I Don’t Think Your Posts Are Showing Up In The Tags ): Cause When I Searched A Couple Of Them From

a kuroo au :(( kuroo song au with ready yet by sasha sloan :((

Forgive In Time (Kuroo x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: Kuroo always teased you, joked with you during class. You couldn’t help but grow feelings for him. Evidently he didn’t return them. (Based on “Ready Yet” by Sasha Sloan.)

A/N: Sorry this is so late! Btw, you got some good taste in music, my friend. This song is just *chef’s kiss.* Anyways, I hope this is what you were looking for, and I hope you like it!

Word count: 1728

        “Hey YN.” Kuroo smiles at you and collapses into the desk next to yours. If only he knew how much that made your heart race. 

       “Hey Rooster Head.” He throws you a fake offended look that makes you giggle before he pokes your shoulder with a finger. 

       “Yeah, yeah, call me nicknames now, but soon you’ll be begging at my feet for help on the quiz tomorrow.” 

       “There’s a quiz tomorrow?!”

       The black-haired volleyball player lets out a cackle that grabs the attention of the entire room, but his gaze is still only on you. Having his attention and being able make him laugh like that made you feel… funny. Giddy, really. 

       You and Kuroo had only been friends for a few months, but within that span of time you always yearned for more. In reality, he had first spotted and identified you as a loner, one he wanted to add to his collection, evidently. 

       You didn’t mind that idea. Kuroo was kind and funny, and super hot. Somewhere, deep down inside you, you were almost sure he felt the same way. After all, he always latched onto you like white on rice ever since he first saw you in his third year class. 

       “A pretty girl like you should never have to sit alone.” Yeah, as if your panties weren’t already flying off at the sight of him. 

       Anyway, he followed those words like a devotion not unlike that of a blood oath, always claiming the desk beside yours and teasing you in any way he could. 

       God, you liked him so much. And come on, what kind of guy flirts with a girl every day without romantic intentions?

       With that thought locked in the spotlight of your mind, you glanced over at Kuroo several times throughout the school day, only getting caught about thirty percent of the time. It was okay, because each time he noticed, he threw you a wink that lit your cheeks aflame. He always chuckled at the sight, and you had to fend off any fuzzy feelings that almost made you pass out at the enticing sound. 

       Okay, seriously. It was time. 

                               ~~~

       You never really ate lunch with Kuroo, but you figured you could track him down during the time. 

       After about ten minutes of frantically scanning every nook and cranny of the school, you finally spotted him outside in the courtyard, munching on a sandwich next to a blond boy. His shorter companion was preoccupied with a game while Kuroo proceeded to chatter his ear off. 

       You weren’t surprised.

       With a deep breath of reassurance, you stepped outside into the cool breeze, hugging your school blazer tighter around yourself. 

       You got this, YN! You totally got this!

       Your heart thumped sporadically, barely making a comprehensible rhythm along with the wing flaps of your stomach’s butterflies. 

       Y-you got this, YN. Y-you… umm.

       Steps slowing, you began to realize the consequences of your actions. Kuroo still hadn't noticed you, instead digging around in his bag for the rest of his lunch. 

       Nope, you totally don’t got this. 

       Spinning on your heels, you marched back to the entrance of the school.

       What if he doesn’t actually mean it? 

       What if that’s just how he talks to people? 

       What if-

       “YN!”

       Oh fuck. 

       A hand grabs your arm and swivels you around. 

       “H-hey Kuroo, what’s up?”

       He gives you a confused smile. “What are you doin’ out here? Did you need something?” 

       Yeah, you. “Heh, umm, noooo,” you drag out the word while heavily avoiding his intense gaze. 

       Kuroo playfully jabs your side. “Oh come on, you can tell me. What’s up?” The distance between the two of you grows smaller and smaller the more he becomes more invested in the conversation, inching closer to you with every encouraging nudge. It’s too much and simultaneously not enough. Heart fluttering, you finally bat away his hand and sigh. 

       “Fine,” I can do this, “I’ll tell you.” 

       Kuroo only nods, allowing you to continue. 

