Slight Angst - Blog Posts

Cooking for dummies (Pt 1)

TW: Fluff, slight angst (Mentions of loss of a loved one)

Hosting a get-to-together for all the ladies on the block was not how Lauren planned her weekend. But being accepted by her neighbours was a must. To add on her already ginormous load, Avery, her teenage neighbour showed up, begging for help.

Help for what?

Cooking of course!

Ms. Chandler was feeling quite stressed this particular evening. The mix of aromas coming from various dishes in the kitchen was starting to become more and more nauseous. 

Her normally cozy kitchen was now feeling uncomfortable to be in as all the dishes cooked simultaneously. The pile of silverware in the sink did not make her feel any better. The thought of having to clean that up just added to tension building in her forehead. 

Unfortunately for her, she was chosen to host the monthly gathering for all the fellow neighbourhood ladies. She always thought the idea of having one person to prepare a feast for about 10 people (and that was only counting the invited ladies) was highly inefficient but who was she to speak out on the neighbourhood’s traditions?

 She only moved in a year ago, and wasn't as close with the other ladies on the block. This was her chance. To finally be a part of the inner circle which she so desperately craved. 

Before she could even worry about the other recipes she had to cover, the doorbell interrupted her thoughts.

Ringggggg! 

She groaned audibly. ‘I swear if it’s Kimberly.’ She hated the lady on 143. Her passive aggressive tactics always got to her one way or another. Always showing up early to events to shame her, constantly trying to one-up everyone on the block, god how she hated that lady.

She rolled her eyes, ready to hear the sickly sweet voice of her favorite neighbour.

“Hey Kimb- Oh, it’s you, Avery dear.”

The scowl on her face immediately softened at the sight of the sixteen year old boy standing nervously on her doorstep. 

“Hello Ms. Chandler.” 

“You can call me Lauren dear.”

She hated to see the poor kid so miserable and nervous all the time now. Her heart ached at the sight of his now prominent eye bags and his constantly wet tear ducts.

Of course, the reason was obvious, the poor boy had just lost his mother, leaving Avery in charge of his two younger siblings.

She had held back a sob at the news, she wasn’t particularly close to Michelle but she was a joy to be around and she always had this mischievous glow to her that was a breath of fresh air compared to the kill joys this neighborhood was inhabited by.

Michelle had always made her feel welcome, even if it was in subtle, minute ways. When she had first arrived she never bombarded her with loads of freshly baked goods and leftovers like the others, their pity for the new single woman on the block barely contained. Their assumptions that she wasn’t able to take care of herself made her clench her knuckles till they turned white. 

Michelle was never like that however. Whenever she took notice of the smell coming out the window of Lauren’s house at dinner time, she would always ask her next day for the recipe before she dropped her kids off to school. It always made her feel warm inside, the appreciation.

The other women soon lost interest in the new-comer and started to converse with her less and less. Michelle soon started to invite her over, often having baking sessions together, getting to know her children better. 

Maybe she was close to Michelle. 

—-

“Uhm, I’m sorry to bother you but, i'm kind of in need of a..”

He trailed off, sighing loudly, muttering sorrys under his breath. He tapped his foot against the cement anxiously, his usual charm which he inherited from his mother gone. 

She nodded, beckoning him to continue.

“How do I say this… a cookbook?”

His voice cracked at that last bit, his eyes immediately shutting closed, scrunched in cringe. She couldn't help but smile. All of this over a cookbook?

“A cookbook?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ve kind of realized I can’t just keep feeding Fred and Kat fast-food for every meal and I don’t know how to cook, but you’re really good, so I thought I'd ask you.”

He fumbled at the jumbo multi-colored bracelets on his wrists. She distinctly remembers being there, when his sister Frederick made them in the living room, scattering the beads all over the floor, while her brother Catherine groaned before bending down to pick them up from the carpet. Avery had laughed at the time, slumping on the couch, not even moving a muscle to help his younger brother.

He never really showed it much, at least to his siblings, but he took his job as elder brother very seriously and him showing up on her doorstep was proof.

She really, really wanted to help.

“Okay…”

She nodded slowly, going through her mental library of cookbooks that would be easy enough for Avery to follow and healthy enough for Frederick and Catherine to eat repeatedly. 

“Wait, give me a minute Avery!”

She went back in, scouring through the shelf in the living room to find the book she was looking for. She flicked through each volume that were haphazardly stacked, separated by random snow globes she had collected throughout the years. 

‘Moro: The cookbook? No.’

‘Single Malt Whiskey: An Italian Passion- Hell no'.

‘Bread of Three Rivers: The Story of a French Loaf- No, just, just no.’ 

‘The Minimalist Cooks Dinner: More Than 100 Recipes for Fast Weeknight Meals and Casual Entertaining- Maybe? Yeah no- nevermind.’

Ah. There it was. ‘The taste of home’.

She held the magazine, dusting the cover off. She was skeptical of the magazine, she only tossed it into her cart because it was on sale. It wasn’t her usual style, but it would be simple enough for a teenager to understand.

The name made Lauren flinch a little, feeling as if it would add salt to Avery’s already open wound. 

She pushed the thought down, walking back to the door. She pushed the door open slightly. Avery was still there, waiting politely. 

“Here Avery, I think this suits you guys well. Tell me if you have any issues.”

She handed him the book. He studied the cover for a while, cocking his head to the side like a tiny puppy who’s seen something for the first time. It was pathetically adorable. 

“Thank you so, so much Lauren. I really needed this, I don’t know how to repa-”

“AVERYYYYY!”

He was cut off by a yell coming from the direction of his house. He groaned, rolling his eyes, muttering under his breath how he was going to kill Catherine.

“Give me a minute!” 

He yelled back in the same direction, yelling even louder than the person who was presumably Catherine.

 “Sorry, I’ve gotta go, thank you!”

He scurried off, yelling while running through the lawn.

After waving goodbye, she sighed loudly, slamming the door shut. She slumped onto the floor, staring at the mess of dishes spread throughout her kitchen. Lauren groaned.

Now to get back to her own mess.

Rain (Barbatos x Reader)

Female! Reader

Slight angst but with a happy ending

In the human realm there you stood, under the heavy rain that wets your figure, soaking your entire being with its polluted water but you couldn't care less about how you'll get sick afterwards. No. You stare into nothingness, the heavy rain greatly limiting your field of vision to maybe one to two meters and even so, objects are extremely blurry.

The reason why you're under the rain is because you're heartbroken. It's stupid, yes, you know but he was your fiance of three years so it's heart shattering and as if your life line is plugged out when you caught him in action with another woman, balls deep into her as her moans fill the room, clearly having a good time. The reason for his cheating is because you didn't want to have sexual intercourse with him but being the religious person you are, you stated that you didn't want to have sex until after marriage but it seems that he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea.

'He only wants you for your body', your best friend said, attempting to comfort you but it didn't do much as your mind wanders to that specific moment in your life.

'He's the one missing out! It just means that he wasn't your soulmate. God has other plans for you', then why did He has to make it so painful to you?

'Fuck that guy! I hope he gets condemned to Hell', you wish too but you try to get yourself out of that mind set since it's quite the sin to wish someone that.

All these allegations are true, yet here you are, under the rain thinking negatively about yourself. Weren't you pretty enough? Wasn't your company enough for him? Satisfying enough for him? You let out a shaky breath and close your eyes, the rain getting heavier if that's possible. You really want to disappear off the surface of the Earth but you didn't. Again, it's a great sin if you did it.

So, you resorted to just being sad and crying out your sadness all alone. It was... Comforting, to say the very least and with the rain, it's easy to cover up your tears and voice.

"ARGH!" You screamed out loud. You could barely make out your own voice. Perfect.

So you screamed again and again and again until you ran out of energy. If you can't hurt or kill yourself, you might as well tire yourself and just go to sleep. But even so, you figured that you might have nightmares regarding what happened to you just yesterday so you might as well completely drain your energy until you can't move.

With one last scream of frustration and anger, you drop to your knees and let tears flow down your face. God, you just wanted to kill yourself but you can't. Sometimes you wish you weren't that religious but it's these times that you're also glad.

How long have you been under the rain? Half an hour? An hour? More than that? You don't know nor do you care at this point. You certainly couldn't care less about your health as well. You just want to hide under the rain so when you thought the rain stopped, you were confused. It's still raining yet why aren't you under it? Then, you look up.

An umbrella.

"Wha?" You breathe out under your breath as you look at the person holding the umbrella.

Due to the darkness, you can't really see his features but you can tell that he's wearing a suit and has gloves on. His expression though empty as ever, his eyebrows are furrowed as if to mimic confusion. He holds out a hand for you to grab and for a moment, flashbacks of your ex-boyfriend doing the same fills your vision and you shake your head.

The man assumes that you didn't want help and retracts his hand. You stand up but wobbled a bit due to you kneeling for so long, causing you to accidentally grab the man's arm. He was as still as a statue, seemingly unbothered by the fact that you just threw yourself towards him. You mutter an apology even though he won't hear it and didn't bother to squeeze water out your hair or clothes.

"Are you okay, miss?" He asks.

You nod and look away, slightly embarrassed of your appearance at the moment. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be going now."

"Wait."

You turn to him. "Do you need something, sir?"

Lightning strikes, lighting up the darkness and you only manage to see his features clearly for a few seconds. Beautiful emerald eyes, green hair gradienting to a teal down his bangs on the left side of his face and no expression at all yet it seems to compliment his handsome features. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. How can a man this beautiful exist?

"You just seem sad and I know that I'm just a stranger, a nobody to you but I do have some time to spare before I go back to serve my master." He states.

You were suspicious. The world is a dangerous place and if a handsome man like Ted Bundy can turn out to be a manipulative murderer, then surely, the man in front of you can do the same.

When no answer is heard from you, he sighs and puts a hand over his heart before bowing down to you, much to your surprise. "I am Barbatos, the butler to my master, Lord Diavolo."

"I... I see." You weren't expecting a butler to be by your side.

"You now know my name, my occupation and my master. Surely, this is enough information for you." The butler, you now know as Barbatos, said.

"Oh, uh, yeah." You awkwardly fidget around. He's just too formal with you that makes it uncomfortable for you.

"So, may I know what is the cause of your sadness? Why are you just kneeling under the heavy rain? Are you not scared of what might happen to you if you were to stay too long out here?" He shoots you question after question.

You wanted to tell him but you're scared of the thought of him ridiculing you. Your fiance's friends did, is he any different?

Barbatos sighs once again and mumbles something before saying, "I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. I do apologize if I do happen to make you feel that way. All I want to do is lend an ear. It is not too wrong of me to do so, is it now?"

You look at the more interesting ground. "Why do you even want to listen to my problems anyway? A butler like you shouldn't help me. You must have other jobs to do and even if I tell you, it's not like you're gonna use that information."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I just want to help."

Damn, he's persistent, you thought. It's not like you're ungrateful, it's more like preventing other people from meddling into your own problems that you can handle by yourself. You didn't need or want someone else's help. You can figure everything out yourself.

And yet...

"Kill me."

The butler was surprised. "Excuse me, but could you repeat what you just said?"

"Ah..." You shake your head. What were you thinking? "I'm sorry. I'll leave."

Just as you turn away, a hand grabs your arm. "Wait."

You wait for him to talk.

"I know I have no place to say this, and it's ironic that I'm the one who's saying this, but don't do it. Life may be hard for you but surely, there must be people who love you. I don't know what happened and really, I have no say in this, if you're thinking about suicide, shouldn't you do something you love? Be with the people you love instead of suffering all alone and eventually hurting other people?"

You look back at him with tears welling up in your eyes. "This is a stupid reason and all, but I just... Can't. The person I love betrayed me. He... He promised."

Barbatos lets go of your hand. "Then, that just means he's a liar, a toxic person in your life. Is it not a relief that you found out instead of being blinded by his lies?"

You wanted to talk back but you bite back your tongue. It is true. Better now then never. You think for a while before forcing a smile on your face. "I suppose so. Thanks for... Talking, I guess. I really appreciate it."

A small smile curl his lips, enhancing his already handsome face. "You're welcome."

*****

Barbatos finally went back to Lord Diavolo's castle after buying all the necessary items from the human realm.

"Barbatos! There you are! Where have you been? It took longer than usual. Did it run out of stock or something?" Lord Diavolo asks as he goes through his endless pile of paperwork.

The butler bows down to his master as a form of apology. "I am sorry, My Lord. No, it's not because of that."

"Then, what took you so long?"

Memories of the rainy scene plays in his head but he answered differently despite knowing that Lord Diavolo can tell between a truth and a lie. "There was a fuss over a mistake I did, My Lord. Wouldn't this new generation call that a 'Karen'?"

Though he knows, Lord Diavolo was more interested in the name the humans gave for someone with such an attitude. "A Karen, huh? Call Levi here! I need to know what that means!"

The day continues on like normal but Barbatos kept on wondering why the devils did he help such a helpless human who's willing to kill themself just because of a broken heart? He doesn't understand his own actions and frankly, he doesn't wish to know why either. He's a demon, a duke, an earl, he shouldn't care so why did he help that one human?

Ahh, of course.

"Welcome to Devildom!"

"Barbatos?"

He bows down to the new exchange student and smiles at you. "Welcome, MC."

"You were a fucking demon?!" You were surprised rather than scared.

"Were?" Lucifer asks but is ignored when both you and Barbatos wouldn't answer him.

How have the Fates destined the both of you to meet again.

I decided to take a break from my reference sheets and touch up on an old school notebook doodle and

…

IM SO HAPPY THAT THIS TURNED OUT THE WAY IT DID!!!

If you don’t understand this is fan art for @justmaiidraws Hunger Games au. I originally was gonna make this like a Death Valley type shit scene with grave and the turtle and chinchilla be like a memorial thing but I said fuck it I’m making a romantic scene. I’m praying that in the au April and Leo don’t go through what happened in the 3rd book but at the same time I want it to happen.

Anywho I disappear into the shadows of creating post once more . . .

Cowabunga turtle fanz!!

....... I suddenly have the urge to make this an angst fic.....

Succulent - Kinich

Spiderman AU, where Kinich is Spiderman and you are the Gwen Stacy.

Kinich unknowingly explores the same suspicious temple as you, saves a few Saurians, saves you a few times, confesses his love to you. The basic stuff.

Notes: I have had major Kinich brainrot, especially with the sunflower edits of him on tiktok. So I took it upon myself to make a spiderman AU where he's spiderman! Yay! He's definitely OOC but I tried my hardest so please try to enjoy :3

(P.S. this stuff was written before he was released so this is not cannon!)

You were a simple researcher, wandering into the depths of Natlan. There was some elemental disturbance in some uncharted land underground, not wanting anyone else to get ahead of you, you embarked on your journey alone.

“Maybe I should've hired a mercenary.. Kinich would’ve been great.” you mutter. Kinich, a great mercenary, has such a cold demeanor yet he always stares at you and gives you such a warm gaze. You shake off the thoughts of your tiny crush as you slowly make your way through rough terrain. There were lava geysers all around and a hint of evil in the air, perhaps it was the abyss order.

You carried on, almost slipping into the multiple geysers all around. Thankfully you finally reached a safe point and decided to set up camp, just a simple tent and some traps in case enemies attack.

“Just a simple salad today, I have to preserve the meat for the hardest part of the adventure.” You say to no one aloud. 

You decide to mark down some observations of the cave you're in. So far you haven't come face to face with any enemies which is quite odd for an area with a highly condensed elemental energy. Perhaps someone has come before you. You mark off any important landmarks, different rocks, ancient markings. Sighing, you place your notebook down and shake your sore hand. 

“Time to sleep.” You stand up and stretch before heading into your tent for the night.

.

“Log number 18. I've still been searching for the cause of the elemental disturbance. Many enemies have appeared so I've done the reasonable thing and wiped them out. I do see a temple in the distance that radiates high elemental energy, so I will be checking that tomorrow but, right now it's time for me to rest.” Click. Kinich places down his recorder. 

“I’m not even getting paid for this gig. Why am I even doing this?” He sighs, leaning up against a nearby wall. 

See but Kinich knew exactly why, it was because of you. See Kinich had two jobs, one as a mercenary, one as a hero. He was known as Spiderman in Natlan, the way he would effortlessly swing with his grappling hook, and kill enemies of Teyvat as quickly as a black spider. He wore a mask in this identity, nobody knew who he was. Yet as he was weakened from an enemy far too strong and there he laid on the ground. You walked up, and instead of finding out who this mysterious Spiderman was, you kept his mask on, only pulling it high enough to wipe blood off his mouth. From then on he continued to have encounters with you, it always occurred whenever he got injured in battle, you were there by his side to patch up his wounds.

“I still don't even know your name.” Kinich reminisces about the moments spent together. “I'll get rid of this and protect you.” His promise fades away in the giant cave, nobody but himself to see it true. Kinich sets up a small sleeping bag, finally deciding to get some rest.

.

“New day, new adventure!” You say, trying to be optimistic. Although the truth is you could be farther from it. The elemental energy feels even more condensed than before, and there's this feeling of impending doom following suit. You quickly pack up your supplies not wanting to waste anymore time on this research trip. 

After what feels like hours, but in reality was probably no longer than 30 minutes, you see a temple in the distance. 

“This…” You stare at it from afar, shocked to even say a single word. The elemental energy that is pouring out from there is outstanding, there is definitely something suspicious going on. This is the first time in this adventure where you had second doubts, you definitely should've hired a mercenary, maybe Kinich. It's far too late for that now you decide as you begrudgingly step towards.

.

“These puzzles are definitely different from the ones we see around Natlan, right Ajaw?” Kinich looks at the strange mechanism.

“You really do suck if you can't get us through here. Wanna impress your lover researcher right? Right? Also why are you wearing that stupid mask, nobody is around.” Ajaw teases and questions the poor Kinich as he starts to get pissed.

“One I don't have a lover, two, this is for Natlan’s sake, something you must not understand, and three, I’ve gotten used to wearing it.” Kinich shoos away the now red Ajaw. “Finally figured out how it works though.” As he says that a door that was previously locked opens up.

“I see you've come to stop our plans once again traveler- ergh?!” A flame welding abyss lector pauses mid speech.

“Traveler? Do you mean the blond haired saviour going around helping people?” Kinich asks, recognizing the famous traveler.

“You're kinda totally ruining the plan I had dude.” The abyss lector says in defeat.

“What do you mean ruining the plan, huh!?” Ajaw yells, still upset about earlier.

“Well, the traveler and I were supposed to fight. After all, I totally ran away from our fight last time, heh. Just didn't wanna die you know?” The abyss lector laughs off his misfortune. “Nevermind that now I have to kill you, after all I can't have you leaking our information out and about.”

“Let's win this Kinich!” Ajaw says, trying to pump up his dear servant.

“Whatever you say I guess.” Kinich responds.

.

“These puzzles.. They're complete, someone had to have been here before.” You conclude. When you arrived at the temple you saw numerous doors open. There were many unfamiliar marks covering the temple head to toe, you only recognize a few as abyss symbols. Through careful observation you notice an odd placing brick on the wall, not wanting to inspect it with your own hands, you opt for a nearby stick. You take a deep breath in and push against the suspicious brick, allowing a secret passage downwards to open. 

“Thank god that wasn't a trap.” You breathe a sigh of relief.

After finishing writing down all the information you need about this current room you decide to explore this secret passage, it's basically just a bunch of stairs leading downwards.

.

“Shit you're one slippery guy, and what the hell is with that skill you're seriously like a spider.” The flame bearing abyss lector complains, definitely aggravated from the injuries inflicted on him.

