#Like yo I warned you and stopped and you were gone for months then bam

[env0]

Anyways.

Students stop messaging your teachers. /former teachers. Or get documented. Blocked and reported.

I should talk to the school owner but I don't like them also.

Like. I'm so glad I left this place. It was bad to be there and apparently as bad having been gone.

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

[alri-xo]

Ship of Dreams (Titanic 1997 AU) | Chapter 4

Gif not mine.

A/N: Hiiiii everyooooone! So this is again, another chapter and I feel like this should marinate really well just cuz... This bitch literally took a month off because of a writer’s block or burn out as some people like to call it. So i spent time literally taking a break then BAM! My boyfriend (reconnected bih) let me barrow his laptop so I’m just taking advatage of its presence right now. BUT I WILL NOT BE PUTTING ANY READING BREAKS BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE HAVING THIS FOR LONG AND I WOULDN’T WANT ANY INCONSISTENT CONTENT. Yo girl also added in some deleted scenes for a dash of new flavor and tweaked the scenes a little bitty bit. So yeah I hope y’all like this <3 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x Reader

Warning: Language, Descriptive spitting, spit... Just spit. And language probably. And me remembering how Ruth (Rose’s mom in the movie) looks like a bug from bug’s life (I said it. sorry not sorry.)

Reader's Point of View

The next day, I remember thinking how the sunlight felt. As if I have never felt the sun in years.

Maybe he's right about me being an indoor girl...

I walk down the ship, passing by the other passengers of first-class, who are doing what they fancy. Chattering back and forth in their big hats and black coats in broad daylight, for the protection of their complexion.

I made my way to the metal divide that separates third-class passengers from our part of the ship. I unlock the small metal gate which had a sign against third-class, making sure no one would notice.

Otherwise, I would get an earful from Alexander and my mother. That doesn't matter now.

I need a word with him.

Third Person Point of View

The playing of a piano and the merry singing of some of the men on the ship, melodious to the people in their own little bubble or the ones playing cards holding their beers.

The women and their endless gossip, background noise in the midst of the children's babbles and screams of delight on the third-class part of the ship.

All of these a symphony for everyone on the ship. Particularly Sam who is looking at Bucky's drawings, and noticing that he draws from the life around him. Like the bearded man laughing with his friends just across where he is seated.

He puffs a cigarette and smiles impressed with his work, "These are good... Very good..."

Bucky smiles his way as he goes back to teaching a little girl named Amelia to draw in his leather sketch pad. Though all were scribbles and it looked hideous for his adult, artist eyes, he commended her for her efforts.

Steve however, found a girl to talk to. His newspaper boy hat covering his blonde hair as the girl looked like a young doe, making him blush as they spoke.

"Steve..." he greets to her shaking her hand nervously, he wasn't really one like Bucky...

"Peggy..." she greets back shaking his hand, making him blush more... Her voice like the plucking of harp strings.

The three of them having their own fun in their own little worlds, but a moment later Amelia's parents approached Bucky, "Time to go, Amelia... Say goodbye to Uncle Bucky..." her father says holding her small hand.

She stands up to walk away, waving goodbye to him, "Bye, Uncle Bucky..."

"Bye, Amelia..." he smiles as he slides his pencil in his sketchpad, keeping it safe.

Amongst the chatter and noise of the people and the piano playing, Y/N descends down the stairs. Her dress and skin aglow under the mid morning sun peeping through the stairway.

Her hair donned in an elegant updo and her dress in shining satin, her waist cinched with a belt that had a buckle of crystals.

Women and men turned their heads, some stood up to look at her. Her sophisticated facade alien to the people of the lower class, who would only look like that on special occasions.

She walked down a path clear of people, like a bride walking down the aisle. All eyes were on her, her beauty like a beacon of light as she graced everyone of her presence.

Like an angel from Heaven.

She was like royalty, smiling and giving small nods of greeting to the people around her. The women gossiped and chattered about her looks. Negative? Positive? It didn't matter.

Sam caught glimpse of her then tapped Steve's shoulder, "On your left..."

Steve and Peggy turned their attention to her as she drew closer. He then tapped Bucky's shoulder and gestured him to look forth.

