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dry wells; aizawa x reader | 3.0 k | comfort
being dependable is hard when you have no one to fall back on. you learn that the hard way. aizawa is there to remind you that all you have to do is ask.
drabbles (1k or less)
messy handwriting; shinsou x reader | 0.9 k | fluff
it’s as you share a soft, fatigue-ridden look with your boyfriend, tag-teaming cheating on an assignment you put off for an entire month 5 hours before it’s due that you realize you have all the time in the world.
headcanons
none yet :)
haikyuu!!
oneshots
four months; akaashi x reader | 4.8 k | established relationship
love like yours is undoubtedly eternal, but when you haven’t seen your boyfriend in 4 months, it's easy to think twice.
drabbles (1k or less)
none yet :)
headcanons
none yet :)
aot
oneshots
the world is cruel but i still love you; eren jaeger x mikasa ackerman | 1.4 k | actor!au
it dawns on them as they sing these words that this part of their life is coming to an end. the series is over, but they can’t be. they mean too much to each other.
drabbles (1k or less)
none yet :)
headcanons
actor!au masterlist
their favorite parts of the braiding process; black reader
bakery register
eni 🍰 19 🍰 she/her 🍰 black 🍰 multifandom 🍰 armin, nanami, aizawa, and akaashi’s #1 🍰 currently listening to: west coast - lana del rey 🍰
meet the pâtissière (about me and the blog) i’ll make a carrd soon lol
ingredients and allergy warnings (dni)
menu items (masterlist)
take a look around. if you need anything, let me know!
dry wells
summary: being dependable is hard when you have no one to fall back on. you learn that the hard way. aizawa is there to remind you that all you have to do is ask.
word count: 3.0 k
pairing(s): aizawa shouta x reader
genre | includes: stress, comfort, sfw, gender neutral reader, poc friendly reader, one (1) swear word, brief self-deprecation
author’s note: this is my first work on here and it is purely self indulgent. i hope anyone who feels the same way gets some form of comfort and reassurance from this ! please let me know what you think ! also please ignore me mentioning in the heights in absolutely everything i do. i can’t help it lol
Shouta values functional relationships. Quality over quantity, as cliché as it is, is the bread and butter of his social interactions. His brunch meetups and nights on the town are few and far between, but, contrary to common belief, he enjoys them very much. He doesn’t spend extra time around people he dislikes, so if he’s doing anything, he does it with company he enjoys. It’s as simple as that. The amount of people that belong in his circle are small, and the number has been waning gradually over the years. Without question, his closest companions are Hizashi and Nemuri. As fed up as he acts with them, he leaves every moment with them feeling lighter.
Except for when they’re working. He’d never get used to their faculty room antics no matter how hard he tried. And they weren’t the only problem. There's just something about the fluorescent lighting in the school building that drains every ounce of energy from him. Factor all that in with less than 4 hours of sleep and problem children at every corner? Coffee never stood a chance. (That doesn’t mean he’ll stop trying.)
Yes, it was exhausting, but Shouta likes to think he’s got it all under control. At least he knows what to expect. By now, it’s routine; Nemuri gossips about student drama (“Kobayashi Mariko from one of the second year support classes cheated on their girlfriend with a business department third year”), Hizashi reacts at a volume louder than necessary (“You’re kidding. The poor girl must be crushed”), everyone hears and begins to chime in (“I thought they already broke up, I saw her with Kato Misaki from general studies at the mall last weekend” “Well, that doesn’t mean anything. People go to the mall with their friends all the time” “But they kissed” “Tell me you’re joking”), Shouta sighs a deep, aching sigh in preparation for the headache that's about to kick in, and less than a minute later, right on schedule, a low chuckle comes from beside him as you set down a cup of coffee and greet him with a cheeky, “good morning, sunshine”.
Living the life of a hero, constantly stepping out into the world unsure if he’d return, Shouta has come to be appreciative of the slight pleasures in his life. One of those pleasures is you. He couldn’t always afford the luxury of routine, yet there you always were. You were just enough joy to last the day. Gentle when the time calls for it; brutally honest when need be. Comfortable in your skin, you expressed yourself in the way you knew others would understand while being unapologetically yourself. When Shouta started working at UA, he’d shadowed you for a semester, learning your tips and tricks for nurturing the new generation of heroes. Despite graduating the year after him, you’d established an aura of authority and dependability that not even he could ignore. Long after he’d done the same, you still offered your services and assistance in whatever way you could. How you managed to take on other people’s workloads he’d never know, he just knew he was grateful for you.
You were a different kind of teasing than Nemuri, a tamer happy than Hizashi. You were reliable in every sense and unwavering in your identity. Students flocked to you for advice as you undulated naturally between teacher and older sibling. You could easily take command of a room and just as quickly get everyone laughing. You stomped out defiance and made tiktok references in the same breath. Your presence brought relief; if you were here, everything would be figured out. Everyone just knew no matter what it is, (y/n)’s got it under control.
So when you shuffled into the faculty room half an hour late, eyes puffy and bloodshot, your usual confidence nowhere in sight, Shouta did a double take. The other teachers were preoccupied with this week’s “tea” (he’d heard Ashido use the term alongside other colloquial phrases he was far too removed to understand) and had yet to notice you. Judging by how you’d flinched at a louder than necessary gasp, it was a good thing.
What was normally a purposeful strut to the coffee station was now an aimless lumber. You changed course several times as if you’d forgotten the configuration of the room. Your arms were unsure as they unfolded and reached for the pot. From where he sat, Shouta could see your hands shake while pouring your coffee. They hovered over the countertop awkwardly as usual routine became foreign to your distracted mind. You clumsily spilled sugar and whimpered as creamer splashed over the rim of the cup. Your arm knocked over the nearly empty container of stirrers as you reached for napkins and it seemed to be the final straw. Blinking rapidly at the ceiling and taking shaky breaths did nothing to stop the silent tears from burning trails down your cheeks. You sniffled once, twice, and rubbed frantically at your eyes. Shouta wasn’t one for comfort, but leaving you to break down in a high school teacher’s lounge over a cup of coffee at 7:30 am didn’t sit quite right with him. As he stood to confront you (confront sounded violent and all too certain for what he was about to do. What exactly he was about to do, he had no clue), you let out a choked sob and escaped to the door, leaving the coffee and stirrers in disarray on the countertop.
“What’s wrong with (y/n)?” someone asked, as you pushed past Vlad and made a mad dash to somewhere beyond the lounge’s field of vision. Shouta was too preoccupied with packing his files and following you to check who said it.
Sometimes Shouta forgets that you’re also a stealth hero, but moments like this remind him (he says “moments like this” like this happens often. He wouldn’t be chasing after you if this wasn’t out of the ordinary- if he wasn’t concerned). You were fast and, by God, were you hard to find. It didn’t help that classes started in less than half an hour and the early-bird students had started wandering campus. At least this proved you were more than capable as a hero; even in your distress, you could blend into a crowd with ease.
He chased your trail until you hit a quiet stairwell and collapsed into a heap of sorrow under the railing. Now that you were within reach, Shouta realized he honestly didn’t know what to do. Operating at night and dwelling in the shadows for the majority of his career, Shouta had broken up trafficking rings, rescued victims of abuse, and toppled organized crime circuits, but comforting his colleague was way above his pay grade. But there was very little about this profession that involved staying in one’s comfort zone. It was as he’d overheard All Might tell Problem Child #1 (they weren’t slick; neither of them could whisper very well, let alone keep secrets), a hero’s body moves before they think. So here he was, body in a forgotten stairwell, mind still in the teacher’s lounge 3 floors and a 5 minute cardio workout away.