       “So, here’s the thing….” 

       “Yeah?”

       Rip off the bandaid YN!

       “I like you.”

       A quick inhale, then silence. 

       “... Oh.” 

       The quiet almost kills you, leading you to scramble for something to say. 

       “I’m sor-”

       “I’m sor-”

       You both interrupt each other and pause, forcefully laughing at the awkwardness. 

       “Erm, you go first,” you gesture with a wave of your hand. Kuroo’s eyes grow pained and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. 

       “YN I’m really sorry, but I just don’t feel that way about you.” 

       See now, rejection was always a possibility. You knew and understood there was a chance that Kuroo wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings. 

       You just didn’t know it would suck this much. 

       For a moment, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest tightened and your throat closed up. Blood rushing through your ears, all you could do was nod numbly. 

       “Oh. Okay.”

                               ~~~

       Class was… painful. Kuroo had given you some space, as per your request, and in return your only friend in the class was now long gone. You never had anyone to talk to or ask about homework. You couldn’t giggle and make fun of the professor during class, or throw sticky notes at one another. 

       You just wish you had considered the consequences before you confessed. Not only had you gotten your heart broken, you had also lost your only companion to help make it through the school day. 

       Also, there was one other future consequence you had forgotten. 

       The school halls were empty, a sign that you had come way too early. Cursing your forgetfulness, you tightened the grip on your bag and huffed all the way to the classroom, only to be stopped by a heartbreaking sight. 

       “I’ll take you home after practice, all right baby?” 

       “Of course, see you then.” 

       Their lips clashed together in an intimate farewell, arms wrapped around each other as they swapped spit like tennis. Her hands dug into his dark hair, making it that much messier than it already was naturally. 

       And when Kuroo finally unlodged his tongue from the girl’s throat, he dragged his gaze up, up, up, just high enough to see-

       “YN?”

       In class, Kuroo always seemed just as uncomfortable and lonely as you after having to claim a new seat farther apart. Apparently that assumption was incorrect on your end. 

       A squeak escaped your lips and you froze in place. Really, what could you do? Run out of the school? Your mom would beat your ass for ditching. Just ignore it and walk into the classroom he had just made out in front of? Umm, no. You’d rather avoid that confrontation. Hide out in the bathroom? Pfft, yeah, like that would-

       Oh shit. I can hide out in the bathroom.

       Kuroo flinched at the sudden sight of you jumping into action. You pivoted and dashed down the hall in a mad sprint like a monster was after you. If anyone else was in the halls at that time, they would have seen the pure, unadulterated fear on your face and joined you in an instant, not even bothering to ask what you were escaping from. 

       It was a boy. Wasn’t it always? 

       Steps followed after you, more stretched out in the pattern of a longer stride. They only halted when you shouldered your way into the bathroom, scrambling to a stop and slamming the door in front of Kuroo’s face. 

       “YN! Hey, come on!” 

       “It’s occupied!” 

       You struggled to catch your breath as you sifted through your bag for your phone. Bingo.

       “YN please, let’s talk about this.” 

       “…”

       “YN, come on. You can’t avoid what just happened.” 

       “Watch me.” 

You: Hey mom, can you come pick me up? I’m not feeling well.

*Message sent*

                               ~~~

       Tons of calls. Hundreds of texts. Each one was adorned with a harmony of buzzes or the acoustic version of “Sexy and I Know It” —Kuroo’s choice of course. 

Tetsu😻: YN please.

Tetsu😻: Just respond.

Tetsu😻: I’m so sorry.

Tetsu😻: I didn’t want you to see that.

*Confirm name change?*

*Contact name successfully changed*

Kuroo: YN please forgive me. 

Kuroo: Just let me know how to fix this.

Kuroo: Please just say something. I’m so sorry, please just give me a chance to fix this.

       You were surprised at how much it hurt. Like a rock in the bottom of your stomach, you felt the worst emotion imaginable: complete and utter betrayal. Though you hadn’t been in a relationship with Kuroo, it still hurt to see him with another girl.

