#beabadoobee

dry texts megumi fushiguro sends when he misses you.ᐟ

Introduction - you’ve never known someone like megumi. in the beginning of your relationship, he was very hard to read, like a closed book. whenever you were apart, it felt like glue being stretched, getting thinner the farther you are. you always ended up missing him. but texting him made you overthink. you weren’t sure if he felt the same way. over time, you soon figured out his way of expressing his want, actually his need for your presence. it’s no longer secret that he is also tangled in love, stuck by you, from the glue.

Coming back from a mission.ᐟ

the sun is already going below the horizon. ijichi had come to pick you up after the mission dragged on longer than it was supposed to. all you wanted to do was flop onto your bed waiting at your dorm. though it’s not the only thing anticipating your return. events from the battlefield overflow your head that’s resting against the car window. the weight of everything made your lids feel heavy. instead of fighting curses, you are now fighting to stay awake. yes, you could’ve just slept in the car, but right now you are still stuck in fight-or-flight mode. as tempting as it was you couldn’t risk being attacked again, especially in a vulnerable state. that is until your phone lights up, illuminating the darkness in the car. you lower down the brightness and that is when you see a text from your boyfriend. your heart does little flips seeing his name on the screen. his message reads…

⤷ ゛that always keeps you up at night˚˖𓍢ִ. ໋❀ ˎˊ˗

tired - beabadoobee

synopsis; after you ‘leave’, all they can focus on is the scent you left behind.

hurt no comfort, angst, doomed relationships, graphic descriptions of violence/being dead

characters; enjin, rudo, zanka, jabber

a/n; sorry for lowkey disappearing I’ve been grinding my ao3 acc. I wrote the last two rn and then Enjin’s and Rudo’s days ago. WAS supposed to have Amo but idk how to write her 😗

ENJIN - ALMONDS

Every morning, he’d walk into the mess hall and slip into the seat closest to you — whispering a sweet “how are you,” slightly rough from sleep. He’d still be dressed in his sleeping attire or something more casual, loose and warm. Wrapping a hand around his shoulder as he would adjust his chair so he’d be right beside you, he’d swipe a gulp out of your cup and be met with the smell that always seemed to follow you around.

Almonds.

Like warm, creamy, milky almonds that soothed you, grounded you and made you feel safe. You would take the cup from his hands and fake being offended, accuse him of being needy and he would only laugh into your face, pulling away to get his own breakfast.

It was like the scent came from you, like your body odour was almond and almond alone. It didn’t matter if you trained till you were sweating or coming back from a hard mission — that exact smell of almonds would fill up his nostrils instead of anything else that would make sense.

He’s convinced you’re using a perfume, body lotion or something artificial. Yet, he would never ask you directly about it, because he loves it. The sight of almonds in stores or cartons of almond milks in the refrigerator takes him back to the thought of you.

It didn’t help much after you didn’t come back. Complications after the mission they said, but he couldn’t really understand it. His head registered it but his mind couldn’t comprehend it. Seeing the supporters hold your bloodied and unconscious body into the lobby and hurry to the infirmary left him frozen in his steps, unable to follow after. Someone held his hand and shook him, Semiu—maybe, and even then he couldn’t go.

Twelve hours later, Eishia could only walk out of the room with a downcast expression, hands trembling in her clenched grip.

For a time, he couldn’t stand almonds.

It hurt, physically hurt, to smell almonds in certain shops and not see you as the source of it. It hurt not being able to be near you, sit beside you in early mornings, not be able to tangle his fingers between yours and pull you close, press his lips against yours with a gentle smile.

It hurt not smelling almonds anymore.

He didn’t know if it was to cope, but he would buy out every perfume with almonds as its top notes, desperate to find your exact scent. To spray it everywhere, soothe his lungs and let him breathe, ground him with familiarity.

But he couldn’t find it.

Enjin promised he would never forget the coziness vibes you had, always able to make him calm.

He made it all worse, all the perfumes were mingling and twisting his nose—he couldn’t remember it anymore.

It made it all worse.

He, oh so badly, wants you back—but he can’t stand the smell of almonds anymore.

RUDO - CHERRIES AND LYCHEES

Before everything went to hell, you stood there beside him and spared him a soft smile, tearing through his defences and making him weak in the knees.

You’d holler his name in the afternoons by his tiny shop with his recycled trash, wave your hand and give him a bright smile. And always, you’d bring an aroma of cherry and lychee with you.

It always confused him, because he didn’t know what the scent was, but he identified it with you. Nothing else smelled as nice as you.

Before everything went to hell, the two of you would hang out and stay out for a while, laughing and talking and running through the narrow streets, avoid the bullies and run all the way to his dad’s house.

Rudo would invite you inside with a poorly contained expression, pretending to be calm and nonchalant but crack with your pure politeness. Regto would tease him relentless after your departure, but only after Rudo followed you home to ensure your safety.

