busy now ;-;

early 20s • fic rec blog pfp by @almaadst

[kazxtora]

Puhleaseee help style me 🙏🏻 am having a y2k themed photoshoot soon but I don't know how to style myself since my wardrobe is also so limited.

I discovered this app called "Whering" where you can digitalize your wardrobe and also style other people. Pls pls pls helppp!

[emmyrosee]

Bakugou works. A lot.

It was, admittedly, something you forced yourself to look past. Bakugou Katsuki warned you from the beginning that his work was first. It always would be, his dreams and goals, that was who he was.

“Take it or leave it,” he’d told you once, many years ago. “This is what I do.”

And back then, a fool completely head over heels for Katsuki, you’d take it. That was your life, too- texts that went unanswered for days, random updates about his day, calling maybe twice a week to see how you were, and you were fine to sacrifice that part of your sanity all those years ago.

But now, Kirishima posts the random flowers he got his partner on any random Wednesday. Midoriya’s hand clasped under the left hand of his fiancée’s on his timeline. Even Kaminari, who posts tangled legs of his person before he gets up to start the day. It makes you feel sick.

All you want, all you crave, all you’d sell for, is for flowers on any day. A wedding ring that would mean something. Tangled legs in the morning that beg and plead to stay in the warmth of the sheets.

But Katsuki has never been good at giving you that; he’s not a Prince Charming and his life is not a fairytale, you are not his number one priority and it fucking destroys you on the inside.

For years, you try to let it go, to no damn avail. It just hurts too much to think about for too long, knowing that nothings to change or give, and as long as your heart will love him, you’ll be right there waiting, and knowing not whether that love and excitement will always be returned.

But tonight, your dinner sits cold. One place setting untouched, unused and unloved, with your head resting on your hand as the rest of dinner is untouched. The steam stopped flowing from the plates hours ago, and you find yourself still sitting at the table. Your elbows grow sore from perching your chin in your palm.

Your lip quivers as you move to hang your head in sadness, hopelessness, until a knock rouses you from your wallowing. You wipe your eyes and make your way to the locked door, and smile at the guest on the otherside.

"Shoto," you sigh. "Here for your key?"

"Yes," he says simply, nodding his head in appreciation. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you taking care of the cats. It truly means a lot."

You raise your hand in an attempt to show nonchalance, "it's no big deal at all. I know how busy you get, it's the least I can do for such a good neighbor."

He chuckles, and you forgot how good the sound felt falling from someone else's lips. It feels like it's been ages since you've heard it. He nods his head again, "well, thank you again," he turns on his heel to start walking away.

"Shoto," you say. He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you. You fiddle with the door handle, "could I interest you in some cold dinner? I cooked for Katsuki, but he's not here and leftovers never get eaten in this house, and... I... don't mind reheating some for you."

A glimmer of sympathy crosses his eyes, offering a hum, "I would certainly appreciate the warm meal. Thank you."

It's not the guest you'd hoped, but you've had dinner with worse people. Todoroki's been in your life for longer than you care to remember, what's one more dinner shared together?

It's not like Katsuki is here to say otherwise.

Over a lukewarm, slightly-rubberized-from-microwaving dinner, Todoroki listens to you, holding onto every word as he always does when you speak. It feels nice to be heard again, to not be forced to talk to the walls of your home.

You're not sure how long it's been before the front door opens again, and you feel yourself tense up at the heavy boots crossing the threshold, a snarly "I'm home" ringing in the air.

"Hey," you call back. "Shoto and I were wrapping up dinner, I saved-"

"The fuck's he doing here?" He snarls, and Todoroki merely blinks, bored.

"Is it not friendly to drop in for some company?" He asks, and if you knew Todoroki any less, you'd never know it was his way of riling Katsuki up.

And it hasn't failed once.

Katsuki balls his fist, "not when I'm not fucking home, you freak!"

"Katsuki, enough," you snarl back. Two heads whip towards you, one set of eyes filled with fury, the other with surprise. “Maybe you should’ve been here when Shoto stopped by. This weird complex you’re in wouldn’t be a damn issue.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” His words are a growl deep behind a wall of teeth, but you’re so tired it doesn’t deter you. You clench your hands and finally curl them into fists. “You got something to say to me?”

You grit your teeth, “Shoto's been here for how long? You haven’t. You wanted him out so bad? You should’ve fucking been here. You weren’t. So bite me.” You quickly spin on your heel as stinging tears burn your waterline, leaving the two heroes alone in the living room.

Katsuki barks your name, “we’re not done here!”

“I am.”

You purposely slam the door, knowing it’s one of his biggest pet peeves. He deserves it, and a lot more. Katsuki yells a bit more, too much of a ferocious tone to fully grasp what he’s saying, and it’s matched with Todoroki’s calm demeanor. He kicks Todoroki out, which you hear, and you brace yourself as he stomps into the bedroom, ready for the explosion that's hurdling straight towards you.

But it never comes.

Instead, you watch the bathroom door open and close, and then a few moments later, you hear the shower turn on. Confusion twists through your mind as you try to piece together just exactly what happened, but ultimately drawing only blanks. You sigh and strip into your pajamas, deciding to call it a night before he comes in and stirs the pot more.

He can do it tomorrow.

Though your heart does break a little when you wake up to find the bed next to you cold and made; he must’ve crashed on the couch last night, too enveloped with his fury to come and make amends.

That's fine. You're patient.

Sunday is tense, a day Katsuki usually reserves off to spend time at home, he's made the executive decision to go into work, leaving you to mourn the love lost in the day, love you usually receive in the melting day. Todoroki comes by again, this time to check in on you after the fight he'd witnessed the day before. And to your disappointment, Katsuki arrives home at the same time, briskly brushing past you and your friend.

Monday comes and goes, once again the bed next to you remains cold in wordless grudge. You're not going to apologize, you have no need to.

Even if this is the end of your relationship.

What's there to work through? After forcing you into a life where affection is miniscule and tokes of appreciation are seen as nothing more than an option, perhaps its for the best to let the embers die, and-

No.

You don't want it to be the end. Not like this. Not now. Not after years of giving Bakugou Katsuki your entire life, promising to stand by him through thick and thin.

You'll bite your tongue until it hurts. Until he decides what he wants to do. You're loyal as a dog to him, after all. The ball remains in his court, always.