He didn’t know how many times he had to say it, but you’d been nothing but dependable. He’d never once had to worry about you. If he thought back far enough, your few encounters with him as UA students served memories of the same. You came just after Hizashi and Nemuri on the list of people he could tolerate, but higher than them at the same time. He wasn’t sure why.
You always called a cab for him after faculty bar crawls, regardless of whether or not he was sober. You were the first face he saw after the USJ incident at the beginning of the year. You’d often come to his apartment (now his room in the dorms) to keep him company while you both graded papers. Late into an evening of exasperated comments and mood-lightening jokes, you, without fail, would snatch away his stacks of papers and force him to sleep. By the time he woke up, they were graded and organized by student and subject.
He… liked having you around. Not just because you did things to help him, it was more than that, Shouta just had no idea what else it was. Maybe it was that way that before he entered the cabs you called for him, you always demanded he text you to let you know he was home. It may be hidden in how you would grab his arm when he waved off your worry, and you’d look into the depths of his soul with searching eyes. “I’m serious, Shouta. Promise me,” and he would, because he could never lie to you.
Maybe the answer lies within the time you told everyone to get rest as you stayed to listen to the nurses explain how to change his bandages when the Nomu left him bedbound. How, like clockwork, you’d knock on his front door, push him onto his couch, and ignore his protests to change the bandages he had been neglecting for school assignments and patrol. Had it been Hizashi, he wouldn’t have made it past the door. Don’t get him wrong, Hizashi is still Shouta’s closest friend, but neither of them would have lasted the period of time it took to properly unwrap, discard, disinfect, apply, and rewrap. It was probably because he knew you’d make it easier that Shouta let you stay. That was definitely it. And it was because he was comfortable around you that he gave you the second spare key to his room. That’s also why he let you detangle his hair while he slept and you finished grading papers under his kotatsu. You made him comfortable and he was grateful, that’s all. Had he ever done anything to pay you back? He was too young for his memory to fail him, so the answer was probably no.
That changed today.
Your shoulders shook more violently as time passed and it made Shouta realize how long he’d been lost in thoughts about you and that he was yet to actually help you. Trance now broken, he took a seat next to your trembling form and inhaled deeply before speaking.
“Is it okay if I touch you?” stupid stupid stupid stupid why was that the first thing to come out of your mouth what the fuck they’re gonna say no and never speak to you agai-
You looked up abruptly, startling Shouta the slightest bit. You looked… awful. He wasn’t going to sugar coat it. Dried tears left tracks down your cheeks and fresh, hot ones made new trails right through them. Your eyes were hesitant- glossy and unfocused, lips etched in a wobbly frown. Your nose was running and your brows were pinched. Maybe this was more than Shouta signed up for. Before he could back away or call Nemuri or Hizashi for help, you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his torso. When your wet face buried into his shoulder, Shouta sighed once again. When he asked if he could touch you he really only expected to put a consoling hand on your shoulder. Nevertheless, he wrapped his arms around your frame as you shook.
You both sat like that for a short while. No words were exchanged. Just you clinging to the fabric of his clothes and him holding you in place. You counted the dull thudding of your heartbeat. Somewhere in the back of your mind you acknowledged that it was beating in time with Shouta’s. At the calming realization that you weren’t alone, your hiccups slowed and reduced to occasional sniffles. That was good. You began to pull away, wiping at your face. That was not good. Shouta’s mind came to a record scratching halt. Why exactly was it not good? Sure he enjoyed having you in his arms but- no. He was going to stop there. This was much too dangerous a thought path to be going down. He was only here to comfort you. Let’s get back to that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Shouta looked down at you, still somewhat curled into yourself. Curled into him.
You then sighed and straightened, “I don’t know what there is to talk about. I don’t know what’s wrong. It’s all just too much, I can’t catch a break,” your voice wobbled again for a moment and Shouta was afraid you’d cry again. You swallowed thickly before continuing.
“There’s too much going on and no time to address any of it. Things keep getting piled onto my plate, but I can’t sacrifice the rest of what has to be done. Crime is skyrocketing, we’re switching curriculums, I just got assigned to the Shie Hassaikai case, and my family is in town. On top of that, Hound Dog doesn’t have enough space in his schedule to accommodate the influx of students seeking help, so I’m the temporary counselor. I’m applying for grad school right now and once I start there’s no end in sight,” as you made yourself vulnerable in front of someone for the first time, your voice increased in pitch.
“Everyone is suffering and I feel like I’m the only one who can fix everything, but I can’t. And it frustrates me so much because I always fix everything, so there has to be something wrong with me if I can’t do it now. I’m tired, but I can’t be. I’m drowning but I have to make sure everyone else gets to shore first. I’m scared of letting everyone down.” There. It was all out. Your dirty laundry was out in the open. The words that hung heavy in the air brought clarity as they washed over Shouta like the eye drops you once had to force him to use. He watched in understanding as you sagged against the steps behind you.
Of course you felt like you couldn’t catch a break. You were doing everything for everyone all the time. Everyone could depend on you but who could you depend on? Shouta cursed himself internally for not picking up the signs earlier. He prides himself on his perceptiveness, but he couldn’t see that one of his closest companions was working themselves to the bone. He was doing a terrible job. But there would be time to berate himself later, you were his priority right now.
“There’s only so much one person can give. A well has no use when it’s run dry. It doesn’t make sense for you to do everything in the name of pleasing others. You’re entitled to being selfish. You can say no. Nobody will fault you for it. You are a good person regardless of whether or not you help whenever the opportunity arises. You’ve done more than enough to last several lifetimes. Everyone cannot rely on you all the time. You cannot shoulder everyone’s burdens. Don’t forget that you can ask for help too,” that was more than Shouta had said at once in at least a week. How special were you?
“Does that mean I’m allowed to rely on you?” you peeked at him from the corner of your eyes, trying to conceal… something. Was it hope? Relief? Admiration? Whatever it was, it made Shouta nervous. He looked away.
“Of course. We’re... coworkers. And you’ve always been helpful, it would be remiss of me not to return the favor,” his words left a soft smile on your face. He hadn’t done much, just told you what you needed to hear. You’d need time to internalize it, but you were already feeling more grounded. And this coworkers thing...
“Just coworkers? You don’t sound so sure,” you teased as the tell-tale glow of red eyes and floating hair from Shouta’s quirk accompanied a light dusting of red on the apples of his cheeks.
He stood quickly, brushing the dirt from the stairs off of his pants, “Class starts in 10 minutes, you should get cleaned up.”
You chuckled (that was good) and stood beside him. Without a second thought, you grabbed his arm and began to walk in the direction of the faculty room. You didn’t teach during the first period of the day, but he still needed his folders.
“I will. I just wanted to escort my coworker to his classroom first,” you reply cheekily. The pep returned to your step and your heart felt lighter. The only evidence that you had been anything other than happy was the redness of your eyes and the wet splotches in Shouta’s shirt. It felt good to have someone to rely on so you let yourself indulge in the feeling a little longer. You leaned into him as you conversed about everything from lesson plans to the menu Lunch Rush posted for the day.
“That musical you like, In The Heights, they made it into a movie right?” Shouta blurted before he could stop himself. Stupid stupid stupid stupid-
“Yes, they did. Why?” you knew why. You could hardly conceal your smile.
“Would you like to see it this weekend? With me, I mean. We could get coffee after. You deserve the break. Or we could just grade papers because-”
“Because we’re just coworkers right?” you cut him off with a sly smirk as you came to a stop in front of the teacher’s lounge’s doors, “I’d love to. We’ll talk details later, yeah? Class starts in 2 minutes.”
