#kick ass angst

[albertdabuttler]

Masked Adversary | D.L.

MASTERLIST

this fics masterlist

Pt. III

fandom: Kick-Ass

pairings: Dave Lizewski/Kick-Ass x F!Reader

WARNINGS: cussing, subtle mention of a wound, idk not much else i can think of 🤣

summary: You and Dave have lost a childhood friendship. The circumstances have made you grow to despise one another, until Kick-Ass has no one else to turn to but you, causing him to develop a small crush. The only problem being that you don't know it's him.

WC: 3K

gif not mine LOL!!

A/N: sorry for the delay lovelies, this part is a liiiiittle lame but i promise to give you what you want in the next. Xx

———————

You realized the next day there were a limited number of guys with those beautiful blue eyes and brown hair. Only three of them felt worth considering, for the others had voices that sounded too different or hobbies that contrasted with Kick-Ass’ obvious interests.

On your way to second hour, you noticed one of them walking down the hall as you switched books from your locker. You looked at him, hoping he would notice. He made eye contact with you for a second and smiled, but since you didn��t really know him, he kept on walking.

You thought maybe if that was him then he would have tried to avoid talking to you, for the obvious reason that he couldn’t have you knowing his identity.

You hoped it was that guy rather than any of the others. He was pretty good looking and a few girls you knew had a crush on him. Of course he was oblivious though.

“Hey Cleo.” You smiled as Cleo leaned against the locker next to yours.

“I think I’m getting a Kick-Ass fever.” She spoke. Thinking of the events of the night before, you replied. “How so?”

“I can’t stop thinking about him… And what you told me about him yesterday.”

“Right, yeah…” You chewed the tissue on the inside of your cheek, biting back a grin that dared to creep up on your face knowing you were the girl getting the action with Kick-Ass out of all his fans.

“Anything new happen with him? Did he send you anything on MySpace?” She winked, making you scoff in disgust.

“Um well…”

Cleo lit up in excitement, “What happened!?”

“He got hurt. Like real bad, and I patched him up and…”

“Please tell me what I think you’re gonna say,” She smiled, biting her bottom lip as she gripped your bicep from elation.

“I kissed him…” You smiled, she stared in utter shock but you knew she was happy for you.

“Cleo, promise me you won’t say anything because I really don’t want his fangirls to bombard me with questions only to TP my house.” You looked at her seriously.

“Of course.” She nodded sincerely.

“Was he a good kisser?” She whispered feverishly.

“Well, I could tell he didn’t have that much experience at first, and he even admitted to it, but he got the hang of it really quick.” You giggled. “And… He’s got really nice muscles.” You grinned, Cleo’s eyes widening, “Wait so—“

“He had to take his suit off for me to fix him up.”

The conversation continued as you told her in detail about what happened. You made your way to your next class, spotting Marty, Dave, and Todd walking through the crowd.

“Hey guys,” Spoke Cleo, stopping on the side of the corridor and getting their attention quickly but there was nothing you could do.

“Hi,” You greeted them as well. Dave looked gone. He had incredibly dark circles like he didn’t get any sleep. He also had a bruise forming on his left eye, and a cut on his lip.

“‘Sup.” Todd replied. Marty saluting you as well.

Dave smiled at Cleo, soon turning to you and feeling his knees weaken. He knew he couldn’t act differently, or else you would know. He knew you weren’t stupid.

“Hi.” His voice almost trembling as he swallowed, trying to avoid your gaze.

“Hey asshole.” You said chuckling.

He rolled his eyes and suddenly, he forgot that he made out with you twelve hours ago.

“What happened to your eye…?” You pointed at your own, mirroring the area in which he had the bruise.

“I got jumped again.” He said simply, looking into your eyes in an attempt to make it believable.

He wanted to look away from you, so that you wouldn’t catch on, but he just couldn’t. He noticed how your hair was getting in your face and he just wanted to push it out of the way to look at your pretty face.

Maybe he was spacing out? Probably tired from how much homework he had or something. You assumed lack of sleep from all that was why he looked so drained.

“You guys wanna get coffee at Atomic Comics later?” Cleo asked.

You shot her a look. She looked back, slightly nodding at Todd, whom she had a big crush on, but you knew he wouldn’t pick up on it. And you knew Cleo was too much of a pussy to ask him out alone.

Dave looked at you both, “We have to study for that project thing from sixth period,” pointing between you and himself.

“Right, yeah.” You sighed in annoyance.

He lowered his eyes, noticing your reaction. Okay so clearly you haven’t found out it’s him yet. Maybe if you knew it was him then you’d like him more? That being the answer he preferred, or you’d get really fucking pissed and call him things he wasn’t.

“We gotta get to class, Cleo.” You reminded her, holding onto the strap of your backpack and slowly moving towards the middle of the hall to begin your walk to second period.

"Bye," Dave spoke up, mostly to you, but his voice cracked as he realized he let it slip out.

You turned to him along with the others, the four of you looking at him strangely. His face began heating up from embarrassment so he cleared his throat, biting his lip as he pushed past you to make his way to his next class.

———————

Most of your morning was uneventful as usual, walking past Dave in the halls but it seemed like he lost his breath each time he spotted you. For the first few minutes of lunch, you and Cleo sat with Marty and Todd again, but somehow Dave hadn't joined you yet.

"Yeah, but that's because it's Superman." You heard Cleo state as you were brought back to reality.

"Are there any super heroes who's love interest doesn't like them until they reveal themselves as a super-hero?" Cleo turned to you.

"Uh, yeah I'm pretty sure there are." you answered.

Just then you spotted Dave making his way to your table, an irritated expression on his face.

"What happened to you?" Said Todd.

“The teacher made me go to the counselor's office." He motioned to his face with his index finger.

“Right. What'd she ask you about?" You spoke up as he sat down.

His eyes shot in your direction, almost like he forgot you were there. He swallowed as he answered your question. "She told me I should reach out to an adult if I'm getting mistreated at home or…being…bullied." He spoke like it was the most ridiculous story he'd ever told.

You giggled, "Well, what'd you tell her?"

"That I got jumped? Duh."

“Did you?” You questioned seriously.

He looked at you for a second, “Yeah.” He said simply, hoping you wouldn’t ask any further. Technically, he wasn’t lying. He did get jumped. But not for the sake of being robbed. They were trying to kill him.

“I’m glad you’re okay…I guess.” You admitted, earning looks from everyone else at the table.

Dave had to bite back the widest grin. “Um... Thanks.” He meant it. He obviously couldn’t tell you but you were pretty much the whole reason he was okay with how you stitched him up.

“…What?” You looked back at the other three. “If he wasn’t okay I’d have to do the project all by myself.” You said, trying to crack a joke out of it even if you were serious about him being okay.

“Anyway…” Cleo suddenly perked up, remembering what had happened with Kick-Ass.

“Oh yeah, someone over here has been getting real close with Kick-Ass these past few days.” She nudged your arm, smirking.

“Wait, really?” Marty spoke, “What’s he like, is he like avenging his parents,” he joked, earning a chuckle from Todd. Dave was oddly quiet.

“I dunno. He said he just wanted to see what it was like, I guess? And that he wanted to help people because no one else does.”

“Cute.” Said Cleo.

“Laaaame.” Spoke Marty, Todd soon agreeing with him.

“Didn’t you also kiss him?” Cleo spoke up.

You hit her arm, rolling your eyes as you were faced with having to admit.

“Dude, he's a superhero. He kisses like a ton of girls.”

He didn't know why you had lied about that but was grateful.

“Was he a good kisser?”

You didn’t understand for having to ask all this in front of the small group of boys. What you did know, was that the room got pretty hot with the position you were in.

Dave looked up at you expecting an answer as Todd and Marty watched you disinterested and kept on eating.

“Yeah.” You said.

He felt his stomach twist at your words, locking eyes with you for long enough to feel a blood rush in his face.

“Dave, what exactly did they do to your face? I mean all they had to do was put you on the ground right, not rip your face off.” You asked curiously, suddenly changing the topic.

He was at a loss for words for a minute, mouth vaguely ajar and still trying to recover from the fact you thought he was a good kisser.

“I got punched in the face like five times and I was also st—” He paused, forgetting he got stabbed and that you stitched it up. “stabbed—in the back…” He tried making it sound convincing.

“Right, got it.” You paused. “Do you wanna get a cab home together? Now I’m scared shitless to get one by myself, and you live like right next to me so… We can both avoid getting our asses robbed.” You chuckled.

“Okay…?” He he squinted, glancing at Marty and Todd which looked at him like he was out of his mind.

———————

You’d been sitting on the curb in front of the school, waiting for what had been about half an hour for Dave.

“Hey, sorry. Mr. Duaine wanted to talk with me.” Dave’s familiar voice rang out as he approached you.

“It’s okay. I called a cab a few minutes ago, should be getting here in a bit.” You answered.

Dave sat down next to you, the sun hitting both your heads with a sickening heat. But the silence was peaceful somehow, it didn’t get awkward.

“Hey, Dave?”

He turned his head to look at you, his eyes squinting from the brightness of the sun. But remembering what happened last night, he couldn't keep his gaze on you for too long.

“Hm?”

Chewing on your lip, you held out your hand to him. “Friends?”

He took a moment to look at your hand, lifting his eyes back up at you. He hesitated, and you didn’t blame him. “What?” He looked at you accusingly.

You looked back down at the concrete in front of you, trying to find whatever words you had in the back of your mind to try and explain yourself.

“I…”

You faced him, “I think I don’t hate you that much anymore.”

He let out a soft laugh, “You think?”

You threw a small pebble you found onto the street before you two. “…Sorry I cut you off like that…”

You sighed. “I miss being friends with you. You were my best friend and I shoved it up my ass because you liked a girl and hadn’t even gotten to that point of my life yet...” You paused, “I mean, starting to crush on boys…” you added. “I didn’t understand why you liked her so much when I thought we were supposed to be focused on stupid shit like comics. You grew up before me and it made me feel horrible.”

Dave only stared at you with his lips parted, like he was going to say something, but nothing slipped out. Hearing all this from you made him want to make out with you again.

“Obviously at this point I understand you, but… You didn’t have to push me away, y’know? After a while you kinda just ignored me or turned me down when I wanted to hang out.”

Dave’s heart grew heavier with your words. He never knew how much it affected you, he thought you didn’t care about the friendship you had either and that you just dropped him for no reason. Gosh he was so fucking blind.

“I’m sorry.” He said simply, gazing at the ground in front of him.

“I miss being friends with you too.” Dave finally brought his eyes to yours, giving you a soft, but guilty smile.

“I’m sorry I treated you like that. I mean, you’re the only friend I had for that long. You were also the only girl I could talk to without embarrassing myself.” He paused, turning to you and seeing your eyebrows furrowed.

“Wait—“ His eyes widened, “that—that sounds wrong—I mean, you… I—I don’t like you like that, um… I was just wanting to say that—since I could talk to you, I…” He still wasn’t getting his point across and only embarrassed himself further.

“Fuck, I… You know what I meant.“ He chuckled awkwardly.

“Yes, I get your point, Dave.” You chuckled.

“Okay, good.” he breathed, scoffing at himself but his face flushed red.

"Are you blushing?" You felt your heart skip before biting back a laugh, considering that everything he said was ridiculous. “Two years without me and you already miss me so much you get a crush on me?” You finally giggled.

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes at your laughter, “Gross.”

“You asshole!” you smacked his arm.

He let himself laugh along with you, until suddenly his mind began flooding with thoughts of how you kissed him the night before. How soft and warm your lips were, how your hands felt touching his chest, playing with his hair. How he was resisting so hard not to tell you who he was and that he knew you, not to beg you to touch him in ways he’s never been touched before.

He did think of you that way although he’d never admit it out loud.

“Whatever.” You scoffed, completely oblivious to the fact that, in reality, this boy was head over heels for you.

“Fine.” He held his hand out like you had just done for him, “Friends. I guess.” He playfully rolled his eyes and you took it with no hesitation, giving him a firm shake.

“So uh,” he began as he let go of your hand, “You and Kick-Ass.” He hid a smile.

You scoffed, “What, are you jealous?” you smirked.

“Ew.” He scorned. “The way you talked about him at lunch, thanks for giving me something to relentlessly make fun of you for. Imagine liking a guy you don’t even know.” he teased. But you could have him all you wanted. You did have him, all to yourself, unbeknownst to you.

“Shut up, Dave! It’s not like I’m in love with him. I don’t think I’d even date him...” You laughed

He took a nervous breath, like somehow you could read his mind, that he was practically lying to you and you knew.

In the current moment he wanted to kiss you like he did yesterday. So perilously. But not just kiss you, he wanted to love you. He kept watching you as your laugh died down and you smiled, looking elsewhere. A smile threatened to break upon his lips because of how pretty you looked and that beautifully contagious smile.

Dave was snapped from his thoughts as he heard a car approaching, looking in the direction of the cab as it pulled up in front of the two of you. The boy stood up first, quickly grabbing your hand to pull you up, and surprisingly, he opened the door for you. You decided to scoot all the way to the other side so that he wouldn’t have to walk around.

“Where to?”

————

Not long passed before you were dropped off at the entrance to your neighborhood.

“Thank you!” You called, Dave paying the driver what was due as she drove away.

“Thanks for getting that.” You told Dave, grateful that he had payed for you.

“Yeah…” He replied, adjusting his backpack as he turned to walk next to you. You heard a quiet wince and noticed a little grimace on his face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m good.” He replied quickly, squirming in his place.

"You sure?" You watched him with a look of concern.

"Yeah, just a bruise from yesterday."

You only nodded, beginning to walk down the sidewalk to get home.

"So..." Dave began speaking after a moment, although the silence was comfortable, he still wanted to talk to you.

"Were you able to get any part of the project done last night?" You asked.

"I stayed up super late writing my part. What about you?"

You didn't realize that 'late' meant he was up until 2 AM because of everything that had happened.

"I started kind of early but..." You paused, remembering how Kick-Ass had gotten hurt. "Some...stuff happened and I got distracted... I only got to write like two paragraphs."

He smiled, he got you so distracted that you couldn't even finish your homework. He felt proud to be so memorable as Kick-Ass.

"What happened?" He asked this out of 'curiosity.'

"Uh my friend called and we were talking all night..." You lied.

"Oh, alright." He bit back a smile.

"What about you? Why were you up so late?"

"I was just... I had some stuff to take care of with my dad a—and we got home kind of late, so…”

“Mm.” You nodded.

As you stepped foot on your porch, you turned to salute Dave until you saw him later.

“Just come over at like seven.” You suggested, smiling and sending a small wave soon after.

“Okay, see you.” He subtly sized you up, flashing his dimpled smile before walking back to his own home.

Since when was his smile so attractive?

———————

Thank you for reading!

tagging everyone who asks for it 🤣

@lizzxoxo @kenmaisbae

[lightseoul]

CASUAL CASUALTIES (10.6k)

pairing. k. bakugou x reader

synopsis. what was meant to be an innocent trip down to the bridge becomes a national sensation when you get outed as #15 pro-hero dynamight's soulmate on live tv. inconvenient, yes, very much so—but it's not like you have to do something about it. but then the bakugou katsuki himself seeks you out, and you find yourself getting into a whole lot of trouble. inspired by @/andypantsx3's fingerprints. (read on ao3)

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up, post-timeskip/ch 431, soulmate!au, lots of cursing, reader is ill, depictions of mental illness (mentions of depressive themes and suicidality), mentions of death, nsfw/mature themes, minor manga spoilers

a/n. here it is, y'all! while i know the word count and tags are quite daunting, i really hope you give this fic a chance because i'm extremely proud of this one, which i haven't felt about my writing in a while. if you do end up reading it, thank you and i sincerely hope you enjoy it <3

to be fair, you were just…weighing your options.

taking a short trip down to shizuoka’s famous ayumi bridge wasn’t part of your itinerary for the day, not that you’ve been having exceptionally busy itineraries for who knows how long. it was a spur-of-the-moment decision that you periodically second-guessed on the way there, the vivid picture of your unmade but comfortable bed weighing heavily in your mind.

still, and despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the need for fresh air, nor the relief that filled your renewed albeit fatigued lungs as you finally arrived at your destination.

from where you are now standing with your arms folded on top of the relatively short railings, you look past the barricade and down onto the cloudy river below you.

it was an innocent gesture—one borne out of curiosity minus most of the morbidity—but it apparently wasn’t innocent enough, because one moment you were studying the ripples in the distant water, and the next, you’re violently yanked from behind.

you let out an unintentional ‘oof’ as you stumble backward, your body helplessly tugged alongside the blouse that you vaguely register as the thing that’s being pulled back. you probably stagger a few feet away from the edge of the bridge, before unceremoniously falling on your butt.

and as if out of nowhere, pro-hero dynamight emerges right in front of you.

