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gotta-winwin · 1 day ago

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i (almost) do | s.c

⭐ starring: choi seungcheol 💌 genre: angst | wc: 1.5k 💬 preview: at 12 years old on the playground, you traded plastic wedding rings with Choi Seungcheol, the boy who sat in front of you in class. he slid the ring onto your ring finger, a teasing smile on his face. 15 years later, you watch as he slides a real wedding band on her finger.

cw/tw: angst, marriage, being the other woman (kinda?), seungcheol being an impatient lil fucker, childhood lovers to strangers, multiple proposals.

🪽fic rating: pg ☁️ masterlist & a/n: here’s the promised fic from our svt x what could’ve been poll! couprangs, you guys are insane (mwah ily) this idea was first born in the depth of my chats with @gyubakeries and @studioeisa…this is for you, choi seungcheol, and your immensely sufferable face :3 (and the biggest thanks to ally @lovetaroandtaemin for the banner!)

now playing: i (almost) do by taylor swift

this is a special from the svt x what could’ve been event -> click here to read svt x what was (@studioeisa) and svt x what is (@gyubakeries) :)

Choi Seungcheol’s fiance looked suspiciously similar to you.

Perhaps it was just your delusion talking, but the similarities were simply too difficult to ignore.

The way she always sat with her right leg propped up on her left. The way her lips curled into a smile, hiding the insecurity of her teeth she had carried with her since childhood. Even her hair fell the same over her shoulders, the strap of her bra never sitting properly on the crook. She ran her hands across Seungcheol’s arms in a beat that matched how yours once did.

“It’s uncanny.” Joshua murmured into your ear at the wedding rehearsal. “It’s like he ordered her from the y/n factory because he knew he couldn’t have you.”

You fake a smile. You feel bad for her. After all, if everyone could see the resemblance she could too. Yet you couldn’t help but resent her anyway. Because even if you had been here first, it was still her at the altar. Her in his sweatshirt. Her in his bed. Her as the mother of his children.

She looks and acts exactly like you. The only difference is the wedding band that sits nicely on her ring finger and the aching void that is on yours.

”Choi Seungcheol!”

He runs past you towards the open field, a soccer ball in his arms. The smile he looks back at you with is full of warmth and open admiration.

You forget how long you sit on the wet grass to watch him play.

His sweaty arms envelope you in a hug. You are both far too young to understand love, yet it surrounds the two of you anyways. The teachers see it and they smile with understanding. Your classmates see it even if they don’t know what it is yet.

“Let’s get slurpees from the gas station after school.” Seungcheol walks you back to class. “My mom gave me ten bucks today.”

You nod. You know you’re staring at him with the sappiest look on your face. You can feel the awkward stares of others in the hallway. But love doesn’t feel embarrassing when you’re being loved by Seungcheol.

”You’re embarrassing me!” His fiance chides him through laughter.

He has his hands on her waist, spinning her across the dance floor.

You look at his face and watches as his eyes fucking glow. They glow in a way that never happened when he looked at you. It stings. Joshua brings you another drink and you swallow it down.

The wedding photos are sent to your group chat a week after the actual event. You open them first thing in the morning and nearly choke on your own spit. Without your glasses on, the image is blurry and she looks just like you.

You hate it.

If Seungcheol had married a girl the complete opposite of you, you could’ve chalked it up to the fact that you just weren’t his type. But the fact that she was you— the only acceptable conclusion was that Seungcheol loved you, he did. He just didn’t want to choose you. Not in any way that actually counted.

You stare at your ring finger and pretend you don’t feel the urge to chop that shit off.

He proposes for the first time in the middle of July at six years old.

“Let’s get married when we’re 30.”

You frown, because the age 30 seems eons away. “Why 30?”

”My parents got married at 30.” He pauses. “I think?”

“30 is old.” You counter, swinging your legs in boredom. “Why can’t we get married now?”

”Well, you need to be much taller to get married. I think. All married people are much taller.” Seungcheol had always been much smarter than you.

“How tall do you need to be?” You think about how tall your parents are and your frown grows. “What if you’re old and not tall enough?”

The question stumps Seungcheol. “I don’t know.”

You stand up and press your back against the wall of your bedroom. “Measure me. How tall do I have to be?”

He presses his hand against the wall, on top of your head. “Much taller.” Picking up a piece of chalk, he climbs onto your bed and draws a straight line a couple feet above you. “This tall.”

You stare at the line on the wall of your childhood bedroom, now faded and barely visible. You let out a wet laugh because Seungcheol had drawn the line impossibly tall and you were still nowhere near the line.

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name is familiar, easy. A tongue that had spent years perfecting a few syllables that made up a cherished noun.

“Seungcheol.”

The way you say his name is hesitant, as if your brain had short circuited trying to pronounce it. You pretend not to see the flinch at his own name coming from your lips.

“You know I hate when people use my government name.”

It’s true. His friends call him S.Coups. His parents call him son. “It’s your name isn’t it?” You say. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

”You used to call me Cheol.”

“Your fiance calls you that.”

He winces and you let out a quiet, defeated sigh.

The both of you had learned in fourth grade that names had power. It was in some stupid English novel your teacher had forced you to read in class— entirely boring and useless, yet the sentiment had always stayed.

“Goodbye, Seungcheol.”

He watches as you leave.

You take the power he holds over you away. You revoke his claim on your heart. You refuse to call him anything other than his government name ever again.

He proposes the second time over winter break at 15 years old.

“Our parents think we’re going to get married when we’re older.”

You laugh because you’ve heard it from your parents multiple times over the course of the last six years. ”I know.”

”Do you think we will?” Seungcheol no longer looked like the little boy you had grown up with since kindergarten. He looks different and so do you.

“If you don’t make me mad before we’re 30, yes.”

He looks offended. “I would never.”

Seungcheol could never imagine making you mad or being the reason for your tears.

“I want one of those fancy weddings.” He comments, picturing the scene. “With all our friends— somewhere in the middle of August. Right after my birthday.”

“Me too.” You lay next to him, looking up at the ceiling of his room. His ceilings are still decorated with the solar system from his youth. “With a big cake, big decorations, a DJ, and I want my veil to reach the floor.”

You can see the wedding day so perfectly in your mind, and when you turn to look at him looking at you— you know he can see it so clearly too.

Seungcheol gets married on a farm at 27 because his fiance wanted to. There were no elaborate cakes, big decorations or a DJ. Her veil was modest and fell neatly on her shoulders. It lacked most of his high school friends. It was in February.

You return to your empty apartment after a long day of work and you can almost see the visible trails of energy Seungcheol had left behind.

Perhaps you were slowly going insane from the loneliness, but your apartment carried wisps of gold, flowing through the air and gathering dust on your couch.

You feel the sudden urge to run to him. You almost do.

Instead, you pour yourself a cup of warm tea and curl up on your one seater couch. You welcome the loneliness in and invite it to stay for a while.

Joshua tells you Seungcheol and his fiance had just moved into their marital home. You imagine it’s homey and illuminated with a thousand warm lights. You imagine she cooks for him in their giant kitchen and he hugs her coming home from work. You imagine they sleep on the same side of the bed.

You fight each wave of yearning towards him, each urge to knock on his door begging for answers. For another chance. For him to leave the carbon copy of you. You want to run to him. You almost do, but you don’t.

He proposes for the last time in the middle of a snowstorm at 25.

“Let’s get married.” It’s less of a proposal and more of a beg. “Fuck the idea of 30. I want you to be my wife now.”

Yet you know you’re not ready. Deep down he knows it too. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” He’s angry, frustrated. You can tell. You always do.

You look away. “I want to finish my degree before I get married, Cheol. You know this. You know what they say about women who get married and still try to pursue law.”

You look back and he’s on his knees. “Marry me.” He says again. “You can do both.”

“You know I can’t. We said 30, Cheol. Please.” It’s your turn to beg, as you sink down to meet him at his level, your knees scraping the wooden floor of your shared apartment. “Wait for me. Please.” You hold his face in the palms of your hands.

He nods, but you can tell from the way he gets up silently that you’ve betrayed him. That somehow putting you first had burned him.

So Cheol gets married at 27 with you in the audience. He doesn’t wait for you. You get your degree a year later.

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xoxosierralane · 2 days ago

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| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #dallas wings #paige x reader #wbb fic #sierrassweets #sierrasworks 🌺

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writeriguess · 2 days ago

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Hi Neema!

May I please request Katsuki x Reader, where they'd broken up a few years before because he was so into his work that he accidentally made her feel like she was holding him back, and at the reunion he apologizes and asks her if she's willing to try again? (And of course the answer is yes!) Fluff, maybe hurt/comfort, possibly car smut?

Never Really Over

The reunion wasn’t your idea. If it had been, you wouldn’t be here.

You’d spent the last few years carefully avoiding the places and people that would bring up memories of him. Not because you hated him—not even close—but because it had taken you so damn long to stop hurting every time you thought of Katsuki Bakugou.

But here you were.

The bar was buzzing with familiar voices, old classmates from UA greeting each other with excitement, some already three drinks in and laughing too loudly. You nursed your drink at the edge of the crowd, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might ask too many questions.

And then, you felt it.

That crackle in the air, like the moment before a storm.

You turned before you could stop yourself. And there he was.

Katsuki Bakugou, in the flesh.

He looked… good. Too good. He always had, but the years had refined him, softening some of the sharp edges just enough to make them even more dangerous. His hero uniform was gone, replaced by dark jeans and a fitted black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the corded muscle of his forearms.

And his eyes. The moment they landed on you, they widened—just slightly, but enough. A flicker of something raw passed through them before he masked it.

You forced yourself to look away, pretending to be engrossed in the condensation on your glass.

But it didn’t matter. His footsteps were already headed in your direction.

“Hey.”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine. Deep, familiar, threaded with hesitation—something you never thought you’d hear from him.

You took a steadying breath before looking up. “Hey.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could hear the chatter of your old classmates, the clink of glasses, the hum of music in the background. But all of it faded because Katsuki was here, standing right in front of you, and you had no idea what to say to him.

He was the one who broke it.

“You look good,” he said, eyes scanning you like he was memorizing every detail.

You gave a small smile. “You too.”

A dry chuckle. “Yeah, right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You been doin’ okay?”

You hesitated. That was a complicated question. “Yeah,” you settled on. “I mean, it took a while, but I’ve been good.”

Katsuki exhaled, looking away for a moment. “Yeah. Same.” His voice was gruff, like the words were hard to admit.

Silence again. It wasn’t awkward, exactly—just heavy.

You sighed, deciding to rip the band-aid off. “Katsuki, why are you here?”

His gaze snapped back to you, and for the first time, you saw it—guilt.

“I needed to see you,” he said, voice quieter now.

You swallowed. “Why?”

He exhaled, jaw tightening. “Because I was an idiot. And I owe you an apology.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. “An apology?”

His hands clenched at his sides before he forced them to relax. “Yeah. For… everything.”

You let out a soft breath, staring into your drink. “Katsuki, that was years ago.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Too fuckin’ long, actually. But that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it every goddamn day.”

Your chest tightened. “What exactly do you regret?”

His crimson eyes flickered with something pained. “Pushing you away. Making you think you weren’t important to me.” He took a deep breath. “You were the most important thing in my life, and I was too fuckin’ blind to see it.”

Your breath caught.

Katsuki clenched his jaw. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing. Thought I had to put everything into being a hero so I could be good enough. And you—” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “You were always so damn supportive, and instead of appreciating that, I just made you feel like you were in the way.”

He looked at you then, eyes raw and open in a way you’d never seen before.

“I was wrong.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“I never shoulda let you go,” he admitted, voice rough. “I should’ve fought for us. Should’ve fucking seen you instead of drownin’ myself in work like an idiot.” His hands clenched again. “And I know I can’t change what happened, but I just—” He broke off, exhaling sharply. “I just needed you to know that. That it wasn’t you. It was me.”

Your fingers curled around your glass. “Katsuki…”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “I still—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just wanted to say it. To finally tell you how sorry I am.”

You stared at him, feeling everything all at once—the heartbreak, the longing, the years of missing him. The late nights where you wondered if he ever thought about you the way you thought about him.

And now, here he was, telling you everything you had once needed to hear.

You inhaled sharply, gripping your glass. “You still what?”