“Yeah I tend to go by Spiderman, don't let the name wear out.” Kinich says, quickly using his skill to cover his eyes with his grapple, reducing his eyesight.

While covering the abyss lector’s eyes he uses a secondary grappling hook to start to spin himself, effectively wrapping the enemy up. 

“You damned brat! You'll pay for this!” The abyss lector yells while using his pyro skills, effectively destroying the web like wire that blocked his vision and disabled his movement.

“Too bad you weren't paying attention.” Kinich mutters, slicing his claymore against the back of the abyss lector, leading to its defeat.

“Ajaw, find anything of interest on his body, I'm going to check this machinery out.” Kinich orders Ajaw around, to which Ajaw complains but compiles.

In this room there's multiple computers showing different results, many different files of interest, and… a tube? Leading to where. Kinich is left to wonder. He takes a closer look at the tube to see a purple substance flow through it.

“Ajaw, find out where this tube leads, we'll switch jobs.” Kinich says, shoving Ajaw away from the flame abyss lector's body.

“Meh meh meh meh. Mr. Bossy-pants.” Ajaw mocks but goes right to finding where the location of the purple substance is coming from.

.

“I should've turned around.” You can't help but complain. You had been walking down these stairs for god knows how long, with barely any light, and no clue if there's enemies at the bottom.

“I'm so dead aren't I.” You cry. In the middle of you trying to accept your fate you see a brighter light. Hopeful that it's the bottom you pick up your pace only to be met face to face with, prison cells?

There were glass cells, no, chambers filled with Saurians, a purple substance being sucked out and pushed into a hole in the middle of the room. You take careful steps forward, heartbroken, shocked at the sight you're seeing. The dragon's that inhabit the lands of Natlan, being sucked dry of their elemental energy. This has to be the work of the abyss order, you conclude. You look at the seemingly bottomless pit in the middle of the room. 

“This is… despicable. How could they do this to innocent creatures?” You mutter, looking down into the pit with sadness.

“Oh? What's my number one fan doing here?” A familiar voice echoes in front of you.

“Ah, Spiderman-!?” You look up only to be met face to face with an upside down Spiderman.

“I'm not surprised you're here, but why are you here alone? You don't have a vision so this place is draining you of your energy.” A slight bit of concern covers Spiderman's voice.

“I had to explore. This cave was uncharted and I wanted to resolve this issue as soon as possible.” You answer his question, “Not to mention you're hurt yourself. When did this happen?” He just scratches the back of his head.

“Just had a fight just now I'm alright though. Had to win to see you once again.” Spiderman admits. “It looks like I'll have to have another fight though. Please stay back alright.” He says while pulling down his mask, just enough to show his mouth. He moves forwards enough to give you a light kiss against your lips. He gives you a smile before putting his mask back on and jumping right into the fight.

You stand there for a few seconds processing what just happened. Not only did the Spiderman just say he wanted to see you again, but he also just kissed you? You hear the noise of abyss mages getting hurt and remember what Spiderman told you to do, so you try to walk over to the other side, away from the fighting.

You watch in awe as the amazing Spiderman uses his webs to his advantage, dodging the attacks from abyss mages and using them to weaken the shields so he can do heavy damage with his claymore. You’re so enamored by his performance you don’t realize how close to the edge of the pit you get too.

“Finally done with these abyss mages.” Kinich mutters, turning to you only to see you dangerously close to the edge, with abyss mages behind you. “Watch out-!” Kinich tries to call out to you but it’s too late, the abyss mages push you into the pit.

Kinich is quick to react, quickly using his grappling hook to connect and grab you, which ends successfully. Only problem now? He had two electro abyss mages in front of him, his grappling hook unusable at the moment. The panic that Spiderman was going to lose his battle, and someone he holds close to his heart.

No, he thinks. He can’t let it happen again, he can’t. The few times Kinich opened his heart it was left broken, with the death of his father and now soon to be you. He can start to feel his arms weaken and-

“How did you beat me here!?” A scream comes from up top. Kinich’s eyes open in surprise, then his lips curve into a small smile.

“Ajaw, could you please get these mages out of their shields, I need to get our friend out of this pit.” He orders, no, commands Ajaw, to which he slowly complies. Ajaw begins to attack the abyss mages, holding his own as Kinich quickly pulls you up to the top, hoping you were still alive in his grappling hook. 

“It’s funny really, I don’t understand why a simple researcher like you caught my eye.” Kinich mumbles to himself seeing your body appear from the purple smoke filled pit. Admittedly Kinich was scared out of his mind when you weren’t moving, but a simple pulse check let him know that you weren’t dead, but unconscious. A huge wave of relief flooded Kinich knowing you were safe. That’s when he swiftly grabbed his claymore which he had disregarded and landed the final attack on the abyss mages.

“We’ll report this to the warriors in Natlan. They’ll free the surviving Saurians.” Ajaw suggests which Kinich agrees.

Kinich reaches up and removes his mask, his face covered with scratches, blood, and sweat. Yet even so, he smiles warmly knowing that you were safe.

.

Your head is spinning. You can’t see anything. You’re asleep. You have to just wake up. Wake up.

“Ugrh.” You groan, slowly opening your eyes to a recovery room. “Where am I?” You manage to speak out loud.

“You’re awake! I’m glad. See Kinich here found you in a temple and apparently you were all passed out, if he were later you might’ve died.” The doctor explains to you. Kinich? He found you but the only one who was at the temple with you was- oh. 

You quickly sit up surprising Kinich and the doctor who was at your side. You smile, “Thank you for the update doctor, but I need to speak with Kinich alone, if that’s alright.” You say weakly, nonetheless the doctor understands and leaves the two of you to your business.

“So, you’re Spiderman.” You state, waiting for him to deny, after all it can’t be true the the mercenary Kinich can also be the amazing Spider-

“Yeah.” He answers. Your thoughts pause, you freeze, and you just stare at him in shock.

“Why?” You ask, and he just tilts his head in confusion. “Why would you tell me your secret? I'm just a regular researcher, I don’t even have a vision.” You question, confused on why he would reveal his identity.

“It’s simple. Out of every fan I meet, you’re the only face I can remember, if I see you in a crowd I always tend to go into that direction. I may not even know your name but you show me with such care despite not knowing who I am.” Kinich confesses, a slight blush covering his cheeks.

“It’s right to be nice to everyone, even unknown identities.” You say.

“I guess you’re right, so will you humour me for a while and go on a date with me?” He asks you, looking at you with a warm gaze and a loving smile.

Hello, good morning, I hope I'm not bothering you. But I can make a request for Whitebeard and Fem Reader, which is a story of forbidden love where he is a pirate we know and she is an admiral. Respected that they nicknamed her mother to those who go with them, they had a secret relationship a few years ago before Roger's death that he also knew but unfortunately A reader like her had a devil fruit that was mysterious and valuable that deals with control From the dreams, some powers similar to those of MLP's Moon or Maleficent. But she had to sacrifice herself to save her men whom she considers sons. Against a pirate who was a Yonko who was protected by the navy And that devastated Whitebeard and those who knew her, but after a few years Whitebeard met a boy who was his son and reader Only he was raised with Garp who is practically the adopted brother of Ace Luffy and Sabo

Oh, I dreamed it and I swear I woke up crying. But I said it would be interesting to read. Take your time thank you ❤️

sounds cool anw tried my best>< tis not much but, hope u like it!

When the Sea Dreams of You

A powerful admiral, once known as "Mother" to her men, sacrifices herself to save them—leaving behind a secret love and child with Whitebeard. Years later, fate delivers the boy back into his father's world.

whitebeard x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, oc

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward

word count: 1.1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sea remembered her name even if the world had tried to forget it.

She had once stood atop warships with the wind billowing her cape, marines at her side, and fear in the hearts of pirates. An admiral—respected, strategic, and maternal in a way that felt divine—earning her the nickname “Mother” from those who served under her.

But Edward Newgate had once called her something else. Something softer. Something forbidden.

“Y/N.”

Their love had bloomed like moonlight on water—beautiful, distant, unreachable to anyone else. Back when the world was simpler. Before Roger died. Before Yonko politics became tangled with Navy ambition. Before dreams became dangerous things.

She had eaten a devil fruit so rare that even the elders of Mariejois feared it: the Yume Yume no Mi, Dream Dream Fruit. It granted her the power to shape dreams, trap enemies in illusions, or soothe nightmares into serenity. Some whispered she could walk between minds in their sleep, learn secrets, or even leave part of herself behind in another’s subconscious.

The World Government had seen her as both an asset and a threat. So they used her… and then allowed her to die.

At least, that’s what the world believed.

.

.

It began in silence—after battles, beneath stars, stolen moments between two great forces who knew what their love would cost.

"You know," she whispered against his chest, fingers tangled in his wild blond hair, "this can never be more than a dream."

Whitebeard chuckled, arms like mountains holding her close. "Then let’s never wake up."

They had found each other between skirmishes, on islands not marked on maps, during ceasefires no one else knew about. She would arrive wearing her navy coat, only to drop it at his feet like a surrender flag. He’d tease her, call her dangerous in more ways than one, and then hold her like the war would never reach them.

Only a few knew—Roger had been one of them. He had laughed when he found out, slapping Whitebeard on the back.

"You're crazier than I thought, Newgate! Falling for the Navy's ‘Mother’? You really wanna die, huh?"

But Roger understood. In his own way. And then he died.

And everything changed.

.

.

The pirate was brutal. A Yonko, protected by politics, feared by soldiers. He had come for her fleet—not her—and underestimated what a mother does for her children.

Her men had screamed for retreat. She stayed.

The battlefield twisted around her as she activated the forbidden side of her fruit. A nightmare realm bloomed into existence—a dreamscape that would swallow both her and the Yonko into an endless illusion, locking them in a dimension between sleep and wakefulness.

It was her final act. Her fleet escaped. Her body was never recovered. The navy quietly declared her dead, sealing all files. Honoring her in silence.

But Whitebeard knew the truth. He felt it—like a tear in his soul.

And he never forgave them.

Years Later

He appeared on Sphinx Island on a slow afternoon, knocking over crates trying to carry supplies. Hair as wild as the sea, grin just familiar enough to sting.

Marco had noticed first. “Oyaji, you might wanna come see this-yoi…”

The boy stood with a seagull feather in his messy hair and a Marine jacket tied around his waist like a belt. His laugh—loud and reckless—could’ve belonged to Ace. But there was something calmer beneath it. More… deliberate.

“What’s your name, brat?” Whitebeard asked, looming above him like a mountain.

The boy looked up. His eyes were her eyes.

“Hoshi.”

Silence fell.

“My full name’s Hoshi. Don’t really use my last name. Garp-jiji says it stirs trouble.”

Marco blinked. “Garp? As in—Vice Admiral Garp?”

“Yeah. He's kinda like my grandpa. I grew up with his other grandkids. We were like brothers.” He scratched his head. “But I don’t look like them much. People always said I looked more like… her.”

Whitebeard’s breath caught.

The boy looked up. “My mom was an admiral. ‘Mother,’ they called her. I know she’s gone. But Garp-jiji said she loved me. Said I was a dream she left behind.”

Whitebeard’s knees nearly buckled.

He whispered, “And your father?”

“Dunno. Garp-jiji wouldn’t say. But sometimes… I dream of a voice. Loud, laughing. Warm. It’s dumb.”

Whitebeard was trembling now. Marco placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him.

“It ain’t dumb, brat,” the old pirate said hoarsely. “You ever hear the name Whitebeard?”

Hoshi tilted his head. “Course I have. Big ol’ sea legend.”

Whitebeard knelt down so their eyes met.

“I’m Edward Newgate. Your father.”

The revelation shook the crew to its core. Most knew of her in whispers and unspoken glances. Thatch remembered her as the admiral who once spared his life. Vista swore he saw Whitebeard smile softer the weeks after her visits.

Hoshi adjusted fast. He sparred with Marco, pestered Jozu for strength training, and charmed even Izo with his mischief. But some nights, he asked Whitebeard to tell him stories about her.

And Whitebeard did.

“Your mother used to make even the sea stand still,” he’d murmur, staring out at the tide. “She held nations in her hand, but always chose to cradle her boys instead.”

“Did you love her?”

“With every bone in this old body.”

.

.

One night, Hoshi woke screaming. The crew rushed in—swords drawn, ready to fight.

“She was there!” he shouted. “I saw her! She said my name. She held me!”

Marco looked pale. “A dream?”

Whitebeard stepped in. “No… more than that.”

The Dream Dream Fruit never truly dies. Some powers linger. Some souls too stubborn to fade.

That night, as Whitebeard slept, he dreamed of a silver shore, and there she stood—older, transparent, wrapped in moonlight.

“Edward,” she said, and his heart cracked open.

“I never stopped,” he choked. “You should have told me about the boy.”

“I was protecting him. The world wasn’t ready. You weren’t safe. I thought… if he had even a chance at peace, he deserved it.”

Whitebeard reached for her. His hand passed through light.

“Is this real?”

She smiled. “As real as dreams can be.”

“Can I bring you back?”

“No. My body is gone. My soul… remains here. The price of my power.” She cupped his cheek with fingers made of stars. “But I’ll watch over him. And you.”

He wanted to scream, but all he could do was weep.

“Tell him,” she whispered, fading, “that I loved him more than life itself.”

.

.

Hoshi grew into his power, showing hints of the Dream Dream Fruit awakening within him. He spoke of visions, soft voices in sleep, sometimes warnings.

He stayed with Whitebeard’s crew, not as a soldier, but as a bridge—between past and future.

And sometimes, when the moon was high and dreams felt close enough to touch, he would feel her again.

A lullaby in the tide.

A hand on his shoulder.

The sea remembering her name.

Y/n is part of the navy, a daughter of Roger's navy, Shirojige wouldn't allow it. He ordered one of his sons to capture her and bring her to him. The one chosen for this mission was his closest son, Marco. He had previously sent other ships. My sons, they all returned badly injured. Oh, he simply evaded them. That young lady had a bad temper. Shirojige laughed while drinking. Y/n was in her office on the ship. Her men had debarked for supplies. She stayed on the ship finishing some paperwork. Her next mission was to go to Mary Georgina. She was supposed to escort some world nobles. She got up and took two jugs, filling them with sake. I thought this time she would send Ace, but she sent her brightest jewel. Hello, I look at him, smiling. Drink and go, please. Tomorrow we'll set sail and I'll be very busy, darling.

turning his folder so he wouldn't see the information for his next mission

got a bit confused with some parts, i apologize if its not accurate, but i hope i delivered ur request well! 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)

Chasing Embers

A Navy captain and Roger’s daughter, Y/N, faces off against Marco, Whitebeard’s fiercest son — but not every battle is meant to be fought with swords.

Marco the phoenix x fem! reader tags: fluff, slight angst, sfw, forbidden relationship a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the docked ship as the men scurried about, leaving their captain behind to handle "boring work," as they called it. Y/N stayed behind in her quarters, papers spread across her desk — reports, maps, and tomorrow’s orders, neatly organized. Her next mission was… delicate, and one she wasn't looking forward to: escorting some stuck-up World Nobles to Marijoa.

She let out a sigh and pushed the folder a little further from reach. No need for prying eyes.

Outside, the sea was too still. Too quiet.

It didn’t surprise her when a presence flickered at the edge of her Haki — steady, powerful, familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.

Another one of Whitebeard’s sons.

Again.

With an almost lazy motion, she grabbed two jugs, filled them with sake, and stood up, just as a shadow slipped inside through the open window like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Yo," the man greeted smoothly, tilting his head with a slight, teasing smirk.

Marco.

Not one of the reckless ones this time. No — the one. Whitebeard's right-hand man. The one smart enough not to pick a fight first.

Y/N smiled sweetly, offering a jug out toward him. "I thought this time he'd send Ace," she mused, voice light, almost amused, "but no. He sent his brightest jewel instead."

Far across the sea, aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard let out a hearty laugh, a massive sake cup in hand, surrounded by his sons. "That young lady has a bad temper," he boomed, slamming the cup down with a grin that stretched wide across his weathered face. "You boys were too soft with her."

Marco chuckled low and warm as if hearing his father’s voice echo in his memory. Stepping closer, he accepted the jug from her with a brush of his fingers against hers. "Ace volunteered," he said simply. "Oyaji said no."

"Smart man," she said, tapping her jug against his before tipping it back for a long sip. "Drink and go, darling. Tomorrow we'll set sail, and I'll be very busy."

She moved casually, spinning her folder closed with a flick, keeping the classified orders out of his sharp blue gaze.

Marco’s eyes flickered briefly to the desk but didn't push it. Instead, he leaned his hip against the table, the wood creaking softly under his weight. His stare was steady, but there was no hostility there — only a quiet patience that made her skin prickle.

"You always this welcoming to people sent to kidnap you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Only to the pretty ones," she said, grinning.

Marco huffed a small laugh through his nose, amused but unconvinced. "Flattery won't save you-yoi."

"Wasn’t trying to save myself," she replied smoothly, leaning back against her chair. "Just trying to enjoy my last few hours of peace before everything goes to hell."

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy — like the weight of everything they both carried. Two people born into impossible legacies.

He swirled the sake in his jug lazily, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You're Roger's daughter."

"You sound surprised."

He shrugged a broad shoulder. "Not surprised. Just… funny-yoi. You ended up in the Navy, of all places."

Y/N smirked, taking another sip. "Thought it would piss more people off that way."

Marco chuckled again, the sound low and warm. "Definitely pissed off Oyaji," he admitted. "But he's more worried about you getting yourself killed-yoi"

"I can take care of myself."

"I know." His voice was serious now, no teasing in it. "That's the problem."

Their eyes locked, something sparking between them — raw, unspoken.

Y/N set her jug down carefully. "So," she said, her tone light but her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk, "what's the plan, Marco? Tie me up? Drag me kicking and screaming? Gonna knock me out?"

Marco finished his drink in one smooth pull and set the jug aside, pushing off the table to stand tall in front of her. He was close enough now that she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his gaze.

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes.

He smiled — slow, confident, infuriatingly calm. "I'm gonna ask you nicely-yoi."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

"Come with me. We'll tell Oyaji you put up a good fight. Save you from the idiots who'll try again after me."

Her jaw clenched. Part of her wanted to laugh. Part of her wanted to throw the jug at his head.

"You think I can just walk away from everything? From my duty?"

"You think they'd hesitate if it was you in their way?" he asked softly.

It stung because it was true.

Marco took a step closer, close enough now that she could feel the heat rolling off him. His hand brushed her wrist, not grabbing, just… there. An invitation.

"You're not the enemy-yoi," he murmured. "You never were."

For a long moment, Y/N just stared at him, the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. Her crew, her mission, her life — or the freedom that whispered at her through Marco’s touch.

"I can't," she whispered finally, voice tight.

Marco didn’t look disappointed. He just nodded, like he already knew.

"Then," he said, giving her a wry little smile, "I guess I'll have to carry you after all."

Before she could react, the window behind him shattered — a warning shot from one of her lieutenants returning with supplies. The crew was back. Reinforcements.

Y/N cursed under her breath, grabbing the hilt of her sword from behind the desk, while Marco just sighed like this was all mildly inconvenient.

"Guess that's my cue-yoi" he said, flashing her a grin.

"You’re not getting off that easy!" she snapped, lunging at him.

He dodged easily, the blue flames of his devil fruit flaring briefly around his arms as he vaulted back out the window, vanishing into the night.

But not before calling out over his shoulder:

"I'll be back for you,-yoi!"

Y/N stood there breathing hard, sword still in hand, heart hammering against her ribs.