“are you crazy?” he spits out, frenzied. “do you have a fucking death wish?”

you blink. “i—”

he throws his arms up in what you think is defeat, cutting you off, although he’s looking more pissed than resigned. “fucking menaces,” he mumbles loudly under his breath.

a surge of indignation instantly shoots through you, and you open your mouth to spit something back at him, but you don’t get the chance to, because he holds out his hand.

robbed of all words, and quite frankly, barely registering what’s happening, the best you can do is blink at him. again.

his eyebrows furrow, irritation surely bubbling in his veins. his hand stays put, though. “what are you waiting for? get up.”

you hesitate, eyes drifting from his face and down to his hand. unlike his gloved left, his right is bare, and riddled with a plethora of scars. you didn’t know about that, at least from his pictures on tv and social media, unlike the one on his face that is constantly broadcasted for everyone else to see.

you don’t dwell on it further, though, deciding then and there that you want to go home right the fuck now.

you quickly take his hand and help him by pulling yourself up. once you’re upright, you’re just as quick to let go, opting to brush off the dirt stuck to your clothes.

“thanks,” you start, forcing yourself to meet his piercing gaze that’s indubitably boring holes into your face. “…i guess.”

“you guess?” he spews, incredulous, before shaking his head. “never fucking mind.”

“dynamight!”

startled, you whip to look at the source of the voice, and your eyes comically widen when they land on a group of people who look suspiciously like the media. and right behind them are a few police cars dotted with several police officers.

you turn to face bakugou, about to clarify with him if he knows what they’re doing here, but he’s already staring at you, an inexplicable expression etched on his face.

“what?” you can’t help but ask.

he sighs, cocking his head toward the closely approaching herd. “get ready.”

“dynamight!” the woman decked out in a blazer and pencil skirt exclaims, completely oblivious to the concept of personal space as she thrusts her microphone into bakugou’s face. you feel yourself shrink from where you stand slightly to his right, unsure as to whether or not you’re being filmed right now.

you hope you aren’t.

“two negotiations in a row,” she breathes out, disbelieving. “how did you do it?”

negotiations?

“what kind of stupid question is that?” he barks out. “i simply was in the right place at the right time with the first one.”

“oh, you’re too humble!” she quips, signaling the cameraman to steady his shot of the pro-hero’s face. “we came as soon as we could when we heard about what was going down here.”

“yeah, and you could’ve caused the situation to escalate even further than it already did,” he retorts without missing a beat. the reporter’s face falls. bakugou takes that as a sign to go on.

“you’re lucky i arrived and intervened when i did. and how did none of you dipshits think to call the fucking police?”

“i—”

“you’re all too preoccupied with getting your next scoop that you lost your fucking grip on reality and failed to help,” the pro-hero chastises.

he pauses for a second, and you’re about to think he’s finally done with his spiel for the woman’s sake when he glances at you, looking like he’s got something more to say.

and as you find out in the next, excruciating seconds, he definitely has.

the man shoots his arm up, his thumb sticking out, pointing conveniently at you.

“case in point,” he states. “we could’ve had a casualty.”

you gawk at him.

a what?

“i’m sorry,” you start, turning to face the ash-blonde, acutely aware of the inquisitive eyes peering at you, “i think you’re misunderstanding. i wasn’t going to jum—”

“oh my god.”

miffed, you turn again to look at the woman, but now her countenance has gone all pale, looking like she just saw a poltergeist. seemingly speechless, she doesn’t try to get a word out, but what she does is point at bakugou’s wrist.

the man beside you shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “the fuck are you—”

whatever bite the pro-hero was about to unleash on the reporter gets stuck in his throat when he flips his hand and freezes.

and when you see the familiar-looking timer written on his wrist that reads 00:02:57, you stiffen.

it can’t be.

still, you’ve got to make sure.

and so with bated breath, you slowly lift your right hand, turning it with the palm facing up.

and sure enough, your timer—the one that’s been at zero your entire life—reads just a few seconds after bakugou’s.

he thinks he’s fucking spiderman.

you mentally roll your eyes as you replay the clip of bakugou that went viral a few days ago.

you were able to put two and two together on the way home from the bridge, your conjecture proven correct when you got home and checked your social media accounts, which were crawling with articles and posts about the jumper who the #15th pro-hero dynamight was able to talk down.

he was a middle-aged man who apparently lost custody of his only son in light of his divorce, and couldn’t find a way out of the agony apart from death.

you couldn’t get a good view of his face, since the shots were all focused on bakugou taking his glove off to reach out to the guy, but you figure that’s a good thing. the man’s already fucking suicidal—the last thing he needs is for his privacy to be breached.

you can only laugh at the irony as you parse through your notifications, because lo and behold—they’ve already found you out.

because of course! what story sells better than a notorious hero’s successful negotiation with a jumper?

a notorious hero’s successful negotiation with a jumper who also happens to be his fucking soulmate.

nevermind the fact that you weren’t actually planning to jump that day.

“excuse me?”

you look up from your phone to find a teenage girl peering at you timidly from across the counter.

you tuck the device in your pocket and put on your most cordial smile. “hi! how can i help you?”

she puts what seems to be a fantasy duology on top of the surface between the two of you, before shooting you a shy smile back. “just these two, please.”

you peek at the titles and immediately light up. “great choice! my friend loves these.”

she lets out a delighted sound as you ring up her purchase, and you make small talk as you take her card and pack her books in a brown paper bag.

“have fun reading!” you say as she accepts the package from you, mouthing a quick thanks.

you watch the girl exit the bookstore with a grin you didn’t know you had on your face, which you only catch wind of when you shift your attention back to the next person in line.

because one sight of them has it wiped off your mouth in an instant.

even if they’re decked out in the most unhelpful disguise of a baseball cap, hoodie, and face mask.

still, two can play at this game. and quite frankly, you’re up for roleplaying rather than having a confrontation anyway, with this ridiculous get-up he has on.

and so with the most friendly tone you can muster, you ask: “how can i help you?”

even behind his whole guise, you can see the darkening of his gaze when you put forth the question. “are you serious?”

you tilt your head to the side in fake innocence. “what do you mean, sir? you’re at the counter at a bookstore…”

apparently, that’s enough to rile up the great explosion murder god dynamight, because he angrily tugs his mask down before bobbing his head as if saying ‘seriously’?

you pretend you’re just figuring it out, going the extra mile by letting your mouth form the shape of a small ‘o’, but you can tell he’s not buying it. he glares at you, and you’re smart enough to know it’s a warning, so you cut it out despite yourself.

“the question’s still the same, by the way,” you offer when he doesn’t say anything. “how can i help you?”

his eyebrows furrow. “are you always this fucking nonchalant?”

no, you answer in your head, but he doesn’t need to know that it’s less nonchalance and more apathy. you shrug, “it's either that or panic about the whole situation.”

this time, his eyebrows shoot up. “so you’re not frazzled? like, at all?”

you stop yourself from rolling your eyes just in time. “of course, i am. kind of—at least. the last thing i need is to be scrutinized by the public.”

“that one’s on you, showing up at the same bridge as that jumper.”

you bristle. “i told you, i wasn’t going to jump!”

only belatedly do you realize that you just said that last bit quite loudly, and you hurriedly scan the room to see a few curious faces have glanced your way. you bow slightly in apology, before turning back to regard the pro-hero.

he huffs. “let’s say you weren’t. it doesn’t matter, because we still made contact and now the news is out.”

“so? i don’t see how we have to do anything about it.”

“believe me, i agree.”

you laugh. “wow, who knew the dynamight doesn’t want a soulmate, let alone meet and be tethered to one?”

“laugh all you want, dumbass,” comes bakugou’s reply. “but what i’m about to say is not a laughing matter.”

“do pray tell.”

“fucking—” he starts, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. once he’s expelled that air, he fixes his gaze on you. you subconsciously straighten up.

“i need you to put up appearances with me.”

you squint at him. “huh?”

he presses his lips in a tight line. “i’m dropping in the rankings, and i’ll drop even further if i don’t—”

“i don’t see how any of this is my business.”

“—if i don’t do anything palatable about the situation,” he presses on. “it’s costing me and my agency, as much as i fucking hate to admit it.”

you only stare at him, letting the gears in your head turn in light of the newfound information. and when you don’t say anything, bakugou finishes.

“it’ll only be for a while.”

pft.

a while?

you hesitate. of course, you would. there’s absolutely no reason for you to get involved with the pro-hero, especially not now nor in the near, foreseeable future. in fact, you don’t even want to think about how he found out this is where you worked part-time. and you know there’s more where that came from.

you shake your head, “i’m sorry, but there’s no way i can—”

“i’ll pay you.”

you whip to look at him, shocked. “what?”

“you need the money, right?” he asks, and you hate how he’s right. “pr is offering an amount.”

you gulp, hating even more how you’re actually considering this. “how much are we talking about?”

he tells you. you barely catch your jaw from dropping to the floor.

with that amount, you’ll have the luxury of quitting this minimum wage job that you’ve barely been able to keep doing and then some. you’ll be set on your monthly expenses for a couple of months, and maybe even have enough to splurge on the few things that you’ve been wanting to get for yourself but haven’t had the means to.

and all that just by pretending for one to two months, tops?

your name and face are already common knowledge, anyway. there shouldn’t even be a debate.

you stick your right hand out, the one with the ticking timer on your wrist, for him to shake. he extends his, and the sight of the matching numbers sends an unidentifiable sensation down your spine. you try to ignore it.

and just like that, you shake on it, and the deal is on.

besides, you’ve got nothing to lose, anyway.

you push the glass door open, mindful of not adding any more handprints on the already marked surface. the wind chimes you didn’t know were hanging above it from the inside resonate as you enter, and you find yourself suddenly grateful that you at least managed to put on a bit of makeup for today. a few people seated near the entrance glance to look at you, which is probably a good thing for once.

right before bakugou left the bookstore a few days ago, he suggested you exchange numbers, which you agreed to gingerly. you expected radio silence for at least a week and hoped for forever, but a text eventually came later that night, asking for your availability so he could schedule a meet-up in public.

you told him you couldn’t meet until today, probably giving off the impression that you were busy with something, when in reality you were just tired and needed the time to process what was about to happen.

which brings you to now, standing at the doorway of a hip café in the heart of musutafu, scanning the faces for vermillion daggers he has for eyes.

it takes you a second, what with the afternoon crowd slowly encroaching on the establishment and filling up the tables, but you eventually locate him, with the help of the scarred hand he raises to get your attention.

“hey,” you greet when you reach his spot near the back, and he nods at you in acknowledgment. taking a seat across from him, you make it a point to study your position. “are you sure you want to sit here?”

he raises an eyebrow, which you can now see clearly without the shadow of the cap from before. “what, this table not up to your standard?”

exasperation shoots through you, as it always does, but you shake it off. instead, you toss him a tight-lipped smile. “no, it’s just that people might not see us back here. which, you know, kind of defeats the purpose?”

he doesn’t say anything for a beat, gaze fixated on you, before he breaks eye contact and shakes his head. “don’t worry,” he offers. “calculated move. we’re still gonna be spotted, trust me.”

you nod…slowly. you guess that makes sense. if you seat yourselves smack dab at the center, it may come off as the both of you seeking attention, consequently undermining the authenticity of your whole charade. a real high-profile couple would want to keep it low-key.

you snort at what you just called the two of you.

“what?” bakugou asks, defensiveness bleeding into his tone. you look up at him, and you take a second to study his appearance. he ditched the cap and hoodie, only sporting a black shirt and what you think are loose joggers and sneakers.

and with his infamously unruly hair trimmed?

well. you hate to admit it, but he actually looks…nice.

you smile at him, genuinely this time. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes at you, like he thinks you’re lying out of your ass, but he lets it go. luckily enough, and as if on cue, the waiter arrives to give you the menu and complementary water, and bakugou orders iced tea while you request your go-to drink. you thank the guy before he dashes off to tend to other customers.

“so,” you start when silence falls upon the two of you. “how exactly are we going to do this?”

he picks up his glass. “do what?”

“you know, pretend?” you gesture vaguely with your hands. “do we have to do pda or something?”

you didn’t plan to cause it, but regardless, bakugou chokes on the ice-cold water he was just in the middle of drinking. you reach out to—what, rub his back?—but he holds his hand up to stop you as he coughs his lungs out. you sit back down, and you watch him as he gathers his bearings, wiping the tears that pooled at the corners of his eyes.

“sorry,” you supply, “great job, though. you just announced our presence to everybody.”

at that, bakugou snorts, and you can’t help the chuckle that bubbles out of you. he shakes his head, “dumbass.”

“but no,” he continues, back to being serious, “well, at least for now. as far as pr is concerned, we just have to be seen together until the whole thing dies out and the volatility of my ranking dissipates.”

“okay. that clicks, i guess.”

“you’re still up for it, then?”

now it’s your turn to narrow your eyes at him. “we shook on it, didn’t we? i’m a woman of my word, bakugou.”

“well—”

“and for the last time, i wasn’t going to jump.”

that makes him bark out a laugh so loud that it startles you. grinning, he waves you off. “yeah, yeah. don’t need to get all worked up, princess.”

blazing right past that cursed nickname—you’d first go through hell and high water before you let yourself be flustered in front of this man—you shoot him an expectant look. “well?”

“well, what?”

“are we just gonna sit here and stare at each other for two, three hours? we’ll have to do something, smartass.”

if bakugou is anywhere near bothered by your nickname for him, he doesn’t let it show. instead, he takes the bait. “whaddya have in mind?”

“we can play a conversation game. the one that has prompts?” you fish out your phone from your bag, and you quickly thumb through your apps until you find the one. you click on the button that says ‘play’ and place the gadget at the center of the table.

“there,” you point. “i ask a question and you answer. then we switch and so on and so forth.”

he examines the screen. “sounds lame.”

you scoff. “lamer than sitting and waiting?”

he doesn’t answer for a few seconds, until he finally sighs and nods at you, shifting in his seat as if bracing himself for what’s to come.

“i can go first,” you volunteer, straining to look at the words on display. you cringe when you read them. “do you think i was popular in high school?”

“seriously?” he snickers, and you shrug.

he doesn’t even take a moment to think about it. “well, you work in a bookstore, so no.”

“fair enough. your turn,” you swipe on the screen and turn it 180 degrees so he can see it.

you laugh when his face contorts as he finishes scanning the question. his eyes dart up to glare at you. “who came up with this stupid ass game?”

“just read the question, bakugou.”

he splutters for a beat, ultimately relenting, seething the words through his teeth. “when it comes to relationships, do you think i’m looking for something casual?”

you’re pretty sure you know what the answer is, but you still squint at the man to mess with him.

“are you fucking with me?” he grits out, bug-eyed. “does it fucking look like i’m capable of being casual about anything at all?”

you can’t help it—you throw your head back and laugh.

“stop laughing at me, dumbass.”

you press your lips together in an attempt to quell your mirth, but you burst out laughing again when you catch a glimpse of his reddening face.

