’t caught that. 

On the bright side, he’s able to confirm one of his sneaking suspicions. Your eyes really are fucking gorgeous up close, and they’re so expressive that he can read you like a book. 

But he hates the way you say “you two.” It’s so nonchalant. 

Was it too much to ask for a little envy? Just a hint of spite, to prove that some part of what he’s feeling, even a little speck of it, isn’t one-sided?

Your friend— Jeanne , apparently—gives him a disappointed sigh, looks at him like he and her are two conspirators planning on eloping any second. “Duty calls. I’ll be right back.”

He nods, trying to find that balance between polite understanding and absolute relief, but his head grows foggier by the minute and all he can manage is a “sounds good.”

You dive into an explanation when the pair of you are far enough away to inspect the taps, gesturing at a couple of them, and then discreetly at a group in the crowd. 

From here, he can see it a little more clearly. You’re younger than the blonde, probably just by a couple years, which means you’re newer here. Younger than him, too, since he pegs Jeanne at around his own age. 

The blonde disappears into a storage door wedged between two shelves loaded with glass bottles and illuminated white-blue. A manager, maybe.

Only thing he knows for certain from observing this quick interaction is that you’re finally alone. 

He flags you down, and his chest floods with that warm, fuzzy feeling all over again when you hustle over, genuine smile on your lips—because you’re so damn easy to read.

“Know you’re busy, ’nd I hate to bother you, darling, but can you get me another scotch? Shaken, this time, if you please.”

The pet name lands perfectly. Even through all the chatter and music, he can hear the quick stutter in your breath. Then you laugh at his joke, like you think he deserves it. 

It’s cheap of him to force that laugh out of you with a shitty joke like that, but he’s feeling a little needy. Wants a preview of what the real thing would sound like. 

Fucking music, surely. 

“I’ll go get it—”

Not yet. I need more time.

“Not right now. I’ll finish this one off while you work through that fresh hell–” he nods toward the anxious crowd “–then you can come back to me. You’ll find I’m pretty patient.”

A little less so, when it comes to you, but you don’t need to know that yet. 

The slight slur to his words must be comforting, because you give him that small smirk you’ve been conservative with all night. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ve heard Brits are perfect gentlemen; be a shame if you proved me wrong.”

“I’m all that and more, darling.” He winks. “You’ll see.”

He could be the bloody worst man on the planet, too, if you wanted. 

And he could come out and say that to you, all the things he could be for you tonight, if he wasn’t so keen on the instant change in you. 

Because here’s what he expected: a few more little flirtations back and forth, everything kept light and easy. He’d keep you smiling and smirking like that, comfortable in your own skin for just a little bit longer before you have to go back to the other customers and slither back into your shell. He’d get to see that breathtaking blush of yours, pink splotches that tell him he’s on the right track. And then he’d get your rapt attention for the remainder of your and his night, quite like he’s given you his. 

But that’s not what happens. 

Instead, you’re instantly sheepish, finding yourself leaning a little closer, so close he could reach out and run a finger along the back of your hand (a small touch, but it would certainly floor him). 

And then guilt. Pure, heart-wrenching guilt, like you’re taking every word of his to heart in the worst possible way.

Gaz panics. 

But you’re not wearing a ring, so no husband, no fiance. He guesses boyfriend or some long-standing crush he can’t—shouldn’t—burrow his way in front of. It’s a disappointing discovery, something he’ll be stewing on for the rest of the night or maybe week, depending on how long he’s stranded here. 

He’s not a fan of infidelity, and he sure as hell isn’t changing his opinion on that anytime soon. So he settles himself for a night at the bar cut short. Maybe he’ll order drinks up to his room from now on, praying the task force won’t try and shift the bill onto him. He can’t imagine coming down to the bar and seeing you will be nearly as satisfying anymore. 

“I shouldn—I mean, Jeanne really likes y—I mean, we kinda have this rule where we, um,” you fumble with the rag on the counter, suddenly invested in a stain he’s been avoiding all night. You swallow. “I’ll just, uh, bring you your drink later. As promised. I should go help her.”

And you dash off as fast as you can between the counter and the precarious wall decor, almost running into the storage door the other bartender whips open while dragging out a new keg for the tap. 

Meanwhile, Gaz… 

He has a question. 

Were you feeling all that guilt over some “dibs” rule at your bar?

He wants to laugh. The whole first-come, first-served thing makes you look as guilty as if you clubbed a baby seal. So what if Jeanne wants to ask him out? If he says no, does that mean he gets you?

Then he actually laughs a little, because it’s so ridiculous that it’s honestly cute. You care about and respect your coworkers, and support them when they’re hitting on guys at bars. So cute. You’re like the ultimate wingwoman, he’s sure, but that’s not going to change the fact that he wants you. 

But the night drags on, and this half hour of patience Gaz promised you becomes paper-slim when you pass off his drink to Jeanne and avoid his end of the bar for far longer than is acceptable. 

But you’re still giving her reassuring smiles and manning the bar as she lays her interest on thick, asking how long he’ll be staying and telling him when she gets off. 

Gaz isn’t laughing anymore. And that little thing you do where you back off and play wingwoman? Definitely not as sweet as he’d thought it was. 

Fuck, it might be the one thing he hates about you. 

Because you avoid him for the rest of the night, and he still can’t take his eyes off you. 

Not to worry, though. Gaz is a patient man. More importantly, he’s a planner. 

He’ll find a way. 

