hi, hello! welcome to kodzukyan && i hope you enjoy your stay!
mandy // 21+ // tier 3 kodzuken sub. this is my side blog where i dump all my writing (hq, tokrev, & maybe one piece) & save my fav fics because my main is a mess™. this is not a spoiler-free blog, and there will be nsfw rbs here. (minors, please dni with nsfw content or i will break your kneecaps and cry. 🥲)
i only write once in a blue moon, so please don't expect much content from me. </3
❀ masterlist
latest in: two hearts, four broken pieces (now we’re unbreakable) ft. oikawa t. & talking to the moon ft. baji k.
top favorites: neon lights (in a world gray) ft. miya a. & better with you (until it kills me) ft. baji k.
current event: dj got us falling in love again -> seat with the clearest view ft. ennoshita c.
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afterhours; nsfw - minors, please block this tag!!
character x reader; general navigation for a specific character content
(fandom) fic recs; fics that i love from a certain fandom <3
replies; response to asks
sometimes i write things; everything i’ve written
please be kind! my inbox is always open to you! <3
There’s nothing that really triggers it. Maybe it was too much social media, maybe it was a magazine, maybe it was just existing in this society- but you’re suddenly aware of your imperfections.
You know everyone has them, but there’s the doubt growing in your chest that yours are inherently worse than others.
Bokuto smears a dollop of face wash -your expensive wash face, you note grimly- on to his cheeks before passing you the bottle, happily repeating the tagline to some tiktok that’s been stuck in his head. You take it and watch him massage it into his cheeks, clearly blissfully unaware of what’s currently going through your mind.
When will he notice your flaws?
“Aren’t you gonna wash your face, silly?” he says, poking the still unopened bottle in your hands and smearing suds across the side, “You’re gonna be grumpy tomorrow if you don’t do your nightly skin care-”
“Will you still love me when I’m old?” you ask suddenly, “When I have grey hair and wrinkles?”
Bokuto cocks his head to the side in surprise, eyebrows scrunched together in thought, then lets his head flop to the other side. After a long moment, he hums, clearly trying to think this through.
Every second that passes sours your stomach. Just as you are losing all hope, thinking your fears are confirmed, Bokuto opens his mouth.
“I can’t think of a reason I’d ever stop loving you.” he says simply, “ ‘specially if it’s just over a couple wrinkles.”
He turns on the sink, that smile never fading, “Besides, I have grey hair! And if we ever have babies, they’re probably gonna have grey hair too, so I can’t just not love people over some grey hair. That wouldn’t make sense!”
He tests the temperature with his wrist before leans in and splashes the water across his face.
“That was kind of a silly question, baby.” he gurgles into the water.
You swallow. The feeling of doubt isn’t gone, but it feels lighter now. Bokuto is already back to repeating the tiktok over and over again, lost in his own little world and unaware of how special what he said really was.
“I guess you’re right, Bo.” You open the lid to the face wash, suddenly finding his smile contagious, “That was a silly question.”
a/n: i think it's a really cute moment when you wake up your s/o so maybe i'll write a bunch of wake up scenarios idk!! also fair warning, it's just...... a lot of fluff......
it's no secret to anyone on the moby dick that ace loves to sleep. he loves it so much, in fact, that it's the only thing that comes close to how much he loves you.
as you hover over your boyfriend, limbs tangled between the sheets and his mouth hanging open, you laugh to yourself with each snore that escapes him.
he looks so lost in slumber - hopelessly adorable - that you almost feel bad for waking him up.
almost.
"ace!"
"huh- whuzzat?"
ace sits up with a start, dazed and very, very out of sorts. you watch with an exasperated smile as he looks wildly around the room until his eyes land on you.
and then a magical thing happens.
ace smiles and you fall in love all over again. you know it and he knows it because, even through half-asleep eyes, he sees the way your gaze softens.
and he falls in love again too - at the way you giggle at his bedhead and how you approach him with a warmth that his flames could only hope to rival someday.
he leans back into bed amongst soft pillows and an even softer heart, "g'morning, baby."
"dummy," you tsk. "it's past noon already."
you kiss his temple anyway and he purrs at your touch, "time's a construct. don't wanna get up yet."
you bite back a laugh; if only the rest of the crew knew what firefist ace was really like. tough, loyal and fearless on the seas but behind those waves, in the company of his lover, ace is just a big baby.
but he's your baby, and you think to yourself that you're okay with being the only one who knows this secret.
"c'mon," you sit on the edge of the bed and he cuddles against you. "the debrief was supposed to start 4 hours ago."
"just do it without me," ace pouts. "i wanna keep sleeping."
"you think you can just take over my bed like this?"
"you're gonna say no to me?"
ace looks up at you with sleepy eyes and his best puppy-dog expression. you stare at him and he stares back, fighting a chuckle when he sees you lose your resolve.
you let out a long sigh and ace grins.
"i win," he nestles between your abundant pillows. "now, get out and let me sleep."
you scoff, loudly and dramatically, and ace laughs into your pillow. he's walking the line between sleep and conscience, and your antics are tempting him away from sleep a little too well.