“hey—”

“sorry, sorry—it was just—your face—”

“i get it, now quit it.”

eventually, but not immediately, you do. to your relief, bakugou doesn’t forfeit like a sore loser after that round, instead choosing to press on and find an equally incriminating question for you. you bounce off of each other, mainly talking about your respective pasts, like your education, families, and upbringing, although staying considerate enough not to overstep and pry on confidential information.

there were quite a few questions directed towards the present—what you’re currently doing, any nearing plans, current events—and you were okay enough to answer them with minimal detail. the future-oriented ones, though, you barely manage to skirt around and not respond to. you noticed bakugou looking at you a little too closely during those instances, but you feigned indifference.

that’s all you could do, really.

even then, and without you noticing, the hours pass by, and by the time you actually look past the prompts and up to your phone’s clock, it’s already 5:05 pm, a good four hours past your agreed-upon meeting time.

when you glance back up at bakugou, his face reads the same—mild shock at the fact that you were too engrossed in your conversation to notice the sky getting dark and the streetlights illuminating the walkways beyond the coffee shop’s glass walls turning on one by one.

“sorry,” you say as you swiftly take your phone and lock the screen. “i didn’t mean to keep you.”

“no,” he counters, pocketing his own. “i didn’t notice, either.”

you smile at him as you put on your bag. “still think it’s lame?”

“yes,” he promptly replies, a smirk now decorating his sharp features. “but i had fun, or whatever the fuck.”

and for the nth time that afternoon, you laugh.

he texts you first that night, to your surprise.

(8:38 pm) bakugou katsuki: thanks. for coming out today.

from where you were sprawled lazily on your mattress, hair still wet from that shower you almost didn’t take, you thumb out a response.

(8:39 pm) you: no problem, boss 🫡

you press send before you can overthink things. instead, you let the warm feeling of someone else’s gratitude bloom in your chest and bask in it. that doesn’t get to happen for too long, though, because another message arrives.

(8:40 pm) bakugou katsuki: don’t call me that. by the way, did you see the news?

you feel your brows crease.

(8:40 pm) you: what news?

ping.

(8:40 pm) bakugou katsuki: bakugou katsuki sent you a link

you immediately click on the string of words, and you’re redirected to an article. it takes a while to load—the internet is sometimes spotty at your modest condominium unit—but when it does, your jaw drops.

because right at the center of which is an image of you and bakugou at the café.

“holy shit.”

before anything else, you zoom in on your face, because priorities, right? you stare at the bunch of pixels for a good few minutes, before ultimately deciding there’s nothing you can do about it anyway. besides, it’s not like this was the first glimpse the public has had of your appearance. despite yourself, you check bakugou’s, and of course, the man looks like he just came straight out of a magazine shoot.

you then read the title, which must’ve been written in haste in an attempt to get ahead of a random netizen going viral. soulmates spotted: pro-hero dynamight seen with the girl from the bridge.

well.

at least they’re not calling you a jumper.

still.

(8:44 pm) you: seriously? girl from the bridge?

another ping.

(8:44 pm) bakugou katsuki: still at the fucking headline? hurry to the end, dumbass.

you roll your eyes, mainly because you can—perks of living alone and all. skimming through the sentences, you mouth the words to yourself—a rehash about who you are, the contact from a few days ago, eyewitnesses and accounts from today—until you land on the thing you think bakugou’s been trying to highlight.

in light of recent events, bakugou katsuki, who recently dropped several spots due to unfavorable encounters with citizens, has risen in the charts to #13.

you beam.

you and bakugou hang out a couple more times over the course of the next few weeks.

your get-togethers mainly depend on his schedule—which you gawked at how hectic it was when he first described it to you—even more now that you’re officially unemployed. your contractual obligation at the bookstore ended just in time as your first paycheck from the dynamight agency arrived, and you took the impeccable timing as the universe’s way of telling you to quit so you could instead spend your time freely on hobbies that you haven’t had the energy for.

on the days that you do meet, though, you end up dedicating a huge chunk of your waking hours to the endeavor. it’s like that meme of a google calendar, with the get ready for meeting, meeting, and recover from meeting blocks taking up the entire 9 to 5.

this was definitely the case for your fourth rendezvous, which you spent at a park near the bridge where you first met. he didn’t give you any details, so you walked into it blindly with a full face of makeup, hair done, and a tote bag full of finger food and some beverages in tow. needless to say, you were surprised when you arrived to the bakugou katsuki on a plaid orange picnic blanket, with what looked like handmade sandwiches displayed for hungry onlookers to see.

“don’t start,” he preempts when he sees you eyeing the snacks as you sit down.

you blink at him innocently, a smile tugging at your lips. “i wasn’t going to.”

he frowns. “quit grinning, would you? i just thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air.”

nodding solemnly, you bring out your share of rations. “sure.”

you brace yourself for any snide remark about your pitiful food—at least, as compared to his handcrafted ones—but they don’t come. instead, what you get is a side eye, before: “why’d you look like you’re going to an event, or some shit?”

you whip to face him. “huh?”

he gestures to your face.

“oh, this? i just don’t want to look ugly in the photos, is all.”

“ugly?” he spews, as if the word in itself was as hideous as it meant.

“yeah,” you retort defensively, placing the cans of juice on the ground before shifting to look at him. “not that you have to worry about that.”

a pause.

“what’s that supposed to mea—”

“do you have anything you want to do?” you cut him off, changing the topic.

“i—uh—” bakugou stammers, caught off guard. “we can just talk, or something.”

you light up at that, and he scoffs when he sees. “same game?”

“why the hell not.”

he texts you again after the picnic, right as you step out of the train and onto the platform of your stop. you smile when you catch a glimpse of it.

(6:05 pm) bakugou katsuki: at #9 now. thanks.

as you walk up the stairs and onto the streets, you find yourself wondering why this whole ruse has been working like a charm, and the answer is quick to arrive.

humans love narratives, after all.

and what better way to forward the age-old, comforting, and redeeming tale of soulmates than through the prickly, explosive pro-hero they know so well?

you don’t hear from each other after that. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you nervous just the tiniest bit—he was right, after all. you needed the money, especially after having quit your job. but you tell yourself it’s only been a couple of days, to trust that he’ll text when it’s time to make another public appearance, and that he’s way above ghosting you like you’re easily dispensible, regardless of whether or not you do feel that you are.

so, in an attempt to stop obsessing over this thing you’ve got going on with bakugou, you drag your ass out of bed and head to the nearest mall to run a few errands. you realize when you get to the supermarket that you forgot to catalog the things you actually needed to buy, cursing yourself when you do. still, you try your best to get on with it, relying instead on your hazy memory of what needs replenishing.

a good thirty minutes later, and with your grocery–filled tote bags hanging from your shoulders, you trek towards the pharmacy and fall in line. as always, there’s a long queue, but you eventually reach your turn, promptly buying your necessary meds and hightailing it out of there.

you consider booking a taxi instead of commuting home when you eventually feel the strain of the weight on your shoulders, but decide against it. the temperature is pretty decent anyway, you think to yourself as you walk and relish in the cloudy yet slightly windy weather. you study the buildings that you pass by, partly to distract yourself from how your bags are getting heavier and heavier by the minute, when your eyes land on a particular complex and you stop.

it’s either you’re going crazy, or you’ve been passing by the dynamight agency a million times and you never noticed.

you stand there for what feels like an eternity, peering at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and letting the internal tug-of-war play out inside your head, until you ultimately let the curiosity win. slowly and with caution, you take a few steps towards the entrance. you honest-to-god weren’t planning on stepping foot inside the establishment, but apparently, the equally glass doors are automatic.

you falter for a moment, eyes wide as saucers like a deer caught in the headlights as the “gates” slide open for you, before making the split-second decision to enter. it was either that or look stupid in front of everyone in the lobby who’s now staring at you, anyway.

luckily, you don’t get to stand there—awkward as shit—for a second longer because one of the receptionists hurries over to where you’re positioned.

the lady beams at you. “good afternoon—”

“hi,” you supply, “i was just—”

“y/n, right?”

crap. “uh, yes.”

her grin widens. “you���re just in time! bakugou-san just clocked out.”

“oh, i wasn’t—”

“y/n?”

the two of you whip to look at the back of the large room, and sure enough, the owner of the increasingly familiar gruff voice is looking right at you, just as shocked at you being here as you are.

you can only watch him—in all his regularly clothed, duffel bag-carrying glory—as he briskly walks towards where you are.

a waft of his heady perfume hits you just as he arrives at your side. “what are you doing here?”

what the fuck are you supposed to say? “i, uh—”

“she must’ve come to visit you, sir,” the receptionist pipes up chirpily.

at that, bakugou regards her with a look—one that says, do you mind? and you guess he must use that a lot around here, because she snaps her mouth closed in an instant, and bows before retreating to her spot behind the counter.

you keep your eyes trained on the woman as she scurries, wishing the ground would swallow you up before you’re forced to look at the pro-hero. but then he says your name again, and your head creaks to face him as if it’s got a mind of its own, its automaticity akin to that of vines winding to get the smallest peek at the sun.

“well?” he demands, brow raised in waiting.

“i was just going home and noticed your building was on the way,” you answer truthfully, a tad bit embarrassed. you shouldn’t have stopped and let your curiosity get the better of you.

he studies you for a second longer before his gaze drops to the things you’re carrying. “you were walking home? with those?”

“yeah…” you respond, voice small. “don’t worry, they’re not that heavy,” you lie.

and before he can call you out on your deceit, you throw the question back at him. “how ‘bout you?”

the second it tumbles off your lips, you knew it was fucking stupid.

“…i work here?”

there it is. in a last-ditch effort to save face, you let out a laugh, although it comes out a bit stilted. he narrows his eyes at you, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was amused.

“let me drive you home,” he offers out of the blue, you almost choke.

“what? no, i’m okay.”

“your shoulders are about to give out,” he says pointedly. “don’t be fucking stubborn.”

“seriously, i’m alright,” you insist, and he sighs. you turn it right back at him, “don’t you have somewhere to be? you’re actually leaving early for once.”

and strangely enough, he is. from the few weeks of knowing knowing him, you’ve learned that the man puts in overtime almost every single day, which has been one of the reasons why your hangouts were always scheduled on the weekends.

“‘m visiting my parents,” comes his curt reply.

you beam at him. it’s funny how picturing this hulking brute of a man as his parents’ son makes you feel warm. “that’s so nice of you.”

“‘s nothing,” he dismisses, before: “they’ve been asking about you, you know.”

“me?” you repeat lamely. “what about me?”

he shrugs. “just basic information about you, how we’re doing, and all that crap…”

and when you don’t say anything, he just goes straight for it. “they want you to visit.”

you gape at him.

“but don’t be pressured, and shit,” he backtracks. “i know that’s a tall order.”

huh.

“…i’ll think about it,” you eventually offer with a nod. and you will—later. when you’ve got your wits about you. but for now, you hastily go through your bags and pick out the thing.

“here,” you say, just as you thrust the small bouquet of orange tulips toward him. “give these to your mom. or dad. or both, really.”

his eyes dart between you and the flowers and then back at you again. great, you think to yourself. you’ve successfully rendered the man speechless.

“take it,” you assert after a moment. “they’re better off in you guys’ hands, anyway.”

he examines them for another while, before he finally takes them off your hands.

“thanks.”

you only smile at him. to your pleasant surprise, he flashes a small one back.

(9:06 pm) bakugou katsuki: i’d tell you to check the news but i know it’ll take you a century. i’m at 6th now.

the drowsiness that was just clouding your brain wards off like smoke that’s being fanned away. you sit up on your couch, rubbing your eyes with one hand while you type out a response with the other.

(9:07 pm) you: ha. and congrats!!! that’s great to hear 🥳

you barely get to adjust your butt’s position when a notification pops in.

(9:07 pm) bakugou katsuki: thanks. and my parents loved it, just so you know. the old hag especially.

you smile. another message.

(9:08 pm) bakugou katsuki: she wants you to come over for dinner this weekend.

your face falls. shit. you didn’t see this coming.

(9:09 pm) you: so soon?

your default ringtone resounds across your one-bedroom unit.

(9:09 pm) bakugou katsuki: she’s in a rush. say no if you don’t want to.

you pause, suddenly acutely aware of the guilt that’s stewing in the pit of your stomach. is deceiving his parents necessary, when all you need is to put on an act for the general public? still, bakugou did say his mother was in a rush. maybe he just got sick of her insistent nagging.

you take a sharp inhale.

(9:12 pm) you: i’m down 🫡

and just because there’s nothing more fun than pulling at his leg:

(9:12 pm) you: …granted i’ll get paid for it 😊

ping.

(9:13 pm) bakugou katsuki: you and your greedy ass. fine.

“and so that’s how i got masaru here to say yes to a date!”

you laugh as mitsuki loops an arm around the shoulder of the brunette sitting beside her, who only chuckles to himself, a faint pink sitting high on his cheeks. you chance a glance at bakugou, and sure enough, he’s rolling his eyes at his mother’s finishing line.

“what?” he quips defensively when you toss him a pointed look. “i’ve heard this story a million times.”

“and you’re gonna hear it again, tsuki,” mitsuki replies unapologetically.

bakugou only groans as you smile at the couple from across the table. “i think that was an excellent story, mitsuki-san.”

“thank you, y/n. but enough about us!” she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and you feel your stomach drop. “how ‘bout you two, huh? what’s the deal?”

“the deal is you’re being nosy as fuck,” comes bakugou’s snappy retort.

“come on, katsuki,” masaru implores, a playful lilt in his tone. “we’d love to hear about how things are going between the two of you.”

“is the press being all up in your ass?” mitsuki demands, “because i can tell them to fuck off if you need me to.”

“sure, if you want to fucking embarrass me.”

“you know what, i’d actually love to do that.”

“fucking hag—”

you worriedly watch the two ash blondes as they go at each other’s throats, before you look at masaru for help. he only shoots you a meek albeit unalarmed expression, which is enough to tell you this isn’t an uncommon occurrence in the bakugou household. thankfully, though, they calm down after a beat, opting to glare daggers at each other instead.

“to answer your question, mitsuki-san,” you take the gamble and interject, and everybody whips to look at you, “they’re being quite harmless. you know, minus all the circulating information about my life.”

at that, mitsuki’s joyful countenance morphs into one of sorriness. “i’m afraid that’s part of having a soulmate with a high profile, dear. it doesn’t help that you were being filmed when you both found out.”

“yeah, well, there’s not much we can do about it,” you offer with a genuine smile.

“is that why you’re just leaning into it?” asks masaru. “hanging out in public and all?”

“uh—”

“obviously,” bakugou cuts you off. you turn to look at him, stunned, before shifting back to face the couple.

“uh, yes,” you continue, “we figured there wasn’t any point in hiding anymore.”

that seems to perk mitsuki up. “hide what, tsuki?”

and when neither of you says anything: “are you trying to tell us something?”

you sneak a glance at bakugou, only to find him already looking at you. you stare at each other for what feels like a minute short of forever, before he breaks eye contact and cooly says the next thing.

says the next thing while simultaneously pulling the rug from under your feet.

“we’re dating,” he declares, and you sit there, witnessing his parents’ eyes bug out in surprise, hoping yours aren’t betraying the very same emotion you’re feeling right now.

“really?”

“oh my god! since when?”

bakugou huffs, practically exuding annoyance. “yes, and just recently. end of discussion.”

masaru laughs in delight while mitsuki pouts, although you can tell she’s fighting off a grin.

“and here we thought you were gonna die alone, tsuki,” masaru jokes.

“shitty fucking—”

“no, but seriously,” interrupts mitsuki, “i was getting nervous, katsuki. what with my diagnosis, i thought i’d never get to see you be happy with someone.”

you pause, looking at the man beside you. “diagnosis?”

“oh! he didn’t tell you?” mitsuki queries, tone laced with worry. “i don’t mean to be a party pooper, but i just got diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer a few months ago.”

shit. “i’m so sorry, mitsuki-san—”

the woman waves you off, a beautiful smile adorning her familiar features. “don’t be, dear. the doctor says the outlook is good as long as i strictly adhere to treatment.”

despite that, you can’t help but frown. “how are you feeling these days?”