Katsuki’s gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Then, quietly—almost too quiet for him—he admitted,

“I still love you.”

Your breath caught.

He let out a rough exhale. “And I know I don’t deserve shit from you. But if—” He hesitated, eyes flickering with uncertainty. “If there’s any part of you that still feels the same, I—” His jaw tightened. “I wanna try again. If you’ll have me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You should’ve been angry. Should’ve told him he was too late, that you’d moved on, that you didn’t need him anymore.

But the truth was, you’d never stopped loving him either.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “You mean that?”

He exhaled sharply. “More than anything.”

You bit your lip, searching his face. He was serious.

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “If we do this… I need to know it’ll be different.”

Katsuki nodded without hesitation. “I will make it different. I swear it.”

You inhaled, your heart screaming at you to just say yes.

And then you did.

“Okay.”

His eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yes, dumbass. Seriously.”

For the first time that night, Katsuki actually looked stunned.

Then, without thinking, he grabbed you—one arm wrapping around your waist, the other cupping your face as he kissed you hard.

You gasped against his mouth, but it only took a second before you melted into him, gripping his shirt as he kissed you like he was making up for lost time.

When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, breathless.

“I won’t fuck this up again,” he murmured.

You smiled, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “You better not.”

He smirked. “Guess I’ll just have to spend the rest of my life provin’ it to you, huh?”

Your heart swelled. “Guess so.”

And as he kissed you again, you knew—this time, you weren’t letting go.

***

The reunion was long over by the time you and Katsuki stumbled out into the parking lot. The cool night air kissed your flushed skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his body beside you. Your hand was clasped tightly in his, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his thumb traced soft, nervous circles against your knuckles—an almost boyish fidget you’d never seen from him before.

He glanced at you, crimson eyes flicking down to your lips. The hunger in his gaze made your stomach flip, and your body responded instinctively, leaning closer.

“Gonna keep lookin’ at me like that all night?” he rumbled, voice low and dangerous.

You smirked, emboldened by the rush of adrenaline. “Depends. You gonna do something about it?”

A growl escaped him, a predatory grin spreading across his face. “Get your ass in the car.”

He dragged you to his sleek black car—an obnoxiously expensive model you recognized from countless magazine covers. The Hero Dynamight’s flashy ride. The moment the doors unlocked, Katsuki shoved the driver’s seat back, giving himself enough space before pulling you in.

The second the door clicked shut, his hands were on you. Rough, calloused palms skimmed up your thighs, dragging your dress higher as he crashed his mouth against yours. The kiss was all heat and desperation—teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a groan rumbling from his chest when you bit his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he grunted, dragging you closer until you straddled him, knees pressing into the soft leather of his seat.

His hands roamed possessively—one gripping your hip, the other trailing up your spine before tangling in your hair. He tugged just hard enough to force your head back, exposing the length of your throat. Hot lips brushed against your pulse point, nipping and licking, and you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped out.

“Katsuki—”

“Say it again,” he demanded, voice a growl against your skin.

“Katsuki,” you repeated, breath hitching.

His mouth latched onto the curve of your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a signature of sorts. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the firm lines of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Missed this,” he muttered against your skin, palms squeezing your hips. “Missed you.”

The admission sent a jolt through you. “Me too,” you breathed.

Katsuki’s eyes burned as he reached for the buttons of your dress, nimble fingers making quick work of them. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling around your waist and exposing the lacy bra you’d picked out on a whim. His gaze lingered, hunger darkening his eyes as he traced the curve of your breasts.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he rasped, large hands cupping you through the lace. His thumbs brushed over the peaks of your nipples, teasing until they hardened beneath his touch.

Heat pooled low in your belly, and you rolled your hips against him, dragging a ragged groan from his throat. You could already feel him hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans.

“Impatient?” you teased, breathless.

He smirked, fingers sliding beneath your bra to flick your nipple. “You’re talkin’ a lot of shit for someone already so wet for me.”

You bit back a whimper as his hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the hem of your dress. Rough fingers pressed against your clothed core, feeling the dampness already seeping through.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he drawled, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Heat flushed your face as he pressed two fingers against your slit, rubbing slow circles that had your thighs trembling. He pushed your panties aside, a satisfied grunt rumbling from him when he felt how slick you were.

“Shit,” he muttered, eyes blazing. “Didn’t even fuckin’ touch you yet.”

Your head fell back as he slipped a finger inside, curling it just right. A soft moan slipped past your lips, and he took advantage, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“More,” you gasped, hips rocking against his hand.

He complied, slipping in another finger, pumping them slowly before picking up the pace. The lewd sound of your arousal filled the car, mixing with your soft moans and his rough growls.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me lose it,” he grunted, pulling his fingers free. The slick sheen coating them had his eyes flashing dangerously. He brought them to his mouth, tongue dragging over them as he hummed appreciatively. “Still taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

A whine escaped you, and Katsuki’s lips curled into a cocky grin. “Impatient little thing.”

Your hands found his belt, fumbling in your haste to unbuckle it. Katsuki’s lips found your jaw, trailing heated kisses down your throat as he reached to help, shoving his jeans and boxers down enough to free his length.

You bit your lip as you looked down. He was as intimidating as you remembered—thick and heavy, tip already flushed.

“See somethin’ you like?” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but your hands wrapped around him anyway, earning a low, guttural curse. He was hot and hard beneath your touch, and you stroked him slowly, relishing the way his eyes narrowed.

“Quit teasin’,” he growled.

“I thought you liked a challenge?” you taunted.

He shot you a glare that melted into hunger as you lined yourself up, pushing your panties aside and sinking down onto him. The stretch was intense, a burn that quickly melted into pleasure as you took him inch by inch.

Katsuki’s head fell back against the headrest, a strangled groan escaping him. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging in as he fought for control.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted. “Tight as ever.”

You gasped as he thrust up, filling you to the hilt. The angle had sparks dancing behind your eyelids.

“Katsuki—!”

He smirked, teeth catching his bottom lip. “C’mon, move. You can take it.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You rocked your hips, setting a rhythm that quickly turned desperate. Katsuki met your movements with bruising thrusts, fingers digging into your hips to keep you steady.

“Always so damn good,” he praised, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your head fell back, a broken moan spilling out as he angled just right, brushing against that sweet spot.

“There,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “Right there—”

Katsuki’s smirk widened, pace turning relentless. “Yeah? Like that?”

“Yes—fuck—Katsuki!”

His grip tightened as he thrust harder, determined to unravel you. Heat coiled tighter, and your breath caught as the wave crashed over you—pleasure stealing your breath, leaving you trembling around him.

Katsuki cursed, hips stuttering before he buried himself deep, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, you were both still, breaths mingling as you leaned against his chest, bodies sticky and tangled. Katsuki’s fingers brushed soothing circles along your spine.

“Missed you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled against his skin. “Missed you too.”

He smirked. “We’re not done, y’know.”

You blinked. “What?”

The wicked grin spreading across his face sent a shiver down your spine. “Said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

Heat pooled low in your belly again as he bucked his hips. “Hope you’re ready for a long night.”

You bit your lip, grinning. “Bring it on, Dynamight.”

#bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia

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aishaspen · 2 days ago

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bullshit | james potter

pairing: james potter x reader

summary: james’ girlfriend should not be allowed near alcohol. ever.

warnings: angst, alcohol, language, vomiting, implied infidelity/relationship problems (its upto your interpretation), no use of y/n.

a/n: this just came up in my brain after i watched a stancy edit on ig lol. i might write a next part if i get any more inspo. also i’m picking up the pen after like three years so this might be shite.

The muggle music kept blaring on the from the speakers, as all their classmates danced and sang along to it. James paid no mind to it, for he was too occupied with trying, and failing, to get his girlfriend to let go of the almost empty vodka bottle in her hand.

“Baby, I love you, but please put the vodka down.” He huffed half-amusedly and tried to snatch the bottle from her hands again, only for her to frown and try her best to shove him away, and into the beer keg a few feet behind him.

“Bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit?”

“Love.” her swift answer made James wince.

“What do you mean by that, baby?” maybe she was just drunk and out of her mind. Surely she had no clue about the things she was sputtering, right?

“This– our love. Its bullshit.” she slurred as she glared up at her boyfriend. Her glare hardened further as she remembered her ties to him.

“You... You don't love me?” James' voice cracked as he looked at her. He contemplated getting down on his knees and begging her to disagree, to tell him that she did love him and always would. then they could pretend that this conversation had never happened, and then go back to their now perfect relationship, devoid of any slip ups or lies.

“It’s all just bullshit.” she spat out the words, voice laced with all the hate and venom her intoxicated body could muster up, before throwing up at his feet and then passing out in his arms.

James wanted to cry.

Foolishly enough, he had thought that she would have forgiven and forgotten about the things that transpired a year ago. But to his utter surprise and disappointment, she had not.

It was on him, he supposed. James’ girlfriend had been a kind and loveable person with a heart made of 24 karat gold, yes, but she also had a penchant for never forgiving a slight, real or imagined.

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated<3

#james potter #james potter angst #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #marauders era #marauders x reader #james potter x y/n #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x you #harry potter fanfic #james potter x reader angst

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random-tumbir-user-123 · 1 day ago

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Honestly, I think I'd wanna be a cat, but like one that has a good family and all. I mean, no responsibilities, being cared for and adored by everyone? Who wouldn't wanna have this life?

The pants I wore the previous day and a random ass shirt from my wardrobe

Vampire, 100%, my classmates and parents call me a vampire all the time (Plus, I'm relatively pale and with makeup I'm even paler)

Emo, def emo

Regular milk (I don't think I've ever had plant based milk lmao)

Cereal first, then milk

A friend once told me abt this awesome torture method that results in death that she saw in a show, it's like, first you tie someone to a chair and there's a drill like 30cm away from their body, and every hour it moves a millimeter or a centimeter closer, and it drills directly into the heart. I think that's the coolest way to kill someone

@v1c1s0nf1r3 @radioactive-bean @mentally-unstable-thoughts and anyone who comes across this post and wants to do this too ^^

yk what I'll also do this get to know your mutuals cuz I thought bout it for a bit and I think I have to or I'll explode

get to know your mutuals♡

if you could be any animal which one would you choose to be? (can be fictional) (and you can explain why if you want to)

what would you choose when you're in a hurry and have nothing to wear?

are you a witch, vampire, fairy, dryad, siren or a mermaid and why do you think so?

what is your style?

regular milk or plant based milk?

which one do you put first milk or cereal?

fav way to kill someone? (idgaf if you never thought of it now you have to think of something and make it at least a bit cool I'm begging)

and I'll go first cuz I can

girl I wrote kinda a lot in these answers but I just had to brag about my fav way of killing people🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ and okay maybe it's kinda stupid that I'm also doing this game even tho I made it for others but who cares?

I can't choose but either a phoenix or a wolf cuz the allegory of both of these animals absolutely stole my heart

anything in my wardrobe that looks good (and it's almost always not adequate for the cold weather, I literally can wear a mini skirt when it's like 2°C outside and there are times when I am wearing a mini skirt and a crop top when it is 0°C and even when it was -3°C I don't care)

something in between vampire and a dryad cuz I feel like I would be a good vampire I don't know how to describe it but I just know and that's it and also a dryad cuz when I think of them they give me rather a messy and chaotic vibe which is def how I act and overall express myself so I'd say that I'm sometimes both sometimes one and sometimes the other

I'm goth so my style is overall gothic and / or cunty

regular but only 1,5% fat

CEREAL

sooo this is my fav way, first - pepper spray in the face so they can't see and therefore they can't run away, second - start scratching their legs with a pocket knife as hard as possible and try to find an aorta and cut there (making it even harder to run away), third - stick the same knife into all of their fingers (why not), fourth - knock out their teeth with a knuckle duster and finally - when they open their mouth trying to catch a breath from the blood and saliva running into their throat pour fluoroantimonic acid into their mouth and it's done! and I'll add that fluoroantimonic acid is called the most corrosive acid in the world ans if it touches the skin it causes huge damage and if poured into someones throat it'll burn the insides and kill. I think I'm really creative cuz I came up with this when I was writing one of my books and now I'm obsessed

tags: @n1eprzytomnadesperacja @niketas-s @r4tkisses @dawkacynizmu @gothicm0rph @slowacki006

and with question 7 rn I'm mostly thinking about one bbg ( @dawkacynizmu I'm looking at you ) cuz a bit after I came up with this question I thought that you might have an interesting answer

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aventurineswife · 2 days ago

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aventurine, phainon, sunday, and veritas (student AU) were reader is the new student and they are afraid of go and socializing since its their first time making a big change.

