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tuanyiems · 4 years ago

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First Everything

First Everything Bambam x Fem Reader Genre: fluff, a little angst Words: 9.2k [Masterlist in blog description] Plot: Sequel to Muse (Arranged Marriage AU) Part of the Marriage Life AU series. A series of dates in which Bambam tries his hardest (poor boy) to convince you that he really, really wants to be with you. a/n – lol idunno how I feel about this but here you go~

When the door of the restaurant opens, Bambam’s eyes dart over to the bodies entering for the umpteenth time. When it’s not you, he sighs, rubbing sweaty palms over the deep purple suede of his pants. The designer material darkens under his touch, but he’s too nervous to fret over his outfit at the moment.

He’s beginning to regret not picking you up at your place. He should have been more insistent. But the choice was made and now he is here, leg shaking in his chair of the Michelin star restaurant that he’s not quite sure you’re even going to meet him at.

He gulps down his second glass of water, throat parched at just the thought of getting stood up. He eats at this place at least three times a month. How embarrassing would it be for everyone to witness this rejection?

The door opens again and Bambam jerks his head up like a meerkat. An elderly woman walks in, much to his disappointment.

He sinks into the plush seat, tipping the glass to his lips again only to find it empty. A waitress promptly comes over to refill his glass, relieving him of the menacing view of the restaurant door for a fleeting moment.

What’s wrong with him? Bambam hasn’t been this nervous since…well, high school.

“Kun…pi…mook uh Bu—”

Bambam rolls his eyes at the freshmen English teacher, Mr. Kim, butchering his name. “I just go by Bambam,” comes his automatic response.

Mr. Kim breaks into a sigh of relief, taking pen to clipboard, “Great, Bambam it is.”

But Bambam has already zoned out.

Because right across from him is you—an unassuming girl in the back seat, smiling to yourself. Your lips move as you tilt your head down, but Bambam knows exactly what you’ve mouthed and his heart catches in his throat. Bambam.

His name makes your cheeks dimple.

He doesn’t know why, but this little bit of knowledge makes his chest squeeze.

The next day and every day after, Bambam makes sure to sit next to you. Thus, began the beginning of your beautiful love story…

…is what he had hoped.

But after the first day of high school, you don’t even spare him a glance. So instead, Bambam spends every hour of English period watching you from his peripheral.

You are a quiet student and most days you spend the hour doodling in the margins of your notebook. Often, your doodles are centered around cute cartoons yelling at you to pay attention in class. Every once in a while, he’ll catch a funny caricature of one of your classmates.

Maybe you’ll draw him one day, he hopes to himself.

(You don’t.)

“Bambam and Y/N, please read the next passage,” Mr. Kim interrupts his daydreams one day, about a month into the new school year.

His eyes widen, fingers flipping through the pages of Romeo and Juliet.

“Page 46,” you whisper as you get up from your seat.

Bambam lets out a breath, thumbing to the right page as he stands from his seat beside yours. He squares his shoulders, attempting to stand tall though his shoulders only manage about an inch higher than yours, but every inch counts!

“If I profane,” you whisper when he doesn’t begin reading.

Mr. Kim looks at Bambam pointedly.

“If I proFANE!” he starts loudly, cringing when his voice cracks. His classmates snicker, making his cheeks go red, but you don’t even flinch. Your eyes remain steady on the page of your own book, waiting for him to continue. He clears his throat, “If I p-profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my…lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch…with a tender k-kiss.”

Bambam swallows, wiping a sweaty palm on his khaki pants. He prays no one notices his stutter. If you do, you don’t let on, lowering the book as you speak.

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

“Ha-”

“You guys,” Mr. Kim sighs, interrupting Bambam. He looks around the room with a scowl. “Can we not read this out like robots, please? This is young love! They’re talking about kissing! Be more excited!”

“Is that what they’re talking about?” you mutter under your breath, eyebrows arching as you scanned the page.

Bambam snorts before covering his mouth with his hand quickly. You catch the sound though, looking up at him with a smile.

His heart catches in his throat.

The playful glint in your eyes keeps him afloat for months after.

When the restaurant doors open again, Bambam chokes on his water. He coughs into the red linen napkin, his grey contact eyes watering. He can’t help chuckling despite it all though.

You’re here. And fortunately for Bambam, your gaze is focused on the hostess. You’re asking her something, probably for directions to his table. You lean towards the hostess’ podium, the heels of your blush-colored flats rising to your tiptoes out of habit even though you are at least a foot clear of the podium. You have on your signature cream oversized knit cardigan which you pull tighter to your chest, covering the simple white dress beneath.

It is so very you—even the stroke of blue paint at the bottom of your dress (which you probably aren’t aware of). On any other girl, Bambam would have scrutinized the stain, especially at a restaurant of this class. Yet, on you, the mark is somehow endearing.

He wonders if the paint stain is fresh. Were you so absorbed in a painting that you came rushing straight here with no time to change? Or was this an old stain on a dress you loved so much you couldn’t bear to part ways with it?

“Hey,” your hesitant voice breaks him out of his thoughts as you take a seat across from him.

“Hi,” he breathes. Underneath the table, he pinches his thigh. Nope, not a dream.

“Sorry I kept you waiting, I had a hard time finding the entrance,” you chuckle to yourself. There’s a story behind that smile, there always seems to be a story behind every expression and gesture you make. He wonders if he’ll ever be part of that story. When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head nervously. “Were…you waiting long?”

“Oh! Ha, no, not at all!” Bambam straightens in his seat.

You smile politely before turning away to admire the place. It’s a beautiful French restaurant that sits at the top of one of Seoul’s tallest hotels. The entire restaurant is surrounded by floor to ceiling windows, offering a spectacular view of the city. Your eyes linger on the glittering lights of Seoul’s Friday night skyline.

Bambam doesn’t bother to glance out the window. His eyes remain on you, the glow of the candle at the center of the table flickers like stardust on your skin.

When you finally look back, Bambam leans on the table, lifting a proud brow. “Like the view?”

“This place is breathtaking,” you admit, fingers rubbing absentmindedly at the ends of your sleeves.

“Right? It’s one of my favorite places in the city,” he smiles triumphantly. “Wait ‘til you try the food.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Yeah, Lisa introduced me to this place a year ago and I’ve been coming ever since.”

“L-Lisa? Like…from Blackpink?” you look at him with wide eyes.

“Yeah, that Lisa, she’s a homie.”

You blink at him. “Wow, okay…cool.”

He pauses, not quite sure how to read your tone. Before he can ask though, the waitress interrupts with the usual spiel on menus and dishes of the night. When you read through the menu, your eyes grow big.

“My card is still on file, right?” Bambam asks, quick to assuage your worries. His card has been on file for months now.

“Yes, it should be, but I can check again for you,” the waitress smiles at him politely, knowing just as well that Bambam already knows this. He winks at her as she leaves before turning back to you.

Unlike his expectations though, the crease between your brow only deepens. He clears his throat, rubbing his palms against his thighs again.

“Anything catch your eye?”

You force out a smile, putting down your menu. “I can eat anything. Why don’t you decide?”

Bambam lifts a brow but nods in agreement. He wonders if French cuisine just isn’t your thing. He should have listened to Yugyeom and gone Japanese, huh? You can’t go wrong with omakase!

“Do you like wine?” he blurts, trying to get his best friend’s voice out of his head.

“Oh,” your eyes dart to the clear glass cases at the center of the restaurant showcasing their selection. You sink into your seat a little. “Well, I’m not really an expert, but I can drink it. Do you like wine?”

“I’ll let you try my favorite bottle! It’ll go great with the usual course I order,” he smiles, quite pleased with his decision.

“Sounds good,” you nod curtly.

After Bambam puts in the order, an uncomfortable silence follows. Your eyes keep traveling around the room like you don’t want to look at him. And Bambam, who could easily entertain an entire party of people at any given moment, finds himself at a loss for words. There’s probably a stain on his thighs now from how often he keeps wiping his palms. He’s too afraid to check.

“So,” he starts, extending the single word uneasily. He doesn’t manage to figure out the rest of his sentence though.

But it’s then that you finally break into a smile. A real one.

“Bambam,” you let out, and his eyes dart to your cheek where the ghost of a familiar dimple lays. “Are you feeling as awkward as I am?”

“More like nervous,” he confesses, leaning back into his seat.

Your brows raise, “You? Nervous?”

“It happens when I’m with beautiful people.”

You roll your eyes, “Says the same guy who’s ‘homies’ with Blackpink’s Lisa.”

Bambam grins, “When you meet her, you’ll see, she’s a bro.”

You arch your brows, clearly not believing him. “If she’s a bro, I can’t imagine what I am.”

You’re frowning and his heart sinks. He hates that you actually mean it. He hates that he can’t even tell you honestly what you mean to him. It’s way too soon for that kind of confession. He’s sure you wouldn’t take him seriously anyways. After all, he barely managed to even get this date.

Yn_ig: The animes lied to me. High school sucks.

Bambam snorts loudly, muffling himself beneath his blue checkered duvet before his mom can hear and yell at him to go to sleep.

It’s midnight and tomorrow will be the first day of sophomore year. He really should be sleeping, but instead he’s smiling stupidly at his phone. Your scowling face lights up his screen. Your best friend smiles brightly beside you, poking your cheek with the end of a paintbrush. You had spent your break taking an art class.

Bambam knows this because he’s been stalking your Instagram, although he’s been too afraid to like any of your posts.

You’ve gotten a lot better in the span of a few weeks though. Or at least, that’s what it seems like from having spent all of freshmen year watching you doodle in the margins. He wonders if he’ll get to sit beside you this year too. His stomach flips at the thought.

When morning comes, Bambam yawns loudly, his eyes barely open as he rushes to the bus stop. He hadn’t meant to stay up so late, but one thing led to another and suddenly he was on Soundcloud, listening to an indie artist by the name of Defsoul, who you had commented about on your friend’s Instagram post fifteen weeks ago.

He pulls out his phone, plugging in his earphones to continue listening. He steps into the bus, in the middle of bopping his head to a song when the sound escapes him and all he can hear is the thumping of his heart.

You’re sitting near the back, looking out the window. You have on headphones and a scowl that looks just like the picture you posted last night.

Steadying his breath, he walks past you and slides into the row of seats right behind yours. He wonders if you’re listening to the same song.

Maybe you’ll share the same homeroom this year. The entire bus ride to school, Bambam daydreams about all the conversations you’d share every morning if that were the case. He’d talk to you about Defsoul and then you’d share your stories about break. He’d tell you his was alright, but it would’ve been better if you two hung out. You’d give him that look, the same one you gave when you read out loud together, and then he’d poke your cheek like he’s always wanted to, right where your cheeks dimpled.