Damn him.

Damn him and that stupid smile.

Hello, hello, hello, beautiful, gorgeous, divine

I love your story Marco nooo I love all your stories you are fantastic

I love you, please beg for something. Can you create a Marco the Phoenix story for y/n? Where y/n saves Thatch's life by stopping Teach's attack? Thatch was injured, but not seriously, losing the yami yami nomi. However, y/n was seriously injured protecting her nakama. Marco and Ace, his brother, are very worried. More so Marco 😏 Since the young woman wasn't waking up, When she regained consciousness, she played a joke on Marco for being so worried, Pretending not to recognize them 🤣 Later, Y/n spoke to Whitebeard, discussing the traitor and how dangerous he would become in the future. When she returned to Marco, she lay down next to him, thanking him for taking care of her all that time, and that even though she couldn't answer him, she always heard him calling her. Please, I implore you.

lmaoao this is funny i like it! dahaha u can support me through ko-fi, but please know that tips are never expected but always deeply appreciated! also I hope this is to ur liking!

Teach Tried It, I Survived It

After stopping Teach’s betrayal and nearly dying, you wake up in Marco’s arms—and decide that pranking him with fake amnesia is exactly what he deserves before finally falling into the comfort of home and love.

Marco the phoenix x reader tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence, happy ending, betrayal, a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun blazed high over the open sea, casting golden light across the deck of the Moby Dick. The battle was well underway — a scrappy band of pirates had made the monumental mistake of challenging the Whitebeard Pirates. Bad for them. Good for everyone else who needed a bit of exercise.

You ducked under a wild swing from some random enemy pirate, spun on your heel, and delivered a solid punch to his gut. He crumpled with a satisfying oof.

"Oi! Y/N!" Thatch shouted from a few feet away, grinning like a maniac, a strange fruit in his hand. "Check this out!"

You sliced another pirate across the side with your blade (nothing fatal, you were feeling merciful today) and jogged over.

"What did you find this time?" you asked, breathing hard, a spark of excitement lighting your eyes.

Ace clambered over a fallen mast to join you. "Yo, Thatch, whatcha got?"

Thatch held the thing out like it was a newborn kitten. The fruit was round and black with swirling violet patterns, almost like the night sky had been trapped inside it.

"I found something interesting," he said proudly.

Ace squinted. "Ohhh... is that a Devil Fruit?"

You leaned closer. "Looks like one. Wonder what it does."

Behind you, a presence stiffened. You glanced over your shoulder.

Teach — good ol' big, laughing Teach — was standing there, his usual grin stretched way too tight. His forehead was shiny with sweat despite the easy fight. When he noticed you looking, he barked out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Heh! Devil Fruit, huh? Zehahaha! Who knows? Maybe it's a lame one, like making your farts turn into explosions!"

Ace snorted. "Wouldn't put it past the sea."

You shook your head, laughing, not noticing the way Teach’s hands clenched at his sides.

That night, the Moby Dick was peaceful. The waves lapped lazily against the hull. Most of the crew was sprawled across the deck or below, snoring, laughing, or drinking.

You had just curled up in your hammock when a strange noise cut through the stillness.

Scuffle.

You bolted upright, instincts screaming. Without a second thought, you grabbed your weapon and padded silently toward the sound.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

There, in the dim lantern light, was Teach — stabbing Thatch through the side.

"Teach?!" you gasped.

Thatch grunted, struggling, but Teach was too strong. His eyes were wild, desperate, like a man possessed.

Without hesitation, you leapt into action.

"THAT'S ENOUGH! TEACH! HOW DARE YOU!?" you roared, slamming into Teach with everything you had.

The two of you crashed into the deck. Your blade flashed; Teach snarled and swung a fist, and you met it with a grimace, blocking the worst of the blow. It was chaos — wood splintered under your feet as you battled, the sounds waking a few of the closer crewmates.

But Teach was slippery. He was fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose, and with one last shove, he pushed you back, making you stumble.

Your foot caught the edge of a broken beam, and before you could react, Teach's fist landed squarely on the side of your head. The world spun instantly, your vision going blurry as the impact sent you crashing to the ground.

“Y/N!” Thatch cried weakly from where he was still slumped, blood dripping from his side.

You blinked hard, trying to regain your senses. A searing pain throbbed in your head, and the edges of your vision blurred even further. You could barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears as your body felt like it was on fire.

Just as you tried to push yourself up, Teach took his chance, grabbing the mysterious fruit from Thatch’s weakening grip. His sinister laugh filled the night air as he turned and bolted into the shadows, vanishing before anyone could stop him.

You couldn’t chase him.

Your body was failing you.

With a grunt, you collapsed to the floor, dizziness consuming you. Your world tilted, everything spinning as blood pooled beneath you. The last thing you heard was the frantic sound of footsteps.

.

.

When you cracked your eyes open, it was to the blinding white of the infirmary ceiling. Everything hurts, your head hurts.

The room was filled with silence, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. Marco sat slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed in exhausted vigilance. He hadn’t left your side in days — barely eating, barely sleeping. Even Ace, who was normally a ball of chaotic energy, was quieter than a graveyard at midnight, sitting against the wall and anxiously tossing a small ball between his hands.

Then, finally, the miracle happened.

You groaned.

Marco was upright so fast he nearly knocked over the chair. "Y/N?!"

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light. Slowly, you turned your head, taking in the sight of Marco — disheveled, wide-eyed, hopeful — and Ace, who had shot to his feet, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

You blinked a few times. A mischievous thought bubbled up. You couldn't resist. Then you tilted your head in confusion.

"...Who are you?" you rasped, your voice hoarse from disuse.

The world froze.

Marco actually stumbled back a step, his mouth parting in horror. "W-What?"

Ace dropped the ball he'd been tossing — it hit the floor with a pathetic little bounce. "No way," he muttered, eyes wide as saucers.

You frowned, genuine confusion painted across your features. "Where am I? What happened? Are you... my doctors?"

Marco choked on air. "Doctors?! w-well, I am! but..." His voice cracked, his wings briefly puffing out in shock. "Y/N—it's me! It's Marco-yoi!"

You gave him a pitying, bewildered look, like he was some delusional lunatic. "I'm sorry, I... I don't know any 'Marco.'"

Ace ran a hand down his face, whispering to himself, "Oh my god, oh my god, Pops is gonna kill us."

Marco dropped to his knees by the bed, panic etched into every sharp line of his face. "Y/N, please, listen! It's me! You—you always called me 'birdbrain'! Remember? And Ace—he's the loud one! You always yell at him!-yoi"

You gave a tiny, skeptical squint at Ace. "He does look like he yells a lot," you mumbled thoughtfully.

Ace put a hand over his heart, wounded. "Hey!"

"Y/N..." Marco reached for your hand, his own trembling. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pulled your hand away, shrinking back against the pillows dramatically. "S-sir!, I don't even know you! Why are you touching me?!"

Ace looked between you and Marco, starting to sweat buckets. "She really doesn't remember us?! Oh my god—I'm not ready to raise someone! I can barely keep my plants alive!"

Marco paled. "Ace, this isn't about raising—"

"We'll have to teach her everything again!" Ace wailed. "How to walk! How to talk! Oh no—do you even remember how to eat?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. "I don't know... can you show me?"

Ace immediately picked up a banana from a nearby fruit basket and started dramatically demonstrating how to eat it, like some crazed tutorial video.

"First you PEEL it," he said loudly, yanking the peel down and waving it in your face. "Then you put the FOOD PART in your MOUTH—"

"Enough!" Marco barked, his voice cracking with desperation.

He turned back to you, gripping the edge of the mattress. His eyes were so blue and so full of heartbreak that you nearly cracked right there.

"Y/N..." he whispered, voice raw. "Even if you don't remember me... I'll stay with you. I'll protect you until you remember. I swear it."

Your throat tightened.

You stared at him for a long, tense moment.

Then you cracked a wicked smile.

"...Dumbass," you wheezed, voice croaky but full of teasing mischief. "Of course I remember you, pineapple head!"

The silence was so thick you could hear a pin drop.

Ace's banana hit the floor.

Marco stared at you, eyes wide, processing... and then, "WHAT?!"

You burst into a fit of raspy laughter, clutching your sides painfully. "Oh my god, the LOOK on your face—!" you cackled, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

"You little—!" Marco sputtered, half lunging at you and half hugging you at the same time.

"You should've seen yourselves!" you wheezed. "Ace was about to teach me how to chew!"

Ace pointed an accusing finger at you. "You gave me a heart attack, Y/N! I was ready to start teaching you object permanence!"

Marco collapsed onto the side of the bed, groaning into your blanket. "I can't believe you did that-yoi. I was ready to—!" His voice broke again.

You smiled softer now, reaching out and brushing his messy blond hair back from his face. "I'm sorry, Marco... couldn't resist. You were just too easy."

He lifted his head, cheeks flushed slightly, a trembling smile forming. "You're the worst," he said hoarsely, voice thick with relief.

"And you love me for it," you teased.

"...Yeah," he whispered back, no hesitation at all.

You blinked.

Your heart fluttered.

Ace, oblivious as usual, was still dramatically re-enacting how he was going to "re-educate" you with flashcards and alphabet songs in the background. You and Marco stared at each other, soft and quiet amidst the chaos, and for a moment, the world was right again.

You were safe. You were alive. You were home.

.

.

Later, once the fuss had died down (and Ace had finally been dragged off to sleep), you found yourself summoned to Whitebeard’s quarters.

The old man sat on his throne-like chair, the steady pulse of his IV a soft, constant background noise.

"You fought well, little one," Whitebeard said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. His gaze was heavy, serious. "But you were lucky."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully.

"Teach..." you began.

Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed.

"He was after that fruit," you said grimly. "It wasn’t random. He knew what it was. And if he went so far as to attack Thatch, his own crewmate..." You shook your head. "He's dangerous. More dangerous than we realized."

Whitebeard grunted, the sound low and displeased.

"A traitor among my sons," he murmured, anger flashing in his gaze. "We will hunt him down."

You hesitated. "He has the Yami Yami no Mi now. I don't know much about it, but I saw enough. That fruit... it's not normal. His power—"

"—Will be immense," Whitebeard finished.

You nodded grimly.

There was a long silence.

"You did well protecting your brother," Whitebeard said at last, his expression softening. "Rest now. Heal. We have a long road ahead."

You bowed again and left, heart heavy but determined.

When you returned to the infirmary, Marco was there, perched like a golden phoenix on the edge of the bed.

He looked up, immediately easing when he saw you.

"Hey, yoi," he said softly.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you limped over and, without asking, slid onto the bed beside him.

Marco froze, startled — and then melted, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders so you didn’t jostle your injuries.

For a while, you just lay there, breathing together.

Finally, you spoke, voice quiet against his chest.

"Thank you."

He tilted his head down, puzzled. "For what-yoi?"

"For staying," you murmured. "For talking to me even when I couldn’t answer. For calling me back."

Marco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"You heard me?" he whispered.

"Every word," you said, smiling faintly. "Even when I was somewhere dark... you were there."

Marco closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You scared me so bad," he whispered, voice raw. "I thought I'd lost you-yoi"

"You didn’t," you promised.

He kissed your forehead, the gentlest brush of lips, barely a touch.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said.

Marco smiled — a real one, full of love and hope and lingering fear.

"Good," he said, pulling you closer. "Because I’m not letting you out of my sight-yoi."

You chuckled softly, your heart full despite the pain.

"Guess you're stuck with me," you teased.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Marco said against your hair.

And for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt truly safe.

Hello, great and wonderful writer. Could you please write something romantic? Y/n is in the Navy. A high-ranking officer handling confidential information. A few years ago, she was recruited, or rather, kidnapped, by Shirohige's pirates. The reason was the younger sister of one of his crew members. Ace Fire Fist, his older brother. I looked at her from across the stone bars of the sea. Ace's head, part of his face, and ribs were bandaged. "You should at least listen to me. Was such violence against your brother necessary?" Go away, you whispered. Shirohige isn't my father. I hate you for bringing me here. Ace and Maco. Tell that scoundrel Phoenix he's a coward. Traitor. Y/n. I'm the daughter of the pirate king and part of the navy. I'll be promoted to Mary Geoise. Do you think they won't come for me because they have me in the Whitebeard? Let me go, Ace. Slightly blushing, ignoring Marco, who was arriving with Ace. Attacking me, attacking my subordinates by betrayal is unforgivable. This time, she glared furiously at Marco.

Please

hii! this is cool! tho i still have a bit of confusion, and i hope i delivered ur rqst well, I hope u like this~

Fractured Allegiance

Captured by the Whitebeard Pirates, Vice Admiral Y/N — daughter of the Pirate King — struggles between her loyalty to the Marines and the unexpected pull of those she once called traitors… especially the ever-patient Marco.

Marco the phoenix x reader

tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 997

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The stone bars between you and your brother were thick, carved from Seastone, humming with a subtle oppressive energy. You could feel it biting into your skin even from this distance, dulling your strength, your spirit, everything that made you you.

Ace was slumped on the other side, ribs and face wrapped in clean white bandages, his fire extinguished for now. You stared at him across the gloom of the ship's brig, arms crossed, uniform jacket rumpled but still bearing the Vice Admiral insignia with stubborn pride.

"You should at least listen to me," Ace muttered, voice cracking. "Was such violence against your brother necessary?"

You laughed — a hollow, bitter sound. "Go away," you said, coldly. Your voice didn't tremble. It hadn't in years.

You shifted your glare past him, past the flickering torchlight, to the familiar figure approaching from the stairs — golden hair, blue eyes sharp but cautious. Marco. Phoenix. The so-called First Division Commander.

You hated the way your chest clenched at the sight of him. You hated them all.

"Tell that scoundrel," you hissed, your eyes locking onto Ace again, "tell that phoenix he's a coward. A traitor. Just like you."

Ace winced, but he didn't rise to defend himself. Not today. Marco's steps slowed, his expression unreadable.

"Y/N," Marco said, voice low, too soft for your taste. "You can hate us all you want. But you're not going back-yoi"

You bristled. "Shirohige isn't my father! My blood runs from the Pirate King," you snapped. "And I'm a Vice Admiral. Marine. I earned my place. I will be promoted to Mary Geoise—" Your voice cracked, but you pushed forward, unwavering. "Do you really think the Navy won't come for me?"

Silence.

Marco's face twitched — just for a second — something like regret flashing behind his calm mask. Ace looked away entirely, staring at the floor, guilt heavy on his shoulders.

They didn’t answer. They didn't have to.

Your heart sank, cold and sharp like a knife between your ribs. They wouldn't come for you. Not when you were Roger’s daughter. Not when you were tainted.

Your fists clenched at your sides. "Let me go," you whispered, the words slicing the air like a blade. "Let me go, Ace. Marco. I'll pretend none of this happened. I'll—"

"You’ll do what?" Marco’s voice, quiet but cutting. You flinched.

"You'll report us?" Marco continued, stepping closer to the bars. His gaze never left yours. "Lead a Buster Call? Burn us alive? Like what happened to O'Hara?"

You bared your teeth. "Don't you dare compare me to the cowards who ordered that slaughter. I have honor. I—"

"You have pride," Marco corrected gently. "Same as Pops. Same as Ace."

You shook your head violently. "I don't need your lectures." The air was stifling. The walls seemed to press in. You hated them. You hated them so much it burned. And yet—

Your chest ached. You didn't know if it was from the Seastone... or the way Marco was looking at you. Not with pity. Not with anger. With something worse. Something almost tender.

You turned away sharply, feeling your cheeks heat against your will. You cursed yourself a thousand times over.

Hours passed. Maybe days. Time meant nothing inside the brig.

Ace brought you food. You didn't touch it. Marco checked your wounds. You slapped his hand away.

Every interaction was a battlefield — silent, brutal, exhausting. You refused to let your guard down. You refused to let them see you as anything but a Vice Admiral. A soldier. A daughter worthy of her father’s legacy.

But at night, when the others slept above deck and the ship swayed gently under the stars, you caught glimpses of Marco sitting across from your cell. Silent. Watching.

You thought at first he was standing guard. But it wasn’t that. It was worse.

Marco didn’t look at you like an enemy. He looked at you like someone he already mourned.

One night, when the bruises on your ribs throbbed too much to hide, you collapsed onto the cold stone floor, breathless.

Before you could bark at anyone, warm hands — frustratingly gentle — slid under your arms, lifting you with ease. You struggled, snarling curses, but Marco didn’t flinch.

"You stubborn little thing," he muttered, voice almost fond. "You're hurt. Stop pretending you're made of stone-yoi"

You froze. He could have mocked you. Could have gloated. Instead, he held you like you were fragile, precious.

You hated it. You hated that you didn't pull away immediately.

When he settled you back against the wall, slipping a folded coat behind your head for comfort, your heart hammered wildly against your ribs.

"You're a fool," you whispered hoarsely. Your throat burned, but the words came anyway. "A fool for thinking this ends well."

Marco smiled faintly — a soft, heartbreaking thing.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But you're not alone anymore, Y/N. Whether you like it or not."

You squeezed your eyes shut. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want the way your body remembered the warmth of his hands, the steadiness of his presence, the way your brother looked at you with aching hope instead of disappointment.

You didn’t want to belong anywhere but the Navy.

And yet… something inside you — broken and bleeding — whispered that maybe, maybe you were so tired of fighting.

The next morning, you sat cross-legged on the cell floor, staring at the iron key Marco had left just within reach.

No one else was around. Ace was above deck. Marco was gone, trusting you with a choice.

Freedom. Or trust.

You could leave. Slip into the waves, find a Marine ship, turn them all in. You could be the perfect Vice Admiral.

Or—

You looked at the open horizon through the porthole. The sea sparkled in the sunlight. Wild. Untamed.

Free.

Your fingers brushed the key. Your hand trembled.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t know which side you were fighting for.

Hello, good morning. I'd like to request a story. Please.

Redheaded Shanks by Y/n Shanks, T/n, and Buggy were apprentices and friends on the Jackson Gold. T/n and Shanks had a strong relationship. After the crew abandoned their young apprentices and the crew disbanded, the trio of boys went their separate ways.

Years later, Shanks, without knowing anything about Y/n, found out she was in the Navy. He couldn't believe his eyes. He knew she hated the Marines. They were the ones who killed her family. So why is she with them?

When he was able to locate her, he found out she was a vice admiral in the Navy. He found her in a bar where his subordinates were eating. When she left to return to the ship, the redhead took her to a dark alley. The woman didn't recognize him, or rather, she didn't want to recognize him. She tried to leave him. Then he kissed her. The woman blushed, you idiot, leave me pushing him. Please.

hehe~ this is a nice idea! i hope this is to your liking!

𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

Years after you went to separate ways, fate and a stubborn redhead force old scars to the surface—and maybe, just maybe, a second chance too.

Shanks x gn! reader | ONE SHOT a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc tags: slight angst, sfw, fluff, reunion, persistent shanks word count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

It wasn’t often that Red-Haired Shanks was left speechless.

But there he was, jaw slack, hand frozen midway to his tankard of ale, staring at the newspaper Benn Beckman slapped onto the table like it personally offended him.

Vice Admiral (Y/N), the youngest rising star of the Navy.

Clear as day. A picture too — you, standing proud in a sharp white coat, sword at your hip, a grim smirk on your lips that Shanks knew wasn’t real.

"You're kidding," Shanks breathed.

"Afraid not," Benn muttered, biting down on his cigar. "They say this one's the 'Steel Lady' of the seas. Ruthless. Brilliant. Deadly."