“Okay,”
“Okay,” there was that hesitation in your eyes again. Before Shouta got the chance to analyze what it could have meant, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and turned on your heels. You were going to talk to Nezu about taking a break.
He couldn’t keep the small smile off his face if he tried.
— —
“-And I heard from Rokuda from 3-C who heard from Kobayashi from 3-E who was walking with Takane from 2-D that (y/n) kissed Aizawa in the hallways yesterday.”
“I heard it was a little more than that, I’m talking janitor’s closet” “No” “Don’t shoot the messenger. That’s what I heard from Tsukino from 2-B” “Oh my God”
As you slid the door open, Shouta in tow, you cocked a brow at the quick hushes and suspicious eye-contact from everyone in the room.
“Did I miss something?”
© mamasbakeria 2021. do not repost, translate (without permission), or modify
four months
summary: love like yours is undoubtedly eternal, but when you haven’t seen your boyfriend in 4 months, it's easy to think twice.
word count: 4.8 k
pairing(s): akaashi keiji x reader
genre | includes: sfw, poc-friendly reader, fem!reader, established relationship, long-distance relationship, lots of swearing (i couldn’t help myself), reader has a step-father (and he sucks), minor violence (people just get slapped it’s nothing crazy)
author’s note: i spent like 3 weeks on this and it ended up only being 4k words im gonna cry- anyway i’ve had this idea for a long time so i’m happy its out of my head. it’s based off of some hc that i read a really long time ago, but i wanted to expand on it and add my own little twists. i wrote this for the climax and proceeded to avoid writing the climax for as long as humanly possible. please ignore if the formatting looks a little funky in the beginning, i’ve been wrestling with html for 3 hours now and i’m a little tired. enough talking, enjoy!
Bokuto-san, are you sure this is okay You; 5:53pm
Yes im sure! I asked the coaches and everything Plus i owe u for tutoring me in english last year Bokuto K.; 5:54pm
I told you that you don’t have to pay me back. You did most of the work. You’re very intelligent Bokuto-san But I’m glad it’s okay. That's one less thing to worry about You; 5:56pm
THANKS (L/N)! I think Akaashi’s smartness has been rubbing off on me But what else r u worried abt? Bokuto K.; 5:57pm
It’s nothing You; 5:57pm
I don’t think its nothing (l/n). I want to help if i can Bokuto K.; 5:58pm
I guess I’m just worried that Keiji doesn’t want to see me It’s stupid, I know You; 6:01pm
I don’t think that’s stupid at all!! But you should see how sad Akaashi is without you He doesn’t smile a lot, but when he does, it’s almost always because of you HEY! Send a message to him right now and you’ll see Bokuto K.; 6:03pm
Okay..? You; 6:03pm
[Attachment: 1 Image] See!!! Bokuto K.; 6:04pm
Thank you, Bokuto-san Really You; 6:07pm
Of course! It’s my job as ur senpai to make sure ur ok Did I do a good job??? Bokuto K.; 6:08pm
Yes, Bokuto-san. You really did You; 6:08pm
Of course I did!! Break’s over! I gotta go. See ya soon (l/n) And I promise not to spill the secret!!! Bokuto K.; 6:10pm
Pinky promise? You; 6:10pm
Pinky promise!! Bokuto K.; 6:10pm
Alright, have fun! You; 6:11pm
You scrolled back up to the picture Bokuto had just sent you with a small smile on your face. The image was blurryㅡobviously rushed as if Bokuto was trying not to get caughtㅡbut it was perfect for you. The gym's fluorescent lighting cast a halo in the gaps between your boyfriend’s unruly hair and danced in the gunmetal undertones of the eye you could see. Just as your upperclassman promised, the smallest smileㅡinvisible to the untrained eyeㅡsat comfortably on his lips. The photo was taken from the side, so you only saw the tenderness in his left eye, but you couldn’t stop your heart from swelling 3 times its size knowing you were the cause of such a fulfilling gaze. Who knew the most beautiful man in your life could get more beautiful? And all because you’d sent him a simple heart.
Maybe Bokuto was right. Keiji would be excited to see you.
But maybe he was wrong. You hadn’t seen your boyfriend in almost 4 months. Don’t ask. It was messy, it was stupid, it was super fucking annoying.
ㅡㅡㅡ
You scratched the skin just below your skirt while waiting for the vending machine to process the numbers you punched in. Everyone at Fukuroudani knew that this was the best and worst machine on campus. It carried the best drinks in the largest sizes, but was near impossible to operate. Depending on the time of day, day of the week, and phase of the moon you could get your drink within 3 minutes or 15. The moon was obviously not in a favorable position, because, not including the 4 times your 1000 yen had been spat back into your hands, you’d been waiting in front of the machine for 8 minutes and 37 seconds… 38… 39…
Saved from your agony, the machine began to hum and push your drink forward. Finally. You spoke too soon, you realized, as your purchase got caught in between the racks and the glass. You knew exactly what you had to do, but had no energy to do so. A quick glance at the clock showed how little time you had left of your lunchㅡwas it worth it? Remembering that the price of this same drink was almost double at the konbini near your house, you decided it was. With fierce determination behind your eyes, you shifted your weight and swung every ounce of strength into a strategically placed kick on the machine’s side. Okay so maybe I should start stretching again. That should not have hurt as much as it did. I might have actually pulled a muscle. Rubbing at your leg again, you crouched to grab your drink from the slot and straightened immediately when you heard high-pitched whistles come from behind you. You didn’t have to turn, but you did anyway if only to glare at the group of 3rd years trying to rile you up.
“Aren’t all of you 18? Are you trying to catch a case by catcalling a first year? That’s what I thought. Respectfully, go fuck yourselves,” you seethed as you snatched your drink, popped the tab, and left the scene before a wandering teacher tried to reprimand you for cursing out your seniors.
Sore, irritated, and drink acquired at the expense of most of your lunch break, you stormed back to your classroom knowing you could air your grievances to Keiji about the occurrences of the 15 minutes since you’d seen him last. Thank God you were eating with him today. Not a day goes by that you aren’t grateful for how reliable your boyfriend is. You could count on him to say what you needed to hear whenever you needed it.
What you weren’t counting on was sliding open the classroom doors to find some girl leaning onto your desk and into Keiji’s personal space. His eyes shot to you when he heard the door connect with the wall and you could almost hear his plea for help. His eyes widened ever so slightly and he gave you a near indiscernible inclination of the head, your shared sign language’s way of saying, “I don’t know how I found myself in this situation, but I want to leave.” It was normally reserved for nosy neighborhood aunties trying to introduce their nieces and nephews to the both of you, but the wordless communication you both had been building since you were young was just as effective now.
If you weren’t angry before (you were), you were beyond agitated now. Was this not Japan? Was everyone not taught respect at a young age? Did you wake up this morning in an alternate nightmare universe where everything was ever-so-slightly more inconvenient than what your emotional reserves for the day were willing to handle? You didn’t realize you were clenching your fists until some of your drink dribbled onto the back of your hand. You also didn’t realize your feet were moving until you were right in front of the pair.
“Keiji, baby, who’s this?” Akaashi winced at the sickly sweetness in your tone, this was the side of you he avoided at all costs: the affectionately titled, Overworked And Underpayed Customer Service Employee Meets Pissed Off Soccer Mom. In less coded words, the side of you that used politeness as the final barrier between you and righteous fury. For anyone that knew you, it was a terrifying place to be. But for you, this stage was rather cathartic. It was a neat segue that allowed you to welcome the rage that flushed your system clean of any of your usual friendliness and settled on top of your bones like molten rock over the side of a volcano. The look in your eyes read danger and the mystery girl ignored all the signs.
