Bepo Is Coming For That Fucking Cat

*Swaps your captains*

I re-drew this a little better.

GOT COMMISSIONED BY @antiv3nom ! ! ! THANK YOU SO MUCH!

reverse dating tropes w hsr men!

in which — what the title suggests / those classic fanfic tropes but with a twist

featuring — boothill, jing yuan, blade (separately) x gn!reader

✧.* — wc: total 1.5k, used up half my brain for this (the other half is for pt2 w aven sunday geppie!!), lovesick boothill + clingy jy + jealous blade fr, anyway pls enjoy! reblogs r appreciated <3

boothill ꩜ .ᐟ

love at many sights with boothill whose memory card was tinkered with, and every time you meet, he thinks he's seeing you for the first time, so he falls for you over and over again. 

when boothill returned from a dangerous mission, it was evident that he had endured significant damage. his once sleek and polished exterior was now marred by dents and scratches, and his mechanical limbs were either partially missing or severely damaged. the exposed wiring, usually neatly tucked away beneath scraps of metals, now hung in tangled strands, sparking occasionally with residual energy.

he looked barely salvageable. it's safe to say that the mechanics had a hell of a time fixing him.

though they were skilled enough to piece him back together, his memory card wasn’t as lucky. a tinkering in his system left him incapable of recalling or retaining information in his synthetic brain, temporarily —leaving the mechanics scrambling to find a solution.

weeks later, you find yourself walking down the familiar corridors of the laboratory where your favourite cyborg is being held for reparation.

boothill’s eyes immediately land on yours when you enter the lab. “well ain’t this a surprise! haven’t seen ya in a good long while.” boothill drawls, tipping his hat your way, his voice carrying a metallic twang. 

"i heard you took a bit of a tumble, figured someone should come make sure you didn’t lose all your screws." you shrug nonchalantly, a smirk playing on your lips.

boothill's eyes flicker for a moment, taking in the curve forming on your lips. he thinks you’re adorable with that infectious smile of yours. 

“heh, nothin’ bad, just had a r-r-run in with some cuties" he says, failing to hide the glitch that caused his voice to stutter. (and that damn synesthesia beacon! he swears he’ll get it fixed this time around…)

“guess you took more than a tumble huh...” you lean casually against the workbench, the sterile scent of machinery and the hum of various devices filled the air; your gaze sweeps over the freshly repaired parts of boothill's metallic frame, “anyway, glad to see that you’re mostly fine now." 

“aww! do ya care ‘bout me?” he teases, his grin widening, revealing his pointy teeth peeking out mischievously. you don’t reply, your eyes glinting with the faintest hint of amusement dancing in them.

"boothill, we go through this every time, your memory card's still damaged. you forget things sometimes, so for the 5th time this week, yes i do care about you.”

boothill's expression shifts, a mixture of realization and sheepishness crossing his features. "right, right," he murmurs, scratching the back of his head with his metallic hand. "sorry 'bout that, sugar. guess i just keep forgettin'."

you chuckle and shake your head, finding the situation amusing. he feels like he might overheat from the sheer warmth radiating from your smile.

“you’re beautiful, date me.” (he didn’t mean to blurt that outloud)

you raise your eyebrows at the sudden compliment, “why thank you,” a surprised laugh escapes your lips.

“—and we’re already dating, silly.”

a shower of sparks erupts from his circuits, you can particularly hear the fans inside him sputter and whir. you rush to his side, concern etched on your face.

“wh- are you okay?! you’re short circuiting again!”

and this happens every time his memory lapses. you offer an apology to the mechanic on the next shift for the extra work required to fix yet another damaged wire after your visits. perhaps they should ban you from getting too close to boothill, lest he completely breaks down again like that one time where you told him, yes you actually kissed before.

jing yuan ୭ ˚.

"secret relationship" with jing yuan but he is completely unaware of how his public displays of affection towards you keep revealing the supposed secrecy of your relationship.

on the rare case that the general is found in his office, you are there too, beside him.

“pleeeease? just one kiss, really really miss you, darling”

“no jing yuan, not now…”

he wraps his arms around you as he leans in, caging you from the back. he rests his chin on your shoulder, “then how about a kiss on the cheeks?” he murmurs in your ear. you try to push him away, but he just chuckles softly against your neck, his arms still secure around you.