"some commander you are for ditching your crewmates when they need you," you ramble on, getting cozy in bed until your warmth mingles with his. "what are we gonna do with an irresponsible commander who sleeps all day, and eats constantly, and is significantly less attractive than marco-"
thwump!
it takes you a second to realize that you've been attacked with your own pillow, and it takes ace two seconds to realize that he's pretty much declared war.
"did you just throw a pillow at me?"
ace gulps, "you said marco's better looking than me!"
"2nd division commander, portgas d. ace," you turn to face him and ace sits up in defense. "did you just throw a pillow at me?"
for the second time, you stare at him and he stares back. only this time, ace knows it's a losing battle.
"yes."
you grab one of your pillows but before you can even aim, you're hit square in the face again.
"ace!"
the man in question gives you a playful shrug, "a man's gotta defend himself. i can't help it if you're too slow, babe."
"oooh, now you've done it," you crawl over ace and his grin turns into a barking laugh.
"you're gonna get it, portgas."
responsibilities forgotten, you and ace launch into an all-out war.
flying pillows. a fit of laughter. blankets on the ground. goading and accusations of playing dirty. twisted sheets, pressed limbs, and a love that knows nothing but pure joy.
it's not the first time that you and ace find yourselves here - in a place where time might as well be standing still and nothing seems to matter. fun and laughter follows the two of you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
with the exception of right now. you might ask for things to go a bit differently now.
because despite how you started off, you somehow end up lost in a sea of bedding and ace is now wide awake.
he removes pillow after pillow until he finds you tangled in the sheets. you giggle, still riding on the high of your pillow fight. your hair’s a mess and there’s a feather stuck on your forehead.
he thinks you’ve never looked cuter.
"i win," your singsong voice makes his heart sing.
"excuse me? are you or are you not trapped beneath me right now?"
"okay, but who's finally awake and functional now?"
you're right, and you laugh when you see the realization hit ace. he's a ridiculous man who sleeps too much and falls for your every trick, and you wouldn't have him any other way.
ace comes close to blow the feather away, and he blushes when you blow him a kiss in return. god, it’s so unfair of you to tease him like this.
so he gets his revenge by caging you between his arms, dipping his head to steal a kiss (or maybe two) directly from your lips. you smile against him, complaining about his morning breath between kisses. he tries to fight it but it’s no use; there's no winning against you.
who needs sleep when the stuff that dreams are made of is right here with him, laughing and smiling and loving him the way that he deserves to be loved?
who needs to chase z's when he could be chasing you instead? who needs dreams that slip away when he could hold onto every moment with you instead?
not ace. he doesn't need any of that. all he needs is this warmth born from two hearts hopelessly in love.
kenma has been trying to kiss you for two hours but you just won't stop talking.
he already drummed up the nerve to do it, but now that bravado is bubbling into frustration. he's ready. really, he is this time. and yeah, he's said that to himself plenty of times before, but this time he means it.
but you've gotten so used to chattering away while the two of you hang out together--filling the silences that kenma doesn't know how to with easy conversation--and now he just can't seem to find the right opportunity.
he usually likes that about you; the way you accommodate his eccentricities, adjusting for his shortcomings. you get takeout when you'd rather eat in, you never post his face or tag him in your instagram stories even though you want your friends and family to see who owns the disembodied hands that helped you put together that 1771 piece lego set of Yoda, you get used to staying up late so that you can come and hang out after his stream ends--even if it means you end up falling asleep curled up on his sofa like a little house cat.
he likes you.
he wants to kiss you.
his nails dig into his palms as he thinks about it.
you're halfway through a sentence about something kenma honestly lost track of when he finally just snaps.
"hey," he says, interrupting you. "can you... can we just... just pause for a second."
you freeze, your bubble tea straw halfway to your mouth, unsure if he means to halt physically or verbally.
he plucks the cup out of your hand, setting it down on the low-sitting table in the centre of his living room on one of the coasters you'd bought for him to try and preserve the tabletop. he turns back to you, takes a breath, and dips forward.
he can taste the taro of your milk tea on your mouth. feels the way you jolt a little in surprise, and then the little shiver that shudders through you as you relax into the contact--easing into it like a sigh of relief.
he pulls away, and turns to face the television again, heart pounding in his ears and a blush searing across his cheeks. you're dumbfounded beside him, hands still lifted like you're reaching for his hoodie even though he's now slipped out of reach.
kenma clears his throat, tampering down his giddiness. his satisfaction.
“i’m cold,” you murmur, and dabi grunts quietly from his side of the bed.
and really, it’s technically not even his bed, let alone his side—he’s not exactly the “share a bed” kind of guy—but you’ve convinced him to stay the night as it pours outside mercilessly (which is a miracle in itself that he agreed.) you’ve also argued that nobody sleeps in separate beds when their boyfriend is staying over, and now you’ve landed him here.
he doesn’t turn, doesn’t even move a muscle as he speaks. “so what am i s’posed to do about it?” he mutters, making a pout paint across your face. he knows it’s there without actually looking, and he knows what you want, but he’s not going to indulge you in it.
there are miles upon miles in the few inches that separate your bodies—and there are always miles that separate you and dabi, even in the short distance on the couch where he sits beside you and the small gap in the kitchen as he hovers from behind. but you suppose distance is an ache easier to stomach than rejection, and maybe deep down, he falls on the same side of the coin as you when it comes to longing.