“Oh don’t mind me. I won’t be relevant to you much longer. You can call me Yasunobu, but Keiji here can call me Naoko,” an offending hand rested on Akaashi’s bicep as she giggled. I’m too young to get my blood pressure monitored, but I just might have to after this. You felt your eye twitch.
“Yasunobu-san, I don’t think my boyfriend likes you clinging to him like that. Please let him go,” if this was the Disney movie Inside Out, the little emotion people in your brain would be celebrating and shaking hands like they were at NASA coordinating a successful moon landing. You managed to talk without cursing her entire bloodline, that was impressive.
“I think it’s fine, he isn’t saying anything,” Yasunobu leaned in further and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. What the fuck this is literal harassment- “but don’t worry. I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t forget to text me, Keiji.” Her now devilish smile stretched wider when your brow furrowed. Yasunobu’s eyes roved over your boyfriend once more, before she pushed off your desk and adjusted her clothes dramatically.
“Move it, whore,” Akaashi just barely stood from his seat in time to catch you. Did she just fucking shove me? It took you no time to regain your balance.
“Run that by me again. I don’t think I heard you correctly,” our words were louder than you’d intended and soon everyone in the room was looking at the 3 of you, eager to soak up the drama for this week. Especially because you were involved. Now, don’t misunderstand, you have a great reputation. Abrasive at times, but only when asserting yourself. When you weren’t, you were respectful and generous. Compassionate and hardworking, “a pleasure to have in class” as teachers say. But everyone knew that you were a ticking time bomb. Not quite hotheaded, but definitely not slow to anger. Normally, you could catch yourself when your self-control was about to slip, but stories spread like forestfire of the minor incidents in which staggered breathing didn’t do its due diligence. Very rarely did anyone step out of line enough for you to put them in their place, but now that it was happening, everyone wanted to see it firsthand.
“I said you should get out of my way. You’re deaf and ugly too? No wonder your boyfriend wasn’t pushing me away. Everyone knows he’s too good for you,” the silence in the room was suffocating.
Your boyfriend’s grip on your arm tightened just enough to pull you back from the spiraling thoughts he knew you had lost yourself to. The worst part is that she’s not wrong. Keiji is too good for m-
“(Y/n) just sit, she’s not worth your energy.”
“I know.”
Full of rage, yet somehow numb to the core, you sat. You picked up your drink (it splashed when she pushed you and now the sides were sticky) and took a long sip, nearly draining the entire can. Before you could set it down, it was coming back up to your face, spilling the contents over your nose and cheeks and dripping onto your uniform. You knew the spot between your eyebrows would be sore from the impact the next day. Okay she’s trying to make a statement and humiliate me, cool. Did she have to smack the metal can into my fucking forehead?
“Yasunobu-san I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, but you’ve clearly gone too far. I’m not breaking up with (y/n) to date you. Even if I were going to date someone else, you are the last person I’d choose. All you’ve done is show how ugly your personality is,” Akaashi’s voice was ice as he did he best to dry you off. His focus was no longer on the girl who was now flushed red at her plan blowing up in her face.
“I’m sorry, (y/n). I’m proud of you for not losing your temper,” Akaashi had no clue how things had gotten so out of control. He was just glad it was over. Lunch was going to end soon and the teacher would come and make sure Yasunobu got the discipline she deserved.
That would be too easy though.
Before Akaashi knew what was happening, you were pushing past him and grabbing the girl’s quickly descending hand.
“First you flirt with him, then you try to slap him? Are you crazy?” you seethed. This would go down as your worst lunch break in high school history. It didn’t get much worse than this. This was a textbook American high school movie conflict, and you were driving the bus straight into Regina George.
“Don’t touch me,” Yasunobu hissed as she snatched her hand away and sent it flying back at your face in full force. Gasps went around the room and you distantly acknowledged someone running out of the room in search of a teacher. She smirked in victory as you stared at the floor and held your cheek. She just fucking slapped me.
“That actually almost hurt a little,” you mumbled. There was a pregnant pause as the whole room held its breath. This was the type of out-of-line behavior that would unleash the side of you no one was previously dumb enough to intentionally provoke. The only question now was: what were you going to do?
You didn’t keep anyone waiting long. Your hand descended in a swift arc onto the girl’s face. It was no ordinary slap. It was the deafening kind. Your palm was cupped as it clapped against her ear and sent her tumbling to the floor. You knew it was a one and done ordeal; nobody took a slap like the one you dealt out without being knocked off their equilibrium for a while.
“Someone take her to the nurse’s office, she’ll need to lie down for a bit,” was what you wanted to say, but before you could open your mouth, 3 teachers burst into the room. All they saw was a girl sobbing hysterically on the floor (when did she start crying?) and you standing over her.
“(l/n), you’re with me. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Well, shit.
ㅡㅡㅡ
It was worse than you thought. A lot worse. That fact didn’t dawn on you until you sat with your mother and step-father on the opposite side of the table from Yasunobu and her parents. The three of them were dressed to the teeth with name brand clothing and clutching their bags like you were going to rob them. Her stuck-up parents shifted haughtily and narrowed their eyes whenever you glanced in their direction, so you kept your eyes glued to the wall behind them. Apparently the nasty behavior was hereditary. The teacher who dragged you out of the classroom, Suzuki-sensei, a third year science teacher, alongside the principal entered the silent room to debrief both sets of parents on the situation and dole out the consequences. You were expecting a severe scolding and extra cleaning duties at the worst. Suzuki-sensei was on your side, as were many othersㅡeye-witness accounts all reported much of the same thing, it was obvious what the truth was, but the Yasunobu family was one of the largest benefactors of the academy. As long as Naoko continued with her crocodile tears, Fukuroudani was at risk.
Suzuki-sensei pulled your family aside, promising to do everything in his power to ensure Yasunobu didn’t get off scot-free. As for your punishment, there was nothing you could do. Trust me, your mother tried. Funding was far more important than a single student, no matter how promising of a student you were.
So one formal, written apology and a lot of screaming matches later, you were temporarily unenrolled from Fukuroudani Academy and shipped off to an all-girls etiquette school. Your mother, bless her heart, tried to reason with your step-father, but he wasn’t having it. He’d been looking for any reason to send you away and make room in the house for his children and wasn’t keen on letting this opportunity slip away (that was another can of worms for another day).
“She’s too volatile.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you for months that she has an attitude problem.”
“Assault over a boy? I told you he was bad news.”
“It’s for the best.”
Even if it wasn’t, you found yourself stuck in a correctional environment to manage behavior that you didn’t have. Cut off from your friends, your mother, and the love of your life, you were miserable. There was only so much a phone call could do. Skype calls were hard to coordinate with your momㅡshe was working when you were free, you were asleep when she was on breakㅡand the rare face-to-face visits you had were all too short for your liking.
The only hope you clung to was the promise of it only lasting one semester.
And you made it. Nothing would ever compare to the 4 months in hell you experienced, but now you were on the other side, shaking near imperceptibly on the train towards Shinzen High School. Shortly after school let out for the summer, you met with your mother to celebrate. She was the one who planted the idea you were now carrying out into your head.
“(y/n), why don’t you surprise Keiji at training camp? He doesn’t expect to see you until he gets back. I think it would make his day. His mother told me he’s been miserable without you,” You knew your genius came from your mom, moments like this only solidified it.