His bubble bursts as soon as a guy takes a seat beside you. Bambam can’t remember his name, but his face is familiar. He’s a senior, and by the way you move your headphones to the nape of your neck and smile, it seems like you know him. Holding his breath, Bambam pauses his song.

“2A? That used to be my homeroom!”

Bambam clenches his fist. His homeroom is at the other end of the hall from yours. Frowning, he eyes the back of the guy’s head as he leans into you.

“So, have you thought about what I asked over break?”

You fold your arms across your chest and Bambam can’t help but wonder what he’s asked of you. Is it a date? The way he whispers seems like it would be that kind of thing, and Bambam doesn’t doubt a girl like you must have a lot of admirers. Is it making you uncomfortable? Should he interrupt you two? But then, you’d clearly know he had been eavesdropping. But if this guy was making you uncomfortable, that shouldn’t matter, right?

Thighs straining, Bambam almost stands from his seat when you laugh. It’s the loudest he’s ever heard you, at least in person anyways.

“I thought you’d forget by now,” you chuckle.

The guy feigns offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Me? Forget about you? I see you think very highly of me, Y/N.”

Bambam rolls his eyes.

“Sure you aren’t just trying to dump all your responsibilities on me?” you pout. Bambam melts inside.

“Ha, you caught me!” the senior laughs, making you laugh too. It’s such a pretty ring to his ears, Bambam already knows he’ll be thinking about it for the next couple of weeks. “But you know I wouldn’t give it up to just anyone. It’s practically my baby.”

“That’s true,” you admit, chuckling, and then quieter, “You think I can do it?”

He put an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. Bambam squeezes his fist.

“Not just doing it. I know you’ll be a great president,” he tells you confidently. Your ears go red, and if Bambam weren’t so focused on the hand on your shoulder, he would’ve found it very endearing.

“I don’t know, I just…” you pause nervously.

“Yo,” Mingyu breaks Bambam’s concentration. “2D?”

Bambam breaks into a smile, highfiving his friend as he takes the seat next to him. “2D!”

“Sweet!” Mingyu cheers, shoulders bumping against his playfully. “Kook’s with us too. It’s gonna be a wild year!”

Bambam laughs, shaking his head. “You guys are gonna get us kicked back a year.”

His friend whistles. “Girls are into older guys, Bam, it’ll be like one of those harem animes Kook loves so much!”

Bambam laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he glances back at the hand still on your shoulder. He hopes that’s not the case for you.

“It got cold,” Bambam musters as the two of you leave the restaurant.

You nod, looking up at the night sky. “Seems like winter doesn’t want to leave us yet.”

The two of you pause by the curb, in front of the valet.

“Are you sure you had a good time, Y/N? You barely touched your food.”

You look up in surprise. “Oh, I really did have a nice time, Bambam.”

He looks at you skeptically.

“The uh, the…gourdine?”

“Bouchée à la périgourdine?”

“Yeah, that!” you chuckle awkwardly. “That was delicious.”

Bambam still doesn’t believe you but you look uncomfortable, so he lets it go. Actually, you’ve been looking uncomfortable ever since you laid eyes on the menu. Most of his dates took advantage of his generosity, especially at a place like this—ordering the most expensive dishes and trying out all the wine. You though? You insisted on being full after the first course. When he asked you what your thoughts were on his favorite bottle of wine, you mumbled something incoherent as you tipped the entire glass down your throat. You only had water after that.

It was like you couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Maybe he had read things wrong. He thought you were at least interested in him too. The night of Mark’s fashion launch, the two of you had shared so many things—secrets, confessions, old memories and what he thought had been chemistry.

He glances over your way. You’re turned away from him, eyes watching the valet workers instead. You had admitted to hating him in the past. His stomach sinks at the thought that maybe you still do.

You shiver, pulling your cardigan closer to your chest. Bambam unwraps his scarf, holding out his hand for you to take it.

“Oh, I’m alright,”

He lets out a soft sigh before stepping in front of you.

“Do you maybe,” Bambam asks softly, placing his scarf gently around the nape of your neck. “I don’t know, it’s Friday, we could walk around or something or…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead biting on the tip of his tongue as he wraps the cashmere cloth securely around you.

Your fingers brush against his, just barely, but he feels it tenfold. “It’s getting late…”

Bambam tries not to look too hurt when he smiles back at you. “I’ll drive you home then.”

A week later, Bambam finds himself outside of your studio apartment. When you open the door, you’re wide-eyed and frozen like you’ve seen a ghost. In your defense though, Bambam doesn’t look like himself. He hasn’t ever since the night you left him at this exact spot last week.

Dark circles line his eyes and his newly dyed black hair only makes his complexion paler.

“Is everything okay, Bambam?” you ask finally.

He sighs, squeezing at the bridge of his nose. His gold frames lift at the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I probably should have called first.”

“Hey,” you place your palm gently on his arm. “Why don’t you come in first.”

Bambam lets you tug him inside like a lost puppy. His eyes travel around the room. Of course, he’s seen your place before in videos, but it’s different being here now. He doesn’t expect the smell of ginger and lemongrass to greet him. The longer he lingers, the more aware he becomes of the subtle scent of jasmine rice wafting in from the open kitchen. It’s comforting.

Your bedroom door is open, and he can see you’re working on a series of paintings. The canvases line your wooden floors in a haphazard row across the room.

You sit him down on your couch, a worn out burgundy but the geometric pattern is intricate despite its faded color. He lets his finger trail over a line while you poor him a cup of water.

“Your hair is black,” you break the silence.

“Oh,” he runs a hand through his hair like he is discovering this for the first time too. A faint pink colors his cheeks.

“I like it,” you smile softly. “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” he utters. His eyes trail down your hands. Your thumb smooths down your own cup of water repeatedly. Your fingers are speckled with green paint.

When he doesn’t say anything more, you chuckle softly to yourself. He looks at you in surprise.

“I like this new look,” you explain, eyes gesturing to his outfit. Today, Bambam is in a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. Granted, the t-shirt is still Tom Ford, but you don’t know that. More noticeably though, is what he is not wearing, no sparkling diamonds around his neck, no Rolex on his wrist. Only a plain, silver ring adorns his right pinky. “So, why are you here, Bambam?”

He winces inwardly, reality setting in on him. Why is he here? Because the hair dye didn’t work? Because he agreed to too many projects in an attempt to keep busy but now he’s just tired and confused? Because Yugyeom pushed him out of the office and told him to figure things out?

Because no matter what he does, he keeps thinking about last week’s date and how you looked at him right before going inside—the mixture of disappointment and sadness in your eyes that felt like he had lost it all.

“Bambam?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

His question catches you off guard. “What? No, of course not.”

“You didn’t like the food,”

“The food was delicious.”

“Then it was me. I was boring.”

“Are you really Bambam? Where did all your confidence go?” you joke, lifting a brow.

His shoulders slouch. You make his confidence deplete like he is fourteen again. When he doesn’t say anything, you put your cup down onto the coffee table and look him in the eye.

“Hey, really, it had nothing to do with you Bambam, and everything to do with me.”

He chuckles dryly. “I don’t need a ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ to soften the blow. You can give it to me straight.”

You look at him with a frown, lips threatening to jut into a pout and if Bambam weren’t about to get his heart crushed, he would’ve found your expression to be very adorable. Well, okay, that’s a lie, he still finds you very adorable right now.

“It’s really not you,” you purse your lips together, looking away. “I just…I was very out of place there, Bambam.”

“Wha-”

“I couldn’t pronounce half the menu,” you continue, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Or the wine.”

“But it tasted good?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, looking at him. “It was amazing, Bambam. But that one meal cost about half the month’s rent of this place!”

Bambam doesn’t mean to, but he laughs at your outburst. He is reminded of himself a few years ago when he first became friends with Jackson Wang, who gifted him a set of Cartier jewelry on his birthday.

When he sees your face, he immediately stops laughing. “Wait, I’m not laughing at you!”

“Yeah, sure,” you roll your eyes, but it’s a harmless gesture. Rising from your seat, you look at him, “Is that all you came here for?”

“Well, no.”

Your brows lift.

“There’s this event,” Bambam rushes, digging into the pocket of his jeans. “Actually, I was working on this mini documentary with this artist and he’s opening up a new exhibit this weekend.”

He raises the tickets tentatively towards you but freezes when your eyes bug out.

“Yoshitomo Nara?” You practically scream, falling back onto the couch right beside Bambam. You smell warm and sweet and the memory of the night you shared a few weeks ago flickers in the back of his mind.

“Yoshitomo Nara,” he confirms softly.

You frown his way, though it quickly turns into a smile, “Well, that’s just not fair. You know how much he means to me.”

“I do,” he smiles quietly.

“So you came here to bribe me?”

He laughs, “More or less. Is that a yes?”

You smile, thumbs smoothing over the tickets repeatedly.

“Jokes on you, Bambam. I would’ve said yes even without these tickets.”

Somehow, he doesn’t quite believe you, but you are giggling, and he has a date.

And that is all that matters.

Bambam sits nervously on a stool of the art studio, his fingers twisting the lens of an old DSLR he’s still not confident about using. From the elevated windows above, the pink evening sky illuminates. Everything about this moment seems picturesque. If Bambam could use his camera properly, he would’ve known.

But instead, the camera remains abandoned in his grasp as he stares in front of him where you stand in front of your easel mere meters away. It’s just the two of you. Everyone from both the photography and the painting club had gone home already. After seeing you continue to paint, Bambam had insisted on staying behind to practice with his camera more.

To be honest, he is hungry and could care less about photography, but he can’t find himself to go home.

“Hey,” you twist around and Bambam’s mind spins.

“H-hey,” he musters up, still unconvinced you’re talking to him.

He blinks owlishly at you, and then, his stomach growls. Loudly. His ears turn so red and he feels like he’s been set on fire, but you don’t even react.

“Mind if I play music?”

“Uh, yeah…that’s fine,” he answers you meekly, eyes diverting in embarrassment.

“Cool,” you reply nonchalantly, walking up to his side of the room where the speakers are. Plugging in your phone, the familiar tune of Defsoul’s music fills the studio. It takes Bambam a minute to get over his own mortification before the music reaches his ears and he perks up. But when he looks around the room, you are gone.

Alone now, Bambam finds the courage to get up from his seat and approaches your easel. The chair beside your easel is stacked with art books of Yoshitomo Nara. It seems you are doing a study. Just like the angry little girls on the cover of the art books, your easel holds a portrait of a little girl too. It is different though.

When he looks at the girl in your painting, he sees you. The little girl holds the ghost of a smirk beneath her scowl and her eyes glint with secrets of mischief, just like you. Without thinking, Bambam takes a step back and raises his camera.

“Like it?”

Bambam jumps in surprise, the flash of the camera going off before it slips from his hands entirely. Flustered, he rushes to bring the camera back into his grasp, thanking god he had kept the old leather strap around his neck.