He always does. 

~~~~~~

Gaz barely sleep that night. Too busy thinking about the mission, the lives that were lost, all that blood that had coated his hands just three days ago. 

The way it bothers him comes and goes in phases. Some missions slip off him like rain water over a slick road, rivulets down drives, and he sleeps just fine. 

Others soak into him, further than skin deep, where his body becomes a subcutaneous cache of nightmares and gunpowder, and he wakes up choking, smoke filling his lungs, tearing at the tissue of his throat enough that water can’t soothe the burn. 

Mornings like this is where he fights fire with fire. 

The hotel bar is unsurprisingly destitute but still oddly open at 11 am on a Thursday morning, and he takes a seat more daringly center-staged than he had last night. He glances around, letting thoughts of you, a bartender whose biggest issue was a dibs rule on men, swathe around him. 

Admittedly, a lot of it is foggy. He remembers wanting you—a lot , actually. Too much, he might even say, but after all he drank he’s surprised he even found his way back to his room. But the place, a little more aglow with the open windows (that make his head fucking spin, by the way), looks the same as last night, which means he can still envision you wandering over every inch of it. 

And he thinks no, you probably weren’t that attractive. Maybe your snipes weren’t that funny, and he’d had no reason to get so upset with you over a rejection. And every little wish he’d had that you were the woman who could warm his bed while he was out on missions and greet him when he came home was a bit over the top, even for drunk Gaz. 

Sober Gaz knows better. Sober Gaz knows that no other human being can have that much of an effect on him anymore, because he’s had to rebuild himself after joining the military, after seeing the most honorable and dishonorable things humans can do, and he’s just not fit for something unconditional. 

Drunk Gaz, though….

Hammered and horny. That’s all it was. A terrible mixture, and he’s damn ashamed that an innocent girl like you became the target of it. God, did he even tell you his name? Or was it just instant come-on and creepy watching from the corner of the bar? 

Gaz notices he’s not alone as he lets his eyes wander; there’s a group of three elderly women jabbering in the corner, waving too-friendly when he spots them. He tosses them a dashing smile, the one that makes his grandmother’s friends burst into titters and giggles. 

It has the same effect. 

“Who knew you’d be just as charming sober?” a familiar voice rings out. 

Gaz’s heart thump-thump s forcefully.

“In all fairness, you do have a shot with them too, if you really wanted to take it.” You lean a little bit closer over the counter, one-ended smile pulling at your lips, and when he catches a trace of that same perfume, his chest twinges. 

Fuckin’ hell. 

“She’s newly widowed,” you nod to the gaggle again, demeanor conspiratorial, “and happy to be, apparently. Why am I not surprised you’re popular to all ages?”

He’s got no clue what you’re talking about. Damn, he’s not even listening. Your lips look too soft to him right now, and it’s downright unfair how domestic you look in morning light, placid and playful, like the last thing you were made for was exacerbating nightlife. 

“All ages?” he mumbles, because he can’t quite think straight, and the best thing he can do is repeat the last few words he’d heard you say before his train of thought had caught fire, derailed, and crashed explosively against brick wall. 

He’s struck still, is what he means. He can’t quite think past the idea of you, coming a little closer to him, letting him trap you against his chest. Letting him breathe in the scent of your hair as you tell him about your day—boring, maybe, if it wasn’t you who was telling the story. 

But your voice and tone, that playful edge that sounds like the sweetness of cotton candy and would taste like fucking everything to him, it draws him in. 

Gaz comes to the conclusion that not everything was a drunken haze last night. 

And he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t quite the fisherman he thought he was, trying to catch you. If anything, he was the fish snapping after your line, bait or no, wanting to be yanked out of the water and gutted until everything he ever was was bare for those pretty eyes. 

And he’s that very same fish this morning, gaping and blinking wide-eyed. 

Fuckin’. Hell. 

“My God, those teenagers last night? And then Jeanne, and the bridesmaids? And, okay, I shit you not, even the bride. You’re a menace in this bar, you know that?”

“Are you included in all that?”

If he remembers anything from the night before, it was the way you clammed up after he made his first move. You’re the spitting image of it now, pursed lips and antsy fingers, even after all that big talk. 

It’s an absent thought that flies past him in that moment, but he recalls that you were only loose enough to joke around with people already tipsy. He lets a small consideration tag along, a half-thought, really, that maybe you felt as comfortable around him as he did around you.

That, or he still looked smashed from last night.

You dodge his question completely.

“So what can I get you this morning…?” You let the tail end of the question drag on a bit, and he decides it’s because you can’t remember his name. He tries to stave off the gross pinch in his stomach by recalling there’s an all too real chance he never even told you. 

“Kyle.”

You shake your head quickly, mumbling, “No, I—I remember.”

Gaz, though he can’t help but feel like an asshole for it, grins at your stutter. 

“Surprise me, then.” He sits back, not remembering when he made the decision to lean a bit closer. “YN,” he tags on, smiling a bit more at your nervous laugh. 

You look him over, some short glance that stuffs his head full of cotton, and start working on a concoction with a small grin. 

He’s patient, minds his own business and fiddles with his phone as you shake and pour. 

No messages from Price, and Gaz shoves down any distant panic that he might have sent an aggravated text or two in his state last night. 

But no messages means no updates, which means it’s safe to assume he’ll be marooned at this hotel for another two weeks. 

Not as bad as he thought it would be, so far. 

You step away with a tray of drinks and return empty handed. Then you slip a glass in front of him, frosty and golden, slowly seeping red by a single maraschino cherry. 

He guffaws. “Mai Tai? What, no umbrella?”

You slip a mini umbrella into his drink. “You underestimate me.”

His headache is killing him. The sun’s too bright, and he’s thanking God that the music in here isn’t nearly as pounding as it was yesterday. The memories still haunt him, horizoning his mind. Every drop of blood, every plea, every blank-eyed stare. 

And then there’s you. Just you. You read like a sheet of paper, and you’re soft around the edges, and you couldn’t even comprehend half the things he’s seen. 

You spoon another maraschino cherry out of the cooling jar and pop it into your mouth, laving your tongue over it before biting down, the juices dying your tongue red. 

Fuck. 

Gaz wants to kiss you. 

He wants you to taste the Mai Tai on his tongue and sigh happily, eyes rolling the exact same way. He might die if you don’t.

“It’s on the house, only because you were true to your word.”

He gets peeks of that red tongue of yours and shifts in his seat. “What d’you mean?”

“You were patient, as promised, and I’m afraid I’ll need a little more of that today.”

Any of it. All of it, for you. Fuck, he could be so patient for you. 

Gaz furrows his brow anyway. “Didn’t know you were so greedy. Why d’you ask, love?”

“I guess you couldn’t tell from last night, but I’m a pretty shitty bartender. That’s why they got me working mornings.”

He glances at the Mai Tai. “So you’re sayin’ I’m shit outta luck.”

“I’m saying that if you’re going to let me pick your drink, you’re going to keep getting whatever’s left in the mixer from formerly Mrs. Jones’ group of three. I should warn you, they party hard.”

Gaz sighs. “What’s next on the menu?”

“More mimosas. That was their warm-up. You wanna catch up?” You frame a carton of orange juice in your hands enticingly. 

Fruity drinks from here on out. Gaz doesn’t exactly mind the idea, though he’d come down to the bar for something with more of a kick. But he’s wondering how long your shift runs if you’d worked the night before and the morning after. 

He’s got a chance here; without your friend present, your guilty conscience must feel balmed.

Gaz shakes his head, tearing a finger at the mini umbrella’s ridges. “I’ll stick to their schedule. Have a feeling I should be pacing myself with that crew.”

“Good feeling,” you nod. 

The air of silence that settles is comfortable. There’s the rattle of ice and champagne, the slow slosh of orange pooling in three going on four glasses, and Gaz watches you through it all. But he can see the way his gaze makes you nervous. Your movements are all rickety, and you can’t quite find that rhythm between shaking the mixer and making eye contact. 

Gaz wasn’t lying. Most if not all the women he’s met (sans a few of his targets) agree: he’s a kind man. Chivalrous, soothing, amiable. 

So he’s not sure why seeing your nerves gets a lovely thrill rattling its way down his spine. Sure, he wished you felt a smidge less timid, a lot more loose and sunny in his company. But, he guesses, it’s because with you, he’s willing to settle. Take what he can get; it’s not unlike a stakeout, really. He’s parked here, waiting for you to come out of your shell on your own time. 

Can’t really help that he’s greedy when it counts, though, and when you set the mimosa in front of him, he reaches before you can pull away, getting that warm slide of your fingers against his. 

“So what are you doin’ here, in a place like this, if you’re not a good bartender?”

He has to salvage your courage before you slip into the backroom for space to think. He can’t let that happen, overthinker that you are, and you’re too nice to abandon him mid-conversation. 

He’s okay with manipulating you that much. 

“Gap year. Several actually, but I don’t like to think about that.” You’re fidgeting with a rag, twisting it until the damp cotton creases under your fingers. 

“What are you gappin’ to?”

You huff out a laugh. “Med school, hopefully. Grad school, possibly. Just want to do something more, you know? Since apparently a bachelor’s gets you nowhere nowadays, and I’m just thirty grand in hole for nothing.”

“It’ll work itself out. For you, I’m certain of it.”

And he thinks he’s nailed it. 

Look. Look at all he can say and do to make you feel comfortable. And look! He can make you laugh and smile. And his touch was nice, right? Warm, gentle, everything you’d want. He’s got it right here. Waiting for you.

And then you blink, long and slow, eyes on the counter. Then…

“You know, I’m really jealous of Jeanne. I mean, she has it all figured out.”

Gaz fights the urge to grind his teeth, but he drops his elbows to the counter and cups at the mimosa. Not good enough, doesn’t burn enough. Too easy on the champagne, and he distantly wonders if you pull what you did last night all the time. 

That thing where you go easy on drinks by coming around less, or neutering them completely before you pass them out. 

That thing where you’re trying to do better for everyone , where you think you know better. He can only guess that it’s come so often with a cost to you that it’s all you know how to do anymore—giving, no taking. Helping always; never, ever hurting, no matter what you want. 

“C’mon,” he mutters, but you’re reaching for another red cherry. Chewing on it as it dyes your teeth pink. 

“She’s one of the managers here, did she tell you that? And she’s only a couple years older than me, and she’s just… she knows what she wants. And goes for it, too.”

Is that what it was? You weren’t willing to go for it? 

He’ll build that bridge for you, dammit. He’d hold you hand across the whole fucking way if you’d just let him. 

“She’s the only person in the whole area willing to give me a chance, even though I’d never bartended before.”

He lets you ramble, lets the sound of your voice sink into him, gives encouraging responses when he has to. 

Jeanne likes to go hiking. 

Jeanne likes to swim. 

Jeanne loves nights out. 

Sure, yeah, okay. But do you like any of that?

You don’t. You hate it all, actually. You even have a fear of drowning, heights, the whole works. You’re very much a homebody, curled up on your couch reading, drinking tea—not a huge fan of wine, or alcohol, actually, but don’t laugh! It was the highest paying job you could find, and yes, you do see the irony. Yes, you make a good cup of tea. Why?

Trying to find out even that much about you was like playing a damn tennis match. You won’t stop shoving the topic away, getting all insecure when he asks what you like. What you want. 

He plans to change that. 

But for now? Fine. You won’t talk about you. But he’s not going to let you talk about Jeanne. 

So you’re talking about him. 

“We don’t get much of your type around here.”

“Special forces?”

“British.” You give up on wiping the counter, instead leaning on two hands and watching him sip at the piña colada you’ve just made. He’d offered you the pineapple slice. After you’d said no, he watched you watch him bite in, wiping off the juice off his lips with his thumb. 

He had to remind himself that it was patience you were looking for, even with your lips parted in a daze like that. 

“Special forces, though, huh?” You glance around with faux wariness. “Should I be worried?” 

“Depends. How many people round here are up to no good?”

“I mean, there’s the occasional bad tipper but, between you and me,” you lean in, give a small shrug, “I deal with them in my own way.”

Gaz raises a brow, smile growing. “Maybe I’m the one who should be worried.”

“Depends. Are you going to be rifling around for a five or a twenty-five dollar tip in that wallet of yours?”

Gaz sighs, “The best company always comes with the highest price, don’t it?”

“Not as high as you think,” you laugh. 

If there was ever a groove to find between you and him, he’s finally located it. 

Five minutes too late, it seems. 

You’re glancing at the clock when you hear rustling in the storage room, and the blonde bartender that’s bloody haunting him now pushes through the swinging door. 

 “Jeanne.” You voice is a wonderful mixture of fake enthusiasm and slight disappointment. “Look who’s here.”

Trapped. That’s what he is.

And you leave without a goodbye or a glance in his direction, too. 

He tells himself you’re shy, insecure, delicate little thing that he keeps pushing the boundaries of, trying to find the edge of having you and scaring you off completely. 

Like taming a wild animal. 

Fucking patience. For all his years, all his adventures, he never knew he’d run out of it in the most civilian of circumstances. 

He sticks around a while longer, humors Jeanne’s interest. Amazingly enough, they have so much in common, who would have thought?

And who would have thought that after last night, that was the last thing he’d ever want.

~~~~~~

You’re doing that thing again, where you ignore him. 

He’d think it’s cute, how shy you were, if you only didn’t sic your friend on him each time you did it. He’s fairly certain his interest is clear. 

He’s been going to the bar for the last few days. Sometimes he sees you, sometimes he doesn’t. He prefers the former, and when it’s the latter, he’s reminded of just how shitty the alcohol is in the US, and that he’s trapped here, and how it’s starting to become hell. 

But he won’t tell you that. That your home and this hotel are the last places he wants to be on the whole planet, present company excluded. 

Despite the fact that present company feels like she has to include her friend in every conversation. He loves how selfless you are, no man left behind and whatnot, but he wishes you could see the failing attraction right before your eyes. 

You try to slip off, leave the pair of them alone, but Gaz won’t have it. If you wander too close, he’ll drag you in, call your damn name across the bar if he has to, wrench on that ever-guilty, ever-pleasing heart of yours to go and answer him, talk to him, pay him the attention he needs nightly, apparently. 

As of late, you’ve started playing this game. Gaz’ll bring up a topic, anything from the horrors of war to butterflies. 

And you think there might be some upsides to the horrors of war, maybe. And butterflies are ugly and gross, always. 

Gaz loves how beautiful the mountains are up north; you despise them. They look cold. 

But he thought you loved cold weather?

Well, you don’t like cold weather when it’s… on mountains. You guess. 

 An interesting play, he quite thinks. Such odd tactics you have running in your mind. But you’re trying so hard to be this good, loyal friend. You want so badly to find the middle ground here, please Jeanne and Gaz, let them both be happy. 

But when push comes to shove, Jeanne had dibs. And Gaz has to bear the brunt of it. 

Two weeks have gone by before Price contacts Gaz again. Tells him the 141 had lain low long enough that he can come back home and get some well deserved leave. The news makes him fucking ecstatic when he first hears it. Thank fuck he’ll never have to use the launderettes here again, never have to listen to the damned click-click-click of the aircon or the mini fridge. 