(i am currently experiencing being the new student and the truth is that it is strange to be in a new environment and leave my old classmates 😭✋ sorry for kinda venting here...)

Step Into the Unknown

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Mentorship, School AU, Anxiety/Comfort, Inner Conflict, Growth, Slow Burn (?), Emotional Healing, Supportive Characters, Personal Growth.

Warnings: Anxiety, Mild Angst, Possible Mentions of Trauma, Sensitive Themes (handling mental health, overcoming fear of social interaction).

A/N: Hey, I totally get that—it’s tough being the new person and leaving behind familiar faces. It’s okay to feel a little off about it. Take it one step at a time; things will get easier. You’ve got this. 🫂💖

It was your first day at a new school, and the nerves were nearly overwhelming. You stood in the hallway, clutching your books close to your chest, a sea of unfamiliar faces passing by. The thought of socializing made your stomach turn with anxiety. It was all so much, too fast, and too big a change from what you were used to. You felt so small, a lone figure amidst the bustling crowds.

That's when you noticed him.

Aventurine stood at the far end of the hall, his presence unmistakable. His tousled hair and flamboyant, well-tailored uniform/clothes instantly caught your attention. His vibrant eyes scanned the crowd like he was playing a game—a game he was undoubtedly winning.

You froze for a moment, unsure whether to approach or shrink back. But then, to your surprise, he made his way over, his confident gait purposeful yet unhurried. His eyes gleamed with something between mischief and curiosity.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” he said smoothly, his voice playful yet warm. “A new player in the game?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to stammer out a response, but he was already leaning in, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Aventurine continued, his hand flicking a strand of his earring, “You’ve got a good chance, but you have to roll the dice and take the first step.” He glanced over his shoulder, then back at you, his smile softening slightly. “But maybe I’ll be your good luck charm. After all, everyone needs one in their corner, don’t they?”

Aventurine was always calculated in his words, but today, there was something different—a subtle kindness. It wasn’t the usual risk-driven banter. No, this felt... real. He gestured toward the cafeteria, a suggestion of something more than just a social interaction in his gaze.

“Come on, let’s make this a game,” he said with a wink. “I’ll show you the ropes. Nothing to be afraid of—just a game of chance.”

His confidence was contagious, and though your anxiety still clung to your chest, you found yourself following him. Maybe it was time to roll the dice and see where this new chapter would take you.

Your heart raced as you stepped into the classroom, your nervousness magnified by the fact that this was your first time in a new school. The faces around you were strangers, and the thought of socializing made you want to disappear. Everyone seemed to already know each other, moving with ease while you stood awkwardly near the door, hoping no one would notice how out of place you felt.

And then, from across the room, you saw him.

Phainon, with his striking white hair and piercing eyes, seemed to glow with an almost regal air. He was sitting with a group, but his focus wasn’t entirely on them. His eyes were soft, observing the space, and for a moment, they landed on you.

A gentle smile spread across his face, and without hesitation, he stood up and walked toward you. His movements were fluid, and his presence radiated a warmth that made you feel... safe.

“Hi,” he greeted, his voice calm and inviting. “I’m Phainon. You must be the new student, right?”

Your words fumbled, but Phainon didn’t seem to mind. He tilted his head slightly, his bright eyes shining with genuine curiosity.

“Starting somewhere new can be tough,” he said, as if reading your thoughts. “But trust me, it’s not as scary as it seems. And if you need someone to talk to or sit with, I’m always here.”

There was no pressure in his offer, just sincerity, and for the first time that day, you felt like you weren’t alone. Phainon smiled again, his cheerfulness like a beacon of reassurance.

“Don’t worry. Let’s face this new adventure together.”

And as he led you to an empty seat beside him, you realized that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the first class of the day. You lingered in the hallway, unsure of where to go next. It was your first day, and the overwhelming newness of everything made you feel like an outsider. You weren’t sure how to approach anyone, and your anxiety held you back from making the first move.

Then, you noticed him.

Sunday, with his ethereal presence, stood near the window, gazing out with his eyes lost in thought. His hair shimmered as he adjusted it gently, and the soft flutter of his wings behind his ears made him seem otherworldly. There was something peaceful about his demeanor, something you instinctively gravitated toward.

When he turned and caught sight of you, a slight, almost imperceptible smile crossed his face. His voice was soft, like a breeze, carrying a sense of calm.

“You seem troubled,” he observed, taking a step toward you. His tone wasn’t judgmental, just a quiet acknowledgment of your discomfort. “It’s alright to feel that way. New beginnings can be... overwhelming.”

You didn’t know what to say at first, but Sunday’s gaze was understanding, his eyes filled with a depth that made you feel like you weren’t as alone as you thought.

“I know how it feels to be unsure,” he continued, his voice like a gentle lullaby. “But sometimes, the hardest part is taking that first step. If you’d like, I could walk with you. No rush, no expectations—just the company of someone who knows the weight of change.”

You nodded, grateful for his presence. Sunday’s calm energy had a soothing effect on you, and for the first time that day, you allowed yourself to breathe. As you walked with him down the hallway, you realized that maybe, with a little help from a kind soul like Sunday, this new chapter wasn’t as intimidating as it seemed.

The lecture hall was filled with students, their voices mingling with the sound of shuffling papers. You stood at the entrance, frozen by the sight of so many unfamiliar faces. It was your first day, and the thought of trying to fit in, to start over, felt insurmountable. You felt small and out of place.

Then, you saw him.

Ratio—or Veritas, as the students sometimes referred to him—was standing at the front of the room, his hair cascading over one eye. His presence was commanding, even without him saying a word. He wore an air of confidence that made the rest of the world seem secondary. His piercing eyes scanned the students, and when they landed on you, they didn’t just see a new face; they saw... someone in need of guidance.

“You’re the new student,” Ratio said with a knowing glance, his voice smooth and sure. There was no judgment, only a sharp clarity. “Don’t fret. You’re here to learn. To challenge yourself. It’s the only thing that matters in this place.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond, but his eyes—those striking eyes—didn’t waver.

“Knowledge overcomes everything,” he continued, walking over to you with deliberate steps. “Fear, doubt, uncertainty. The moment you embrace it, you’ll find yourself in control. You’ll find your footing.”

His words weren’t just advice—they were a challenge, an invitation to rise above the discomfort that clung to you.

“You may not feel like you belong here yet,” Ratio said, his gaze now softer, “but this is your chance. And I believe in your potential. Knowledge does not judge. It simply waits for those brave enough to seek it.”

As he led you to an empty seat beside him, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this new chapter was less about fitting in and more about embracing the challenge of learning. Ratio’s confidence, his unwavering belief in intellect, made you feel like you might just be able to find your own strength in this new world.

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luvseraphh · 18 hours ago

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interview i. midoriya

In which pro-hero Deku is getting interviewed by a news reporter, but he's a bit... distracted during the conversation.

"Pro-hero Deku! Can I have a word with you?" you asked, bounding up to him, microphone in hand and camera following close behind you.

"Yeah, of course," he replied, soft smile gracing his face, standing beside you as the two of you looked towards the camera.

"Live," the camera person mumbled.

"I'm here with pro-hero Deku who just finished a vicious villain battle, Deku, what's something that keeps you motivated through out your hero work?" you ask, game face on as you locked into work, pointing the microphone towards him so he could speak into it.

"My biggest motivation is knowing how many fans I have looking up to me and how many people are counting on me to succeed. If I can save just one person I'll go home satisfied," he commented, eyes beginning to trace your features.

"We all know All Might is one of your big inspirations in your hero work, what other pro-heroes do you use as an inspiration for your moves?" you ask a second question.

However, the green-haired pro-hero was seemingly caught up in thought, forgetting to answer for a moment before he heard you repeat his name.

"Oh, sorry, Dynamite is definitely a big inspiration in my combat, I learned a lot from him at UA and even before that. Cellophane really helped me learn to use my black whip. Honestly all of my classmates at UA helped me in one way or another," he gushes, thinking back on fond memories with the people he used to share a class with.

"That's great, it seems like they had a huge impact on your life. Are you still close with your old UA classmates or has time made you guys drift apart?"

"We don't have as much time to hangout anymore with the hero work we're all doing, but we're still pretty close and try to get together when we have the time to," he responds with a soft smile.

"Alright, I'll stop bothering you, thank you for your time and answers," you say as the camera cuts off, dropping the microphone to your side.

"Maybe you could thank me with dinner?" Izuku asks, a wave of confidence flowing over him.

Taglist - @justmylvr @lwcedribbons @im0nsaturn @dvartefox @failurewater @f0reverfaded @t0asty1 @iv-vee @mp3nai @straows @grenadehearts @hecate-frenchfries

#mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #mha izuku #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #bnha izuku #mha midoriya #midoriya x reader #bnha midoriya #deku fluff #deku x reader #mha deku #bnha deku #deku #𐔌 seraph mha 🪻#𐔌 seraph drabbles 🪻#𐔌 seraph izuku 🪻

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story-box · 2 days ago

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SEVEN SHADES OF DOOM | Eddie Munson

Series: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x Y/N

Summary: You, a flustered classmate, get roped into Hellfire—and Eddie Munson’s full attention—whether you're ready or not.

Hellfire Club — Later That Night

You're there.

You almost weren’t—you spent twenty minutes pacing your bedroom like someone trapped without a door—but somehow, against all odds and panic spirals, you showed up. And now you're seated at the long table in the drama room, surrounded by too many dice and not enough oxygen.

Eddie hasn’t looked at you yet.

Which is rude.

He invited you.

You’re just about to leave (read: fake a bathroom emergency and run) when the chair next to you scrapes back. Boots. Rings. A leather jacket brushing against your arm. Eddie.

“Good,” he murmurs, low and firm. Not loud for the group—just for you. “You listened.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in, one hand braced on the table, the other casually resting on the back of your chair—like he's caging you in without even trying. You realize immediately: he isn’t playing around tonight.

“You were about thirty seconds from getting a very public call-out, sweetheart,” he says, lips curving into a smirk that knows exactly what it’s doing. “And I don’t think you want that. Do you?”

You don’t. God, you don’t.

His hand drifts down—the back of your chair, not your body (yet)—and his voice drops again. “Sit. Still.” It’s a command, not a suggestion.

You obey.

“Good,” he says again, and it sounds so damn smug. Then, loud and light and back in gremlin mode, he claps his hands and calls out to the group: “Alright, my little freaks, let’s roll for initiative!”

You try to focus. You really do. But every time you glance to the side, he's already looking at you—with this calm, knowing gaze that says, You're not here to play a game. You're here to learn how to follow orders.

And then?

Halfway through the session, he leans over, rolls a die into your lap, and murmurs in your ear: “Be a good little elf and hand that back to me.”

You nearly drop it.

Your fingers fumble as you reach under the table, cheeks blazing. The die is warm from where it bounced off your leg, and so are your palms. You grip it like it might explode, then place it in his outstretched hand without looking up.

But Eddie doesn’t take it. Not right away.

Instead, his fingers close over yours, slow and deliberate. Heavy rings pressing into your knuckles, his palm completely enveloping yours. He leans in again, this time letting his hair brush your shoulder as he whispers:

“Atta girl.”

And just like that, your brain forgets every spell, stat, and basic concept of English.

You swallow hard. “W-what’s my roll?”

He smirks as he pulls back—finally—letting your hand go with maddening reluctance. “Doesn’t matter. You passed.”

You blink. “But I didn’t—”

“You followed orders,” he says, interrupting without apology. “That’s all I care about.”

The table erupts in laughter around you—someone’s barbarian just tried to seduce a dragon—and Eddie turns his attention back to the chaos like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just short-circuit your entire central nervous system with one line and a six-sided die.

You try to breathe. You try to refocus. You try to not stare at the way he lounges back in his chair, tapping that same die against his bottom lip while watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You fail.

By the end of the session, your character’s half-dead, your party’s on fire (literally), and you’ve contributed exactly three lines of dialogue and one weak suggestion to cast Light on a torch someone already lit.