“i’m good!” she supplies cheerfully. “masaru and i have been spending more quality time together, and katsuki’s been visiting more often. and of course, you being here is an added bonus.”

you toss the woman a grateful look, which she returns generously. mitsuki talks some more about it before shifting the conversation back to less depressing territories, like what bakugou was like growing up and her and masaru’s plans for retirement. eventually, minutes turned into a few hours, and came the time to go home. you profusely thank the couple as you begin to head outside, while bakugou steps out to his porsche to get the engine started.

“i’ll be hoping for your speedy recovery, mitsuki-san,” you say as you step out onto their front porch.

“thanks, dear. and i’ll be hoping that things go well between you and katsuki, okay?”

you force a smile on your face and the words out of your mouth. “i hope so, too.”

the air is tense between you and bakugou as you step out of his car at your complex’s parking lot, then through the doors at the guarded entrance, and even during the elevator ride up to your floor.

neither of you says a word the entire time, sharing only a few nods and glances with you leading the way. you were fully expecting him to just drive off the second you got out of his pristine vehicle, but he ended up exiting with you and following your trail like a shadow.

thankfully, not many people are still around to see you in the lobby or on your floor, even if it’s still 9-ish on a saturday. you both were all for being spotted together, but maybe being seen at either of your residences will cause more trouble than help. you are about to say this to break the ice when you arrive at the end of the hallway and in front of your unit, but bakugou beats you to it.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

you freeze, blinking at him. “didn’t tell me what?”

he sighs, and suddenly the lines that you were convinced weren’t on his face a second ago are now evident—along with the exhaustion that’s carved right into it. “that my mom has cancer.”

you frown. “there’s nothing to apologize for, bakugou. you’re not obligated to tell me.”

“still,” he insists, seemingly growing more tired by the moment. “it blindsided you, hearing it from her. i should’ve just told you earlier.”

“maybe,” you admit, “but i understand your apprehension.”

he grumbles, but doesn’t reply. you decide to just go for it.

“can i ask you something?”

he looks up from where he was staring at the off-white tiled floor, expectant. “what?”

“is she part of the reason?” you begin, treading carefully. “why you wanted to put up appearances?”

he stares at you for a beat, perhaps a beat too long because you find yourself slowly regretting bringing up the query in the first place. you are about to backtrack and apologize for asking when, to your surprise, he nods.

ever so slightly that it’s almost imperceptible, but enough of a motion for you to see it.

“i just wanted to seem like i’m putting myself out there,” he mutters, “just in case something happens.”

you nod, ignoring the way your heart is stinging at his sincerity just now.

“she’s always been on my ass about finding someone, but then things happened and you showed up, and i figured why not just hit two birds with one stone, or some shit.”

a pause.

“personally i wouldn’t want to be the stone hitting not just one but two poor birds, but i get it.”

that must’ve caught him off guard, because bakugou snorts. you grin at him when he snickers and calls you stupid under his breath, the atmosphere taking a vastly lighter turn.

now, you didn’t notice it before—much like how you didn’t notice his agency’s building being part of your regular route to the mall—but bakugou has a dimple. a tiny one. and similar to his nod from a short while ago, it’s a subtle little thing, but it’s there—especially now that he’s smiling.

and right next to his dimple are his lips.

which are looking ungodly moisturized compared to your undoubtedly chapped ones.

wait.

your eyes shoot up from his lips to his eyes, a tidal wave of equal parts shame and humiliation ready to crash over your entire, pathetic body. but just as it is about to metaphorically collide with your frame, it freezes—just as you do.

because you catch him—and no matter how much he might try to deny it, you saw it with your own two eyes.

he was staring at your lips.

but apparently denying it isn’t part of his agenda for the night, because he does the exact fucking opposite.

he dives in and presses his lips onto yours.

and you were right—they are sinfully soft, even if you haven’t seen him apply lip balm in the handful of instances you hung out.

and as far as you can remember, this is the last coherent thought that crosses your mind, because the next few minutes go by like a blur. you vaguely recall him pulling away and looking straight at you, as if waiting for a reaction, before leaning right back in when you pull him closer by his shirt. what you don’t remember is who opens the door or how you manage to use your keys without breaking the momentum, but you magically do, just as magically as how fast clothes are shed on the way to your bed.

you recall him eagerly towering over you as your back hit the soft sheets of your mattress, as well as the honest admission of his inexperience yet willingness to learn against your neck. you remember guiding him, telling him how to touch you and the right places to do so—where to rub and lick and thrust not just his fingers to drive you over the edge.

and he does—drive you over the edge. over and over and over that you lost count. and you equally returned the favor, shocked at your own desperation and unusual determination to make him feel good. you recall his being vocal—which you loved, if the incessant wetness between your thighs that lasted the entire night was any indication. you don’t remember when you finished for the last time—when you both crashed out from sheer exhaustion.

but it eventually happened—otherwise, you wouldn’t be laying here, naked under the covers, with a sleeping bakugou illuminated by the sunlight peeking through your black-out curtains.

this wasn’t part of the plan.

the whole pretending to be amicable soulmates plan, sure. but perhaps more importantly, your short-term plan that consists of…well, today and tomorrow.

the last thing you need is to actually be tethered to a person this late in the game.

still, and despite the palpable regret that sits heavy on your chest—the one that’s very bare at the moment albeit concealed under your freshly-washed blanket—you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want it. besides, you don’t have anything else to blame for your behavior last night other than your own free will.

but why do you still feel so empty?

“you okay?”

ripped out of your stupor, you whip to look to your left, and you don’t know who else you were expecting, but your eyes still widen in surprise when you see a naked bakugou, slightly propped up by his two elbows that strain under his hefty weight. unable to sustain his gaze, you keep your line of vision trained on this one vein that runs along the length of his arm as you merely nod in response.

unsurprisingly, he doesn’t take that for an answer.

“i’m not asking again,” he warns, and your eyes shoot up to meet his in disbelief.

the words are out before you can rein them in. “are you always this mouthy even in the morning?”

“i’m not a morning person,” he simply spits back, as if that’s enough of an explanation in itself.

you furrow your brows at him, having half a mind to lock in on this staredown until the fluid in your eyes dries out and you finally, finally die (or go blind, whichever comes first), but then just as quickly as it possessed you with his challenge, the fight within you dies out, leaving your body limp with numbness and fatigue. you break eye contact when it happens, shaking your head in resignation.

you settle with: “it’s nothing,” and blindly hope he leaves it at that.

“‘s not nothing if it’s clearly bothering you,” he retorts to your chagrin.

“i don’t want to be embarrassingly vulnerable if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

at that, he scoffs. “we fucked. multiple times last night. it can’t get any more vulnerable than that.”

you flush at his brazenness. “yeah, well, that’s the thing. we…you know,” you lower your voice for the next bit, “had sex, and now the lines are getting blurry and it’s all confusing.”

and when he doesn’t say anything for a moment, you tie your spiel with a mangled bow. “i told you it was gonna be embarrassing for me.”

that seems to rub him off the wrong way, because his nose flares in irritation. “why’re you talking like i’m some cold ass fuckboy? i told you, didn’t i? there’s nothing fucking casual about me.”

“i didn’t mean it like—”

“let me talk first,” he commands, and you shut up.

he sighs when you do, letting his head droop between his shoulders. “i don’t regret it, but if you do, then i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have made a move.”

you sit up from where you were lying down, the motion causing him to look up and at you as you shake your head, “don’t apologize, bakugou. it’s just…”

you trail off, weighing on what you can and cannot say.

“it’s just what?” he prods.

you let out a long exhale. “it’s just things are a bit…complicated, to say the least.”

that makes the pro-hero frown, but he doesn’t get to push you to expound on it because a booming voice erupts throughout the room, entirely juxtaposing the earlier quiet. you startle, then ease up when you realize it’s all might’s, and that it’s merely a ringtone. bakugou scrambles out of bed to fetch his phone, and you manage to look away just in time to avoid catching a glimpse of his massive dick.

which, after last night, is really just for courtesy purposes at this point.

thankfully, you don’t have to stare at the ceiling for too long because he retrieves it in record time, before hurriedly crawling back and flinging the covers on top of his lower half.

he eyes you as he brings the device up to his ear and speaks into it. “what is it, nerd?”

you strain to listen in on the voice at the other end, but you barely manage to pick up on a few words. you resort to observing bakugou’s facial expressions instead.

“cut to the chase,” he spews, and you find yourself feeling bad for the other person. “i’m busy right now.”

you watch as bakugou listens to the “nerd’s” reply, stiffening when the pro-hero curses under his breath.

“it’s next weekend? why’d you have to book it this early, then?”

was he planning to meet this person somewhere?

“shit. fine, i’ll ask her.”

you don’t even get to wonder who her is before bakugou swiftly brings his other hand up to cover the microphone, regarding you straight-up.

“shitty deku and round cheeks want to hang out next weekend,” he explains, slightly hesitant, before: “you up for that?”

you make a quick survey of bakugou’s face. can you even say no, at this point? technically, you can, but an inkling deep inside you points at your needing a distraction, because otherwise…

otherwise…

no, now’s not the time for that.

instead, you nod, forcing a smile on your lips. “i’ll go.”

bakugou stares at you for a beat, gaze borderline scrutinizing it makes you uneasy. but then he nods, and you find yourself taking a sharp breath as he goes back to his phone call.

“we’re in.”

“once again, serving time will be 15 to 20 minutes, and i’m haruhi, your server for this evening.”

you collectively thank the waitress as she beams at the four of you while serving your glasses of water, before turning around to return to the kitchen.

“this restaurant’s really hard to get into, you know,” shares midoriya when the girl is out of earshot, catching your attention. “but i heard their katsudon is really, really good, so i worked hard to get us a reservation.”

“worked hard, my ass,” sneers bakugou without missing a beat. “you pulled some strings. i recognize the owner, he’s the father of one of your top students.”

“kacchan—”

“don’t tease him, bakugou,” the brunette interjects, an adorable pout etched on her pretty face. “i was with him, he was on the phone for thirty minutes with the receptionist begging for a slot.”

“and you two are begging to be teased,” comes bakugou’s snarky quip. “quit it with the whole defending him, would ya?”

you fail to stop the smile that invades your lips as the new couple blush at bakugou’s remark, an unmistakable tinge of pink flooding both of their cheeks.

“if it’s okay to ask,” you start, tamping down the shyness that looms in when the two across you regard you pleasantly, “how long have you been dating?”

“uh, about three months, right, izuku?” uraraka replies quietly, the pink from earlier now blossoming into a more apparent red as she looks at the man.

“y-yes, three months,” confirms the greenhead.

from where he’s seated to your left, bakugou snorts. “it’s been a long time coming, if you ask me.”

“you make it sound so simple, bakugou,” counters uraraka, before shifting to face you. “it really wasn’t easy to get to this point, y/n. i’m not sure if bakugou’s told you, but we went through a lot in ua and even after that, which made entertaining anything beyond hero work impossible. plus,” she adds timidly, “there’s this whole soulmate situation on top of everything.”

curious, you ask. “what soulmate situation?”

and, as if they’ve gone through these motions countless times before, both midoriya and uraraka lift up their right wrists and thrust them forward for you to see. you lean forward to get a better view.

you look at midoriya’s first. his looks just like yours before you met bakugou a little over a month ago—opaque and conveniently set at zero. you then glance at uraraka’s, but to your surprise, hers looks different. a huge number is written on her flesh…

but it’s static and greyed out.

you look up at the woman, confused, and she’s quick to explain. “my soulmate died a few years ago.”

she shrugs, “and izuku’s…well, he’s never heard of them.”

“not that we wouldn’t be with each other if they were both around,” clarifies midoriya, who says it so quickly he almost stumbles over his words. “it’s just that because of these circumstances, our relationship is a bit…unconventional.”

“i understand,” you promptly reply with the most gracious expression you can muster. uraraka shoots you a grateful look, while midoriya bashfully scratches at his head.

you sense bakugou’s gaze on you through your periphery, but you ignore it.

you wouldn’t be able to hold it, anyway.

“it’s romantic, isn’t it?”

you round the corner, careful not to brush against bakugou when he does the same to your left. a sigh of relief threatens to wrack over the entirety of your frame when you’re met with the sight of the familiar-looking street, brightly illuminated by an array of streetlights dotting the entire length of it.

“what,” he says more than asks, effortlessly keeping up with your pace with his long strides.

you take a fleeting glance at him, before shifting your attention back to the pavement in front of you. “midoriya and uraraka, and how they chose each other.”

“i guess…” he responds, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “but i’ve always seen it from lightyears away.”

you pause, although you’re quick to step back into your rhythmic walking. “really?”

“they’ve always had each other’s backs even before ua,” he explains. “it’s creepy how similar they are to each other, too. it’d be weird if they didn’t end up together.”

he says it so seriously you can’t help but laugh. you catch him looking at you, smirking. “you’ve got an interesting way with words, bakugou.”

“sue me.”

you, in fact, don’t sue him, but you do unleash a cutting wisecrack in his direction, which he counters with his, and this goes on and on without pause that you don’t even notice you’ve already arrived at the front of your condominium unit until he points it out.

and as the weighty realization of this dawns on you, so do the memories of what happened when you were last here together. you rush to suppress them, and pick up the conversation from where you left off.

“i don’t know about you,” you quip, tossing him a grin, “but i take comfort in the fact that people can find someone beyond their designated soulmates.”

to your dismay, albeit somewhat unsurprisingly, bakugou doesn’t return it—the grin nor the sentiment, apparently—because he only stares at you weirdly, like you just said something…off.

great, you think to yourself. now you’ve ruined it.

might as well ruin it even further at this point, right?

finally, and to your brain’s relief, you let the damned grin fall off your face, let your shoulders sag from the strenuous effort to seem tall and confident for the last few hours, and you heave a heavy, heavy sigh. you sense bakugou stiffen at your palpable change in demeanor, but you pay it no mind.

“look,” you start, willing yourself to look up to meet his eyes, which you instantly regret because now they’re laced with obvious concern. still, you press on and gulp. “i didn’t want to do this, but i guess i have no choice now, do i?”

“what are you—”

“i know things are weird right now, and i just had to go ahead and start catching feelings like a lunatic, but i—”

you trail off, uncertain, before deciding fuck it. “this can’t go on, bakugou.”

the second you let the words out, you can only watch with anticipatory dread as a million emotions dance across his features. you stand there as he opens his mouth, before closing them, and then opening them again, although nothing comes out.

what seems like an eternity passes before he finally gets something out.

“…why?”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it’s because i’m sick.”

there.

but then he says something that completely throws you off balance.

“i know.”

you feel your eyes widen in surprise as he diverts his gaze. “what? how?”

“i—” he starts, reluctant, before: “i noticed.”

instantly, you flame in embarrassment. you thought you had this whole masking thing pinned the fuck down. and all this time you hadn’t?

you must’ve looked distraught at his admission, because he swiftly tries to soothe you. “don’t hide,” he says, and only then do you realize you’re shrinking in yourself like you do when you want to disappear. he frowns, “the last thing you need to be is fucking ashamed.”

at that, and despite yourself, you snort. you don’t have the heart to tell him you can’t remember the last time you felt shame over your condition from how long it’s just been there—an unwavering part of your life. still, you force a reply. “thanks.”

and before he can say anything uselessly placating that’ll only chip away at the very little you have left, you beat him to it. “i should head inside.”