His eyes lit up as she approached him. His heart beats faster and he feels all eyes were on him and Y/N.

"Hello, Mr. Barnes..."

"Hello again..." he says as he stands up with his hands behind his back, his sketch pad under his arm.

"May I have a word with you?" She asks with begging eyes. Bucky feels sweat form on his forehead like a crown.

Did he do something wrong? Is he going to face a false accusation? Is the dinner off?

"Yeah, sure..." he says, still as he gestures for her to sit near people she doesn't know.

"In private..."

💎

"I've been kinda alone ever since I left New York... Well, me and my bestfriend Steve were alone... He's like a brother to me..." Bucky says as him and Y/N walk along the ship, her listening attentively, "Since then we've been travelling like tumbleweeds in the wind... Working where ever stopped over..."

Y/N nods in response, feeling the wind gently blow cool air on her face as Bucky inhales the fresh sea breeze with the scent of nearby cigarettes.

"Y'know what, Y/N... We've talked about how great the weather is and I told you things about me..." he says breaking the silence between them, "But I reckon that's not what we came here to talk..."

Y/N's gears turned, snapping out of the seemingly normal conversation with Bucky, "Mr. Barnes-"

"James..."

"James... I would like to thank you for saving me last night... And for your discretion..." she says formally in gratitude.

"You're welcome..." Bucky grins at her as they slowed their pace in short silence.

"I know what you're thinking, 'Poor little rich girl... What does she know about misery?'" She says walking a little faster in embarrassment.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, unbeknownst to Y/N who is looking down, "No, no... That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was, 'What could've happened to hurt this girl so much she thought she had no way out?"

Y/N inhaled, collecting her thoughts. Thoughts fuelled by a smidge of anger, and a whole lot of hopelessness, "It was everything. It was... It was my whole world and all the people in it... And the inertia in my life, plunging ahead of me, powerless to stop it," she says, flipping to the back of her hand, a sizeable diamond on her ring finger.

Bucky's eyes grow wide as he held her smooth hand, the diamond reflecting the sunlight back to the open sparkling like how it should, "God, look at that nut... You would've gone straight to the bottom..."

"500 invitations have gone out... All of New York's society will be there..." she says hopelessly, "And all the while I feel... I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up..."

Bucky looks at her expressions carefully, wondering why a girl like her feels so helpless. A girl that is going to be married off to a rich guy... She should be happy. At least it's what he thinks.

Maybe she thinks otherwise.

"Do you love him?"

Y/N looks at him puzzled, "Pardon me?"

Bucky's Point of View

"Do you love him?" I asked again, emphasizing the question more as she gawks at me like I murdered someone.

"You're being very rude..." she says with a bit of shock in her voice, "You shouldn't be asking me this..."

Well technically, yes... I shouldn't. But just to, piece it all out on why she's feeling like this it just feels appropriate to ask. Women like her should be happy because they're getting married... Let alone to a rich man like Alexander.

"Well, it's a simple question... Do you love the guy or not?" I ask one more time, just to get the answer that's right under her cute nose.

"This is not a suitable conversation, James..." she scoffs at me, dodging my question with an answer that's not what I'm looking for...

I laughed a little, "Why won't you just answer the question?"

She shakes her head and chuckles, "This is absurd! You don't know me, and I don't know you and we are not having this conversation!"

I just smiled at her and nodded, listening as she rants her frustrations, "You are rude, cocky and presumptuous and-"

"You insulted me..."

"Yes... And... I am leaving now." She then proceeds to shake my hand, "James-"

"Bucky..."

She looks at me confused, "Who the hell is Bucky?"

"My friends call me Bucky... Buchanan is my middle name..."

"Well, Bucky... I am not your friend, I am your acquaintance and I... I am about to leave... It's been nice meeting you, James..." she says stomping away and I just chuckle at her.

She then turns to face me, "You are so annoying!" She then walks nearer to me, "Wait, this is my side of the ship! You leave!"

"Oh... Well, well, well... Now that's being rude..." I chuckle and joked and she scoffs at me, eyeing me up and down, spotting my sketch pad.