“you’re the one who made it so cold,” you huff, shivering slightly under the covers. dabi is clad in his usual white t-shirt, not even halfway under the covers, and you think he might as well use his body heat for good if he’s stuck with it. but he only grumbles under his breath as he glances at you over his shoulder.
“fine, then. make it warmer,” he waves off.
“no, you’ll overheat in your sleep,” you say stubbornly, lips still curled into a pout that he can hear through your words.
“i’ll be fine—”
“just come here,” you say, tugging him by the arm and slotting your body perfectly against his side.
it shuts him up, makes his figure go rigid as he feels your skin press against his, and it’s warm—but it’s not the warmth that makes his body protest. it’s the kind that makes old wounds close and new aches numb, and for a moment, it’s enough. he’s enough when his arm hesitantly wraps around your waist, when your lips plant a tiny kiss to the decimated skin that you should find horrifying, when your ice cold fingertips smooth over the expanse of his overheated flesh—and he faintly registers that those are hearts you’re tracing, and it’s enough.
for now, it’s enough to let himself feel this, feel you.
“how’s this any better than turning the heat up?” he scowls, but the way his cheek lays against the crown of your head answers his own question.
“because now i get cuddles,” you murmur happily.
“and i get a dead arm when i wake up,” he grunts.
you huff, and you’re just a tad bit spoiled, he thinks. a little too well versed in getting him to tell you more than he initially plans, or staying a few moments longer than he initially says, or getting a few extra smiles than he initially gives. and he lets you get away with it, lets your honeyed words and the cool breeze of your breath against his skin pick away at his resolve.
“it’s fair compensation for my grocery bill,” you shoot back, and there’s nothing but achingly sweet fondness in your voice, “who knew you’d have so many demands for the shopping list?”
“your wallet won’t suffer if you just steal shit like i do. i don’t even have a wallet,” he grins, and there’s something about the way you giggle that makes him wonder if the birds ever stop singing their songs when they hear you.
“that’s the difference between you and me. the great divide, if you will,” you poke his ribs teasingly, and he feels laughter knit into each bone, tucking itself seamlessly like it’s belonged there in the first place. it rumbles through his chest in a low chuckle, under your cheek and into your smile.
“not everyone can be as cunning as me, doll.”
and then you do that thing that you always insist on doing—the one where you cup his face and turn his head and look into his eyes, every shade of your affection meeting the cerulean of his orbs. he should look away, but he can’t. doesn’t think he ever will.
and maybe, he doesn’t want to.
“cunning enough to make it cold so i’ll cuddle you? yeah, i’d say you’re real good.”
“don’t flatter yourself,” he rolls his eyes. and with a fleeting glance to your eyes again, he feels the fire that crackles painfully over his skin flicker out as you lean to press a kiss to his mouth. it’s short—too short, but relief spreads over every inch of him.
“if you cuddle me tomorrow too, i’ll let you empty my wallet all you want,” you whisper—almost like it’s a secret.
“lame offer. i already empty it all i want anyway,” he says instantly, but if the way his arm tightens around you is any indication of his answer (and it is), you think for once, you have dabi right where you want him.
you pout, making his smile reach his eyes as he smirks. “i’ll stop letting you then.”
“you won’t,” he murmurs, “yer too weak.” and for once, he leans in for the kiss first, thumb circling over your cheek and arm pulling you into his chest.
idk this is pretty cheesy but he makes me happy in a rly sad way
content: diluc x gn!reader, i did a writing exercise last night weee
“You are everything. Everything.”
There is a tremble in the way Diluc’s hand reaches towards your face. He can’t bring himself to fully cop your cheek, instead, his fingers lightly graze your skin in a way that makes you shiver. His eyes gaze down to your lips and you watch as he takes a steadying breath, the tensing in his shoulders as he tries to control himself.
“I ache for you. So, so very much.”
You take the initiative this once and you pull his hand towards your face, pressing his palm to your cheek, and close your eyes. You can hear his sharp intake of air and you adore the warmth that radiates from him.
“Then I’m yours,” you tell him, voice soft and gentle as you nuzzle into his hand. “I always have been.”
“I… can’t,” he says but he can’t bring himself to remove his hand, instead his thumb rubs the apple of your cheek. When you open your eyes, he’s much closer and his half-lidded eyes are trained on your lips as if they are pulling him into a trance. “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” you ask, breath uneven as you can feel his breath and take in his scent– pine and warmth and wine– “Diluc?”
“It’ll be hard. I don’t want that for you.”
You know it will be, you know it has been– loving Diluc the way you do. What’s harder you find, is resisting the urge to lean in and capture the lips that have captivated you so, and judging by the pained look on his face you know he feels the same.
“It’s worth it, Diluc. You are worth it, I’d do anything for your love.”