“but—”

“good night, bakugou.”

and just like that, you spin on your heel, open the door with your keys, and close it shut in his face.

the conversation from earlier wouldn’t leave his head.

even as he tosses and turns on top of his king-sized mattress, and even as the clock ticks past the usual, strict bedtime he’s set for himself as early as high school, he finds himself wide awake, his steady heartbeat the only thing that’s breaking the monotonous quiet of his lonely bedroom.

so much happened in the course of the few minutes in front of your place, that while he prides himself in his acuity and general sharpness, he admits even he couldn’t have responded the way he should have despite desperately wanting to.

which fucking reminds him.

he didn’t get to say he likes you back.

he was so wrapped up in you implicitly trashing your soulmate connection, as well as you calling it quits that he barely registered your hasty confession. not when you immediately followed it up with an acknowledgment of what’s been causing you pain.

and as he stares at the dimly lit ceiling of his room, bakugou arrives at a pivotal realization—his feelings should be the least of your worries.

but that doesn’t mean you didn’t deserve to know.

so with a renewed sense of determination, the pro-hero promptly sits up and reaches for the phone that’s perched idly on his nightstand. 10:07 pm, it reads. you should still be awake by now.

he types out a message.

(10:08 pm) me: you awake? can i call you?

he presses the send button before he can back out of it.

what feels like five minutes pass without a single chime emanating from his phone, at which point he finally allows himself to let the anxiety creep up his neck. he stares at your caller id, debating whether or not you’d get mad if he just went ahead and called you.

eventually, and after five more minutes, bakugou decides he’d rather face your wrath than deal with his own regret.

so he calls you. once, no answer. second attempt, sent straight to voicemail. third, fourth, and fifth, and that’s when a ghastly chill envelopes him.

it couldn’t be.

still, with bated breath and immense dread pooling in his stomach, he slowly lifts his right wrist to check.

only to find that the timer has stopped.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

[ticifics]

Wasn't it obvious?

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: For a moment, Dave stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused. “Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?” You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question. “I... I didn’t know.” “But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious."

Warnings: mention of sex (not explicit), insecurity, est. relationship, hurt comfort, a little angst

A/N: anon, I hope you can like it <333!!

The room was still bathed in the dim light of morning, with the curtains barely drawn, letting streaks of sunlight spill across the space. You woke up slowly, feeling the warmth of his body still so close. Dave’s breathing was soft and steady, the rhythm of someone deeply asleep. A heavy arm lay draped over your waist, a silent reminder that he had no intention of letting you slip away anytime soon.

Your eyes wandered around the messy room, clothes scattered on the floor—your shirt precariously hanging off the edge of a chair, his pants on the rug, half-hidden under the bed. You knew you needed to leave. There were commitments, schedules, things waiting for you out there. But the weight of that moment, of his warmth, seemed to beg you to stay.

“You awake?” Dave’s husky voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t open his eyes right away, but the grip around your waist tightened slightly. When he finally looked at you, his blue eyes were clouded with sleep, dark curls falling a little over his forehead. “Stay a little longer. It’s still early…”

“I have to go,” you murmured, even as his fingers lazily traced the curve of your arm. His touch was so light, as if he wanted to draw out every second.

“No, you don’t.” He smiled in that way that always made your resolve waver—that small, crooked smile, almost boyish, but filled with something he probably didn’t even realize he carried. Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked straight at you, his eyes shining even in the faint light. “Who’s gonna care if you skip, huh?”

You laughed softly, knowing he was teasing, though there was a hint of truth in his words. Dave had this way of making you feel like the rest of the world didn’t matter, like that moment—just the two of you, tangled in messy sheets—was the only thing that did.

“You’re not going to make me stay,” you warned, but your voice didn’t sound as convincing as you’d intended. He seemed to catch on, because his smile grew wider.

“What if I hold you down right here?” He stretched his arms dramatically, trying to pull you closer, but you slipped out, laughing again.

“Stop it, Dave,” you said, trying to get up, though you could feel the weight of his gaze following you. You grabbed your shirt first, pulling it off the chair, and started putting it on with your back to him, all too aware of his eyes on you. When you turned around, he was still there, propped up on his hand, his hair messy, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made warmth creep up your face.

“You’re really gonna leave me here all alone?” His tone was playful, almost pouty, but there was something else beneath it—something that was always there in the spaces between words, something you never quite dared to name.

“I am,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light, though something inside you tightened. You knew he wasn’t holding you there, that you were free to leave. But you also knew there were unspoken things between you, things that made moments like this harder than they should be.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the pillow, though his eyes never left you. “Fine. But only because I know you’ll come back.”

You paused for a second, still holding onto the waistband of the pants you’d just pulled on. His gaze seemed to carry more weight than his words. But, as always, you let it pass.

“Maybe,” you said, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips. And before he could respond, you grabbed your things and started moving toward the door, feeling his eyes on you until the very last second.

“Hey,” he called out, just as your hand touched the doorknob. You turned to look at him one last time. He looked so at ease there, so comfortable, with his messy curls and that smile that always made your heart race. “You look amazing in the morning, you know that?”

“See you later, Dave,” you said, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat, and left before he could trap you with another comment.

The café was just busy enough that the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups against saucers created a constant noise, but not so much that it stopped you from relaxing for a few minutes. You sat near the window, the warm coffee cup in your hands, trying to organize your thoughts. There was so much to do, so many things you were trying to ignore—and one of them seemed to have a face framed by dark curls and blue eyes that took up far more space in your mind than you cared to admit.

"Hey, is that really you?"

The familiar voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and when you looked up, it took a second to recognize the person standing in front of you.

"Katie?" The surprise was clear in your voice, but a smile quickly appeared on your lips. It was her, without a doubt—the same Katie Deauxma from high school, though now her features seemed more mature. Her hair was a bit shorter, but the easy smile she always had was exactly the same.

"Yeah!" Katie laughed, looking just as surprised to see you there. "Wow, it's been ages! How are you?"

"I'm good. Wow, it really has been a long time," you said, standing for a quick, slightly awkward hug. She seemed as comfortable as ever, and the conversation flowed naturally as the two of you sat down together.

Katie asked about college, what you were studying, and shared a bit about her own courses and what she'd been up to since high school. It was pleasant, even nostalgic, talking to someone who knew you from before.

Until she asked, casually, "So, are you dating anyone? Or just enjoying the single life?"

You hesitated for a second that felt like an eternity. The words formed in your mind before you could fully think through their weight, slipping out before you could stop them.

"Actually… I am dating someone."

It was a lie. Or wasn't it? You didn’t know anymore. But the sound of the word in your mouth brought an instant pang of guilt, something that tightened in your chest as Katie’s smile widened.

“Oh, really? That’s great! Who’s the lucky one?”

“Dave Lizewski,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual. Katie blinked, surprised, before letting out a short laugh.

“Dave? Wow! I haven’t talked to him in ages. We dated, remember? Back in high school.”

You nodded, feeling your stomach sink. Of course you remembered. Everyone remembered. Dave and Katie had been the cute couple in school, the kind everyone thought was improbable, even cliché—the nerd with the popular girl.

“He was so sweet. A little awkward, but always so thoughtful,” Katie continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions building inside you. “You two must make a great couple, I’m sure.”

You smiled, or tried to, and murmured something vague in response. But all you could think was that she was right. Dave was sweet. He was thoughtful, even with his goofy comments and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. He held your hand in public. He made a point to walk you home when he could.

But he had never called you his girlfriend.

And now you were sitting here, listening to Katie talk about what he was like when they dated, and something inside you was breaking into pieces you didn’t even know existed. You remembered them together—how she’d hold onto his arm in the school hallways, how happy he looked next to her. And suddenly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he looked at you the same way he looked at her.

You finished your coffee as quickly as you could, saying goodbye to Katie with a smile that felt increasingly forced. She hugged you again before leaving, promising that you should meet up again sometime.

When you were alone again, the noise of the café felt louder, like it was echoing inside you. The empty cup in front of you felt like a weight holding you there, while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.

Girlfriend.

You’d said it. And now the word felt like it was haunting you, something far too big to carry. You never wanted to be this person, the one who lied or twisted things to fit into something that might not even be real.

But you couldn’t help it.

Because deep down, you wanted it to be true.

Thursday nights always held a special weight. It was an unspoken tradition between the two of you. No matter what happened during the week—piles of work, tough exams, or tight deadlines—Thursdays were reserved for you two. And no matter how hard you tried to focus on something else, the memory of your encounter with Katie had been pounding in your head ever since you left the café.

You had tried to shake it off with a stack of required reading, loud music through your headphones, and even a spontaneous apartment cleaning spree, but nothing worked. Katie's voice kept echoing, her smile, the way she talked about Dave. The way she referred to him as someone who used to be hers, as if there was still a part of him trapped in the past that might never belong to you.

And then there was you. And the lie. Or was it the truth? You didn’t even know anymore. The weight of the words that had slipped out before you could stop them—they felt heavier now, like stones sinking in your stomach. You said it because you wanted to believe it was real. But what about him? What would he think if he knew?

The sound of the doorbell yanked you from your thoughts. It was him.

You took a deep breath, trying to quiet the chaos inside, and opened the door. Dave stood there, as he always did, with his messy curls and a small smile that grew wider just for you. He held a plastic bag with a pack of fries and two sodas—the kind of thing he always brought because he knew you loved it.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping inside. His touch was warm, familiar. But tonight, it felt harder to relax around him, like the storm in your head was keeping you from grounding yourself in the moment.

“Hey,” you replied, closing the door as he made his way to the kitchen, putting the sodas in the fridge without even asking. He’d been doing this for so long that it was second nature.

“You okay?” Dave asked, opening the bag of fries and tossing one into his mouth. He looked at you with those blue eyes, his forehead creasing slightly with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answered quickly—maybe too quickly. He noticed. Of course, he did. Dave had always had this uncanny ability to sense when something was off, even when you tried to hide it.

“Are you sure? You seem kind of...” He gestured vaguely with his hand.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, a bit more firmly. “Just tired, that’s all.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, but the way he kept watching you while munching on a fry made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Wanna watch a movie or something? I brought that one you said you wanted to see...”

“I’m not sure I feel like watching a movie tonight,” you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral as you grabbed a glass of water for yourself. It was a small response, almost insignificant, but the tension was already starting to build.

“Alright, so what do you want to do?” He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze calm and his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the knot tightening inside you.

“I don’t know, Dave!” The words came out sharper than you intended, and the tone in your voice made his eyebrows lift.

“Okay, easy,” he said slowly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking. No need to bite my head off.”

You sighed, guilt starting to creep in. But instead of stopping, the words began spilling out before you could catch them. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s just... I don’t know. I’m tired. I had a rough day, and then you show up with your fries like everything is so simple, like... like I just need a movie, and everything will be fine.”

He blinked, visibly confused, but his tone remained calm. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t know you were feeling so... like this.”

“Like this?” You crossed your arms, the tension in your stance growing. “What’s that supposed to mean, Dave?”

“You know what I mean,” he said, but now there was something in his tone that suggested he was trying to keep his patience in check.

“Actually, I don’t,” you shot back, your voice rising. But as soon as the words left your mouth, you felt the sting of tears welling in your eyes, and the lump in your throat that had been forming all day was now nearly unbearable.

Dave noticed immediately. Of course, he did. He might not have been great with words, but he never failed to pick up on when something was wrong with you. His expression shifted in an instant, confusion giving way to a concern so genuine it made you feel even more vulnerable.

“Hey, hey,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softer now. “What’s going on? Are you crying?”

“I’m not,” you lied, turning your face away, but he didn’t buy it.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, and before you could step back, Dave was already close enough to gently take your hands in his. “Look at me.”

You hesitated but finally lifted your gaze. His blue eyes met yours, filled with so much concern it was almost impossible to hold the contact.

“Talk to me,” he said. It wasn’t a command; it was an invitation. “Please.”

The weight in your chest felt like it was about to explode, and the words came out before you could stop them.

“I ran into Katie.”

Dave blinked, visibly surprised. “Katie?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, trying to look away, but he stayed close, holding your hands with almost unbearable tenderness. “We bumped into each other by chance. Talked for a few minutes.”

He tilted his head, his blue eyes narrowing slightly, now a mix of curiosity and concern. “And?”

“She asked about you,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. “And I... I told her I was your girlfriend.”

Dave went quiet for a moment. Not the heavy silence of judgment, but the kind of pause he always took when he was trying to fully understand something.

“Okay,” he began cautiously. “And... why does that seem to be hurting you?”

“Because I don’t know if it’s true!” you burst out, the confession hitting with a force that made you flinch. “I said I was your girlfriend, but I didn’t know if I was lying. We’ve never talked about this, never put a name on what we have. And now all I can think about is whether I said something that wasn’t real.”

For a moment, he stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on you. The expression on his face wasn’t judgmental or angry but simply confused.

“Wait...” he began, hesitantly. “You’re telling me you thought we weren’t dating?”

You stayed silent, the weight in your chest tightening at his question.

“I... I didn’t know,” you admitted, your voice weak, barely a whisper.

“But...” He ran a hand through his messy curls, looking lost. “I thought it was kind of obvious. I mean, we see each other all the time, spend nights together, you steal my shirts...”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you cut him off, frustration mixed with nervousness. “People do that all the time without dating, Dave.”

“But I don’t do that with just anyone,” he countered, his blue eyes locking onto yours, as if he wanted to make this point crystal clear. “I do that with you because I want to be with you. Because I thought... well, I thought it was obvious.”

“But you never said it,” you argued, feeling the tears starting to return. “And I never said it either. And that’s what’s been driving me crazy. I didn’t know what we were.”

Dave sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked like he was processing everything all at once, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he stepped closer until he was near enough to hold your hands again.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Then let’s make it clear now.”

His tone was calm but firm, and when he spoke again, it felt like every word had been carefully chosen.

“I’m with you,” he said. “And I thought that was obvious, but if it wasn’t, I’m saying it now: I want to be with you. Just you. And if that means we’re dating, then yeah, I guess we’re dating.”

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

“But...” you began, the word almost lost in the lump in your throat. “What about Katie?”

He frowned, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic.

“What about Katie?”

“She was your first girlfriend,” you continued, your voice cracking slightly. “And I remember how you two were. Everyone thought you were perfect together. And now, seeing her again, I can’t stop thinking that...”

“That what?” He tilted his head, his eyes filled with concern.

“That I’ll never be good enough,” you confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Dave was silent for a moment, but before you could say more, he shook his head with a soft, incredulous laugh.

“Are you serious?” he asked, his voice full of almost overwhelming tenderness.

You looked at him, confused.

“I broke up with Katie years ago,” he said, as though reminding you of something obvious. “And yeah, it was important to me. She was my first girlfriend. But that doesn’t mean anything now. She’s part of my past, that’s all. You’re my present. And my future, if I’m lucky.”

You tried to process his words, but the lump in your throat only seemed to grow.

“But what if I’m not enough?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“You already are enough,” he answered immediately, without hesitation. He stepped closer, so close that you were almost nose to nose. “More than enough. And you don’t need to compare yourself to Katie or anyone else. Because no one comes close to you, got it? No one.”

His eyes were so intense, so full of emotion, that you felt tears slipping down your cheeks.

“I’m here because I want to be here,” he continued, his voice now softer. “Because you’re who I want. And nothing—absolutely nothing—is going to change that.”

You closed your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it was impossible. When you opened them again, Dave was already pulling you into a tight embrace, wrapping you in a tenderness that felt both overwhelming and comforting all at once.

Dave’s arms tightened around you as if he were trying to shield you from the outside world—or maybe from yourself. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and for a moment, the only sound you could hear was the steady beat of his heart, like a reassuring rhythm that seemed to absorb all the anxiety that had consumed you until then.

“You’re more than enough,” he repeated, his voice low and steady, as if it were something he needed you to believe more than anything else. And you wanted to believe it.

Minutes passed like that, in a cocoon of quiet comfort, with him holding you as if the whole world had disappeared. And you stayed there, letting yourself surrender to that sense of relief, of not needing to worry about anything else. Just the present. Just him.

Finally, you lifted your head, your face warm and your eyes still a little teary but calmer. You looked at him, and he looked back at you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being seen in a way no one else ever could.