"What is this stupid thing you're carrying?" She asks me, as if trying to be rude, "What are you an artist or something?"

She flips through the pages of my sketch pad, black and white sketches filling the pages, "These are good... Very good, actually..."

I wait patiently as she flipped through the pages and I feel her eyes on me for a moment, "Bucky, these are exquisite..." she praises and I just nod...

"Well, didn't think much of the ol' Paree..." I shrugged as she skimmed through the thin sheets of paper.

"Paris?" She says tracing her fingers on the dark strokes on the paper, "You do get around... For a p-... Person... with... Limited Means-"

"Yeah, you can say 'poor...'" I say chuckling and she smiles...

She flips through a page with a naked woman laying in bed, then to the next page with another woman standing up, still naked, "Well, well, well..."

She continues, "Are these drawn from life?"

I was about to answer but man passes by us and she lowers the cover of the sketch pad to shield the naked drawings from the eyes of people who are conservative.

"That's one of the good things about Paris... Lots of girls are willing to take their clothes off..."

She flips to another page, and she looks at her carefully, "You like this woman... You used her several times..."

"Well, a part of her... She had beautiful hands..." I show her a sketch of just her hands, "Y'see?"

"You must've had a love affair with her..." she says raising a brow playfully at me and I shake my head.

"No, no... Just with her hands..." I say, "She's actually a one-legged prostitute..." I show her a sketch of the same woman, her amputated state in all of her glory.

She gawks at the page and chuckles. I look at her and I see her face glow as she stiffles giggles slipping out her lips, "She had a sense of humor, though..."

She looks at me then looks back at the sketch pad, the page flipped to one of my favourite pieces, "This lady used to out to the bar every night, wearing all the jewellery she owned, waiting for her long lost love... We called her Madame Bijoux..."

She took a good look at her, and ran her fingertips on the pencil strokes once again, "You truly have a gift... Bucky..." she looked to me before she continued, "You see people..."

"I see you..."

Her face flushed slightly, and smiled nonchalantly, raising her head, "And...?"

"You would've jumped."

Natasha’s Point of View

Another new day, another time to put on that familiar mask that I abandon once I wake up from my bed. A feathery hat of a different variant seats on a small table in my quarters as I prepare to go have some tea with the others. 

Being surrounded by rich people feels like second nature, as I’m still taking time to get used to judgmental eyes looking at me or entitled individuals think that I am oblivious and uncultured. Might I say I am also playing their little games, especially the women of first class. 

I may look like one of them, but my heart is otherwise. 

I faintly hear them gossip as I draw nearer to their table.

“Oh it’s that vulgar Natasha again.” 

“Quickly before she sits with us.”

I put a smile on my face as they stood up simultaneously, pretending to be the oblivious woman they think I am, “Hello, girls. I was hoping I’d catch you at tea,” I greet, seeing their just sipped on tea cups, nearly full to the brim and still hot. 

“Oh, we were about to leave... Sorry, but we are about to take a stroll on the boat deck,” Katherine says looking at the countess with wide eyes to ride the show they were putting right in front of me.

“That sounds great! I’d like to catch up on my gossip,” I beamed at them, Katherine’s lips pursed as I could sense her gritting her teeth as I strolled away with the other two women. 

It’s foolish to fool me as I have seen it all. 

Thor’s Point of View 

“You haven’t lit the last few boilers, Odinson?” Tony asks, puffing a cigar looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“No, but we’re making excellent time,” I grinned at him, “A perfect day in New York when we reach land and I guarantee it.”

“Captain...” he begins as he downs a sip of whiskey, “The press knows how large the Titanic is. Let them marvel at her speed too. We must give them a new story to print and make the maiden voyage of the Titanic make headlines!” he says impatiently, with a beam on his face.

“With all due respect, Mr. Stark... I wouldn’t pressure the boilers until they have been properly run in...”

He clenches his jaw as I denied his request, then a grin paints his face, “Oh, I would leave you to it, Captain Odinson. But wouldn’t it be nice to surprise them when we arrive in New York on tuesday night and surprise them all?” he then slaps the table, “It would be nice to retire with a bang, Thor...” 