"Sounds sexy," Lucky Roo said between mouthfuls.

Shanks didn’t laugh. He didn’t move.

You, wearing their uniform? Their colors? The ones who burned your home, slaughtered your family, the reason you once spat the word "Marine" like poison?

It didn’t make sense.

It hurt.

Buggy’s old shrill voice rang in his head — "She'd rather die than join the Navy, you dumbass!"

(Back then, they were just kids — him, Buggy, and you. Apprentices. Family.)

What the hell happened to you, (Y/N)?

Later That Night

The tavern was roaring with laughter, Red-Hair’s men in full swing, clinking mugs and howling songs.

Shanks barely heard them. His single eye was pinned to the entrance.

You walked in like you owned the damn place.

Your Vice Admiral coat fluttered behind you, and you barely spared a glance at the pirates crowding the booths. You ignored the gawking stares, the muttered curses. Just went straight to the bar, ordered a drink like it was any other Tuesday.

Cool as hell, Shanks thought numbly.

You nursed your whiskey quietly. No friends. No entourage.

A thousand memories burned behind his eyes — your laughter, your scowl, your hand tugging his when he was too slow, your voice mocking Buggy into oblivion.

You looked… older now. Stronger. Sharper.

Lonelier.

When you finished your drink, you slid a few beli across the counter, nodded at the bartender, and headed for the door without a backward glance.

Shanks was already moving.

The Alley

You sensed him before he touched you — instincts honed razor-sharp. You whirled around in the dark alley, hand already at your sword.

“Easy, easy," Shanks laughed, stepping out of the shadows, hands raised in surrender. "It’s just me, (Y/N)."

You froze.

For a heartbeat, your face was naked — shock, pain, longing — before you slammed the shutters down.

"I don’t know you," you said flatly, voice cold enough to bite.

Ouch.

Shanks smirked, tilting his head. "Oh, come on. That’s not very nice. After all those years?"

"Move." You sidestepped him.

He moved with you, blocking your path like a giant, infuriating wall of muscle and grinning teeth.

"I’m serious," you snapped, shoving his chest. "Get out of my way."

"You recognized me," he said smugly.

You scowled.

Big mistake.

Because that's when Shanks grabbed you — not rough, but firm, calloused hands catching your wrist and yanking you flush against him. You gasped, instinctively swinging your knee, but he twisted, laughing, spinning you into the wall.

"Still feisty," he chuckled, eyes gleaming.

You gritted your teeth. "Let go, Red Hair, before I make you regret it."

Shanks leaned closer, voice dropping. "Why, Vice Admiral? Scared you might miss me?"

You went still.

God, you hated him sometimes. Hated that he still smelled like salt and sunlight, like stupid wild freedom. Hated that your heart was hammering like it remembered every stupid kiss under stolen sunsets.

"You idiot," you muttered, voice cracking. "Leave me alone—"

He kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Messy.

You stiffened — then shoved him hard, breaking the kiss with a ragged gasp, fists pounding weakly against his chest.

"You— jerk!" you hissed, cheeks blazing, but the punch you threw was sluggish. Shanks caught your wrist again easily, tugging you back into him with a breathless, stupid smile.

"You’re still bad at punching," he teased, forehead pressed against yours.

"You’re still bad at thinking," you grumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He laughed, warm and rough and real.

Goddammit.

You wanted to cry. Or kill him. Or kiss him again.

Maybe all three.

You shoved him back and drew your sword in one smooth motion.

"I told you to leave," you growled, pointing the blade at his nose.

Shanks just grinned, one hand on his sword hilt. "If I beat you, you have to come have dinner with me."

You blinked. "What are you, twelve?"

"Is that a no?"

"You’re on, bastard."

The clash was fast and brutal.

You moved first, slashing low, testing — he parried lazily with the flat of his blade, laughing like he wasn’t even trying.

You scowled and sped up, strikes raining down like thunder. You weren’t a kid anymore. You were a Vice Admiral, for god’s sake. Stronger. Smarter. Meaner.

But Shanks wasn’t a kid either.

He was Shanks. Yonko. Legend.

He dodged your killing blows with maddening ease, ducking, weaving, flicking your sword aside with infuriating little nudges.

"You’re slower than Buggy," he teased.

"Take that back!" you snarled, aiming for his head.

He sidestepped and flicked your forehead with one finger.

You yowled, stumbling back.

"You did not just—!"

"Oooh, (Y/N)'s mad~," Shanks sang, dodging the next slash by an inch.

You tackled him.

Both of you crashed into a heap against the wall, laughing, panting, grappling like idiots.

Shanks pinned you easily, one knee on your stomach, both your wrists caught in one hand.

You glared up at him, chest heaving.

His smile faded, something soft creeping into his eyes.

"You grew up," he said quietly, thumb brushing your pulse.

"You didn’t," you muttered.

He barked a short laugh. "Guess not."

The fight bled out of you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other. Breathing each other in.

You never forgot how he looked — wild, free, infuriating. He never forgot you either — fierce, stubborn, brilliant.

"I missed you," Shanks said roughly, voice cracking.

You swallowed.

"Missed you too, idiot."

He let you go.

You didn’t run.

Instead, you slumped against the wall, arms limp at your sides, feeling like a ship run aground.

Shanks flopped down next to you, legs stretched out, shoulder bumping yours.

"You look good in white," he said, nudging your coat.

You snorted. "You look bad in red."

"Harsh."

"You deserve it."

He laughed again — that same easy, golden laugh — and for the first time in years, you smiled. Really smiled.

.

.

.

"So..." Shanks began after a long, comfortable silence. "Vice Admiral, huh?"

You picked at a loose thread on your glove. "Spy."

He blinked. "Huh!?"

"I’m not really with them," you said, voice dropping. "I’m... gathering information. Playing the long game."

"You’re a double agent?!"

"Keep your voice down, dumbass!"

He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes. "It’s complicated. But yeah. I’d never really join them. I just... needed a way to get close enough to tear them apart."

Shanks looked at you like you hung the moon.

"You’re insane," he said, utterly delighted.

"You're one to talk."

He grinned wide and stupid, then threw his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into a rough side hug.

"I always knew you were the coolest," he said proudly.

You mock-gagged. "Gross. Get off."

"Never."

You didn’t actually pull away.

Instead, you let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat. Steady. Warm. Real.

For the first time in years, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying the weight of the world alone.

Somewhere, across the seas, Buggy sneezed violently. "Ugh," he sniffled, glaring at his crew. "Someone’s talking shit about me! I bet it’s those two idiots! I hate them!" (He didn’t. Not really.)

.

.

.

As dawn broke over the water, you and Shanks sat on the rooftop of a random tavern, legs dangling over the edge.

He was telling you some ridiculous story about losing his hat and arm ("It wasn’t my fault, okay?! There's a kid in East Blue who said the same thing as Captain Roger did, those same words of our captain!") and you were laughing so hard your ribs hurt.

You hadn't laughed like this in years.

Maybe... Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe you could still have something.

Him.

You glanced sideways — at his messy hair, his stupid, wide grin, the scar across his eye you hadn’t dared touch yet.

Maybe you could still have home.

"Hey," you said, voice soft.

He turned to you, eyebrows raised.

You leaned in — quick, reckless — and kissed his cheek.

"You owe me dinner," you said, grinning.

Shanks blinked, stunned for once.

Then he whooped loud enough to wake half the town, tackling you in a bear hug.

Somewhere between the laughter, the yelling, and the ridiculous wrestling match that followed, you realized something.

You weren’t lost anymore.

☆

: a natural luminous body visible in the sky especially at night

stars are known for their beauty more than anything. known as the pretty twinkly dots in the sky that we can only hope to see from afar.

we, as a collective whole, have no wish to see them up close however. because their beauty diminishes as we tread closer, into nothing but a burning ball of fire.

and that's not 'pretty' or 'twinkly'. it's scary and painful.

we don't talk about the life of a star. how tragic it truly is. they are born, forced to burn brighter and brighter. till they burn out, eventually they can't anymore.

the more passionate ones dwindle into nothing but cold, ugly ball of gas. just floating around, begging to be noticed once more.

while the ones who spent their times building their power in the shadows suffer a more severe fate. they explode.

wanting to go out with one last bang. one last attempt to be seen.

but stars aren't stars unless they twinkle right? unless they provide us entertainment in the night sky.

stars mean nothing if they are not pleasing to the eye.

I know this is one of Brandons graduation photos, but I can't help but think of Bryce.

I know that little Brycies mam (mom?) Took her out of school when she was around 8, but for the sake of this, she finished school with the double diva diversion ect, still happening.

If anyone was going to be proud of her for graduating, for losing the boy she gave her literal heart to but surviving until graduation all those years later, you're damn right it's going to be herself. Even if her mom only showed up to pocket anything she could from bystanders and try swoon the principle for cash, she's ultimately what got herself here. Not her mom using /her/ sticky fingers to scrape by on rent and steal from former classmates, no, she's who dragged herself through school knowing that she's the one who did that to Bobby. To the boy she loved, loves? Wherever he is, she misses him and her heart breaks more and more each time she thinks of him.

So yeah, you could say she might have had a sharp breath or two when she sees a familiar face across the bleachers by the entrance, looking right back at her with that damn smile. Her face drops from the practised smile it once was, it's been almost ten years, she doesn't think her heart can take it. The shock. Seeing /Bobby/?

She tries to run after being stuck in place, but she drops. She drops to the ground, a hand clutching over where her heart once was as she gasps for air. For air that won't come. Seems like the heart "Dr" Paul, the /mortician/ gave her, won't last a lifetime after all.

She never was good at avoiding stress.

First Glance (Part Four)

The moment the both of you landed on Tatooine, you were hit by the air-thinning heat and seemingly endless sand. Well, at least now you know why Anakin hates sand. As you both hop out, Anakin leads you into the tiny hut of his house.

Following him, you can see a droid, one that was very obviously unfinished; loose wires, no plates and a very bad paint job, as the droid was a charcoal black. "Oh! Hello there! I'm C-3PO human-cyborg relations." The droid speaks in a sort of Victorian way. Anakin smiles at the droid. "Nice to see you, again." It takes the droid a moment to realize. "Master Ani! It has been so long!" 3PO cries out happily. "Who is this?" The droid inquires, turning slightly to you. "A friend of mine. A close one." You turn to 3PO, smiling warmly. "I'm Y\N. A padawan."

"A padawan? Hello!" Anakin walks into the doorframe, holding your hand to lead you through. "What is it now?" A voice grumbled frustratingly, only to see a man in a wheelchair, no more than fifty, wheeling his chair to the entryway, where you and Anakin stand. "What are- Anakin?" The man questions. "Lars, is that your name?" Anakin says, huffing slightly. "Uh yes. Are you Anakin Skywalker?" The man queried once more. "Yes." Anakin answered simply. "Oh. I've heard of you." He wheels his chair back more and more into the kitchen, looking over his shoulder before gazing back at you both.

"I've come here for my mother, where is she?" Just as Anakin had asked the burning question he had spent nights wondering of, a woman walked in, a woman with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes. "Cliegg, I-" She stopped short and the sight of you and Anakin, two Jedi trainee's. "Anakin, this is my wife, Aika. Aika, this is Shmi's son, Anakin." Aika nodded slightly, walking closer to her husband. "Hello." She greets softly. Anakin nods and then studies Cliegg once more.

"Where is my mom? And why are you talking about her like that?" Anakin demands, his tone rising slowly. You place a hand on his shoulder, attempting to calm him down. "You'd better sit down." Warns Cliegg, motioning to the couple of chairs in front of him. Sitting down directly next to each other, Anakin's eyes, now a piercing blue, stared down Cliegg, sort of like a prey. "When Watto sold your mother, I bought her. We fell in love and got married, and one night, once I was sleeping, Shmi was stolen, taken. I looked and looked and looked, and couldn't find anything, and with my leg and the fact these people could be anywhere, Anakin, I-" Cliegg was interrupted by Anakin's now booming voice. "By who?!"

Aika flinched and gripped Cliegg's shoulder, her eyes darting from Anakin to yours, her blue eyes frightened and startled. Cliegg takes a moment to answer. "The sandpeople." Anakin grits his teeth. You look at Cliegg for a second, "How long has it been since Shmi was taken?" Cliegg takes a sharp breath. "Months." Anakin let's out a low scoff and then heads outside, you take a moment before following him.

Catching up to him, you grasp his hand in yours, and he lets out a low sigh, visibly relaxing. "I don't understand... what would they want with her?" Anakin questions softly, taking you into an embrace. "I don't know." You say in response just as gently. "I have to find her." He announces to you, the determination in his voice evident. "What? Anakin, don't." He breaks away from the hug. "Why not? I don't have the right to find my own mother? To know what happened to her?" His voice cracks slightly, hiding his rage.

"Of course you do! But, what if she doesn't want you to know?" You argue, voice rising as well. "Why wouldn't she want me to?! She is MY mother! You don't even know her." He practically shouts at you, you close your mouth and lean back, completely silent. He sighs audibly and then turns away, running his hands through his hair. You, completely silent, just walks away, back inside. Anakin takes a moment to compose himself, but instead of apologizing, he makes an impulsive decision.

Checking to see if his lightsaber was still on his hip, he hops into his speeder and then zooms away. Hearing the noise, you run to see what it was, at the sight of Anakin zooming away, the feeling brings a strange sense of hurt. What was the point? Of coming here? If Anakin was just going to zoom off from you, as if you had a disease or something?

.

.

.

A\N: Cliffhanger! Part five out tomorrow, and that is supposed to be the falling action of this series, so it may take a bit to make.

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Happiness and Tears (Part Four)

Jack looks from Penny to Puttnam, his expression pleading. "Listen, I'm not going through with this. Clay is my friend!" Penny rolls her eyes and Puttnam looks away. "I'm not doing this.." Penny looks away and then snaps her head back. "Look, you would still be sent to jail either way. It was your idea." Penny argues, her eyes on fire.

Clay's eyes, the only part of his body he can move due to the anesthesia, flicker frantically back and forth. "What the.... how can this happen?! What about Y\N?! We're gonna get married!" Clay screams, but it's all in his head. His jaw is completely paralyzed. Clay could feel the tears pricking in his eyes, the thought of dying, like this... You'd never know. How can people you've known for a good while be so heartless? The feeling of nausea stopping Clay from attempting to fight the paralision.

"Penny, he's not even awake!" Jack practically screams, his eyes desperate but determined. "How could you actually carry this out if he's not awake? He doesn't know!" As Clay listens, he can feel himself moving, his hands coming to his face, ripping off the tape on his eyes, removing the IV's and sitting up. All while Jack, Puttnam and Penny argue.

Clay stands up, his eyes red and puffy as the tears settle and reduce, replaced by pure rage. He looks down at the surgery table, to see himself, eyes open and wide, but body paralyzed on the table, chest open. Clay abandons the sight to circle around a pleading Jack, "How could you have come up with this idea?!" Clay demands, but he knows Jack cannot hear him. With a heavy and remorseful sigh, Clay sulks out of the room, his feet hitting the cold, hospital tile floor with a sense of hopelessness. But the hopelessness is not why he's walking down this hallway for, no, it's you.

Clay makes his way to the waiting sections, and he sees you as well as his mother, you both were sitting next to each other, your bag clutched tightly in your hands, so much so your knuckles were white. His mother was in no better condition; her face was red and puffy, her lipstick slightly smeared, no doubt due to how many times she's wiped her forehead in pure agony. Clay approaches you, his heart filled with nothing but love and helplessness. He slowly places his hand on your cheek, trying his best to manage a soothing caress, but he could see his hand shaking as it made contact with your angelic skin. "I'm sorry." He whispers, bending down in front of you, taking your hand in his. "I'm sorry we couldn't live the life we wanted, the life you deserved." He squeezed your hand, the tear in his eye falling to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Y\N..." Clay looks at you, his eyes as remorseful as he reminisced his visions of everytime he ever saw you. His eyes frantically snapping shut as he leaned back, sitting on the tile in front of you, his knees up to his chest as his hands tangle in his hair. Sobbing, he mutters sorry over and over. His head jerks up, his eyes stopping at his mother as he tries to imagine what his mother would say. What would she say? "Remember, Clayton, you are nothing like your father." No, that's not what he needs.. "Clayton, where do you think you would be if you did not have to suffer some kind of pain?"

Was that it? Clayton stood up, spun around and practically ran back to the operating room. ".....Inject it." Penny's voice commanded. Clayton threw the door open and walked back to see himself on the operating table, again. Jack took the heart, a syringe handed to him by Puttnam and hesitated shortly before injected it. Clay's anger was fueled yet again.

Your POV

You have been waiting for what seemed like forever, before you see Jack approach you, and you jump up, meeting him halfway."Is he alright? Is he safe? Please tell me he's okay, please.." Jack's face was solemn, despite your best attempts at pleading. Lilith did not get up, but she watched closely. "I'm sorry, Y\N. I really am." Your world crashed. Everything became distorted as Jack went to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. You sunk to your knees, hand in your hair. Lilith rose to her feet, striding over to the both of you. "Listen here. You get back in there and save my son." She commands, voice a deadly low. "I'm sorry, ma'am. We can't. It was a bad heart." Lilith's teeth clench. "I said, go save my son." She says, her voice as firm and stern as ever. Jack just stands there for a moment, before trying again, but Lilith turns to you. "Come here." She commands and you get to your feet and follow her. "Get me one of Clay's pill bottles." She says, extending her arm.

"What? M-Miss Beresford, I c-" Stopped short by Lilith's intense gaze as she turned her eyes to yours. "Now." She growls. Your hands shake before reaching down into your bag and grabbing a random pill bottle, handing it entirely to her. She takes it, looks at you once more before going to the cafeteria area. "One coffee." She places the right amount of money on the counter and goes to a table, sitting down and resting her head against the pure white concrete pillar conveniently placed next to her.

Jack doesn't bother staying for any longer, sensing that you need time to yourself and heads back to the operating table. He was ashamed of himself. More than he'd ever been. He killed a man. An innocent one. One he had befriending, one who was scheduled to be married. Just starting his life, getting ready. A tear prickles at the sight of Clay, eyes lifeless under the tape, and chest opened, the heart he poisoned not beating. How could he have done this? For the debt, to repay it. Penny smiles at him, Puttnam going outside to find Dr. Lupin, still on the phone somewhere near the waiting area.

"You did good. No one will know." Penny promises him, the smile vibrant on her twisted face. Jack knows, and the words stab his heart like he stabbed the syringe into the perfectly healthy heart that was supposed to help Clay. Lilith was handed her coffee, and she looked at the pill bottle in her hands, before opening it, and popping one. Then two. Three. Four. The whole bottle. Then drinking the coffee. It was all only a matter of time. In minutes, Clay was looming over his lifeless body again, shaking his head.

He began walking home, leaving the hospital, and once he did, everything came back to him. The epiphany of knowing he died because a group of doctors he trusted planned all along to kill him. He opened the door to his house, and began ascending the stairs, curling up on his bed, his hands folded below between head and pillow.

As his eyes slowly closed and sleep consumed him, he heard a familiar voice. "Hey, Clay." His mother said, and Clay's eyes opened immediately. "What are you doing here?" He looked at his mother's figure in the bedside chair, a soft smile on her face. "You need to come back." Clay scoffed lightly. "How? In case you haven't noticed, I'm dead, Ma." Lilith looks at him seriously. "And what about Y\N? Are you just going to leave her all alone?" Clay frowns. "How, Mom? How can I go back to her if my heart is poisoned?" Lilith smiles, leaning forward in her chair. "I'm here. You go back. Use my heart." Clay stops, his eyes gazing into hers intently. "Mom...."