       You supposed it wasn’t really that itself. It was also the idea that he moved on so quickly. It almost felt like he had acknowledged how you felt and completely dismissed it. Watching him make out with another girl just a couple days after you confessed your feelings for him wasn’t like any other pain you had felt. 

       It wasn’t like a paper cut, but it also wasn’t like a loved one of yours had died. It just felt… achy. Like a dull gnawing in your heart. 

       Some parts of you even wanted to blame yourself. Why wasn’t I the girl he wanted? Were you not pretty enough? That girl certainly was. Not smart enough? He always had to help you with your homework, but that was when he teased you most. Or maybe-

Kuroo: I don’t want to lose your friendship. Please YN, I’m so sorry.

       ...Maybe it was because you were just that. A friend to him. Either way, you just weren’t ready to forgive him. Your heart was trampled and covered in dirt, and it could take a while before you recovered from this. 

Kuroo: Please.

       One day. One day you would forgive him. 

       You weren’t mad at him. You couldn’t be. Your feelings for him weren’t gone either. 

You: Just give me a little time please. 

       But you certainly weren’t ready to see him anytime soon. 

       Not yet. 

Kuroo: Okay.

Hey, you. Yeah, you. Reading this right now. Stop what you’re doing for a few minutes and read this, okay? It’s important. It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise.

Let me start off by telling you how incredibly brave you are. I’m serious. You’re living in an uncertain world, and you still woke up today. It doesn’t matter if you got out of bed. If you got dressed. You’re awake. You’re here, with us. With the community online that loves you. You’re here. You could have hidden yourself away today. But you didn’t. You were brave and came to be with your friends today.

You know what else, though? You’re a wonderful person. No, don’t argue. Just listen for now. It’s okay. You don’t have to believe it for it to be true. You have been through so much. It has made you stronger. You are so strong. That doesn’t mean you have to be strong all the time, though. You’re allowed to be weak. You’re allowed to need to lean on someone. It’s okay. Nobody is going to judge you for that. If they do, they must have forgotten that they’ve had to lean before, too.

You are not a mistake. You’re not worthless. You bring joy to peoples’ lives. You might not even know the people that you bring joy to, but they’re there. They exist. Just like others bring joy to your life. That’s an important thing to be a part of. We need more joy in the world. I’m so glad that you’re here to help with that. I’m so proud of you for being here.

You are wanted. You are needed. If something were to happen to you, there are people that would miss you. People who would ask what happened to you. There are people that care about your wellbeing. We love you. It’s okay to come to us when everything feels hopeless. You’re not worthless. I promise.

I’m so, so proud of you and so happy that you’re here, reading this right now. I’m so happy that you’re still with us. Please don’t go where your friends can’t follow. Nobody in the world can replace you.

You can keep scrolling now. Just remember that there’s someone out there that cares about you, okay? Have a good rest of your day.

Stoooop ushijima in the coming home post killed me 😭😭 I love big stoic guys who are actually teddy bears sndndnddn every one of the guys was cute but his part was my favourite 🥺

Aidnksncksksk yessss I love big scary guys being soft boys too🥰🥰 especially when it’s just for that one person they love😍 I’m glad you liked the post!!

After the Breakup (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: Welp, I was going to write for more people but when I started for these two babes-for-characters I guess I just couldn’t stop🤷‍♀️. Not quite sure how these headcanons turned out but hey, hope you like ‘em! (Btw they get a lil saucy, but I’m just in that mood so y’all are just gonna have to accept them for what they are🤷‍♀️)

Word count: 2120

Bakugou Katsuki: 

Wants to ignore you 

Definitely the type to fold his arms and turn away when you enter a room or scoff when you talk to another guy

But when you walk away the guy is being given a glare that could put him six feet under

Acts cold to you--not exactly like how he did before he was interested in you, like how he calls everyone “extras,” but more so like he just sneers at you for no reason and rolls his eyes everytime you speak

Lil pomeranian boi just misses you really badly

But he hates the idea that you have that much power over him that you could draw him back to your side in a matter of seconds. It frustrates him how much he wants you back

At one point he’s tired of having nightmares of you leaving night after night--especially now that he doesn’t have you to comfort him after waking up in a cold sweat. 