By Tuesday, Katsuki comes in, and he doesn’t even look at you. He washes his hands before shambling off to the showers to mimic some form of warmth you’d once provided him. When you hear the shower head turn on, you curl deeper into your corner of the couch, lowering your eyes to try and fight back the tears that sting at your waterline.

Maybe he is done. Maybe this is it. He’s sick of waiting for you, sick of your shit and tired of the exhaust you put on his mentality. Work comes first, and if there was ever a time to enforce it, it would be now.

With a soft whimper to mask your cries, you click off the tv and creep your way up the stairs. It’s dark in your room, the pictures of you and Katsuki invisible until you flick on the light- even then, they’re not as pristine as they had looked just days ago.

The bed is once again cold and feels far too big as you curl up on your side, knowing if you roll onto his, you’ll be met with a hand waking you up and pushing you away.

You’re not in the mood for that tonight.

Not when for months at a time, he’s been shoving you away, be it with mean words or snaps of venom or just actually moving you from his space, you can’t possibly conjure the mood in your little pity party to care for him to disregard you in such brutal ways.

But fuck, god, no matter how much you want to believe it, that you can just as easily fall asleep without him next to you, snores punching through the air and the occasional lull of his head next to yours, you can't, and you hate how bitter and horrible a life without Bakugou Katsuki sounds.

You hate how your life revolves around him, and you wish it didn't, you hate how empty your soul would be without his name coming up on your phone, you hate that you fell so hard for Bakugou Katsuki that a life without him doesn't exist.

You'll never leave him. It makes you feel sick.

What you wouldn't sell, what you wouldn't give, to have Bakugou Katsuki love you just as much as you do, him.

But, as if manifested, no more than an hour later, he does come in. Your name falling from his lips sounds timid, like he's unsure if he should be saying it. "Listen," he snips, lip quivering as he sinks his teeth into the fat, eyes swollen from tears and looking so defeated you're almost convinced it’s not even the Bakugou Katsuki you fell in love with all those years ago.

You slowly sit up, curling up by the pillows as he stands in the doorway, disheveled and frustrated and extremely, clearly, hurt.

“You win,” he whimpers, hands cupped over his mouth to mimic a paper bag, regulating his breathing. They suddenly drop to the side, “you-you-you win. I can’t do this anymore, I won’t, I fucking give, you win-“

“Win what?” You ask, but it’s clear in your demeanor that you know exactly what he’s confessing to, even as you’re dazed from sleep.

You just want him to say it.

Katsuki uses his sleeve to roughly rub the tears out of his eyes, “just fucking stop, okay?” He growls, and it sends a shiver through you as it passes his teeth. “You fucking win, okay? I-I-I was wrong, I never should’ve said shit about you and Todoroki’s friendship, or said shit-fuck about you spending time with him when I should’ve been here.” He lets one, saliva filled sob sneak past his lips, it’s like a dam of words break loose. “But fuck, please just fucking look at me again, I’m sorry, I just hate the idea that you’ll fall for him while trying to get back at me, so please just love me again-“

At that, you jump up to your feet and quickly scurry over to him, brows furrowed in concern but lip pouting out as you toss your arms around him, his knees buckling under your touch and arms limply hanging. “-because I sure wouldn’t blame you if you did leave me for him after how I’ve been treating you.”

“Katsuki,” you soothe, a hand reaching up to scratch at his scalp. “That’s not going to happen. That’s not what this was to show you.” You plant kisses along his jawline, hating the feeling of it quivering under your affection. “This wasn’t to show you that my feelings for Shoto become more romantic when you’re not here; it was to show you what you were missing when you could’ve been here.” He slouches further at your words, and you wonder if they were the correct ones to say.

“Katsuki,” you say again, firmly, gathering his cheeks in your hands. They’re hot, fuck they’re so warm from his distress, and and you feel what little coolness your palms held disappear into the swells. “You’re not going to lose me to Shoto. I would never leave you for Shoto- I’d never leave you for anyone.” He blinks unconvinced at you, and one of his tears roll over your fingers. “But you will miss dinners. You will miss movies. You will miss time with me if you don’t stop only thinking of yourself in this relationship. What you’re doing now clearly isn’t meshing with what I need. What we need from each other. I can only be so flexible before I wonder when we’ll… when I’ll stop bothering.”

“I don’t want to stop,” he mumbles, trying to chase even more coolness in your palms. “I just… I want to be the best-“

“And you are, but you can’t betray yourself by overworking yourself-“

“No,” he bites through his teeth. “The best for you. But… Todoroki can give you the best shit effortlessly, I fucking see it. And…” he winces as he stands up, as if disgusted to even say what dares to slip past his tongue. “And he can give you the life you want, the life you deserve; I just cant fucking watch it anymore.”

“Shhh,” you soothe, pulling his reluctant form into a hug. He tenses, but eventually rests his head in the crook of your neck, trembling hands settling on your waist gently, as if scared you’d break under the touch. Your nails move up to his scalp, scratching lovingly.

“Shoto is a mild-mannered, quiet spoken person who thinks logically about everything he says and does,” You whisper, planting a soft kiss to his pounding temple.

“I love that about him, as a friend- but you, Katsuki, are exciting. And you make loving you just as addictive.”

He does, finally, perk up at that, and you smile against his skin. “Say more stuff like that,” he mumbles, sniffling, but you tighten your arms around him while you giggle softly at the idea of having your old Bakugo back.

“Shoto and I go to the market together, we’re in and out in twenty minutes tops- but if that’s what I wanted, I’d go alone,” he lets out a breathy chuckle, and you grin, “I like bickering with you in the dairy aisle about flavors of milk to get.”

“If I wanted chocolate milk, I’d get the syrup,” he defends, as if you’re standing in the aisle and not picking up the pieces of your relationship in your bedroom.

“And then when the milk is all gone, I have you bitching at me about the syrup getting wasted,” you snort. “It’s just easier if I get-“

“I love you,” he whispers, his hot breath fanning out over your neck. You pause and smile, relishing in the scent of his post-shower aroma.

“I love you,” you say back, kissing whatever your lips can reach against his head. “Once a week, Katsuki. I want to go to bed with you at least once a week, and not be left away absolutely panicked over where the hell you may have gone. I’d like to have dinner with you at some point in the week. I hate missing you, I always have, even when we were teens.” When he finally nods softly, you pull back with your hands cupping his cheeks, the swollen apples looking foreign on your usually solid man. You smirk and use your thumb to wipe his tears, “you’ve always been an ugly crier.”