You giggle softly, standing beside him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

“It’s alright, I was just spacing out,” he mumbles sheepishly, eyes averting to the screen of his camera. You lean in, filling his senses with faint notes of your strawberry vanilla shampoo. “I’m still learning how to use the camera.”

“I like it,” you smile, looking up at him. “Can you send it to me?”

“I-really?” he looks at you surprised. Your painting isn’t in focus and off centered. The photo is not good, even Bambam knows it.

“Yeah, gives me album cover vibes,” you chuckle.

He snorts. “When is your mixtape dropping?”

You grin, raising a brow. “You never know what could happen in the future, Bambam.”

He shrugs, pretending not to melt at the sound of his name on your tongue. He didn’t think you’d remember him.

“Here,” you hand him a bag of cheese puffs before opening your own bag. “The vending machine popped out two.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Bambam walks back to his seat, gaze on your back again as you return to painting. He glances at the blurry photo on the screen of his camera and then slowly, he raises his camera once more, one eye squinting into the viewfinder.

Maybe photography isn’t so bad after all.

He snaps another photo. Click!

“Wait, this is a formal thing? Should I change?”

Bambam watches with amusement as you bounce nervously in front of his car. You are dressed in a plain pink tank top and matching satin wrap skirt. Of course, your classic cream cardigan drapes over you, and to his pleasure, so does his scarf from your last date.

“You look beautiful,” he reassures you.

You bite at your lip, unconvinced. “But you’re in a suit.”

“Okay, but when am I not?”

Your pout reluctantly turns into a smile and you huff, walking through the door he’s holding open for you, into the passenger’s seat. When he gets into the driver’s seat, you turn to him.

“When you’re wearing your designer gym clothes,” you smirk.

“Stop, you aren’t allowed to make jokes while I’m driving,” he laughs, pulling the car out of the driveway. “Also, tracksuits are still suits.”

Your giggles ring throughout the car.

When the two of you get to the venue, the place is already busy. The exhibition is part of the new contemporary art wing in the museum, which has been closed for the night for an intimate opening with select guests. Many of these guests are artist friends of Yoshitomo Nara, but even more are the wealthy collectors who are more than eager to call first dibs on the latest works. The only reason Bambam has been invited is because his mini documentary of the artist is playing on loop in one of the screening rooms.

While he loves art, these type of art scenes are not his thing. They’re a bit too stuffy for his taste and exactly why he dropped out of art school in the first place. But when he sees the way you seem to shrink into your cardigan as soon as you step into the gallery, he squares his shoulders and grabs hold of your hand.

You look surprised by his touch, but thankfully, you don’t pull away.

“You have to get used to these kinds of events, Y/N. You’ll be hosting them soon.”

You chuckle, glancing away. “Well, if I’m lucky, you’ll be hosting them.”

It’s his turn to blush now, but he pretends to be cool, pointing to the first painting to the right. “Shall we start here?”

You only grin, gripping his hand tighter. You seemed to get a little too much joy out of making him feel shy. Bambam can only sigh, quietly relishing in the warmth of your palm against his.

When you finally turn your attention to the paintings, the two of you look on in silence. Naturally, Bambam’s gaze falls onto you. There is a glimmer in your eyes, emotions passing through your features like its own movie. There is a lift of revelation in your brow, a scrunch of displeasure in your nose, the twitch of amusement on your lips.

Bambam fights the urge to take out his phone and record you. Instead, he follows after you, committing your profile to memory.

“Why do you like this guy so much?” he blurts out after passing a few paintings. You peel your eyes away to look at him in surprise, cheeks rosy.

“I-I don’t know, I’ve just loved his works since high school.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for the question to come out harsh. I was just curious, I mean, his art is really nice.”

You squeeze his hand, calming him. “I know. I guess I was just drawn to his characters. They’re cute, but rebellious and real. It’s charming.”

Bambam smiles. That’s how he feels about you.

“And it blurs the lines of what is fine art,” you go on, turning back to the painting in front of you. “Like right now, it is hanging in this museum, so it’s considered high end art, right? But this girl can easily be inside a children’s book, and his previous works have.”

You glance back at him, looking embarrassed after your spiel. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t let you skirt over the topic though as he follows you to the next painting. “Is that why you dropped out of school?”

You sigh. “There were a lot of reasons. Maybe my skin wasn’t thick enough.”

“No, I get it,” he rubs his thumb across your skin. “I don’t like museums much, to be honest. I like the idea of them, but in reality, places like these only cater to the gatekeepers and the gatekeepers are just boring ass, tax-evading millionaires.”

You laugh, leaning into his chest as if that’ll rid you of the attention you’ve already gained around your corner of the room. Bambam ignores their stares, laughing along with you.

“Your art shouldn’t be jailed up in this stale room,” he adds, after your giggling subsides.

“But yours is,” you chuckle, making your way into the dark screening room.

Projected onto the wall is Yoshitomo Nara talking midsentence about his latest artworks. You take a seat on the bench before gesturing for Bambam to take a seat next to you.

“This is filmed beautifully,” you lean into him to whisper. The action makes him smile since you are the only two in this room, but if it’ll bring you closer, he doesn’t mind. “You’re really talented, Bambam.”

“I have a good team with me.”

“I always knew you’d make it big.”

He smiles quietly, watching as the glow of the video illuminated your face. You really did.

Yn_ig: This is amazing!

Bambam1a: Thx!

Bambam chucks his phone between his thighs before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth to hide the smile spreading across his face. He pretends to laugh at something his brother said, though really, he’s twisting with glee because you just liked his latest post on Instagram. And you commented!

“Remember Bammie, this weekend you’re coming with me to…”

His phone dings and his mom’s voice fades into the background. Grabbing his phone, his stomach flips when he sees your handle name sending you a direct message. Ever since the beginning of junior year, he’s been talking to you over Instagram under the alias Muse_ig. It hadn’t been his intentions to deceive you. He was just nervous about talking to you online, but still wanted a way to support you. One comment on your art led to another and suddenly you were messaging him a thank you. Very quickly, that thank you turned into memes and inside jokes. Now, the two of you were talking to each other almost every night.

He clicks on the notification, nodding blankly to whatever his mom is saying.

Yn_ig: Hey! You said you liked photography, right? You should check him out. He’s my classmate. Really talented guy.

Bambam clutches his phone, trying to keep from jumping out of his seat when he sees you’ve sent his Instagram profile.

“Bammie, are you listening to me?” his mom looks at him pointedly.

He tries to school his expression, but joy floods his face anyways. And despite her tone, his mom smiles too.

“Whoever it is, she can wait. Put your phone away,” she teases, inciting laughter from all his siblings.

Bambam laughs it off goodheartedly, tucking his phone away. You think he’s really talented and nothing can diminish the high that this newfound knowledge brings him.

Well, nothing except, of course, you.

You see, when Bambam agreed to tagging along with his mom to her new friend’s house so she could introduce their daughter to him, he was expecting to spend a few awkward hours with some strangers. Maybe bond with said daughter over the awkwardness, but then he would go home and play video games and that would be that.

What he doesn’t expect is to greet you first thing at your doorway. He doesn’t expect to sit across from you during dinner. And he definitely doesn’t expect the glare you send him between each bite.

“You really are the prettiest thing!” His mother coos from across the table. “She definitely takes after you.”

“Oh, stop it,” your mom blushes, waving her spoon. “To think our kids already knew each other. This must be fate!”

“Hardly,” you mumble under your breath, but Bambam hears it. His heart breaks.

He can’t even blame you for it though. This dinner hasn’t exactly been easy for you. He remembers your late-night texts a few months ago and now all those self-deprecating comments make sense. Those words you were repeating? The I’m not good enough and I should just give up—They were never yours. It was your parents’.

“Bambam told me she’s one of the smartest in her grade!” his mom continues to compliment. He nods eagerly. Your frown only deepens as you poke at the asparagus on your plate.

“What good are all those As when all she does is doodle?” her mom laments, chuckling weakly. “We put all this money into her education but all she wants to do is draw.”

“Paintings,” Bambam musters. Both his and your mom look at him, surprised. He wipes his palms against his pants. In his peripheral, he knows you’re looking at him too, but he’s too afraid to look at you. “She paints, and she’s really good.”

There’s a pause and Bambam’s entire face heats up.

And then your mom breaks into a laugh. “And I heard you’re doing photography!”

His chest deflates and he nods meekly.

His mom laughs, hitting him on the back. “Unlike Y/N, Bammie here is terrible at studying. I really hope this hobby takes off.”

“Your mom showed me some of your photos, boy,” your father speaks up gruffly, pointing the steak knife his way. “Keep it up and you’ll earn yourself a free ticket to college.”

Bambam rubs at the nape of his neck, “I don’t know about that.”

“No really, there’s a scholarship, isn’t there, Y/N?” your father insists, looking at you.

You nod, putting down your fork. You look at your dad but it’s clear in your tone that you’re talking to him.

“It’s called the Artisan Award—a full scholarship to your art school of choice. It’s given to one graduating senior for their excellence in art across multiple disciplines—including photography. I’ll be applying to it next year.” You don’t even offer him a glance, focusing instead, on your glass of water.

“Well, you’ll be applying to a lot of scholarships,” your mom chuckles uneasily. “There’s still a year to think things through.”

“You should apply too,” your father adds, looking at him.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d be any good. Sounds competitive,” Bambam mumbles, glancing at you. You’re scowling down at your plate.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try though,” his mom cuts in, smiling at him. “What are the kids saying nowadays? Have to shoot your shot into the hoop?”

He smiles, pretending to grimace at his mom, making her laugh.

“While we’re at it, let’s apply to the athletic scholarships too,” she jokes.

He laughs, rolling his eyes. “First I have to make a shot into an actual hoop.”

His mom snorts, “It’s okay, if anything you can dropout and become a comedian! We’ve got options.”

The table breaks into laughter but when he glances your way, you are glaring at him.

“I still can’t believe you were Muse_ig this whole time. I dropped out because of you,” you giggle, a crumpled brown napkin in one hand while the other cradles a half-eaten slice of pizza. The two of you had stopped for a bite to eat next door to the museum.

“Hey, don’t blame me, I was just sending you encouraging messages. You made the decision,” Bambam whines, one cheek still stuffed full of pizza.

“Only because I had you feeding into my delusions!”

“You mean showing you your true worth?” he corrects.

You smile, leaning onto the table towards him. “Which ultimately pushed me to drop out.”

He sighs, “Okay, fine, you win. Please don’t tell your mom, though. She’ll hate me.”

“Impossible, she loves you.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.”

You roll your eyes as Bambam finishes his last bite. Sitting in the pizzeria on a Saturday night amongst a crowd of college students from the local university, the two of you stand out like a sore thumb—Bambam, because of his tailored suit that’s probably the same price as some of these students’ tuition, and you, because, well, you’re you.