So he’ll climb out of bed and stomp over to your door

And proceed to stare at it for about twenty minutes with his mind and heart running marathons

What does he say?

What does he do?

Would you be mad? Sad? Disappointed?

Or… would you even care that he was still in love with you?

It all becomes too much, and soon enough he just has to know

So he raises a fist to pound on your door loud enough to wake the entire floor

And the door opens before he even makes contact. 

“Katsuki?”

“YN.” Surprisingly, Bakugou feels all too calm at this moment, like he knows exactly what to say. 

“What are you doing here?”

A muscle in Bakugou’s chin twitches as he struggles to find the exact words. He wanted to make his point but he also didn’t want you to slam the door in his face. “I… Look. You told me that we should both move on and that I should get over you.”

“Katsuki-”

“But here’s the thing, YN,” when he takes a step forward, you take a step back and he physically flinches at the movement, “I don’t want to.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to get over us and move on to other people. I don’t want to see you with other guys when I know I could make you happier. That I have made you happier.”

“Katsuki,” your face softens, “you don’t have to-”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t have to do, YN. I’m not letting you go, understood? Try to move on all you want, I’m not going to let you. I’ll scare off any man you even talk to if I have to-”

Two hands piled over his mouth shut him up instantly and you lean past Bakugou to glance both ways down the hall before yanking him inside your room. 

As soon as the door’s shut, you turn to him and shake your head with the smallest little smile. 

“Katsuki, you dumbass. I was just going to leave my room to give you the same lecture.”

“Huh?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” you cup his cheek, reveling in the foreign look of shock on the blond’s face, “so no need for anymore threats on guys I may or may not go out with… unless you’re really willing to go after yourself that badly.”

Relief floods through Bakugou’s body, warming him up with the thoughts that he didn’t need to worry about truly losing you at all--as it turns out, you agreed you were his just as much as he did. 

“So… we’re back together?”

“Yep, unless…”

Oh shit

“Unless what?” Bakugou froze under your touch and reached a hand up to secure your palm against his cheek. “What is it?”

It almost pissed him off that you were able to laugh so freely while he was in an obvious state of panic. 

“Well, I was gonna suggest break-up sex but judging by just how badly you want to get back together, it seems like that’s off the table.”

Oh. Oh you damned little thing. 

Such a fucking tease. 

“Nah,” Bakugou shook his head and before you knew it, you were being forced down onto your bed, wrists locked tightly above you. “You’ve got the right idea. Break-up sex tonight, and tomorrow we can make up all day long.”

Kirishima Eijirou: 

On the surface, Kirishima is the same old manly man everyone knows him to be

But his eyes no longer have that same glint

And that smile just always seems seconds away from faltering

His red hair seems less spiky than usual, and those bags under his eyes are just the biggest tell

Kirishima is broken. 

He’s not grinning and holding your hand as he walks into class anymore, escorting you to your seat with a perhaps almost overdone kiss. Instead, he almost slumps to his own seat, avoiding eye contact with as many people as possible. 

But the instant you step into the classroom, you feel it.

You sit in the front row, giving him plenty of freedom to watch you for the entire day.

Kirishima thinks it’s natural, it’s harmless. He’s just trying to get over an ex--everyone knows how hard that is.

But he’s just making things worse. He tortures himself by constantly standing to attention anytime you speak. Or anytime your name is mentioned. Or anytime someone who remotely looks like you walks by him. 

No, he’s not doing great at this “moving on” thing, and he knows that. 

But part of it’s because he just can’t believe that you’re not struggling to do it either. 

Kirishima knows none of those kisses and “I love yous” were lies. He knows you meant every single hug and smile you ever gave him. Every time you said you cared about him, he could see in your eyes that you meant it wholeheartedly.

So maybe you could see how he wondered why loving you was suddenly so painful. 

Because now you were broken up and all this love he had to give you had nowhere to go and nowhere to be. It was like the love he had for you was useless. 