And that is what breaks the stalemate. because Diluc’s hot lips are soon connected with yours, with an intensity that matches the fire of his vision. Both hands cradle your face as he pours every ounce of his being into you, tongue licking at your lips until you open sweetly for him, his breath’s pace increasing until both his arms are wrapped around you and he has you pulled flushed against you. A low growl emerges when you interlock your hands through his crimson locks and he for all of the world does not want to part from you– only taking a brief moment so that you may both catch your breath.
“I love you,” he pants against your lips, eyes closed and shoulders shaking. “I will never let you go.”
500w, sfw, vampire!dabi, mentions of blood, thoughts of violence (ripping into reader’s neck), set during biting down
It’s always the same routine, the two of you making your way around Dabi’s large living space to turn on dim lamps and light candles. Before you, Dabi lived in the dark, and he never gave much thought to how he felt about it. It just was, and he decided he was okay with that.
And then Dabi met you, and he decided he liked the lights.
With one of his oddly shaped ceramic mugs in your hands, you make your way back to the living room, watching Dabi light the last candle. He stretches his arms above his head, scarred skin on display now that he’s shed his jacket. He groans as you watch him crawl onto the carpet and flop onto his back. It makes you giggle, and he finally notices you leaning against the wall.
He raises an eyebrow at you, eyeing you from underneath thick eyelashes, “what?”
“Are you comfortable down there?” You question, setting your mug down on the table to your left.
“Mhm. Very.” He says. He doesn’t tell you that he lays on the floor for a view of the string lights you helped him put up all those months ago, the pattern of the lines crossing over one another reminding him of the constellations he used to memorize.
You crawl over to him to lay beside him, flat on your back like he is with your eyes on the ceiling of stars. He looks over at you, how the light reflects in your eyes as you stare. “S’pretty.”
“Sure is.” He speaks softly. You turn to look at him, shifting your body so that you can lay your head on his chest, one leg thrown over his waist as he wraps one strong arm around you.
“Dabi?” You ask, voice soft and hesitant. He hums in reply, “Do you still have a heart?”
He lets out a breathy laugh before speaking, “Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t work anymore, but it’s still in there.”
“Hm.” You nod against him. “When I lay like this, it sounds like when you can hear the ocean in a seashell.”
“You know that’s just the blood pumping in your ears.” He tells you, running a thumb over your hip as he speaks. “It’s not actually the ocean. You can hear it with anything that’s hollow.”
You shush him, “you’re not hollow.”
But he is, Dabi thinks, he is hollow. He is hollow because he has no heart. He has no heart because you stole it.
He startles you, then, flipping you over so that you’re the one laying flat on your back. Dabi presses his ear to your chest this time to listen. It’s what he expected, your beating heart, your life.
“What does it sound like?” You ask him.
“Like blood.” He shrugs. “Just your blood.”
“Guess we hear the same thing, then.” You say.
Dabi relaxes against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist as your hands fall to his head. It should distract him more, the blood, your life, how he could rip into you at any moment and keep it all for himself. But it doesn’t.
Will you ever write for Tokyo revengers again ? I love your works !
awww thank you so much for reading + enjoying the crumbs of my heart, sweet anon!! T.T i want to write more for tokrev and i have so many wips,,, but,, words are not coming to me T.T i feel the quality of these fics are not up to par so i dont want to publish any of them and let everyone (+ myself included) down djjsjsja T.T
dad!kenma who has never made a public announcement that he's married or has a kid, and then one day in the middle of his stream your toddler waddles their way into his streaming room unannounced and crawls up in his lap. kenma doesn't think anything of it and just lets them snuggle in and get comfy, while his chat is losing their mind. messages like 'WHOSE KID IS THAT?' 'why does kodzuken have a baby???' 'omg they look just like him!!' start flying in and kenma just kind of laughs, looks down at the baby, and is like "hey they're saying you look like me, what do you think?" and the toddler just giggles and hits their little hands on the desk excitedly because they love being told that they're just like their daddy :(
Summary: Hardly a drop left in his pail, Atsumu no longer knows how to love. With cupped hands, you fill him up again.
Word count: 1.3k
A/n: hurt/comfort; small mention of cheating (on Atsumu but not because of you); I am so used to clowning Atsumu and loving his brother, I hope I did him justice.
The year Atsumu was born, the river near his ma’s house flooded. She likes to tell anyone who listens that it was the river and the fruitful crops to blame for how he and Osamu came to be.
Atsumu does the same the night of his first heartbreak. So beside himself, he took the hour ride from Osaka to Hyogo and cried into the smooth (only by time) gray quilt on his childhood bed. His ma left cut up fruit on the nightstand next to a half used box of tissues. When there were still whispers of tears at midnight, she called Osamu to help.
If only he could love less, he mourns with snotty sobs. The excessive nature of the river must have affected the way he loved, because ever since he was young, everything had always been unreasonably too much. Not even Osamu could absorb his oversaturated being. Feelings are all consuming that he cannot help it; it rides over into candid expressions (that the media has taken a liking to) he cannot control.