“Do you really think I’m enough for you?” you asked, your voice softer now but still tinged with uncertainty. You knew he’d answered, but you needed to hear it again, to be sure.

Dave smiled, a smile that made his eyes shine with a mix of affection and certainty. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lightly grazing your skin, and answered with a tenderness that warmed your chest.

“I don’t just think,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “I know. And if you let me, I’ll show you that every single day. Because to me, you’re everything. And nothing, no one, can change that.”

His words echoed softly but with a force that was impossible to ignore. And in that moment, with your heart racing and your breath unsteady, you finally understood what he was trying to tell you. It didn’t matter what had happened in the past or the insecurities you carried. What mattered was what he was offering you now. It was real. And you wanted to believe it. Wanted to allow yourself.

You gave a small smile, the tears still falling but now accompanied by a growing sense of peace that began to fill the spaces left by doubt. “I don’t want to compare myself to anyone,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But sometimes it’s hard.”

Dave gave a small laugh, gently cupping your cheeks. “I get it,” he said. “But never forget: you’re who I chose. And you don’t need to be like anyone else. You’re unique to me, and that’s all I need.”

He pulled you closer again, and this time, instead of insecurity, the embrace was filled with something softer yet stronger—a sense that you’d found your place, a safe place full of care.

Time passed slowly, and you felt calmer, as if his words had cleared the chaos in your mind. When you looked into his eyes, you no longer saw doubt or fear—just certainty. And you felt it too. The certainty that, with him by your side, everything would be okay.

“I love you,” you whispered, not thinking too much, but with a truth that burned through your skin and filled your chest with something so profound that words couldn’t fully translate it.

Dave smiled, that genuine, happy smile of his. “I love you too,” he replied, before leaning in for a gentle kiss that made the world seem to pause for a moment. A kiss that needed no explanations. A kiss that said everything about who you were—and everything you were still about to become.

[wolvietxt]

hiiiiiii jay!! ive been having an unhealthy sleeping schedule lately, so i just wanted to know what you think frank would do if he catches you up pulling an all-nighter cause of some uni work when he came home from one of his missions. most especially, when you tell him you’ve done it for three straight nights while he was gone…

FRANK knew something was off the second he stepped into the apartment. it was quiet, too quiet, but not in the way that usually meant safety. the tv wasn’t on, no music played softly from your phone, and you didn’t come running up to him the second he locked the door behind him.  

his gut clenched.  

he slipped off his boots, careful not to track any dirt or blood onto the floor, and listened. he heard it then - the faint sound of typing. quick, rhythmic, desperate.  

with a sigh, he followed it, walking toward the kitchen, where the glow of your laptop screen cast shadows across your face. papers were scattered everywhere, some crumpled, some covered in highlighter. empty redbull cans were scattered around the tabletop. a half-eaten granola bar sat next to an empty coffee cup, and another coffee was in your hand, fingers curled tight around it like a lifeline. ��

you didn’t even notice him.  

“sweetheart.” his voice was low, firm.  

you startled, eyes snapping up. he saw the exhaustion in them instantly - red-rimmed, glassy, dark circles bruising your skin.  

“frank,” you breathed, blinking fast like you were trying to clear your vision.  

he didn’t move toward you just yet, but he looked you over, taking in the way your hands trembled around the coffee cup, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of whatever you were doing.  

“what’re you doin’ up?” he asked, though he already had an idea.  

“just… finishing some stuff,” you mumbled, eyes darting back to your laptop. “it’s nothing, really.”  

he glanced at the time on the microwave. 4:12 a.m.  

his jaw ticked.  

“when’s the last time you slept?”  

you hesitated, biting your lip, and he knew right then you were about to say something he wouldn’t like.  

“um … a little bit, here and there,” you finally said, voice too soft, too small.  

frank sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “baby.”  

“it’s fine,” you tried to reassure him, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “i just needed to catch up on work. it’s been kinda crazy, and i thought, you know, since you were gone, i’d just - ”  

“how long?”  

your mouth opened, closed.  

he took a step forward. “how long you been doin’ this?”  

“…three nights.”  

his nostrils flared.  

“three damn nights?” his voice was sharper now, and you flinched. not out of fear, but because you knew how much he hated this - hated seeing you worn down, pushing yourself past your limits. you’d hate to see him disappointed in you but in your defence, you thought he’d be home a whole lot later.

“i just - i had to, frank,” you whispered. “i got so behind, and i didn’t want you to come back to me all stressed and falling apart, so i just - ”  

his hands were on you before you could finish, tugging you up and out of the chair, wrapping you up tight against him. you didn’t even realize you were crying until he sighed against your hair, feeling the dampness on his shirt.  

“sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with something heavy, something that made your chest ache. “you think i care ‘bout any of that? you think i want you doin’ this to yourself?”  

“i just wanted to keep up,” you sniffled, fingers fisting in his jacket. “i didn’t wanna be a mess when you got back.”  

he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. his eyes, dark and tired but so damn full of love, locked onto yours.  

“you could be the biggest damn mess in the world, and i wouldn’t care. you hear me?” he said, low and firm. “don’t wanna come home to you runnin’ yourself into the ground. don’t wanna see you like this.”  

you nodded, lower lip trembling, and he groaned, pressing a kiss there, then another, then another, like he was trying to fix it, to erase the exhaustion, the stress, the weight you’d been carrying alone.  

“c’mon,” he muttered, tugging you toward the bedroom. “you’re done. no more of this.”  

“but - ”  

he shot you a look. “no buts. you’re gonna sleep.”  

you wanted to protest, but the second you hit the bed, exhaustion slammed into you like a tidal wave. you barely registered the weight of him next to you, pulling you against his chest, hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back.  

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispered against your hair, voice soft, warm. “always.”  

and for the first time in three nights, you believed it.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc, @erospecies

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[illmoraineakoi]

So, I know I'm a little (very) late to the AvA stuff, but I was rewatching AvM Season 3 for the seven hundredth time and, well, I noticed something and I'm curious to know if it's been discussed before.

AvM Episode 29, Purple's story, specifically, Pink's death.

Her color changes as she dies, or is represented to have died.

It fades to grey.

Now, the question is, can we, or rather should we, use this to infer anything lore-related? Was this just an artistic choice to depict the act of becoming unhealthy/dying, or could this be what actually happens to stick figures that die over a period of time? Are their colors linked to their health?

Let's have a bit of fun with it, and presume that the fading of one's color can happen to a stick figure for health-related reasons, as the scene could imply.

This fading seems to involve loosing the saturation of one's color into grey. Saturation is how vibrant a color is, and the complete lack of saturation is greyscale.

The World-of-Alan reason for Pink's death is that she 'got sick', which is where the health connection of this theory comes from. If she did loose her color as she was dying as the notes depict, that loss of color was likely a result of her failing health rather than any other factors, like age or outside variables. A whole bunch of human body stuff are indicators for good vs poor health, including skin color (jaundice and cyanasis are good examples) so why not a stick's color for them?

What if, when they fully die, they lose all of their original color?

Now, let me propose this…

Who else do we know of who has had their color loose vibrancy?

What if Victim's color has lightened because he's ill?

[giddlygoat]

based on this au i made. don’t worry, i’m sure they’ll work it out

[fbfh]

Do you still write for Dave Lizewski? I loved what you've written for him so far!

FUCK yes I do. Listen there's a lot I could say about Dave, but one thing that is NEVER addressed is how deeply rooted and repressed his mommy issues are. I'm sorry, your mom dies in front of you and you're just... not affected by it??? bullshit!!!!!!! Dave CRAVES a soft gentle touch, a divine feminine aura. Even if you're not a girl, if you just take care of him gently and look at him with a soft fondness he will fold SO fast. and yes having a nice rack (while not necessary) will help with this a lot. and by a nice rack I mean literally just having anything on your chest. flat tits, huge tits, lopsided tits, fake tits, real tits, literally ANYTHING. even if your tits are practically nonexistent he WILL still be trying to grope and suck on them. and he WILL succeed. nothing in this world can stop this boy from drooling over you.

after a particularly long night full of stopping some muggers, making sure the town drunk doesn't fight anyone, and helping some college girls get home safe, he shows up at your place, a little bumped and bruised but not majorly injured. you greet him with this soft, understanding smile and bring him up to your bathroom. It's all clean and soapy and smells like you, and he immediately starts to relax. you help him take off his suit and he tries not to get hard from the feeling of your warm hands getting him out of his suit and exposing his skin to the cool air. you start inspecting him to see how bad he's hurt - because of all his nerve damage he doesn't always notice how bad his injuries are.

you smooth his hair and praise him, listen to him talk about his night patrolling the neighborhood. worry flashes across across your face as you see the scratches all over his face and arms.

"Oh, uh, Mrs. Landsberg's cat got stuck..." He trails off sheepishly while you smile and put disinfectant on his nicks and scrapes.

"Look at you, helping little old ladies and rescuing cats from trees." you coo playfully.

"Well, she got stuck in the attic crawl space, but..." he shrugs with another blush, feeling all proud and sheepish from your praise.

"Close enough."

you press a kiss to his nose.

"now all you need is a job at the daily planet."

Dave was so sore and tired after tonight that he felt like he'd need days to recover. but after 10 minutes with you, you already have him laughing and feeling like himself again. Dave doesn't know what he did to luck out and have you in his life, but he thinks about you all the time. If he's not physically with you (or texting you or calling you or snapping you or lurking on your social media accounts or reading through your old texts or looking through the folder of pictures and videos he has of you saved in his phone or-) he's thinking about you all the time. he even dreams about you every night. no matter how much time he spends with you, he always wants more. Dave is definitely in the sex isn't enough I need to crawl inside your skin club.

[butterflywarrioredits]

Happy Birthday Philza Minecraft! And happy anniversary to Chayanne kicking Ender King’s ass and o7 to q!Phil’s wings!

Art by @maepletea on Twitter

[mysticdragoni]

You were.. Everything…

[v6quewrlds]

do you have anything with Justin Herbert? 🫶🏾

imagine being fuck buddies with justin.

author's note⠀⁎⠀another abandoned draft/stream of consciousness lmao, oc warning (sorry), despite the title there is no smut, this is angst (sorry again) <3

Ruby liked it when things were easy. Predictable. Like a perfectly seasoned stew that bubbled away, never burning, never needing to be checked on. That's what her life had been for the past few years, easy, breezy, Covergirl-adjacent predictability.

Then she met Justin.

Justin Herbert, the star quarterback of the Los Angeles Chargers. He was the kind of man who could turn heads without even trying, his tall frame and tanned skin a beacon of athleticism in a sea of mere mortals. His blue eyes had captured Ruby's attention the moment they met from across the bar. But it wasn't just his appearance. It was his charm, his wit, the way he argued with her about the last 30 minutes of Interstellar as if he had penned the screenplay himself. She insisted that it was much too complicated, that Nolan had gone full Nolan, while he defended it as a masterpiece of cinematic brilliance. That's when she knew he was different from most guys, as cliche and misguided as it sounded.

Their friendship grew through a series of chance encounters and shared laughs. Ruby had built walls around her heart brick by brick. She had her son, Malakai, to think about, a six-year-old tornado of energy and love that took up most of her time. And then there was her career, a demanding beast that required constant feeding with innovative ideas and late-night panics. But when Justin suggested they keep things casual, she saw the appeal. No strings, no drama, just two adults satisfying a mutual craving. It was perfect, and just like the two of them, it was structured.

Most of the time, they hooked up at Justin's place in Hidden Hills. Ruby would show up in the early afternoon after seeing a client, her work usually wrapped up for that part of the day. She knew the code to his door, had a drawer for her clothes, and even a set of towels reserved just for her. It was a strange dance of intimacy without the intimacy. Sometimes, she'd arrive while he was stuck at the Chargers' facility, working on his game or doing media appearances. He'd always text her, though, asking if she got there okay and if she needed anything picked up from the grocery store on his way. The answer was always no. But it was sweet, he was sweet. His upbringing seemed to be stellar, his parents had raised a man with manners, and it showed - in and out of the bedroom.

They'd melt into one another, go for a round or two, and then Ruby would shower, feeling the warm water wash away any lingering doubt or guilt she might have had. Afterward, they'd sit on his giant couch, eating a bougie snack she assembled in his kitchen, and sometimes they'd talk about their days. It was surface-level stuff, mostly. A cute drawing from Malakai, a new recipe she was working on, his latest endorsement deal. But it was comfortable, easy, predictable.

She would leave by 2:45. Malakai got out at 3 and Justin's place was - conveniently - just a 10-minute drive from the elementary school. But she liked to get there early, sit in the parking lot, and shift back into her Mommy Mindset. It was her little slice of me-time in an otherwise hectic life. Plus, it gave her enough space to ensure she didn't look like a hot mess when her son saw her.

Mondays were added into their rotation when the season began. That was Justin's recovery day after Sunday games. Ruby would leave a hot dinner on the stove, knowing he'd be sore and tired, and that the quietness of her place in the Santa Clarita suburbs was something he craved. He would use the spare key hidden under the mat and let himself in, usually around 11 PM Sunday night. Malakai was with his grandparents, as embedded in Ruby's weekly schedule.

So, Justin would slip in while Ruby was catching up on sleep, showering off the stress and the loss or victory of the game. He had a little assigned space in the back of her closet, a couple of shirts and some sweatpants, not much more. He'd get into bed with her, his body warm and smelling faintly of muscle balm, and she'd curl into him like he was a giant teddy bear. The fever was slow and gentle in the morning, the kind that made her gasp into his chest and hold on as tight as she could for fear he'd vanish into thin air.

Justin would let Ruby boss him around as they made breakfast, the smells of eggs and bacon filling the kitchen. He liked it, liked that she was comfortable enough to take charge in her own space. They'd sit at the kitchen table, the sun peeking through the blinds, and she would listen to him talk about his schedule, how much he missed his family, and his fears about the next game. She'd nod and offer advice, her hazel eyes looking into his with a sincerity that was surprisingly comforting.

It was perfect. No labels, no drama, no expectations. Just two people enjoying the company of the other when their busy lives allowed it.

-

Malakai loved sports, which was a small miracle since Ruby had done everything in her power to steer him away from football. She had never been a fan, finding the sport too violent and too consuming of her ex's time. But when the six-year-old bounced around in the backseat of Ruby's Range Rover one afternoon after school, declaring he was a Chargers fan and Justin Herbewt (his consonants still a bit jumbled) was his favorite player, she felt dread creep up her spine.

Unable to deny her baby's happiness, she found herself sitting in front of the TV every weekend, pretending to work while Malakai's eyes were glued to the screen, cheering for Justin's team. It was strange, watching the sport she used to despise, now finding a strange comfort in the rhythm of the plays, the sound of the crowd. And every time she caught a glimpse of Justin, his arms, his height, his focus, she felt a swell of something she didn't dare name.

One wildcard weekend, the Chargers had a surprise loss. Ruby couldn't pull her eyes away from the TV as Justin's team fell apart. She saw his pained expression, the defeat etched into every line on his face, and her heart ached for him. It was unlike anything she had felt before. After tucking Malakai into bed, she sent him a tentative text, unsure if she was crossing a line.

The next morning, Ruby woke up to silence. No text from Justin, no acknowledgment of her offer to talk. She felt a pang of rejection, but she knew he was probably just tired from the game. She went about her day, dropping Malakai off at his grandparents' early Sunday morning. She couldn't help but wonder if she had made a mistake.

Her schedule was tight with meetings and calls, but she couldn't shake the image of Justin's face from her mind. The way his jaw had set, the tension in his shoulders, it was a stark contrast to the carefree, silly, intelligent man who occasionally slept in her bed. Ruby knew she was crossing into murky waters, but she couldn't ignore the pull she felt towards him. It was more than just the thrill of being with someone so desirable. It was his kindness, his understanding, his ability to listen without judgment that had started to mean more than she cared to admit.

When the text came, it was just like him - sweet, considerate, and yet straight to the point.