“no, and get off me before someone sees!” you protest, feeling your face flush from the close proximity, and the tightening of his arms suggests that he has no intention of releasing you just yet.

this stubborn man… you swear you’re gonna burst a blood vessel someday.

as if to echo your exasperation; he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, peppering it with nibbles and gentle kisses. jing yuan certainly knows how to test your limits, yet his affectionate gestures never fail to chip away at your resolve.

suddenly, a series of loud knocks come from the door, you freeze, and immediately attempt to wiggle your way out of his grasp. but he remains unfazed, his hold on you firm, and seemingly unbothered by the interruption.

the door bursts open, “general! there’s a situation at starskiff ha—ven...”  yanqing trails off as his eyes widen at your position. the room falls into a momentary silence as yanqing's gaze shifts between you and his general, his expression reflecting a blend of shock and embarrassment.

clearing his throat awkwardly, yanqing stammers, "i-im sorry for interrupting... i’ll t-take my leave now!” with a hurried nod, he practically sprints out of the room.

oh bless that kid’s poor eyes… 

you shoot a glare at jing yuan from the corner of your eyes, you just know that he has a shit eating grin on his face right now. nowadays, it’s probably common knowledge that the general’s most treasured person is you, evidently shown by how he latches himself onto you every time you’re within his vicinity. you wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of xianzhou knows about your supposed “secret” relationship.

“so… can i have my kiss now?” 

aeons, he’s insufferable. (you love him tho!!!!!)

blade ؛ ଓ

"fake dating" with blade but you are actually dating —somehow everyone is convinced you aren't.

“blink twice if you need help.” march whispers-shout; dan heng leans against the doorway, blocking the way into your room, nods in agreement.

“this is absurd… i’m alright guys, really!” you try to reassure your friends, frustration edging into your voice. though no matter how many times you insist that no blade isn't holding you hostage and that you are indeed in a relationship with him, they seem convinced otherwise, somehow deducing that you're not able to speak freely.

you sigh in resignation, knowing that they aren’t going to relent anytime soon, and with blade idling in your room, you can't afford to keep him waiting any longer. “dan heng please, let me through, he’s been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes now…”

“good, let him wait.” dan heng responds curtly. (what a guy)

march takes hold of your hands, “do you owe the stellaron hunters something, and him out of everyone?! he looks scary…and totally not your type!” 

“not their type?” a low voice rings out from behind dan heng, the three of you turn immediately and see blade looming at your doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“stellaron hunter. stay back.” dan heng furrows his eyebrows, his stance defensive as he pulls out his weapon, positioning himself to block you and march. sensing the growing tension, you step forward, reaching out to gently grasp at dan heng’s shoulder. 

(blade’s expression darkens at your hand resting on him)

“it’s okay dan heng, he means no harm.” dan heng hesitates, his grip on his weapon remains tight, but he doesn't move to strike. so you slowly move between him and blade, “see? i’m fine… he’s not gonna hurt me.” you smile reassuringly at your friends. 

just then, as if to further aggravate dan heng, blade settles his hand on your waist. dan heng’s hand is visibly twitching now. “what? can’t i touch what’s mine?”

dan heng’s eyes narrow, “...we still don’t believe you, leave now. before it’s too late.”

before you can interject, blade grabs your chin, silencing any words of protest with a sudden kiss. caught off guard, your eyes widen as the unexpected gesture leaves you momentarily stunned. but you soon reciprocate his kiss, his intensity drawing you in.

(march quickly covers her eyes with her hands)

“there. now leave us alone.” and with that, he pulls you into your room, slamming the door shut behind, pinning you against it. 

it’s just the both of you now, finally.

“did you really have to touch him.” his voice tinged with possessiveness. “blade, he would’ve hurt you, i didn’t mean—” he shuts you up with another kiss, more desperate this time, welp guess you’re stuck with him for the night.

though your friends might not believe that a person like you would “be in cahoots” with someone as dangerous as him; convincing them otherwise is a task for another time. tonight, he wants your attention focused solely on him, and him only.

ᯓ★

masterlist

TO FIND YOU

── ♡ SATAN

you held no ill will towards lilith. all she had done was exist. that doesn't stop others from warping their perception of you. luckily, satan understands how you feel.

His world began with the scent of copper and scorching heat that nipped at his skin. Yours began in the arms of your mother and the fluorescent light of the hospital room. He was bathed in blood that was not his own whilst you were dressed in warm, cotton gowns. His father mourned not for his birth, but for the loss of someone of greater importance than him. Yours will kiss your chubby cheeks and hold your tiny clenched fists.