Atsumu’s love is a torrential downpour. A persistent cascading of everything that he has, he overflows just like the river near his ma’s house. What hurts more than a broken heart is the emptiness within him that he’s never felt ever in his life.
When Osamu arrives, he simply sits on the edge of the bed. Two grown men barely fit, but Atsumu relishes his presence because losing Osamu was the first bit of loneliness he had to learn how to bear. Brotherhood has taught him that though they are apart, they will always be there for each other. This pain though, is something different. He’s lost a piece of himself that he doubts he could ever get back.
When the tears subside into whispered hiccups, Osamu breaks silence and tells him he’ll be okay. He reminds him that one day he’ll move on, that he is here, that he is not alone and never will be. Atsumu does not know what to say. He swallows his weeping with the blanket clenched in his fists and tucked right beneath his chin because in all honesty, he doesn’t want to move on. All he wants is his heart back in any way he knows how.
Yet, as much as Atsumu likes to deny, his brother is always right. Atsumu eventually finds himself back on his feet. A billowing in his chest makes his meager heart shake and he comes to realize that he is ready to love again. Just as before, he pours and he pours, relinquishing all of himself into the adrenaline of the fall.
Only to take another train back to Hyogo and smother himself in old, quilted sheets once more.
You find Atsumu when there is less than a droplet in his pail, a broken and poor version of himself. Gone is the moony eyed boy willing to risk it all for love. Here is a man who has weathered his own storm.
Yet you love him so perfectly. He never has to say a word and you feed into what he needs - a finest chameleon compared to his clumsiness. Words that you need to hear sometimes fail to come out of his mouth in preference of himself and his pride. Sometimes he pouts and glowers and only submits when you do first. The unselfishness you have is something he admires and wishes to reciprocate, only failing to do so out of fear. Because he knows of love and he knows of the pain that comes after. With you now holding the sword, Atsumu doubts he could ever survive.
They say practice makes perfect. Atsumu knows this to be true. He’s a product of it, evident when you compare his high school performance to his Olympic ones. But how do you train a heart that refuses to heal? He’s never been the same since the first time he’s loved.
He sees the way his teammates interact with their partners and is frequently consumed by jealousy. He watches ever the always considerate Bokuto holds open every door for his lover and nothing compares to the way Meian leans down whenever his partner speaks, attentive to their words. He wants to love you the way they love them, the way that he used to love because it's what you deserve.
There’s little regret in his life, but if he could have loved you first, if he had the opportunity to show you the unrivaled affection that you deserve, the better man that he used to be, he would. He’d do anything to give you just that, but unfortunately, what you’ve found is a man worth much less.
Atsumu loosens his tie and flops onto the bed after you arrive home from an MSBY promoted gala. You’re at his side in an instant, massaging his back, caressing his cheeks, and ruffling his hair. Wordlessly, you continue, because you know that Atsumu will speak his mind when he is ready, never before.
It brings him even greater shame. Hinata was bragging earlier nonstop of his loved one. Atsumu used to find it easy to pipe in, ready to shove his luck in front of everyone’s face. Yet there he stood in the group, graced with you by his side, only for his mouth to hang open like an idiot.
“Why are ya with me?” Atsumu finally mutters. He’s hardly loud enough, especially with the way they are muffled by his cheek pressed into a pillow. “Ya could have someone better, ya know.”
There's silence, biding your time as you ruminate your response.
“Will you look at me when you talk?” You hug him firmly before tugging his shoulders, urging him to turn around. “If we’re going to talk about something like this, I’d like for you to see my face so you know how serious I am.”
A petulant grumble runs through Atsumu’s chest despite being willingly compliant. He sits up against the headboard and with your knees on either side of him, you sit in his lap.
“Give me your hands, Atsumu.”
He holds them out to you, demure and getting handcuffed. You break the shackles by turning his wrists so that his palms are open. Then with both hands, you take his and cup them into yours.
“I love you because I want to, because it makes me feel good to see you happy.”
You stun him into shock, because he knows exactly how that feels. Yet, despite being burned like him, you still love fearlessly. Admiration fills his heart more than adoration.
“I’m broken, ya know.” Atsumu warns. Your lips dip into a frown but he continues on before you can rebuke him. “I’ve loved only to be cheated on and lied to and I love ya. God knows I do, but I wish I could love ya better. But I’m drained and I’m scared and I want ya to know that if ya wanted to leave, I wouldn’t be mad at ya.”
Sighing, you bring his hands closer to your lips, pressing kisses to his fingertips. Atsumu doesn’t realize this because he’s busy being too critical of himself, but he still loves with all that he can give. If you had met him with one drop left in his pail, that one drop was enough to ripple to the edges, the meniscus tipping over until you overflowed.
“All I want is to love you. And that one day, eventually, you feel whole.” You look down at his hands, cupped into a little bowl.
You give as much as you receive. Not a single piece of skin has been untouched by his lips. He kisses your imperfections, the bruises and cuts that he has never seen, and thanks them. He makes you feel wanted when he swoops you into his arms not even a second after arriving home. And even though sometimes insecurity might make him walk out, he doesn’t realize that a broken heart humbled him with the knowledge of regret and forces him back home.