He chokes softly on a laugh, “why do you think I never do it?” He licks his dry lips before looking you up and down, “leave that shit to you.”

“It is nice seeing you emotional over me for once.”

“Yeah?” He rasps. Then, he tugs you in for a kiss, one that sears and tears at your teeth and tongue, one that feels exhilarating and exhausting all at once, one that encapsulates Katsuki in one swift, dominating move.

It’s jagged and rough, but familiar enough to have you swooning in his bulky, caring arms.

“You got me in love with you, or some shit.”

[colouredbyd]

tolerate it

steve harrington x reader

summary: you accidentally overhear steve calling you “clingy” to robin. instead of confronting him, you retreat into silence, letting your hurt fester. steve notices and becomes desperate to understand, but the more he reaches out, the wider the distance grows.

word count: 6.1k

a/n: after writing way too much steve fluff, it’s time for some angst with my fav trope: fmc overhears her spouse call her clingy… eventual happy ending <3

tags: takes place after s4 timeskip, so much angst, emotional hurt, crying, reader has scars from a demo attack, nancy and robin are so sweet here, distancing, reader has ptsd, emotional vulnerability, reader was eddie's bsf, mentions of violence, trauma, typical upside down gore, lack of communication, so much fluff at the end, happy ending.

You truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop. 

If anything, it was an accident, a cruel, stupid accident orchestrated by the universe itself and whatever higher power up there that wanted to see you suffering. 

You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying. 

By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.

You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.

“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”

Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”

You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.

Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.

So you turned around.

That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.

You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.

Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.

You were back in the Upside Down.

Back in that choking red sky, where  the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest. 

You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—

—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.

You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.

You hadn’t felt safe since.

Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.

Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.

Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.

Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.

You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you. 

And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.

“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”

Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”

“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”

She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.

“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”

Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.

“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”

He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”

Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.

Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”

“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”

“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”

Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.

“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”

Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”

“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”

“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”

Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”

Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.

“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”

Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”

Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”

You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.

You don’t grab your coat when you leave.

You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.

You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.

Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not. 

Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little. 

It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster. 

Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on. 

And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.

Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.

You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup. 

By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you. 

But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.

The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first. 

You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.

“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.

“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.

“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.

“No,” you said simply.

It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.

You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.

By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.

“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”

You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.

Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence. 

If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.

But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.

“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”

You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”

The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”

He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”

“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”

He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”

“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”

He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”

You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”

The days after are worse.

Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana. 

If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.

Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.

You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”

He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”

“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”

You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”

He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.

He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”

You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.

“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”

“That’s good,” you say quietly.

He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”

“Mhm.”

Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”

“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”

You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”

There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right. 

He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”

Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”

He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.

He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.

You don’t.

“Night,” he says quietly.

“Night,” you reply, barely audible.

He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..

As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first. 

You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.

Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.

You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong. 

Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.

It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart. 

There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.

You grew used to the distance. 

Steve though, did not.

His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown. 

He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.

And every time he did, you stepped further away.

That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door. 

You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now. 

Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.

But his mind would not shut up.

Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.

Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.

Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.

For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?

“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”

Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”

Nancy frowned. “Without who?”

“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”

Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”

The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally  together today?”

Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”

The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.

“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”

Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”

Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”

“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”

“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.

“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”

“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”

Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.

“What?” he shot back.

“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”

He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”

Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.

“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.

“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”

His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.

“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she  didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”

“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”

Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”

He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”

“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”

She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”

Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”

Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”

With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.

Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.

The house was dark. Too dark.

Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.

For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.

“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.

Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.

“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.

You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”

There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.

“How was your day?” he asked.

You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”

His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”

He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”

Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.

“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”

You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.

He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.

Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.

His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.

You let yourself breathe.

He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—

Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.

“Uhm, Y/n.”

You turned. “Yeah?”

He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”

He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.

“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard. 

“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.

Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.

“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”

He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”

He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides, not quite touching like he’s scared you’ll flinch away.

“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”

Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

That’s when you break.

The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath. 

Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.

Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.

“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.

He freezes. “You… heard what?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”

The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.

“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”

“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”

“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to be alone with that.”

You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”

Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”

Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.

“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”

His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said somethin’ stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”

You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.

He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”

His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”

You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.

You breathe him in.

And then—

Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.

You freeze for half a second.

Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.

“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”

Steve’s face goes bright red.

“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”

That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.

“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”

You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”

You smile. “Me too.”

He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”

“What?” you ask.

“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”

You blink. “Steve—”

“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”

“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”

He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”

“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Steve—”

“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”

You gape at him. “But—”

“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.

You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.

Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.

And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.

And, apparently, spend three hundred and ninety dollars on at some fancy restaurant without even blinking.

[minus-plus-zer0]

Too Hot For Cuddles

“Get over here,” Bakugou said, glaring at you from across the bed. You had nearly scooched towards the edge of the mattress, dangerously close to falling off.

“You’re like a heater…” you whined. “No more cuddling for one night. Please?”

“WHAT?!” Bakugou looked like you told him to go jump off of a cliff. “The heat is not that bad! Just get over here!”

“No…” 

You turned your back to him, hoping for a peaceful night’s rest. Oh how wrong you were. 

Bakugou shuffled over to your side of the bed, muttering complaints as he finally reached your back. 

He shook your shoulder gently. “Cuddle me.”

“Katsuki… no…”

Bakugou sighed. 

“…Please?” His tone was surprisingly vulnerable. “If I take my shirt off, will that help? Just don’t wanna sleep alone without ya…”

You groaned cutely. “Fine, fine.” 

He whipped off his shirt and you rolled into his strong arms. He exhaled contentedly, his face digging into your hair for comfort. 

“This wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bakugou asked, his smile pressing into your head. 

“If I die from overheating, it’s your fault. Remember that, sweetie.”

“I will, babe.”