Your beginnings couldn’t be any more different. However, that will not change the antecedent of your and Satan’s existence. Lilith, a woman neither of you met, but suddenly became the forefront in your and Satan’s minds. Belphegor’s attack, your ancestry and the proceeding actions of the brothers muddy the sight behind your eyelids. Your late-night contemplations end up coinciding with Satan’s when you both catch each other in the act of making chamomile tea. You wonder what would have happened if you had never gone to the kitchen that night, never knowing of the identical internal strife Satan would be having.

He told you that after the incident, thoughts of Lilith have also begun to plague him. You take in the defeat in his tone and launch into rambles of your own because if Satan is beginning to peek over the emotional wall he has made, you will have to break it down on your own. You tell him she doesn’t threaten you, a ghost who hadn’t existed to you before this week. You know you are still you, you are just afraid of that day you will no longer be considered that by his brothers.

He listened to you quietly, sipping on his tea, and once you were done you finally took a long look at him. Satan is a gorgeous demon, beauty touched by something beyond your understanding. No human man can compare to him because humans are decorated by flaws, scars and history. Demons are above earthly qualities like that. Yet, when you take in the dimness of Satan’s emerald eyes and how he tilts his head back to rest it against the headboard you begin to see it. The weight that strains his shoulders, and the mask he meticulously puts on. You are reminded that even he can share the burden of overthinking and late-night worries with you.

He tells you of his childhood (“If I can even call it that,” He scoffs). His birth marked the end of Lilith, and when he was first brought home in Lucifer’s bleeding arms, there was no denying the role he had already been dressed into. It was a sick joke, he thinks, to have been born so similar to Lilith with golden hair and eyes the colour of dew-covered grass. He recalls to you how Beelzbebub and Belphegor could barely look him in the eyes, how Asmodeus attempted to falsely dote on him because he never really saw him but his baby sister, of how Lucifer would meet his gaze as if he’s seen a ghost.

“But I was not her. I never could be,” He tells you firmly, eyes steely as if wanting to make this fact clear to you as well. He didn’t need to. You know very well he’s Satan, a tired Satan who's sitting on your bed with you and nursing his tea like a lifeline. He is intelligent, cunning, multitalented, someone who has trouble wearing his heart on his sleeve but the diehard romantic in him wishes he could. Lilith was bluntly honest, unconditionally kind, brimmed with curiosity and tended to make herself seen wherever she went. You don’t need to list these differences for Satan to know he couldn’t be her replacement, and she could never replace the role he’s built in this house either. As if reading your mind, the blonde smiles wryly.

“I know what I am,” and as if to say “You know what you are too”, Satan taps his fingers three times on the exposed skin of your arm. His eyes are rounded in affection, and you can’t bite back your sheepish smile either.

Things will be okay.

i would like a full breakdown of why nearly every single outfit in obey me is ugly. its not even moderately ugly, If i were to be in public with them, i would be embarrassed. i look at their sprites and am immediately filled with rage.

MISS YOU MORE

── ♡ YUU NISHINOYA

"You heave yourself up a familiar hill that you were sure didn’t take this much energy to reach before. You sit yourself down under the singular tree situated. You keep your posture polite, as if invading the space meant for someone’s ghost. When the popsicle first hits your tongue, you cry."

(i)

Most days, you can shrug off the pain that comes with missing Nishinoya Yuu.

However, when it’s especially sunny out, or you see soda-flavoured popsicles being sold in convenience stores, you are reminded. When you think of your sleepy hometown, you are reminded. When you pass by children aimlessly tossing around a volleyball, you are reminded.

His grin had been infectious. His eyes would crease at the corners and his smile lines prominent. The sun would catch the brown hues of his eyes in time for you to, in that split second, believe you were graced by the presence of a wild deity. However, Yuu is painfully human, as the next minute he bites into his popsicle too quickly and gives himself a painful pause. You can’t stifle your laughter even when he glares at you meaninglessly, because he’s still smiling even at the expense of his dignity. He used to do anything to make you laugh.

When asked, you would say you were still in contact with members of Karasuno’s Volleyball Club. It’s a gross overestimation of the ‘contact’ you still have. They are accounts sitting on your phone, still following with stories unwatched and posts unliked. You were up-to-speed with the fact that Ryuunosuke Tanaka and Kiyoko Shimizu were married. You knew Hitoka Yachi works for her mother’s design company, and that she still meets with Kei Tsukushima and Tadashi Yamaguchi based on pictures together. Asahi Azumane is a rising designer in Tokyo. Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio made themselves impossible to miss, their names and photos circling the internet and live television on every sports network. The point is that you knew where everyone was, and that was a good enough connection as you can manage. You didn’t need to read the messages Yachi last sent you in 2015. You didn’t need to pay attention to the fact that there was an impromptu group meetup with a handful of alumni just a few months ago. You didn’t need to scroll through Yuu’s untouched Instagram account from a decade ago, his last photo had been a grainy and over-filtered selfie with Tanaka and Ennoshita.