Before everything went to hell, you showed him a small shortcut into the rich side of the city and sneak into a back alley, hopping through a fence and into a beautiful garden — and stroll into trees where those cherries and lychees grew.

Rudo knew it was incredibly risky, but the second you popped a cherry into your mouth and the other pair into his, you introduced him into a world of fruits.

“Look! Now I’m wearing lipstick!” You’d smear the fruit across your lips, and Rudo would nod, fumbling to hide his blush.

The two of you shared a lychee with a smile coming from you, and a reddened face coming from his. In his naivety, he truly believed nothing would happen to the two of you.

When everything went to hell, he gifted you one last gift before it all. A small bunny plushie he sewed up and repaired just for you. Oh, how happy you became when he gave it to you. You squeezed it hard against you as you leapt towards Rudo with open arms and hugged him, kissing his cheek in gratitude.

You allowed him one last moment of contentment before he walked back into his home and found Regto’s dying body, the guy in the mask and Apostles restraining him for the death of his father.

You stood amongst the crowd with wide eyes, undoubtedly destroyed. He screamed loud that he was innocent, that he didn’t do it—but red on white was painfully obvious.

Your lips mouthed and formed letters and his own broken voice screamed for you. It was so hard seeing you cry, all he wanted as to eat cherries and lychees with you. “[NAME]! LOOK FOR THE—“

Air.

All he felt was vicious air run throughout him and his body falling down into the dark Pit below.

He can’t see. He can’t see. He can’t see. He can’t see. He can’t hear, feel nor smell you. He can’t see. He can’t see—

Glitch.

And into a heap of trash he fell.

ZANKA - CARAMEL AND AMBER

If you would ask Zanka personally what kind of smell is his favourite, he would point to his incense and make you guess. And for a long time, that choice of his remained his favourite — until you rolled around. Enjin had, once again, picked up someone valuable for a Cleaner and placed you in the Akuta Team, and at first, it was alright.

You were polite and friendly, which Zanka reciprocated easily. He had been grumbling slightly at the risk of meeting another Rudo, not being able to form the simplest of smiles, but the gentle, soft expression you gave him dissipated that thought.

The longer you stayed beside Zanka and walked around with him, stood beside him, trained with him, partnered up with him, laughed with him, ate with him, sparred with him, stretched with him, ran with him, everything with him: the same scent lingered after you like a trail.

Sweet, warm caramel with amber. You smelled like pure cookies, nutty and delicious. He’s honestly caught himself walking slightly behind you so he can take in the scent more.

It worked more in his favour the closer you two got to each other. Feather light, “accidental” touches turned more intentional. Breaks during spars turned longer, and the proximity between you got shorter. In the end, Zanka became yours the way you became his, and with his nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck, he stole a long, deep inhale.

You smelled so rich, it was intoxicating. It was driving him up a wall the way the caramel lingered on your skin, twirled and mixed with amber.

Though, not everything goes the Nijiku’s way. It’s his fault, always his. It always happens to him, because he failed as one. Staring down at your empty gaze as no light reflected off your irises, silence filled the arena.

How is it that he’s the one standing and you’re not? How is that you chose to throw him away from harm’s way and allow yourself to be vulnerable to the Trash Beast, tearing its toxic rusted nails into your back.

How is it that you’re dead instead of him?

How is it that you care and love him so much you actually sacrificed your well deserving life over an average joe’s existence like him?

The familiar scent of yours left along with your soul, and your vital instrument burned out, not even an ember left behind. He didn’t… he didn’t..

Collapsing on his knees and stammering, tears cascading down his cheeks as his hands pulled you close, choked breaths rocking out of him, he called out your name in the dark, quiet battlefield.

“C’mon! Don’t play with me [Name]! Get up—get your ass up!” He urged your cold hand, even helping you up — but your knees never straightened and your strength never returned.

As if a thread snapped within him — perhaps his sanity — loud sobs wrecks out of him and he holds you close to his heart, trying to make you able to listen to his panicked, erratic beat. Make you follow him, a part of him believes.

The rest of him does not, and Zanka’s own legs fails him and he wails into you, taking in your familiar scent. It’s foreign, replaced with the scent of decay and undeniable death.

JABBER — ESPRESSO AND CHOCOLATE

Sitting beside you at a bar for a discreet report about the latest assignment, Jabber glances towards you before giving you his undivided attention, almost awing at you. “Oh—damn you’re fine!” He shamelessly says, and catches the way your shoulders stiffen and the rigid hold on your cup by your lips.

You set your coffee down, bewildered. “What?”

He leaned in, observing your micro expressions. “I said, ‘damn you’re fine’ Got that?”

“What you should get is out of here! Good job for the report but I don’t know you!” You yelled, waving your hand away at him. Your reaction elicited a loud cackle out of him, which you grumbled at.