In his eyes at least, you always stand out. However, tonight, this is especially so. Unlike your first date, you are laughing and joking together. Maybe he should get pizza with you more often.

“This was nice,” you breathe out as you both step out of the pizzeria. When the restaurant doors close, the loud chatter muffles and is replaced by the quiet night breeze.

“So,” Bambam lets the word drawl sluggishly, not wanting the night to end, but he is reminded of the last date when you turned him down and hesitates to extend another offer.

“So,” you copy, voice soft as you start walking back towards the museum parking garage. “You never explained why you dropped out. Such a waste of a scholarship,” you tease.

“Ah, that…” Bambam stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants.

You place a hesitant hand around the crook of his arm and his shoulders relax.

“If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to answer.”

He shakes his head, looking down at you. “No, it’s not.”

He opens the passenger door for you, helping you in before heading to his side.

“I guess I didn’t have tough skin either,” he chuckles softly, starting the car. “Some days it really did feel like being jailed inside an art museum. Photography didn’t feel the same without…”

His voice trails and his cheeks heat up. You look at him curiously but he’s too embarrassed to continue. Again, he is reminded by the fact that while you grew up together, the memories you share are quite different.

He glances at you and the way you smile at him is sweet. As if to say, it’s okay to not say anything more. But instead of being comforted, Bambam remembers the way you glared at him from across the dinner table as if it happened yesterday.

“I liked taking photos of the people I care about. I liked capturing moments that mattered…Feelings that…Art school just made me feel empty. I didn’t know why I was doing it anymore,” he finishes off quickly, looking away from you.

“I get that,” you smile weakly.

“But look at us now,” Bambam chuckles, lightening the mood. “We’re doing just fine on our own, aren’t we?”

You smile, glancing out the window. “Well, you are.”

“So are you! Aren’t you publishing a children’s book soon?” Bambam keeps his eyes on the road but her can see in his peripheral that you are looking at him in surprise.

“Did Mark…”

At the red light, he glances at you gently. “Your mom told mines. She brags about you when you aren’t around, you know.”

You frown, playing with the strap of the seatbelt.

“I know that’s her way of caring for me.” You finally say. “Sometimes, though, I wish she was more like your mom.”

“Well,” Bambam sends you a quick grin before turning back to the road. “If you marry me, my mom comes with the package too.”

You laugh. It rings throughout the car and sets his own heart at ease.

“You don’t have to bribe me with your mother, Bambam! If anything, I should be bribing you.”

“I’ll take it!”

“What?”

He chuckles. “Whatever the bribe is, I’ll take it. Think City Hall is still open?”

You shake your head, giggling softly. “I still don’t get you.”

“What’s there to get?”

You hum thoughtfully. “A young bachelor like you so eager to marry and me of all people? Who’s holding you against your will?”

At the next red light, Bambam steels himself and turns to you, eyes steady on yours.

“I like you. A lot. For a while now.”

Despite the dimly lit night, he can see you flush. Your fingers clutch the ends of your cardigan sleeves, a nervous habit.

When you don’t say anything, he continues. “I know your parents kind of forced you into this, but that’s not the case for me. Maybe I’m coming on too strong, This marriage arrangement thing…I get that it’s unnatural. I wish I could’ve gone about this differently, but we’re here now and I’m ready. I know you’re probably not and that’s okay, I get it. But I’m interested, I want to date, I want to go through the whole process with you. Slowly, at our own pace, and if I’m not a good fit…then that’s okay too. But I want to at least try.”

The light turns green and reluctantly, he looks away. The rest of the drive to your place is quiet. When he parks outside your apartment, he smiles as if your silence isn’t eating him alive.

“I had a really nice time, Y/N. I’m glad you came with me tonight.”

“Me too,” you reply, almost a whisper.

When you don’t say anything more, he gets out of the car and walks to your side, helping you with the door. But you don’t get up from your seat.

Instead, you turn to him, eyes staring up at him nervously.

“I like you too.”

It is soft, but his whole chest shakes. Bambam breaks into a smile of joy and relief.

He takes hold of your hand, helping you out of the car. His fingers linger, brushing softly against the tips of yours, and you smile.

“Then, I’ll see you next week at your family dinner?” he asks quietly.

You nod tentatively. You purse your lips, cheeks dimpling shyly. His heart skips as you linger, eyes shimmering under the streetlamp.

And then you lean into him, fingers clutching his and you tiptoe.

It is a fleeting touch—light and feathery on his lips—and then he blinks and you’re stepping away again.

“Night, Bambam.”

“N-night!”

He stays for ten minutes longer, waiting for the light of your apartment to flicker on, his lips still buzzing from your kiss.

Bambam’s lips sting from how much he’s been nervously biting them, the high from last week’s date now a fleeting memory. He sits at your parents’ dinner table across from you and it feels like déjà vu.

His mom laughs loudly next to him. Someone made a joke or something.

He doesn’t hear it. All he can see is the growing scowl on your face. Whatever feelings you had for him last week seem to be long gone if your expression is anything to go by.

Your mom swirls her glass of wine, leaning into his mom warmly. “When you told me you wanted my daughter to be your daughter-in-law—my daughter, for your Bambam!—I almost fainted!”

“What are you talking about? The minute I saw Y/N, I fell in love at first sight! I’m pretty sure it was the same for Bammie too.”

Bambam flushes, stuffing his cheeks with salad.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” his mom nudges him teasingly and he almost chokes but he nods adamantly towards you.

“You two are so humble,” your dad chuckles.

Your mom seems to nod in agreement. “I’m sure Bambam can find better options out there.”

“Y/N has one good trait though,” your dad adds, laughing. “She won’t cause any trouble as far as the love department goes.”

“Oh, don’t get me started, this girl is so stubborn!” your mom starts up again, waving her spoon accusingly at you. “Always work, work, work with my daughter. It’s all she cares about.”

“Oh, Bammie’s the same,” his mom cuts in, smiling amiably at you. “It’s the younger generation these days. Married to their work so to speak.”

“Bambam’s got a good head on him,” you father nods to him gruffly. “There’s a difference between working hard and working smart.”

“Unfortunately, she’s only good at working hard,” your mother sighs.

Bambam swallows thickly, gaze fixed on your expression. You’ve been chewing on the inside of your cheek since dinner started. He can see the tick in your jaw every time your parents say something mean your way.

At first, you managed to fake a few polite smiles, but now your head was fully down as you played with the rice on your plate.

“I like Y/N’s work ethic,” he finally speaks up. You finally look at him, eyes unreadable. “It’s hard work that brings talent to fruition and Y/N has both.”

Your gaze lingers on him.

“If we’re talking about talent though, we have to talk about your business!” Your mom breaks the air and the ghost of your smile completely vanishes from your face. You don’t look at him for the rest of dinner.

“Ready for dessert?” your mom asks after everyone was done eating.

You scoot your chair, rising from your seat. “Actually, I’m not feeling so well.”

“Oh, are you okay sweetheart?” his mother asks.

You smile apologetically, “So sorry to have to leave first.”

“Of course, honey! Bammie, why don’t you bring her home?”

“Oh no, that’s alright.”

“No, no, let me.” Bambam rises from his seat and takes hold of your hand. He gives you an encouraging squeeze. “Thank you for the meal! I’ll get her home safely.”

When you exit the house, you slip your hand from his. He pretends not to notice, leading you to his car quietly.

“Congratulations to our one and only Bambam for winning the Artisan Award, one of the most prestigious art scholarships in the nation.”

The morning announcement rings in his ears and his homeroom bursts in a parade of cheers and congratulations, but his heart lurches and he thinks of you.

He is reminded of the hours you spent afterschool every day in the art studio, working on pieces for your portfolio. He thinks of all the different art programs you attended during school holidays. He remembers your mother’s voice and the way you’d repeat those words during your late-night Instagram messages.

When he sees you at the bus stop immediately after school instead of in the studio, he almost turns the other way, but your eyes meet his and goes to stand next to you instead. You only give him a slight nod before returning to your phone.

It feels like a long time before the bus arrives.

You sit where you always do, near the back, beside the window. He takes the row of seats across from you.

His stomach twists with guilt when he watches your profile. You can probably feel his stare, but you continue to look straight ahead anyways. You’re probably trying hard to look unbothered, but he can see your disappointment clearly. There’s a slouch in your shoulders, a faint frown tilting the edges of your lips.

You are disappointed and probably dislike him right now.

He wonders if you’ll tell him about this over Instagram. He doesn’t know if Muse_ig will be able to console you this time around. He wishes he had the right words to say, but his throat constricts instead.

When your stop arrives, his eyes follow your back as you stand at the door and he beats himself up for having stayed quiet. And when the bus creeps to stop, you hesitate, before turning back to him.

“Congrats, by the way,” you offer him a small smile. “You deserved it.”

You step off the bus before he can say anything back.

You take a different route home for the rest of the school year.

At the red light, Bambam looks over at you. You continue looking straight ahead. There’s a sadness beneath your schooled expression, he can feel this in his gut, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“Y/N,” he starts hesitantly.

“The light’s green,” you interrupt.

He turns his attention back to the room. His gut clenches.

“Cupcake!” he blurts, gripping the wheel.

Your head turns abruptly. “What?”

“C-Cupcake, my cat,” he continues, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “You met her last time.”

After a pause, you reply back, “Yeah, I did.”

“I gave her a haircut. A really bad one. She had a bald spot, so I had to bring her to the groomers to get it fixed,” he rambles. “They tried their best, but she looks really awful right now. It’s pretty funny actually.”

You let out a soft chuckle. “Poor Cupcake.”

He glances at you briefly, his chest fluttering at the sight of your smile again. “You wanna go see my cats? I heard petting cats is therapeutic, although, not much to pet right now.”

Finally, you laugh.

“Sure, why not.”

When you finally get to his place, he knows he said the right thing. You sit on his couch, surrounded by his cats and a soft smile on your face.

“Awful, isn’t it?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. King jumps into his lap and he scoots closer to you.

“Absolutely terrible,” you chuckle, petting Cupcake gently.

“But you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

You let out a quiet sigh.

“Bambam,” you look at him and his heart drops. “Maybe we should just stop this.”

“Fourteen!”

Your brows arch. “You really need to stop saying things without context.”

He puts King aside and grabs hold of your hand like a lifeline.

“I was fourteen. You mouthed my name on the first day of school. That’s when I started liking you.”

You blink up at him in surprise.

“The painting and photography club had to share the same classroom and I knew you just became the president. I did my brother’s chores for three weeks just so I could borrow his old camera,” he looks at you nervously. “I wasn’t planning on falling for photography. You’re the reason I’m where I’m at today.”

“Y-you’re giving me too much credit.”

He holds your hands tighter, shaking his head.