Yuu had, for the most part, completely disappeared from your reach. There was the option to message someone who would know where he was, Azumane and Tanaka being the first to pop into your mind. Yet, terror fills you at the notion, an anxiety that leaves you trembling as you blearily thumbed through the interface of the social media app. You always shut your phone before your impulsive thought reached fruition, and you considered deleting the app entirely if it weren’t for the fact you found comfort in knowing where everyone is, as they simultaneously knew nothing about where you were. Most days, however, it was a rude reminder of the bottom of the rung from which you squander, and the heights they have reached since graduation.

Despite your ever-growing list of regrets, not holding onto Nishinoya Yuu had been your biggest one.

“Let’s get married,” He had said under the glow of the setting sun. The apples of his cheeks were a lovely shade of red and your heart danced in tandem with the leaves blowing past gently. The grass underneath you feels more like a cloud, and you’re lightheaded under the weight of Yuu’s declaration. Not now, you tease him, you haven’t even graduated yet. He sits up immediately, eyes wide and shining as a grin graces his lips.

“So you’re saying we can get married after I graduate?” He wiggles his eyebrows comically at you, and you bat his arm where you lay. Maybe, you had said and he followed your response with a series of kisses pressed against your heated, flustered skin while you squirm and laugh.

If you could go back to that summer evening, you wouldn’t have thought twice before following him straight to the municipal office. Anything to have him in reach, kept him where you could still love him.

(ii)

When your morning begins with the ring of your phone, you do not suspect anything out of the ordinary. Your new manager had become audaciously comfortable in abusing your number at every minor inconvenience—“The numbers just aren’t adding up” or “I have a lot on my plate, go teach the new interns”. So you wait until the fifth ring, a small act of rebellion and spite before you inevitably have to answer to a problem above your pay grade. When it’s Kiyoko Shimizu’s name that pops onto your screen, you nearly drop the device. A blurry contact photo of her Tanaka together, her contact name that is unchanged from when you were in your third year, and the way she does not call a second time. It is her, and not a cruel trick of the imagination. You count to three hundred before you hesitantly press on the call-back function. She picks up on the second ring, and her voice doesn’t burst intrusively into your speaker. Dulcet, as you remember it, with a twinge of something more merry in her tone.

She says your name in fondness and it makes your stomach sink, and when she repeats it a second time you can only nervously laugh.

“I’m sorry, I can just hardly believe it,” And that had been the truth. “It’s so good to hear from you,” You weren’t sure if you meant it. She cheekily corrects you when you tactfully greet her as Shimizu-senpai, and you pretend to be awed by her marriage and congratulate her as if the news isn’t laughably old to you. Reminiscent of old behaviours, she jumps straight to the topic after some idle talk. A reunion, she said, to get as many members of the old team together as possible. An overdue meetup. You are submerged underwater and drowning, unable to claw for air as your throat threatens to collapse. Your mind swam with possibilities, of implications, of everything that can and will go wrong. Who will be there, and what will they want to know? Your carefully crafted isolation is gone, all because you never mustered the strength to cut the last cord tying you to Miyagi. Your silence awards you with another concerned call of your name, and you manage to stammer out an excuse in half-lucidity about your work, schedule, train tickets and anything that could placate your lack of answer now. She pacifies you with a passive, understanding response before promising to check in later and hangs up. It leaves you alone with running tap water, and a glass tipped over in the sink.

(iii)

Miyagi greets you as if it had been frozen in time. You view everything from the same hazy, saturated tint as you were a teenager. The breeze feels colder, there is more life breathed into nature than the city you dwelled in, and glimpses of your memory threaten to peek as you note spots that should be familiar to you.

When your eyes scan over a certain signage, your heart sinks. From an outsider’s perspective, the idea of a convenience store overwhelming you with nostalgia sounds pathetic. Yet it is on Sakanoshita Market’s property where everything happened.