It was not the last you saw of him, because Jabber popped out of every corner lurking closely behind. Didn’t help that you were a strong Giver, you also just had the nicest scent he’d ever smelled.

The intense fragrance of espresso with the subtle savour of chocolates. Milk chocolate, to be exact. How you seemed to invade his senses with a single whiff from you has Jabber going insane. Being a Groundling, you must be used to the various of nasty smells that can easily upset your stomach.

Disgusting smells of corpses, throw up, spoiled food, toxins or more—and Jabber’s very familiar with toxins. But you ease that gross, nauseous scent with your own, and it isn’t overwhelming either.

It’s soothing and refreshing, like a clean whiff of air one dreams of to take.

Against your nape, Jabber leans in and breathes into you, inhaling your every exhale, suspiring your every respire.

Your sigh is his to take, your scent is his to take. His hands closing around your waist, pulling you impossibly close as blood floods down his nose—because of course a fight promises this kind of reward.

Your knuckles are cracked and bruised from raining fists on him, but he kisses and licks them clean. “Jab, what’s gotten into you,” you’d laugh, either by him tickling you or to break the silence.

And he’d answer with a bite on your neck, above what your communication collar can hide: “Your scent is driving my ass insane, did you drink coffee earlier?”

“Jab you know I drink coffee everyday,” you’d answer, and he would grab your hips and spin you around, a wide grin on his face as he inches close. “Then I gotta taste it.” He would smirk and meet you halfway.

Now? Bolting back to the nearest Raider base with you rocking in his arms, blood streaming out of you like a waterfall, a tight sensation haunted his gut. The wide smile he always seemed to have had been wiped off his face the moment the Hell Guard’s blade tore into your stomach, twisting and showing no sign of mercy as gore spilled out. He doesn’t remember what else happened, he can’t—your arm around his shoulders were gradually going weak and his grip on you was going tighter. Your pants of pain and moans quieted down to small wheezes, pathetic and subtle. Fuck, he can’t be late, he can’t be late. Don’t, don’t don’t don’t don’t—

“[Name]. Hang on, fuck—hang on.” Jabber spoke, digging his left claws into your thigh. “There, it doesn’t hurt, right? It doesn’t hurt, it shouldn’t hurt. [Name], I said hang on!” He shouted to no one, and about 200 meters away from the base, his feet stills into the gravel and his head slowly turns to you, eyes wide.

Suddenly he was staring at a dead body—holding onto a dead body. Your fingers—just minutes ago—tugged and held his dreadlocks hard, but now they were stiff by the thick strands. A blank expression passed over his face before it twisted, teeth clenching and he kneeled down, putting your body down simultaneously. “[Name].”

You didn’t respond. “[Name], c’mon. I’ll fix you the coffee you like. Get the fuck up and talk to me.”

Your glossed over eyes—now dry gazed up towards the sky, blood still wet by your chin. You looked alive, you were still warm. But you weren’t. Pressing his head against your chest, keenly listening to your heart beat, his nails dug into his palm in anger at the silence that met his ears.

“[Name]! For fucks sake! WAKE UP!” His voice eventually breaks, and his hands grasps you close incredibly hard, so hard it even hurts him. You would’ve pushed him back and scolded him for being too harsh, but you didn’t complain.

Nor did your eye twitch at the sound of his cry calling out your name desperately.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀我為什麼如此愛你 ⎯⎯⎯ 🎼♰🌸

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ᐧ . ˳ ˳ . ⋅⠀ ওㅤㅤֺㅤ ⠀⠀❀ 󠀠 ⠀ ㅤֺㅤ ও ⠀ ᐧ . ˳ ˳ . ⋅

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀我的思念便讓我無法安眠 。𑜞 𑇓࿐۫ ㅤ࣪

and even if we’re just friends- op81

and i don’t even like you that much. wait. i do. fuck! a smau inspired by ‘apple cider’ by beabadoobee. she is also the face claim! <3

warning: swearing! guys i forgot how FINE bea is good LORD💔💔💔💔 might literally just make a bea x reader fic next stop

my masterlist.

yourusername

🎵everything is embarrassing- sky ferreira

yourusername the concept of oscar being the famous one when i am so much cooler #niche #imhottertoo #cynthiaerivoyouhavemysoul #smallartist oscarpiastri

❤️liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri, viapartridge and 3257 others

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yourbff why is he looking at you like that

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yourbff he’s down bad

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oscarpiastri I don’t understand the middle photo. Who is she?

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hattiepiastri the concept of you being the baddest bitch ever

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ynfan13 when are you dropping some new bangers queen.!!!! also pleaseeeeee announce tour dates

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iloveoscarino one post closer to the hard launch….

f1fan81 who is she?? why is she with oscar?? gf?

iloveoscarino no, they’ve been best friends for a couple years now. they post eachother once in a blue moon, but i do think they’re secretly together LOL.