“Your parents have a screwed-up way of measuring your worth, but I don’t care about your job or how famous you are. I care about the girl who mouthed my name and made me feel special. You’ve always been kind to me, taking me seriously when no one else in our grade did. You were the first person to like my photos and you’ve always encouraged me, even though it came at the cost of your own feelings.” He looks at you seriously, “But it shouldn’t. I don’t want to compete against you, Y/N. I want to be on your side.”

“On my side?” you repeat, looking at your intertwined fingers.

“On your side, by your side,” he whispers. “You’re my muse, my first love, first heartbreak. I’d like you to be my last everything too.”

There’s a pause and his chest aches from the silence.

But then he sees it.

Your dimpled cheek.

“So, you had a crush on me since high school?”

He huffs. “That’s what you got from all that?”

You answer with a giggle, dimpled cheeks and very soft lips on his.

#got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 reactions #bambam #fluff #fanfic #marriage life au

72 notes · View notes

dontshouta · 5 years ago

Note

heeey! can i request bakugo, izuku, shoto and shinsou with an s/o that is a bad influence for them (they manipulate the boys to skip classes, make them jealous/angry just for fun, etc) and then someone or something makes them snap and realize that their s/o is not good? i really like ur writing and really liked this idea but it's ok if you dont feel like doing them

this request made me 🥺 why must u make me write these dumb boys bad 😔 theyre doing their best okay. also i know u didn’t make this exclusively reader x bnha but like. I wanted a happy ending okay.

Bakugou Katsuki:

You were sat in your usual seat in the back of the class, your eyes lazily sweeping over the heads of your peers. Professor Yamada was droning on about some grammatically incorrect sentences in the background of your own thoughts, your mind elsewhere while you drew incoherent doodles in the margins of your notes.

English was your last class for the day, the clock ticking ever so slowly while you thought of any last minute plans you could make with your friends. You thought you could go to the mall with Mina, you needed a new pair of shoes and you knew she wouldn’t do you wrong. Or, you could hang out at Sero and Kaminari’s place, you’ve been meaning to bum out and have a movie night with those two. Or maybe, you could grab some lunch with Bakug-

Where the hell was Bakugou?

Your eyes jumped to stare into his empty desk, burning imaginary holes into the seat while searching through your mind’s eye to figure out why on Earth he would be gone. Bakugou never missed a day of class, so why now? Did he catch a cold? Does he have a dentist’s appointment? Was he abducted by aliens? Did he get hit by a-

Suddenly, the classroom door swung open and in came the culprit. Along with a demon clinging onto his arm. You rolled your eyes, a sigh escaping through your lips as you watched the two make their way to their respective seats. Of course she was the reason why he was late.

“Ahh, sorry professor!” She cooed, mock saluting poor Professor Yamada. “Didn’t realize we were so late, right Katsuki?”

You knew the rat was lying through her teeth. You knew she would rather die than come into class early like a normal student. You glared seething hatred into the back of her head, watching as her hand stayed glued to Bakugou’s arm, even as they sat in their seats.

Bakugou merely grunted in response, his eyes downcast while he settled in. You wanted to get up and pull him by the ear out of the classroom and give that dumb boy a stern talking to but you had at least some restraint. You studied the boy’s face closely, and you felt your heart sink. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw him look so… anguished. His expression was so openly conflicted you couldn’t help the feeling of dejection filling your tight chest.

After class, you launched yourself to Bakugou before his demon of a girlfriend could sink her claws into him first and hightailed it out of the classroom without a trace.

“Y/N- what- where the fuck are you taking me!” He growled, trying to shake himself from you.

“We need to have a little chit-chat Bakugou.” You started, rounding a corner into a little nook where you and Bakugou could talk without any disturbances. “I saw your face, I know you’re not happy with what happened today. What’s going on?”

Bakugou was quiet for a moment, emotions flickering through his face until he finally broke the silence with a deep sigh.

“This isn’t the first time this sort of thing happened… She keeps forcing me to skip my classes and shit and I don’t know why but I just can’t fucking say no. What the fuck is up with that? Since when have I ever been a damn toy for some girl? This shit’s been really pissing me off but I haven’t done jack shit about it!”

You could see the anger coursing through his body as he restrained himself from probably yeeting you into space. You felt angry. Angry because you didn’t notice his inner turmoil earlier and even angrier because of the person doing this. Didn’t she care for Bakugou at all? What a shitty girlfriend. You wouldn’t treat him like this.

“Bakugou,” You placed a comforting hand on his bicep, squeezing the hard muscle tightly to show your support. “I think you should break up with her. I’ve never had a good feeling about her in the first place and I hate seeing you so miserable because of some obnoxious brat.”

He reached up to squeeze your hand back before removing it entirely from his arm with a heavy sigh.

“Thanks, Y/N.. Even though you’re always in my fuckin’ business I appreciate you knocking some damn sense into my head.”

You gave him a bright smile. “Of course! I’d hate to see my favorite rat in distress!” You puffed your chest out with pride. “Now you owe me, how about taking me out on a date once your free from the devil’s clutches?”

With a roll of his eyes he ruffled your hair, a smirk playing on his lips while he abandoned your super secret hiding spot. Hands shoved into his jeans pockets, he looked over his shoulder, a cocky look in his eyes.

“I knew you only wanted me to break up with her just so you could get a shot at me. You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

A furious blush erupted onto your cheeks as you wildly yelled at the boy. The only response he so graciously gave you was a wink and a chuckle, causing your shouts behind him to grow tenfold.

You were left with red cheeks and a shy smile as you watched Bakugou escape your sight. You just hoped the stupid boy would actually break up with the witch or you feared you’d meddle again and do it yourself.

Midoriya Izuku:

Click. Click. Click. Click. ClickClickClickClickClickClickClickClick-

“Okay, Mido, I’m taking that from you.” You snatched the boy’s pen from his hand before he could protest and shoved it into your jacket pocket. His face flushed as he muttered incoherent excuses under his breath, the mess of hair on top of his head bobbing while he jittered in his seat.

You’d hoped you could have a relaxing study session with Midoriya in the local coffee shop but the poor boy had been fidgeting ever since the pair of you entered the establishment.

“Mido, what’s wrong? You’re more spazzy than usual.”

You watched as he rolled his bottom lip in between his teeth while staring at something behind you, causing a large sigh to escape from your lips.

“Dude, are you zoning out again? I asked you a ques-” Just as you started talking you turned to see what he was staring at, as soon as your eyes landed on the scene behind you you whipped right back around with wide eyes.

“Yo, isn’t that your boyfriend??” Your eyes were wide with concern, your body frantically forcing itself in front of Midoriya’s line of sight. “Mido, he’s all over that guy, did you guys break up or something?”

You wanted nothing more than to launch yourself from your seat to beat the other boy up but you held yourself back to hear out your friend instead.

Midoriya raked both of his hands through his hair, mumbling as he did so. He slumped back into his chair in defeat, his face scrunching up in both anger and betrayal.

“Haha.. no, Y/N. Um, he’s-he’s been doing this for a while actually haha.. At first it was kinda cute I guess but now I’m not sure if he even likes me anymore. I don’t like being jealous, Y/N.. I don’t even feel like it’s worth the hassle anymore..”

Your heart broke for him, watching him struggle with his emotions right in front of you. You stole a quick peek behind you again, your eyes meeting the flirting boy’s briefly. His eyebrow cocked up, almost making you jump out of your seat to defend your friend. You felt the need to fight a bitch growing now more than ever.

“Dude what the hell, he’s doing it on purpose?? What’s his deal? Is he so insecure in your relationship that he has to openly flirt with someone else? Mido, you don’t deserve that.” You took his hand in yours as you watched tears well up in his angry eyes. A watery laugh bubbled out from his as a sneaky tear slipped down his cheek.

“Y/N I feel so stupid right now! I can’t even muster up the courage to tell him off-”

A hand wrapped tightly around your arm and ripped it away from Midoriya, you winced in pain as it was suddenly ripped in the wrong direction.

“Yo, what the fu-”

“Get your hands off him, freak. He’s my boyfriend, remember?”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. You stood, your body silently fuming as his words hit your ears. Your arm slightly aching at the socket, adding fuel to the already blazing fire. Who the fuck does this man think he is? You made a mental note to have Todoroki melt your arm off later.

“You’re one to talk! You’ve been all over that guy the entire time we’ve been here! And Mido’s been telling me this isn’t the first time this has happened. You have no right to come up to me, physically injure me, and tell me that I can’t comfort my hurting friend over some douchebag like you. Frankly, I’m fucking disgusted that you had the balls to pull that shit with me.”

Midoriya stood too, his chair screeching as it was pushed back with force. He planted himself between the two of you, a fiery look in his eye as he jutted his chin out to address his “boyfriend”.

“You can play with my heart all you want. You can keep making me skip my classes. You can keep pressuring me to do stuff I don’t want to. You can keep making me jealous. You can keep flirting with other guys. But you, hurting one of my best friends, crosses the line. You need to go. Don’t bother trying to contact me, as of now, you’re nothing to me.”

Before the weasel can so much as object, Midoriya gathered everything from your abandoned table, took your hand, and rushed out of the coffee shop.

The two of you walked in silence for a couple of blocks, Midoriya’s hand still gripping yours like his life depended on it. Causing your cheeks to flush and your heart to accelerate even more than it already has.

“M-Midoriya, I think we’re good.. now”

The boy suddenly stopped, causing you to crash into his back. A small ow sounded from you, your hand rubbing your nose while you silently cursed the literal brick house in front of you. How could a sweet, innocent guy like Midoriya be so fuckin’ stacked?

“Y/N.. thank you for sticking up for me back there.. I know I wouldn’t have had the confidence to tell him off if you weren’t there to do it first.”

“It was no problem, Mido! What’re friends for?”

“Haha yeah.. Friends..”

Todoroki Shouto:

It was around 3 AM. Honestly, you weren’t really sure what time it was exactly but what you were sure of was the fact that it was way past your bedtime. You wanted nothing more than to collapse onto your bed without a second thought but you couldn’t ignore your growling stomach. So, you were posted in front of the microwave like a soldier guarding a princess, waiting for your good ‘ol cuppa mac n cheese to finish.

You heard the front door to the dorms open and shut, two pairs of wobbly footsteps entering with angry shushes accompanying them. You moved from your position, making your way out of the kitchen and towards the two people trying, and failing, to keep quiet.

“Todoroki? What’re you doing here so late? Shouldn’t you be in-”

The other person shushed you, eyebrows set in a tired frown as they clung to Todoroki desperately. Something was off.

“What the fuck’re you so loud for? Shove off why don’t you? It’s none of your business.”

You were shocked to the point where you couldn’t get a clever retort in even if you tried. Which pained you. But, you couldn’t leave it at that. You would’ve loved to pretend like you didn’t see them, but you couldn’t ignore Todoroki’s look of displeasure on his usually calm, beautiful face.