He almost forces the popsicle into your hand despite your string of protests. I owe you one, he had said in relation to last week’s cram study. Your notes saved my life, he insisted though you didn’t exactly feel too great about the fact your notes merely helped him scrape by a passing mark. You don’t rain on his parade, so you gingerly pluck the cold treat from his hand and much to your horror, he bites his own. It was like watching a snake unhinge its jaw as he finished the popsicle within two chomps. When he meets your aghast stare, he smiles cheekily. Efficient, he said and so you take extra care in enjoying the treat and he laughs at your stubbornness.

The bell above the door rings as you enter. You are almost disappointed to find that instead of Coach Ukai’s blonde head of hair, you spy a gangly-looking teenager at the counter. He had been reading something under the table, that much was obvious, but upon the alert of your arrival, he fumbles to stand up straight and shove the source of his distraction away. Whatever he finds on your face, likely no recognition of being his boss, appeases him and he relaxes all the while greeting you politely. He doesn’t bother you as you make a beeline through the aisle, stopping at the refrigerator. You pick up one cola-flavoured popsicle. The cashier boy rings it up but eyes you for a split second for your single purchase. He’s likely not used to older people buying snacks popular with school kids.

When you leave, your feet take you through the grass that cuts the street. You heave yourself up a familiar hill that you were sure didn’t take this much energy to reach before. You sit yourself down under the singular tree situated. You keep your posture polite, as if invading the space meant for someone’s ghost. When the popsicle first hits your tongue, you cry.

(iv)

Your hand hovered over the handle far longer than you wanted to admit. It was the final crossroad in which you could back out, but upon silent admission that this would render your motel costs, your nice dressing, and your taxi ride here useless, you finally push down your wave of nausea.

It’s not Kiyoko who greets you, but Tadashi Yamaguchi who had been conveniently idling near the door in wait for Tsukishima. He greets you politely, a high pitch to his voice you recognise from when he would find you before morning practice followed by the term of respect senpai. Even as your vision began to blur under the intensity of the gold lights decorating the ceiling, your attention was drawn by the pair that came to greet you. You can barely breathe when Kiyoko reaches you because she’s as beautiful as in photos, and when her arms circle around you you feel the bile rise to your throat. Too much. All too much. Yet, you muster a greeting with a smile you hoped reached your eyes, and Yachi is next to follow. She doesn’t hug you, and you don’t think you could handle it right now either, but she beams and grasps your hands without a hint of resentment in her eyes despite the fact you had essentially ghosted her all those years ago. You are led to the living room of the Tanaka household, and you manage to blearily pick up the faces of Sugawara, Sawamura and the man of the house himself, Ryuunosuke Tanaka. The teacher and the officer greet you with warm handshakes and squeezes of the shoulder, and while Tanaka has gotten up from his seat he does not go to give you affectionate greetings like the others. You were not surprised, and yet it still made you want to turn to the door and run. Your name doesn’t leave his lips like a slur, and there is no scowl on his face, and yet you know he has not forgotten. Likely none of them did, they are just better at hiding any animosity. It is when your eyes leave Tanaka’s that you finally pay attention to the other man in the room. Tears threaten to spring to your eyes when you see Asahi Azumane, even more so when the man gives you a gentle smile, but you hold back in fear of causing a scene.

“Not now, just—” You turn away from Asahi’s concerned stare as you briskly attempt to out-walk him. “Not now.”

It doesn’t take him a lick of extra effort to reach your pace, and you feel a spike of annoyance akin to blistering fire. You didn’t like this defiant show of persistence, not from somebody who is usually so gutless in the face of confrontation. You continue to ignore him despite the fact the leather straps of your school bag weigh you down like an anchor.

“This isn’t right, you know this,” He keeps his tone even and placid, even in the face of your growing rage. “He cares about you. A lot. This isn’t fair to you or him.”

You finally spin on your heel, causing the man to stumble slightly at your sudden movement. Your tears are hot, burning even, in the ducts of your eyes but you don’t dare let a single one spill. Not in front of Asahi, who will only be further vindicated that you are making all the wrong decisions. Not even for yourself, who will begin to wonder if they are making the right choice.

“It’s because I care about him that I’m doing this,” You snap and he almost flinches under the force of your voice. “I know what type of person I am. I know what I’m going to become. I can’t reciprocate the intensity of Yuu’s feelings. He deserves to have someone who gives him a high like he gives me.”

You don’t realise your heated retorts have died down to near-desperate begging, not until you're digging your nails into your skin, enough to draw blood. Asahi tries to pry your grip away, but you move before he can reach and he lets his hands fall limply to his sides.