I just nodded stiffly as he downed his remaining whiskey.

💎

Third Person’s Point of View

Bucky and Y/N walked down the deck, the afternoon sun lighting it up the ship’s boards as the people cast shadows on the white exterior walls on the deck. Bucky listened to Y/N’s musings as she said her hands were made for work, to be an artist or a sculptor and her own exhibit. She also dished on why she hates caviar, as he remarked that she couldn’t live a day without it. 

“Poor but free,” she said as he smiled. Y/N truly was a free bird around him, and she loved it. To be as silly as she wants and to be as expressive as she wants. 

A man that carried a tray of tea and caviar passed by, “Would you like some tea or caviar, miss?”

“NO!” Y/N exclaimed sternly looking at the poor steward, making Bucky laugh heartily to see her loud. 

She then spotted a man with a vintage camera and proceeds to go in front of it and act like a picture actress, as being one was also one of her musings. She put acted like a damsel in distress and closed her eyes as the camera rolled, she opened one to look at Bucky, who’s steel blues twinkled despite being shadowed by his hooded eyes, the warm sunlight illuminating his face. 

They then proceeded to go to a higher part of the deck to admire the people walking around on the lower part of the ship, looking quite small. To Y/N this was a thing that she needed to get used to, as all her life she was indoors for the most part. She never basked out under the afternoon sun as it sets. To Bucky, it’s a chance to see the sun at its golden hour, the ship’s lights starting to light up in the incoming sunset. 

However, she seems lit from within. A thing that Bucky never noticed. In Y/N’s heart she felt a sliver of hope when she went to see him in third class. Now that she’s with him, it feels like an escape. A safe haven away from the pressuring eyes of first class. 

Bucky told her stories about how he made only ten whole cents per sketch when he was in Santa Monica and Los Angeles. And how he went to Paris when the weather gets cold to see what the real artists were doing.

“Why can’t I be like you, Bucky? Just head out for the horizon when I feel like it?” she asks as she looks at the warm dusk sky, “Say we’ll go there, to the pier... Even if we just talk about it... And just that...”

“Alright, we’re going...” Bucky grins at her as Y/N smile grows on her face, “We can have a couple of cheap beers, ride on a roller coaster until we throw up and ride horses right on the surf. But ride them cowboy style and none of that side-saddle stuff...”

Her eyes spark interest when he spoke of the side-saddle, in all her life she was taught that was the proper way of riding a horse for a lady, “You mean one leg on each side?! How scandalous... You can show me how to do that?”

“Sure... ‘S not a big deal...” He says making her smile even more and she looked out for a moment in thought. 

“Teach me how to ride like a man...” she says, then her eyes spark happily, “Then spit like a man!” she says in a goofy southern accent.

“They didn’t teach you that in finishing school?” 

“No!”

He paused a little then smiled, “C’mon I’ll show you..”

He proceeds grab her wrist and she pulls her, but she resists “No! Bucky this is ridiculous I was just joking!” 

“C’mon!”

“I couldn’t possibly do it!”

💎

Reader’s Point of View

We went back to the lower part of the deck, nothing in front of us but the tide.

“Watch closely,” Bucky leans backward to collect enough spit than arc forward, launching it like a cannon as it plops in the sea below us, “Your turn...”

“What?! That’s disgusting!” I exclaim as I see it floating farther away.

“You wanna spit like a man, right?” He asks me, “Do it...”

I looked around apprehensively to see if anyone was looking as I collected enough spit that my mouth can produce and spat it out the water. 

It looked pathetic.

“That was pitiful... Just pitiful... Here.. Like this..” he says as he collects more in his mouth and maybe some phlegm along with it, “Hawk it down... HNNNNNK... Then roll it up to your tongue like this...”

Oh is it easier to learn it then to watch? Yes. 

“Big breathe then,” he spat it farther away than the first one, “You see the range on that thing!”

I started to collect spit as I applied what he just said, and spat it out, a LOT farther away than my first attempt. 

“That was great... But you could do better..” He says as he leans back and tries to repeat the same action. I hear my mother’s familiar voice chatting away with some other women which made me turn.

I’m going to be crushed. 