“Dude, as much as I would like to ignore you for the rest of my life, I can’t just let you drag around Todoroki like that. Can’t you tell he’s uncomfortable?”

They just rolled their eyes, hands tightening on Todoroki’s shirt possessively. You felt your own hands ball into fists, your patience thinning in the company of the little troll.

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Their response rewarded a scoff from you, you refused to let them get away with whatever they were trying to do. It didn’t seem right, not one bit.

“Um. But it is my business. Todoroki’s my friend and I’m not gonna leave you alone until you leave him alone.”

“Ha!” They barked, hand fluttering onto their chest haughtily. “You think he’d rather be with you? What, you confused or something? He’s dating me, smartass. Not you.”

“Actually, I’d much rather be with Y/N right now.. If you don’t mind.” Todoroki’s speech was slightly slurred as he spoke, his eyes barely following your movements as he slumped over.

His date physically recoiled, an incredulous look painting their already angry features as they pushed the drunk boy onto you without any care.

“Fine, like I care. When you come to your fucking senses, I’ll be in my room.”

With a huff, they were gone. You were left with the barely sober man who slowly wrapped his arms around you, using you as his support while the two of you stood without a word.

A million thoughts were racing through your mind as you assessed the situation. Todoroki and his date came super late into the dorms, drunk. His date tried to get him up into one of their respective rooms, together. The thought made your skin crawl, hoping the events that would’ve transpired were more innocent than you thought.

Todoroki shifted in your arm, his face nuzzling into your neck with his hot breath fanning against your cool skin.

“Um- uhh, Todoroki? Do you want me to take you to your room? You should sleep, it’s super late.”

The boy hummed, his face burrowing deeper into your neck, making a surprised squeal erupt from your lips while goosebumps exploded onto your skin. You felt hot, your whole body burning from the sudden affection.

“No.. I’d rather be right. Here.” The boy said it with such finality you wondered if he’d sobered up right then and there. You wished he did though, he was getting heavier and heavier in your arms. You would be surprised if the two of you didn’t collapse onto the floor.

“Todo, you’re drunk, please lemme take you upstairs.”

He let out a small whine, his hands wrapping around you tighter. He shook his head no while still buried in your neck, tickling you and causing you to giggle. Oh man, he was going to be the death of you. With a defeated sigh, you ran your fingers through his hair to try and appease the drunk brat latched onto you.

“I like you better than them, Y/N. You’re nice to me and don’t make me go out clubbing every night.”

Your heart raced, the hand in his hair stopping its ministrations to process the words that had just came out of your drunk companion. This was a usual thing, wasn’t it? The poor boy must always be tired. Come to think of it, there has been some uncharacteristic dark circles under his eyes lately. You wanted to sleep with him every night to make sure he was getting a good night’s sleep.

“Todo, if you don’t like them, break up with them. It’s that simple.”

He moved his face from it’s spot in your neck and rested his chin on your sternum, mismatched eyes staring into yours earnestly.

“If I do, can I be with you instead?”

Shinsou Hitoshi:

You knew you were being creepy. You could feel it in your bones. The creep factor was up by 50% with the way you were slinking around in the library. You couldn’t help it though, you knew something was up as soon as you saw them walk in.

You watched with narrowed eyes as Shinsou and his girlfriend walked through the library. Shinsou looked as passive as always, but you knew him better than that. You could practically feel the discomfort coming off him in waves.

You wanted to confront them but something was stopping you. You knew you couldn’t just come up to the two and start accusing his girlfriend of something you don’t know anything about. You didn’t want to make a scene. Yet. So, like the nosy bitch you were, you decided to snoop.

“Hitoshi, just use your quirk, yeah? Do it for me? Please?” The way she pranced around him and hung onto his arm for dear life made you want to gag. But you were more concerned about her trying to coerce Shinsou to use his quirk.

For what? What was she trying to accomplish? Did she want something from someone? Why were they in the library? What was the point of all this?

“You know I’m not comfortable with using my quirk for things like that, so why do you keep asking?”

“Well, you’re my boyfriend, shouldn’t you make an exception for me? It’s not like you’ve denied me before.”

You furrowed your brow. She’s been making him use his quirk without his full consent? Why would he let her do that? You found the whole thing to be completely and utterly. Whack. You really didn’t understand what was happening so you continued your snooping adventure.

“Yeah, well, I just don’t wanna do it anymore. Like, you keep making me use my quirk for villainous shit. You do realize I’m trying to prove to everyone that it could be used for heroing too, right? You’re my girlfriend, shouldn't you understand?”

Hearing him use her own words against her made your chest swell with pride. Fuck yeah, Shinsou baby, tell that bitch what’s up. But then you felt it sink right back down after processing his words. She’s been making him use his quirk, with dubious consent, for villainous activities? That’s more than whack. She’s in a school for heroes for crying out loud, surely she’d know better than that?

“Hitoshi, it’s all just a little bit of fun! We’re not hurting anybody, and nobody knows its us! it’s a win-win if I do say so myself.”

At this point, you couldn’t keep yourself concealed, you had to give her a piece of your mind. You sprang from your hiding spot and rushed towards the two, an accusing finger pointing right at the little gremlin woman who claimed to be Shinou’s lovely girlfriend.

“Listen up ya little wench, I think you’re gross for trying to use my buddy Shinsou for your little games! How could you do that? Shinsou’s such a genuine person trying to be a hero and here you are ruining it for him! You make me sick!”

She all but huffed before stomping away, flipping you off behind her back and motioning between her and Shinsou before making a heart and breaking it.

“Did she just break up with me?”

His casual nonchalance at the whole fiasco caused a cackle to erupt from your chest, hand slapping at his hard chest as you fought your raucous giggles.

“Good riddance! I couldn’t stand to hear her babble on any longer.” You huffed and crossed your arms, making sure to stick your tongue out at her retreating form.

“So.. you were spying on me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah? And? I could smell her bad intentions from a mile away, you should thank me.”

“How about I thank you over some dinner?”

411 notes · View notes

bnhavibes · 5 years ago

Note

hhihihi!!! i saw your requests were open and i was wondering if you could do a Midoriya one where the two of them are like,,, perfect for each other. they both ramble a lot and are anxious often and have a lot of similar habits and mannerisms. only difference is Midoriya is pining super hard for them, and they’re pretty oblivious to it no matter how hard he tries to make them realize he has a thing for them. everyone else can tell BUT them. is this too specific? maybe. sorry lol! 💕💖

If there’s anything more envigorating than training with your classmates, it’s socializing with your classmates! You, Class 1-A, some kids from 1-B, and a handful of some support class students all planned a hangout in the common room for Game Night.

Of course, the Bakusquad teams up with Bakugou, Kirishima, Ashido, and Kaminari on one team and the 1-B kids on the otherside; Kendo, Shinsou, Monoma and uh oh—

“My, my, it seems one of our classmates would rather study than participate in this silly game night!” Monoma chorted obnoxiously. “I always knew our class was much more responsible and—”

“SHUT YOUR DAMN TRAP YOU BIT—” Bakugou exploded, but his shrapnel was covered by Kirishima’s hands over the angry hedgehog’s mouth; Arms wrapped around and over his shoulders to keep Bakugou in place, Kirishima laughs a bit awkwardly.

“What out buddy Bakubro over here means you bit-ter bring your A-games! Heh,” He says, squeezing a struggling Katsuki while he growled and kicked around. “We might wipe the floor with ya.”

“What about Midoriya? Where did he go?” Yao-momo asked, hope hanging on her tongue.

It was obvious (only to you) that the beautiful girl had a crush on your crush. And it made you even more discouraged, knowing that such a socialable and outgoing girl would win Deku’s heart before you could even try!

You knew where he was though, you saw him sneak away with a huge flush on his face after talking to Yao-momo. You had texted him wondering where he was going and he said he had to study for his internship. The thought of the two chatting made your nervous tick activate, your leg bouncing rapidly on your seat’s footrest. You couldn’t help but blush a look down at your hands, thinking that people would notice.

You thought, and second guessed, about the outfit you chose for tonight; a pair of black soffe shorts(the comfortable kind that dancers exercise in), a very baggy and black low v-neck top with over-the-shoulder short sleeves made of polyester. Of course you had a pair of black ruffles ankle socks, but you didn’t bother with slippers since the floors were always clean.

You bring out your journal, writing and doodling on the countertop. while you sat on a barstool, the game systems were set up and snacks were being heated/cooked in the oven and prepped onto the countertop. A good amount of time passed when they finally got it all done.

Your distracting thoughts ease your shaking a little, but it fires back up when you hear somebody respond to Momo;

“Oh! I forgot to say, Yao-momo, maybe ask (Y/Nn)-chan, you know how those two are, hehehe.” the ‘Alien Queen’ retorted as the festivities had already begun.

Pink coated the tips of your ears, dusting across your cheekbones when Momo’s eyes meet yours as you look over in their direction. A warm smile stretches across her face, earning a gulp from you. The lump in your throat disappears as she approaches you, and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, (Y/N), you and Midoriya-kun are friends. I noticed he was acting funny earlier, but he wouldn’t tell me what was the matter and left. Would you min—”

You didn’t let her finish as a “I’ll go grab him!” sped out of your mouth, collecting your phone and journal as you raced to the elevators. Relieved to be out of the big crowd, you let out a deep exhale as the elevators ascends. Deku wouldn’t tell Momo what was wrong, so it was up to you as his best friend to figure it out.

You clentched your phone and journal in your hands, shaking a bit with every step towards his room. Soft japanese lofi hiphop playing from behind his door, making your anxiety skyrocket.

“Here we goooo—” You raise your hand to knock, “—OOH GOD. Oh goddddgod god!! I have to talk to Deku, and what if hes alone?! What if he doesn’t wanna see me? Did I make him upset?? Hmm, well he always feels better when bringing up All Might. Maybe I could go grab some movies and come back or..” You rambled on and on, talking to nobody but an empty hallway. In your daze, the door began to creep open.

You started taking notes, marking pros vs cons of talking to Deku right now. Mumbling something or other when a small squeak distracts you.

“U-Uh-uuHuh, he-hey there, (y/n)!!! Eh, wha—why aren’t you enjoying game night? Did somethi-

“DEKU! Oh— Hi, well you, aheh! uHmM What! No, I— I, I wanted to— oh geez, your room smells so good! Are you making cookies or something?” You blush profusely, biting your lip to stop your damn tongue from speaking.

His own blush flares up, backing up a bit and opening an arm to welcome you in as he looks harshly away from you, frozen in a flinch and sweat beginning to build on his forehead. He was in a pair of black joggers, a plain white v-neck on his torso and the bracelet you got him for his 18th birthday.

“I was just warming up some cookie dough, I, I know you’re not supposed to eat it uncooked but— It tastes g-good so.” He strays off, touching every other thing and making sure it was perfectly placed; a common occurance in his room.