Sorry for the late response. Had a long night.

I'm with my family tonight, but if you're free on Monday, I'd love to come over.

Ruby felt a mix of relief and nerves. She didn't know why she cared so much about his response, but she did. She replied as simply as she could.

Sure.

Malakai will be with his grandparents, as usual. I'll be in the area all day. Let me know when you're on your way.

-

Monday rolled around, and Ruby found herself pacing the living room. She had done her best to keep the day as normal as possible, but the anticipation was thick in the air. She had met with clients, picked out the freshest ingredients for her next culinary masterpiece, and even squeezed in a workout, but she couldn't shake the butterflies in her stomach. When the doorbell finally rang, she took a deep breath and composed herself before opening the door.

Justin was dressed down in a pair of Nike training pants and a plain black t-shirt, his messy brownish-blondish hair hinting at the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on since the game. He looked tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw her. Without a word, he stepped in and wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a tight embrace that made her heart race. Ruby knew that this was a line they hadn't crossed before, but she didn't push him away. Instead, she leaned into his warmth and let out a sigh of relief.

"I was worried about you," Ruby murmured into his chest, the words muffled by his shirt. Justin's grip tightened around her. "That was a tough watch. How are you holding up?"

Justin stepped back, his eyes searching hers. "It's been a rough 48 hours, to be honest." He took a deep breath. "But I'm okay."

Ruby nodded, unsure of what to say next. She hadn't anticipated the raw vulnerability in his gaze. "Do you want to talk about it?" she offered tentatively.

Justin hesitated before nodding. "I don't know if I can put it into words," he said, his voice thick with unspoken emotion. "But it's more than just the game. It's... everything."

Ruby led him to the couch and sat down beside him, her hand resting gently on his knee. "Take your time," she assured him. "It's good to vent."

He leaned back, his eyes scanning the room before settling on hers again. "I just... I've never felt so... exposed before," he admitted, his thumb tracing circles on her hand. "Everyone expects so much from me. To be perfect, to win, to be the hero. And when I don't..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

Ruby's heart ached for him. She knew all too well the pressure of expectations, of feeling like you had to be everything to everyone. Recognizing the tension in his posture, she allowed him the space to collect his thoughts. After a moment, she spoke up, her voice soft but firm. "Sometimes, it's just not meant to be. And that's okay. You're allowed to be upset, but never feel sorry for yourself. You work too hard for that."

Justin offered a half-smile, appreciative of her understanding. He leaned back into the couch cushions with an exhale. "I'm sorry about all the football talk, I know it's not your thing."

Ruby shrugged. "It's fine, really. I mean, you're passionate about it, and it's a big part of your life. It's important to you, so as your friend, it's important to me too. No big deal," she said, trying to lighten the mood.

But Justin wasn't ready to let it go. "Friend," he echoed, his voice half-chuckle, half-challenge. "Am I your friend?"

Ruby felt the tension in the room thicken. "What else would you call it?" she asked, her voice just as light, despite the sudden heaviness in her chest.

Justin's smile grew, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, you know, we're not exactly hanging out when we see each other." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Friends don't do the things we do."

Ruby felt her eyebrows furrow for a brief second, but she held her ground. "What things?" she asked, playing dumb. She knew exactly what he meant, but she didn't want to be the one to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

"You know," Justin said, his voice a low rumble, "the kind of things that make me clear out a drawer for you and keep your favorite ingredients stocked." His eyes searched hers, and Ruby blinked back at him, her heart racing. "Or," he continued with a small smile, "the kind of things that make me want to risk everything just to have you in my life."

Ruby felt the walls she had so carefully constructed start to crumble. "Justin," she whispered, her voice shaky. "That's dangerous," a mirthless chuckle escaped her, "especially for you." She looked down at their intertwined fingers, his thumb still making lazy circles on her hand.

He sat up, his expression earnest. "I know. You're dangerous."

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a confession, of something deeper than either of them had been ready to admit. Ruby's eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was just saying it to get in her pants again, but all she saw was a sincerity that was as surprising as it was disarming.

"I'm dangerous?" Ruby echoed, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. She hadn't anticipated this turn in their conversation.

Justin nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yeah," he said, "extremely dangerous."

Ruby's heart skipped a beat. "What does that mean?" she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.

Justin sighed and leaned back into the couch, his eyes searching the ceiling as if the answers were written there. He clearly didn't want to dive into this conversation, seemed to be fighting with himself internally.

"Justin," Ruby said, her voice firm despite the shock, "what do you mean by that?"

Justin took a deep breath, his blue eyes finding hers again. "I mean that... I can't help but feel like I'm falling for you," he admitted, his voice thick with vulnerability. "And that scares the shit out of me."

Ruby's breath caught in her throat. She had been bracing herself for a casual, teasing conversation, not a declaration of feelings. She felt her heart thud heavily in her chest. "What?" she said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice.

Justin stood up, his eyes darting around the room, avoiding her gaze as best he could. "You heard me," he said. "I really like you, Ruby. More than I should, probably. I know you don't do relationships and I'm not supposed to want that either, but I can't help it. What we have is good, it's easy, but I keep thinking that I want more than easy. I want all of you."

Ruby felt like she had been punched in the gut. "Justin, we agreed on this," she said, her voice shaking. "No strings attached, no messiness. We're both busy, we have our own lives. Feelings ruin everything."

Justin nodded, his eyes downcast. "I know, I know. But I can't help it. I'm trying to be more intentional about how I treat you, how I talk to you." He paused, his voice low. "Because I don't want to ruin what we have."

Ruby felt the tears welling up. She didn't know why his words had such an impact on her, but she knew she had to protect herself. "Justin," she began, her voice shaking, "I agreed to this because it was easy. Because I don't have time for a relationship, especially considering who you are."

He looked at her, confused. "What do you mean, 'who I am'?"

Ruby took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "You're an NFL quarterback in LA, Justin. Like it or not, you're a big deal. I'm a single mom with a career, and I hate football. I don't have time to be a WAG, dealing with all the drama and the scrutiny that comes with it. And you don't deserve to be forced to deal with someone who can't handle that."

Justin frowned, his gaze intense. "I never asked you to be anything but yourself. Why do you think I've kept this from everyone? Because I know the kind of bullshit that comes with my job. I've done everything I can to keep us separate from that."

Ruby sighed, looking away. "This is exactly what I didn't want," she murmured. "This... mess." She knew she had painted herself into a corner with her own words, but she couldn't deny the fear that washed over her at the thought of letting anyone into her life in a real way, especially someone in the public eye like Justin.

Justin's hand cupped her chin, gently turning her face towards him. "Look, I'm not asking you to be my girlfriend, or to go to every game, or to deal with any of that crap. I just... I care about you, Ruby. More than I should, and I don't know what that means for us. But I had to tell you."

When she didn't respond, he continued. "I was honest about who I was from the beginning, and it was never a problem before. But if me being honest about how I feel is going to make you run, then maybe we should reconsider this whole thing." He paused, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped her eye. "Because the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

Ruby took a deep, shaky breath, feeling her heart twist. "It's not that, it's just..." she began, but couldn't find the words.

"What?" Justin asked, his voice softer now.

Ruby looked at him, her hazel eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It's just that... I'm scared," she admitted finally. "I can't be a part of that world, and you can't escape it. I have to protect Malakai, protect myself, and I don't know if I can do that if I get too involved in... this." She gestured between the two of them, her voice cracking.

Justin's gaze never wavered from hers. "I understand," he said gently. "But I'm not asking you to be anyone but you. I just want a chance to see where this goes. I won't push, I promise."

Ruby felt the weight of his words. He was giving her an out, but she also knew that he was giving her a chance. A chance to explore something real, something that could be more than just a casual arrangement to satisfy their physical needs. She took a deep breath and looked into his earnest blue eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or insincerity. All she found was hope.

"I can't promise that things won't be hard sometimes," he continued, "But I do promise that I'll always be honest with you, and I'll always respect your boundaries. If it doesn't work, or if you're not happy, just let me know and I'll walk away. I won't make it messy, I won't make it complicated. I promise I'll let you go. Just please, give me a chance to love you."

Ruby felt the words resonate through her, shaking her to her core. She had never heard anyone speak to her with such sincerity, such vulnerability. She knew that the life of a football player's girlfriend was not what she had signed up for, but she also couldn't ignore the connection that had grown between them over the months. "You swear?" she whispered, her voice shaking.

Justin nodded, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on her cheek. "I swear." His voice was steady, his gaze never leaving hers. "If you're not happy, if it's too much, you just have to tell me. We can go back to what we were before or I'll walk away. Everything's your call."

Ruby felt her resolve crumbling. The fear was still there, the shortsighted doubt and the uncertainty, but so was the undeniable pull towards Justin. The thought of losing him, of pushing him away, was suddenly unbearable. "You're not making this easy," she murmured, a sad smile playing on her lips.

Justin leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. "I know," he said. "Please, let me in."

[albertdabuttler]

Masked Adversary Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST

I think this will have like six or seven parts? Maybe more but we’ll see!

A/N: Dave and reader are seniors! (for more than obvious reasons, you are both 18. including his friends and my OC.) everything that took place in the first movie takes place in his 12th year.

I'd also like to introduce my OC, Cleo! She is an African-American female with an incredibly thick NY accent and is the readers best friend since freshman year! (i based her personality off my younger down bad self)

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V (soon)

[createandconstruct]

Toshinori and Inko finding out their pregnant a year into marriage and just sitting staring at the test like...oh. This was not exactly in the plan...nor did they even think it was possible??

They tell Izuku first of course and when they do he actually thinks they're kidding! Haha! That's actually...pretty funny, guys...uhhh...why do you both look so serious.......oh, oh shit. OH. All Might and Mom are having a kid? He's going to be a brother? In his twenties??? HUH?

Cut to nine months later and Izuku's holding his little sister, Toshinori beside him, arm around his shoulder, as Inko watches on with love and pride, because their family feels even more complete than it was before.

[ticifics]

Ahhh you write for Dave Lizewski🥹.. I wanted to request maybe something angsty? Like Reader is helping him with all the saving stuff and some criminal sees her and targets her and she gets hurt? The rest is up to you (if you want it to end good or not)!

I also wanted to say I LOVE LOVE LOVE your works :D

Recklessness

Dave Lizewski x fem!reader

Summary: “So we’re both crazy, Dave,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder as you walked out of the alley. “I think that’s what makes us work.”

Warnings: violence, mild distress

A/N: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw, thank you so much, you're so sweet, seriously. I think it's kind of impossible to make a tragic ending for Dave - like, I've been in love with him for about 9 years. I'm sorry if I deviated a little from the request, but I hope you like it

You were on your way home when the sound of a fight caught your attention. The narrow, dimly lit alley looked like the scene of a confrontation you would recognize anywhere. Even from a distance, the awkward figure in green and yellow uniform was unmistakable: Dave. Or rather, Kick-Ass. Your heart raced, a mix of fear and adrenaline taking over as you tried to analyze the scene. Dave was facing someone much bigger, a muscular man holding a piece of metal pipe, advancing with a fury that seemed uncontrollable. Dave, with his typical fearless (and somewhat reckless) style, was doing his best to dodge the blows, but he was clearly at a disadvantage.

Without thinking, you ran toward the alley. “Dave!” you called - without even realizing that he had used his real name -, your voice coming out louder than you intended. He turned his face toward you for a second, just enough for the criminal to notice your presence. The man stopped and gave a cruel grin, his yellow teeth shining in the darkness. “Who’s this? Brought backup, huh?” he mocked, his eyes assessing you like a predator who had just found easier prey.

“Get out of here, now!” Dave shouted at you, his voice alarmed, almost desperate. But it was too late. The man moved with surprising speed, completely ignoring Dave and advancing toward you. You instinctively backed up, but the alley was too narrow, and your steps found the cold, damp wall. “Stay away from her!” Dave shouted again, running to intercept him.

The criminal turned at the last second, dodging Dave with a blow that made him stumble to the side. It was enough for you to make a decision you knew Dave would never approve of. Before the man could attack him again, you shouted, “Hey! I’m right here!” Your voice trembled a little, but it was loud enough to get his attention. The criminal laughed, satisfied with the distraction, and turned to you.

Everything happened too quickly. You tried to run, but the man was faster, grabbing your arm with force. The pain was immediate, radiating from the point of contact, but before you could react, he slammed you to the ground. Dave screamed your name, and within seconds, he was on top of the man, punching him with all the strength he could muster. The criminal tried to retaliate, but Dave seemed driven by something stronger than pain or fear: anger. Anger at seeing you hurt, for involving you in this world.

When the man finally fell unconscious, Dave rushed to you, kneeling at your side. “Are you okay? Please, talk to me!” His voice was shaky, his eyes wide with panic as he checked your injured arm. You tried to smile, despite the throbbing pain. “I… I just wanted to help.”

“Not like this!” he said, his voice nearly breaking as he held your face in his hands. “You can’t do this, you can’t put yourself in danger like this. I… I wouldn’t be able to lose you.”

Dave was still breathing heavily, his fists clenched as he watched the unconscious man in front of him. He seemed frozen, as if he couldn’t take his eyes off the body lying on the ground, fearing it would rise again. “Dave,” you called, your voice weak, but enough to break his trance. He immediately turned his gaze toward you, and the guilt reflected in his eyes was overwhelming.

“I told you to go,” he began, kneeling beside you once again. The concern in his movements was palpable, his hands trembling slightly as he helped you sit up slowly. “You’re hurt. Let me see.” He seemed to be trying to stay calm, but his tone betrayed the growing panic.

“I’m fine, it’s just… the shock,” you tried to downplay, though the pain in your arm and the dizziness were hard to ignore. You saw his gaze fall on the mark the criminal had left on your arm, his fingers brushing the area with almost reverent care.

“This isn’t just a shock,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, before shaking his head and letting out a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t have let you get involved in this. I should have protected you.”

“I knew the risk, Dave,” you replied, your voice soft but firm. “You need to understand that… I can’t just stand by while you’re in danger. I can’t.” Your gaze met his, and you saw how he was struggling to hold back tears. “You’d do the same for me.”

“Of course I would!” he exclaimed, the intensity of his voice echoing in the alley. “But it’s not the same. You… you shouldn’t be here, not like this.” He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up even more. “I… I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am, okay? I mess up, and… if something had happened to you, I…” His voice faltered, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “I would never forgive myself.”

Your heart tightened at his words, but you knew he needed to hear the truth. “You are a hero, Dave. Even if you’re not perfect, even if things go wrong sometimes. That’s why I didn’t hesitate to come. Because you matter to me, more than anything.” Your voice was steady, but your eyes glistened with tears you were trying to hold back. “If you think you can keep me safe by keeping me away, then you don’t understand how I feel.”

He fell silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on you as if trying to absorb every word. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, lowering his head. “I get it. I just… don’t know what to do with it. I love you, and that scares the hell out of me, you know? Because every time you step into this world, it feels like I’m gambling with the most important person in my life.” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. “But I get it. Just… promise me we’ll be more careful, okay? That you won’t throw yourself in front of another big guy to save me.”

You laughed softly, despite the pain, and nodded. “I promise. But only if you promise the same. No more unnecessary risks.”

“Deal,” he replied, a small smile appearing on his face. He helped you up carefully, draping his arm around your waist to support you. “Now, let’s get home. I need to take care of you. And maybe… rethink the way I do all this.” He paused, looking at the fallen criminal before turning his gaze back to you. “But first of all… thank you for coming. Even though I still think you’re kind of crazy for it.”

“So we’re both crazy, Dave,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder as you walked out of the alley. “I think that’s what makes us work.”

[sleep-deprived-tim]

being in pain makes me understand drug users and people who drink regularly. I'd ruin my own life if it meant the pain stopping for a bit.

[moobloom-mention]

Every Action Has Its Equal Opposite Reaction

Summary: MK can't say he's ecstatic after being kicked into the ground during a sparring match with Macaque. It isn't too bad, though, as Macaque rewards him with noodles with the only caveat being MK finds them bowls to enjoy their takeout within.