It was a great idea, you wouldn’t be 6 stops (oh my god 6 stops) away from the high school if it wasn’t. You were just scared. 4 months was a long time. Naoko could have sunk her claws into Keiji in that time. Of course, he wouldn’t have texted you every waking moment of the day and called you late into the night if that was the case, but it was still a possibility. Even if it wasn’t, he could have changed. You could have changed. That was the entire point of your absence anyway. You were miraculously stubborn, but there was only so much you could reject. The lifestyle you’d been forced into was not easily ignored. What if the things he loved most about you were gone? What if when he saw you, his eyes didn’t widen then crinkle at the corners when he smiled? Would he pull his large, loving hands out of your own and neglect to fidget with them in the way he knew you loved?
What if the Akaashi Keiji waiting for you at Shinzen High wasn’t yours?
You couldn’t take that heartbreak.
It was impossible to envision a life without Keiji, you couldn’t remember a time before him. Your life has been intricately intertwined with his since before you could walk. He did life with you. Before any of your friends, you showed him when you first learned how to tie your shoes. He taught you the kanji for beautiful and wrote it on the back of your hand everyday in second grade. Even though you sucked, you helped him practice volleyball on Sundays in middle school. You opened your Fukuroudani acceptance letters together and swore on your hearts that you’d never tell another soul how hard you both cried. His growing pains were your own. If he was gone, who would tutor Bokuto-san with you? Who would joke about your mother loving him more than you? Who would remind you that you were never too flawed to be loved?
An announcement over the train’s speaker scared you out of your thoughts. Your attention shifted to the monitor overhead, but you couldn’t make out the map through the mistiness of your eyes. Stupid Keiji making you love him enough to cry in public. If you told him about this he’d laugh at you, so he’ll just never know. Bringing a sweaty palm to wipe your face, your breath hitched at the now clear map in front of you. 2 stops to go. You could just get off at the next stop and take the next train going in the opposite direction. It’s not like Keiji is going to die. You’ll see him when he gets back from camp. That might be easier.
But you’re (l/n) (y/n), self-proclaimed baddest bitch alive. Bad bitches don’t go back on their word. Besides, you’d already bothered Bokuto-san and the coaches to allow you to stay for the rest of the week. It would be rude to not show up last minute, especially after all the time they’d spent trying to accommodate you. Were you going to waste their time over some silly doubt? No way. The most loving boy on the planet was (unknowingly) waiting for you and he would be happy to see you. You missed him and he missed you too. You wouldn’t have to scroll very far in your texts to prove it. You could do this. You were going to do this.
With your mind made up, you exhaled deeply and shook all the bad thoughts out of your head. As if the universe was encouraging you to move before you changed your mind, the train screeched to a stop as it pulled into the station closest to the high school. Duffel bag hanging securely over your shoulder, you broke through the commuters moving too slowly for your liking and inhaled the fresh summer air that you’d been denied in the stuffy train compartment.
You pulled up the GPS on your phone and punched in the address for Shinzen High school with surprisingly stable fingers. A smile grew on your face as you looked at your ETA; in less than 20 minutes you’d be reunited with Keiji. You couldn’t wait.
But in the meantime, you had to plan how you were going to scare the shit out of him.
ㅡㅡㅡ
The configuration of Shinzen wasn’t all that different from that of Fukuroudani. You could navigate the empty school grounds with little difficulty, letting intuition guide you. You hummed a song with no rhythm as you moved, two-stepping and spinning to the cicada orchestra filling in the background with soft miin-miins.
Boisterous laughter cut through the previously still air and you knew immediately that you were in the right place. The smell of meat and overlapping chatter lead you behind the gyms where you found a large group of, unsurprisingly, ravished-looking, disheveled boys making excited conversation as the managers (you assume because you recognize Yukie and Kaori) buzz around the grill. Hoping to find your boyfriend or one of his teammates, you shuffled a little closer to the scene and elevated yourself on the tips of your toes. Your nose wrinkled in displeasure as you realized they all look the same: tall, athletic, sweaty teenage boys.
A cluster of blue caught your attention from the corner of your eye and you locked on to the two-toned hair of your school’s captain. Bingo. Just as you were going to step in the direction of the Fukuroudani team, you were stopped by another familiar face.
“Ah, Kuroo-san! It’s been a while,” a large grin spread across your features as you leaned in for a side hug. He got under your skin so easily, but you were proud to call Kuroo a friend. He was one of the few people that could set off your hair trigger and live to tell the tale. You were getting soft. You couldn’t count on all your fingers and toes how many times Bokuto came crashing into Keiji’s house with Kuroo at his side. Very rarely did movie dates stay as just the two of you. Knowing Kuroo Tetsurou the way you did, this hug would end with his knuckles digging into your scalp and your elbow in his gut.
“Yes it has, (L/N). You know, I was expecting a more formal greeting. A 90 degree bow, a western-style curtsy even? Did you truly learn nothing from your time away?” As if on cue, he began to tug you into his sweaty (ew) torso and push your head around.
“Oi let me go, you menace,” you grumbled as you tried to push him off of you, “Etiquette school was just housewife training with calculus. I’m not going to worship the ground you walk on.” Finally breaking free, the two of you held a childish glare before relaxing into soft peals of laughter.
“Bokuto already told me that you were coming. Don’t worry, I’m the only one who knows. He's actually kept his mouth shut aside from that,” Kuroo placated the worry that filled your eyes for a brief moment before pointing in the direction you were heading before, “Akaashi should be down there. Go get your mopey little boyfriend.”
Kuroo pushed you lightly, not giving you the chance to say something snarky. At the call of your name you turn back around and are greeted with a look of sincerity not often acquainted with Kuroo Tetsurou’s face, “It’s good to have you back, honestly. It hasn’t been the same without you.”
“It’s good to be back.”
Mission back in mind, you set back off to find Keiji. Your quickened steps were filled with a giddiness that you knew had flooded every cell of your body. Though your worry and doubt were shed long before you set foot on campus, you couldn’t help but notice the effervescent fluttering in your stomach as it lept to your throat and back several times over. Less than a minute now.
Head on a swivel, you must have looked lost or insane staring into groups of unfamiliar people and muttering in mild irritation when you couldn’t find what you were looking for.
“I could have sworn I just saw them? How does a group of 15 people just disappear?”
So focused on your task, you didn’t notice the eyes and whispers following you. Who were you? Didn’t they have this area reserved? What were you looking for? Should they tell a coach? Speculations bloomed in every conversation trying to place a story on you. None the wiser, you pressed on.
“I swear to God, if he’s in the bathroom or something- oh,” there, sitting demurely at the table full of your schoolmates, facing away from you, was Keiji. His hair was messier than usual and from behind you could tell he was just about ready to sink into the bench beneath him. The only thing holding him up was the arm he propped on the table and the palm he rested his cheek on. You understood. Training camp was no joke. No text message could properly convey the amount of work everyone put in this week. You could practically hear his inner monologue begging whatever deity took pity on him to send a shot of espresso from the sky. You weren’t coffee, but you could deliver an equally effective shock to his system.
In a swift motion, the bag on your shoulder was sailing through the air and colliding with his back. He was slow to react from exhaustion and you almost felt bad, but it would pay off in 5...4...3...2…
“Bokuto-san, it’s been a long day, please don’t throw things at me. There are easier ways to get my attention…” Keiji exhaled deeply as he turned around to scold Bokuto only to remember the captain was sitting right across from him. His confused eyes blinked dumbly when they finally saw you. All was silent as the surrounding players watched with bated breath.