Eddie doesn’t seem to care. Every time you speak, even if it’s just to roll, his gaze flicks to you. Calculating. Hungry. Patient.

And then the game ends.

Players scatter, chairs scrape, Jeff’s already outside lighting a cigarette, and you’re stuffing your notes into your bag with trembling fingers when you feel him behind you again—warm, too close, too casual.

“You’re jumpy.” He says it like a compliment.

You don’t turn around. “You’re smug.”

He laughs, low and fond. “Only when I’m right.”

Then—his hand slides over your shoulder. Not a grab. Just a drag of fingertips across the fabric of your sleeve as he steps in front of you. Blocking the door. Smiling like the devil knows he’s beautiful.

“Walk you out?”

You nod, because words are gone now, scattered across the floor with the d4s and what’s left of your dignity.

The hallway’s quiet. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. You both pause at the school’s back doors, breath misting in the cold. Your ride won’t be here for fifteen minutes.

“You cold?” he asks, already shedding his jacket.

You start to shake your head, but he’s draping it over your shoulders before you can finish the motion. His hands linger a second too long, steady on your arms.

You try again: “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he cuts in softly. “That’s not why I do things.”

You stare at him. He stares right back.

And then, with devastating ease, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a scrap of paper, and presses it into your hand. You look down:

“If you’re brave enough to come back—Friday. Same time.” Below it, a phone number. Written in bold, scratchy Eddie-handwriting.

You glance up. “And if I’m not brave enough?”

He shrugs one shoulder, half-smirk curling on his lips. “Then I guess I’ll just have to come find you myself.”

just as your knees start to turn to smoke—he backs up.

Leaves you there blinking in the cold, jacket heavy on your shoulders and your pulse pounding like you just escaped something... or were marked by it.

He’s halfway to his van before he calls back:

“Keep the jacket. I’ll get it when I collect you.”

No room for misinterpretation. No maybe. Just when.

He drives off with the window cracked, hair whipping in the wind, music you can’t make out bleeding from the speakers.

And you? Still standing there.

Still red. Still stupid.

Still absolutely, helplessly, completely his.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #dnd character #dnd #fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things

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kaxela · 2 days ago

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✰ kuroo tetsuro as your tutor ✰

⊹ ࣪ ˖ your classmate kuroo, was willing to give you his wisdom on how to ace an exam ; 📝 comfort n' fluff SFW "how do you pass an exam? easy, just talk to the cute boy in your class."

a/n ugh, sry if this story isn't good. i just wanted to write something (about my man). heh. not proofread.

your homeroom teacher noticed how your score was getting way too much marks than usual. your bad performance could be from stress, difficulty, or just life kicking your ass. you obviously wanted to better transform your academics. the first solution that was offered to you was to attend actual afterschool tutoring. however, you explained how you had no one to take you to the lessons. your teacher then came up with a simple plan B and that was to sit you right next to kuroo tetsuro. you're not sure why teachers do this. they sit the failing student next to the a+ student and expect the magic to happen.

from a surface level, you knew that kuroo was an athlete. specifically, nekoma's reowned volleyball captain. he's labeled as mature, smart, and some girls in your grade have a crush on him.

💬 first impression.

the following day, he placed you right next to him. you were observing to why this guy is top of the class. nothing seems out of the ordinary with this man until he opens his mouth:

"yaku, you know if you eat a watermelon seed. it'll grow inside of your stomach?"

"i'm not a kid anymore, i'm not falling for that blatant dumbass lie." yaku snares right back at him.

kuroo leans his chair towards him, pointing to yaku's head. "are you sure it just didn't grow in your head? your head is massive."

yaku immediately hits kuroo's head into his desk. he hysterically dies of laughter as yaku curses under his breath. you were so shocked watching this all enfold in front of you. you admit, it was a little funny.

perhaps kuroo isn't a bad guy though because soon right after their fight, he kept apologizing to yaku and begged him to talk to him.

but. . .is this dude really the top student in your class.

✶⋆.˚ life saver.

you were spaced out in class. you had lack of rest the other night, all you can think about is falling asleep. your class was going over a reading on biology, but information just went in one ear and out the other. in your peripheral vision, you begin to notice multiple raised-hands fly up in the air.

you suddenly hear your name being called out. crap, your teacher must have picked on you because you were the only one not raising their hand.

you stand up awkwardly and smile. your teacher then asks,

"so. which form of cellular respiration produces the most ATP?"

you feel all choked up and flip your page back and forth hoping to get a last minute clue. suddenly, a hand appears on your book. kuroo, highlights with a marker on a piece of text of what you believe to be the answer.

"aerobic! aerobic cellular respiration." you answer, and it was correct.

you sit back down and sigh in relief. you curl a smile on your lips and whisper thank you. his spiky dark hair covered his eyes a little, but you saw how friendly and warm his gaze was towards you. he couldn't help but to mirror a smile right back at you.

"anytime."

✎ᝰ well acquainted.

it went from saying hi to each other every morning, sharing your school supplies, and to studying notecards together. i guess your teacher's plan really did work.

you were walking down the hallway back to your class because you forgot something in your bag. when you got there, you were surprised to see the man you see every single morning.

he was sitting in his lonesome. his posture was well fixed, with his palm resting on his chin. he was scribbling away on his paper. (most likely some really smart equations or well-written notes). you think to yourself how handsome he really is. i guess it isn't too taboo why so much girls find him attractive.

you go up to him and tap him on the shoulder. a little startled, he flinches.

"ahh, hey you." he smiles, his pen stops moving and he turns his head to have his full attention onto you.

you sigh and pull a chair to the side to sit next to him. as expected, you peer over to see a lot of work done on his paper.

"tell me your secret, kuroo." you crook your head to the side, "how do you study and understand? i'm not smart like you so-"

kuroo furiously shakes his head to your self-deprecating comment. he releases the pen from his grip. he puts his fingers on his chin as if he's pondering.

"you're passionate about your interests, right?"

you nod in attune.

unexpectedly, kuroo leans his body towards you. the eye contact you had with each other was unwavering. this honestly made you so nervous. your breathing hitches a little, but you try to make it steady.

"find passion in doing the hard work, it will eventually pay off. your body and mind are supposed to be in cohesion within one another, okay? so don't be your own enemy. my next advice is that you can take deep breaths, it'll maximize the functionality of your brain."

kuroo leans right back into his seat. "so, you're fine. just breathe. besides, you showed me your score on your last test. you got most of them right. i'm proud of you."

as soon as he mentioned 'just breathe' you swear he noticed you being all nervous. you move a strand behind your ear and smile once again. you feel as if your heart was swelling up with joy. he’s right, you were improving. it's mostly thanks to kuroo's support.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

bonus read: (perfect if you wear glasses)

you and kuroo were studying in the library together. your table was coupled with a lot of papers, textbooks, and some drinks from a nearby convenience store to keep you guys going.

as you were examining the text, you couldn't make out what was printed. so you take out your reading glasses and everything became much more coherent. kuroo immediately takes notice of you in glasses. he thought you were so pretty. you exuded intelligent, yet an elegant energy.

kuroo stares at your face intently. you look right back at him and push your glasses up on the bridge of your nose.

"do i look different or something?"

"yeah, you look so pr-can i borrow those frames for a second." kuroo nervously chuckles.

you swear you heard him say something else, but you shrug it off. you hand over the pair to kuroo and he places it on his face.

you didn't want to say anything at all, but your face probably gave it all away. he was so. damn. good-looking. the black frames just complimented him all too well. he needs to start wearing glasses more . . .

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

the first thing that came into his mind is how glasses oddly reminded him of tsukki.

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #fluff #kuroo headcanons #kuroo x you #atsumu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyu x reader #fanfiction #my man my man my man #raw raw raw or whatever lady gaga said #nekoma

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salmonlyster · 1 day ago

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hes waving at you hes just weird

ive used the name frances the most but fritz is really growing on me :p okay more thoughts under the cut lol

im not sure i like the idea of him being on a scholarship anymore since that implies he has an attachment to the school which is NOT like him at all. my initial thought was hes on a scholarship because hes valuable to the student body (again, really smart when he puts effort into things) but i think thats a bit too complicated and i would have to work around that logic a lot.

he's still in constant danger of being kicked out, though. and a constant target of harassment. he doesn't do it on purpose persay but he doesn't make any sort of effort to conceal what he does whatever the fuck he wants. type of guy where you would think he has no social awareness, but he's very aware! he just doesn't care. type of kid that flushes random shit down the toilet or puts firecrackers in it. burns his homework in the bathrooms. hides cigarettes in his boxers and skips to go smoke behind the dumpsters.

him and illi are the first to meet each other (and on illi- i love the name illi, and will definitely keep it, but will likely change their last name :3). illi is really frustrated with school because it's miserable for them, but they just kind of float by without bothering anyone else. illi has a bit of a complex about it where they feel like they should at least be bullied or something of the sort to justify how much they hate school. in short they enable each other and become public nuisances, but there's a weird dynamic about it. willis has been a target his whole life, and is ambivalent towards it because of how he's grown up with it, but is frustrated with illi's fascination with that. illi struggled talking to others growing up and goes days without speaking to their classmates, and struggles to form substantial connections to others. there's never a negative attitude towards illi by the student body, but there's never a positive one, either. they have a lot of pent up rage and think that getting beat up on the near daily would make their anger worth something.

on the socialization thing, louise's conflict with others is less that he can't form connections, and more that he isn't particularly interested. he takes his academics very seriously and eats lunch in the teacher's room (one of the english teachers) (which I will get into later in a louise-focused post). he views school as "networking" and more like a professional work environment than anything, so becoming friends with others isn't something he thinks about doing. if he put in the effort, though, him and illi would be equally awkward.

also, i really like the idea of willis being trans, simply because his uniform is worn really interesting. the pants are lower on the hips to give the illusion of a longer torso, which is something that trans men (myself included lol) do to conceal their hips/give a more masculine frame. i know the intention was just to be a sloppy uniform but i think it could be interesting. I likely won't take that idea that far.

also let me know if youre interested in the playlist im making for this :3 ok bye now ill prob not like this drawing in the morning but we ball

#my art #art #mcr #my chemical romance #im not okay #mcr fanart #frank iero #thanks for all the support on theshitty doodles i did of them all muahmuahmuahmuah

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wrongbodies · 2 days ago

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The Worst Science Convention I Ever Went To, pt 4

The next day I awoke to Randy's phone alarm, around 6am. I went about getting ready, even having to shower in his rather unimpressive body. The task of dressing came up too, which made me realize how drastically nerdy this guy was.

I found some jeans that seemed fine, and then a plain tee which was about as far from nerdy Randy's clothes seemed to get. I also found a hoodie and pulled it on. Looking at my reflection, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed still by the face that looks back at me. I knew this was only going to be temporary, I just need to hold on for a few days.

School was a mess, though. I will be honest - I am not a smart guy. I excel on the field, in bed, and occasionally in Call of Duty. Academics are not my best area. So being trapped in a nerdy boys body, going to his extra-nerdy high school was doomed to be a miserable experience. Randy had advised me to just try and lay low, which didn't help considering that teachers and classmates would often look to me for an answer, or to chat about the advanced topics.

The only warm spot throughout the day was the occasional chance to spend with Bradley. He was sweet, kind, and affectionate in a way my friends or male peers had never been. I was even feeling myself loosening up to reciprocate. Anytime I leaned in for a kiss that Bradley didn't initiate sent him blushing and starry-eyed. It was like Bradley just wanted to exist for Randy, and wanted Randy to feel the same way.

Which in turn created such a guilty feeling in me. How could I be doing all of this, secretly enjoying it, when the real Randy was going to break up with him? And wanted me to handle it for him, too? At lunch, sitting side by side with Bradley, legs pressed against one another, occasionally feeling his hand on my back, was perfection. I just wished I could have this with my old life. I wanted my body back, my lacrosse, and so on.

As I made that revelation, something occurred to me. A plan. Maybe something I could get Randy on-board with, and Dr. Lark. Most importantly, I'd have to convince Bradley of something too, something much wilder.

After school I sat in the bleachers on the side of the track. I watched Bradley's skinny body, shoulders exposed in his track uniform under the afternoon soon. He was at practice, and it seems like the two normally spent the afternoon together, Randy watching practice and then the two hanging out and doing homework.