He misses so many things from home. 

Shepherd’s pie. Good cigarettes and tea. A whiskey sour from that bar just three blocks down from his flat. 

And his flat. His bed. His sofa, the kitchen he barely uses, the door that whines because he can’t bring himself to oil it; gone too long, too often for it to really matter most days. The toaster he doesn’t plug in ever because it damn well almost burned down his flat last time he was out for two months. 

All of it empty. Cold and bare. Too unused to really miss. 

Gaz slows while packing his things. He stops, grabs his phone, then lowers to the bed. He stares at the recent calls list, Captain still at the top, call ended twenty minutes ago. 

Home has a different taste in his mouth than it used to. Not horribly bad, but different enough to notice. 

It’ll be quiet. Gaz used to love quiet. 

Being here has changed something in him. 

Nothing big—all small things, in fact. 

A pondering floats down on him, comes to his mind and makes the rest of his body tighten, a coiled spring waiting, wondering. It’s such a small question, too, but things with you always seemed so small and insignificant, until he got a moment of quiet to consider it. 

Do they sell your perfume in the UK?

It’s not a huge thing if they don't. 

Really, it’s not life-changing. He’s just trying to consider never having it again, never having it flood his senses when you get too close, lean a bit closer to slide him his drink. 

Then it’s you not leaning in close ever again. Then no you, ever again. 

Gaz can’t quite make it make sense. 

Home is good. Hell, he misses it. 

But home is no set place anymore. Home could be two poles repelling each other but attracting him, pulling at each half of him, waiting to tear him down the middle while he tries to decide. 

Two fucking weeks? Gaz has to check his phone to make sure. Has that really all it’s been?

Bullshit. 

Tell him why it feels like it’s been years. Tell him why he can’t imagine going home as anything other than a misstep, one bad fucking decision away from sealing his fate. 

A slice of shepherd’s pie and a nice cup of Earl Grey—it can wait. 

A little longer, at least. He needs some time to make certain on some things. A month, maybe. On his own dime now. After all, what’s four thousand dollars compared to a missed opportunity for something better?

…He’ll see if they have deals on extended stays. 

~~~~~~

“YN.”

Nothing.

“YN.”

Still nothing.

“YN!”

You’re avoiding eye contact and maintaining a six-foot radius at all times, like he’s got the damn plague. 

It’s been the same setting for the past four weeks; corner of the bar, closer to the same dark shit that swirls in his glass now, aiming for privacy and good company. 

He used to think he was a good shot, but his accuracy’s been bloody terrible as of late. 

Twelve times. He’s tried asking you out twelve times. 

After the most recent attempt crash-landed with you interrupting to tell him about your sister’s obsession with popping zits, he considered it. Oh boy, did he consider giving up, asking himself why the hell he ever got so desperate in the first place. 

Tonight was supposed to be some last hurrah of sorts. His flight leaves tomorrow morning, and his patience with you has become so thin it could snap with a single breath. 

But he gets here, sees you. 

Sees you bustling around the bar—which, in his mind’s eye, is his flat. And you look right at home, by the way. Wandering in and out of his room, his kitchen, the living room. Curled up on the settee, your soft thighs winking at him from beneath his own sweatshirt. Then you’re dancing in the same way, hips swaying to the obnoxious beat, leaning in closer instead of pulling away when he grabs onto you like he ought to. 

For all that’s good and pure, you never distance yourself like you do now.

There’s no easily spooking the you in his head that wants him just as badly as he does you.

Your name falls from his lips an unavoidable number of times from the corner of the bar, and you finally fold.

See—wasn’t so hard, was it?

Not so painful if you’d just give in and go on a date with him now, too. 

You saunter over, a world-weary sigh falling from your lips. “My God, Kyle, you sound like a damn cockatoo over here. Or my mom, which was a bit unsettling. Need I remind you I regret telling you my middle name.” 

“Then you won’t be surprised to know you’re getting a good scolding, with the way you’ve been avoiding me.”

That same look takes up your features, pouty lips and wrinkled brow, like he’s barking up the wrong tree all over again. Might be his favorite expression of yours, second only to that little grin when you see him each day. 

The same one that keeps him barking. 

“You know it’s for a good reason, Kyle. I’ve told you this.”

“Remind me again, darling. Is it a boyfriend?”

You huff a sigh. “No.”

“Husband?”

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Lesbian?”

“What?” You stare at him wide-eyed, and he shrugs. 

“Just makin’ sure my bases are covered. So what is it, then?”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“I’m also dead fuckin’ serious,” his voice raises when you try to walk away. He can barely refrain from swatting out at your wrist, spinning you back around to look at him. Over the weeks, he’s discovered your biggest weakness is his eyes, and he puppy-dogs them now. “Out with it. Please.”

His white-knuckled hands ache from where they grip under the bar’s ledge, and he’s trying blessedly hard to keep still as you look him over. Every scar, every bag under his eyes, every premature wrinkle. You can see it all and more, probably even see the nightmare he had three days ago, where it was you tied up, enemy’s gun pointed at the pliable skin of your temple, your cries echoing in the empty warehouse.

Where, a building over, in sniper-position, Gaz’s frozen. His fucking trigger finger won’t twitch, and he can’t breathe, can’t move even as the gunshot lit up your skin, and he rolled out of the same hotel bed, coughing on the floor, wheezing. 

He tops off his eyes with a dashing smile, pleasant like his mind hadn’t painted the picture of you bloody and dying, still haunting him. 

Gaz isn’t as easy to read as you are. You wouldn’t be able to tell. 

“You’re looking at me like that again.”

“Like I’m whipped?” As if he could look like anything else.

“No, like…” You bite your tongue, and Gaz would give anything to know what you’d planned on doing with the hand you’d raised toward him just then, only to let it drop down at your side. “Never mind.”

“C’mon.” God , his hands ache. “Just tell me. Thought we were friends?”

“We are friends, Kyle.” You ignore how smug he gets, fixing him with a look. “But that’s all we are.”

Gaz scoffs, “I don’t get it. Just because your friend has, what, a li’l crush on me, and she doesn’t even know me, this can’t happen?”

You know what this is. He knows you know what this is. And he knows you want it, too. 

“It’s…” you bite the inside of your cheek while avoiding his gaze, and he knows it’s because you can’t think when he looks at you like that. Pleading. Desperate. And so damn breathless at the sigh of you that it makes it that much harder for you to say you don’t want him. “It’s a whole big thing we agreed on when I started working here. It’s how the peace is kept, not just between Jeanne and me—but for everyone. That’s just how we do it.”

“YN…”

You ignore him. “And I like this job, Kyle. I do. I don’t care that I’m horrible at mixing drinks, and that I can’t handle drunk people to save my life. It feels good to have something to do when I don’t know what else to do with myself, and I can’t have some little lover’s quarrel ruin that.

“And Jeanne is a great person. And I know you don’t like it when I bring it up, but it’s true. She saw you first and called it. So I’m stepping back, not getting in the middle of it because I owe it to her, and I don’t get why you won’t just do me that solid and give her a chance. You two are a much better fit than you and I would ever be—”

“You hate camping.”

You fall silent, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You hate camping. And the woods. The outside, really. You told me that. Then you told me your daily circuit is the bar, then your home, sometimes to the café down the street from here, but that’s rare. And that you like books, but I know s’not the cute, adventure-y ones you pretend to like. I googled a few of yours, ones I caught you sneakin’ on your breaks—dirty little bird, you are, by the way. But I like that about you. All of it. Everything you think you have to keep under wraps.”

“Kyle…”

“I like the way you say my name, too. And how soft your skin looks, and those thighs—fuck me. Is your perfume cherries, by the way?”

“Peaches,” you mumble. He nods.

“That too. I mean, every little thing, darling. I swear, I want it. Don’t care that we’re complete opposites, that you’re scared of what I do, what I’m built for. I need you to know that I want you because of that, not in spite of. I don’t need you all the time, I promise. But I don’t think I could handle it if I didn’t have you at all.”

You want him. He can see it. You’re melting into a goddamn puddle before him, wandering nearer and nearer like you can’t help it. 

What else can he say? What the hell else does he have to do to prove that he wants you so bad it’s driving him up the walls? Gaz is wrenched so tight in his seat that he could snap and hurdle the counter, drag you out of here and show you everything he’s willing to give. 

He needs a promise before he leaves. Something. 

“God, Kyle, I didn’t…” your breath stutters, but you won’t pull your gaze from his. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were so serious about this.”

You didn’t know? You couldn’t fucking tell? After a month of him puttering around here, begging for your attention, doing anything he could to get you to look at him—

“I thought you were just…”

Fuck. 

Gaz shakes his head.

Fuck. 

Messing with you? Teasing you? That’s all you thought it was?

He tips his head back, locking onto the ceiling. 

What could he have said during the past five weeks that would make you think that?

He runs through every conversation, every interaction, every whipped, needy look he couldn’t hold back because he couldn’t stop them around you.

And then he thinks about Jeanne. How you’ve been pushing her on him. And how he’s a perfect fucking gentleman and entertained her interest with polite conversation. 

Then there’s you, his shy little rabbit watching from the other end of the bar, so damn skittish that he can only draw you back in after she’s long left him alone. Not even surveying or passively watching, but crafting wildly inaccurate conclusions in your little overthinking head.

No. 

No, no, no, because, fickle as you are, you’re a giver. 

And Gaz’s been stealing that role from you this whole time. 

He hasn’t let you show your worth. He doesn’t need to see it, no, but you think you have to prove it. You like your trials by fire. You don’t like winning by default. 

You don’t think you could be wanted for wanting’s sake. 

In all fairness, Gaz didn’t think he functioned like that either—unconditional terms and all that. So he thought he’d had to give back. Give back so much that it frightened you, and you couldn’t hold up what you thought was your end. 

A bloody fool. That’s what he is. 

His little American rabbit plays by different rules. In the UK, women in bars are so straightforward, so honest. 

What a fuckin’ sod he is. 

His flight leaves in nine hours, and he hasn’t packed, hasn’t slept. 

Too busy thinking about you. How much of a wrench you’ve been in his plans.

He didn’t think wanting you would be like asking the world to spin the other way. 

And, hell, what’s he supposed to do when he does leave, gone off on the mission Price’s hinted to him, the one that’s halfway across the globe, and you’re back here, trying and probably succeeding at forgetting he exists. 

Fuck.

You not knowing he exists. 

Him having never met you.

The ideas make him sick. 

But Gaz…

Gaz is a planner. Above all else. 

And if you want an opportunity to show what you can give him, he’ll give you just that. While he’s on a mission, mind on worse, far more horrible things, he’ll give you that chance you’ve been itching so hard for. 

“Your phone.”

You’ve been watching him go through phases, even refilled his glass while he was out. Scotch on the rocks, this time. Like you thought he had to start taking it easy from here on out, like you think he deserves it.  

“What?”

“Let me give you my number.”

“Kyle… that’s not a good idea.”

“Don’t care, love.”

To your credit, you have a healthy amount of wariness. In several jerky movements, you pull your phone from your pocket, open it to a new contact, and pass it to him, eyeing up every little thing he types. 

Kyle (Hot Guy from the Bar) Garrick. 

His phone number. 

Then he texts himself quickly, saves your number too, and holds your phone out. 

When you grab at it, he holds tight, tugging for your attention. 

Like he hasn’t, in a most wonderfully heady way, already got it. 

“No funny business with this, love.” His features turn grim. “No giving it to your friend so she can woo me—”

“Woo you?”

He gives you a stern look. “A phone call. A text. A fuckin’ pocket dial, I don’t care. But I want it from you, or no one, yeah?”

Only after you nod, slow and unsure, does he push himself out of the barstool for the last time, nodding to you. Eyes soft as he whispers, “Have a good night, darling.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he walks away, phone still gripped tightly in your hand.