So you pour and you pour and you pour until Atsumu cries. You pour until the river overflows again.
I’m gonna go fucking feral over that stupid hat that osamu wears. every time I see art work of him taking it off and putting it behind his back, or ducking it down to hide his face, it drives me up a wall, literally clawing at the wallpaper like a madwoman how dare he be so attractive
don’t get me started on how his hair sticks out from underneath, and how when he takes it off the top of his head is all messy and flattened because he’s probably been sweating and—
when you purposely annoy him, he takes his hat and puts it on your head, pushing the brim down until it practically covers your face. But it’s mainly because whatever you said now has him blushing
or four times Touya Todoroki almost told you he loves you, and one time he finally did
cw: GN!reader (one mention of them wearing a dress & heels), mentions of blood and injury, one brief mention of sex, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, canon universe | wc: 6.8k
“When is a monster not a monster?
Oh, when you love it.”
“Start Here” - Caitlyn Siehl
#001
Touya wants to tell you he loves you the very first time he meets you, which granted, he realizes is incredibly fucked up—but he swears on what little he has that it’s the truth.
Withering away in a damp and cornered alleyway, he clutches his abdomen in hopes of stopping whatever bleeding is going on down there. He can’t bring himself to look, but he’s certain it’s there from the warmth of the spot and the sticky film now covering his hand.
Yes, he’s been in this situation before—you’d think he’d have learned by now, based on the embarrassing amount of times he’s walked this same path. But he hasn’t, which is clear as he sits and quietly moans in his own agony. His burns continue to sting as a new layer of charred skin forms by the second, sensitive and exposed. The cut in his side throbbing so harshly that he almost feels a bit nauseous just thinking about it.
As he’s mentally finding the strength to stand, he hears faint footsteps. If they’re truly faint, he doesn’t know—it could just be the effect of his vision coming in and out paired with the piercing ringing in his ears.
“Are you alright?”
He can barely opens his eyes, but he does—and he sees you.
it's silently taking care of each other when one of you is in need to help and never bringing it up, it's knowing each other's regular orders on night outs, it's seamlessly working together on a project because you're amicable exes (not because you had sex to dull down the tension or anything)
suna still brings you coffee to class in the morning
"it's just a habit," he says with a shrug, slumping into his seat beside you as he lets his backpack drop to the floor at his feet. "do you want it or not?"
you order his drink for him at the bar on a night out because you're on good terms with the bartender, and with rin's apathetic nature he's unlikely to be able to flag him down amongst the rowdy friday night crowd anyway--so what's the harm in just getting his too?
"is this-"
"yeah, i made sure they added extra lime."
you're sitting in the cramped confines of his dorm room late one night, cursing out your groupmates who bailed on the project meeting last minute for variously superficial reasons. tensions are already running high when suna makes a snippy comment about your attitude, which you return with an equally biting jibe of your own, and before you know it you're pressed into the throw rug that his roommate bought with suna's hand groping you under your sweatshirt and your legs wrapped around his waist. you get an A on the project because the two of you stay up all night pulling it together, you wrapped in one of his hoodies, splitting energy drinks and snacks that suna shuffled out to get you from the vending machines in the dorm lobby at 1am
"hey."
you jolt a little, catching yourself nodding off.
suna's peering over at you from his desk chair where you sit working on your part of the presentation in his bed. his roommate is spending the night at his girlfriend's apartment but you still feel a bit weird about claiming the desk on the opposite side of the room for yourself, so you're working propped up against suna's headboard.
"if you wanna sleep I can finish up the slides, i'm almost done this part." he points to his own laptop screen where he's cleaning up the bibliography that your other group member had butchered.
you shake your head, exhaustion throbbing behind your eyes.
"i'm fine," you decline the offer, but suna quirks a brow in a way that feels almost accusatory.
"you're falling asleep sitting up."
"i'm fine, suna."
suna, not rintarou, even though it used to be the latter. but things are different now, even if the ache between your legs and the marks hidden under the collar of your hoodie (his hoodie) say otherwise. neither of you have said much since your romp earlier in the evening.
you're not exactly sure what to say.
suna tosses a tiny plush toy shaped like a fox (that you remember him winning from a capsule machine months prior on a date) at you, and it hits you square in the forehead.
"what the fuck, ri-"
"take a 20 minute nap. i'll wake you up." suna doesn't even look up from the screen of his computer as he makes the demand.
your eyes flicker to the time in the upper righthand corner of your screen--you really could use a rest, and would probably be more productive if you did. begrudgingly you set your laptop off to the side, after making sure you've saved your progress on the presentation, burrowing down in the soft material of his hoodie as you curl up against his pillows.
you wake up just before dawn, your laptop closed on rintarou's desk (slides completed), and suna snoring lightly atop his roommate's bed across from you.
imagine finally setting aside the money and having the time to finally adopt your first puppy together! he spares no expense, gets the best puppy crate, a soft bed, and a little toybox for their toys! the best treats money can buy! a harness! the works! 🥰
he---
he brings you in the shelter one day, right as they open, and walks a bit too directly to the back. Huddle in the back of the cage is a tiny puddle of puppies, all snuggled into each other and their mother as they sleep.