“Don’t you dare say he deserves to be stuck with me just because he happens to care. He’ll get over it, and he’ll find someone better. I’m not ruining his life by dragging him alongside the monotony of mine,” You finally meet the brown-haired man’s gaze from when you hung your head, and your glare burns and the fire spreads. “Do you get it now?”

You are seated down, sandwiched between an almost-doting Kiyoko and frantic Yachi as snacks and conversation are passed around. You are asked the expectant questions—How are you, what are you doing, what’s changed? You answer the questions to a degree that should tame any further curiosity, though take care in leaving out unsavoury details. This was only an impulsive trip. After this, you will go home, delete their contacts and finally free yourself from Karasuno, Miyagi, Yuu and all the memories left behind.

The door opens and you suspect Ennoshita or the like to arrive, as Hinata and Kageyama already confirmed their absence due to their busy schedule. Nothing could have prepared you for when Nishinoya Yuu walked in as if he owned the place. It’s the same spiked hair that your hands used to find purchase in. The same slanted brown eyes that would make your heart quake in your chest. Worst of all, the same grin that haunted your memory. When his eyes fall on you after his loud greeting, you can feel the earth cave in.

(v)

The universe, unfortunately, did not end upon Yuu’s arrival. His gaze had quickly shifted from you to the remaining attendees in the house and the lack of acknowledgement made you feel like a first-year again, standing with your back to the gymnasium wall as your sense of person is reduced to dust in the face of much fiercer personalities. You don’t know what you had expected. He wasn’t going to kick up a fuss in the middle of a reunion, and that’s assuming he even cares about you anymore at all.

Which answer would have been more satisfactory? The one where your teenage self got what they wanted—a Yuu who has moved on and no longer cares for them? Or the one present you guiltily wished for—that he cares, that he thinks of you as often you do him, that he hasn’t gotten over you?

With the last guest’s arrival, you all are moved to the dining room, where dinner is prepared. The delectable smell wafts in the air, and excitement grows. You momentarily perk up at the prospect of a homecooked meal that wasn’t your subpar cooking, but you are immediately tense when Yuu brushes past you with a brisk “whoops, sorry.” This is a casual interaction. There is no tremor in his voice, no avoidant glances. It’s akin to two strangers passing each other on the street.

You want to go home. You want his attention. You want to run. You wish he’d say your name again.

The conversation picks up as everyone eats, and you are still kept in between the two ex-managers while Yuu sits on the opposite side but from the furthest vantage point from you. Judging by the passing glances you had gotten when he arrived, you had a feeling this seating arrangement was purposeful. You don’t tact on to the discussions but try to smile and laugh when appropriate so it doesn’t seem like there is something totally wrong with you. At least you managed to gather that Yuu is currently travelling, and you have to bite back your smile when you recall the nights he used to call you and explain his dreams of seeing the world.

Within the hour, ceramic dishes and steel utensils clink together and everyone begins to disperse with the grand idea to watch a few films together over drinks before ending this event. Tsukushima quietly gestures towards his departure with a curt explanation of morning practice when Tanaka hounds him. You realise this is also your only chance at escaping without too much awkwardness. You arm yourself with a list of excuses—sorry, I have to check out early tomorrow. I have a morning work call. I’m still a bit light-headed from the train ride.

Nobody questions you further when you say your general, tentative goodbyes along with an extra minute of gratitude for the Tanaka household’s hospitality (Ryuunosuke’s gaze even seemed to soften when you turned to thank him). You are out the door before you can make selfish eye contact with Yuu, your coat tossed over your figure as you depart with nothing but a sheepish wave.

The night chill hits you in full force, and you shiver as you quickly attempt to find warmth in the rapid friction of your palms. You are not more than just a few steps out the front lawn when your name is shouted, the syllables rolling off a familiar tongue with so much nostalgia it feels sickening. Nishinoya Yuu is broad-shouldered with a sports jacket messily pulled over his figure and calling for you as if you both are seventeen and he’s letting you know one more time that he loves you before walking his half of the way home. You pause where you stand, you let him catch up, and you let him stand close enough that you can recite every minute detail of his face. A decade wasn’t enough, you realise somberly, to shake away your utter adoration for him.

He grins and asks if you want to get popsicles in the middle of the cold. Crazily enough, you agree.