I was on the phone, talking with Randy. He sounded winded, likely from my own lacrosse practice. He was sounding desperate to switch back. Between the physical exertion of the game, the lack of intellectual company, and the machismo culture of the team... Randy was so far out of his element. He even got in touch with Dr. Lark today.

We could switch back tomorrow, no issue. Thankfully Dr. Lark had another machine of his back in his lab, on the far side of the city. We planned together on how to get there and all that. Then, I shared my thoughts with Randy about the idea I had earlier.

"What? Are you crazy? You want to make someone else switch bodies??" Randy asked, incredulous.

"Well, think about it. This solves your Bradley problem, I get to keep him near me, and we can knock one of the asshole lacrosse players down a couple pegs." I explained.

"Are you sure Bradley wants this?" Randy sounded unconvinced still.

"He will. He is MADLY in love with you. And if he thinks that the 'me' that switches with you is really 'Randy' then he won't miss me- er, me." I continued. "And then you get to be yourself, no Bradley, and what's more we put a bastard I know on the team in their place. Bradley's place."

"I don't know... it sounds kinda devious." Randy pondered.

"Why don't you let me talk to Bradley. If he is on-board, we go through with it. If not, just you and me. Either way you still get to be Randy and I get to be Seth. It's really a win-win." I said, trying to soothe his nerves.

"Well, I suppose. I honestly wouldn't mind having Bradley away. I don't want to see his pathetic puppy eyes everytime I walk down the hallway, or him trying to get back together over and over." Randy said, sounding a bit poisonous.

"Then it's settled. I'll talk to Bradley, and then we can finish this tomorrow." I said. We hung up, and I looked at the track, to see Bradley grinning at me from across the way.

I wanted to take my boyfriend with me, I had realized. Randy was so lucky, and he didn't know it. Maybe this body or the drifting had made me weak, it could be the case. But, I have only been in this body for a few days, and I know that Bradley has changed my perspective on love so much. So it comes to this - I will have him swap into one of my lacrosse teammates. Randy swaps with me. I'll have to convince Bradley to go for it, but if he's as smitten as I am led to believe... this won't be a problem at all.

#malebodyswap #maletransformation #male body swap #bodyswap #body switch #body swap #gay

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starrihan · 2 days ago

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What about Virgin! Fuma..? I feel like I could see it but also I just KNOW he’s rearranging guts on the daily. It’s just a thought that pops into my head a lot sometimes.

-> i agree! like he def has women falling to their knees for him but he had to learn from somewhere, right?

-> Side note: I just saw a post on twitter this morning that a former classmate said fuma wasn’t interested in girls during school but girls also weren’t interested in him 😭💔 not the direction i took this fic but the idea of loser! Fuma is just so hot

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

I can see Fuma as the kind of guy who would want to get to know his partner for a little while/ be with them for a couple months before having sex and that he would be the most comfortable if that was the case.

It would come up casually during a conversation one day. The relationship was still new, only about 3 months in. You guys were both busy with work so it didn’t bother you that guys hadn’t had sex yet. But when you were sitting on the couch in his apartment one day, he would admit that he was a virgin with a painfully obvious blush on his face.

You find it endearing that he hasn’t had sex just, wanting to wait for someone who he could trust and actually liked enough to do it with. You assumed he was telling you this as a way to indicate that he trusted you enough and wanted to have sex with you and you couldn’t be happier.

You take the lead, sitting on his lap and just kissing him like you normally would. He kept his hands firmly on your waist, feeling as you slowly grind on him. This practice wasn’t new for you, it had just never progressed much further than this. But he was letting himself relax into your kiss, keeping it slow and sensual, like you had all the time in the world.

You didn’t mind it, wanting to give him a good first experience. You liked the pace he held, not wanting to speed it up too much and letting your tongue play with his for a while. You're subtly grinding down on him the whole time, letting your arousal build up gradually and his too, feeling him get harder with each second that passes by.

Low grunts escape his lips and are muffled by yours, rolling his hips up into your clothed heat, matching your pace. You pull away for a second, taking in the flushed look on his face as you smirk at him, leaning back to pull your shirt off. He smiles as you pull him back in, fondling your boobs after he unclips your bra, sliding it off of your arms. You yelp, a giggle following as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, knowing you were sensitive.

This was the farthest he had ever gone before, but he kept his cool as you continued to lead him. He pulled his shirt off, holding you firmly as he lifted you up, lips never leaving yours and making his way to his bedroom. He lays you down on the bed, taking off his pants and boxers before climbing on top of you and slipping your pants off.

"Look at you, taking charge. Are you sure you're a virgin? You seem to know what you're doing."

You laugh, amused by his ability and awareness. His laughs with you, moving back up to kiss you, trailing a finger down your body to rub at your clit over your panties.

"Is this right? Does this feel good for you?"

You nod enthusiastically, arching your back slightly into his touch, pushing your chest into his face as he marks your boobs. You don't let him do much though, remembering that this was about him, and letting him feel the most pleasure. You tug on his hair, connecting your lips once again as you sit up, having him lay back against his headboard.

"You're doing really well, but let me help you tonight."

He nods, panting as he watches you dip your head down to his hard length, eyeing its red tip and licking your lips. You run your hands up and down the base, working him up before taking just the tip into your mouth and sucking on it lightly, tongue prodding at the slit.

"Shit, baby... that feels great..."

He tries his best to himself back, refraining from pushing his dick further past your lips. But you know exactly what he wants, taking more of his length in, bobbing your head up and down while your saliva cascades down his length. He has a firm grip on the sheets, feeling more pleasure than he's used to course through him in waves. Not wanting him to cum just yet, you releasing his dick from your mouth with a lewd pop, making sure to give the tip a few more kitten licks while maintaining eye contact with him, watching as he tries his best not to screw his eyes shut.

You sit up on your knees, eagerly pulling your panties off and grabbing a condom from the bedside table, knowing he kept them there for this very situation. You roll it on before you line yourself up with him. You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, gripping onto them as you slowly shrink down on him. He hisses at the contact, sucking in air as your mouth hangs open from the pleasure, the stretch better than you could've imagined. It's like instinct that his hips snap up into you, wanting to feel more of you around him.

"Someone's eager,"

You laugh, leaning down to kiss him again as you fully sit on him, moaning into his mouth at how full you feel. You knew he was big, but the feeling of being so full had your walls clenching around him in no time, carefully picking your hips back up to bounce on him. His hands find your hips, helping you up and down on him as his eyes shut, grip on your hips so powerful they could leave bruises.

"Fuck, Fuma... feels so good..."

You moan into his ears, driving him further towards the edge as he feels himself getting close, embarrassingly quick for his liking. You can tell by the way he tries to stall that he's close. He doesn't say anything at first, trying to focus on not cumming so quickly until your voice echoes throughout his ear,

"Don't hold back. Cum for me baby,"

You say almost too sweetly given the context, and he bursts right then, pushing you down onto him as hard as he can as he trusts up into you just as hard. Your eyes roll back into your head for a second, orgasm quickly approaching as you ride him harder than before. He's overstimulated, extra sensitive but lets you continue to use him, letting out small and broken moans. He brings his hand up to your clit, rubbing it at just the right pace that has you almost screaming his name out.

You can't hold on for much longer either, arching your back like crazy as you feel yourself release around him, halting your movements as he continues his on your clit, rocking you back and forth slowly as you ride out your high. You don't pull yourself off of him just yet, going down to kiss him one last time. He helps hold you up, giggling at your shaky thighs while kissing you back, relishing in his post-orgasm state as you pull yourself off of him, a wince leaving both of your lips at the sudden feelings of emptiness.

"How do you feel? Was this good for your first time?"

You're smiling up at him like a kid who just received their favorite birthday gift. He laughs and places a sweet kiss on your forehead, pulling you into his embrace as he lets his heartbeat slow and breathing steady.

"It was perfect. Thank you baby."

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

#starrihan #&team #&team smut #&team fuma #&team fuma smut #andteam #andteam fuma #andteam smut #andteam fuma smut #murata fuma #murata fuma smut

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jujutsukgojo · 19 hours ago

Text

Budding cherry blossoms

katsuki bakugou x reader

Summary: In three days, the man who spent your innocent years with will be executed. tw: grooming, kidnapping, inappropriate relationship NO SMUT a/n: this is inspired by Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, but not exact. Katsuki is not the 'Humbert' in this and there is a happy ending

On the television screen is a face you haven’t seen in years. How long has it been now? Eight or nine years?

The reporter explains how that face with a new name will be executed in three days. Flabbergasted, you get up from the couch and go to your library. In a section are several journals you’ve written through years of your life. You feel the spine over the older ones. The oldest is an old spiral yellow notebook written during your trip to this country and how you met the man who will die soon.

Pressure builds behind your eyes as you pick every journal since then. You haven’t seen him in eight or nine years. Now, you are carrying notebooks, the story of your life, into your living room to read.

He’s going to die.

You don’t remember much of your life before him. It is like life started when you met him. He was funny, kind, and wasn't awkward with you. Right off the bat, he was like an old friend. When you first met him, he was wobbling as he walked. You couldn't help but call him Uncle Waldo, the drunk goose from the Aristocats. Amazingly, he understood your reference and acted out the scene with you. The sun was setting, the air was light, and the Autumn breeze was gentle as he walked you away into the sunset.

Every page in the notebooks is filled with a rush of nostalgia. The reporter keeps going about how this person, your oldest friend, whom you traveled all over Japan with, is going to die. Suddenly, your home phone rings and flashes an old classmate's name. You pick it up and put him on speaker. “How ya doin’?”

Katsuki’s voice has always been gruff and aggressive; it softens when he talks to you. Reading these diaries makes it all the more wrenching since he has always been kind. You take a deep breath. “I’m ok. You?”

“(Y/n).”

“Huh?”

“Where are you?” You blink several times. “I’m at home, Katsuki. Aren’t you on patrol?” The two of you graduated together despite you being a little younger than him. Uncle Waldo was furious when you told him you took the early assessment for U.A. rather than the school he suggested. If it weren’t for your sneaky ways, the false documents, and sloppy handwriting, you’d never have been able to graduate with Katsuki; especially since Uncle Waldo never denied your age. If he did, he’d have to pull all types of shit up. It was already bad when you put your hideout’s address down.

You had walked into a place he couldn’t just snatch you out of. Either way, it was impressive that you got accepted early and then went again to try for the hero course’s test. Neither you nor Uncle Waldo could imagine that you got accepted into the hero course as well.

He was pissed and it got worse when you got your license.

“Yeah, but I’ll be off in an hour.”

“Anything can happen within the hour, Katsuki.” You keep feeling the journals. You sniffle. “Did you know it was him?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” There are millions of reasons why Katsuki, who has met Uncle Waldo, wouldn’t tell you that he is on death row. “I don’t know.” Pitiful.

He isn’t the only classmate who met Uncle Waldo. It is different with him, though. Silent tears stream down your face. Your lip wobbles as you speak, “Remember when I first met Miss Mitsuki and Mr. Masaru?”

“You don’t have to call them that, (Y/n).” You can hear his heavy boots stomping as he walks. You sniffle, “I-I was so happy that someone wanted to be my friend. I thought I had gotten another one,” You wipe your eyes. “Someone that was my age, y’know?”

Katsuki doesn’t say anything. “I want to thank you for that but don’t do that. Don’t lie to me.”

His heavy boots stop. “I’m getting off early. I’m coming over.”

Half-assed, you reject, “No, no, I’m fine.”

“Don’t give a shit.”

----------

Katsuki is on his way over and you still haven’t gotten up from your spot. If the door is locked, he can unlock it himself. In the open composition notebook, begins your time at U.A as a freshman during the warmer months. How often have you wondered where your relationship with your former classmates went wrong? Not nearly as much as the question of where your fondest person went.

The paper is thin and worn from age and handling. The more you touch it, the more you see the images of your history. Meeting the man on the screen, bouncing from hotel to hotel then finally settling in a plain and modest house he probably stole, wearing frilly dresses and dancing to soft jazz with him or for him with graceful moves of ballet; entering U.A at a younger age than your peers then going back for the hero course test; the wars, all of the conflicts with villains and your classmates; everything from your youth to now as a pro hero and writer.