"Do you see the grey one?" Kyotani points with his chin, "On the bottom?"
You don't. "I think so."
"He's ours," there's an unfamiliar softness to his voice as he pokes a finger through the fencing, "At least, he will be once he hits 8 weeks. The rest are getting picked up starting at 6 weeks, but he's the runt, so he's gonna stay with mama a little longer."
There's a twitch to his nose, the edge of a laugh, as one of the puppies yawns and stretches and you can't help but smile along.
There's rarely times when Kyotani breaks from his tough exterior, but here, in the dimly lit shelter, you see the soft inner workings of him- his care, his love-
You'd marry him right here, right now if you could.
"Why'd you pick the runt?" you ask after a while, "You're so excited to bring home the puppy- plus you wanted a big dog and the runt's going to be the smallest."
He shrugs like he doesn't know the answer, but responds: " 'cause he needs us the most."
Hi may I request Diluc with no. 11 on the promp list? I also want it to be canonverse and change the dog to diluc's bird, thank you!
Thanks for the request anon!
11. "am i your favorite?" "i like your dog bird a bit more than you, i won't lie."
Diluc x f!reader: fluff and humor, you flirt with the bartender and Kaeya spits out his drink at a certain revelation; 0.5k
The tavern was quiet, now nearing closing time, and you were sitting at the counter beside Kaeya. There was some chatter earlier about the Darknight Hero, but it wasn't anything Kaeya didn't expect.
Kaeya had a hunch about you. Diluc had been acting strange ever since you came to Mondstadt. He thought it was rather interesting, so he took this opportunity to ask you what you thought of the undercover hero.
"Me? I just think the Darknight Hero is pretty cool," you said as your lips twisted into a smile. "Or am I not supposed to say that in front of one of the Knights?"
"Oh?" Kaeya hummed, seeing a twinkle in your eyes. "Has this hero caught your attention? Perhaps he's become your favourite person in Mondstadt."
"Hmm… I can't be too sure about that," you replied, glancing at Diluc who was busy preparing a drink for Kaeya.
"Let me guess," Diluc said, crossing his arms. "Am I your favourite?"
"I like your bird a bit more than you, I won't lie," you replied with a smirk.
"Yes, because it's the bird who knows how to use an ink stone," he said sarcastically.
Well, this was interesting. Kaeya knew Diluc had been corresponding with a certain young lady through letters. From what he recalled, the first letters began about a year ago.
"You mean he doesn't?" you asked with a feigned gasp. "But he was the one who gave me those letters."
Kaeya raised a brow. So his hunch was correct. You were the one who had been exchanging letters with him.
And you were flirting with each other?
Diluc rubbed his temple after taking a glance at Kaeya. "Are we really going to do this now?" he asked you.
"Why not, Master Diluc?" you said. "It's been pretty amusing so far."
"Just tell me what you want to order. It's getting late."
No, it seemed Diluc wasn't accepting your advances, which Kaeya scoffed at. It was obvious he liked you. Why else would he spend so much time writing to you? He should've just put a ring on it once he learned you were interested in him.
"Just get me my usual," you said, batting your lashes at him.
Diluc grumbled, but prepared your order anyway. After closer inspection, Kaeya smirked when he saw you had ordered fruit juice.
"You two are perfect for each other," Kaeya commented.
"Really?" you asked eagerly. "Do you really think so?"
"Hurry up and drink your juice," Diluc scolded you, setting the drink on the counter. "You have to get up early in the morning."
"Aww... Do I have to go? I want to stay with you a bit longer."
"Just head to bed first. I'll be there when I'm done."
How odd. Kaeya raised a brow at Diluc. "My. A little bold now, are we?" He took a sip of his drink.
"What did you expect? She's my wife."
I hope you liked it. Comments and reblogs are appreciated. :)
ace somehow ends up cooking? and accidentally confessing?
1.2k words
a/n: not me, coming back to this 10 times because i kept telling myself there wasn't enough fluff
the kitchen is ace's favourite spot on the moby dick because he can find all things that he likes most there — food, food, and more food.
he hums as he pulls the fridge open to survey his options, taking a moment to scan the shelves before finally deciding on a pudding. just as he stuffs both cheeks with sugary, creamy custard, you walk into the kitchen.
actually, walking wouldn't be an accurate description. you waddle in with heavy footsteps, bulging grocery bags piled high in your hands. ace swiftly darts out of the way lest he gets taken down by a sack of potatoes.
you plop the groceries down with a sigh and catch your breath before your eyes land on the wavy-haired commander.
"ace, hi! i didn't see you there."
you wear a smile of delighted surprise, and both his heart and lips respond with a smile of their own. even out of breath, brushing your hair out of your face, you are so lovely and sweet that you put ace's afternoon snack to shame.
he realizes with a start that he's staring at you longer than what would be socially acceptable. clearing his throat, he scoops another mouthful of pudding and points at the groceries you're unpacking.
"what's all that?"