[icreamcake]

good goodbye ★ toji fushiguro & gojo satoru

alexa play, good goodbye by hwasa: “goodbye will hurt me but i’ll let the tears fall. even if i break in regret, i’ve loved us after all. it’s okay, don’t look back my way.”

synopsis. everyone warned you to stay away from toji fushiguro insisting the man’s baggage would dim your light. they claimed, he was far too broken up by the loss of his ex-wife to ever truly love anyone else. yet, you went ahead and fell in love with him, and even decided to marry him becoming the (step)mother of his child. they didn’t say: “i told you so,” when the light in your eyes faded but you could see it written on their faces.

content. f!reader, angst, modern universe, mentions of death, age gap relationship — reader is in her mid 20s, toji is in his late 30s, written chapters, heavy angst, fluff?, love triangle between gojo x reader x toji, office?reader, lawyer!gojo satoru, high school sweethearts (gojo & reader), minor memory loss, alcohol, violence, blood, jealousy, lonely reader, insecurities, jealousy, maybe: exes to lovers?, regret, explicit language, groveling, complicated relationships, more tags in each chapter.

status. coming soon, 12.13.25.

author's note. hiya! did i just start watching jjk? yes. do i already have 3 toji posts in the works? yes. are they all angst? of course. anyways, this is heavily based off the kdrama: hi bye, mama — strictly the plot surrounding minjeong and the struggles being a step-mother and the wife of a man who continues to mourn. i’m excited to be writing this but if it sucks, please forgive me <3

good goodbye, act i.

chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii, chapter iv, chapter v.

good goodbye, act ii: toji fushiguro's route.

chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii.

good goodbye, act ii: satoru gojo's route.

chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii.

taglist. if you’d like to tagged comment under this post or send an ask !!

© dearjihyo, 2025. please do not repost, edit, copy, translate, feed or copy into Al or plagiarize my works.

[windyremedy]

you couldn’t help yourself.

it’s basically in your blood to mess with your dear explosive— easily rage baited and lovely husband. so while maybe it wasn’t the smartest prank to execute especially on him of all people, you never claimed to be wise and well the consequences honestly has never really stopped you.

so during his office hour break you sent him a quick text claiming a handyman offered to help fix up the sink.

messages

you: hey

you: a maintenance technician just came by

you: asked if there was anything that needed fixing

you texted, sending an ai photo generated of a guy standing outside the door with eeiry eyes and an off putting smile. then giggling to yourself at the instantaneous response he sent.

messages

dynamine: what the fuck?

dynamine: tell him hell no and slam the door on his face.

you: but what about the dishwasher leak?

dynamine: I told you I’ll do it.

you: but you haven’t

dynamine: you only told me last night?!!!

you: well it’s already too late

as you sent that you waited for a few minutes to go by but during it you could see him pinging your phone multiple times, lightly laughing to yourself at his panicked state.

messages

dynamine: hello???

dynamine: are you there?

*dyanmine is calling*

*dyanmine is calling*

dynamine: answer your phone.

dynamine: I’m serious.

you: yeah he’s already working 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

dynamine: you aren’t stupid.

dynamine: I know you aren’t.

dynamine: what are you doing?

then again you sent him another photo. this time with you in it throwing a thumbs up with the ‘handyman’ at the back. usually he’s pretty sharp but it’s been a long week and he had and actually is still dealing with an infinite amount of paperwork.

messages

dynamine: get him out the house???????

*dyanmine is calling*

*dyanmine is calling*

*dyanmine is calling*

*dyanmine is calling*

dynamine: WOMAN

dynamine: ANSWDFE THE PHSODNE

but instead of answering you instead texted him a photo of the man in your shared bed, peacefully sleeping without a care.

for awhile there was long drawn silence as you sat there steady. staring worriedly at your mute phone, then suddenly almost ominously.

messages

dynamine: be there in 20

that’s impossible, it takes at least an hour from here to his agency. there’s no way, right?

messages

you: what?

dynamine: 10

maybe he’s counting in minutes?

messages

dynamine: 9

HOLY SHIT—

messages

you: WAIT

you: WAITSHjr

you: WAIT IT’S AJOKE

you: ARE YOU ALREAUD HERE??

you: OMG KATSUKI DID YOU USE UR QUIRK??!!?!

©windyremedy

[babachira]

no. 10 adopts some of the energy radiating off vice-captain hoshina, including the ones that are about you (manga spoilers!)

number 10's face wasn't as visible as it used to be. "hoshina. you have a woman?"

hoshina soshiro x reader

── ⟢

+ weapon no. 10 is just so interested in you and hoshina soshiro is absolutely livid about this. how did you find out?

+ well. rubs hands

+ when number 10 was turned into weapon after its deal that only hoshina soshiro could wear it, it was the start of the chaos that is to be explained right now.

+ of course, it's known that number 10 is the only sentient weapon that the defence force has ever had to deal with, so if anything, hoshina is forced to go through torment almost every single day, which is something he definitely didn't ask for. a numbered weapon? sure, how wonderful, but a talking one?

+ and one that's becoming more and more obsessed with you by the day?? no.

+ the first time hoshina put the suit on, number 10 was just full of bark and bite. he was too focused on making it obey that he didn't have time to think about you. when he wanted to go left, it went right. when he wanted to strike up, its tail dug into the ground. they got into arguments here and there to the point where the operations team wasn't too sure that this could be carried on any longer.

+ the second time was when hoshina had to fight in a simulation with it. it was a test run and okonogi wanted to see how far his abilities would take him. his twin blades were attached to his back and number 10's tail was, for once, poised high in the air, ready to strike at the provided training dummy. their cooperation was better than before, but it still wasn't enough. they continued to bicker like children.

+ it was the third time when number 10 realised that hoshina soshiro had a purpose. not for himself, not for the defence force but for one individual. they were in the middle of making adjustments to the suit when suddenly, number 10 squeezed and hoshina was forced to inhale a sharp breath.

+ "oi!" he winced. "what do you think you're doing?"

+ "hoshina." number 10's face wasn't as visible as it used to be, but everyone in the room was positive that they saw a smirk bounce off of it. "you have a woman?"

+ number 10 hadn't met you. yet. hoshina wanted it to remain that way.

+ "can i see her?"

+ "absolutely not."

+ it asked him every single day, every single bloody time the suit was on his body. "when can i see this special woman?" "never." "hoh, did you meet her today?" "shut up." "i can tell from the way you're still thinking about her." "i'll rip your vocal chords out, if you even have any." "stop thinking about that kiss, it's disgusting." "maybe i'll have to do it more often to shut you up." "ah, your heart is beating faster right now, are you thinking about her—" "okonogi! get this suit off me!"

+ half of the operations team believe this to be their form of entertainment. the vice-captain is famous for victimising so many of the new recruits with his endless teasing that seeing him about to erupt under number 10's consistent yapping is actually kind of hilarious. they'd never admit that though. their jobs are still important and so are their lives.