You sit down and then see the doctors rush out, and they stop at you. "Where's Lilith?" They question at once and then stop as they see Dr, Neyer, Lilith's surgeon boyfriend, walks out with Lilith's dead body. "What happened?!" Penny questions but Dr. Neyer pushes passed and starts for the Operating Room, pulling up another table, placing Lilith on it and getting ready in his doctor attire, squeezing on his gloves and mask, he uses a scalpel to open Lilith's chest. "And what do you think you're doing?" Puttnam says, wanting to step in. Penny stops him and glares at Jack, before they both began to make a break for it. Jack stays for a few more seconds and then heads to his office.

Dr. Neyer transfers Lilith's heart into Clay and the poisoned one into Lilith. Dr. Lupin comes back inside. "What'd I- Oh, hello!" He says with a bit of a chuckle, oblivious to the situation. "Get over here." Dr. Neyer instructs and Dr. Lupin complies, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves and putting them on. "Ready the electric shock." Dr. Neyer instructs, and once more, Lupin complies. Dr. Neyer diligently works on rewiring the heart into the empty spot of Clay's chest. A minute or so later, he notices the heart isn't beating, he instructs Lupin to initiate the electric shock and it doesn't work. "Again." Neyer commands and the electric shock is initiated again, and again and over again, boosted up and then seemingly not working. "I'm sorry, sir... he's gone." Lupin says solemnly. But Neyer demands the electric shock again.

The police are called to the scene, as you call them, under the suspicion something was not right. Especially after seeing Dr. Carver and Dr. Puttnam bolting down the staircase together. The police arrive and search, to your surprise, the two doctors are caught and arrested, apparently after a police offer separately talked to Jack, who spilled everything. Hearing the news stopped your heart, and you couldn't believe ANY of it. But there it was, as clear as day, the evidence and confession.

Minutes after the police arrest Penny, Puttnam and Jack, Dr. Neyer emerges, a happy but tired smile on his face. "We did it." He announces to you, and you tilt your head before realizing; Lilith asked for those pills so she could could save Clay. Tears ran hot down your cheeks as you hugged the surgeon. It was over. An hour later, you were allowed to see Clay.

"Hey, gorgeous." He smiles and you sniffle, wrapping a gentle arm around him, kissing him feverishly. "What's wrong?" He asks, but you decide not to tell him. Not now. "I love you." You tell him, kissing him once more and intertwining your hands together on the recovery bed. "So much." He smiles at you, squeezing your hand. "I love you more."

*2 1\3 hours after initially being pronounced dead by doctors Harper, Carver and Puttnam, Clay would survive his heart transplant.*

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This took an hour and a half!

Tags:

@darthgloris

@sweetcheesecakesblog

@haydenpookiebear

Them Falling in Love with you Scenarios

A\N: This includes Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker and Anakin Skywalker. (I might add Kylo Ren if you guys want.)

Obi-Wan: You were his first Padawan before Anakin, and you two had a great relationship. Trust, love and compassion. Obi-Wan had felt as though you were special and strived to protect you always. After taking on Anakin, he had his hands full therefore the communication was very limited, including times where you guys didn't talk at all for a specific day or two. However, Obi-Wan always apologized and told you what had happened in order for you to get some closure and for the two of you to move on with it.

He knew he loved you when he saw how long you were willing to talk to him and how long he was willing to stay on for you. And how much he would risk in order to ensure your safety.

Luke Skywalker: A fellow farmer on Tatooine in the field of moisture, you two had a good amount of things in common: wanting to get off Tatooine and explore and that you both hated farming. Luke more often than not, would find himself staring at you whenever he desperately needed an answer, he would look at how gorgeous and smooth your skin was and how beautiful your hair seemed to be, everything about you made him feel like living was worth it. Of course he took you with him on Jedi trainings and everything just because the concept was foreign, he knew that you wanted to explore and because you were his best friend, of course he wasn't going to leave you.

In a battle with Stormtroopers you got hit and swarmed repeatedly with blasters and almost died, Luke, thankfully, was there to slice them before they could do any more damage to you. He immediately took care of you, apologized profusely and cried. That's when he realized he loved you, when you almost died.

Anakin Skywalker: You and Ani had been friends as long as you could remember, coming over to Shmi's for a chance to play, talk, whatever. You and Anakin were inseparable, sort of like Velcro. Where he goes, you go, what he does, you do. And so it continued like that for years, once he became a Jedi, he insisted you be trained as well, and here you were, a Jedi Master, trained under the Anakin Skywalker.

In his anger and rebellion, followed by his descent to the Dark Side, he almost killed you, and although Obi-Wan had saved you by cutting his arms\legs off, you still felt yourself die with him, and that's when he realized he loved you.

Unexpected Interest

Mizu x Male!Prostitute!Reader Summary: Mizu came to Madame Kaji for one thing, to know where to find Abijah Fowler and in order to do so, Madame Kaji requires Mizu to do a mission for her; to kill a girl who is living in suffering with a powerful man. As Mizu waits for the time for her to do her mission, someone knocks on the door. Mizu does not want company, but perhaps she will like this person’s company?

★☽A/N: Blue Eyed Samurai is such a good series! I’m just a bit shocked by the amount of adultery the series had- It kept on flashing me :crying:

Contents: FLUFF - SLIGHT ANGST

⭒☆━━━☆⭒

Mizu came to Madame Kaji for one thing, to know where to find Abijah Fowler after her interaction with the man who hides the white man. And in order to get the information she desires, Madame Kaji requires Mizu to do a mission for her; to kill a girl, Kinuyo, who is living in suffering with a powerful man that controls everyone in town, he was named “Boss Hamata.”

As Mizu waits for the time for her to do her mission, someone knocks on the door of her room. She felt pissed. When she waited for Madame Kaji a few hours later, many prostitutes came to her and she declined all of them. She sighed in frustration and quickly gave a response in a stern and harsh tone, “I requested no company.”

The person on the other side spoke in a soft and gentle voice. “Madame thought we could offer you some sake, sir.” Now that was interesting. A male voice? Could it a male prostitute? Though, thinking back, she did see some male prostitutes, fat men. She kinda felt disgusted by the amount of male clients, and even the male prostitutes. Mizu sighed again. “You may come in,” she answered.

She heard the doors open and there was a male prostitute. But the male wasn’t what she expected. He was young, around her age, and was quite attractive. She couldn't stop staring at him. 

He didn't seem to mind and continued to pour the sake into a cup. It was like a plate, but had the ability to hold liquid, such as sake.

Mizu felt intrigued by the prostitute. “What's your name?” She asked with a monotone tone. The male didn't respond, that was pissing her off a bit. "I asked a question," she said sternly. “Y/N, sir." he smiled softly, still not facing her.

She repeated the name in her name, as if she didn't want to forget the name. She felt the name was fitting for him

She continued to watch him, feeling somewhat intrigued. His eyes were covered by a thin white cloth, tied behind head. She wondered why he wore it. She thought it could be a sensory issue or he could be blind and prefers if his clients had no knowledge of it. But she quickly removed the second theory when she saw him looking at her through the cloth, turning his body to face towards her and give her the sake.

He bowed his head and held the cup up, the sake moving slightly. Mizu felt suspicious, truly. Her curiosity and suspicion lingered. She hesitantly took the cup from his hands and he lifted his head up.

She took note of the way he looked at her. Despite the disadvantage of no eyesight, he seemed to be looking at her with curiosity. “Your eyes..” She felt surprised to hear this. So he could see through them? She thought curiously. “Whatever clever insult you thought of will not be as clever as you thought it would be,” she said with a slight grim face. She was used to people calling her names, like “mixed breed” for an example. She thought he would be no different to the rest of them.

That's why she was shocked when he said “they're beautiful, a color I've never seen outside of the sky and sea” with a smile on his face. She was also surprised he could see her eye color through the white cloth, she concluded that it must be thin, able to hide his eyes but still gave him the ability to see. “That's.. New,” she muttered out, drinking the sake. It wasn't anything fancy and overly good sake, but it's good considering the place must have good funds from their clients.

“Is it? Though do tell me why your eyes are the color they are?” He asked with his head tilted to the side. Mizu stayed silent, a solemn face displayed on her face. She wasn't proud of being mixed. After all, she was always called names and such for her mixed race, her eye color is a clear indication that she was mixed. She was somewhat shocked that he didn’t realize that on his own. She hated that she was different, mixed, she blamed her white father, one of the white men who came to Japan and had her with her mother.

 "It's none of your business," Mizu replied coldly, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I would like to know. If you wish, I will leave once you tell me why your eyes are the color they are," Y/N compromise.

Mizu sighed heavily, taking a deep breath before finally relenting. "My father... he was one of those white devils who came to Japan." Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, her hands clenched into fists beneath the table. "He raped my mother and left me here, cursed with these eyes. I've spent my entire life trying to erase his name from existence."

Her gaze shifted away from him, unable to meet his eyes directly. "Now, please leave me alone."

But the male prostitute continued to sit there, staring at her despite his eyes being covered. “I said to leave me alone.” her tone was harsh. Nothing, he continued to sit there. She turned to look at him. She saw the same blank face he had the entire interaction they had. “Are you deaf too?” Her voice caused him to flinch by the sudden harshness in her tone. “No..” He responded softly.

“Then leave.” Reluctant, he nodded and turned his back to exit the room. Something in her didn’t want him to leave, something about him intrigued her, despite that she found him annoying, his company was refreshing. She always traveled alone until recently. Perhaps she’ll allow him to stay a bit more.

Just before he could take a step outside the room, her voice echoed from her side of the room. He turned to see her, slightly blushed, with a slight flustered face, looking at him. “You can stay.” She turned her head away to not meet his concealed eyes. Her reaction was something he was surprised at. Her demeanor before was utterly different than her behavior now. Perhaps she did enjoy his company and felt alone without him? However, he did catch glances at his companion earlier when he was entertaining another client.

The male prostitute smiled, feeling fairly relieved that she enjoyed his company. Something about her. Considering that Y/N didn’t know Mizu’s true gender, he felt she was a respectable man, unlike the men that go in and out of the brothel. She was different.

“Very well.” He smiled.

⭒☆━━━☆⭒

A Mother's Love

Dabi x Female!Reader [PLATONIC] Summary: Dabi didn't grow up with a good relationship with his mother, always focused on the attention from his father. Because of this, he lacked a mother figure, but when he joined the League of Villains, someone became his mother figure.

★☽A/N: Ahh!! It has been so long since I wrote something like this! I’m currently getting piled with school and club activities so that’s probably why– I hope you guys didn’t forget me:(( 

Contents: FLUFF - Slight angst? - Reader seen as a mother figure

☆════ ⋆★⋆ ════☆

The League of Villains, a villain organization filled with powerful villains that threaten to destroy the hero society. An organization that was founded by the most powerful villain, a villain who could rival All Might, All For One and his successor, Tomura Shigaraki. People from different backgrounds, bad trauma, gathered together into one group with goals of their own but had one goal in common, to destroy the hero society.

But the league didn’t expect to have such a motherly figure heal their wounds.

A female villain, Y/N L/N, known as Crimson, fitting name for her blood manipulative Quirk. A 31 year old woman who was wronged by society. People were afraid of her, but not the members of the League. The members see her as a motherly figure, who cares for them.

One of the people who really saw her as a mother was Toga. She loves whenever she would take the time to braid the girl’s hair or to put her hair into buns in the mornings. And she loved how she would come up with various ideas to style her hair and they would spend time laughing and such. After being close for months, Toga started to even call her mama, because of the absence of a loving mother. Toga felt so safe around her.

Who really felt comfortable with her was Dabi. Despite the black-haired didn’t wanting to admit it, it felt so nice to have someone caring for him. After all, Dabi didn't grow up with a good relationship with his mother, always focused on the attention from his father. Because of this, he lacked a mother figure, but when he joined the League of Villains, she became his mother figure.

What was more embarrassing to him was that he even called her mother once! It was during the U.A Camp invasion. Everyone was gathering around and he saw as one by one went to the rendezvous. As Y/N came back, he asked if she was okay, clearly showing that he cared for her well-being. He didn’t realize what he said until he saw the shocked faces of his comrades. He said, “Are you okay, mother?”

He could see the shocked face of Y/N and felt himself blushing in embarrassment. “Pretend you didn’t hear me!!” He demanded, clearly ready to kill anyone who was going to talk about it during that moment. Everyone just laughed and chuckled but the man didn’t like it at all. He looked at Y/N who chuckled softly, “I don’t mind you calling me mom, darling,” She reassured.

Dabi continued to see her as his mother figure and would refer to her as such. Only in private, of course. During missions and such, he would refer to her as her villain name. But whenever he called her “mother” and would get teased for it but by now, he didn’t care.

Y/N acted like a mother, a mother that Dabi never took the chance to have. He could’ve had a better relationship with his mother but he didn’t take the chance. He regretted not taking the chance, but he was somehow thankful that he didn’t. Or else, he wouldn’t be able to have a mother figure like Y/N.

Dabi would constantly get nightmares which causes him to be tired most nights. As much as he didn’t want anyone to know, he knew that Y/N knew. She would always look at him carefully, as if knowing he didn’t get to sleep the night before. “I’m fine,” he spat harshly every time at her, but she knew that he was lying. She could see that in his eyes, the tired look and how even less energetic he was being.

That’s how she started to come into his room to check up on him. She would come to his room every night in the league’s old hideout, since he stayed there due to no other place to live, and she would ask him how he was doing. He would always say he didn’t need her coming in every night, but a part of him felt really happy to have someone caring for his well-being.

Sometimes, if he mustered up the courage, would ask her to sing for him. Of course, he was blushing and embarrassed after the words came out. But Y/N didn’t mind and just chuckled before saying, “Of course, sweetheart. C’mon.” With a smile, she would make him lay down with his head on her lap. She would play with his hair and start to sing.

She had an angelic voice, a lovely voice that could put anyone to sleep. And that’s what he did. Every time she would sing for him before sleeping, he would be fast to sleep with no nightmares. It’s as if her songs were a spell to keep nightmares away. She would slowly put him in bed with a blanket placed on him. She kissed him on his forehead and left the room. But before she left the room, she would always say, in an gentle voice,

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

☆════ ⋆★⋆ ════☆

You’re safe, little one.

Eri x GN!Reader [Platonic]

Summary: Whenever Mr. Aizawa, Mirio, and Deku are all busy, Eri is left alone with her nightmares and she’s forever grateful that Mx. Y/N is there to help her with her terrors.

★☽A/N: This idea just popped up in my head, so I’m sorry if it’s crappy. 

Contents: Fluff, a bit of angst.

Disclaimer - You will be referred to as Mx/teacher [Name]. Age: 20-28

Your quirk is called “Calm” which allows you to calm others (like calm someone down when their angry, sad, way too excited) and it’s useful to use for your defense, you can calm down villains (who are pumped with excitement and vengeance) and with them without their adrenaline, you are able to knock them down! It only works whenever you make eye contact or physical contact. Overuse of quirk would lead to mood swings and possibly outbursts! Your hero name: The calming hero: Starling.

————•°•✿•°•————

Eri was such a sweet girl. You were one of the lucky people in UA to meet her while she was accompanying Aizawa, and she took a liking to you immediately because of your calm appearance and how you were gentle with her when you first met.

You’re probably the very few people that she feels comfortable with. She would come to you whenever she accidently activated her quirk a bit, worried and scared to hurt someone with it. With your quirk, she was able to calm down and stop her quirk usage.

She often visits you at night, crying about her nightmares. Since you are staying at the teachers’ dorm most nights (NO RENT!! WOOO!!) and she was staying there as well, it was easier for her to seek help.

One of these nights was the worst.

────── ꔫ ──────

“Y-Y/N…?” Eri softly whispered, worried if you were already sleeping and that she was bothering you. She walked in your room slowly, the floorboards creaking each step as she walked up to your bed. Grumbles and mumbles came from your mouth before opening your eyes and turning your head to the side.

“Mmm… Eri..? Why are you awake right now?” You asked with a soft, hoarse voice. Eri mumbled something and you could only make out the word “nightmare” and “can’t sleep.”

You turned your body with your back on the bed before sitting up right and turning your tired body towards Eri’s direction. “C’mere..” You softly gestured, she gladly obligated and took a few steps towards your bed before sitting herself on the bed with a bounce.

Eri turned her body towards you and crossed her legs, her hands shivering with fear. You turned your body around, crossing your legs as well and scooted a bit closer towards her. “Can you tell me what happened in that nightmare of yours?” you asked with a soft hushed voice which put Eri at ease a bit.

“I-I saw M-Mr. Deku on the ground..bleeding a l-lot- and Mr. Lemillion- He- He was stabbed by- some spike.. A-And M-Mr. Aizawa! He- He was so pale-'' Eri stopped as sobs started to form, you grabbed her and put her on your lap, hugging her softly. “I’m right here dear, it’s ok..let it out,” you rest assured her, she started pouring her tears and sobbed on your shoulder, harder than usual. “M-Mr. Aizawa- Mr. Deku- Mr. Lemillion, they looked so pale, it was so gory...and I hated it! W-What if I did that? W-Would it be my fault…?” She hiccuped. She never wanted to hurt them! They saved her and she was forever grateful for that, what if she listened to Overhaul? Maybe he won’t go and break out and kill them? (She doesn’t know that Overhaul can’t use his quirk again)

“It is never your fault, they never died. Mr. Aizawa is probably sleeping in his yellow caterpillar sleeping bag or on patrol, Mr. Deku and Mr. Lemillion are probably training or sleeping, they are just fine Eri,” you rest assured so softly and calmly, using your quirk to calm her down. “Overhaul will never hurt you, Mr. Deku, Mr. Lemillion, Mr. Aizawa, ever again,” you finished as you heard her soft snores of slumber. You grabbed her with a light grip and placed her softly beside you, tucking her in your bed’s blanket before snuggling up beside her.

“I will always protect you…All of us will..” you said calmingly as you brushed her hair softly before closing your eyes and finally falling asleep.

Eri and the hero Starling slept through the night with each other’s company, Eri’s forever grateful to Starling for helping her through her nightmares when no one could.

────── ꔫ ──────

~ Aizawa was so worried when he didn’t find Eri in her bed, he looked everywhere! And ended up finding her snuggled up, with her head on your chest.

~ Aizawa for once smiles, he got a soft spot for Eri and his students.

~ By the time you both wake up, Aizawa would thank you for taking care of Eri when he was away. With you nodding in “your welcome”, and he smiled slightly.

~ Deku would be so happy to see Eri in a very good mood during the morning. When he asked what made her so happy, she said you helped her with her nightmares and he would just smile and hug her softly, which she returned the gesture as well! (I think he would have a few tears of joy in his eyes, he’s a soft boy when he’s not fighting :D)

~ Just as Deku, Mirio would be so happy to see Eri in a very good mood during the morning and he decided to create a little playdate with him, you, Deku, and Eri! It was just a small hangout at the mall, but Eri enjoyed it so much!

~ Mirio knows you very well, he would call you to calm down Tamaki whenever he has his panic attacks. He would instantly know that you helped Eri with her nightmares. During the hangout, he whispered to your ear while Eri and Deku were talking happily, “thank you L/N Sensei, for helping Eri and Tamaki.” Which made your heart ache with such joy that someone admired your kind heart. <33

————•°•✿•°•————

★☽A/N: I absolutely love Eri, she’s so sweet! I would protect her with all I got if I was in the anime (even if I won’t get a quirk!). I really hope you guys loved it!! <33

Rivalry: Iwaizumi Part 2

The office door clicked shut behind you, tension coiled tight in your shoulders like a spring ready to snap. The argument with Iwaizumi had dragged on longer than either of you expected, every word exchanged like a verbal spar, blades dulled by professionalism but no less sharp.