Kirishima hated those words, that thought. That being in love with you for all those months was useless, and that it just needed to be flushed away. 

All those plans he had of being with you, becoming superheroes at one another’s side and raising a family together. Planning ahead so far to even name the bridesmaids and groomsmen of your wedding and the names of your children. 

The future house and the rooms of that house, how many there would be and what kinds they were. You needed a library, one he was all too ready to build for you and he wanted a mancave you would surely supply with snacks.

All of that was useless. 

But Kirishima didn’t want to think so. So he came up with a plan. 

And when you walked into class the next day, Kirishima sat in your assigned seat, and you knew you smelled mischief. 

“Eijirou… whatcha doin’?”

When Kirishima raised his eyes to yours, the corner of his mouth turned up just an inch. 

“Sitting.”

You purse your lips. “I see that. But you know you could do the same exact thing in your own seat, right?”

The conversation wasn’t exactly a spectacle--the only other people in the room were in the back of the class talking amongst themselves distractedly. No one would bother to interfere. 

“Well, YN,” Kirishima leaned back, “I kinda want to trade places for a day. I wanna sit in your seat and act all nonchalant, pretending like I actually wanted us to break up-”

You could hear his voice growing choked up and moved to stop him. “Eijirou-”

“-and you can sit in my seat and do as I do. Remember how happy we were and how much you said you loved me. And how I broke up with you anyway.”

It was cold, like the room had suddenly dropped a few degrees. The boy everyone thought didn’t have a single mean bone in his body seemed to flip a switch in himself, turning emotionless in the blink of an eye. 

For him to act like you never loved him almost hurt as much as when you broke up with him. In all honesty, you thought it was for the best at the time. You felt it would help both of you focus on your studies so that you could become better heroes than anything. 

You thought that’s what Kirishima wanted, and that you were doing what was best for him. But you were wrong.

It seemed all he really wanted was you--being a hero had moved to second. 

“Eijirou…”

So the question was did you want him just as badly?

“YN…”

Becoming a hero was the entire reason you came to this school, and was also the reason you broke off one of the best relationships you’d ever had. You’d thought you were making things better. 

But had it really helped anything?

“Eijirou, I…”

Your grades had actually dropped. Terribly. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually got quality sleep. 

And judging by Kirishima’s dark circles, he was suffering the same side effects. 

These weren’t the symptoms of withdrawal--they were just the signs of a mistake. 

So as you looked into Kirishima’s eyes, hard enough to see past all the barriers he had put up, you could see the same questions you kept asking yourself. 

Why did I ever think this was worth it? Why did I ever think this would help me be happy?

The answer was it didn’t. 

And trial and error was a pain in the ass. 

“Eijirou, I’m sorry.” Your brows drew together in regret as you lowered your gaze, reaching over to grab the hand Kirishima had tensed on the desktop. “Maybe… no. Breaking up was definitely a mistake, and I wasn’t even thinking of the shit I was going to put both of us through by doing that. I’m sorry.”

But just as his mouth opened to respond, the bell rang and twenty other students flooded in in a mad dash to get to their seats. 

Before you moved to claim Kirishima’s seat as your own, you made a split second decision that you hoped could display even a little of what you were thinking. 

Kirishima froze at the kiss, his eyes going wide as you tilted his chin up to give yourself access. His lips were soft, just as you’d dreamt about for the last five nights, and tasted like that damned chapstick he always wore. 

And when you pulled away, he tried to reach out to stop you but you stepped away from his desperate hands, instead navigating your way back to his desk. 

Kirishima was frantic, spinning in your seat to get a look at your blushing face while his own mouth stayed open enough to catch a couple flies. The second your lips quirked up into a smirk, he almost jerked back with whiplash. 

Fucking hell, she did not just-

“Okay class,” Aizawa slumped into the classroom with his usual cheerfulness. “I want you to take a look at-wait.” The teacher paused for just a second to take note of Kirishima’s back facing him and you just five seats away whistling and observing the ceiling with interest. 

“YLN, Kirishima, get back to your original seats for God’s sake. There’s no time for this.”