~~~~~~

Part 2

Hi. Do you have any idea when you will continue the reborn series?

Yep, a new part is coming out on Christmas!

bakugo when the reader is like in that cheerleader outfit from the sports festival 😳😳🤯🤯

Bakugou’s S/O in Sport’s Festival Cheer Outfit (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIF not mine*

A/N: Bruhhhh this was such a good idea, but I’m not gonna lie, I got a lil thirsty😳 Like seriously, this shit gets 🥵, so read with caution?? In all honesty, I hope you like it! Please enjoy!

Word count: 637

Oof, now this is a concept

When you do this, you’re playing a dangerous game, poking the bear, riling up a cobra preparing to strike. 

While the other girls dressed up for sake of competition, you did it to play with fire. 

You’re standing on the field, thighs and midriff bare for all the viewers to see like fresh meat on a platter. 

Then finally-- finally-- Bakugou steps out with his other classmates and confronts the sight. 

His eyes are just… roaming.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach at the sight as the atmosphere grows harder to breathe. The tension finally snaps when he- umm what?

Explodey boy charges at you with a sneer, his hands outstretched and sparking. 

He’s livid.

“YN! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING?!” 

His tone is scolding and accusatory, almost like a father chastising a child. 

You weren’t exactly one to drool over being chided. In fact, your boyfriend just lit a fire under your ass. 

“Excuse me?”

“Take it off right now!” 

Oh-ho no, that’s NOT happening. 

Bakugou couldn’t believe you, testing him by going out in front of others by wearing that.

Rage pumped through his bloodstream at the sight, but not only that. His pants were growing tighter as well. 

He knew you were peeved at his tone, but the last thing he wanted on you was other people’s wandering eyes.

You were his, and as much as he didn’t wanna be that guy… he was totally gonna be that guy. 

Bakugou steps closer to you and ignores how you try to back away determinedly. His hand latches onto yours and drags you away, tugging you off the field and away from prying eyes. 

You struggle to keep up with his vigorous strides and huff in anger when he finally stops, pulling you into a room and locking the door. 

The room is silent as his back faces you. Not one part of you is afraid, all of your limbs held tight in preparation for an attack. 

“YN,” uh oh, “do you have any idea how fucking unbearable you are right now?” 

Ah, such a way with words. 

Anyways…

His voice is strained and dripping with lust, and when he finally turns around you understand why. 

Bakugou’s nostrils are flaring, and he takes deliberate steps closer to you. Try all you want, you can’t stop the harsh thumping of your heart at this moment. 

When he’s finally close enough, his hand grasps your wrists and walks you back, back, back until you make contact with a cold wall. 

“You made this mess, sweetheart,” he trails his lips down your throat. “Now fix it.” 

An hour later, Bakugou is called out to fight. He swaggers into the arena, disheveled hair barely noticeable from this distance. Thankfully, the high neck of his jacket covers a few hickeys as well. 

 You, however, scramble back into the stands, hair ruffled and clothes oversized. 

“Aww YN, where’d the cheerleading outfit go?” Toru pouts, waggling her pom poms.

Nervously giggling, you collapse into a seat next to her, ignoring the shakiness of your legs as you try to sit in a comfortable position. Ouch. 

“I, uh, I had to change. I was getting a little cold.” 

Not really. But Bakugou’s sweatshirt combined with leggings hides his lovebites better than that outfit ever would. 

It is definitely still tucked in the back of your closet for… future occasions, though.

Standing down in the arena, Bakugou spots you in the stands and throws you a devilish smirk that has you squeezing your legs together.

"Red String if nothingness" has me in a bittersweet mood. Kenma is in love with someone else but you never know what the future holds? And maybe in the future the two of them would eventually find each other again, because at the end of that red string you'll always find each other and knowing my dumb ass (speaking from irl experience) even though it hurts if I love that person I'd wait for them even if it takes a long time. It's fine with me as long as he's happy (I'm dumb) even if it hurts me

🤯Spittin facts my dude😤 I’m glad ur seeing the bright side of it, cuz I just hate those angsty soulmate aus where they just dont end up together😔 at the end of the stories I’m always like “tf is this 💩??”

Innocent Misunderstanding (Iwaizumi x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Last night, it was all fun and games until Iwaizumi accidentally pushed you too far. To be fair, you did underestimate his strength, so it wasn’t completely his fault. That didn’t prevent you from limping to school, though.

A/N: Same old, same old. Got an idea and wrote it in the a.m. It was just a little idea, so it’s really short. I do hope y’all like it tho!

Word count: 619

        “Woah, YN, you’re walking funny! You two must have had a wild time last night.” 

       “Shut it, Shittykawa.” You flip off the man while your boyfriend tightens his supporting arm around your waist and gives his teammate a withering glare. The dull aching in your legs is still painful enough for you to grip your boyfriend’s shoulder a little harder than necessary. 

       “You’re so mean, Iwa!” The captain’s mocking whine echoes down the hall while he walks away, and girls slowly flock to his side with every step. After his back disappears in the distance, Iwaizumi grunts at your deathly grip. 

       “Jesus, YN, unclench a little, will you?” He desperately tries to wiggle away from your claws and you dig them in harder just to spite him. 

       “Stop moving, it still hurts you know.” His face grows guilty at your grumble but he remains silent, guiding you slowly to your desk. Small twinges of discomfort arise with every step you take, the pain originating from your pelvis and traveling downward. You weren’t sore, why would you be, it was just the fact that every time your feet touched the ground with even the smallest amount of pressure, your legs would start to tremble and tingle. You sighed in relief when your newborn-giraffe imitation ends with you collapsing elegantly into your chair. 

       “How are you feeling?” Iwaizumi takes his assigned seat next to your own and stares at you with worry. 

       “Like there’s a pain in my ass now.” You weren’t lying; the ache had now transferred into your tailbone. Shit, why did he have to push me so hard? I knew we should have stopped before it got really rough. His hand drops on your thigh and comfortingly massages the skin there. Meanwhile, his olive green eyes are filled with unease, and you decide to put the blame game on pause for a second. “I’m okay,” you avoid his gaze as a blush grows on your face, “it doesn’t hurt as much this morning.”

       “Good.” His pearly whites flash at you while he gives you a rare Iwa-grin. It was beautiful and blinding, and so endangered that you only caught one once every two weeks. That’s exactly why it flustered you enough to restart the game. 

       “I told you we shouldn’t have jumped on the bed last night, though.” Leaning back in your chair, you busy yourself with picking at your fingernails disinterestedly while Mount Iwaizumi slowly prepares to erupt. 

       “You’re the one who started the pillow fight!” The volleyball player frustratedly whisper-shouts at you. The rough hand on your thigh squeezes irritably and you slap your own on top of it, pressing it down to prevent any more movements.

       “Well you’re the one who pushed me off the mattress!” The repartee ends when your boyfriend clenches his jaw and seethes silently, receiving dirty looks from you and returning them with ease.

       The squeaks of someone’s tennis shoes entering the classroom are ignored in favor of you both opening your mouths once more, armed with new retorts. 

       “So, long night huh?” A smug voice sounds behind you, and the already high tensions burst through the roof. Thankfully, both sides of the war finally agree on a single reaction.

       “Shut up, Oikawa!”

Reborn (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) ~Chapter 3~

(Supernatural/Soulmate AU)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: How do normal people react when they get kidnapped by a vampire and a wizard claiming to be their soulmates? Because you try to choke them out with their own breakfasts. But maybe that’s just you. 

A/N: Can I get a waffle? Can I puh-lease get a waffle?? Ugh, anyways, I hope y’all are ok with this chapter, cuz it’s a lil… ugh. I just wanna binge Once Upon a Time, but whatever. Hope you enjoy!

Tag List: @burntcilantro​  @alloverbutterflies​  @translucentthoughts​  @zaejia​  @momothepeachgirl  @black-veil-chemicalz​  @miigoth​  @blxkstar​  @keigosbitch​  @actual-smol​

Word count: 4900

        Bokuto just wouldn’t leave you alone. 

        All you had done was let him drink your blood, and now he followed you around like a lovesick puppy. 

        “YN! Can I get you anything?”

        “YN! Are you hungry?”

        “YN! Do you need help with something?”

        “YN!”

        “YN!”

        “YN!”

        Every five minutes, he popped into your room with a bright smile and a need to please. He even crawled into your bed at nights while you were sleeping! Always slipping under your covers and wrapping his arms around you from behind, it scared you half to death. It was a shame he never stuck around to get a lecture, though. Just before you wake up, he always manages to sneak away. Once, you even felt Akaashi join the party, and woke up to two people spooning you with the temperature of a thousand suns. 

        They almost gave you a heat stroke. 