Coach Fuki Hibarida sat behind his desk like a man who’d already fielded more than his share of chaos before lunch. His fingers steepled under his chin, his gaze sharp as it flicked between you and Iwaizumi. The air in the office was thick enough to choke on.

“I appreciate both of your passion,” he said finally, voice flat and uncompromising. “But if you keep at it like this, the only thing we’re going to accomplish is splitting the damn team in two.”

You leaned forward in your chair, back ramrod straight, the fire in your voice only barely tempered. “With all due respect, Coach, I’m not trying to split anything. I’m trying to protect these athletes from outdated training philosophies that completely disregard their medical history.”

Iwaizumi’s jaw flexed, arms crossed so tight across his chest it looked like he was trying to restrain himself from lunging across the room. “And I’m trying to prevent injuries before they happen. Without a baseline of strength, flexibility means jack shit.”

“Tell that to Sakusa’s ACL.”

He scoffed, sitting forward just enough that your knees almost touched. “You think I don’t know their files? I’ve worked with these guys longer than you’ve even been part of this team.”

“And yet your ‘expertise’ almost put Yaku back in a brace.”

“Enough!” Hibarida barked, and the room dropped into silence.

His eyes moved from Iwaizumi to you and back again. “You’re both right.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and begrudging.

“I’m signing off on your proposed changes,” he continued, nodding toward you. “Flexibility and personalized conditioning will take precedence moving forward. But Iwaizumi—your job is to ensure the training stays rigorous and strategic. Adjust programs for injury history. No exceptions.”

There was a long pause.

Iwaizumi’s voice, when it came, was stiff as granite. “Understood.”

Hibarida’s chair creaked as he stood, clearly eager to be done with the two of you. “I want the updated plan submitted by Friday. Together.”

You stood without looking at Iwaizumi. But as you passed him, shoulder nearly brushing his, you said under your breath, “Try not to screw this one up.”

His grunt of irritation followed you out the door.

--

Iwaizumi stood at the front of the gym, clipboard clutched tightly in his calloused hands, the glossy finish damp where his fingers curled. The fluorescent lights hummed above the Olympic training gym, casting cold, clinical shadows over the rows of elite athletes stretching and rotating through warm-ups. Despite the early hour, the place buzzed with restless energy.

But Iwaizumi wasn’t paying attention to any of that.

His eyes tracked every movement with practiced detachment, but his thoughts were far from the court. A dull headache had taken up residence behind his eyes, and the usual rhythm of morning practice only aggravated it. The pressure building in his temples had nothing to do with lack of sleep—and everything to do with you.

He was still pissed.

“We’re holding off on the strength circuits until the new plan is finalized,” he said, voice clipped, tone leaving no room for discussion.

Heads turned.

Atsumu blinked up from the mat where he’d been balancing his ankle on his opposite knee. “Wait, what? We’re not lifting today?”

Bokuto, halfway through a forward lunge, perked up instantly. “What happened to ‘no excuses’? Did we slip into an alternate universe or something?”

Even Sakusa raised a brow. “Did she win the argument?”

Yaku’s smirk was slow, subtle. “Feels like she won.”

Iwaizumi’s jaw clenched so tightly it made the muscle near his ear twitch. “I said they’re on hold,” he growled, tone sharpening. “New guidelines. End of discussion.”

“Wow,” Suna muttered, droll as ever. “He’s actually mad.”

“I will make you run drills until your legs fall off,” Iwaizumi snapped, voice a low bark. “Stretch. Now.”

That shut them up.

A beat of tense silence passed before the team shifted into their warm-ups. The sounds of light chatter and sneakers resumed, but the atmosphere was noticeably stiffer. The undercurrent of curiosity and amusement didn’t go unnoticed by Iwaizumi, but he shoved it down beneath years of discipline.

The rest of the session moved efficiently. Too efficiently. Every minute felt like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

By noon, the players filtered out of the gym in loose, staggered groups, sweat-darkened shirts clinging to lean muscle and jerseys half-hanging from relaxed shoulders. The air in the locker hallway was humid with effort, and banter floated lazily through the corridor.

Bokuto swung a towel behind his neck like a cape, laughing at something Suna had deadpanned. Sakusa lingered by the door for a beat, casting Iwaizumi a thoughtful glance before slipping out.

“Wonder if she’ll sign my cast when he snaps,” Aran muttered, nudging Hinata, who bit back a laugh.

Iwaizumi said nothing.

He turned on his heel, movements stiff, and marched toward the small office tucked off the side of the gym.

The door shut with more force than necessary.

He dropped the clipboard onto the desk. Papers slipped free, fluttering to the surface like discontent made manifest. The training revisions glared up at him.

And all he could see was your face.

The way you’d challenged him in Hibarida’s office—calm but cutting, your words sharpened like scalpels. The way the coach had leaned in your favor, as if your voice carried a gravity his didn’t. It wasn’t that he couldn’t accept change—he wasn’t stupid. He knew you were right about the numbers. About the science. About the goddamn knees.

But it burned anyway.

It was personal. He couldn’t separate the two. Not when you looked at him like that, like every disagreement was some gleeful test of willpower. Like you were waiting for him to crack so you could claim the final point.

Iwaizumi dragged a hand through his hair, sighing harshly. His shoulders were still tight from holding his voice steady all morning.

He sat down with a grunt, chair creaking beneath him as he opened his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised but reluctant.

He didn’t want to change the entire system. Didn’t want to concede. But the damn truth was already there, glaring back at him from between the numbers and patient logs.

So he typed. Adjusted. Modified.

And when he hit send, the sting of it settled low in his stomach.

The phone lit up before he even closed the tab.

You.

Of course.

He stared at the screen, jaw tight, teeth grinding as your name lit up the caller ID.

Twice it rang. He let it.

On the third, he answered—no greeting, no softness. Just barked, “What now?”

“This revision is still garbage,” came your voice, flat and scathing. “Komori’s and Hyakuzawa’s circuits are identical. One has chronic shoulder fatigue, the other doesn’t.”

“The adjustments are proportional,” he snapped back, voice low and sharp. “That’s how progressive loading works.”

“Progressive loading my ass. You copy-pasted three damn circuits and called it a day. You didn’t even touch their mobility metrics.”

“I factored in what matters.”

You laughed. Cold. “What matters is that Hyakuzawa won’t last another month if you keep pretending his joints aren’t glass.”

His hand slammed against the desk before he could stop himself, palm stinging. “You’re not his goddamn physical therapist.”

“No,” you snapped. “I’m the idiot burning her day off trying to keep him out of a hospital.”

He froze for half a beat.

Your words landed hard, scraping under his skin.

And god, you weren’t done.

“I’m not playing translator for whatever bullshit this is. If you want my sign-off, you’re getting it the right way. You clearly don’t understand the changes, so I’m coming in to explain them. In person. Like a teacher walking through homework with a slow student.”

He tilted his head back, jaw ticking, breath exhaling like steam. He glared at the ceiling tiles like they’d give him strength.

“Fine,” he bit out. “Thirty minutes.”

“Good,” you hissed. “Try not to screw anything else up in the meantime.”

The line went dead.

Iwaizumi stared at the phone for another second, his thumb hovering above the darkened screen.

The silence afterward rang louder than your voice.

And under his breastbone, the pulse of it—his rage, his pride, the heat of your words—all of it throbbed, slow and persistent.

Like something ready to burn.

--

You stormed into Iwaizumi’s office like a gust of controlled fury, not bothering to knock.

He barely had time to glance up before your voice cut through the air like a scalpel.

“It’s my day off, Iwaizumi. You know that, right?”

His brows lifted, clearly caught off guard—not just by your tone, but by your clothes. Joggers clung snugly to your hips, your tank top fitted and dipped in a way your usual business-casual never did. A jacket hung loose around your shoulders, unzipped, and your hair was tied up messily, strands falling out in a way that was entirely unfair.

Still, he bristled at your tone. “You didn’t have to come in.”

“Then maybe don’t make me rewrite your entire plan for you,” you snapped. “I told you Hyakuzawa’s shoulder range isn’t compatible with Komori’s. And you still sent it over like I wouldn’t notice.”

“I adjusted for mass and range—”

“You adjusted by copy-pasting,” you cut in. “Do you even read the assessments I send you?”

His jaw flexed. “I read everything. And I know how to train a team.”

“And I know how to prevent torn rotator cuffs.”

A sharp silence settled between you. You stood with your hands on your hips, breathing hard, Iwaizumi staring at you from behind his desk, every muscle in his arms coiled with tension.

He should’ve barked at you to leave. Should’ve snapped something back just as biting.

Instead, he stood.

“I’m not arguing with you in here,” he said, voice tight. “Let’s go.”

“To the gym?” you asked.

He nodded once, already stepping past you. “You said you’d show me. So show me.”

--

The weight room was empty save for the two of you. Echoes of distant foot traffic from the other side of the facility drifted in and out through the thick walls. Overhead, a single bank of lights buzzed faintly.

“Start with the squats,” you said, tossing a pair of 40-pound dumbbells his way.

He caught them with ease. “Loaded squats? Really?”

You folded your arms. “Humor me, Captain.”

He rolled his eyes but turned to face the mirror, feet shoulder-width apart, and dropped into his first rep. His form was solid—predictably—but your eyes tracked the subtle tremors in his posture, the way his shoulders bore tension even during a movement that should be driven by legs and core.

“Pause,” you ordered.

He straightened slowly, setting the weights down.

“You’re bracing too much in your upper back,” you said. “You’re engaging traps when you should be isolating quads and glutes. Komori compensates the same way, which is exactly the problem.”

You moved behind him, slid your hand down between his shoulder blades, pressing lightly.

“Here,” you murmured. “You feel how stiff this is?”

His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

“Try it again, but keep this area loose. Let the legs drive.”

He picked up the weights again and dropped down, this time more controlled.

You circled him once, sharp eyes on every joint.

“That’s better,” you said. “Still not perfect.”

He huffed through his nose. “Then what is?”

Your lips twitched, eyes gleaming. “I’ll show you.”

You stepped forward, picked up a lighter set of weights, and took your stance in the mirror. Your movements were deliberate, slow, each line precise. You dipped into a squat, spine long, and spoke as you moved.

“This is full isolation. Core tight. Knees over toes. Glutes firing.”

You looked at him through the mirror.

“Here—” You set the weights down and grabbed his wrist, tugging him forward. “Put your hand here.”

You placed his palm on your thigh, just above your knee.

“That’s the difference between alignment and load. You feel that tension? That’s what Hyakuzawa can’t hold for more than five reps. So when you give him a template that pushes twelve, you’re training him into injury.”

His fingers twitched where they rested against your leg.

You didn’t look up. Neither did he.

But the silence was loud.

You finally moved, stepping back, letting the contact fall away. His hand lingered for half a second before he pulled it back and flexed his fingers into a fist.

“Alright,” you said, exhaling. “Shoulders next.”

He didn’t speak, just nodded tightly and picked up a new set of dumbbells.

“This one’s more relevant for Komori. Upright rows. Don’t use momentum—go slow.”

He stood tall, lifting the weights to chest height with steady control.

You stepped in again, brushing your fingertips along his forearms as he moved.

“Good... Now hold.”

His muscles tensed, veins stark beneath tan skin, the curve of his biceps flexed just enough to make your breath catch.

You swallowed hard, refocusing.

“Lift from the delts, not the biceps,” you murmured. “They’re stabilizers here.”

Your hand moved to his chest, palm flat over his pec. The contact startled him—just enough for his eyes to flicker up and land right on the exposed line of your cleavage through your tank.

He froze.

And you saw it. That split second of his eyes widening before snapping back up to yours like he hadn’t seen a damn thing.

Your brow rose. “Focus, Iwaizumi.”

He gritted his teeth. “I am focused.”

You pressed a little firmer into his chest. “Then stop compensating here.”

His breath came a little heavier now.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

The tension snapped taut between you. Neither of you moved, the air thick with something sharp, electric.

Then—

“Ah—sorry!”

The door creaked open.

You both jolted, stepping back so fast you almost tripped.

A janitor stood in the doorway, expression blank. “Didn’t realize the room was still in use.”

You cleared your throat. “We were just wrapping up.”

Iwaizumi grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat from his forehead, still avoiding your eyes.

The janitor nodded and disappeared.

Silence returned.

You slung your bag over your shoulder, trying not to show how fast your heart was racing. “I’ll expect the revised plan tomorrow.”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer.

He was still staring at the spot where your hand had been.

Confessions: Oikawa

(This is connected to another drabble I made in my series 'Unreq Love' so here is context if you'd like the full experience: Oikawa & Bonus)

--

The gym is quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that comes from peace, but the kind that settles like dust in the corners—heavy, still, waiting. The lights are off, but the late afternoon sun filters through the high windows, painting the floor in long strokes of gold. The volleyball net hangs limply between its poles, no longer taut with purpose. There are scuff marks everywhere, like memories burned into the wood—ghosts of spikes, dives, the relentless rhythm of ambition. The echoes of laughter, shouting, the rhythmic squeak of sneakers still seem to hum beneath the silence, like the gym itself refuses to forget.

You spot him immediately.

Oikawa stands near the back wall, his figure backlit by sunlight, facing the net with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His shoulders are drawn tight, his posture still and unreadable. He doesn’t move when you step in, but he knows it’s you. No one walks into a gym like you do—especially not after hours. Especially not him.

You take your time crossing the floor. Your sneakers squeak a little, but he doesn’t flinch. The air smells like dust and floor polish, and something sharper underneath—like endings. Like goodbye.

“I figured I’d find you here,” you say, coming to a stop beside him.

He huffs, a soft, humorless sound. “You always do.”

“Well,” you shrug, “someone’s gotta make sure you’re not brooding yourself into an existential crisis.”

Finally, he glances at you. There’s a tiredness in his eyes, something far quieter than the version of him everyone else sees. You know it well. You’ve seen it before, behind locker room doors, in the quiet of bus rides home, in the way his voice would sometimes crack when no one was supposed to hear. He looks like someone who's been chasing a shadow for too long and just realized it was always out of reach.

“I thought maybe if I stayed long enough, it’d feel different,” he murmurs, gaze shifting back to the net. “But it still hurts.”

“Of course it hurts,” you reply, arms crossing over your chest. “You gave everything to this place. You bled for it. You obsessed over every drill, every stat sheet, every match. Losing was never going to be painless.”

He chuckles, and it’s low and bitter. “We didn’t even make it to nationals. What was the point of all of it?”

You frown, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “Tooru, you seriously need to get your head out of your ass.”

That earns you a sidelong glance, the barest glimmer of amusement.

You soften. “You weren’t just chasing wins. You built something here. A team that trusted you. A legacy. People are going to remember you—not because of a scoreboard, but because you made them better. You made them believe. You pushed them to be more.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but his jaw tics. He always does that when he’s trying not to feel something. The weight of three years rests on his shoulders like armor that no longer serves him.

“And what about you?” he asks suddenly, turning to face you more fully. “You stuck by me through everything. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

You scoff, leaning back on your heels. “Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Tooru.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. You think I followed you around like a lost puppy for three years because I enjoyed your tantrums and diva moments?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Maybe a little?”

“God, you’re insufferable.” You shake your head, but your voice loses its edge. “I stayed because you were worth it. Because you’re more than volleyball. You always have been. Even when you were too busy being dramatic to see it.”

The silence that falls between you is thick with years of shared glances, missed chances, and words left unspoken. The light shifts across the floor, turning everything gold like the last flicker of a day that tried its best.

You don’t mean to say it. Not like this. Not when he’s already unraveling.

You glance at him again, then down at your hands. Your voice comes out low, more to yourself than to him. “God, I can’t avoid this, can I?”

But it’s been sitting in your chest for too long, and something about the way the light hits his face—the rawness there, the quiet ache—makes it impossible to keep in.

“I love you.”

His head snaps toward you, eyes wide. “...What?”

You inhale slowly, like that’ll steady the thundering in your chest. “I said I love you. I’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. Since you made that dumb joke during orientation and somehow managed to trip over your own feet.”

Your voice wavers slightly, but you push through. “I thought it was just a crush. Something stupid. But it never went away. Through every win, every loss, every time you walked into a room and lit it up like you didn’t even know—through all of it, I kept falling. I knew every version of you—the charming captain, the insecure overthinker, the friend who stayed behind after practice to help pick up stray balls—and I still fell.”

You swallow hard, heart aching in your chest. “And I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t think I had the right to. I thought I’d be a distraction, or worse—just another person you’d feel responsible for. But standing here with you, watching you look at that net like it still owes you something... I couldn’t walk away without telling you. Because it’s not just about volleyball. Not for me. Not when it comes to you.”

You take a step back, the burn of embarrassment creeping up your neck, your voice quieter now. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

You turn, ready to bolt before you make a bigger fool of yourself—but before your foot even hits the line, his hand wraps around your wrist.

You freeze.

His grip isn’t desperate, but it’s firm—anchoring. When you look back, he’s already there—closer than you thought, close enough that you can see the flicker of emotion dancing in his eyes. His breath is uneven. So is yours.

His gaze lingers on your face, moving from your eyes to your mouth, then back again, as if trying to piece together something he should’ve realized long ago. You see it hit him all at once—the memories, the missed moments, the way you’ve always been right there. His shoulders loosen like something inside him’s finally cracking open.

His hand moves slowly to your face, tentative but gentle, and his thumb brushes against your cheek like it’s something fragile he’s afraid to break. His fingers tremble just slightly, and the warmth of his palm grounds you in place.

“How did I never see you?” he breathes, and it’s not a question meant for you. It’s a confession all on its own, shaped by regret and wonder.

Then he kisses you.

Soft at first, hesitant—like he’s asking permission.

Then again—deeper, fuller, with the kind of reverence that comes from finally seeing someone who’s been standing in the light all along. His hand curves behind your neck, the other still holding your wrist like he's afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

And for once, Oikawa doesn’t say a single word.

He just pulls you closer, holds you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, and lets the silence speak for itself.

In that quiet, there is no loss. No disappointment. No game that slipped through trembling fingers.

There’s just you.

And it’s enough.

Unrequited Love: Bokuto

The stadium lights burned like stars overhead, casting long shadows across the polished court. The roar of the crowd swelled in waves, a living, breathing force that surged and broke against the walls of the arena. Bokuto Koutarou stood still in the center of it all, his heartbeat syncing with the rhythmic beat of the game.

This was home. It always had been.

He bounced on his heels, palms slapping softly against his thighs, golden eyes flicking up and over the rows of fans packed into the stands. He always did this before a game—scanning. Searching.

Hoping.

You came to one of my games in college once. Said you wanted to support me even if you didn’t know all the rules. You sat in the front row with snacks and one of those handmade signs, grinning like it was the best thing you’d ever done. You were so proud of me. I couldn't stop staring.

It wasn't until the second set that he saw you.

Not in the front row this time. A little higher up, tucked into a row of seats that caught the golden light just right. You looked the same. Soft expression. That familiar warmth that never failed to center him, no matter how chaotic the world got.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

Your fingers were laced with someone else's—a man with kind eyes, a relaxed smile, and a wedding band that mirrored the one glinting faintly on your hand.

Something in Bokuto's chest twisted. An old, familiar ache he had kept buried deep down beneath years of laughter, late-night texts, and every moment you sat beside him without ever realizing what he wanted to say.