"dinner," you set down shrimps, potatoes, carrots, and... cream cheese?
ace raises his eyebrow.
you look down at the strange combination of ingredients and laugh at his confusion, "the 4th division picked paella today, but pops made a special request for carrot cake, so that's what all this is."
ace nods like this makes absolute sense and he knows exactly why you bought the cream cheese (was it for the paella? or the carrot cake?).
after you finish unpacking, you turn around as if you've just remembered something.
"wait, what are you doing in here?"
he raises the pudding cup in his hand.
"snacking," you both say in unison.
if ace didn't hadn't finished the rest of his snack right then and there, he's almost sure that his face would've split from how wide his grin was. spoon in his mouth, he manages (what he hopes is) a still devilishly handsome smile.
for a moment, ace could swear that you're blushing but you turn away before he can confirm.
"so," you say. "any chance that you like cooking as much as you like eating?"
he makes a face, "eh. i'm a disaster in the kitchen."
"but you're always in here!"
"yup," he licks his spoon before putting it in the sink, "and it's because the fridge is my best friend. but me and the stove?"
he sidles next to you, making a show of glaring at the stove before he leans in close. holding a hand to his face, he whispers, "we're sworn enemies."
at his poor acting, you burst into laughter and ace grins to himself. what a wonderful feeling to be the reason for your smile.
"well, you could always make new allies," you slide him a vegetable peeler. "the utensils are very friendly, you know."
"hmm, i don't know... i've got a busy day of napping ahead of me..."
"nap later! dinner is in 3 hours and i haven't event started-"
"that's so much time!"
"not for an entire crew of pirates, it isn't!"
you give him your best puppy dog eyes, and ace thinks that it must be illegal for someone to hold that much power in a single look.
"c'mon ace. pretty please?"
pretty indeed — very, very pretty.
so here he stands, armed with a carrot in one hand and a peeler in the other.
soon enough, the kitchen is overtaken by the rhythmic sound of your knife against the cutting board and ace's hands fall suit to match your pace.
he moves the peeler in one swift motion. chop. he spins the carrot. chop. peel. chop. spin. chop.
his brain goes into autopilot, letting his attention travel to the main attraction of the kitchen. truth be told, one of the reasons why ace spends so much time here is because you're always here.
ace watches as you prepare the veggies with focus. like always, there's a joy in your concentration and the way you move is akin to watching an artist in their studio. you're so caught up in your cooking that it seems like you've forgotten ace is beside you.
your eyes stay glued to the cutting board — which is an absolute shame.
because if you were looking at ace, you'd catch him staring at you. if you were looking, you'd see the most tender, loving expression that a man could gift anyone. you'd see how he marvels at you like the first explorer to stumble upon the breaking dawn, committing to memory the discovery he's made — a magical, wondrous picture that one could only hope to find.
the sun rests in that sweet spot just before it sets, casting golden shadows on everything in the kitchen. sunset hues paint you the perfect shade of beauty — loose tendrils kissing your cheeks, sunlight falling along the curves of your face, a joyful smile that crinkles your eyes and lights up his entire day.
if you were looking, you'd know without a doubt that ace is irrevocably, hopelessly, dangerously in love with you.
and you leave him breathless, speechless, when you glance in his direction. a giggle leaves your lips — a beautiful, beautiful thing — and you look up to meet his eyes.
"do you have a vendetta against the peeler too?"
he looks down at the carrot in his hands, whittled down to a size that could only be appropriate for pixies. a delightful look of embarrassment takes over his face and you laugh again.
this time, it's the kind of laughter that's infectious and welcoming, and it doesn't take long for ace to accept the invitation. his own laughter is playful and sweet alongside yours — the way happiness is supposed to sound when you spend time with someone you love.
"i guess you're right," he gestures towards the peeler, "i don't think we can be friends."
"but we're friends," you pass him another carrot. "and friends help friends make dinner so let's try again, hm?"
friends. what a detestable word. it stews in his mind, ugly and irritating, until he can't take it any more and he blurts,
"what if we weren't?"
you look at him, taken aback.
oh god, now he's done it.
"what?" you sound hurt. "did i do something?"
shit. he back pedals, "no, nothing like that. that's not what i meant. you- you didn't do anything."
"then...?"
ace takes a deep breath; he's already dug himself a hole - might as well dive right in.
he ignores his nerves and tries to channel his usual flirty self. he fixes his eyes on that damned vegetable peeler on the counter.
"what if i wasn't your friend," he says as nonchalantly as possible. "and i was your boyfriend instead?"
a beat. then—
"well, boyfriends still have to help with dinner."
his head snaps up. your tone isn't unkind, and something like hope rises in his chest. that doesn't sound like the rejection he was expecting. he musters enough courage to make eye contact with you, and he's so glad that he did.
there's a teasing smile on your lips, and you look at him with hearts in your eyes, "and for the record, i would like that very much."
ace has spent a lot of time memorizing every wonderful, beautiful smile of yours but this one is new. this one is shy and golden, and it could be ace's favourite one yet.
the kitchen is ace's favourite spot on the moby dick because he can find all the things that he likes most there — meat, ghost peppers, spaghetti, and most of all, you.