        Since then, it’s always been Bokuto, except today you had the pleasure of waking up before him. You had spun in his tighter-than-normal grip around your waist and delivered a quick shove to his chest. “You’re too warm, get the fuck out,” you had muttered with a yawn, and his body flopped onto the floor shortly after. 

        And now, as Bokuto popped into your room for the fiftieth time today with something actually worth talking about this round, you couldn’t help but grimace at your television. 

        “YN YLN is still missing. If you have any information on her or her whereabouts, please contact the police at…” you didn’t care to listen to the rest. Clicking off the TV, you slumped down onto your sofa and hugged a pillow to your chest. 

        “Can’t believe they used that ugly-ass picture,” you grumbled, still glaring at the black screen. 

        “YN!” There he is. “We brought you dinner!” 

        “Is it poisoned?”

        “NO!”

        “Damn.”

        “Don’t talk like that,” Akaashi glowers, handing you a tray of food before snapping his fingers. Three cozy dining chairs and a wooden table manifests from thin air between your bed and the glass doors to your balcony, and he holds out a hand to guide you to the new furniture. 

        “What’s this?” you ask warily, waving away his offer and proceeding to take your new seat without assistance. 

        “We haven’t dined together in a century,” Akaashi sits across from you and levitates a pitcher of water, filling your glass. “Bokuto and I want to make up for lost time.” 

        Said man nods his head excitedly and claims the final chair between the two of you, leaving one side empty at the rectangular table.

        The menu for tonight consists of a medium-done steak for each of you, alongside some appetizers of various vegetables and a basket of buttered rolls. The centerpiece is a small, silver candelabra, which soon becomes the only lighting for your meal as the light bulb in your bedroom flickers and turns dark. 

        “Damn,” you chuckle nervously, picking at your intricately-crafted dining utensils, “didn’t know you guys treated your captives so well. Does everyone get this royal treatment?”

        “You’re so much more than our captive, my love,” Akaashi simpers. 

        You purse your lips, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. You hypothesized this elaborate dinner had something to do with you finally giving in and wearing a black, slimming mermaid dress from your ancient closet. Disappointingly, it was the most casual outfit in there, although the bedazzled sweetheart neckline drew a little too much unwanted attention from the vampire to your right. 

        “Who even are you guys?” you scoff.

        “The loves of your lives.”

        Akaashi’s response left you busting a gut, and Bokuto nervously made eye contact with his friend. “Oh, come on,” you snort, hiding your grin behind a hand out of habit, “quit tooting your own horn. First of all, ‘love’? Don’t kid yourself. Second of all, what the hell do you mean by ‘lives’?”

        Neither man appreciates your words, or your reaction. Akaashi narrows his gunmetal blue eyes at you, nostrils flaring with distaste. Bokuto’s golden eyes flicker to pure red for a split second, and his hands reach up to grip the table’s edge with white knuckles. 

        “It’s still too soon to tell you,” the wizard seethes through clenched teeth. Your laughs slow, but when Bokuto snatches up his knife and slices into his steak swiftly in the blink of an eye, you sober right up. With a nervous nibble on your bottom lip, you discretely slide your chair a few inches to the left and avoid the black and white-haired man’s burning gaze. 

        “Look,” you draw your attention away from the massacred hunk of meat, “since I’m kinda like your guys’ friend now-”

        “We’re more than friends!” Bokuto barks, chomping on his meal bitterly. Akaashi nods in agreement and you roll your eyes at the action.

        “Easy, you two. I was iffy about even calling us ‘friends.’” 

        “Then what would you call yesterday?” the vampire pouts slightly. You had let him feed off you again, as he seemed to be on the verge of another carnivorous outrage. It still felt similar to getting, you know, stabbed in the neck. Twice. But you just couldn’t stand to see him go hungry again. You were feeling generous. 

        “Reciprocity. Even wild animals in nature do it. You saved my life, so I… did that thing.”

        “Didn’t feel like reciprocity when you moaned ‘don’t stop’ in my ear-”

        “Enough!” The table wobbles and the dishes clang together with the force of Akaashi’s palm smacking the surface. His head is lowered so you couldn’t see his eyes, but the strain of his voice was enough to clue you in on his irritation. That and the glass of water he had to catch in midair with an extended pinkie. “YN,” Akaashi continues tightly, raising his gaze to face you. Their mixture of emotion made your heart skip a beat. “What did you want to know?”

        You gulp, and unlike normal, Bokuto doesn’t glue his eyes to the movement. Instead, he pushes around the broccoli on his plate. “Why am I here?” you finally find your voice, watching them both with confusion. 

        The black-haired wizard sighs and picks up a spoon in a dish, slowly serving himself while shaking his head. 

        “Let us eat dinner first. Then we’ll answer any questions you may have.” 

                                ~~~

        The bed is crowded. After the tense meal, Akaashi had directed you all to your mattress while the elegant set up disappeared with a flick of his wrist. 

        You sit with your back against the headboard, and your fingers gently comb through Bokuto’s hair. The vampire’s head is on your lap, his hands folded on his stomach while his legs hang off the edge, kicking occasionally. It wasn’t the most appropriate position for a kidnapper-kidnapee discussion, but Bokuto was always touchy-feely nowadays. You didn’t exactly mind it, though; his hair was surprisingly soft. Meanwhile, Akaashi sits at the end, cross-legged with a straight back, although he drags his touch over your calves and ankles every-so often. The feeling tickles, but the atmosphere is so serious you don’t dare make a sound. 

        “All right,” the wizard pipes up, tracing small circles against your skin, “would you like me to start from the beginning?” 

        “Yep.”

                                ~~~

        “Ladies and gentleman, thank you for gathering tonight to celebrate the wedding of my daughter and Tetsurou Kuroo! Now, enjoy the ball!” 

        Your father clapped adamantly and the crowd followed the silent order like compliant minions. 

        You, on the other hand, irked your jaw before standing up from your throne. Kuroo followed dutifully, still wearing his signature smirk. 

        “Wait, hold up. Kuroo?!”

        “Yes, but just wait.”

        “Would you like to dance, my dear YN?” 

        “Not in a million years, Kuroo,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the offer. He waggles his finger disappointedly at you and clicks his tongue. 

        “Now, now, kitten, no need to be hostile. We are, after all, man and wife.” 

        You bare your teeth at him, flashing your fangs before your father discreetly grabs your upper arm in a death grip. 

        “YN, how dare you? This arrangement is for the benefit of the kingdom, quit acting like a spoiled brat,” the king hisses. 

        “Father!” you gasp, and he rips his hand away from you. 

        “Be quiet!” Your father, the ruler of all vampire-kind,  swiftly makes his way onto the floor to chat amiably with other royals from the area. 

        The glittering, golden room, was crowded elegantly-dressed people of all kinds of nature. Vampires and werewolves, wizards and fairies, hell even a few mermaids had swam their way into the party. The unification of the century.

        In the late twelfth century, werecats had become a force to be reckoned with in the blink of an eye. They had monopolized almost all supernatural land with their powerful army, slaying everybody and anybody who attempted to sway them from absolute control. In a last ditch effort to make peace, your father had offered you into an arranged marriage with the prince of werecats, Tetsurou Kuroo. You were a savior, the key to harmony for all, simply by becoming his queen. The title contained a lot of weight to bear.

        Your father was the one who gave you no choice in the matter. Any other princesses of the varied species on Earth could have been offered, but the King of Vampires was greedy. You would be the one to rescue all living creatures, simply by marrying into a loveless alliance. Kuroo was not an evil man. You had met him, chatted with him, even become a friend of his enough to know. He was kind and loving, but you just couldn’t find it in yourself to return his affections. 

        “Akaashi’s just kidding. Kuroo’s the worst.”

        “Silence, Bokuto.”

        Nonetheless, you had become engaged, and then you were married. Somewhere deep down, though, you knew there was something else out there for you. Or someone. Someone… outside the window and in the garden. 

        There, among your treasured roses, were two men. One with black hair, and one with white hair, riddled with dark streaks. Their presence, though a bit unwelcome in your private utopia of flowers, was alluring. 

        “Kuroo, please excuse me,” you mumbled distractedly, eyes still locked beyond the glass pane. “I need to adjust my corset.” 

        “Don’t keep me waiting too long, kitten. People are still expecting our first dance as a true couple.”

        “Yeah, yeah, whatever douchebag. I see some hotties, so I’ll catch you later.”

        “Bokuto, quit interrupting!” 

        “Sorry Akaashi.”

        “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you sneered, squeezing his cheeks in effort to appear loving. 

        “You’re not my grandmother, just finish your business so we can get this dance over with.” Kuroo ushered your hands away, but his cheeks were still stained pink even after you disappeared down the steps behind your thrones. 

        Slipping into the hallway, you hid behind vases and under clothed tables to dodge security knights, and finally escaped outside to meet the pair of mysterious men. 

        “Ugh, Akaaaaaashi!” You peered from behind a wall of bushes gathered against the sides of the castle. They both stood near your cherished flowers, and the one who had spoken regarded them with childlike curiosity. “Why are we here again?” 

        “I felt us drawn here for… something. I’m not sure. But I’m not leaving until we get caught. Or until the night ends. There’s just something here for us, I promise.” 

        You held back a giggle when the bulkier man pricked his finger on a rose thorn, letting out a horrendous screech. 

        “Silence, Bokuto.” 

        “Well, I see you haven’t changed much.”

        “Silence, YN.”

        “Wait, Akaashi. I smell something.”

        “I told you not to eat that flower-”

        “Not that!” The taller man rose from his squat near your plants and sniffed the air. “It smells like… my grandmother’s cinnamon bread!” He raises his nose and sniffs again, walking toward the scent. Walking towards you. “It smells so good!” he exclaims, wiggling with excitement as he draws nearer to your cowering form. 

        “It’s… It’s…”

        “It’s Brittany, bitch.”

        “Goddammit, YN, you’re beginning to act like Bokuto. That’s a bad decision.”

        “Hey!”

        “It’s a girl!” The man points at you with a wide grin, baring his fangs instinctively. You jump at the sight and widen your eyes at how he had spotted you. The dark-haired male glances up from the ground with surprise, and his blue orbs sparkle when they meet yours. 

        “Umm, hi,” you swallow nervously, stepping away from the wall. 