+ word spreads fast in the third division. you try to turn a deaf ear to the obvious fact that number 10 is now infatuated by you. you've brought it up to hoshina before, but he's absolutely insistent that you will stay away from it. for your safety and for his sanity. mainly his sanity because now that he knows number 10 feeds off his thoughts, he makes it certain that if it ever hurts you—he will. oh, he will.

+ we know that hoshina is stubborn, but number 10 is just a different level. it doesn't bother talking to the members of the operation team, it only converses with hoshina because it enjoys his strength and adrenaline when they're paired together, but now it wants to meet you more than ever. now, whenever hoshina wears the suit, he feels like he's unable to breathe the more he refuses number 10's incessant whining.

+ "but you see her everyday," it complains. is it a child?! is it that desperate for a human mother?! hoshina wants to scream. "let me see her too. i want to see what kind of woman is making you even stronger. maybe it will be the same for me."

+ and he can't believe it, he really can't believe it, but he makes it happen.

+ when you enter the room—with hoshina so close behind you—none of the operations members dare to speak. hoshina has his hands in his pockets but his eyes pierce into the glowing blue hues of number 10. it's like a mental battle of who's going to break the silence first, and it certainly isn't going to be okonogi, who's on the edge of her seat.

+ "so, you're the woman."

+ you stand a metre away from the glass, a metre away from number 10, the one that almost blew hoshina's head off from the raid. to be honest, as long as it does its job on the battlefield as a numbered weapon, you don't have the biggest qualms against it. sure, it almost flattened hoshina like an ant, but it's under the defence force's command now, so you think it's safer.

+ "what a . . . " it trails off and you feel hoshina's chest pressed against your back. when you agreed to meet number 10, much to hoshina's annoyance, he had made you promise that under no circumstances would you ever go see it alone. it's weaponised, yes, but that still doesn't stop him from worrying or imagining what could happen if he's not there to protect you. he knows you're very capable, but it's just what you do when you're hopelessly in love with someone in a world where love doesn't stop death.

+ "what a splendid choice," number 10 says.

+ it . . . isn't what you expected, but you'll take it. a praise from a kaiju? a daikaiju too? yes, you'll definitely take it.

+ "let me tell you something, woman of hoshina soshiro," number 10 continues. 'woman of hoshina soshiro'—the nerve—what does he think you are, a human pet that was picked up from the road? "he is stronger when he thinks of you, i believe you to be of great value."

+ you're getting free information about hoshina soshiro from a weaponised enemy. is it a win-win or is it a tragedy? but you don't have time to process this because from behind, hoshina pipes up. "if that's all you wanted to say, it's useless. she knows that already."

+ "then, woman of hoshina soshiro, i have a proposal," it says. you hear your vice-captain huff. "make me stronger and i will never let hoshina fall."

+ it's a big request. it's a big proposal. you'd do anything to guarantee hoshina's safety, anyone's safety in a place where everything is so unpredictable, but before you can say anything, hoshina pushes you behind him and glares up at number 10.

+ "that's enough. she'll do no such thing."

+ "i asked her, not you."

+ "i control you, you don't control anyone around me."

+ and from that day onwards, it's not about making improvements towards the suit anymore or 'how does wearing number 10 feel like today, vice-captain?'

+ it's always, "okonogi, dear, it's choking me." "okonogi, is there any way you can make this stupid thing stop talking?" "hoshina soshiro, where is she?" "i told you, she's not going anywhere near you." "think about that woman again, you're too weak right now."

+ on the rare occasion where you're paired with hoshina—well, with the addition of number 10, who is very happy—you admit that hoshina is faster. with number 10, his accuracy is merciless and he's unafraid to slice anything that comes hurtling your way. this is when number 10 sees your abilities too and it's impressed. it scans your every move, the way you streak across the battlefield and blind a yoju with your weapon. it has an unfathomable amount of pride for itself and user, but bit by bit, it starts to extend that to you.

+ and especially when they win against kaiju no. 12 together. you had helped shinonome from the first division, but after hearing about hoshina's victory, you sprint like never before. he's sitting with his head resting against a boulder, his legs stretched and sword carelessly tossed beside him. you don't know if weaponised kaiju ever get tired, but humans certainly do. so, you dash over, gripping his hand and searching for any major injuries, but luckily, when you discover that he's ok, you envelope him in the biggest hug and you don't let go.

+ "when okonogi said you were losing in a close-combat battle," you say, lips lightly pressed against his neck. "i was going to make number 12 wait for me to kill you first."

+ hoshina laughs, raising his hands to smooth your hair. "i'm sure it would've agreed."

+ "you can't kill me, woman of hoshina soshiro."

+ with a blink, you remember that number 10 is still stuck to hoshina, but you snicker as you pull away, sitting in the gap between hoshina's spread out legs. you lean towards the glow in the centre of his chest. "you'll be surprised, suit of hoshina soshiro."

+ you swear you can hear it grumble. "i am not just a suit."

+ "well, i'm not just his woman either," you reply, shrugging when hoshina looks at you in disbelief. are you genuinely having a conversation with . . . a weapon? "if i wore you, you would've given up being sentient."

+ hoshina grins through his bloodied face. you reach out to gently swipe some off the fresh ones off and he leans into your touch. "i agree."

+ you keep your hand on his cheek. "you think i can tame it?"

+ "no, it'll probably grow sick of you."

+ and you pinch him.

+ "stop performing whatever you're doing in front of me," number 10 warns, but when have you or hoshina ever cared about what it thinks? "it is making me sick."

+ hoshina raises his brows. "hoh? (y/n), dear, please continue."

+ "do not."

[killergee]

Born to write fanfics forced to write cover letters and resumes 😔

[kazxtora]

one thing that changed in me when I got a boyfriend is that every time i finish reading a fic, i always get a “i want that with him” thought

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 1:52

Ok, so maybe Bakugou’s daughter often clung to him like a stubborn little barnacle. Chubby arms were looped tightly around his neck, and her puffy cheek was pressed warm against his shoulder. Legs kicked every now and then—tiny, impatient stomps in the air—but she refused to let go, despite being fully awake and heavy as hell.

“She’s like a furnace,” he muttered as he paced around the living room barefoot, a coffee mug half-finished and abandoned on the side table. “My back’s sweatin’, baby. You’re gettin’ heavy.”