But as he scrounges through Macaque's kitchen, the only two bowls he's able to find more resemble failed art projects than bowls. One more smooth and refined, the other far more clumsily made but with small engraved peaches and a fingerprint on its side.

Huh, that's kind of cute. Surely this won't lead him to bodily harm.

Content Warning(s): N/A

Word Count: Too many words 2963

Shout-out to @blametheeditor for helping me with the intro's fight scene. Goddamn do I struggle with fight scenes.

----------

“Ready?” 

MK grins. “Always-!” 

He nearly isn’t able to dodge a shadow staff that whizzes past him in time, not having realized they were starting now. Like, right now. He hadn’t even seen Macaque move and yet the shadow had already thrown the battle in his own favor. 

MK finds himself pinwheeling his arms in an attempt to remain balanced after his dodge, a desperate grasp for his own staff proving to be what keeps him from stumbling to the dojo’s hardwood floors. 

His teeth grit. 

Y’know, he would’ve thought that Macaque wouldn’t want to risk killing him during a training exercise of all things. And yet, nothing quite says “I want you dead” like forcing him into a vulnerable position whilst preparing another attack before he’s recovered from the first. 

...wait a minute. 

What little had been left of his confidence drains when he realizes why it’s likely a bad thing to see a shadow stretching out toward his feet. A shadow whose grin definitely doesn’t mean good things for MK. Nah, not in this sparring match. 

MK uses his staff to propel himself away from the looming shadow, twisting his body so he could roll safely back into a practiced defense stance. 

Not that he would ever brag or anything, but he avoids the possible incoming concussion flawlessly. Might he even say his defensive stance is something Macaque would’ve applauded him for if they weren’t mid-fight. 

MK barely catches the subtle shine of another shadow before Macaque erupts from it, his shadow staff raised over the head before being brought down. In the back of his mind MK can see that while the impact is devastating, it takes an awkward amount of time for the move to be completed. In the front of his mind, he can only imagine how the crevice left in the earth could’ve been his head if he hadn’t leaped away in time. 

Which, putting good news first, he isn’t knocked out! Bad news, his desperate attempt to save his own life had left his back to Macaque, meaning he’d more-so stumbled onto the ground in a flurry of limbs than truly laughed in the face of death. 

Far too aware he wouldn’t be able to stand before another attack, he rolls onto his back, yelping when a staff smashes onto the ground inches from his face. 

Heavens above, is he trying to kill MK or not? He thought they were cool! 

As Macaque lifts the staff above his head for another swing, MK forces his feet firmly into the ground, waiting until he’s about to be struck before pushing with all his might. The force pushes him over the incoming hit, a summoning of his staff giving him enough leverage to land more gracefully behind Macaque. 

When the next blow is delivered, MK’s own staff is there to meet the swing. Finally, some actual progress in pushing this match in his favor. 

Step, step, block. Step, step, block. The occasional near loss of balance whenever Macaque feints a left swing before making a right one. The loss of space between his opponent before he regains it when he makes his own feint of attack but only to withdraw himself slightly. 

It isn’t long before MK finds himself oddly confused amidst the controlled tempo of parried strikes. 

If MK could compare his own strategies of combat to a demon’s, Macaque could lay claim for his to be akin to a celestial warrior’s.  

They'd always looked refined and practiced.  

It’s why MK can’t help the nagging doubt that sits tight in his stomach when he notes the countless openings Macaque’s stance leaves. The monkey is pushing far too heavily into his strikes, making for slower recoveries despite the fast-paced match.  

It isn’t sloppy, but it isn’t the familiar polish of experience.  

A well-timed block forces Macaque’s staff into the floorboards of the dojo and MK lunges at the sudden opening.  

The faintest trace of disappointment registers in Macaque's expression before it hardens into something akin to disapproval.  

Oh fuck.  

Macaque’s staff reappears just in time to clash violently with MK’s own, the shadowed weapon’s surface wavering slightly. Dread tears through his skin; that waver isn’t from the power of his strike.  

That's the crumble of resolve and patience.  

He took an opening that wasn't meant to be taken.  

Despite the sudden change in tempo, Macaque’s redirection of power is far smoother than his previous strikes and the shadow’s triumph drains what little was left of MK’s confidence. 

Macaque’s lips twist into an ugly sneer and its familiarity in context strikes something primal at MK’s nerves. He’s done something wrong. 

His thoughts drown beneath the mantra that his stance is perfect. There isn’t anything for Macaque to hold over his head in terms of leverage, to use to turn this fight in his favor. His legs are shoulder width even while ariel and- and he’s using that one strike Macaque taught him months ago what could be wrong-? 

A tail made of obsidian fur wraps itself around his tail. 

“Wait-!” 

It’s too late. MK knows this game well. 

The tail yanks him forward. Straight into the boot that carves its home within MK’s sternum just as his lungs shriek. 

The sheer power behind the kick sends MK crashing into a beam, the wooden structure’s groan loud enough to smother his desperate wheezes for air. 

Between the spinning of his gaze his thoughts filter in. “Stay alert but regain your breath,” a prior lesson sings. “You can’t fight and gasp for air.” 

The shadows hiss with laughter and MK has to strain to hear Macaque above the pound of his own heartbeat. 

"...break something...the whole place will come down with it.” 

The original goal to recover peacefully slips through his fingers, rage a new fuel to feed into his fire. He stands if only to angrily gesture toward the beam. “You threw me into it!” 

“You shouldn’t have gotten cocky.” 

His eyes roll. Of course. 

“Don’t hold back, MK.” 

“You’re way too confident, MK.” 

Okay, guy. 

He’ll just go fight another city-destroying demon with his “too confident” strikes. 

As if able to read his thoughts, Macaque’s arms cross. Disapproval writes its own story between furrowed brows. “Don’t give me that face,” the shadow chastises. “You got bold and got it handed to you. Sloppiness won’t fly on the battlefield.” 

MK drops back to the floor with a huff of defeat. “Fine.” 

Macaque’s mouth curls around another word but MK can’t help the way his mind focuses on just how close the shadow’s crouched beside him. 

Suspiciously close. 

Like close enough that he could grab the other’s ankle if he really wanted to. 

“This’ll be a good stopping point,” the monkey hums and MK’s demand for violence rises slightly. “I’m getting hungry anyway.” 

Oh-ho, in that case- 

“I can grab us some noodles,” he chirps, using the staff as a pole to lean on in his scramble to stand. 

“Hold on, kid-” 

MK barely registers the familiar purple hue of Macaque’s clone before he collides with it. His attempt to catch himself does little to fix his accidentally slight. The clone looks disgruntled though its bag labeled “Pigsy’s Noodles” sits safe within its grasp. 

He smiles weakly. “Sorry?” 

The clone- whose grin looks a little too mocking this time around -thrusts the bag into his arms. It gives a short salute before a plume of smoke swallows it whole, leaving MK and Macaque to their own devices once again. 

“Ordered ahead of time; figured it’d be easier,” Macaque shrugs. “Now c’mere, I’ve been craving this all week.” 

Don’t need to tell me twice- 

The bag rustles as MK lunges to his mentor’s side, his hand already amidst an attempt to grab whatever Macaque had ordered for him. 

A loud hum interrupts MK’s interest, the bag falling into a shadow vortex before it reappears within Macaque’s grasp. 

If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said Macaque looked a little too happy with himself. 

“We’re gonna need some bowls. No offense, kid, but eating out of take-out-boxes is for slobs.” 

MK’s eyes bulge, offense blatant in the way his shoulders tense. His clenched fist waves, faux rage on his mind. “It’s not slobbish! ‘Sides, Monkey King does it all the time-” 

“My point exactly.” 

MK swoons to his left, clutching at his heart. He knows Macaque and Monkey King don’t have the best of history but if he doesn’t defend his mentor, nobody will. 

“Monkey king’s not a slob,” he protests. “He’s just…convenient?” 

“Kid, you don’t become a hoarder without being at least a bit of a slob.” 

…ok, fair enough, fair enough. Macaque’s got him there. 

Declaring this a loss, MK stands to fetch the requested bowls. He doesn’t go silently, feet dragging loudly against the ground with each step. 

“Cheer up!” Macaque calls, amused. “Moping isn’t gonna get you out of conditioning.” 

Nah, he huffs. It never does. 

Surprisingly, the dojo’s kitchen isn’t far from the main training room. It’s all the way down a hallway- one eerily lacking in the door department -where the space widens if barely to make room for a dark kitchen space. 

Flipping the light on, MK blinks once before the kitchen’s dim light flickers to life. 

Sheesh, Monkey King might be a hoarder but his kitchen has never looked half as disorganized as Macaque’s. Whether that’s because Monkey King doesn’t use utensils in the first place doesn’t matter in the long run. 

Monkey King 1: Macaque 0. 

MK’s careful as he navigates the small kitchen, minding his elbows as he begins to shuffle through the cabinets in search of bowls. Even just a step backwards is enough to press his back against the other countertop, a fact that sparks a fond memory of his own. 

The one- and only -time MK tried to find apartments to move into, Pigsy had insisted on accompanying him. It never mattered what apartment they went to; Pigsy always complained about the same thing: 

“The kitchen is just too small, kid. How are ya’ supposed to cook anything in this thing?” 

And so, MK had feigned ignorance over the true motive for Pigsy’s gripe and agreed that the kitchen space was a deal-breaker. 

After only a day of searching he proclaimed that finding the right place was in fact “too hard” and he’d just have to stay in the noodle shop for a bit longer. 

He blinks, forcing his knuckle between his teeth. 

Focus, MK, focus. Bowls, bowls, bowls- we need bowls! 

In all honesty, he thought finding bowls would’ve been waaaay easier than it’s proving to be. Each cabinet he opens either produces a bunch of items MK declares cannot be cooking related or a couple of miscellaneous plates too shallow for broth. 

At this point in his desperation, MK’s convinced that Macaque doesn’t own a single cup either. 

The only evidence that the monkey owns bowls in the first place is the handful in the kitchen’s sink, some still sporting old broth. 

At least, those and whatever on this green Earth was in the gap between the cabinet’s top and the kitchen ceiling. 

A closer inspection declares that the dishes seem like bowls, stacked on top of one another and looking like someone had hastily shoved them into the farthest corner. 

Oh yeah, this’ll work. 

MK nearly trips over himself climbing onto the countertops, eager to dig into whatever Macaque had ordered for him. Even on the counter the bowls are still too far back to reach. 

C’mon MK, you’ve got this. A little tippy-toe action never hurt anyone. 

An annoyed Macaque might, though. 

Much to his own relief, the two bowls are snagged with little to no struggle. He tries to keep his jump from the counter light; only the Heavens know how mad Macaque would be if he ended up breaking a floorboard by landing heavily on it. 

He peers curiously at his findings; now that he really looks at them, they aren’t really bowls at all. 

They’re more like poorly made clay clam shells, the indent itself shallow and its “lip” frilled in a way that wouldn’t be the best at sipping from. An attempt at pottery, MK concludes, but yeesh if its creator didn’t struggle with whatever image they were going for. 

One is definitely more refined than the other, surface smooth as he skims his finger over it. Its depth is just barely deeper than its counterpart too. 

The more disheveled one has bumps and bruises along its surface including a fingerprint and what MK is 50% sure is a peach engraved along its side.  

…it’s kinda cute, like its creator had tried to make up for its other imperfections. 

Still, MK glances back toward the pile of dirty bowls. They’d definitely be more ideal; one thorough scrub and they’d be good as new. 

That is, if Macaque has dish soap. Pigsy usually kept his on the counter but MK can’t see any even as he rummages through the cabinet below the sink. 

“Clock’s tickin’, kid! The food’s getting cold and we’ve still got conditioning to run through.” 

Ah, screw it. The misshapen bowls are good enough. 

With a quick rinse-off and a onceover, MK gives his own nod of approval before he darts back through the hallway. 

“Brainy kid to rescue,” he declares. “I found a couple of, uh, well-” 

Calling the lumpy things “bowls” wouldn’t quite be right. But then again, they definitely aren’t narrow enough to be failed incense plates. 

“-old bowls!” 

MK’s head lifts triumphantly, prepared for the resounding “-good job, kid/bud” © that both Macaque and Monkey King had gotten into the habit of offering. 

But silence only greets him, MK cracking an eye open to make sure Macaque hadn’t abandoned him. 

The shadow is right where MK remembers, almost eerily still. The only notable difference is the sudden roundness of Macaque’s eyes and the subtle childish spark of something that lurks there. If Mk didn’t know any better, he would’ve called it fear. 

“Macaque-?” 

“Where did you get those.” 

Gone is the witty banter that’d once infected the dojo, replaced with something far more sobering. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed the drop in tone alone chilled the room. 

Tension lines Macaque’s shoulders, lips slightly curled just enough to show the tips of his fangs. MK’s never been bitten and he definitely isn’t finding out now. 

He falters, limbs heavy as he gestures vaguely toward the kitchen. “Uh, they were- the cabinets?” 

MK nearly jumps as a vortex forms just above his hand, the pieces of pottery disappearing into the shadows. The portal closes and MK flexes his hand just to make sure it hadn’t taken a piece of him with it. 

In a blink the tension in Macaque’s stance evaporates, movements once again fluid as he rustles through the bag until two tubs of broth and noodles are set down. He even grins as he produces two pairs of chopsticks. 

“You gonna stand there all day?” 

Is that an option? 

The nervous laugh MK coughs up only earns him a raised eyebrow, and he’s quick to take it as a signal of being in the clear. Despite the suddenly calm atmosphere he’s still slow in his approach, sitting a little further than normal from Macaque. 

MK shuffles his personal tub of broth and box of noodles closer to himself. It smells like Heaven, but that might just be how close MK actually is to death judging by the sheer fury radiating off Macaque. 

MK’s not sure why he waits to begin eating; he half expects another vortex to appear and produce two different bowls. Ones that don’t cause fear and anger to whomever stares at them. 

But the shadows stay silent and content. 

“Eat up,” Macaque grunts, already busy dipping his clump of noodles into the separated broth. 

“But I thought you said-” 

“Kid.” 

MK’s eyes snap to his tub of broth. He knows a warning when he hears one. If it were Monkey King he might’ve pressed it further, but Macaque’s limits are still new. 

Pushing it too far could cause a fight that MK definitely isn’t prepared for. He might be good, but he’s still not Macaque good. 

Who knows, the monkey could trap him in between two shadow portals and leave him “falling” for Heavens knows how long. MK’s shoulders shudder at the thought and he quickly grabs his own chopsticks. 

Macaque offers no further conversation as they eat, silence a companion in itself with how loud it feels. 

At least, silence and guilt. 

MK’s eyebrows furrow at the sheer amount of guilt that fills him each time he swallows a bite of noodles. He hadn’t accidentally gotten himself between a failed art-project, had he? 

…he had kind of implied that the bowls were terribly made. It would be as if Pigsy snooped in MK’s sketchbook and declared his drawings to look nothing like Monkey King. 

If not for the chopsticks in his hand, MK would’ve slapped himself. 

Good going, MK. 

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he murmurs. “You did really good with them.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Macaque’s expression morphs. His eyebrows pinch, confusion replacing the lurking fragments of irritation. 

“That’s sweet, kiddo,” Macaque mutters in a tone that says it isn’t. “But they really aren’t mine.” 

Huh. As far as he knows Macaque doesn’t have…friends. Er, at least anyone MK would categorize as a friend. 

“Holding onto them for someone else?” 

Macaque’s tail flicks and MK finds himself tensing, prepared for an explosion of anger. 

But the other only sighs, the final pieces of anger melting from Macaque’s tone until it can be molded into something akin to fondness. 

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” 

[blaithnne]

☆ @sketchbookweek — take 2 ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ day 3 — hurt/comfort ! ☆

Pov you’re not used to being the one getting the comfort