        “Oh wow, you’re beautiful!” The larger man’s comment makes you flush bright red. 

        “T-thank you.” You glance away and hide your cheeks in your silk-gloved palms. “I can’t help but notice you’re in my garden.” Smiling nervously, you gain enough courage to gesture to the plants around you. 

        “Yes, my princess,” the man with dark hair pulls his friend backward by the collar and tugs him down in a bow, “we are so sorry for intruding. We will leave immediately.”

        “No!” you cry out, holding out your hands to stop them. “Please… don’t. I could use the company.”

        “Oh.” 

        “S-so, um, what are your names?” Avoiding their shocked gazes, you pick at your flowing, purple dress anxiously. 

        “Keiji Akaashi, and this is my friend Koutarou Bokuto.” 

        “Is Akaashi even your real name?”

        “Has been for the past millennia.”

        “And you?”

        “I’ve been Koutarou Bokuto for one and one-tenth of a millennia! I found lil’ baby Akaashi here stranded in the middle of the woods.”

        “And yet I’m the one who has to take care of you now.”

        “You’re so mean, Akaashi!”

        “Nice to meet you,” you grin, outstretching your hand for a shake. Akaashi stares mystified at the act, but slowly accepts. Just as sparks begin to flow through your body from the ounce of contact, Bokuto eagerly shoves his companion out of the way and shakes your hand as well, doubling the amount of adrenaline pumping through your body. Your breath hitches and your eyes widen while you stare at your hand in surprise. It tingles, but in a good way. In an amazing way. Then your wrist starts to burn, and you hastily tug off your glove in an attempt to stop whatever causes the twinge. 

        A single dark spiral with three legs has forged itself into your skin. A small gasp comes from in front of you, and you glance up to see Bokuto beaming at his own wrist. 

        “Akaashi, is this-”

        “Yes.” His shorter companion nods with a barely visible quirk of his lips, eyes also locked on the mark. 

        “What is this?” you pipe up, rubbing over the symbol with a wet thumb in desperate attempt to remove it. 

        “It’s a sign.”

        “For what?!” you plead in a panic. 

        “That you’re meant to be with us. You’re ours.” The world stops turning for just a few moments.

        The rousing words, their adoring gazes, even their proximity to you is enough to have your heart racing. You’ve always been someone else’s though, whether it was your father or Kuroo, and neither time was it pleasant for you. You don’t exactly mind the thought now, though.

        “I can’t stand it here,” you start, flaring your nostrils at the castle. 

        “Well, we can help you!” Bokuto blurts out, grabbing your hands and squeezing them encouragingly. Your heart stutters at his grip, but speeds up at the offer.

        “Really? You can get me out of here?”

        “Definitely!” 

        “Yes,” Akaashi nods. 

        “Oh, thank you!” You wrap one arm around each boy’s neck and tug them in for a group hug. It doesn’t take long before you grow addicted to their comforting warmth. You pull back reluctantly and look into their eyes. “So where are we going?”

        “Not gonna lie, that sounds like something my dumbass would do with two hot guys. Just yank them into a hug on the spot.”

        “You can still do that, you know. Even better if you let us kiss you. I don’t know about Akaashi, but I wouldn’t mind-”

        “S-shut up!”

        After you escaped, the fragile balance of peace between all creatures crumbled, and Kuroo went mad without his queen. Many species perished under his reign, and became extinct as a result. In the small number of villages that remained, he had posters hung with your drawn face and an offer of a hefty reward for any information of your whereabouts.

        It took them twelve years to find you. 

        “Akaashi, I’m going to go pick some berries.” You cinched your riding pants just past your hips and tucked a leather pouch into a belt loop. Arms slithered around your waist and pulled you backwards into a familiar body.

        “Okay, be careful. And can you tell Bokuto to come inside? He’s gonna get hypothermia if he stays in the lake any longer.” He presses small kisses up your neck, brushing over the bruises from the night before. 

        “Sure,” you turn your head back and peck his lips for just a second before smiling at him. “You’re handling dinner, though, right? I’m not choking down another crispy rabbit of his, no matter how much I love him.”

        Akaashi chuckles and shakes his head, squeezing your hips slightly. “Yes, I’m making dinner.” 

        “Good,” you snicker, pecking his cheek one more time before exiting the small cottage. You all had built the house with your bare hands, and every time you saw it, you beamed with pride. It took years to build the walls, but only your love combined made it a true home.

        Birds chirp in the sky high trees around you and you kick a couple pine cones on your way to the lake. You can hear him before you see him, and you hop over your miniature garden of roses to get closer to the sounds of splashes. 

        “Darling, look!” Bokuto doesn’t even have to spot you before waving an innocent salmon around victoriously. They’ve both grown hypersensitive to your presence, and it never takes long before you capture their attention nowadays. “Look what I snagged!” He’s floating in the middle of the water, grinning like no tomorrow while the poor fish wiggles frantically in his hand.  

        You stand beside his forgotten clothes and flash him a thumbs up, chuckling under your breath at the sight. “Nice catch, Kou. But Akaashi says you gotta get out now.” 

        “Aww, but why?” he pouts, glancing at his new friend before returning his disappointed gaze to you.

        “Because you might get sick and-”

        Oh no. 

        A pointed object rips through your back to the front of your chest, blood dripping from the tip. Knees wobbling, you can only whimper at the sight.

        An arrow. Slowly, you turn to find your attacker and spot a knight in the distance, lowering his bow. On his metal chestplate, he bore the symbol of the Werecats.

        “YN?!” Bokuto shouts, diving into the water and appearing at your side in under a second, catching you before you fall back. “YN!” he cries out in a broken sob.

        It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to speak. Your heart… oh God, you heart was pierced through completely. Nothing… not a fucking thing could save you. 

        “AKAASHI!” Bokuto calls out, cradling you in his arms and collapsing to his knees. A liquid more metallic than copper dribbles out from the corner of your mouth. Blood. It clogs your throat and your ears and your eyes. 

        You were going to die. 

        Oh God, you were going to die!

        Someone kneels on the ground beside you, and you can barely open your eyelids enough to see them. But their presence doesn’t require vision to be noticed.

        “Akaashi,” you wheeze with a slur. More blood gushes from your mouth at the taxing action. 

        “Oh God, no, please! YN, my love, stay awake!” Your hands quiver as you reach up to touch both of their damp faces. They lean into your touch instinctively, peering down at you with their foreheads just a hair’s length away from each other. Their emotions were painted on their faces like mirrors. 

        Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

        You were going to die.

        “Bokuto-” 

        “Don’t speak! Please, just don’t speak, you’ll be fine!” It was the first time Akaashi had ever lied to you. And it was the last. 

        The wizard’s palms glowed a dark maroon as he held them just over your heart. Bokuto tucked his face into your neck and sobbed, wails ripping their way out of his throat as he clenched his eyes shut. 

        “I love you both so much,” you whispered, pressing a bloody kiss to Bokuto’s scalp.

        “No YN!” Akaashi bit his lower lip furiously, clenching his fists before trying again, creating another aura of red around your wound. 

        “I’m not gonna make it…” Your breathing slowed and your eyes grew dim. You were so tired, so exhausted, so in pain. A nice, long nap sounded… so nice. 

        “NO! YOU’RE NOT LEAVING US!” Akaashi screamed, clenching his eyes closed and holding his hands higher above your chest before slowly dragging them up and down as he whispered words in an ancient language. 

        A spell. He was casting a spell. Or a curse.

        As you took your last breath, a puff of air fell from your lips akin to a wisp of smoke. The wizard watched in horror and amazement as the wave of fog disappeared through the forest, in the shape of a human body.

        “Find me,” it had echoed. Bokuto hadn’t raised his head once, only whimpering against your neck as his tears watered the earth. 

        “She’s gone,” he choked out. He grasped your hand and ran his chewed-raw lips over each finger. “She’s gone forever.”

        “No,” Akaashi shook his head, slowly rubbing a thumb against your cheek. He made sure that would never happen. A wave of tears at last crashed through his sturdy walls, and he softly smiled down at you as they carved salty trails down his cheeks. “She’s not.”

                                ~~~

        You raised your brows at the wizard and pursed your lips.

        “So… let me get this straight.” 

        Bokuto’s eyes were closed on your lap, but you knew he wasn’t sleeping on account of the single tear that escaped the corner of his eye. You still brushed your fingers through his hair comfortingly, but just a tad slower now. You still… well, you still had some disbeliefs.

        Akaashi nodded at you to continue, but his eyes were locked on your balcony door like he had been watching the memories as a movie. 

        “You cursed her as she died?”

        “As you died, yes.”

        “And then she-...” you gulped anxiously, “I get reincarnated every century?”

        “Yes.” 

        “Hmm.” You nod and twitch your cheek while pulling your hands away from Bokuto’s scalp. “So you wacknuts think I’m this girl’s reincarnate.”

        “We know you are.” Akaashi swivels his head to face you. His blue eyes, though teary, burn straight through your soul. Not a single doubt is found in his face. 

        “... You’re fucking crazy,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze.

        “Excuse me?”

        With sympathetic eyes, you huff a small sigh. “Look guys, I’m not some vampire queen, I’m not your mate, I-I’m not even a straight A student!” Akaashi stands and moves to sit by your side. With great effort, you try not to flinch away from his tight grasp on your hand while he gives you a pleading look.

        “YN please.” 

        “Akaashi, come on!” You wrinkle your forehead and bite your lip. “I’m not the girl you’re looking for. I’m sorry.”

        His nostrils flare and he releases your hand with a spasming jaw. Bokuto sits up from your lap, pressing one hand outside of your thigh. Akaashi catches on and mocks the position on your other side. 

        “Look into our eyes and tell us that you don’t even feel the smallest inkling that you’re meant to be with us.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Bokuto so dead serious. His gaze is unwavering as he stares deeply into your eyes, a hypnotizing shade of gold while Akaashi does the same. 

        “... I can’t do that.”

        “Ah hah! Because we are your mates!” The vampire grins victoriously.

        “No! It’s because I can’t go reverse cross-eyed!” The smallest ounce of hesitation still swims inside you because… can this really all be real? Two highly attractive men have kidnapped you, and say that they want to be with you for the rest of their immortal lives. Oh, and you supposedly rule all vampires as a queen. Yeah, no shit you still have doubts. Though there is a small place in your heart for them for them, you don’t want to give them false hope. 