I felt my body grow cold in embarrassment as I tap Bucky on his side making him turn to my mother and her companions, spit running down his chin and a big gulp going down his throat.  

She looks so displeased. 

“Mother, may I introduce to you James Barnes...” 

She eyes him up and down, looking at his probably day old clothes and the dribble down his chin, “Charmed I’m sure.”

Natasha looked at him and pointed at her chin, gesturing that there was something on his face. He wipes it quickly with his hand and on to his pants as he smiled awkwardly afterwards.

Others were gracious and curious about the man who saved my life. But my mother looked at him like an insect, a dangerous insect that must be squashed quickly.

“Well, James... Seems like you’re a good man to have around in a sticky situation...” Natasha grins as he does the same right back at her.

The brass sounds its tune to let everybody know it’s nearly time for supper. 

“Why do they insist on always announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?” Nat jokes as we laugh with her for a short moment. 

Perfect timing.

“Shall we go get dressed, mother?” I ask as I lead her away from Bucky and the scene that we were in, “See you in dinner, James...” 

Natasha’s Point of View 

Katherine and Y/N leave as this young man toodles at them as they disappear in the crowd.

This kid is out of his mind. 

“Uh.. Son...” I begin to call out to him to snap him out of his head as he continues to look for her in plain sight, “Son!”

“Hmm?”

Thank goodness. However, like a drunk, looking love struck as he was when she said goodbye.

I look at him attentively and sternly, “Do you have the slightest comprehension of what you’re doing?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and grins the same way, “No, not really...”

“Well, you’re about to go into the snake pit...” I say almost sarcastically. 

If only it was really just sarcastic. 

“And what are you planning to wear?” I ask him.

He gestures to his current attire and shrugs. He didn’t think this through enough.

“I figured... C’mon...”

<- Previous | Next ->

A/N: DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID HERE?! I made it longer because when I published it i though I dun fucked up because it was like so short and just... You know... Meh... So I took it down, and added a second floor to like add a bit more richness y’knowhat’msaying... So yeah... And with the addition of the newer parts the story is all going according to how I initially planned it! YAY. So... I hope you liked reading this chapter.. And I’m sorry it took so long for me to update. Stand up to what’s right and STAY SAFE BABIES 

-Alri

Taggies ♥ (DROP ME AN ASK IF YOU WANT IN!)

@witchymegg​ @amisutcliff​ @theaussiedragon​ @likeit-or-leaveit​ @uglipotata72829​ @vhsbarnes​ @luna4501​ @kaithezaftig​ @underworldqueen13​ @moshymosh​

[delightfulstarlightparadise]

Imagine Reader/Katsuki Bakugo part 2

Part one here:

Be aware that English is not my mother language, but I am doing my best.

Also, it has been a long time since I last watched or read BNHA, some stuff may be out of the context of the anime.

So far you got into the academy half semester, everybody was curious to know which quirk you had. They discovered it is regenerating when you got into an ugly fight with Bakugo after a rivalry over a P.E. class in witch you tied times. You and Bakugo are punished by having to clean the class together. You tell him your secret: Aizawa is your uncle and also that your quirk leaves scars in your body. You do so by showing your chest to him. Professor Mic gets you in what he thinks is a making out session

Now you are both sitting in front of Director Nezu, Aizawa by your side facepalming with what you are pretty sure is the most disappointed face he has ever made. Professor Mic stands beside him, holding a laugh.

"I mean... I know you humans have... peculiar, sexual habits, and you are in that age." Nezu says after a sip from his tea. "But it is a very grave rule breaking you are commiting here."

"WE WERE NOT ABOUT TO DO ANYTHING!" Bakugo screams for the third time. "If so, I was going to attack y/n"

"WHAT?!" Aizawa exclaims, as Bakugo burns red in realizing what he had just said.

"No! Attack likein assault... no! Like in beating the shit out of... "

"Shut up, you're not helping anyone." you say, putting your collar up and shrinking into the chair with your arms crossed.

"Look, y/n was the one who opened the shirt!" He continues.

Professor Mic is not even trying to stop himself from laughing anymore, he even leans against Aizawa, whose face is completely enraged.