A giggle escapes your lips, breaking a few layers of the awkwardness, and bringing a brighter hue of pink on his cheeks as you made yourself comfortable on his bed. It wasn’t noticed by you, but you were distracted by a gut feeling that you couldn’t ignore.

“D-Deku?” You squeak, nerves choking you up.

He looked over at you from his place on the floor, he was on his knees looking for a book in his bedside table’s drawers. “Ye-Yeah?”

“Do you actually have something to study, or is there something w-wrong? Yo-You can tell me— I wouldn’t tell a soul, I, I swear on it.” You say with a brave smile, clutching your journal to your body as you sat with your knees on the mattress

“Did Yaoyoroza put you up to this? I— I already told her it’s n-not worth worry-ING! UUHhhhHhh (Y/N)!! Y-Your, uhh— I!” He slaps a hand over his eyes and runs himself to his closet, blindly grabbing what seems to be a pair of sweats and holding them out at you with a shaking hand.

“W-What’s this?” You ask, eyes widening when you look down at your legs to see what made him react like that. A tear along the back side of your shorts had begun to spread from; The tight material usually form-fits itself around your “thicker” thighs and buttocks, but you must have caught them on your stool when sliding down and off it. (You’re short, so just stepping off high barstools will never happen).

“Th-Thank you!” You squeal, snatching the material out of his hands and slipping them on, and to your surprise— they fit! Even around your wider hips, tho your waist wasnt much smaller than his, the hem hanging a bit low, exposing about an inch of your lower torso(upper pelvis/low tummy and hipbone area).

“Is it okay now?” Midoriya asked. He looked so cute with his hand over his eyes, the prominent blush now being observed and imprinted in your mind.

You couldn’t help but reach out to touch his face, wanting to trace your fingers across every freckle that sprinkled across his person. Though, before you could reach his skin, he peeked through the cracks of his fingers; The heat becoming unbearable, and now your own body felt hot.

“(Y/N)...” He spoke softly, as if he was realizing something, removing his hand slowly. You were frozen in front of him; both visibly trembling, both staring into the eyes of your crush, both anxiously determining the next step.

You gulped harshly as he took in your appearance, subconsciously licking his lips as his eyes met the harsh grip your teeth had on your bottom lip, stepping forward and —without warning— he swept a strand of hair out of your face, both hands cupping underneath your jawline, and pulled your bodies together by gently tugging you forward and planting a slightly wet, deep kiss on your lips.

Your initial reaction was to freak out, but for some reason his warm hands kept you from falling apart. With your knees buckling, you grab the collar of his shirt, and almost fall into him— But his right hand steadied you, his calloused fingers pressing into your barely exposed lower back a bit, your bodies now insepedable as he continues to kiss you slowly but so deeply you thought he had some type of soul-sucking Quirk that happens when he kisses people.

After what felt like a life time, though it must have been 2 minutes, his lips leave yours. The absence of his mouth leaves you with a pout, but when your eyes flutter open you find he has a sweetest look in his eyes as he worriedly furrows his brows.

“S-Sorry, was that o-okay?” He asked, neither of you moving an inch.

“Does that mean yo-you like me?”

He chuckles, making your heart flutter. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you, (Y/N).”

HNNNNGGF I HOPE U LIKEd THIS I KNOW IT WASNT EVERYTHING U ASKED FOR BUT AKAOXOISOSD

196 notes · View notes

emeraldwaves · 7 years ago

Text

Title: The Best Part of Waking Up is Hearts Drawn on Your Cup For @spades-and-aces for @kacchakosecretsanta <3!! Happy Holidays! Pairing: Kacchako Rating: T Word Count: 5,480 Read on Ao3 Summary: Bakugou Katsuki is not a heart person. He doesn't like cute things, and he especially hates it when his stupid round faced barista draws cute things on his morning coffee cup.

Thanks to @its-love-u-asshole and @lainaraquel for reading ahead of time! <3

Full fic under the cut

It started with a heart. A simple, tiny, pink heart hand drawn in marker on his coffee cup, right next to his name, and it pissed him the fuck off.

It sat on the white, stupid environmentally friendly coffee cup, the two pink arcs connecting and making his name look absolutely hideous. It took all of his willpower to not crush the cup in his hand and chuck it on the street. The only reason he could restrain himself was because he really wanted the coffee that was inside.

Bakugou Katsuki was not a heart person. He didn't like cute things, and he didn't want anything hand drawn for him on his coffee cup, especially not in the morning when he could barely walk to class he was so damn tired.

The campus coffee shop often had lines out the door in the morning, which usually made Bakugou angry, which only made this whole heart debacle even worse. And now here he was, stomping towards a class he hated, tired from waking up too early, grumpy from waiting in line, and holding a stupid cup with a stupid heart on it. Dumb.

"Bakugou! Hey man!"

Perfect. Another thing to add to his list of reasons why this morning sucked.

Kirishima Eijirou, his self-proclaimed 'best-friend' came bounding over to him. ('Self-proclaimed' was the best way to describe someone like Kirishima because Bakugou himself didn't label anyone as a 'friend'). With a slap on the back, he walked next to Bakugou, way too energized for 9 AM.

Finally, Bakugou greeted him with a grunt.

"Damn man, you really are not a morning person. You better drink up that coffee."

Bakugou's eyebrow twitched, his red eyes homing in on that tiny pink heart. Yeah, he wanted to drink the coffee, but the stupid pink heart had tainted it. "Whatever," he snapped, placing the cup to his lips as he tipped it back. His mouth burned, but Bakugou didn't mind the hot sensation, in fact, it kind of woke him up.

"Oh, ho, ho! What's this?" Kirishima smirked, his lips pulled tight across his pointed teeth. "Did someone get a personalized message on their cup?!"

"Shut it."

"Seems someone has a crush!"

"No," Bakugou snarled, almost smashing the cup against Kirishima's pointy red hair.

"Alright, alright, geez Baks, something is really eating at you this morning." The truth was, something was always eating at Bakugou, but this particular morning he was feeling extra testy; all due to the stupid little heart.

"I didn't ask anyone to draw on my cup. It looks fucking stupid!" he yelled finally.

"Just a picture dude, calm down. The barista probably thought you were cute and wanted to give you a nice picture," Kirishima said. "It's called flirting. Did you see what they looked like?"

"You think I was looking?!" Bakugou said.

"Or they saw how grouchy you are and thought it would cheer you up," Kirishima mumbled, almost under his breath.

"Why in the hell would something like THIS ever cheer me up!?" Bakugou snapped.

Kirishima shrugged. "Obviously this person doesn't know you at all."

"No shit," he hissed.

"If you're that mad about it, just keep the cup, bring it back tomorrow and tell them not to do it again," Kirishima suggested.

Biting down on his lip, Bakugou stared at the white cup with the disgusting pink heart on it. There were two problems with this plan. One being that he obviously didn't want to keep this cup for another 24 hours. Just the idea of it being in his presence pissed him off. Hell, he didn't even have to look at it to be annoyed. And second, he also didn't want to acknowledge any of the baristas at the school coffee shop. Right now they had a strictly business relationship, meaning Bakugou walked up to the front, placed his order, and then walked away. The perfect amount of human interaction in Bakugou's opinion.

But one conversation to save him from an eternity of doodled on cups seemed worth it.

"Fine. I'll do it," he growled, not looking forward to the next morning.

Slipping on her hat, Uraraka tied the green apron around her waist, now ready for her morning to begin. She didn't used to be a morning person, but when she took on the job at the coffee shop to help her parents with tuition she had to adapt for the early morning campus rush.

It was an easy enough job, taking orders, making coffee, sometimes cleaning up if she had the night shift, and she often got to interact with tons of people on campus, including her friends. Iida and Midoriya always stopped by when she worked mornings.

"Morning Uraraka!" Yaoyorozu walked in through the door, her dark hair pulled back into her wispy ponytail, apron and hat already on. Yaoyorozu always was ready to go, no matter what task came her way.

"Hi Yaomomo!" Uraraka smiled. She loved opening the shop with her, mostly because the girl was just as bright and cheery as she was in the morning. "Did you and Todoroki get any studying done last night or-?"

"A-AH! Uraraka!" Yaoyorozu said, waving her hands in front of her face. Uraraka didn't need her to say anything else, the red on Yaoyorozu's cheeks was answer enough.

"When's your test?" Uraraka asked, flicking a few of the machines on.

"Friday. I already told Shouto we have to study separately for the rest of the week," she nodded, sweeping at the front entrance.

"That's probably for the best," Uraraka giggled, setting out a few of the cups. Standing at the register, she pulled out a few of her markers from her bag and placed them in an empty cup next to her.

Yaoyorozu blinked, watching as the colored markers tumbled into place. "Did Grumpy Guy say anything to you? The one you drew the heart for?" she asked, leaning over the counter.

Every morning without fail, for the past month or so, a blond-haired, angry looking guy had come to get coffee from them. Bakugou, was apparently his name, according to his cup, and he came during all of Uraraka's morning shifts. She could only assume he came in during the days she wasn't working either. He never said a word; he'd walk up to the counter, looking as though he were about to explode, and then he'd place his order and walk away. He never said 'hello' or 'good morning' or anything that wasn't his coffee order.

So, Uraraka had come up with a plan. He was obviously grouchy about something. Or maybe he just really was not a morning person. Either way, she had a great idea to try and cheer him up.

Yesterday, when he placed his order, instead of just writing his name like usual, she'd taken an extra second to doodle a cute little heart on his cup. She'd hoped it would make him smile, however, he'd just stormed out of the cafe like he normally did, no different reaction.

"No," she sighed sadly, leaning forward on her palm, her cheek pressing against her hand. "He didn't say anything!"

"Maybe he'll say something today!" Yaoyorozu said cheerfully. "I mean the lines are super long in here and it was crowded, maybe he didn't wanna bother you!"

"That could be it! I just hope it...made his day a little bit brighter," she said.

"Wow, someone is crushing hard," she giggled, poking at Uraraka's side.

Uraraka shot up, her face turning bright red. "W-What! N-No! I didn't mean it like that!" she said hurriedly. "I just...don't like seeing people who are grumpy all the time!"

"Suuure," Yaoyorozu said, switching the sign on the door from 'closed' to 'open'. "Good luck!" she teased, making her way behind the counter as their early morning customers began to make their way in.

When 9 AM strolled around, Bakugou walked through the door, and Uraraka felt her heart leap into her throat. She did not have a crush. Most definitely not; she was just...curious about what he was going to say. Or if he was going to say anything.

He made it to the front of the line, and raised his gaze to meet hers. It was the first time she'd ever really gotten the chance to see his eyes and how red they were. It was...almost impossible to look away.