Holding back a chuckle was proving more and more difficult as realization slid onto your boyfriend’s face, so you settled for a smirk and a lifted brow. It didn’t last long because the recognition on his face softened into something akin to fondness, to love, to coming home. The look was deeper than the crinkling of eyelids that normally translated into Keiji’s nonverbal love. It was a look you weren’t ready for, but something you couldn’t have gone another second without. You found quickly that you couldn’t keep your smirk up much longer and it was replaced with trembling lips. Amber rays of the setting sun honeyed the gaze you both shared; it was at times like this that you wished you were able to draw because you dreaded the day when every detail of this moment was lost in your memory.
(Little did you know, you would find yourself locked in a similar gaze less than 10 years from now, right after your wedding veil was lifted over your eyes.)
Akaashi Keiji is known as an ethereal being to those who don’t know him, if only they could see him now, scrambling to his feet and over the bench, barely stopping himself from face-planting into the grass. Gone was the poise that followed his every movementㅡhis only focus was pulling you into his chest and burying his face into the crook of your neck. The pull of your arms around his neck was automatic; your body had not forgotten how right it felt to be slotted with his. You could have stood there, wrapped in his embrace until you both became one with the grass below your feet. Instead you squeezed him tighter and relished in the chance to feel him again.
“I missed you.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
4 months was a long time, but in comparison to the eternity you were going to love Keiji for, it was nothing at all.
© mamasbakeria 2021. do not repost, translate (without permission), or modify
messy handwriting
summary: it’s as you share a soft, fatigue-ridden look with your boyfriend, tag-teaming cheating on an assignment you put off for an entire month 5 hours before it’s due that you realize you have all the time in the world.
word count: 0.9 k
pairing(s): shinsou hitoshi x reader
genre | includes: drabble, fluff, sfw, established relationship, gender neutral reader, poc friendly reader, lots of swearing (im not sorry), barely proof-read, kind of rushed/bad writing
author’s note: i’m not going to say this was based off of a similar situation i found myself in 4 days ago, but that’s exactly what i’m saying (it’s not that bad, i started a week before school resumes, not the night before). the passage at the beginning is actually an excerpt from the book i had to read. it’s called the landscape of history by john lewis gaddis. its really dense, but a really interesting read! anyway, enjoy! let me know your thoughts <3
“The advantage of science, John Ziman has pointed out, is that it provides “a consensus of rational opinion over the widest possible field.” To be sure, we can’t expect the methods of science to work with equal precision, or to command comparably broad assent, when it comes to the study of human affairs-”
“What the fuck does this mean? Maybe if I read it again? Or rewrite it in easier words?”
A consensus (a general agreement) of rational (logical) opinion over the widest possible field (a lot of stuff???)
“And you have the audacity to tell me my handwriting is shit,” a large cup full of something akin to ambrosia cut off your view of your, admittedly messily written, study notes. How you managed to look grateful and spiteful at the same time, Hitoshi will never know. He simply chuckled while ducking underneath the straw wrapper you’d flicked at his head.
“Give me a break, at least I have an excuse. I’m on a time-crunch, you just never try,” your exasperation punctuated by the aggressive stabbing of your straw into the coffee he brought you. Caffeine and fatigue use your eyelids as a battleground as you struggle to stay awake. A beat passes to let you gather your motivation and then your attention shifts back to the assigned reading you put off all summer. The reading you had to have a 3 paragraph summary and analysis written for by tomorrowㅡscratch thatㅡby today.
You know, you know. Summer vacation is long and you could have easily allotted a couple of minutes a day to make progress, but there was just so much to do! Sero, Ashido, Jirou, and Iida’s birthdays were all during break and you finally got a switch so you could play Animal Crossing and everyone has a year and a half’s worth of progress on you so you had to spend several hours a day caring for your island and you also had to go on dates with Hitoshi and rearrange your dorm room 3 times and… and do everything that wasn’t your summer homework.
So here you are, the night before the start of the fall semester, trying to save yourself from Aizawa-sensei’s wrath. You can do it! Just finish this chapter, then reread it to understand what it means, then outline the summary, then write it all out, then erase half of it because it isn’t good enough, and oh fuck you cannot do this.
A muffled scream clawed its way up your throat, threatening to wake the dorms. If only you could stop time.
“I told you to start earlier,” Hitoshi mumbled into your leg from his seat on the floor, chastising you softly. It wasn’t that you were a bad student, both of you knew that, you were just susceptible to distraction. Everyone was. You were just used to being bailed out and let that get the better of you this time. Everyone in the class was assigned different parts of the book, so you couldn’t copy. Aizawa made sure of it. If you start the semester with a bad grade, there’s no chance at redemption. Maybe the consequences for this would be a good wake up call.
“And I didn’t listen.”
“You didn’t listen.”
The room went silent save for the ticking of your Totoro clock counting down the seconds to your inevitable doom. You groan again and flip back to the beginning of your notes to see if you can bullshit enough to at least pass the assignment. Maybe someone with a time-stopping quirk will wander onto campus and give me enough time to-
“Hey! Give me my notebook back. I don’t have time for your teasing- what are you doing?” your protests die down as you watch your boyfriend scribble in the margins of your notebook. Some things were underlined, others crossed out. Arrows connected points across the page until your notes transformed into a spider web of words.
“You’ve already identified the main idea, you just didn’t realize it. Here are the supporting ideas. You don’t have to go into a ton of detail, it’s just a summary. You start writing, I’ll read the rest,” Hitoshi slides the notebook back to you in exchange for the book.
“You don’t have to. I don’t want you dealing with the backlash of my poor decisions,” you try to argue weaky. Hitoshi loves you so subtly. So quietly that you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. His love was selfless in a way that exceeded just his blatant lack of self-preservation. As blunt as he was, as much as he played the part of aloof and uninterested, Hitoshi was never not acting in your best interest.
“I don’t have to, but I want to, so I am. Now stop talking and start writing,” you scoff at the way he tries to brush off how much he cares, but start to type nonetheless.
“I can’t believe you tried to say shit about my penmanship when yours is literal ass. I just spent the last 10 seconds trying to tell if that was the kanji for flower or death,” you chide as the clock strikes 3 am.
“I think that has less to do with legibility and more with your illiteracy,” Hitoshi peeks up from the book to roll his eyes at you. You feign an offended gasp that dissolves into a small smile.
It’s as you share a soft, fatigue-ridden look with your boyfriend, tag-teaming cheating on an assignment you put off for an entire month 5 hours before it’s due that you realize you have all the time in the world.