“No down,” Kusami mumbled into his neck.

Her voice was muffled but firm, like a warning. A threat.

No doubt his kid. No DNA test needed.

Bakugou huffed, adjusting her so her weight settled better in his arms. “You’ve been up here for forty minutes. I’m not a damn tree branch.”

“No down!” she said again, louder this time, squirming and gripping tighter as if he was really going to drop her right that second.

Across the room, you stood at the kitchen counter, drying the last of Kusami’s snack bowls. You turned slowly, your expression already halfway between exasperation and amusement. “Katsuki…”

Bakugou ignored your tone completely. He tilted his head down to press a kiss into the messy tuft of Kusami’s hair, which still smelled faintly like baby shampoo and maple syrup from breakfast. “I gotta put you down, Gremlin,” he said in a singsong voice, the one he knew she hated. “Daddy’s arms are gonna fall off. Kusami goes on the floor. Boom—splat!”

Immediately, Kusami’s eyes went wide. Her bottom lip trembled. “Nooooo,” she cried, voice cracking as her whole body tensed against him. Dammit. How dare babies learn emotional manipulation at such a young age?

Bakugou smirked.

“Katsuki!” you called from the kitchen, stepping around the counter with a damp towel in your hand and a glare in your eyes. “You know that makes her cry!”

“I ain’t doin’ anything!” he defended with a guilty grin as Kusami started sniffling, her arms squeezing his neck like a python’s. “I didn’t actually put her down!”

“Yeah, but you said it like you meant it!”

“It’s called buildin’ resilience.”

You sighed as you crossed the living room toward him. “It’s called emotional terrorism.”

Kusami’s tiny voice cracked again. “Daaaadyyyyy…”

“Aw, come on, baby,” he cooed, rubbing her back. “You know Daddy’s messin’ with you.”

She let out a whimper and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Then, with a trembling voice soaked in betrayal, she mumbled, “No floor…”

Bakugou sighed and rocked her gently from side to side. “Okay, okay. No floor. You win.”

You stood in front of him now, towel in hand, your expression softening as you looked at your daughter’s blotchy red face squished against your husband’s shoulder.

You dabbed at Kusami’s cheeks. “You’re mean, Katsuki.”

“She’s gotta learn sarcasm somehow,” he muttered, kissing Kusami’s temple again.

“She’s two.”

“She’s smart,” he said simply. “She knew I was kiddin’.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re lucky she’s obsessed with you. If I said the same thing to her, she’d scream like I kicked her puppy.”

Bakugou grinned. “That’s ‘cause I’m the favorite.”

You raised a brow, stepping closer so your arm brushed against his, your voice low and teasing. “You’re lucky you’re my favorite too.”

He gave you that smug, crooked smile of his—the one that always got under your skin in the best way. “I know.”

Kusami let out another tired, hiccupy breath, and you reached up to smooth your daughter’s hair. “Hey, Ku-mi,” you said sweetly. “You wanna sit with Mommy for a bit? Give Daddy a break?”

“No…” Kusami croaked. “Daddy…”

“She doesn’t wanna let go,” Bakugou said, all faux regret as he nuzzled his nose into her hair. “I’m irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now.

He shifted Kusami again, bouncing her a little. “You know, I wasn’t this clingy when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, because you were a demon who didn’t want hugs or help or baths.”

“I was independent.”

“You were feral,” you countered, laughing softly.

Bakugou shrugged. “And now I’m a softie with my baby girl.”

You leaned your head against his arm and looked up at him fondly. “Yeah. You really are.”

He glanced down at you, then at the sleepy, sniffling little girl still attached to him like a leech. “She’s got me wrapped around her damn finger.”

“You’re the one who tied the knot yourself,” you teased, reaching out to gently stroke Kusami’s cheek.

Your daughter’s eyes were closing again, her hands now lazily tangled in the collar of Bakugou’s shirt. She sniffled one more time but didn’t cry. Instead, she sighed and leaned her full weight into her father’s chest, completely surrendered to his warmth.

“She’s gonna grow up and never wanna cuddle me like this again,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You heard the rare wistfulness in his voice and smiled.

“So enjoy it,” you told him. “Don’t scare her with the floor every time you’re tired.”

“I wasn’t tired,” he grumbled, rubbing her back again. “I was just messin’ with her. It’s funny.”

You gave him a pointed look, stepping behind him so you could wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him from behind as he held your daughter.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re being an ass.”

“I am cute.”

“Debatable.”

He snorted and leaned his head back a little, resting it against yours.

Kusami’s breathing evened out again, finally drifting off in his arms as you held onto both of them—your husband, who acted tough but melted the second your daughter whimpered, and your baby girl, who trusted him more than anything in the world.

Bakugou looked down at her peaceful little face.

“…Still not puttin’ her down,” he murmured.

Your voice was soft behind him.

“I know.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[kazxtora]

It started with one plant.

Ushijima opened the door and placed the pot he was holding in one of the tables near the hallway, placing it in gently before patting the leaves and making his way inside his house to find you.

You were probably home already, he was sure. He opened the bedroom door and saw you on your laptop probably doing work again that you didn't finish in the office.

"I brought home a plant" he said straight up,

———

Found this in my drafts from 2022. Just wow.

[ghadaaknan]

Emergency we need your help 🇵🇸🫂

Please, read my words with your heart...🥹

I am a mother of a small child, and my husband suffers from the effects of a broken leg and cannot move . We live in an area that has become very unsafe, and the evacuation site is only a few meters away ... but we have no way out.

The situation is rapidly getting worse, time is running out.

Please, we need urgent help to be able to move to a safe area.

All I want is safety for my baby and my sick husband.

I have no one but you... Your donation could save our lives.

And if you can't donate, just share my message—maybe it reaches a heart that can help us.

We need to raise 270 dollars because we are facing an exodus, we don't know where

Be a reason to help us and save my baby and donate even a little 20 dollars to us from everyone who feels our condition and what we are suffering in this war and puts himself for one second in our place

Help Ghada and her family rebuild their lives

Hello, I'm Ghada Mhasen, 20 years old, mother of a child born in war. She married shortly before the war and became pregnant a month before

[nabelamohamed]

🇵🇸🙏 don't scroll ‼️

Hello dear people

I am Nabila from Gaza,, I am 64 years old ,,

speaking to you with a heavy and painful heart. I am sorry that I had to ask for help from you, but what we are living is what pushed me to do this. I was living a beautiful, quiet life, enjoying the time I spend with my grandchildren and seven daughters.