Your foot taps against the wood floor and your finger goes to your mouth for you to bite. Thankfully, the reporter changes the subject. The heaviness begins to lift until another reporter goes back to the subject of him. The horned reporter sits at the desk and talks in a haughty and firm tone. He taps a thick pack of paper on the table. Every paper he holds in his green hands reads of the man you once knew. Listed are all of his crimes that go from his past to his capture. You bite your finger harder. Desperately, you want to defend him and refute these claims or at least reason them. Even during his time with you, for several years, you rationalize them. Because you can; the bond between you was special.

He was never violent as the news show him as. He got angry with you only a few times. They weren't significant or harmful. He scolded you but never hit you. The years together were joyous with a hint of confusion on your part. You didn't think anything of it. Now you are looking at his face on the screen and wondering where it went wrong. Why did he leave you? Nothing was the same when he left. He said he’d be back but never returned. A gaping, agonizing hole was left in your heart. Alone in the world you were never taught about was a brutal punishment.

How could this have happened? How did you not know that your biggest adversaries, the League of Villains, had him in their ranks? Not just in their ranks, but an original member? The magic man himself, Mr. Compress.

All this time you never suspected it was Mr. Compress, a man of magic, who kidnapped both you and Katsuki in the Summer. Whereas Katsuki was compressed, you walked into the mist since they ensured that you were safe and that they’d help you clean up. At the time, you were doing the test of courage and were plagued by horrible stomach pains. Right there in the middle of the forest, you had your period for the first time. So, you went with them out of shame and embarrassment.

You chuckle as you remember how nice they had been and how Himiko cleaned you up and gave you a change of clothes. You were kept away from Katsuki at first, not seeing him chained to the chair until you were cleaned and changed. If you faced him before Himiko calmed you down, you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Especially since the front of your pants had a big red stain on them. Come to think of it, there were many times that you weren’t faced with the same challenges as others when it came to villains.

When you went home from being held at the League’s hideout with Katsuki, you found the man you spent your childhood with, angry. You hoped that it was an irrational reaction and misguided anger at your predicament rather than the truth. He straight up yelled that he was angry that you had your period. His anger fizzled out when he chose a beautiful sundress for you and a loose white button-up and sleek slacks for him to wear when you two hung out together.

It was a wonderful day with joy, laughter, and magic. It was so sweet that you can still remember what the air smelled like and how his cotton button-up felt between your fingers. You remember the flowers that decorated your dress and how creamy the ice cream you shared with him was.

It is a memory you think of with fondness and longing. Despite it all, time with him was simple from when you were around seven to eight years old to your teens. Remembering the ages have never mattered to you. What mattered was how adventurous and sweet your years with him were. Hell, he occupied so much of your mind, that you don’t really remember your life before him. And you didn’t care. That issue completely slipped your mind.

Now he is on death row and will be executed in a few days; possibly sooner, depending on how the judge or whoever feels. He was a part of the League the whole time. Katsuki knew and never said a word about it. Katsuki had met him before when he would visit U.A. It was only a handful of times. Maybe three in total? No wonder he was mad that you enrolled in U.A. You literally went into the lion’s den.

He’s going to die. The pressure behind your eyes emerges. A shuttered breath is taken in as you realize that he didn’t abandon you; he was taken and never meant to leave permanently. An ache of heartbreak caused by the disappointment of how dumb you are buds in your chest, right where the hole he left when he disappeared is. How could you doubt him?

Wait, is this wrong? There have been many cases where you've worked, and you’ve told those people the same thing time and time again. How come you’re not accepting it? Why is it so hard to swallow and digest and understand? You’re a hypocrite and should smack yourself from judging others when they don’t take your advice. Then again, your situation is different than theirs.

You slide to the floor in front of your couch. You throw your head back. The back of it hits the soft sofa. He’s going to die. Who will look at the cherry blossoms with you? You haven’t been to see them blossom since he left. It isn’t right for you to. Not when he isn’t there to comment that they’re red and not pink like you see. With a smile on your trembling lips, you remember the debates you’d have with him and how he always encouraged you to never turn to the internet, always go to a book to see. You didn’t have access to the internet until high school and didn’t have a phone until you graduated. It didn’t feel right to have that.

The door’s lock sounds and heavy footsteps enter your home. The sounds of shuffling footsteps come closer to your living room where you sit. From around the corner, Katsuki emerges. He’s out of his hero costume and in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a skull-printed shirt. He crosses his arms and stares down at you with a soft expression. When he first met you, he glared and frowned. Now that he knows you, he hasn’t looked at you that way since. Especially when he met the villain known as Mr. Compress, who hid his identity and gained the one you gave him.

“What’re you reading?”

“My old diaries. It’s amazing. I just now noticed I document everything in my life. Imagine I die-”

“Not for a long time.”

“Yeah. Imagine I die and people publish all of this. That’d be cool, right? Just read it when I’m dead, okay?”

He slumps on the cushion by your head. His eyes go to the TV. Katsuki taps his finger on his arm and decides to shut it off. The blond sucks on his teeth and side-eyes you. Once again, his face lacks a hard expression since he has grown since his angsty days. What was once baby fat chiseled away into something more defined, there is a thin smile line on the left side of his mouth, and his vibrant red eyes remain sharp.

He wipes his hands on his pants and places one on top of your head. The heavy hand stays on you when he asks, “Are you okay?” Katsuki has never been one for affection. He doesn’t know what to do most of the time. However, he finds it with you in different ways.

“You’veasked me that already.”

“I know.”

After a few beats of silence, you nod. The comfort of his warm hand reminds you of how he came to know the man you lived with for a long time. “Remember when you first met him? As Uncle Wally, at least.”

He scoffs. “You want to talk about him, huh?”

“Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. My mom saw him with you at school and wanted you to spend the night. She spent all night trying to pry a confession out of you. I knew something was off but I wasn’t sure. She knew right off the bat.”

“There was nothing off. It was just a different situation. We were just living together; traveling and enjoying each other’s company. Friends, Katsuki.”

“You both had a different understanding of what friends are.” he cracks his neck. “His idea started to warp yours.”

You ignore him. “I remember thinking that you were going to be my first friend other than him. Everyone in our class hates me-”

“No one hates you.”

“Pfft! You should’ve heard the girls. At the summer camp, I got into a fight with Mina because she did something with my plush toy. She hid it as a joke and I just wailed on her. All of them hated me after that.”

“You were just a child, (Y/n).” Katsuki knew your true age when you told Mitsuki. His eyes were round as saucers. You got close to him after the abduction. Once he knew your age and met the man, he grew protective of you. The girls, the whole class, didn’t make fun of you much after that. Sometimes they did but Katsuki squashed it.

You shake your head. “Mrs. Mitsuki is a good one. She is so nice to me, and so is Mr. Masaru.”

His hand rubs your head. “My pop is usually timid. When that fucker came to pick you up, that was the first and only time I have seen him lose his cool. The old woman was just as shocked as I was.”

His father had shown complete rage against the one known as Mr. Compress. Mr. Masaru jumped on him and beat him so badly, it left permanent scarring. Because of the physical reaction, Mr. Masaru sweated a lot, and sparks flew with every hit. Seeing your dearest person attacked frightened and enraged you.

“I was so mad at you. And Katsuki,” You turn your head to him. “I’m mad at you again. Why didn’t you tell me he was Mr. Compress?”

You have only seen that man with a mask on. From what you could tell, Mr. Compress’s voice and personality were flamboyant, something that was different from your dearest.

“I won’t apologize for protecting you from that bastard. Not telling you was the best course of action.”

You whip your head around. “No, it was not! He’s going to die because-”

“That’s another reason why I didn’t tell you. Right there! Right there, you are defending a murderer, a kidnapper, and a pedo-”

“Enough!” You turn to him completely. “Damn it, Bakugou! I’m just saying it’d been nicer to learn about who he was from you than the damn TV. And no, not your opinions of him, but that he was Mr. Compress!”

You slump. “I thought he didn’t want me anymore. That he abandoned me. Katsuki,” you frown. “I had no one. I still don’t. You should’ve told me so I wouldn’t have felt that way.” It was awful. Who knows what you would’ve done if you knew? At least you would have had answers.

His hand moves from your head to your face. It cups it for a few seconds then pulls your cheek. “I don’t regret it. I am sorry for hurting you, honest to God, that was never my intention. What I did was to get you to let him go. Being away from him was safer."

“Had U.A. not had the dorms, Katsuki, I would have been alone in that house. No money to pay bills, nothing. So, no, it’s not okay.”

“I never said it was. And if you believe I would leave you homeless means you don’t know me. Even back then, I would have made sure you had a home. Hell, my parents made up an extra room for you whenever you came over. You thought I’d let you go homeless? Tch, Eijrou would kill me if I did anyway.”

You shrug. “That’s my house, Katsuki. It’s bad enough that I lost it.”

“Good riddance.”

You don’t bother to scold him. You just close your eyes and turn away, still reminiscing about what once was.

“Hey, what color are cherry blossoms?”

“Pink, why?”

You smile to yourself. You won’t tell him why. At least not yet. Not when you think of all the times when you needed that answer. Walking hand in hand with Uncle Wally, looking at the magnificent beauty and arguing about the color. A single tear slips out.

“He’s dying, Katsuki. They’re gonna kill him.”

He doesn’t respond. Katsuki’s eyes remain on yours intently. The air is thick with tension and with dread reserved just for you. You shake your head and shrug. “It’s just as well. Maybe now I can date.” Your hand begins to shake. “Y’know, he said I wasn’t allowed to date. I did try once or twice in school.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Some random guy in general studies and Shouto.” Katsuki’s eyes bug out. “Icy Hot?! You chose that guy-”

You hold in your smile at his reaction. You interrupt him before he goes on too long. “We only went on a date. We didn’t do anything.”

He huffs and crosses his arms. His foot taps to a rhythm on the floor. It is a little quirk of his that you noticed years ago. Kacchan’s foot is always tapping, just like he is playing the drums. He sucks on his teeth and growls. “So, Half n’ Half was your choice?”

“Kacchan, I was mad at you around that time, remember? Your dad put him in a chokehold.”

“He’s not a guy; he is trash. My old man was taking out the trash.” He scoffs and takes his hand off your head.

You look down at the old notebooks. The paper is a little worn since they haven’t been touched in about a decade and were well loved then. Each line is scribbled in ink of different colors on the pages. The pens pressed hard on certain ones, showing the emotions you had.

“It doesn’t mean much anyway. He rejected me so harshly.” If you remember right without reading your notebooks, Todoroki put his fingers to your lips when you went to kiss him. Back then, you viewed it as him pushing you away. No...no, that’s not what happened. He was gentle and concerned. His eyes were soft as was his touch. He wasn't being mean at all. Actually, he might not have even seen your time together as a date. Why didn't you remember all this right?

“(Y/n), he didn’t reject you like that. He was suspicious of your age. Him and Deku, after a while.”

“What?” You face him fully. Midoriya is one of the people who kept his distance from you. It hurt a lot being at U.A. because you were a pariah. Except for Katsuki, no one liked you. It was comforting to know that someone in the world loved you. And he was at home.

“And Kirishima. Which is why he offered for you to stay at his place. His moms even made a spare room for you.” This is the first time you have heard of this. Kirishima did offer for you to spend the night, but you took it as him trying to flirt with you and you pushed him, asking how could he do such a thing without asking the man at home.

Kacchan takes a deep breath. “Can I see?” He reaches for one of the notebooks, the blue composition one that was written around your first few days at U.A.

He grips the paper tighter. “I noticed how he held you when our parents came to visit. I thought you were immature and acted like a big baby. You even went so far as to wear those frilly dresses.”

“I never did like them. He always picked out my clothes until high school,” you chuckle. “When I bought makeup and a bra for the first time, he flipped!”

Kacchan stares at you for the longest. You break the silence with a smile. “We went everywhere. I don’t think there is a place in Japan I haven’t seen.” Your smile drops when you see his frown. “The Summer camp was the first time I had been truly without him.” Your voice is low and trails off. “It was weird, y’know?”

Kacchan takes a deep breath. “I think that was the day Icy Hot picked up that something might’ve been wrong. Him and roundface.”

“I don’t think so. Uraraka never mentioned it. No one did.”