© mamasbakeria 2021. do not repost, translate (without permission), or modify
the world is cruel, but i still love you
summary: it dawns on them as they sing these words that this part of their life is coming to an end. the series is over, but they can’t be. they mean too much to each other.
word count: 1.4k
pairing(s): eren jaeger x mikasa ackerman
genre | includes: actor!au, slight angst with a happy ending, pining, songfic kinda, sfw, kissing, not proofread, inconsistent tone
author’s note: i was supposed to be writing a scholarship essay and then this happened. this was originally supposed to be a headcanon, but i got unbelievably carried away which is why youll see a shift in style. im too lazy to do anything about it. i’m kind of happy wrote though, i’ve been in a severe writer’s block since I posted messy handwriting months ago. this is my first time writing for aot so i hope you enjoy. listen to the s4 pt2 outro while you read! that’s what they’re singing :)
another aot actor!au
but imagine for the last episode of the series, they have eren and mikasa sing the outro (akuma no ko) so it’s like they’re singing to each other.
and bc mikasa is half-japanese and probably speaks japanese with her mom, she has to spend hours helping eren remember the lyrics and get the pronunciation right. for weeks, the words just wouldn’t come out right. he doesn’t get the inflection and the drawn out vowels. it reminds him of why he stopped learning the language in the first place. german was so much easier.
but mikasa is patient. she’s the greatest teacher he could have asked for. she facetimes him for hours at a time and placates his worries as the recording date comes closer. he picks her up every other day so they can sing in the car and she gives him a piece of candy for every time he makes it through the lyrics without stumbling. it’s bittersweet. ending the journey they spent more than half their lives on in the exact same way it started: sitting in each other’s company and rehearsing their lines, fearful of what comes next.
eren dreads the recording day. not because he’s afraid he won’t get his part right, no mikasa made sure he sounds good, but because of what it symbolizes. when the episode airs and the public hears them sing this song for the first time, it will be the last time he will don the role of eren jaeger, doctor’s son from shiganshina, titan shifter, savior and destroyer of the world. if he doesn’t get his act together, it will be the last time he will don the role of mikasa ackerman’s lover. he’s not ready. mikasa isn’t either.
as he stands next to mikasa in the recording studio, headphones secured over his pulled back hair (she likes it more that way, “i like being able to see all of your face” she said) he reminisces on the first day he asked mikasa for help. when she translated the lyrics for him. his heart was stuck on the chorus. they were the first lines he memorized, having spent hours outside of mikasa’s company trying to get them right so he could say them to her over and over. so his feelings made it to her somehow. even if they weren’t his own words. even if she didn’t know he meant every bit of it.
he locks eyes with her as he sings them with her, both of their voices low, gravelly, thick with something the other wasn’t sure they wanted to believe.
the world is cruel, but i still love you
she wanted to stop there. mikasa wanted to yank the headphones over the silly pigtails on top of her head (he likes it more that way, “you look like that one picture of you as a kid, the one you tried to delete from sasha’s phone so she couldn’t post it on your birthday. you still get cake all over your face just like you did in that picture” he said) and turn the microphone off. she wanted to hold eren’s face in her trembling hands and say the words for real. she doesn’t resent much about herself, but she does regret not being more like her on-screen counterpart. mikasa ackerman the soldier never hesitated. she made sure eren knew she loved him. mikasa ackerman the actress hasn’t yet mustered up the courage. she would go to the ends of the earth for eren, she would. and if she had the chance to tell him, she knows she would never stop. she would never stop the waterfall of i love yous directly into the shell of his ear and don’t leave mes into his neck and it’s always been yous into his lips that she’s only ever released in her dreams.
no matter what you sacrifice, i will still protect you
their voices both crack, in the way that musicians make seem intentional, like they’re choked up on their emotions and their hearts are clawing their way out of their chests while they sing.
never once do their eyes leave each other. can you hear me? they want to say. did my voice, have my words, has this message, reached you? they want to cry.
when they finish their eyes are wet. neither willing to blink lest they shed the first tear. they hardly register the staff on the other side of the glass congratulating them, telling them to come to the other room and listen to the recording again.
eren reaches for mikasa’s hand as they walk out. she grips it tightly and squeezes once. is it really over? he squeezes back. it is.
at the emmy’s months later, they stand on the same stage they’ve walked across dozens of times since they were small. back when they were terrified of the possibility of tripping over their feet on live tv, back when they were terrified of being on live tv, back when there was so much left of their story, back when this wasn’t the last time. they stand in front of the cameras, the audience, their oldest friends, hollywood legends, and novices alike, microphones in hand. the orchestra in the pit below them swells with their voices as they confess to each other once again. unknowing of the validity of the other’s words. their eyes stay locked on each other the same way they did in the studio. the millions of eyes on them forgotten. it is just mikasa and eren. eren and mikasa. just as it always has been, just as they hope to god it always will be.
when the piano trickles out at the end, mikasa loses the battle with her tears. and eren pulls her in before she completely gives into her sorrow and sinks into the floor. the applause is deafening, but eren hears nothing but mikasa’s whisper.
“it’s really over,” her voice is hoarse from proclaiming her love at the loudest volume her throat would allow.
the curtain drops.
“it is,” his voice is hoarse from proclaiming his love at the loudest volume his throat would allow.
backstage, after they’ve changed, ready to go sit with their castmates, their old castmates, in anticipation for the remaining awards, mikasa pulls eren aside. maybe she feared being too much like mikasa ackerman the soldier because she knew it would be hard to separate herself from her alternate persona and would lose a part of her true self. but she has reconciled, in this moment, that there was no point. she would always be mikasa ackerman the soldier as much as she was mikasa ackerman the actress. so she would no longer resent her hesitation because her hesitation would be no more.
“i have to say this to you” she begins slowly, trying not to regret her hastiness, trying not to regret not having prepared for this ahead of time, “i have to say this to you before i lose you. this will be the first time in 13 years that I haven’t seen you regularly on set or had an excuse to show up at your apartment or hotel room or trailer under the guise of rehearsing lines and sharing gossip. you are my best friend, have been for my whole life, and i don’t know why we fear that this will change because we no longer lead our double lives, because we both know it isn’t true. but i know that with every day that we don’t spend time together we’ll grow apart and i can’t live with that. i can’t live with that because i love you, eren. more than a best friend should. more than a castmate. more than anything. i love you so much that i think my life might fall apart that you aren’t there. i meant every word i sang up there and you don’t have to believe me, but i couldn’t live with myself if i let this chapter of our lives end without setting up room for a sequel. i’m sorry if this is sudden and out of nowhere, but god, eren, i love you.”
she didn’t have the chance to catch her breath before he was leaning forward, loose wisps of his hair tickling her forehead, large, rough hands from years of doing his own stunts cupping her cheek (she could feel the scar on his right hand from biting it so intensely for so many years), and capturing her lips with his own. they kiss with over a decade’s worth of resolved fear as fuel. they would never lose each other, not after this.
they didn’t know how long they stood there, i love yous directly into each other’s ears, don’t leave mes into their necks, it’s always been yous into their lips.
the world is cruel, but i still love you
© mamasbakeria 2022. do not repost, translate (without permission), or modify
aot actor!au headcanon masterlist
i’ll be adding to this as the ideas come
mikasa’s thirst trap era
superbowl halftime tiktok
smooth criminal falco
this trend of people recreating rihanna’s superbowl performance but with actor!eren, actor!mikasa, and actor!armin. i’d like to think the roles are interchangeable, but armin wants to be rihanna so bad and eren’s an honorary waistline warrior fs
ofc the whole cast recreates this one too
their favorite parts of the braiding process
summary: lmfao it’s just the title
genre | includes: headcanons, sfw, black reader, gn reader, established relationship
characters: eren jaeger, mikasa ackerman, armin arlert, sasha braus, jean kirschtein, connie springer, levi ackerman, hange zoe, erwin smith, historia reiss, ymir (not fritz), reiner braun, annie leonhardt, bertholdt hoover, marco bodt, miche zacharius, nanaba, zeke jaeger, yelena, onyankopon, pieck finger, porco galliard
author’s note: got my hair done a few days ago and i’ve been experiencing insane aot brainrot so here we are. ignore the way these got progressively longer lol. this was fun and i have some other ideas, maybe college won’t kill me before i post them. enjoy and lemme know what you think :)
the take down – you can’t really place them. they never want you to take your old hair out, but are all giggly with the scissors when you assert that it’s time. they can’t help it. even with all the build-up on your scalp, they think the return of your natural hair is something out of a fairy tale. they love the curl pattern left in your hair after weeks of being in braids and they love separating the braiding hair from your own. the scene stays the same: you’re on a pillow on the floor between their knees while a shitty hallmark romcom plays on the tv in front of you. both of you are armed with rattail and wide tooth combs, mentally preparing for all the shedding and breakage you’ll be brushing off the couch for the next few weeks. it’s routine at this point for them to jokingly hover the open scissors over the part of your braid where you know damn well your hair is and ask if they can cut from there. it’s also routine for the scissors to get snatched right out of their hands as you proceed to cut way below where your hair could logically be because “after all the time i spent fighting people in walmart for the mielle oil, i better have a natural 40 inch buss down under all this xpressions”.