But his body knew what to do. The ball was set, high and perfect, and he soared to meet it. Muscles coiled, arms arched, and then—the strike. The ball slammed to the floor on the opposing side like thunder cracking through silence. The crowd erupted.

He didn't hear any of it.

We used to sit on the school rooftop and eat lunch together. I’d talk about volleyball like it was a religion. You’d talk about music, books, strange little thoughts that made no sense but always made me laugh. I think I fell for you the first time you passed me a rice ball and told me to stop overthinking my spikes.

He never told you.

Not once.

There had been chances—so many chances. Late-night calls that lasted too long. Moments when your eyes lingered. When your laughter felt like something he wanted to wrap both hands around and never let go.

But the words never made it past his throat.

He told himself he had time. That he didn’t want to ruin the beautiful, easy thing you had. That being near you was enough.

And now, watching you from across the arena, smiling at someone else the way he used to dream you’d smile at him, Bokuto felt the weight of every second he’d spent silent.

As long as you’re watching, I’m happy.

That’s what he told himself. And maybe, on some level, it was still true. Because you were watching. Eyes bright, expression soft, hands clapping politely after every point. You were here.

You came.

Just not for him.

Even so, he glanced up again, caught one more glimpse of you laughing at something your husband whispered in your ear. His chest ached, but his lips pulled into a quiet smile.

Because even if your heart belonged to someone else, even if he was just a fond memory in a long list of friendships—

He would still play his heart out.

Because if you’re watching, then that means some part of you still remembers. Still cares.

And maybe that was enough.

He wiped sweat from his brow, steadied his breath, and returned to the service line.

Eyes on the ball.

But just for a second longer, heart still caught in the stands—

Watching you.

Unrequited Love: Oikawa (Bonus)

The team was loud, as always.

Oikawa, now freshly showered and looking somewhat like himself again, was in the middle of being teased by Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

“So, Captain, let’s talk about your tragic love life,” Matsukawa said, slinging an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders.

Hanamaki took a dramatic sip of his drink. “Yeah, we all knew she was gonna break up with you before you did. What does that say about you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Oikawa groaned, smacking Matsukawa’s arm off him, though there was no real heat behind it. You could see his mood rising with every passing moment.

“Hey, at least you still have volleyball,” Matsukawa said, raising his glass like he was making a toast.

“Right, the one true love of your life,” Hanamaki added with a smirk.

Oikawa sighed dramatically. “You guys are the worst.”

You watched from the side, letting their banter wash over you. The ache from earlier was still there, a dull weight in your chest, but at least Oikawa wasn’t sulking anymore. That was the important thing.

A presence appeared beside you, and you didn’t even have to look to know it was Hajime.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted, crossing his arms as he watched Oikawa shove Hanamaki. “I tried to get him out of bed earlier, but he wouldn’t budge.”

You smirked, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “That’s because you don’t know how to sweet-talk him, Hajime.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. If I tried sweet-talking Oikawa, I’d never hear the end of it.”

You snickered. “Yeah, he’d probably take that as an invitation to propose.”

Hajime shook his head, amused, before glancing at you, his expression shifting into something more knowing. “So,” he said casually, “are you going to make a move, or are we just going to keep going in circles?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Please, you should’ve seen what he told me earlier.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow.

You turned to him, pressing a hand to your chest mockingly, and sighed dramatically. “He looked me in the eye, Hajime. And do you know what he said?”

Hajime waited.

“You’re a good friend,” you deadpanned, voice dripping with bitterness.

Hajime winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “So, no, I’m not making a move. Not when he clearly doesn’t see me that way.”

Hajime was quiet for a moment before shrugging. “You never know. He’s an idiot. You might have to spell it out for him.”

You huffed, watching as Oikawa dramatically whined about something to the others. “Yeah, well… I think I’ve done enough for one night.” Then you hear a whine of your name. You look over to Oikawa's pleading face along with Matsun's and Makki's devious ones.

“You promised me they would give me a break!” Oikawa suddenly called out, his voice carrying over the chatter of the team. His eyes locked onto yours, pleading dramatically, though the glint of betrayal was exaggerated.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “C’mon, guys, give him some slack,” you called, raising your hands in surrender.

Hanamaki gasped in mock offense. “Oh, so now you’re defending him?”

“She’s going soft,” Matsukawa said, shaking his head.

“I am not going soft,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

Hajime, beside you, smirked before stepping forward. “Actually, now that I think about it… didn’t Oikawa almost cry in first-year when he lost his favorite knee pads?”

Oikawa whipped around. “Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, right!” Hanamaki’s eyes lit up. “The ones with the little stars on them?”

“You guys swore to take that to the grave!” Oikawa cried, scandalized.

“I don’t know, man,” Matsukawa said, leaning back with a grin. “Kind of sounds like a moment that deserves to be remembered.”

As the teasing escalated, Oikawa slumped in his seat, arms crossed, pouting like a child. “I hate all of you.”

You laughed at the whole exchange, and when you glanced back at Oikawa, expecting him to still be sulking, you caught something different—something small, almost imperceptible.

He was smiling.

It was barely there, just a slight tug at the corners of his lips, but it was real. And for a brief moment, as his gaze lifted, he met your eyes.

The world around you blurred, and warmth spread through your chest. You swore you felt your heart stutter, just for a second.

And then, as quickly as the moment had happened, you cursed yourself for it.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, tearing your gaze away.

Oikawa was still laughing with the others, completely unaware of the effect he had on you.

You exhaled, shaking your head, willing the butterflies away.

Hajime, still standing beside you, didn’t say anything, but when you glanced at him, he was looking at you with a knowing expression.

“Not a word,” you muttered.

He smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder, but he only chuckled in response.

Unrequited Love: Oikawa

You’d known Oikawa for as long as you could remember. From messy sandbox battles to after-school practices that went late into the evening, he’d always been there—your first friend, your longest friend. The three of you—Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and you—had always been a unit, bound by years of shared childhood, inside jokes, and more than a few arguments.

But right now? Right now, Oikawa was testing every ounce of your patience.

“Hajime said you’ve been holed up in here for hours,” you said as you shoved open his bedroom door without knocking. “What’s your excuse this time?”

Oikawa groaned from the depths of his bed, a mess of blankets and pillows hiding all but the top of his ruffled hair. His room was a disaster zone: clothes scattered everywhere, an abandoned volleyball rolling lazily near the desk, and the faint smell of coffee from the cup Hajime must’ve left here earlier.

“Go away,” Oikawa muttered, voice muffled by his pillow.

“No,” you said firmly, kicking the door shut behind you. “I’m not letting you sulk forever. What happened?”

He rolled onto his back, his face pale and his eyes a little red. “She broke up with me,” he muttered, his voice cracking just enough to make you wince. “She said I was too focused on volleyball. That I didn’t care enough about her.”

Your heart squeezed. You’d seen the writing on the wall. Oikawa was intense about volleyball—obsessed, really. It was one of the things you admired about him, even when it frustrated you. But it was hard to hear him like this, even harder to know that he’d never think about you the way he thought about her.

You crossed your arms, steeling yourself. “Well, she’s not wrong,” you said, your tone blunt. “You’ve got a one-track mind, Tooru. Volleyball this, volleyball that. What did you think would happen?”

His face scrunched up in annoyance, and he reached out to grab a pillow, lobbing it weakly in your direction. “Gee, thanks for the support.”

You dodged it easily, smiling despite yourself. “I’m serious, Tooru. You’ve got to figure this out, or you’re going to keep pushing people away.”

He groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “You sound like Iwa-chan.”

“Maybe that’s because Hajime and I are the only ones stubborn enough to stick around while you throw yourself headfirst into everything,” you shot back, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Do you even realize how much we’ve put up with over the years?”

He peeked at you from under his arm, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You guys are too stubborn to leave me.”

“Damn right we are,” you said, reaching out to flick his forehead. “But don’t push your luck.”

Silence fell between you, the tension lifting slightly. You leaned back, resting on your hands as you studied him. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and he looked younger somehow, like the kid you used to climb trees with instead of the volleyball star he was now.

“Come on,” you said eventually, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off your pants. “The team’s going out. You can’t stay in here forever.”

“I don’t feel like it,” he muttered, sitting up slowly.

“Tough.” You grabbed his wrist and tugged, ignoring his protests. “Go shower, change, and join us. I’ll wait in the living room to make sure you don’t crawl back into bed.”

He sighed, dragging his feet as he shuffled toward his dresser. “You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re so whiny,” you shot back, grinning. “Go!”

Just as you turned to leave, his voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You glanced back, raising an eyebrow. He stood there, clothes in hand, his expression softer than usual.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re a good friend.”

The words hit harder than they should have, settling like a stone in your chest. But you forced a smile, pushing the ache down where it belonged.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice steady.

You closed the door behind you, leaning against it for just a moment.

Being his friend was enough, you told yourself.

It had to be.

For What It's Worth (Tsukishima x Reader Pt. 2)

It’s been a week since it happened.

A week since you’ve spoken to him.

Seven days since you felt his corrupt lips on you. Since you’ve felt his poisonous yet addictive hands.

The whole situation had been burned into your memory the minute you walked out of his door. Seven days you’ve been in complete emotional turmoil.

You’re nothing short of furious. You’re furious over the fact that all this happened over a stupid photograph, you’re furious that you allowed it to happen for so long, you’re furious that you can’t forget his stupid smirk. His figure leaning over yours, the look in his eyes making you see red. But for the most part, you’re furious over the fact that you can’t bring yourself to truly hate him.

You can’t hate Tsukishima Kei. No matter how hard you try. You can’t stop yourself from feeling your insides heat up when you remember his lips on your neck, your fingers combing through his hair. The tiny sounds he tried to repress when your lips were locked on his. The shivers that rake your body when you pass your fingers on the almost healed hickeys on your neck.

You’d be lying if you said that it hasn’t made you lose sleep.

But he lied. He lied through all of it. Kei didn’t like you. Hell, you doubt he even could even give you the time of day. That bastard only cared for himself. He’d do anything to win, to get what he wants. No matter who he hurts along the way.

He was selfish.

You don’t know why you’re so surprised now. It’s not like you didn’t know this fact. You’ve seen the way he interacts with others. Whether it be his classmates, his volleyball team, Yamaguchi, or even Akiteru. He never once cared for their feelings.

You can’t be around someone who treats other humans like that. You refuse to.

You’ve avoided him like the plague. You pretend like you don’t know who he is during school and lock yourself in your room at home. Tsukishima’s mother had come back a couple of days ago, so you had to say that you weren’t feeling well to avoid having dinner with them. You didn’t even talk to him for the rest of the project. Just sending your part of the work you had completed, and he took care of the rest. You’ll be forever grateful that you didn’t have to present that assignment. You really didn’t know how you would manage that. Of course, there were times when you would cross paths in the corridor, because to your dismay its impossible to avoid someone you live with, but you did your best to see right through him. You refuse to meet his eyes, to give him any sort of chance. He doesn’t deserve it.

Another week passes like this, then another and another. By the time a full month passes, it’s become routine. He doesn’t see you and you don’t see him, just like when you first started living with his family. Your anger has faded significantly over the course of the month, but there’s still some unchecked emotion swirling around in the deepest parts of your self conscious. Whether you want to believe it or not, Kei had become part of your life. A tiny one, but a part nonetheless, and without him, it almost seemed dull. Like something was missing from your day. Empty. You assume it’s because you never got closure from the situation.

Yeah, that’s why.

You’re thrown out of your thoughts when you hear your name called from a distance. You stop your exit from the building, when you see familiar friendly face waving in your direction. You feel a soft smile force it’s way on your face.

“Yamaguchi-kun, what are you doing here? Aren’t you going to be late for practice?” You ask as when he reaches your person. He rubs the back of his neck bashfully. “I told Tsukki to tell the others I was going to be late.” The sound of Tsukishima’s name leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. No matter how sweetly Yamaguchi can say it.

“Oh. Well, did you need something?”

“Yes. Actually, it’s about Tsukki.” You feel yourself tense up slightly. “I just figured you would be the best person to ask considering you’re around him the most.” Is that really how he saw it?

The thought gives you pause. You had to admit that from a distance it did look like you were close to Kei. Closer than others at least. You’ve talked during and between classes, sometimes waited for him to finish practice and walk home with him. If people didn’t witness the insults you used to constantly hurl at each other, and the glares of pure annoyance and hatred, they probably would have thought you two were friends.

Maybe even more.

You shake off the thought as you’re about to tell Yamaguchi that you haven’t spoken to Kei in a month, and that you know nothing about anything that has to do with him but decide last minute to hold your tongue. You were curious to say the least. What could be bothering the unbothered? “Is something wrong with him?” Yamaguchi looks off, thinking for a minute.

“Well, I’m not sure, that’s what I came to talk to you about. Over the past month he’s been acting off.” You tilt your head slightly.

“How so?”

“He’s been acting cold lately. More distant. Picking more fights with the rest of the team. He’s more irritable. He’s letting little things bother him.” Yamaguchi lists off. You snort slightly.

“Yamaguchi-kun, that’s how Kei usually acts. I’d start getting worried when he stops acting like that.” Yamaguchi gives you an uneasy look. “I still feel like somethings wrong. So do the rest of the team. Something is definitely bothering him. His performance in games is also being affected. It’s almost like he can’t focus.”

Could it be about before?

No… He couldn’t possibly be upset about what happened… Could he? You subconsciously shake your head. You can’t bring yourself to believe that he could. Kei was the reason all this shit happened in the first place. But, looking at the boy in front of you, you can feel your heart sink. Yamaguchi really was a good friend. You could see the genuine worry in his eyes as he spoke about Kei. You have no idea how Kei managed to gain a friend like him. One of the worlds greatest mysteries, you muse.

“I just wish he would talk to me.” Yamaguchi says, defeated. You wanted to say something, anything to help him out of his miserable state. You decide on one thing that minute.

You needed to talk to Kei. To tell him to get over himself and stop fucking over everyone around him. That whatever is going on with him needs to be dealt with him and him alone.

Maybe you could get that closure you wanted in the process…

“I’ll talk to him, Yamaguchi-kun.” You see Yamaguchi eyes flicker with something you could only assume was hope. He’s about to thank you when he hears the late bell ring. Yamaguchi turns his head to the school, obviously not expecting the conversation to last this long. “Go, I don’t want to hold you any longer. I’ll talk to him as soon as he gets home.” Yamaguchi flashes you a boyish smile, before shouting a quick thanks and jogging over to the gymnasium. You let out a sigh of relief as he jogs away.

During the walk home, you can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach.

~~

The more you think about it, the more irritated you get as you wait patiently (or impatiently) for Kei to return. Kei’s mother had left once again, leaving just you and Kei in the house, like usual. Over the course of the months you had gotten used to being by yourself, so you really didn’t mind it anymore. However, by being constantly alone, you were left at the mercy of your thoughts.

And all of your thoughts were consumed by Kei.

It felt like all of the emotions you had laid to rest had come back in the few hours you were left alone. But you have self control, and unlike Kei, you’re able to keep your emotions in check.

You hear the sound of the front door opening and closing. Before everything happened, he’d usually announce his arrival, but now that you two aren’t speaking, he just enters and walks straight up to his room. You take a small breath. You can feel your heart thrum nervously as you try to catch up to him.

Well, it’s now or never.

“Oi.” You start, trying to sound unbothered as possible, when you’re anything but. You watch as he stops walking and turns around slowly. Kei gives you a look you can’t decipher, but you can tell that he’s surprised you’ve said anything to him. You don’t want to give him time to think about and get straight to the point. You want to be done as soon as possible and go back to ignoring him. But you hesitate under his stare, giving him an opening. His gaze hardens, as you watch the grip on his bags tighten. You stand your ground. You’ve seen and witnessed his micro aggressions firsthand; it’ll take a lot more than this to intimidate you.

The air around you two is tense. The emotions that were swept under the rug are out in the open, suffocating you.

“Well, this is interesting. Deciding to talk to me now? I’m so grateful you’ve chosen to bless me with your words.” His cold words are laced with so much venom and bitterness that you almost take a step back. You’ve never seen this before. The Kei you knew was always calm and collected, smart with his choices. Knew what to say and to do to play people right where he wanted to. This Kei seemed more… emotional? Unhinged?

You don’t know. But the look he’s giving you isn’t exactly filling you with confidence. Still, you stand strong. You won’t let this asshole make you vulnerable. He’s done it once before; you won’t let it happen a second time.

“Don’t get too happy. I don’t want to waste my breath talking to you. I’m only doing this because Yamaguchi is worried about you, and unlike you, I actually care about his feelings.” Kei looks away at the mention of his best friend. The tiny action brings you slight satisfaction. “He told me you’ve been acting off lately. Picking fights and acting like an all-around asshole. Now, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you need to get your shit together.” Kei scoffs, gazing down at you. Patronizing. Your fists clench.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” He had said it with such coldness, you actually had to fight a shiver running down your spine.

“I wouldn’t have to if you acted like a decent fucking human.” You snap right back. Kei takes a step toward you. You don’t back away. He leans slightly, making it so you’re at eye level in a way that is so obviously condescending.

“Stop acting like you’re such an angel. It’s pissing me off.” His honesty surprises you, but you don’t let it show. You know Kei wasn’t easy to anger, so you knew you were getting somewhere. But, at the same time, his sentence bothers you.

From the very beginning, you always tried to be nice to people you’ve met here. You wouldn’t call it sucking up to others, but you were slightly nervous people wouldn’t like you. During your program that anxiety had faded, but being that Kei was the first person you met who was your age, he significantly decreased your confidence. So, in turn, when school started you were the kindest you could be, always studied the hardest you could, and so on. You had made a name for yourself, one that Kei didn’t seem to like.

“It’s easy to act like an angel when you’re the devil incarnate. And you have no right to say anything about my behaviour, you prick. I’m not the type of person to use others to get what they want. I’m not the type to bring others down to feel better about my sad sack of a life. And I’m definitely not the type that would take advantage of someone to win. So, I suggest you have a cold hard look in the mirror before you go criticizing me.” You bite, voice filled with anger. It’s like all the emotions you’ve held in the pits of your stomach are now flowing through your veins. Each item you list off is like rocks falling off your tense shoulders. You stand taller, move closer, and refuse your eyes to leave his.

The hall is quiet for a while, but it’s the loudest silence you’ve ever heard. So much tension and emotion hanging around in the air. You and Kei share a staring contest, both breathing slightly heavy. Even if you wanted to break the gaze, you couldn’t. Kei’s hard glare had so much emotion, so much that you couldn’t figure out. You can’t help but bring your mind back to when this moment felt a little too familiar…

You wait for Kei’s reply, knowing that not even demons straight from the pits of hell can stop Kei from saying something, anything, back. But to your utter surprise and disbelief, he backs away. You can’t hide your confusion as he stays silent, lips in a thin line and a look in his eyes you can’t make out, as he turns around and walks away. You stand there, slightly gawking as you watch him retreat up the stairs. Brain frozen until you heard the door to his bedroom close.

…

What the fuck just happened?

Did Tsukishima Kei, THE Tsukishima Kei, just walk away from an argument? Without an insult, or even a sarcastic comment?

Did you just win?

…

It doesn’t feel like you’ve won.

You can’t help but still feel… Off. You had gotten what you wanted. To say something and have him be silent, but it’s definitely not as satisfying as you expected it to be. Not like the hours you used to spend daydreaming about a moment like this. You felt empty. Like you were expecting more.

To have him care enough to respond.

You feel tears start to well up in your eyes.