Imagine waking up to find that your world has changed in a moment, and you have lost your security and peace, and your home has been destroyed, and you have become homeless and living in conditions that no human being can bear. I suffer from chronic diseases, high blood pressure and diabetes. My medication has run out for some time and I am facing difficulty in obtaining it in light of the lack of treatment in hospitals and health centers. Most of the time I cannot feel my limbs, but I am trying to resist. I do not want to die in such circumstances. I still have hope that this war will end and we will rebuild our beautiful and beloved country again and live in safety. I believe in divine power and justice and that all this pain will go away.

I am trying to endure these difficult conditions that I live in inside a small tent and a bathroom a few meters away from my tent and you know the conditions of diabetics in this case but once again there is still hope. I used to live at the expense of my daughters but with all sadness and regret they have all lost their homes and places of work and they have no source of income left and their situation is like that of any Gazan who is still inside Gaza struggling with death, hunger, diseases and extreme heat each one struggling to feed his children I cannot ask them for help so I have resorted to you and I am fully confident in your humanity to help me so that I can provide food and treatment and provide a better tent than the one I live in because it is torn and the place is full of insects. If I can provide treatment, I want to continue my life and see my grandchildren grow up around me. I don’t want to go now. I know that I don’t have as much life left as I have, but I have the right to live and enjoy this. Please don’t hesitate to help your mother who has come to you with a heavy and sad heart. Every dollar will make a difference in my life. Don’t leave me to live this pain. I appreciate what you are doing for every Palestinian inside and outside Gaza. I pray to God that you don’t go through what we are going through, my beloved.

Medical visits and insulin: $5000

Travel and transportation to hospital, coordination with Egypt's border: $5000

My campaing vetted by

@90-ghost

Support Nabila's Fight for Health and Dignity

Hi, my name is Dipa and I'm raising money for Nabila . Please take some time to read her story below and donate so that she can travel to re

[nabila6]

Help support Dipanwita Roy by donating or sharing with your friends.

[mosabsdr]

💬 Just a Small Update, and a Big Thank You

Dear friends, kind hearts, and everyone who has stood with us,

When I first opened my heart to the world and shared our story, I never imagined the amount of love and solidarity we would receive. Thanks to your incredible support, we’ve now reached $12,837—a milestone that brings real light to some very dark days.

From the deepest corners of my heart, thank you.

💔 A Journey of Loss, but Also of Strength

As many of you know, I’ve lost 25 of my loved ones during this devastating war. That grief lives with me every single day. It’s in the silence that once held laughter, in the empty spaces where we once gathered as a family.

But through your help, I’ve also felt something else: hope. And that hope is priceless.

“21/Oct/2023 Before It Reached Us: The Day Our Neighbor’s House Was Destroyed” A quiet moment of fear, filmed just before everything changed.

“22/Oct/2023 The Morning After: Our Family Home in Ruins” This is what was left behind after the bombing of our home.

🌿 What Life Looks Like for Us Now

Despite everything, we’re still here. Still surviving. Still hoping.

But things have only gotten harder.

The war has returned, more brutal than before—and for over a month now, Gaza has been completely sealed off. No food is coming in. No medical supplies. No aid. No trade. No one is allowed to leave, and no one is allowed to enter.

We’re trapped.

🏚 We live with the fear of tomorrow, every single day. Airstrikes, drones, and the uncertainty of what might happen next. 👨‍👩‍👧 Our family is forever changed—we haven’t just lost people; we’ve lost pieces of ourselves. 📉 Basic needs go unmet—even clean water feels like a luxury now. Medicines, if they exist at all, are unreachable.

And yet…

Your support reminds us that we’re not forgotten. It reminds us that someone, somewhere, is still listening. That someone still cares. That we’re not completely alone in this.

Every message. Every share. Every dollar. It tells us: You’re walking this road with us. And that gives us the strength to keep going.

💖 What You Can Do

If you’ve already donated—thank you beyond words. If you can share our story again, it could reach someone who can help.

Even $5 means warmth, comfort, and a chance to breathe a little easier.

Donate to Help Mosab saving who's left of his family

My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Life as I knew it has been completely destroyed. I have lost my home, my

✨ Why It All Matters

This isn’t just about reaching a fundraising goal. It’s about surviving war with dignity. It’s about believing in tomorrow. It’s about making sure my daughter grows up knowing that the world did not look away.

Thank you for your kindness, patience, and belief in our humanity. You’ve helped me find my voice—and I will use it to keep hope alive.

🙏 From the Heart: A Quiet Apology

There’s something I need to say—something that’s been on my heart for some time.

When I first began sharing our story, I didn’t know what the right way was. I was scared, grieving, and trying to protect my family in any way I could. I reached out to many people, hoping someone, anyone, would see us. In that process, I now realize I may have overstepped, and I might have made some feel overwhelmed.

If that happened, I am truly sorry.

Please believe me when I say it was never out of disregard or pushiness. It came from a place of fear—fear of being forgotten, fear of not being able to keep my family safe, fear of watching everything I love slip away in silence.

I’m learning as I go. I’ve slowed down. I’m more mindful now, trying to share our journey in a way that feels respectful of the space and hearts of those listening.

If my words ever came at the wrong time, or in the wrong way, I hope you can understand where they came from—and I hope you can forgive me.

Thank you for seeing past my mistakes. Thank you for still being here. It means more than I can ever explain.

Vetted by @gazavetters ( #309 )

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and family ♥️

[aboodfmly]

My Journey to Escape the War in Gaza

My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.

The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.

I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.

Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.

I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.

Help Abdelmajed Escape Gaza and Rebuild His Life

My name is Abdelmajed, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Everything I once knew has been taken away—my home, my safety, and the people

Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.

Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

Vetted by @gazavetters

[colmiillo]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory

[pseudowho]

It was an average Monday morning when you, Nanami Kento's wife, were turned into a cat.

"An unusual Curse," Shoko had said, "not longer than a week, surely--"

"Not--not longer than a week?!" Kento spluttered, his glasses lopsided, and, dangled in front of him beneath the arms (legs-- legs, he reminded himself)...you.