EREN, ymir, PIECK, zeke (cut your hair like an inch from the scalp while removing butterfly locs one time and, to this day, you’ve never seen someone more terrified), nanaba, YELENA, onyankopon
the wash – they’re probably more excited about your hair getting washed than you are. they miss giving you scalp massages without having 6 weeks worth of gel and leave in conditioner left under their nails. what they didn’t get was why it took so long. it probably sparked an argument because they never spend that much time washing their hair, so why do you? it wasn’t until you made them watch as you and your detangling brush fought with your curls under the stream of water and nearly blacked out from the heat that they realized why the water bill was so high. to save your aching arms (and hopefully some extra cash) they offered to wash your hair for you. they nearly waterboarded you the first time, but with practice, they got better. now, nothing relaxes them more than lathering shampoo through your hair and occasionally spraying water in your face when you look too at peace. they buy you a salon wash basin for christmas so you both can stop crouching over the tub which is great, but where the fuck are you supposed to install it?
MIKASA, erwin, sasha, REINER (has the cutest smile when you sigh in response to him scratching that one spot on your scalp), hange, jean, annie, porco
the blowout – they don’t realize, especially if your hair is type 4, that detangling during the wash is only half the battle. it doesn’t matter how silky smooth it got in the shower, the second the blow dryer is out, it all goes to hell. i hope you’re not tenderheaded because the fight between them and your curls is long and painful. but it's a battle they refuse to let you fight. god forbid you try to blow out your own hair– they get sooo upset. which confuses you because the way they grumble under their breath while passing the comb attachment through your hair has you convinced they’re only doing it to work out some unresolved stress. the truth is, they just know you’ll forget to use heat protectant and wind up frying your hair. and they know how upset you get when you realize some of your roots didn’t get stretched. so they’ll (gently) muscle their way through the most stubborn tangles any day if it means getting to see you smile at how healthy your hair looks and how much it has grown since the last time you saw it like this. they love how your hair now floats around you. they don’t love how sore their arms are. “damn, no wonder you’re so strong.”
connie, PORCO, BERTHOLDT, armin, miche, MARCO (probably cries when the comb extension breaks in your hair)
the beauty supply runs – the simultaneously dull and fluorescent lighting casts an otherworldly glow over the aisles of gel, deep conditioner, kankelon hair, and wig glue. for some reason, there’s always a childlike gleam in their eye as they scan the wigs along the wall. you have to hold their hand every time so they don’t wander off. it’s not like the store is big–you could probably read each other’s lips while standing on opposite sides–but if given the freedom to roam, you’d be leaving $250 poorer than you planned for with bags full of stuff you absolutely don’t need. “babe we have matching bonnets, we don’t need them in zebra stripes too.” if you can convince them to stick with you, they’re snatching every bottle you pick up out of your hand. before you can even begin questioning them, they’ve already started reciting information about the ingredients of the products and why it isn’t good for your hair’s porosity. you can only stare dumbly as they hand you a better option to try because you have no idea when they would have had time to do any of this research. the favorite part of the trip for both of you is picking the color you’re doing next. the average passerby would think you’re trying to decide which wire to cut so you don’t detonate a bomb with how hard you both scrutinize the packs of color 30 and 350 in front of you (ginger is always your color)
HANGE, marco, mikasa, ONYANKOPON (will give you the dirtiest look if you so much as glance at a cantu product), pieck
the parting – this is the first step of the actual installation process that you involve them in. before they used to sit next to you on the couch as you did it all yourself, committing every movement your fingers made to memory and keeping you company. they would frown as you cursed your lack of ability to see perfectly behind your head and parted the same section over and over again. they wanted to offer help, they really did, they just didn’t trust themselves enough. so when you both started working from home and you didn’t care what your parts looked like, you let them try. it wasn’t perfect the first time, or the second. for about a month, you rock faux locs with a scalp that looks like the drawing on your fridge gifted to you by your 5 year old nephew, but that’s what beanies are for. rough start aside, they pick up on it quickly. they figure out how much gel you really need for your braids to look neat and don’t overdo it. wielding the comb with confidence, they cut through your hair like butter. soon they’re parting your hair into boxes, hearts, arches, diamonds, and whatever else you could imagine like moses did the red sea. “babe do you think it would look good if i make one of them look like my initials?”
ARMIN, eren, levi, ERWIN, ZEKE, historia (got really good really fast… hisu who do you fuck in the city when i’m not there?), bertholdt
the braid down – they’re in awe of the dexterity of your stylist's fingers as she adds pieces of braiding hair to your own and hardly looks down while nimbly braiding all the way to the ends. they sit through all your appointments–locs, press and curls, protein treatments, wig installs–but nothing fascinates them as much as the art of a simple braid. they ask all sorts of questions about what your stylist is doing and even start putting hair on the rack to make the process go smoother. they pay even more attention when you do it yourself because they aren’t worried about distracting anyone from doing their job. before long, they know almost everything there is to know about your braids except for how to do them. and they want to know so badly. the opportunity arises when you both relocate to a new city and all the “stylists” are charging $300+ for smedium mid-back knotless braids. you’d do it yourself, but you broke two fingers during the move-in process and aren’t skilled enough to work around it. you think you need to coach them through the process, but are pleasantly surprised when they get the grip right the first time and are halfway down by the time you’ve picked what movie trilogy you want to watch. turns out they’d been watching youtube videos and taking lessons from your old stylist so they could do it for you one day. at least that’s what they tell you, they really just like popping your head with the comb when you move from where they positioned it. “ow! stop pushing my head around” “keep your head still and i’ll think about it”
LEVI, yelena, YMIR (does the thing where she talks on the phone with it tucked in between her shoulder and her ear while braiding at top speed, like just put it on speaker), onyankopon, mikasa, armin, ANNIE
the finished product – they are NOT here for delayed gratification. they want to see your hair done and they want to see it now. they get more restless than you do and they’re not the one getting their thoughts and dreams braided for 5 hours. like why are they more upset about the infamous last braid that gets split into 4 more than you are? “man what the fuck are you so upset about? this is not your scalp??” it’s nice having them around regardless. whether or not they’re helping with the actual braiding, they’re your biggest supporter. they’ll grab you (and the stylist if you aren’t doing it yourself) mcdonalds, boil the water to seal your ends, oil your scalp, mousse your hair, trim the flyaways, sweep up the stray hair, etc. knowing how tired you are, all the time consuming clean up is their self-allotted duty. but once all of that is done, they get to do what they’ve been waiting for: admire you. without fail, the second you stand up they’re taking pictures from every angle, showering you with compliments (ginger really is your color), peppering your head with kisses, but most importantly, just looking at how beautiful you are. you outdo yourself every time and they tell you as much, even if it embarrasses you.
HISTORIA, connie, pieck, hange, SASHA, reiner, JEAN (the heart eyes this man has for you…and don’t get me started on the sketches he makes of you with every new style you get. he is SO whipped)
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