"Well Aizawa, once you are the one responsible for y/n, you might sign the warning." says Nezu, putting a pen on top of a paper full of words. "And we will call Mrs. Bakugo tomorrow."

"Will call my... oh fuck." Bakugo pulls his hair in grief.

"And so the both of you know, as much as I don't think this will be necessary to say, if it repeats again you will both be... expelled" Director Nezu says, and you can se a sparkle of meaningness in his eye.

You can feel Aizawa's eyes burning onto you.

...

Aizawa gave you the worst lecture you've ever seen in your life. You apologize to him as much as you can, but he is still angry. This makes you upset, but you promise him you will stay out of trouble. He is the only family you have and you care a lot about him and his approval.

This makes you go back to your dorm, head down, thinking about getting back to keeping a low profile. People call you to seat with them and play some uno, but you refuse and go straight to your room. But as you open the door, Bakugo closes it back. You get face to face with him, both of you agressively staring at each other.

"This was on you!" He says bumping his index against your chest.

"What's wrong? Afraid of mama? Is Big Bom Bom Boy a mommy's boy?" You answer, pushing him away from you.

"What did you just call me, brat?!"

As you see Bakugo get his hands ready to fight, you prepare yourself yo fight back. But you sunddely remember Aizawa's disappointed look. You shrink your shoulders and put your head down once again. Bakugo stares, confused.

You step back and bow.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that. I apologize." you say, then you get inside of the room as fast as you can.

"What?" You hear him saying.

You sit, leaning against the door and sob a little. You,then, clean your face and go to your desk to study.

...

As the weeks go by, Bakugo tries to compete with you many times, at first you do it too, but when you notice Aizawa looking, you keep your pace down and step away not to cause trouble.

You can clearly see that Bakugo gets even more angry when this happens, but he does not talk to you or insists until the next time.

In a month you get back to being a quiet presence in the class. Except for you can always feel Bakugo's fierce eyes on the back of your neck.

Until a day you are studing for the tests and a ball hits the tree you are leaning against and shakes it very hard. A boy comes running towards you.

"Hey, sorry!" Says Tetsutetsu. "We are playing quirkball, and SOMEONE hit the ball way too hard" he says staring at the court.

"Quirkball?" you ask while he helps you stand and clean your uniform.

"It is like volleyball, but you can use your quirk yo cheat. Wanna play?"

"I... I don't see how I can use my quirk to cheat on volleyball." you answer, organizing your materials and ready to go.

"HEEEEY! Y/N COME PLAY WITH US!!" you hear Uraraka's voice, followed by Midoriya, Tsuyu and Kirishima.

They scream so much at you that you get too embarassed not to play. When you get there, HE is there, staring at you.

"Midoriya, Uraraka, Kirishima vs Y/n, Bakugo and me, Tusyu is the juge" Tetsutetsu announces and then turns to you. "Leave Midoriya's balls to me."

He immediately turns himself into iron.

You and Bakugo exchange a look, he seems a little surprized to see you there and you get confused feelings about it. For a brief moment you think you have seen him smile. But as you look at him again, he is making that rageful face.

"Stay out of my way." He says, pushing you aside and stomping to the spot near the net."I am gonna EXTERMINATE all of you!" Bakugo points at the other team.

"It... it is just a game Kaachan." Midoriya sutters while Uraraka facepalms.

"COME AT ME, BRO!" Kirishima screams back at him, turning himself into rock.

You barely see the game start. Tetsutetsu launches the ball, which goes straight to Kirishima. He recieves it easily, hitting it to Uraraka's direction. She touches it gently and it floats above the net, where Midoriya shows up and kicks it with his quirk.

"I WILL GET IT!" you hear Tetsutetsu scream, but the ball is coming straight in your direction.

"Wait, no!!" Midoriya screams and everyone gasps.

You put yourself in reception position and the ball hits your arms, you can feel them breaking in an excruciating pain, but you are used to it. The ball bounces and hits Tetsutetsu's head, he was not even paying attention anymore, he was trying to reach to save you.

Bakugo comes from nowhere and cuts the ball with a huge explosion to the other side of the net.