“Shouto asked if that was a normal relationship-”

“What?”

“The way he hugged you! How he glared at every boy there and looked at you was off, (Y/n). What did he say, ‘beware of boys’? The way he held you was wrong. It was hard not to fucking notice.”

You went to school with these people for years and not a single one other than Kacchan, Kirishima, and Aizawa, showed any type of concern, or inkling of your fondness with the man on the screen. The man who is sentenced to death, the first in years. Everything Kacchan is telling you is brand new and must be false or misinterpreted.

"He only said that because of an incident before we went to camp..." It wasn't just a boy he was worried about. One of the most humiliating moments of your life had to do with your teacher.

Whereas you liked Todoroki and had a feeling of attraction with a boy close to your age, Aizawa was different and that was brought up to Nezu. Being at the office with Eraser and Nezu was more humiliating than not being able to kiss your teacher. That was the time when the teacher and Nezu spoke with your friend and confronted him about your behavior. After that, Eraserhead made it known that he did not trust him. Not to his face, but with the principal. You sat at your desk, the only student in the room, when he asked if something was wrong. The rage you felt that day knew no bounds.

“It’s not like anyone cared, Kacchan. Everyone hated that camp, especially me. No way were they thinking of me.” Why would they? There was nothing special about you. Back then, your world revolved around him. Nevertheless, it would’ve been nice to have someone else. “Besides, the only reason they saved me was because it was a kill-two-birds-with-one-stone thing.”

He runs his hand through this fluffy hair. “They wanted to save you. It wasn’t because of convenience, (Y/n). I wasn’t gonna leave you either.”

Your face is warm. “I don’t know how I didn’t piece it together, Katsuki. I know his voice and build. How could I not have figured out it was him?”

“You were in a stressful situation. Every time we turned around we were being attacked and the only time you came into contact was when he abducted you for the second time.”

“I was never abducted! I went willingly, Kastuki!” You jerk yourself away from his thick, warm hand. His eyes narrow. “You were a child both times. You were tricked, both times, (Y/n). We’ve talked about this.”

You freeze. You hate this. And you hate him for not telling you that Waldo was Mr. Compress.

Kacchan stares at you, knowing there is something on your mind. You gently tap his thigh. “He’s going to die, Katsuki. And I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Your person is about to die. After the war, you went home for just a second to see him, only to find a letter from him telling you he’s going to go away for a while and the house is yours in the meantime. He told you not to trash it or allow big parties since he’ll be back. On the paper written in calligraphy, he reinstated some rules that you still subconsciously live by. No internet or traceable phones, don’t visit your special places without him; keep to yourself, and never tell anyone about your wholesome, and loving connection. You’ve broken a few of these but have kept the majority. It wasn’t all completely strict. Some were kind of silly, like how to water his fern or wait to make a new dinner recipe so he wouldn’t miss it.

Even as an adult, you’ve held onto a lot of these. Waiting for him is a foolish notion that you abandoned after high school. After he left, you looked for him and then after a while, considered the possibility that he was dead. After all your time together, it was hard for you to think he’d just leave.

He’s dying. All this time, he was right there in front of you and you missed it. “What do I do, Kacchan?”

“Go to therapy. I’m serious.” He runs his hand through his hair again. He continues, “You wanna see him, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches. “Is that wrong of me?”

------------------

Katsuki promised to stay on the other side of the door. Walking into the room where you will be separated by glass is nerve-wracking. What will he say? Did he abandon you or didn’t plan to get caught? Did he miss you?

You sit down on the blue chair in front of the glass. There is no reason for a phone since you will be able to hear him perfectly without it. The door on the other side of the glass sides opens, making a whirring noise. You close your eyes and gulp.

“Oh my, look how you’ve grown!” Your eyes fly open once you hear the familiar voice. It’s so weird, such a tug on your mind and emotions. He looks a little different. There are some wrinkles around his eyes but nothing prominent. His hair is the same as well as his physique. Nothing has outwardly changed except for his eyes. They look darker than what you remember. In your head, they’re warm; not this cold and dark shade.

“(Y/n), dearie, look at you! You…you still…look the same. You’ve grown some, but you haven’t aged a day.”

Why is your stomach churning?

“Mister,” You start to say. His eyes widened to be as round as saucers. “ Mister? You haven’t called me that since I first met you. Precious, it’s me. Uncle Wally.”

“I remember.” You remember everything. He was, is, so dear to you. Now, there is something wrong. Is it Katsuki? Did he get to you?

He sighs in relief. “I’m so, so happy, my love. I’d inject myself if I’d lost you. I could never live.”

“But you have.”

“No, I’ve been surviving, hoping for the day when I would see you again. Then again…” His eyes study your face. “Do I deserve to see you? Years have passed, and you are still divinity. You’re a woman now.”

“Does that disappoint you?” Your heart speeds up. Does he hate you now and is just being friendly? He’s a villain, lying is his nature, right? “No, not at all. I just wish I went on that journey with you.”

You scoff. “You did, remember? When I was in the woods? I started my period right then when you found me. When Mr. Compress found me.”

After the Summer camp, you went home and told him what happened. He was proud and pampered you. It was a drastic difference in behavior than it was when you bought your first cupped bra and makeup.

“That was only the beginning, darling. Seeing you grow, now that is so special. And they took it away from us. God, that has to be the worst thing. I’ve missed you so much, darling.”

Your lip wobbles and your eyes water. His face lights up a little. “There goes that pouty lip of yours!”

You chuckle. “Stop that.”

After a moment, he tilts his head. “I wanted to experience all your firsts with you. Watching you become a young lady, then the lady you are now, was the dearest wish of mine. Then it came to just see you. To smell you,” He presses his hand against the glass. Your hand twitches to do the same. “They took you away from me. They’re animals, baby, animals! I know you wanted to go to that school, but please, my darling, don’t become like them!”

You shake your head. “I’m not like them. I mainly write. I’m a part-time hero.”

“You still write? Do you still write in journals like you did before?”

“I, um, haven’t written in a journal, but I’ve published a few things.” It’s your bread and butter. You’re more of an emergency hero or requested. Writing is your release and passion. You just happen to make money off of it. Not a gross amount, but with the addition of being a hero, you live comfortably.

“When’s the last you’ve written in them?”

“I don’t know, late teens? Late teens, maybe?”

“I’d love to read them. You were always such a eloquent writer.” He read your journals all the time. He’d praise you for your writing and descriptions. Particularly when you wrote how you felt. But that would change if how you felt was towards another person.

You shrug. “I don’t know. Besides, you may not have time to read them all.”

He raises an eyebrow and taps the table. “There are that many, huh?” You nod. “Yeah, when you left me, I wrote a lot.”

It was supposed to sting him. He ignores it. “Your style was always so smooth and deep. Enticing like a noir enchantress with the grandiose of a classic,” He rests his head on his hand. “And written from a poetic lover,” he whispers. "Grandiose. What is it?”

You frown and think. “Means splendid, or magnificent, would be your word to describe it.”

“Splendid and magnificent, just like you.”

You sigh. “Why do you describe my writing like that? From a poetic lover?”

“You have a way with words, my dear. From the very moment I met you. You've always been lovely.”

Your hands tremble. Something is wrong, you can feel it. Right on the tip of your tongue, you have the word for it. This feeling has been there under the many layers laid in your history. Years ago, you asked him a question and he gave you an answer that was, to you at the time, innocent. Now, you ask him again. “What am I to you?”

“You’ve never been a ‘what’.”

“Then, who? I’m old enough for you to speak frankly.”

“You’ve grown so much that I can now. You’ll understand. My beloved,” he touches the glass again. “You’re the love of my life. Always have been. It started as fondness, then when you grew into a young lady, I knew. If I hadn’t been caught, if we had a few more years, nothing could have stopped us. The world always tears at the innocent.”

“Times up!”

Atsuhiro Sako looks around. He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t get the chance as he is dragged away. Shakily, you get up, waddling to the door. A guard sees your struggle and helps you. She doesn’t say a word. All she does is rub her hand along your arm calmly.

Right as the door slides open, you spot Kacchan sweating and furious. His nostrils are flared, eyes ablaze, and growling, demanding for him to see Atsuhiro Sako, for a very obvious reason. Immediately, he stops once he finds you.

“I’m ready to go.”

Kacchan holds you up, walks out of the prison, and puts you in the car. He drives you home and makes sure you’re in bed. “I’m staying the night.” He leaves your door cracked. You hear him plop on the couch.

All the little things Atsuhiro Sako had done with you add up now. He never touched you in a sexual way, but it got closer and closer, now you can think about it. His touch was normal, so the alarms weren’t sounding.

Everything that happened in those-what, fifteen minutes?-rush through your mind. Nothing is the same now. Once again, he has left you in a whirlwind. This is so wrong. This pain in your heart as you finally accept the vile relationship between you, and how dirty you feel. Not just because of that, but because you are also flattered. You know for a fact, that small part of you is that child speaking. As an adult, you are now aware, and can say, that the word that had come to your mind when you talked to him was: disgust.

Your innocence was long gone. It had been stripped away little by little since you met him. Everything you’ve been through is now humiliating. You tried to kiss Todoroki and Eraserhead. You threw a fit about your doll and attacked Mina during a temper tantrum since she played a joke about a doll he gave you. All of the little things are adding up. The scars run so deep that you still abide by some of his rules. You don’t have a computer. You type on a typewriter. You haven’t seen the cherry blossoms without him and you haven’t done a lot of things people your age normally do because you’ll be doing it without him.

Your hand flies to your chest in an attempt to stop the ache, while the other rushes to cover your mouth. Not able to handle it for another second, you run down the hall, whimpering as you go. Next to the couch, Kacchan stands. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong or tease you. He’s been waiting for you like he’s always done.

You run into his arms, crying about how it isn’t fair. Bawling your eyes out from the embarrassment and memories. You mourn that child who never stood a chance. Atsuhiro Sako never sexually touched you. But he was waiting to. He thought about hurting you for years and tried to justify himself with the excuse of ‘I waited for you to grow’. Hoping that he’d be blameless because of it.

To be molded into an infantilized doll due to your youthful beauty is enough to have your knees buckle. Tricked into a fantastical world he created with your adventures and constant bouncing at motels, hotels, and inns; his version of ‘school’ and the magic tricks he always did never ceased to amaze you. Although, you never did notice his quirk. Never. Maybe if you did, you’d know he was Mr. Compress and would have been driven to destroy him like Shigaraki’s touch.

Kacchan, even Kirishima, hell, Aizawa, tried to tell you. And that little fact hurts.

“I want to die!” You sob in Kacchan’s chest. Young (Y/n) is crying inside you as the love and care for him slowly fade away. You want to hate yourself and your ignorance, but you are blameless. Which is another thing that hurts to accept.

Katsuki doesn’t say anything. He only holds you tightly, letting you soak his shirt with tears and snot.

------------

All around are beautiful flowers and trees. The branches stick up, and some curl down. It is a fantastic wonderland of cherry blossoms. The one important detail, other than their beauty, stands out. You see a small bud on the ground. Its petals are poking through even though it has fallen. Your fingers caress the silk. On your new phone, you Google what color cherry blossoms are. You smile at the results and secretly take the bud. You gently place the flower in your pocket.

The doors open once more. You enter the same room you had days prior. Tomorrow, he will be executed.

“Beloved! A magical sight.” He sits down with an eager expression. He’s practically shaking with excitement. “A beauty, you are.”

“I just wanted to say something.”

“What is it?”

You hold up the printed paper to the glass and bring up the bud that seems too pretty to be in front of him. “This is a cherry blossom, remember?”

He sighs dreamily and puts his head in his hand again. “Who would forget? That was a magical time.” His eyes narrow. “Where did you get it?”

“The place you think.”

“Without me?”

You nod. “What color do you think it is?”

“Red, darling. I told you that when we went. It was our place, dearie.” His voice deepens at the end.

“Look at the paper,” He leans forward to the glass. “It says it’s pink. I got it from the internet and even asked people what color it was. It’s pink. You’re colorblind.”

You stand up and leave the bud and paper in front of him. “That’s it.”

You turn to leave. He calls out to you. “Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

-------------

You fiddle with your new cell phone while you wait for Kacchan. The door of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant opens up with a bell. You hear his heavy footsteps before you see his imposing figure. He sits down in front of you with his usual frown softening. “You okay?”