You, with two pointed ears, a long whippy tail, your many toe-beans and a perturbed little head-tilt. On the doctors' office couch, a neatly folded (if a little furry) pile of your clothes.

"Meow," you had said.

"Don't 'meow' me," Kento spluttered again, fixing you with a stern look that barely overlaid his concern. You simply stared up at him, long, and feline, and unblinking...and reached out one little paw, pressing it onto the end of his nose.

Kento sighed; a bone-deep, weary sigh. Shoko put out her cigarette, speaking through a haze of smoke.

"Like I said. Give it a week, and Mrs.Nyanyami will be back to nor--"

"What did you just call her?'

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Mrs.Nyanyami, the cat formerly known as Nanami Kento's wife, wanted for nothing.

"I think that tuna's more expensive than anything I've ever eaten," whispered Yuuji to Gojo. On the other side of the conference room, you sat upon the desk before Kento, waiting patiently for the next lump of tuna (meticulously cut into cat-appropriate cubes) to be delivered in his chopsticks.

As Kento's hand approached, you held it close with paw and claws, to steal the pink fish from him. He looked like a surgeon performing heart surgery.

"I just...dont know how he can look so serious while he's doing that," Gojo whispered back, to Yuuji's frantic nods. Still, they watched this freakish nature documentary with quiet obsession.

A higher-up sat down beside Kento, waiting for the meeting to begin. Jolting back, and grumbling, he did a double take.

"Young man-- you can't bring a cat to a Sorcerer's meeting--"

"That's not a cat," Kento snapped, frosty, "that's my wife."

And so began the rumour amongst the higher-ups, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"You should leave her at home--"

"--absolutely not--"

"--really, Nanami...just put the television on, she'll be fine--"

"--unequivocally, no--"

"--why not?!"

Silence. An awkward shuffle on Kento's thick chest. You peeked your head out of the pocket of the cat-carrying hoodie that Kento wore over his shirt and tie, and turned to Gojo with narrowed eyes.

"Meow," you had said, batting at Kento's strings, and hooking his tie out with your paw, to kick it to death with your legs.

"I agree," said Kento, whispering and scratching you beneath the chin until you purred, "he's wrong, isn't he? Stupid Gojo. You'd get lonely. You'd get bored. Yes you would..."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Oh my god...he's gorgeous...you should get his number--"

"--I'm not brave enough...you go. I'll get our coffees."

"--okay, okay..." The woman cleared her throat, sweeping her hair behind one ear with her best smile. Kento looked up from his coffee, with one finely raised eyebrow.

"Can I help you?" He lied, unwilling to help anyone at all before he'd finished his croissant.

"Hi, yeah, I just...can't help but notice you're sitting alone, and my friend-- well she-- she just wondered if she can have your number, and--"

The woman broke off into shrieks. Climbing up her leg, all claws and furry vengeance, was you. She shook her leg, shrieking. You hissed. Your cup of steamed milk clattered over the table, slopping everywhere.

"--o-oh my god-- oh my god, what the hell is this cat doi--"

"I'm sorry," Kento sighed, not sorry at all and dabbing his mouth with a napkin and doing absolutely nothing to help, "it's my cat. She doesn't like company--"

Hisses. Claws. Dirty feral yowls.

"Get this fucking thing off me--"

"I can't take you anywhere. No more steamed milk for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

At times, you seemed so human. At others, undeniably cat.

Kento would wake to clattering from the kitchen, bleary and feeling around for you, only to remember, and trace his hand up to the furry, round little patch you'd leave behind on your pillow. He allowed himself just a moment of misery, before getting up.

He followed the sounds of cups and kettle and coffee machine, and leaned against the doorway with sleep-mussed hair and a squinting, teenagerish glare.

You were up on the counter, all four paws and determination. You had gotten as far as switching the kettle and coffee machine on, and heaving the cupboard open with your tiny limbs. Kento watched as you tipped your head sideways, managing to drag two mugs out in your teeth. He winced as they almost smashed upon the counter.

"Come on," Kento rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep, "let me do that."

You meowed at him, batting at the air with one angry paw when he stepped closer. Kento huffed, raising his hands in surrender.

"Fine," he tutted, "but I'll pour the water."

"Meow."

"Why? Because you don't have opposable thumbs, darling."

The fur stood up along your spine. You turned around, and around, in a circle, then sat upright. You turned your back on him while you waited for the kettle to boil. Your tail flicked from side to side, irritable. Kento waited, too, reaching out one hand to stroke your ears.

You nudged your back paw out, and pushed his mug off the side to smash on the floor.

Silence.

"...what is wrong with y--"

"Meow."

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Skitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

Kento groaned, rubbing down his face. He checked the clock, frog-blinking; two in the morning. He groaned harder.

Skitterskitterskitter.

Thunk.

More distant meows.

"Please just come back to bed," Kento moaned into the hands pressed over his face.

SkitterskitterskitterSKITTERSKITTER-- rustlllleerussstle--

Directly over his face.

"Meow--"

"I am begging you--"

RustlerustleTHNKskitterskitterskitter.

Distant meows.

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"I miss you."

You raised your head to look at him. Your purring hitched. Your ears tilted.

Kento had murmured, his low voice barely audible. The only light in the living room was the ever-changing light of the television screen. Laid on his back on the sofa, with you curled on his chest, Kento stroked down your back with longing.

You crept up his chest, pressing your cold wet nose to his, and purred. Nose to nose, and cross-eyed, Kento could have cried.

"I really miss you," he repeated, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Your claws dug into his chest, just a little. You rub, rub, rubbed your warm furry head along his jaw until he sniffled, and gave a choked little chuckle.

He fell asleep with you on his chest that night. In so many ways, it was familiar; home. In so many others, you were gone forever.

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"Meow."

Kento shuffled. His chest felt heavy...warm. His belly felt warm, too. And his lap, and--

Kento's eyes shot open, his head lifting up from the couch.

You bit your lip, naked on top of him, and smiling. Human. An angel.

"Oh, my love," Kento moaned, crushing you to him in a bear hug from shoulder to toes, "you're back-- I missed you, I was so worrie--"

You batted an arm out, swiping last night's wine glass from the coffee table beside you, to shatter on the floor.

Silence. Kento blinked slowly, looking from the wine glass, to you. You felt your cheeks grow hot, swallowing hard.

"God, I...sorry, Kento. Force-- force of habit--"