        “...You can’t?” Bokuto asks, then proceeds to attempt his request and fails miserably. Shaking your head, you disguise a giggle behind your hand. Although, you still had one small question rattling around in the back of your brain.

        “So,” your confused voice captures their attention instantly as both heads turn to you, “you’ve kidnapped, like, five other me’s?” 

        “Six, but yes,” Bokuto shrugs.

        “And they’ve all been okay with it?” 

        “Well, usually we take more time to become acquainted with you, but Bokuto got antsy,” Akaashi mumbles with a flicker of judgment on his face. 

        “Why?”

        “That fucking, smug-ass cat! He found you after eight-hundred Goddamn years!”

        “Oh” is all you can say. Your attention travels down to your hands as you twiddle your thumbs nervously, but a sight makes you pause and go rigid. 

        The spiral, just as Akaashi described it, sits as three interconnected swirls on the center of your wrist. It hadn’t been there before; not until now, when Bokuto quickly snatches up your forearm and gasps at the sight.

        “Thank God, I was worried it wouldn't show up for months yet!” he cheers, tracing over the symbol like a nervous habit. The contact leaves the hairs on the back of your neck standing at attention, and you bite your tongue harshly to stay silent. Akaashi’s mouth curved up into a smile, and he carefully drew his eyes up to yours, giving you a nod.

        “Yes, I’m glad it’s shown up as well, but Bokuto, let’s give YN some time to think, yeah?”

        The vampire whines at the thought and reluctantly releases your arm, rising off the bed and finally giving you enough room to breathe. Akaashi copies his act, but not before brushing your thigh with his fingertips, and leads the way out of your bedroom. 

        While you did need time to think, you knew that the amount provided would be significantly low thanks to Bokuto’s new nightly habits. With a small, inaudible curse, you hastily scramble off your mattress and snag his wrist just before he disappears into the hall with the wizard. 

        “Bokuto, wait.” He turns back to you in confusion, but a lopsided grin crawls onto his face. The action almost makes you blush, but before you can berate yourself for even thinking of the idea, you allow your mouth to run. “If you’re just gonna come in later and wake me up like usual, why don’t you just stay now?” With a small shrug at the end, you mentally praise yourself for sounding so casual. Bokuto’s response is quite the mind boggler, though. 

        First, his brows raise and he scratches his head at your words. Then he asks, “What are you talking about?”

        What? “C’mon, you know! Like when you crawl into my bed and wrap around me like a koala every night. Just stay here now so I don’t have to wake up, I really don’t mind.”

        “Umm, YN, the only times I’ve ever done that was this morning and a couple days ago when Akaashi was already in here.”

        “...Oh.”

        Huh.

                                ~~~

        The nights always seem to be cold before he climbs into your bed, and now is no different.

        As you shiver and burrow under your cozy comforter even more, the door to your bedroom slowly creaks open, then closes just as quietly. Tiptoed steps trail all the way to the edge of your mattress, and the tulle curtain shifts aside to allow him entrance. Your back always faces the door, so he slips under the covers behind you without an ounce of visibility on your part. 

        His long arms are just the tiniest bit slimmer than his companion’s as they wrap around your waist and pull you into his solid chest, but he’s just as warm. While he settles in behind you, intertwining his cooler legs with your own and resting a knee between your thighs, you hum tiredly and tip your head back under his chin.

        “Mmm, goodnight Akaashi.”

        He tenses behind you and his arms tighten around your hips while you hear a pause in his breathing. The wizard laughs noiselessly at being caught red-handed and snuggles his face into your hair, pressing a kiss to your rose-scented scalp. 

        “Goodnight, my love.”

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Hi. I was wonderg if you were planning to continue the (Bokuto/Akaashi x Reader) story. It’s really good

I definitely am, but I’d hate to scare you all off by spilling the beans and saying it probably won’t happen until next summer. Currently, I’m in one of the most important years of schooling, and even on breaks it’s hard to find the time.

I do have a lot more planned for the series, and the feedback it has received makes my heart flutter, but I just want you all to know it will be a while. Thank you for all the love💜💜

Loving Tradition (Tsukishima x Reader) *Request*

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Tsukishima has accidentally started a growing tradition with you: he will attend your home volleyball games, and you will attend his. But why does it hurt so much when you finally miss one of his own games? Surely he doesn’t like you that much… right?

A/N: Lol yeah you actually did already send the request in, but honestly I appreciated that you expanded on your idea! With every request, I always wonder if I’m writing the right stuff, so I appreciated the elaboration in your second ask. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 3436

        Tsukishima knew you. Of course he knew you. You were the innocent girl who sat behind him in class, always fumbling with your glasses and scribbling with your pencil oh-so loudly. 

        By the time spring came around, he dubbed you Mouth-Breathing Mary. Evidently you had allergies, and rather than sniffling, you resorted to the second loudest option to obtain enough oxygen in your lungs to function properly. Everything you did, even though you sat a few roomy inches behind him, peeved him off so much. 

        Oh how he wished he could ignore it, your every little noise and sound effect. But something about you just stuck with him, interested him in some way. Like there was a part of you that hadn’t shown its face to him, or anybody, yet.

        And, of course, he had “heard” of you too. Apparently some girl attending Karasuno High was a powerhouse on the court. With pictures in the news and games on TV, she was practically a worldwide legend for Women’s 18 and under volleyball. Tsukishima first learned about her while preparing for practice, watching the two resident perverts of the VBC leering over a new magazine with heart eyes. 

        “She goes to our school, doesn’t she? What a hottie!” Pint-Size had exclaimed. 

        “She looks so innocent too, just like our beloved Kiyoko!” Mr. No-Shirt responded.

        So yeah. He did know both sides of you, but it only took one stroll past the open doors of the first gym during lunch for him to discover this. Yamaguchi had finally caught up with his strides when they both heard it. 

        WHAM!

        Flinching at the sudden boom, they peered through the doorway like meerkats to spot the perpetrator. 

        You. 

        You, standing under the bright lights of the gym, forehead dripping sweat and face scrunched up in distaste at whatever had caused the bang that shook the room. Your eyes squinted behind the glass frames that blessed you with vision, allowing you to glare at whatever had displeased you. 

        It was a single water bottle standing in the corner of the court, closest to the open doors. Others just like it were laying askew along the wall, gathered up with spare volleyballs as well. There were about six bottles in total, and you, huffing and cursing under your breath, lined them all up along the back of the court. After this, you returned to your spot on the other end. Then-

        WHAM!

        The first bottle farthest from your spectators slammed against the back wall before you retrieved another volleyball from the basket at your side. Toss, step, step, jump…

        WHAM!         WHAM!

        WHAM!

        Finally, you knocked over all the bottles in a patterned succession. You had done so with a hawk-like precision, almost looking like you could do it in your sleep. The only things that ruined the picture of you being this blank-faced pro were the small fist pump you allowed yourself and the wide grin that grew on your face. Then you started anew, lining them up along the edge of the court and refilling your volleyball supply once more. 

        “Wow,” Yamaguchi whispered breathlessly, shocking Tsukishima out of his stupor. “She’s good!”

        First, his lips twitched. Then his jaw clenched. And finally, with a small readjustment of his glasses performed by a single index finger, Tsukishima spoke. 

        “Let’s go back. Lunch is almost over.”

                                ~~~

        The aloof blond almost couldn’t believe it. Mouth-Breathing Mary was a devastating beast on the volleyball court. How? How does someone who looks like they couldn’t even walk past an animal shelter without bursting into tears do that?

        “Hey,” your voice, along with an incessant jab to his back via the butt end of your pencil grabs his attention instantly. “I saw you watchin’ me at lunch today, creeper.” 

        Observer of those who were potentially more skilled at volleyball than he was? Yes. Creeper? No. 

        “I was simply inspecting what was making such a racket in the gym. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

        The comment makes you scoff. “Psh, all right. I’ll buy that B.S. for now, stalker.” 

        His teeth were going to be grinded to dust before the day was over. However, Tsukishima chooses to stay silent, glueing his eyes to his textbook in order to ignore the feeling of your gaze on his back. 

        “By the way,” you nudge his shoulder blade once more, making him glance toward the ceiling. 

        “Yes?”

        “I have a game tomorrow night, just in case you wanna ‘inspect more racket’ in the gym.” 

        No. Of course he wouldn’t go, are you kidding?

                                ~~~

        “Tsukki, why are we here again?”

        “Shush.” Crowds whooped and hollered after the sound of a large wham, no different from that of a poor volleyball smacking against freshly polished wood. Shoes squeaked down on the court, along with the occasional “cover me” and “it’s up!”

        The audience for tonight’s game was a lot more than Tsukishima expected as he shouldered his way through the bumbling bodies. He was finally able to catch a breath of fresh air when he surfaced at a metal railing, Yamaguchi huffing just as heavily not far behind. 

        Down on the court, from what Tsukishima could tell, the game wasn’t exactly fair. 

        It wasn’t really Karasuno Girls’ Volleyball Club versus Aoba Johsai. 

        No. It was actually you versus six untainted souls, so pure and ready to be petrified. You were in the middle of serving a serious reality check to the girls on the other side of the net when their coach called a time. 

        Apparently, one of the wing spikers had sustained a nice bruise to the forearms while trying to field your classic server’s ace. It was her fault really, but her replacement was shaking just as much in her court shoes. 

        Halfway through the game, Tsukishima finally understood why so many people were here. Watching you was almost like a drug. Not that he was addicted or anything. 

        It was like throwing a lion in the gazelle exhibit at the zoo. Ducks on a pond. Fish in a barrel. Whatever other analogies there were out in the world that could explain how much you were opening a can of whoop ass right now. 

        At a certain point, the Aoba Johsai girls weren’t even trying. Tsukishima almost swore he heard a whimper from one of them after your spike had flown past her face. 

        Yep. He finally got it. You were like a highlight reel of the best volleyball players to exist. There was even a journalist from the local news taking pictures and writing notes in the corner of the stands right now! 

        And yet, the next day at school, you were that same little lamb that sat behind him in class. The glasses hiding your eyes also disguised the gaze’s capacity for ferocity. Last night, and every game he assumed before that, you were a force to be reckoned with. 

        And, yeah, he totally didn’t like you or anything. 