You genuinely smile. “Yeah,” you clap your hands. “I ordered for you.”

“What?” he frowns again.

“I ordered their spicy challenge and in case you are a big baby, I got you mapo tofu.” You snort as you see the beginning of his demon face form. “You think I can’t handle it?!”

You put your hands up. “I’m just taking precautions.” He crosses his arms. “You watch. I can handle it, punk.”

The second the waiter came out with gloves on their hands and a mask, you knew it was Kacchan’s dish. They set it on his side of the table as well as the mild mapo tofu. The waiter turns to you. “I’ll be back with yours.”

Once they leave, you see Kacchan dig in, with no sign of him feeling the heat. Not a flush or a gasp, trembling, anything. How hot is it? You can smell it from across the table. This is bull.

You get yours and start to eat as well. Kacchan looks at you intently. “He’s going in a few minutes.”

“I know. I visited him yesterday.” Kacchan’s noodles drop from his chopsticks. They land on the peppered chicken next to it. “Why?”

“I wanted to tell him that he’s colorblind.” Kacchan scoffs. “Colorblind?”

“Mhm. He always told me that cherry blossoms were red. Made me seem that I was the one at fault. Finally, I went there and saw them again. I Googled it and asked around and I was right: they’re pink.”

He hasn’t taken another bite. “I told you that already. Why go to that thing?”

You take a bite of your food, savoring the flavor. “I wanted to show him that I talked to others without his permission, and I did that at ‘our’ spot. Like I tainted it.”

Kacchan chuckles and chews on his food. You add, “I also told him that I’d see his execution.”

He nearly breaks his chopsticks. “What? Why?! It’s bad enough you visited him at all after everything he’s done to you.”

“I’m not going. I know he’ll look for me and freak out when he doesn’t see me. He’ll panic that the one person he wanted isn’t there. And it'd be the last time I saw him; I told him that he was wrong. It’s not much, but it is something I did.”

“So, this is a celebration? I’ll drink to that.”

“No. This is an average day. He doesn’t matter anymore. I'll remember this as an average day, and when he died, I was enjoying myself without thinking about him.”

He softly smiles. “You got it.”

You cross your arms as the owner takes a picture of Katsuki, who finished the challenge with no problem. He dramatically sighs. “And one of the sore loser.”

“Bastard…” The owner snaps a couple of shots of you frowning and Katsuki Bakugou smiling, which is a rarity. And not a single thought about what the meaning of the clock striking three meant.

You were right. Atsuhiro Sako, AKA Mr. Compress, panicked when the clock struck 2:59 PM since you were nowhere in sight. Your name was a whimper, prayer, and a memory. You were freed at 3:00 PM.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia fanfic #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #atsuhiro sako #mr. compress #bnha mr compress #q #bakugou katsuki

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elizabeth-mitchells · 2 days ago

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What do you think Laura Lee and Lottie’s relationship was like pre cash? I think Lottie kinda finds Laura Lee irritating when she interrupted LL at the party when Jackie was trying to mediate the group after that almost cat fight between Van and Shauna. Although during the plane crash, they were holding each other. I do think Lottie wasn’t particularly close with anyone though pre cash. I headcanon her as having social life but it’s all surface level friendship. What do you think?

pre-crash lottielee my beloved! <3 they were just babies. they would've been so cute together...

okay so! yes, Lottie says "Oh my God" a little exasperated when Laura Lee keeps telling everyone they're beautiful in the eyes of the lord lol (please forgive her, that's her best attempt at flirting) but i love being delusional and i'll say it was fond exasperation! besides, let's also look at when most girls yelled "shut the fuck up Laura Lee" and Lottie didn't! (and Van, (i also keep pushing the Van and Laura Lee best friends agenda)) so I don't think she finds her irritating or annoying or doesn't like her. but well they're teenage girls and when even your best friends do something annoying, That thing is annoying, but you still like them

that being said! i agree with you. and i think both actors for Lottie and Laura Lee have talked about picturing their characters as a little lonely. exactly what you said, friends with the team but at surface level. so, canonically, no they probably weren't very close. but!! i'm choosing to believe they were at least a liittlleee closer than with most of the other girls, OR at least got along pretty well and were both aware of this

i say this based on very small details but isn't that what friendship's about? i mean, they weren't strangers to each other, look:

Laura Lee was enthusiastically in on the "Thank you Mr Matthews" joke. you have to be at least a somewhat good friends with someone to joke so much about their parents dont you

*I* think it looked like they purposefully sat close to each other on the plane. no one was as close as jackieshauna to sit fully next to each other. but this was the closest thing. to me it looks like laura lee chose her seat first, and lottie followed, so she obviously wasn't avoiding her. and with the way laura lee moved, to me it looks like she was about to kneel on her seat to look over the back to talk to lottie!

now, as the plane was falling, sure, everyone panicked, they were desperate, but i think it's kinda obvious to like. curl up and protect yourself, right? and laura lee was busy praying, you'd think she'd do that the entire time. but no! they reach out for each other. nearly fall from their seats just to reach each other and desperately hold on. you don't do that with just any classmate and teammate. you don't get ready to die holding hands with a girl you just tolerated you know? that seems at least a little bit personal to me

when laura lee finds coach martinez on the tree and lottie is the one to pull her back, i dont know about you but that was a very intimate hold. or at least i'm saying they have hugged before and there is a level of familiarity between them

lottie knowing leonard's name is just. adorable. and friend behavior

#love an opportunity to rant about my favorite girls <3 #i could get into more like lottie wearing laura lee's dress for months and how she handled leonard and laura lee's cross necklace #but you could argue they had enough time in the wilderness to grow even closer #so i just pointed out the earliest details i noticed that could be taken as signs of friendship #i hope i don't sound completely insane <3 #i am. about them. but it's okay #answered #anon #lottielee #lottie matthews #laura lee #yellowjackets #lottie x laura lee

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nanasrkives · 3 hours ago

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navigation : midnight records! the starlight EP! the mha EP!

"TELL ME NOT TO" — Bakugo Katsuki

a/n : being a girl means rewatching your childhood tv shows when you’re depressed, I missed one tree hill sm

warnings : alcohol, everyone is 18+, inspired by one tree hill

content : 3rd year Bakugo. f2l. mutual pining. fluff

Graduation night feels like the end of the world—but in a good way.

The Class 3-A dorms are packed, the air thick with heat, music, and the bittersweet kind of joy that comes when everything is about to change. Everyone’s too loud, too drunk, too alive. Mina’s dancing on the couch. Kaminari’s spinning a bottle like it’s a roulette wheel. Someone’s passed out on the stairs.

Truly, you love your classmates and you love this chaos. But right now, you need a breather.

You slip outside barefoot, still warm from the inside out, the bottle in your hand nearly empty. The grass is cool beneath your feet, soft and wet with the tail end of spring. You take a deep breath of it all—the quiet, the dark, the distant hum of music behind you—and smile to yourself.

Then the door opens. You don’t turn. You don’t have to, because you know it’s him.

“Took you long enough,” you call out, voice light, teasing. “Didn’t know I was supposed to babysit your ass all night,” Bakugo mutters. You spin around, walking backward now, grinning at him over the top of your bottle. “You weren’t. But you always end up doing it anyway.”

His eyes narrow, but his expression is too relaxed to be annoyed. He’s got that lazy look he only ever gets after two drinks—when the sharpness of him softens just enough to show the version he keeps hidden. His skull shirt is rumpled, damp with something spilled, his hair more chaotic than usual. He looks like he’s halfway through pretending he doesn’t want to be near you.

You raise your brows. “You’re tipsy.” He scoffs. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk aren’t you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

His mouth twitches—and for a second, you think he might actually smile.

But then you hear it. A low hiss. The faint hum of pressure building in the ground. You freeze just slightly, eyes flicking to the sprinkler heads lining the edge of the lawn. Your grin spreads like wildfire. “Oh my god,” you murmur. Bakugo blinks. “What?”

And then—You shove him right into the spray.

PSHHHHHHT.

Cold water explodes out of the sprinklers, nailing him straight in the chest. He stumbles back, half-jumping, half-growling, already soaked. “What the fuck!”

You double over laughing. “I told you you were drunk, your reflexes didn’t work !” you say to him. “You’re dead,” he snaps, and then he’s coming for you.

You shriek, laughing too hard to run properly, skidding across the grass as the sprinklers rotate, catching you both in random bursts. You dodge one spray just to get nailed by another, and now you’re soaked—your dress clinging to your legs, hair stuck to your forehead, mascara probably halfway down your cheeks.

Bakugo’s chasing you across the lawn like it’s a damn battlefield. “You think you’re funny?” he yells.

“I know I’m funny !”

“You’re an idiot !”

“But I’m your idiot !”

His laugh slips out before he can stop it. It’s low and surprised, like he didn’t expect it himself. You catch it—catch the exact second it happens—and it hits you harder than the water.

Because it’s real. Because Bakugo never laughs like that. You slow a little, just enough for him to catch you.

Your laughter cuts off as his arm hooks around your waist, dragging you backward, off balance, legs slipping in the soaked grass. You’re weightless for half a second before you crash down into the lawn, the cold seeping through your clothes instantly—but it’s not harsh.

He lands half on top of you, one arm braced beside your head, the other still around your waist, holding you steady like the ground might give out. Water from the sprinklers mists over you both in waves. Somewhere, someone’s still shouting from the party. But here? It’s quiet.

His chest is rising and falling against yours. His shirt is soaked, clinging to every line of muscle, and your fingers are curled into the fabric without realizing. His hair is dripping, blonde strands stuck to his forehead, water trailing down the edge of his jaw.

You’re both breathing hard. And for once… he’s not pulling away.

His eyes find yours—narrowed just slightly, like he’s still caught somewhere between disbelief and something much deeper. His scowl is gone. In its place is this bare awe that steals the air from your lungs more than the fall did.

Your voice comes out low. Playful, but softer now. “I win.” He huffs, barely a laugh. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You like it though"

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his gaze flicks down—quick, instinctive—to your lips. And then right back up. But you saw it.

And the way he’s looking at you now, it’s like he’s finally letting himself see you. Not just as the friend he’s joked with, sparred with, stayed up too late with—but as the person he’s been falling for slowly but hard. The one thing he never let himself touch.

Until now.

You whisper it before you can second-guess, “You’re gonna kiss me or what?” His eyes flicker, and for a beat, he just stares. Like he’s trying to memorize everything—your soaked dress, your flushed cheeks, the way you’re not pushing him away.

“Tell me not to,” he murmurs. It’s not a threat. It’s a warning. A plea. You don’t say a word, you just lean up. And that’s what he needed to meet you halfway.

The kiss is urgent. Messy in the way only first kisses can be—especially ones that have been waiting way too long. His lips crash against yours with no warning, no hesitation. He tastes like cheap liquor and rainwater and something you’ve been craving without even knowing it.

There’s nothing gentle about it—at first. It’s heat and release and finally, all tangled into one moment that feels too big for your chest. But then—he softens.

His hand moves from your waist to your cheek, fingers brushing water off your skin like he wants to memorize the shape of your face. His mouth slows, moving over yours with more intention now, like he’s realizing he gets to have this. That you’re real. That you’re not pulling away.

And you kiss him back like you’ve been waiting for this since day one. Because you have.

His thumb brushes the corner of your jaw. Your hand slides up into his wet hair, tugging gently. You can feel the way his body melts into yours, feel the sigh he lets out against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years.

He pulls back, just far enough to breathe, and for a long second, neither of you says anything.

His forehead is still resting against yours, breath hot and uneven, fingers still curled tight around your waist like letting go isn’t even an option. Your lips are swollen. Your pulse is loud in your ears. You can still taste him.

You open your eyes—and he’s already looking at you. Not like your best friend. Not like a maybe. Like someone who’s been drowning in almosts for a year and finally—finally—got air. “Shit,” you whisper, because that’s all your brain can manage.

He exhales a soft laugh, eyes dropping to your mouth, like he’s thinking about kissing you again. Like he might never stop.

One more second. One more heartbeat. Then he murmurs, voice rough and quiet: “Took you long enough.” You smile. “Shut up.”

And you kiss him again.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @ayatakanosstuff @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @andysteve1311 @feelya

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