All too ready, Kirishima rose from your chair and made his way towards you with eyes unsteady and hungry. 

Tonight you would explain just what exactly you were thinking when you decided to break up with Kirishima out of the blue. I mean, you seriously almost gave him a heart attack. 

Directly after school though…

Kirishima caught your arm as you moved to walk past him and threw you a look that would stick in your mind for the rest of class. Just as fast, he released you completely and dropped into his seat, eyes locked on your every move as you slid into your own.

Oh yeah. Directly after school, he was going to make you pay for the pain you put his mind through with your body.

helloo! i want to hurt. i want to hurt so bad so, can i request some kageyama cheating angst? make it as sad as possible PLEASE i love angst sm🤷‍♀️😦🥰

another one that's been in the box for years, but honestly man how sad is this idea like i wouldn't have even known where to start. Kags is such a cinnamon roll why would he ever cheat whyyyyyy

so angsty bro i could never, but it's been a couple years so I'm sure your search for cheater kageyama has been sated

Bokuto, looking at conditioner in the store: “Apply generously”? Interesting.

Bokuto, in the shower two hours later: HERE YOU GO HAIR. YOU DESERVE ALL THE CONDITIONER IN THE WORLD BECAUSE I LOVE YOU

Bokuto: TAKE SOME MORE, BECAUSE YOU DESERVE IT

Bokuto: I WOULD GIVE YOU THE WHOLE BOTTLE IF YOU WANTED IT

You Told Me So (Sugawara x Reader)

*GIF not mine*

Summary: He was right. You should've brought a jacket before trekking outside on a rainy day. You just wish he would say he was right. 

A/N: Should I start watching Avatar: The Last Airbender? Anyways, here’s a lil imagine I got an idea for from this prompt by @otpdisaster​. Hope y’all like it!

Word count: 1684

        You made a mistake. 

        “YN, wear a jacket before you go out!”

        “I’ll be fine, babe.”

        You were wrong. Rain seeped through your clothes quicker than you thought possible. All it was supposed to be was a quick run to the store. The day was sunny and the sidewalk could blister bare feet when you had left. Sugawara had repeatedly warned you about the day’s weather report, but you were certain you could beat it out. If only you had listened.

        The short-sleeve t-shirt you wore was absolutely soaked, along with your flimsy black leggings. The tag on your tennis shoes had claimed they were waterproof when you had first bought them; apparently that was wrong. Puddles splashed and your socks squelched with every step you took, and all you could do was feel sorry for yourself. Every few seconds you twitched with an involuntary shiver as you made your way home. 

        Thunder rumbled overhead as the day came to a close. It was around seven at night, and although your boyfriend was sweet, no one could resist the smugness of your situation. He was right. With chattering teeth, you stumbled up the steps to his house, halting only to take a deep breath at his door. 

        Yeah, that’s right, you were nervous. No shame in that…. Never mind, all shame in that. You were never one to back down, even when you knew you were in the wrong, and right now, you were really in the wrong. Fist raised over the door, you couldn’t help but just stand there, biting your trembling bottom lip and sniffling occasionally. This is gonna be so embarrassing. 

        Knock knock.

        Movements inside the house are audible from your placement in front of the door, and you suck in a breath when the lock clicks. As soon as the man on the other side spots you, the entryway whips open in the blink of an eye. 

        “YN,” Sugawara breathes out, but you hold up a hand to stop him from continuing. 

        “I know what you’re gonna say,” you exclaim before avoiding his intense gaze, “but- oof.”

        Air puffs out of your lips in a visible cloud as he tackles you in a bear hug. The drastic change in temperature compels you to sigh, and you tuck your red-tipped nose into his collarbone. 

        “God, you’re freezing, YN!” With one final squeeze, Sugawara pulls away and tugs you inside, sealing away the glacial climate with a slam of the door. He drops his hands on your trembling shoulders and ushers you to his living room, plopping you down on his couch before exiting without another word. 