Never in a million years, would you have expected this.

You were crying over Kei. Over that sick bastard.

Why did you feel like this? Why did you feel so disappointed when you watched him walk away? You shouldn’t need him to care. You don’t.

So why are you so sad?

You put your face in your hands, willing the need to scream out your frustrations to leave.

Even like this, he still wins.

~~

It’s been a couple days since your talk with Kei. You had pushed down all of your newly found feelings right back down into the depths of your soul.

Like that worked so well last time.

You were done with him once more. You didn’t want to have to deal with these new feelings. Or him in general.

Just a fresh start. Without Kei in the picture.

You had expected things would be exactly the same with him. He’d ignore you and you’d ignore him. Like clockwork. But ever since your argument, the atmosphere around you two has changed. Into what, you weren’t sure, but it was definitely off-putting.

And extremely frustrating.

The very next day after your argument, Yamaguchi had told you that whatever you said to Kei must’ve worked, because he’s started to return to his old self, (Whatever that means). And while you were happy to see Yamaguchi smiling, you weren’t able to get the pit in your stomach to leave.

New problems you didn’t expect were starting to arise.

Whenever you and Kei had the displeasure of being in the same area, you’d feel his eyes on you. Staring at you. His eyes locking onto you in a way that left you utterly confused, and completely flushed at the same time. You couldn’t help your heart beat a little faster every time you saw him in the halls of his house, or at school.

You weren’t able to stop the pulse of heat that would rush through your body either.

Either way, to say you were a little displeased with this advancement would be an understatement. But, what could you do? Just march up to him and tell him to stop staring?

Normally you would. But with what happened last time, you were a lot more than hesitant. You’d dig your own grave and bury yourself alive before having the tiniest chance of crying in front of Kei. That was more than your worst nightmare.

So, you decided the only possible solution was to get your mind off him. Just like the previous month, you’d go back to acting like he didn’t exist. If you could do it once, you could do it again.

You were feeling confident about your plan. At least until someone up in the heavens decided to completely fuck you over just for the hell of it.

It was the end of school day, and while most of the students rushing out the doors eagerly, excited that they had the rest of the day to themselves, you were clearing out your entire locker frantically. Each second passing with you getting more and more nervous of the outcome you hoped to any of the Gods that wouldn’t happen.

Oh God, please tell me I didn’t do this…

Yes, you did. You had lost the keys to the house. You almost punch a hole in the nearest wall, but you do slam your head against your locker. What did you do to deserve this?

You take a couple of deep breaths, trying to find any other possible solution then asking Kei for his keys. Maybe… picking the lock? Or popping a window opening? You sigh heavily. Who were you kidding? You could barely open your phone most of the time. You weren’t exactly keen to brandish your breaking and entering skills. To make matters even worse, all of your friends either had clubs or had already went home. You were far too awkward to call them up and ask if you could crash their night, and far too tired to wait for those who had clubs up until eight at night.

You let out an agonized whine, seeing no other option other than to drag yourself to the boy’s gym. As you approach you could hear sounds of boys screaming and laughing. They must still be stretching, as you hear no noises of balls slamming into the ground. You take a deep breath as you stand in front of the doors. Just get in, take what you need and get out. Even though you keep repeating that mantra in your head, you still found yourself on the other side of the doors, too nervous to open them.

“Could you let me through please?” You hear a soft voice from behind you. You whip around to find a rather beautiful looking third year. She must be their manager. You didn’t realize you were staring until seconds later. “Oh, yes. Sorry about that.” You give a nervous chuckle as you move out of the way. She walks up the stairs gracefully and goes to open the doors but stops, turning to you.

“Did you need something?” You tense up slightly at the question, “I need to talk to Kei.” You somehow managed to say evenly. The third year looks at you confused for a second, before her eyes light up in realization. “You mean Tsukishima-kun?” You nod. You usually forgot that most people (Well, everyone apart from his family) called him by his last name. Everyone except you. You pause now, thinking about it.

Why did you call him by his given name?

Why did he let you?

“Follow me then.” You were about to tell her that you really didn’t want to, but she slid the doors open with practiced ease. She walks in, ignoring two particularity rowdy voices yelling ‘Kiyoko-san!’, as she motions you to follow her. You gulp, and not wanting to disrespect a senior, you duck your head to enter the gym in shame. All eyes are suddenly on you, curious. Your heart beats slightly faster under the eyes of the team. You were never good at being in the spotlight. You manage to glance in Kei’s direction.

If looks could kill, you’d probably be six feet under the ground right about now.

He always made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near the gym when he was practicing, making sure that if you had to wait for him, he’d make you wait in the library.

You never understood why, but you didn’t question it.

“Tsukishima-kun. Someone’s here to talk to you.” Kiyoko spoke for you, only adding to the embarrassment that was this situation. All eyes that were on you, snapped to Kei’s form. On the outside he appeared unbothered, but his eyes spoke the true annoyance he was feeling. He makes no sound as he briskly walks to you, grabbing your wrist quite tightly, making you wince, letting a hushed hiss escape your mouth as he practically drags you out of the gym. The second you leave everyone’s prying eyes, you whip your hand anyway from him, practically snarling at him. “That hurt, asshole.” He makes no comment at that, only glaring at you.

“Why are you here?” He sounded genuinely frustrated. Join the club pal.

“I lost my keys.” He scoffs. “I’m failing to see how that’s my problem.” You clench your fists. You really didn’t think this through. What were you expecting? For him to be a nice guy and hand you his keys? Willingly? Yeah, right.

Well you aren’t giving up without a fight.

“It’ll be your problem when you find your window smashed in.” Empty threats, and Kei knows it. Kei sighs tiredly, and it only makes you more upset.

“Listen, either wait until my practice is over, or figure it out. Why don’t you go and ask one of your little friends? I’m sure they’d love to have you.” He spits out the last part, and you narrow your eyes at his pettiness.

“Oh, trust me. I wouldn’t have come to you if I had any other choice. But sadly, here I am talking to you. Now, you could do us both a favour if you could just stop being an all-around jackass for once and let me borrow your damn keys.” You try to say without hitting his very punchable face. Succeeding, you add. Kei only rolls his eyes, “Tempting, but I’ll pass. I’ll text you when I’m done. If you’ll excuse me.” He smirks that god-awful smirk, before walking back to the gym, leaving you enraged. You go to attempt to say something but find yourself at a loss for words.

Why even try?

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. Fuck him. Was your only thought as you left the school grounds.

No way in hell were you waiting for him. You doubt you could even look at him without sending him to the emergency room.

This is going to be the death of you if things continue like this.

~~

You took your sweet time walking your way back to the house. Admiring the changing colours of the trees, stopping by the convenience store. After all, you did have a couple hours to kill while you wait for the asshole to come back from practice. You had only wasted two hours by the time you reached the house. The time you had spent trying to get your mind off him only left you more frustrated. He really knew how to piss you off.

Yes, it was your fault that you had lost your keys, and he didn’t necessarily have to give his to you, but what harm could it have done? What did he expect you to do? Lock him out of the house? You pause. Not a bad idea. Your thoughts only continue as you cursed the existence that is Tsukishima Kei, and sat outside the steps of the house, pulling out your phone and start playing around with it, trying to forget about the slight wind chill that comes with the start of Fall. You sat there, trying to cover your legs from the wind blowing past them. Every time you got a strongest burst of wind, you thought back to Kei.

I hope a volleyball smashes him in the face. A smile finds it way onto your face as you think of that. As time passes, boredom fills you as you feel yourself getting slightly drowsy. Being angry really wasn’t helping you conserve your energy. You felt your eyes getting heavier with every passing second. It wouldn’t be a problem if you closed them for a bit, would it?

Apparently, it would.

~~

You don’t even realize that you’ve dozed off, being woken by a buzzing in your pocket, your shivers and a dark night sky. God, how long had it been?

Groggily, you answer your phone, sleep clouding the need to read the caller ID. “Hello?” Your voice was surprisingly hoarse. Probably from lack of use.

“Where are you? You aren’t in the library and I’ve searched everywhere.” You could only pinpoint that aggressive tone to one person.

“K-kei?”

“Where the fuck are you?” Normally, you would’ve come back with something, but you were far too tired to think of anything smart to say. “I’m outside the house.” You hear him curse under his breath. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” And with that, he hangs up.

You sit there, slightly dazed before shivering. The night sky wasn’t keeping you as safe from the brisk wind like the sun did, and you were still in your school uniform, which consisted of a light sweater and a skirt. You removed your phone from your ear, only to be blinded by the notifications blocking your phone screen.

You had twenty-five missed called from Kei, and more that thirty messages. You scroll through them.

**I’m finished with practice. **

You aren’t in the library, where are you?

**Seriously, answer me. **

where are you?

God damnit answer my calls

I swear if you’re at home

I’m coming home and if you’re not there, you will be sorry

You furrow your brows as you scroll through the rest of them. Was he… Worried about you?

Your thoughts are cut off by severe shaking. Damn it was cold. You take your sweater off, leaving you in short selves, to cover your legs. You figured it was better than nothing, but it did leave your arms to the strong winds. You curse outwardly.

After a couple minutes, you see the asshole himself, jog towards you, face slightly red and panting heavily. Was he running? You don’t think too much about it as you hear the heavenly noises of the keys jingling.

“Idiot. I told you to wait for me.” Kei breathes out, you scoff at him calling you an idiot. “You said w-wait or figure it o-o-out.” You cringe at how vulnerable you sound. The stutter definitely doesn’t help. He huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “And this is figuring it out?”

“S-s-shut up and open th-the damn d-door.” He doesn’t respond as he finally manages to open the door. You let out a breath of relief as you try to get up, only to have your knees buckle; sitting down in the crouch position you were in plus the cold weren’t exactly the best for your joints. You almost fall but feel warm hands grip your waist to prevent it. Your head turns to find Kei’s extremely close, staring down at you. The same expression he wore when you glance at him looking at you. You feel your face slightly flush as you step away and walk through the doors, welcoming the warmth of the house. You hear Kei walk in after you, closing the door behind him.

A few seconds of silence pass before another violent shiver passes through you. Guess it’ll take a little more than the house to warm you up. You hear a sigh, before feeling those warm hands grip your wrist for the second time today. This time was a lot gentler than the last. Your brain freezes as Kei pulls you to the living area and sits you down on the couch before leaving to retrieve something from the other room. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any stupider. You go and pull shit like this.” You hear his slightly distant voice, and you grit your teeth. This asshole just couldn’t help himself, could he?

You go to defend yourself when you feel something warm and fluffy lay on top of you. Kei had just thrown a blanket on you. All comebacks die in your throat as he turns to you and fixes the blanket to make sure not a single area of skin is exposed. Kei makes sure to not meet your eyes when he’s satisfied with his job.

“Stay here. I’m going to make some tea.” You’re at a loss for words as he turns to the kitchen.

Are you in some sort of parallel universe or something?

Was Kei… Taking care of you? Maybe he just feels bad because he left you in the cold, but still. You had never seen this side of him before.

This boy was just full of surprises. Whenever you thought you had seen it all, he comes back with more.

Confusion swirls your thoughts, but your broken out of it when you see Kei walk back into the room with a tray. It consisted of two cups of tea and two servings of strawberry shortcake. Kei’s favourite food. You remember the day you found out it was his favourite food, you remember the teasing and the laughs, with Kei turning slightly pink and telling you to shut up.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss those days.

“Surprised you’re still here. You usually have trouble following simple instructions.” He jabs, as he sets your tea and cake on a table in front of you. You narrow your eyes at him. “Well I did make a promise to the never follow the Devil.” You find it hard to say your comebacks with your usual venom. He only rolls his eyes in response. Kei sits across the table on the floor, having his portions in front of him. He stares at you. “Eat.”

Usually, you would’ve said no, because you hated listening to him, but you were starving. The snacks from the convenience store could hold you for so long. “How do I know this isn’t poisoned?” You ask, suspicious. He couldn’t be this nice to you for no reason, there has to be a catch. Kei doesn’t even look up at you as he responds, “If I had that, I wouldn’t waste it on you, that’s for sure.” You click your tongue, and with half hearted annoyed look, you go and take a sip from your tea. Surprisingly, Kei did know how to make some good tea. You felt the it go down smoothly, warming you from the inside out. And the strawberry short cake wasn’t at all bad either; a little sweet for your taste, but you’ll take it.

The two of you ate in silence, the tension getting to be too much for you until you decide to break it. You had decided that minute that things needed to change. You couldn’t take this anymore. You needed the truth. “I don’t understand you.” You can’t manage to look at him, poking at the rest of your cake, but you know he’s looking at you.

“You go from not wanting to talk to me, to annoying the hell out of me, to ignoring me again and now this. I just don’t get it. What do you what from me? I need to know, because if things keep going on like this, I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” A beat of silence follows your speech.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

The evenness of his voice makes a piece of your heart break. You didn’t know he had the power to destroy you with a simple sentence until he just did. You could tell that you had somewhat of a deranged smile plastered on your face. Something akin to disbelief and pain. You take a deep and shaky breath in. “You know, for someone who ‘doesn’t want anything from me’, you sure do go the extra mile to include yourself a whole lot in my life.” Kei remains silent, and for some reason that sets you off even more.

You’ve come to realize that you despise when he does that. That you’d much rather have him bite back or snarl an insult at you, when just a month ago you would’ve given anything to have him rendered mute.

Maybe its because it gives an easy reason to hate him. But right now, he’s given you more than enough.

“So, if you don’t want anything from me, why do you go so out of your way to bother me? Make me so angry I want to rip your head off? Make fun of anything that has to do with me? Stare at me every time you get a chance?” You’ve stood up now, throwing the blanket off you in the process, voice getting louder with ever question. You were no longer cold; Instead, overheating with frustration. But you weren’t even close to be done. You chuckle humorlessly.

Kei just sits and listens to you, face blank and unable to read. The look causes tears to well in your eyes, but you will them with all your life to not let them drop.

You don’t even have the time to try and stop the next words that come out of your mouth.

“Why did you kiss me, if you don’t want anything from me?” You hear your voice crack at the last question. You were beyond furious at this point, and your rage had caused you the throw out the real reason you were upset. The real reason behind all of it. The reason you had tried to hide so badly from yourself.

When Kei had kissed you, you liked it. And you were devasted that he didn’t.

You liked Tsukishima Kei. You liked that sarcastic asshole. And there was nothing good about it. At the epiphany, you can’t stop the slightly strained laughs that escape you.

What a ridiculous situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

“I should’ve left the night it happened right? I should’ve known that since you hate me with your entire existence, of course you’d choose the one thing that would cause me the most emotional turmoil. Well congratulations! I no longer want anything to do with you! You’ve won, okay?! You’ve gotten me to fall for you, and subsequentially ruin me!” You laugh at little more, not even realizing the tears falling down your face.

There’s a long silence between you two, only being filled with your heavy breaths. You wait a couple seconds for a response, an apology (yeah right), simply anything. But he stays silent, not even giving you the courtesy of looking you in the eye.

At the feeling of tears warming your cheeks, you turn and attempt to go to your room, mortified that your literal worst nightmare is occurring.

When you for the umpteenth time today feel a hand grab at your wrist, pulling you with a force. A sense of urgency.

You turn to him to immediately feel his lips on yours. Your eyes widen in surprise. With a sense of Déjà vu, you feel your entire body freeze.

His lips are forceful on yours, like he’s putting every emotion he’s ever felt into that kiss. It was quite literally searing, as if you feel your lips burn. And despite every rational part of your mind screaming at you to slap him, bite him, kick him in the balls or any other action that would result in him backing away from you…

You find yourself kissing him back with an equal amount of ferocity. Even going as far as to forcefully deepen the kiss. On your terms, unlike the last time. You can’t stop the moan that enters his mouth when you feel his tongue rub on yours.

You him groan through the haziness. Whether in satisfaction or surprise, you’re not sure. But all you’re sure of, is that you could never get enough of that sound. Your fingers go to rub his neck, then travelling into the soft curls of his hair, tugging hard whenever you felt he wasn’t close enough. You feel his hands, the hands you’ve thought about for nights on end, going to wrap around your waist and under your shirt, lightly pressing into the small of your back, which causes a heavy shudder to go down the length of your spine. You could feel the pride ebbing of him in waves, to much he earns a rather harsh tug.

When you both pull back for air, a string of saliva following you both, you find his long but strong arms wrapped around your waist, and yours his neck, pulling each other closer. Silence is filled by both of your pants.

“Still want nothing to do with me?” He asks, foreheads still leaning on each other; Still so close you can feel is breath on your cheek. Only amplified by the tear streaks. You continue to close your eyes as you pull away further, cheeks heated and red, knowing full well that he’s got you right where he wanted.

“You… Are such an asshole.” You breathe out, yet still choosing to remain in his arms. He rolls his eyes. “And you’re a bitch.” His tone was so smug, like he had just won the lottery. You couldn’t help but threaten him with attempting to remove his hands from your waist, to which he applies strength to his hold, keeping you in his arms.

You’re almost scared at how your heart flutters at the action. You scoff, ignoring your feelings of dread at how easy he managed to get you back in his hold.

You were certain that this man would be the death of you. The thought brings a sort of clarity to you.

“Where do we go from here?” You ask, still slightly breathless. Kei only gives you an indifferent shrug.

“I know what I want to do.” He mumbles, taking his hands once again and sliding them under your shirt, feeling his calloused fingertips on your back. You immediately grab his wandering hands. He sighs at you stopping him, giving you that look of ‘what an inconvenience’ again.

Even in moments like these, he still manages to irritate you.

“You’ve done way too many things for that to be your choice tonight.” You say, only seriousness in your tone. You’ve acknowledged your feelings sure, but that doesn’t mean you’ll do what he wants when he’s screwed you over like this. You refuse to be used like that.

“You hurt me, Kei. In more ways than one. A simple kiss won’t fix anything. If you want us to be on better terms, you need to start by showing that you’re sorry.” Kei gives you look that you can’t decipher, before letting go of you to fix his glasses that were starting to slide down his face.

“What do you want me to do?” Honestly, you were taken aback by his abruptness. You didn’t expect him to agree so soon. You didn’t even know what to say.

“I’m not sure yet.” You reply honestly, and he gives you an annoyed gaze, to which you narrow your eyes. “That’s something you’ll need to figure out on your own, but you need to start with changing your attitude towards me.” To your surprise he takes in what you were telling him, and nods. Then immediately goes to leave the room. You sputter and jog after him.

“Where are you going?”

“To figure it out. I’ll be doing that for the rest of the night so make sure to tidy up the living room.” You hear his voice distantly, to which you turn to the living room, remembering the plates, cups and blanket that was now your responsibility.

“I can’t believe I like that asshole.” You grit to yourself, beginning the process of cleaning up.

~~ Bonus:

You finally finish cleaning up the living room, and retreat to your bedroom practically flopping on your bed. You realize that you were still in your school uniform, so you groaned as you got up to get dressed into for bed. When you go to your dresser trying to find something to sleep in, you find something that isn’t yours on top of it. It was a large black binder.

Curious, you pick it up and sit back down on your bed. You open it and find a small note at the beginning.

Show this to the team and I’ll kill you.

You flip through the first couple of pages. It was a photo album.

Tens and tens of photos with Kei as a child. The same child that makes your heart swell three sizes bigger. A lot of volleyball related photos, and a lot of ones with him and Akiteru. You flip through more and more, feeling the biggest smile on your face.

You didn’t go to sleep for a while, you wanted to commit each photograph to memory.

For what it’s worth, Tsukishima Kei did have hope. Whether he knows it or not.