                                ~~~

        Karasuno didn’t always host home games for their boys’ volleyball club, but when they did, there was always one person in the audience Tsukishima looked for. 

        You.

        At one point, you had stopped teasing him for attending your games, and instead you began to return the favor. Now, sure, there were less people in the audience when the boys played because, really, who did they have that was a world champion like you? 

        Anyways, Tsukishima and you had made a silent agreement after however many games you had cheered for each other. No words needed to really be spoken about it, and Tsukishima almost preferred it that way. In all honesty, the tall middle blocker felt like he played better under your watchful eyes. You were really the only person who he could depend on that believed in him, and him alone. 

        You weren’t intrusive or loud like his brother, but whenever he instinctively glanced up at you after a particularly well-executed block, you always blushed and glanced away in this cute little way of yours. Tsukishima just knew it. He liked you. 

        Not that he would ever admit it to your face, though. 

        And he liked to think that you found comfort in his presence during your games as well. Though he didn’t nearly catch your eye as much up in the stands (you were always too in the zone), you would always give him a little thumbs up and a grin after a game. 

        It was the most frustrating thing, as Tsukishima always had to glance away to fend off his own flush. He hated how easily you could break down his stoic walls in your own little shy ways. The only thing he hated more than that was the giggle he would hear after avoiding your gaze. 

        Now, tonight was yet another game, and another opportunity to see you. 

        Of course, he saw you during school hours, but he usually refrained from talking to you during that time. You were always too sly or too quiet, depending on the day, but also, deep down Tsukishima liked the distance that came between the two of you during games. It prevented that stupid little flutter of his heart whenever you would accidentally brush his hand in the hallway or draw weird patterns on the back of his uniform during class. 

        Yeah, he liked the distance. Most of the time. 

                                ~~~

        It was five o’clock. The match was about to begin, and yet a certain middle blocker couldn’t stop his attention from straying to the stands. 

        Where…

        “Tsukishima, get your ass out there!” 

        The blond cursed under his breath, adjusting his glasses on his face before jogging out onto the bright court. Kageyama threw his teammate a few strange glances, but kept his jaw wired shut. Good.

        “Damn, Tsukki, what’s wrong with you today? Is your girlfriend not here to cheer you on?” a certain wing spiker teased, flashing his signature toothy smirk. 

        The middle blocker doesn’t respond, only flaring his nostrils at the fact that Tanaka was right. Well, half right. 

        “Tanaka’s right, you need to get your head in the game,” the blue-haired setter sneers.

        This lights a fire under the middle blocker’s ass. “Nobody tells me how to play,” Tsukishima hisses, hands covering the back of his head as he waits for Hinata to serve. “Especially not a power-tripping king like you.” 

        “Calm it down, you two. We’ve got a game to play.” As always, Captain Daichi has to save the day, but that doesn’t distract Tsukishima from Buzzcut’s words. 

        Where were you?

                                ~~~

        Of course, Karasuno’s VBC won the game last night, but at the bottom of his heart, Tsukishima feels like it was unearned. Not seeing you in the crowd last night made his mouth taste bitter and his head pained. It’s not like he wanted to like you so much, but part of him still feels betrayed you had broken tradition. 

        Now, he could be realistic in this instant. Maybe you just had too much homework. Maybe your family had an emergency. Maybe you got into a car crash on your way to the game and died. 

        Really, the possibilities were endless. 

        Anyways, as Tsukishima sat in class, headphones plugged in as he waited for the first bell to ring, his final theory was proved false. 

        Tap tap. A familiar touch poked his shoulder from behind. That wasn’t the only reason for why he knew it was you; you were also the only person in the school who had the guts to actually touch the blank-faced genius of the volleyball club. 

        Playing off his indignation as reluctance, Tsukishima snaps his music off his ears and lays it on his desk, signalling for you to speak with a quick “Did you need something?”

        Even he could tell his tone was icier than normal, and he almost cringed at the sound of you flinching back like he had burned you. “U-umm, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for missing your game last night.” 

        “You don’t have to come to my games.” The words tasted like poison in his own mouth even after he spat them, and Tsukishima knew he was only digging his own grave deeper. Evidently, though, you weren’t one to scare easily. 

        “You know,” you paused, taking a deep breath, “I would have felt terrible too if you missed one of my games.”

        “Really?” is what the boy wanted to ask, but instead he stayed silent in effort to keep himself composed. 

        After waiting for him to respond and deducing that he wouldn’t, you continue. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t there to support you.” He hears you gulp. “B-but, uh, how did you guys do?” Your tone lifts at the end, trying to stay positive considering the wall Tsukishima was currently putting up. 

        “We did fine,” he says after a while. “We won. And you don’t need to be sorry.” 

        “But I am,” he hears you shuffling nervously in your seat, “and I want you to know that I was only gone because I was making something. Something kinda special actually.” 

        From the way you said it, whatever you had made was actually quite personal. Tsukishima’s heart fills with guilt at forcing such a confession out of you, but he still feels burned himself.

        So he replies with a nod and a hum, and that’s the most you guys communicate for the rest of the day. 

                                ~~~

        Same day, new game. As Tsukishima slips on his jersey in the locker room, his mind wanders to thoughts of you. More specifically to if you’ll be at his game tonight. 

        He highly doubted it, especially after the way he treated you this morning. Though cold and remote were his signature styles, he hated that it might have closed you off for good this time. 

        “...Tsukki? You okay?” Yamaguchi only stops waving his hand in front of his friend’s face when the blond bats it away with a scowl. 

        “What?”

        “You’ve been staring at the wall for like ten minutes,” the shorter boy shrugs, “everyone else has gone to the gym now. I was just waiting for you to snap out of it so we could go.” 

        Yikes. If Tsukishima’s head was already out of it now, who knows what would happen with him during the game. As much as he hates the thought, his playing abilities seemed to be tethered to you. The closer you were, the better they became. 

        God, how had he fallen so far?

        “I’m ready. Let’s go.” Tsukishima leads the way, Yamaguchi trailing not even a stride behind him down the steps and into the school’s main gym. 

        It’s bright and buzzing with volleyball life inside.Yellow- and blue-striped balls fill rolling baskets to the brim, meanwhile others fly through the air at compromising speeds. The other team has arrived and is practicing harmoniously, not a single player out of step. 

        This team was good, and Karasuno would have to be better.

        “Glasses, get your ass over here!” Coach Ukai shouts with no shame, waving Tsukishima over to the rest of the spikers who were already running and jumping above the net. 

        The middle blocker joins the group with ease, practicing in their normal rhythm. Of course that would be easy; it was the spontaneity of a game that would be able to catch him off his guard later.

        No. Tsukishima could play without you. It was hard to break out of a habit, but he wasn’t as weak-minded as some other people he knew (his eyes locked on Hinata as he thought this). 

        And so the game commenced. Refs arrived, crowds filed in, and in a single, bare area up in the stands sat you. 

        Tsukishima blanched at the sight. Thankfully, he was starting the game in the player box, but that didn’t mean your presence hadn’t rattled him. 

        Well, maybe it wasn’t your presence, per se, it was more so the homemade sign you waved through the air after winking cheekily at him. 

        “#11, I’ll give you a kiss if you win!” it said.

        The sign was twice your size across, and every word sparkled black with an orange outline. There was a heart in the corner, and a small volleyball sat atop the i in “kiss.” 

        “Ooh, look whose girlfriend showed up today?!” Tanaka catcalls, whistling as Tsukishima goes ghost white. 

        Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.

        It was a nice attempt, but unsuccessful overall. In the end, the blond can only shake his head as a hint of a smile creeps onto his face. It’s the best you’ve ever gotten, though, so you better take it and run. 

        For the rest of the game, Tsukishima is forced to play with pink cheeks, ignoring every eyebrow waggle from Nishinoya and every suggestive elbow to the side from Tanaka. And of course you tease him too. 

        Each time he glances up at you like he normally does, you throw him a beaming smile and shake the sign you still hold, leaning on the railing it hangs over. Though he would hate to admit it, it still pumps him up like normal. Every block is just a tad better, and every serve just a tad stronger. 

        And by the end of that game, you best believe he was waiting for that kiss. 

        The ref blows the whistle, the last set won by Karasuno with seven points hanging over the other team’s head. The tall middle blocker’s eyes dart to yours and that’s all the signal you need to clamber your way down onto the court, sign still intact. 

        You hand it to him as soon as you're close enough and for some unexplainable reason, Tsukishima accepts the responsibility of holding the sign willingly. 

        Your eyes glow with excitement but the rest of your body language tells that you’re shy, including the smallest little nibble on your lower lip that you would soon discover drives him up the walls. 

        “Well?” Tsukishima finally asks, glancing you up and down before locking his gaze on your face. 

        “Hmm?” you hum, playing innocent because of course you would do that during a time like this. Tsukishima had figured out early on that you were just as terrible with emotions as he was. Maybe you could work on it together, but that would have to be saved for later. Right now, you owed him. 

        Tsukishima doesn’t bother to respond to your teasing. Instead, he sighs and tosses aside the sign, ignoring as it flutters to the ground for all to see before tugging you closer by your hand. Your eyes widen with nervousness, but the blond doesn’t bother to let it grow into an all-out halt on the situation. 

        No. He wouldn’t give up this chance. No matter how many others were watching. 

        Though you were only seven inches shorter than him, he still tips your head up before leaning down and capturing your lips against his. 

        It’s short and sweet, because Tsukishima is never one to reveal all his cards on the first go. He presses his lips to your softer ones and makes note of just how much pressure might drive you crazy at a later date, then he pulls away, immediately wanting to absorb your blissed expression. 

        It doesn’t disappoint, as in the short few seconds your first kiss had lasted, your pupils had blown wide and your cheeks had transitioned from a gentle pink to a burning red. Your hands had barely had enough time to reach up and tangle in his hair, so you follow through with the act then, intertwining your fingers right at his nape. 

        “Well-deserved,” you breathe out with a grin, tugging his sweaty forehead down before pressing your own against it. Tsukishima just barely copies your expression, allowing a slight curl at each end of his mouth as he cranes his neck to meet your face. He raises a questions brow when your smile twists into a smirk. 

        “I’d still kick your ass in volleyball though.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes as you playfully nudge his glasses with your own. 

        “That’s debatable.”