        You, on the other hand, were frozen in surprise. All you could do was sit blindsided on the suede cushions, arms laying limply by your sides as your shoes oozed rainwater on the redwood floors. The TV across from you lit up your face with your favorite series, all ready to be watched. It was, after all, date night. 

        Footfalls patter back into the room before Sugawara stands before you, holding out a pile of clothes. “Here,” he helps you up off the couch and leads you down a dim hallway, “you need to change before you catch a cold. I just hope you don’t already have one.” You arrive at your destination, his bedroom, where he passes you the dry clothing with furrowed brows. “I’ll be in the kitchen, so just holler if you need something.”

        And with that, he leaves you to change in the comfort of your own privacy. Throughout all of this, the only thing you could do was watch with wide eyes at his actions. 

        You knew your boyfriend, but you also knew basic human instinct. Why is he not rubbing this in my face? You were baffled at his self-control, at his ability to resist the urge to stick it to you. 

        Like seriously, come on! What kind of person doesn’t say “I told you so” after something like this?

        “God, he’s too perfect.” You shake your head and pick through the outfit he gave you. A large, baggy sweatshirt and black sweatpants. Both types of clothing that you often steal from him on a weekly basis. Your heart stutters at the selection, and you laugh softly at his observational skills. “Who the hell am I dating?”

        Damp hair, pruned fingers, and trembling muscles. You were quite the sight to behold, and you actively avoided the mirror on your wall. Slipping on the new, soft clothes, you let out a relieved breath at the shift in sensations. You reveled in the oversized fabrics with ease, flapping the too-long sleeves and cinching the sweatpants’ strings until they no longer sagged below your hips. 

        Still wary of his surprising affection, you hesitantly creep out into the hallway, leaving your damp clothes behind in his laundry basket. You would grab them before you left. On your way to the living room, you pass the kitchen and find Sugawara still inside, rinsing out a pot in the sink. Two mugs rest on the marble counter, steaming and teeming with white marshmallows. The scent of rich chocolate hangs in the air, and you don’t hesitate to join him in the room. 

        Winding your goosebump-covered arms around his slim waist, you embrace him from behind and hum gently. “I hope some of that’s for me.”

        “Of course, baby,” he chuckles, grabbing the hot chocolates before trailing you over to the living room. It’s darker than before, and your show still waits on the large screen, paused just at a recap of the previous episode. Sugawara lays them down on the coffee table before turning in your arms, returning the hug and rubbing your back comfortingly. 

        “You still feel cold,” he places a hand on your forehead and tsks. “Let me go get some blankets. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He forces you down on the couch once again and steps away to search in his hall closet. 

        Every action he does leaves your heart thumping, even though you’ve been dating for a little over a year. He was still so sweet, and you still struggle to comprehend how you managed to catch a guy like him. 

        “Whatcha smiling about?” Sugawara smirks at you, dropping a pile of blankets on your lap the size of Mount Everest. 

        “You,” you reply honestly, almost purring when he wraps the thick comforters around your shoulders tightly. After every single one is draped around you, your boyfriend only grins in response, dropping down onto the couch beside you and winding an arm around your waist. 

        He hands you your scalding mug before grabbing his own, and you allow your frost-bitten fingers to pat the burning porcelain carefully. While taking ginger, intermittent sips, you both bask in each other's presence and enjoy the television entertainment. 

        An hour passes, and you both have moved to lie back against the couch. Your light-haired boyfriend rests underneath you while you sprawl out on his chest, greedily accepting any warmth he has to offer. One hand rests on your hip while the other brushes through your hair tenderly, and both of your own lose feeling underneath his form, but you don’t have the energy to move them. 

        The only sounds in the room are your level inhales and exhales and the show quietly droning on in the background as you embrace each other. Your eyes are barely staying open, but in a split second, a tickle hits you. 

        “Achoo!” 

        Aw crap.

        Sugawara cracks up lightly underneath you and squeezes your hip. “Bless you.”

         The kind gesture brings up all your past grievances of the day. He was just… so nice! Why?! That’s all he had to say? Nothing like “I knew you were gonna get sick.”