(vi)

He regaled you with stories of his travels under that tree, from when he lost his hotel keycard in São Paulo and had to spend the night on the lounge chair because the staff couldn’t replace it in time, to when had gone fishing in Colorado River and fell of his boat when he got too excitable about his catch. You couldn’t stop your laughs, and he was only encouraged to continue with an eager beam. By the time you catch your breath, you find him leaning back on his hands with a smile so earnest that it makes you feel like you are seventeen and in love again. You grow nervous when he proclaims it's your turn to fill him in on the details of your life and the peace of the moment crumbles under his expectant stare. With the way you left him and the way he’s treating you as if you didn’t break his heart all those years ago, you felt obliged to be honest.

Shuichi Toyama began as your co-worker. He didn’t enter your life in a hurricane like Yuu did, but he did leave behind a disaster once he closed the door.

He asked you out and with you having been off the dating scene since high school, you agreed with some reluctance. The first date turned out fine, better than the awkwardness you first expected, so you let him take you out for a second. Then a third. He asked you to be his, and you agreed without paying note to the premonition behind his wording (Yuu always used to brag that he belonged to you).

It was comfortable. Stable. On good days Shuichi felt like a friend, and that was your first warning that you mistook security for love. He proposed a year later during a fancy dinner date, the restaurant overflowing with patrons. When the pastry chef brought out a slice of cake, moist and carefully decorated with your name, all you could think about was the eyes on you and how much money Shuichi must have spent on this proposal. You agree and something prideful crosses your now fiance’s expression.

A few months after you are wed in a fanciful ceremony with your attire to the decorations hand-picked by your mother-in-law, the cracks in your relationship begin to show. Late arrivals home, heading straight to bed after work, no ‘good morning’ or ‘I love you’ uttered. A year later you catch him in bed with his co-worker he swore to you not to worry about. It’s a sight to see when he struggles to pull up his pants, racing after you as you lock yourself in your car. He keeps a firm grip on the handle as he pleads for you to reconsider. He’s sorry. He didn’t mean for it to happen. It was a lapse of judgement. You listen to the excuses bemused, but you can’t help the tears that sting your eyes. Time with Shuichi had been wasted time, and you could have done so much and been so much without him. Yet, your mind tracks back to Yuu. This must be how he felt when you left, and it comes with a realisation of shame that you were no better than Shuichi. When your neighbour’s young children emerge from the front door to play, you unlock your car and follow your husband back home to spare them the sight of a half-naked man begging in the driveway. Maybe this is what you deserve.

He only kept his promise for two months, then while doing the laundry you find a lipstick stain on his collar that did not belong to you. A normal person would have packed their bags and tossed the stupid shirt at him without looking back. You toss it into the washing machine and go back to the rest of your chores. You don’t bring it up even when he comes back home almost four hours late, drunk and smelling unusually floral. You tell him his food is in the oven, and head to bed.

You let the cycle run its course for another few months until he breaks a plate during an argument about one of your neighbours catching him leaving a woman’s house in the early mornings. You had yelled at him to at least keep his infidelity under warps so that you aren’t embarrassed in the process, and he screams about why you aren’t angry that he’s cheating and more concerned for your reputation. When the ceramic dish hits the kitchen floor and shatters, you go quiet and stare. He’s the one who packs his bags this time, and you don’t implore him to stay. After that, you do not see Shuichi without a lawyer and you eventually lose rights to the house and most of your savings you mistakenly put into a shared account. You quit your job with no available living accommodation and no friends whose couch you could crash on while you try to pick up the remnants of your life. You find a job in another city after several nights at a cheap motel and begin to live in a small apartment in a place unfamiliar to you. Your new job pays less, is more demanding and your coworkers don’t take to you. However, it puts a roof over your head and food on your table. Within the silence, all you can contemplate are regrets.

By the time you are finished, there is a fire in Yuu’s eyes that blaze, fraught with rage. He curses your ex-husband without sparing a breath and you have to bite back a smile because it was just like him to get angry on your behalf.

“That sounds rough, I’m so sorry,” He says quietly and despite his awkward wording, he’s practically melting in sincerity and you only shake your head. You almost wished he felt vindicated by hearing this, but that’s simply an insult to the type of person Nishinoya Yuu is. He is never happy in the face of someone else’s misery, he is earnest and sincere, and he cares for others loudly and passionately. You are free-falling, a pit in your stomach that lurches to reach your throat, weightless and doomed. The words leave you before your mind can catch up.

“From all of this, it’s just a constant reminder I fucked up the moment I left you,” His eyes widen at the sudden confession, lips pressing into a straight line as you gaze at him with glassy eyes. “Yu—Nishinoya, I’m so sorry. I know my words can never make up for my actions.”