"DIE!!" He screams.

It bursts against the floor while everyone is staring at you.

Tetsutetsu kneels beside you.

"Oh my god! Let's take y/n to Recovery Girl!" he says, trying to lift you in his shoulders.

"WHAT? No, I'm ok! I'm ok!" You say jumping away from him.

Everyone stares at you while you move your arms to show they are intact.

"What? That is my quirk, remeber?" You say, shrinking your shoulders, a little embarassed about all the fuzz.

"You are amazing!!" Kirishima screams, hands on head.

"Y/n can catch Midoriya's balls too!! I tought only me and Kirishima could do it!" Tetsutetsu says shaking you from your shoulders.

"Ahn... let's not overdo it, though." You say.

"ARE WE GONNA PLAY OR WHAT?!" Bakugo screams, launching a ball so explosive, it puts Kirishima to the ground.

As the game goes, you recieve the ball from Tetsutetsu and assist Bakugo many times. Each point you get, you and Tetsutetsu start celebrating more and more excitedly. Bakugo refuses to take part in this, but he seems to be having as much fun as you. Probably because he has already hurt everyone in the other side at least once.

Tsuyu announces the end of the game, you won.

Tetsutetsu pulls both of you into a forced hug. Your head meets Bakugo chest, it is all sweaty, but it does not smell bad as in most people. Bakugo smells like caramel, probably because of his quirk. Also, you can feel the extreme heat it emanates, it is like hugging a hot water purse.

As he screams and curses for Tetsutetsu to let him go, you blush. Why are you noticing these kind of things?! You look at him, eyes wide open and notice that your heartbeat has gone high.

He looks back at you with a confused expression. Your already blushed face turns completely red, and he stops fighting Tetsutetsu and blushes too.

When Tetsutetsu lets you go, you are both looking at the other side. You have your hands in your cheeks and shake your head. He right away starts going away without a word.

"He normally does that when he loses." Kirishima says, confused. "Nice game...oooooh..."

You look at him and realize he notices your blush. He is impressed at first, but then smirks at you.

"OOOOoooooh..." he says again opening a huge smile.

Not knowing what to do about it, you shake your hands at him, making an "x" trying to avoid letting him say anything else. Then, you do the only thing your brain can think of: you run the hell away from there.

...

Caramel smell. Who smells like caramel?! You head is confused, you can't sleep. You decide to stand up and study. As you sit in your desk all you can remember is that look you exchanged while locked together in Tetsutetsu's hug.

Oh dear, were you liking Katsuki Bakugo?! The jerk who thinks he is better than everyone else? The imbecil who got you in trouble with your uncle twice?

No, it must not be. Your brain is just confused because... you know hatred is often confused with love.

It also turns a lot into it, you've heard.

"Shit!" You say as you notice you left your pen so long on the paper the ink stained it.

You hear a knock on the door.

"Who the f..." you whisper, looking at the clock. It is too late for anyone to visit.

You slowly open it to check who it is. The door is forced towards you and you step back. It closes behind him with a bam.

Caramel smell.

You can't see anything, he has already come to you with the most furious kiss you have ever recieved. How else could he kiss, he was an agressive boy, he should kiss ageessively.

"What the hell?" You say, pushing him away, but he is stronger than you, you can only separate your faces, he holds you tight against him.

"Shut up." He says leaning on your neck and starting to suck at it.

"Hey! Hey! What the fuck is this?!" You ask taking some steps back, but he follows you. You can feel that whatever he is doing is gonna leave a mark.

"Do you want it or not?!" He asks, pushing you against the wall and pressing his body against yours.

You can fell the caramel scent taking over your brain. You fell your body getting soft against his. You can't get yourself to offer any more resistence.

"Want it or not?" He repeats, his red eyes staring deep into yours.

"I... I do." You say, putting your hands on his hips and lifting your chin in his direction.

He smiles at you, you wait for him to kiss you again.

You hear an annoying noise.

It is your phone ringing with the alarm. You were passed out in your study table. It is time to get ready for classes.

You lean your head on your hands and lose the count of how many "fucks" you say.

You like Katsuki Bakugo.

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