        His politeness made you huff and roll your eyes. Plopping your chin on his chest, you flick his forehead to get him to face you. His head turns to you, and his warm, chocolate-colored eyes are filled with an indescribable warmth that just makes you ughhhh.

        “Why?” you pipe up suddenly, dropping your hand to draw random patterns on his cheek. His face tinges pink at the feeling, but his brows furrow at your question. 

        “Why what?” You sigh. 

        “Why are you being so nice about this?” You poke his skin frustratedly, but not enough to hurt him. You could never. Not with those puppy dog eyes. “I didn’t listen to you, or your warnings, and now I might be sick. And all you’ve done is make me hot chocolate and cuddle me!” 

        Sugawara exhales a chuckle at your question and shakes his head amusedly. “Well, what did you think I was gonna do?”

        “I thought you were gonna say ‘I told you so’ and then do all this stuff.”

        “I’m not evil, YN.”

        “I know,” you facepalm, “but the fact that you haven’t said it is kinda creeping me out. It’s like one of those things that humans always do.” Your boyfriend nibbles at his lower lip thoughtfully. 

        “So, you really want me to say it?”

        “Yes please, I would feel much better if you did.” He snorts at this, stroking your silky strands slower now. 

        “All right,” he murmurs, nodding his head, “here it goes: I told you so.” 

        Accepting his words, you mumble a small thank you and allow the room to return to fall into silence. All is well, and the atmosphere grows peaceful once more as your cuddling resumes. Sugawara’s eyes close happily and he smiles into your hair, enjoying the fruity scent it emanates. You snuggle deeper into his solid chest, savoring the warmth he exudes and nuzzling your cheek against him lovingly before scoffing.

       “God, I knew you were gonna say that.”

Can you put me on the tag list for any bnha posts? I need to know when I can get my 20cc's of man candy if you know what i'm saying *wiggle wiggle*

me: posts anything bnha

this sweetheart:

Not even kidding, I can relate. I need my fill of bnha babes too from time to time. I just... 🤧 never thought someone would want the man candy I put out😭 it’s like picking an old butterscotch instead of a snickers😖

Honestly tho, thank you so much! I’m glad ur enjoying my writings, and I’ll definitely tag u on anything bnha I post so u can get ur fill🥰

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

*GIF not mine*

Summary:

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

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

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

Word count: 8374

Part 1 Part 2

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

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

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

R. Maybe.

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

“Um.” You stiffen. “What.” 

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

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

“I’m not sure I follow.”

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

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

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

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

“Dead serious, love.”

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

“Kyle…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something like, It’s only been three months.

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

You don’t even really know him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

Don’t want you to leave either.

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

I want it all to be ours.

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

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

He sighs again.

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

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

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

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

“One more kiss before you go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door closes with a slam.  

~~~~~~

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

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

Then again. 

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

Fucking beautiful. Every goddamn second of it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He goes to sleep in a sour mood. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Research purposes, at most. 

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

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

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

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

Gaz doesn’t go out much after that. 

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

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

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

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

Well, actually, he’s in Prague.

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

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

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

Jesus Christ.

He has to see you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gaz freezes.

Surely it’s not…

Well, it might be…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You thought he’d leave you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then someone knocks on his door.

~~~~~~

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

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

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

Room 428. 

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

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

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

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

And Kyle…

Oh. 

Oh, Goddamnit. 

Ten days was too long for both of you. 

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

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

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

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

Harrowing, too. 

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

“Did you get my voicemail?”

He nods a little. 

“So you heard that I…?”

Another nod. 

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

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

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

Then he hums, low and deep.

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

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

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

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

“Kyle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kyle—what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, once more, you follow suit.

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

“Definitely off the table, Kyle.”

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

~~~~~~

Gaz can smell it from the hallway. 

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

Coming home is always a little hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~~~~

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

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

He hadn’t been… wrong. 

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

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

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

You want to be mad. 

Can’t quite bring yourself to, though. 

A bit too… preoccupied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d almost kicked him square in the face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or spare oxygen.

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

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

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

YN: DICK!

Dick Grayson: What do you want?!

YN: I JUST TOLD YOU!