“Don’t,” His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale as he closes his eyes, “Don’t call me Nishinoya like that. I’m always Yuu to you.”

Tears now freely roll your cheeks and you know you don’t deserve it when he reaches out to briskly wipe them away with calloused hands. They warm your face and he lets his touch linger longer than appropriate even when your sobbing has died down to quiet sniffles.

“You and I were dumb kids. Sure, back then I wanted to scream and chase you down until you changed your mind,” He moves his hand to grasp yours, intertwining your fingers together as he gives you a reassuring and tight squeeze. “But I didn’t hate you for it. I don’t think I’m able to even if I tried.”

His grin takes on a little more sheepish twinge, a contrast to a teenage Yuu who would have urged you to stop taking things so seriously and to get over it. With maturity, he has the patience to sit down and actually talk with you. However, curtness is integral to his personality so he adds on.

“Even though you’re in the habit of catastrophising everything,” His sly remark earns a look of offended bafflement from you, causing him to laugh loudly in return. He brings you to stand alongside him, tugging you from the hill and onto the street. He insists on walking you back to your motel, and promises to pick you up the following morning. Nishinoya Yuu is cementing himself into your life again. You make sure to take extra care of keeping him.

just normal guy behaviour 👍

who was gonna tell me the straw hat badges were a limited time thing 😔

h. kaoru — the beach

warnings: me being pretentious, mild references to suicide (via drowning)

“Tell me—if I told you that I loved you, what would you say?”

When he speaks, it’s slowly, hesitantly. It’s as though he’s carefully thinking through everything before it leaves his lips. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you think his words over. What brought this on, you wonder.

Kaoru braces his forearms against the rail of the balcony, leaning forwards as though he might tip over the edge and let himself fall. Right into the crashing waves below, a suffocating hug. You blink and there he is, his body torn to pieces by the cutting rocks, his blood webbing across the surface of the ocean. You blink and there he is, the salty sea breeze tousling his hair and brushing against his cheeks in a loving caress.

You find yourself jealous.

To be able to touch him so tenderly… You can, if you want to. You just have to reach out. There is nothing stopping you except your fear of interpreting everything—his smiles, his touches, his words—wrong.

You’ve never thought yourself a coward before, but Kaoru is something precious to you and to lose him would…well, maybe not destroy you. You’re not so naïve that you think a broken heart is the same thing as the end of the world.

Still, it would hurt all the same.

He watches you with furrowed brows as you force your wandering thoughts back into some semblance of order, probably trying to glean what information he can from the emotions that show on your face. You’ve always been an open book, or so he says. Things change, yes, but there are some universal constants and he is one of them. He’s always been like this, you reminisce fondly in the safety of your own mind. Prone to thinking, thinking, thinking—sometimes a little too much; don’t chase all those rabbits, Kaoru. You’ll get lost in the wonderland of your own head.

You giggle then, eyes bright; is this a confession?

Maybe, he replies, face blank, not betraying anything. Maybe.

Oh. You mouth the words, surprised despite yourself.

Then he smiles, a little dreamily. He looks wistful when he stares at you, like you can’t possibly be real. There’s a little bit of that in his eyes right now. It settles amongst the glints of gold in his sweet-grey eyes: here is a boy destined to be lonely, or so he thinks.

Here is a boy you love, lonely no more.

Your fingers twitch at your sides. In your chest, your heart gives a squeeze, aching with want. To reach out, to draw him close. Not yet, though. Not yet.

“Well,” You begin, testing the words on your tongue. “You’ll have to be a little clearer. Because if this is a hypothetical situation, as you say it is… If you’d confessed to me, hypothetically,” The emphasis you place on the word makes it clear you don’t believe that is truly the case. “I would’ve say yes.”

Now it’s his turn to startle, eyes suspiciously bright. He smiles once more, just as wistful, then turns his head to face the ocean once more. A single tear trickles down his cheek, and you step forwards to brush it away. “Crybaby,” You tease, fond as ever. Kaoru laughs wetly.

“Cut me some slack. The person I love told me they love me back. I’m allowed to get a little emotional.”

“Mm,” You hum, tracing the lines of his face with your thumbs. He leans into your hold, like a cat would. His eyeslids flutter shut, he watches you through his feathering lashes. The two of you stand there, silently, as the sun goes down.

No longer lonely, no longer breathless.

© tokusaatsus 2023

wc. 615 words

reze txt. when i tell you he is always on my mind, i mean it. sorry for being pretentious about how much i love him ♡ partly inspired by the beach by the nbhd

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