Normally, she didn't have the chance to say good morning to him, seeing as his regular routine included keeping his eyes down, shoving the money on the counter and mumbling his order, but today...today was her chance. "Good morn-"

A slam cut her off immediately, and a small yelp left her lips, leaping back from the counter. "What the hell is this?" he growled.

Blinking, Uraraka slowly looked down, staring at the cup from yesterday. It was a little crushed at the bottom, from how hard he'd slammed it on the counter, but it was definitely the cup she'd drawn the heart on.

"Uh..." she began, regaining her composure. "It's...a coffee cup?" she said, utterly confused as to why he had brought the cup back with him.

"I know that dipshit," he snorted. "I meant this!" His finger fell directly onto the heart next to his name.

"O-oh!" she stammered. "It's a heart! I drew it for you, thinking it might make you smile-"

"Well you thought wrong, Round Face!" he snarled. "I hate cute shit like this. No more hearts!"

Uraraka's jaw dropped, staring at the boy in front of her. Who the hell was this guy? Did he really hate the fact she had drawn a simple heart on his cup? So much so he'd brought the cup back to her, just to tell her not to do it again?

"You...brought the cup to tell me that?" she asked. It was the only thing she could actually think to say. "You could've...just told me not to draw again," she whispered, her voice growing quieter the more he talked.

Suddenly, she missed when he just mumbled his order.

Twisting his lips into a frustrated pout, Bakugou slammed the money on the counter, pushing it towards her. "Whatever. Don't do it again," he growled, and stormed away after mumbling out his order.

Uraraka's fists clenched against the counter. How...rude! She'd never encountered someone so loud, and mean and stupid quite frankly. He'd brought his trash just to tell her he didn't like a heart it had taken her four seconds to doodle.

Well, two could play at this game. Scribbling his name onto a new cup, she took a few extra seconds to doodle out a rainbow and stars, decorating his name even more than she had the day before. She passed the cup down the line, and smiled to her next customer.

She couldn't wait to see how much he liked that.

"That. Damn. Round Face!" Bakugou yelled, slamming the cup into the trash after he'd emptied it of all the coffee. "Can you fucking believe this?" he snapped, glaring at Kirishima.

"Uh, kinda?" he said, peering into the trash. "What...happened, exactly?" he asked.

"My cup! That stupid barista drew on it again!" he snapped, folding his arms as he bounced his leg up and down against the table.

"Dude, why does this bug you so much?" Kirishima asked, taking a large gulp of his water.

"Because," Bakugou hissed. "It makes me look like a frilly idiot!"

"I got news for ya' dude, no one is looking at your coffee cup-"

"You don't fucking know that!" he snapped, cutting Kirishima off.

He held his hands up. "Okay, okay! I just don't think it's big deal. Actually, I think it's kinda cute. She keeps giving you personalized pictures," he smirked.

"It's not cute! Nothing about it is cute!" he grumbled, his cheeks puffing out away from his face.

"I don't get why you won't just take it as a compliment?" Kirishima chuckled. "But hey, you do you man."

Bakugou picked up his phone, noting that class started in 30 minutes. As far as he was concerned, that was plenty of time. "You know what, Spikey Head," he grumbled. "I fuckin' will."

"Where are you going?!" Kirishima called after him, watching him walk away.

"To settle this bullshit!" he snarled, though it was mostly said through his breath, making it impossible for Kirishima to hear anything.

The coffee shop was in the central building on campus, making it fast to get to from almost any of the main dorms or main academic buildings, suffice to say Bakugou did not take long to slam the door open to the coffee shop.

This time, he didn't bring the cup, since she had so purposefully mentioned he didn't need the cup to make his point. Still, he stormed up to the counter. "Oi. Round face," he called out, watching her back as she cleaned the machine behind the counter.

From behind, Bakugou could concede that she was maybe, just maybe, a little cute. The apron, tied around her back followed the gentle curve of her waist, and her ass, pert and small wasn't too bad to look at either. She jumped a little at his voice, her brown bob cut bouncing as she turned around, immediately folding her arms over her chest when her large brown eyes met his harsh glare.

"What do you want, Bakugou Katsuki?" she snapped.

With a huff, he slammed his hand down on the table. "How the hell do you know my name?" he snapped.

She quirked her eyebrow and picked up an empty cup and a marker, gesturing to it obviously.

"Fuck," he grunted. "Okay, whatever, that shit doesn't fucking matter!" he snapped. "I asked you not to draw shit on my cup, and what do you do? Draw. More. Shit."

"Mmmm." She sighed, and pursed her lips, twirling one of the longer pieces of her hair in her finger. "Actually, I believe your exact words were something along the lines of 'No more hearts!'" she yelled, mimicking his voice. "And I didn't draw hearts," she smirked.

His hands curled into fists, the bones in his knuckles cracking one by one. Who the hell did this girl think she was?! No one talked to Bakugou Katsuki like that! No one. "I didn't mean it like that, dipshit!" he cursed. "I meant don't draw anything! Got it?!"

The girl shrugged, raising her hands up, and Bakugou growled, turning away from her. He didn't have time to waste on a cute barista who wasn't going to treat him with some damn respect!

But he swore, if his cup had a stupid drawing on it tomorrow, all hell was going to break loose.

"Was that Grumpy Guy?" Yaoyorozu asked, tilting her head out from the backdoor. She'd been counting inventory when Bakugou had stormed in, but of course the blond had been loud enough for everyone within a mile radius to hear him.

"Yup," Uraraka said, shaking her head. "Came in to yell at me about my drawings again," she smiled devilishly. "And you know what I'm going to do?"

"...What?" Yaoyorozu asked tentatively.

"I'm going to doodle his stupid face on this stupid cup, and I'm going to save it for him tomorrow."

A smirk pulled across the tall dark-haired girl's lips. "You're really invested in this, aren't you?"

"What?" Uraraka scoffed. "No! I just think he's an ass and if my drawings make him so angry, well anything to make his day a little worse. Hmph!" she huffed, beginning her doodle on the cup.

"Or..." Yaoyorozu began. "You enjoy seeing him come in here and talk to you everyday."

"What? No! Stop with these weird ideas, Yaomomo!" Uraraka said, her voice way higher in pitch than she meant it to be. Bakugou Katsuki was nothing more than a jerk. A rude, unappreciative jerk, and frankly, Uraraka didn't want anything to do with him. But...his reactions were really humorous.

"Just admit it Uraraka!" Yaoyorozu teased. "Plus I know you've been telling other people about it! Tsu mentioned to me just the other day how you had all these plans for different drawings."

Urakaka puffed out her cheeks, her hands coming up to her face. "It's not like that!" she said. Snatching the cup up, she began to doodle his stupid angry face. First, she outlined the blond spikes of his hair, then she drew in his beady red eyes and finally, she made certain to add eyebrows which sloped downward, giving the face an extra angry look. Lord knew it wasn't Bakugou without the anger. Perfection. She turned towards Yaoyorozu and shoved the cup towards her face. "See! He's such an asshole! He deserves this!" she huffed, slamming the cup back down on the counter.

"You're starting to sound just as angry as him," Yaoyorozu giggled and Uraraka let out a squeak, her hands covering her mouth.

"Do you really think so?!"

"Okay, no one could be as angry as Grumpy Guy. I mean who gets mad about a drawing on a cup?" Yaoyorozu admitted.

"My thoughts exactly!" Uraraka nodded, folding her arms. "I was just trying to be nice," she whined.

Suddenly, Yaoyorozu's eyes lit up and she held up one finger, as though she'd been hit with the world's greatest idea. "Unless!"

Uraraka really didn't like the look on her friend's face. "Unless?" she asked hesitantly.

"Unless, he likes you and this is just an excuse to talk to you!" she said, grabbing Uraraka's hands.

"What?!" she gasped, her round cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. "N-No way! I mean...he hates me," she said, pulling away from the dark-haired girl. She waved her hands back and forth quickly, almost knocking the cup she'd drawn on over.

"Yeah but sometimes boys are mean to the girls they really like," Yaoyorozu said pointedly.

Uraraka blushed, but shook her head. "We're not in middle school, Yaomomo!"

"I don't know...he sure acts like he is!" she giggled.

"T-That's ridiculous. He doesn't like me. He hates me. I don't even think he knows my name, even though I wear a name tag," she grumbled.

Yaoyorozu shrugged. "Think what you want. But I really do think he likes you, and based on how much you're blushing you probably like him," she said, walking back towards the closet to grab more coffee cups.

There was no way she, Uraraka Ochako, liked someone as mean and rude as Bakugou Katsuki.

"Yaomomo," she whined softly. "Stop! I promise you, there are no feelings here," she shook her head.

She giggled, pulling out a long stack of wrapped up coffee cups. "You know, I said the same thing when all of you girls were teasing me about Shouto."

Uraraka's face paled. Yaoyorozu wasn't kidding. She really had done that when all the girls had teased Yaoyorozu about spending so much time with Todoroki 'studying'. They were all convinced she was doing everything but. Turns out they had been right.

But there was no way it was the same for her. No way! She shook her head. "This is different I swear!"

"Okay," Yaoyorozu said with a shrug. "I'll let you figure it out on your own like I did." Uraraka really hated that knowing smile on her cheeks.

"So what is it today?" Kirishima smirked, leaning towards Bakugou. It had been a little over a week now since the heart disaster, and the drawings still hadn't let up. No matter how many times he threatened her or how many times he yelled in the store, every morning Bakugou would pick up his drink from the counter with some sort of drawing on it.

"My face again," he growled, holding up the cup for Kirishima to see. This particular drawing of his face was different though. He was smiling, and he looked so happy, it almost didn't look like him. Next to his face was a cute message written in cursive script that just read 'Smile!'. Bakugou hated it.

The most annoying part about all this was he couldn't even enjoy the coffee! He was so hell bent on downing the liquid as fast as he could so he could throw away the damn cup!

"Can I ask you something, man?" Kirishima said, watching as Bakugou practically chugged the coffee down.

"What?" he snarled, slamming the doodled on cup onto the table.

"If you're so mad about this why haven't you...tried to come up with a solution?" Kirishima said, picking up the cup to look at the drawing once again.

"What kind of solution? I'm not an idiot, Kirishima! There are no other coffee shops on campus!" Bakugou yelled, tossing his hands up in the air in frustration.

Kirishima rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant doofus. I meant you could buy a cup holder and cover up the drawings!" he said. "Or bring your own cup. One of those reusable ones. She can't draw on it if it belongs to you. You could also make coffee in your dorm, just buy one of those little machines, or-"

"ENOUGH!" Bakugou yelled. "I'm sick of hearing about this!" he grumbled, shaking his head. "I don't wanna listen to your bull crap! Those are all shitty ideas! Way too much effort!" A creature of habit, Bakugou didn't feel like changing up his routine. And he shouldn't have to just because some stupid girl was stupidly drawing stupid pictures on his stupid cup!

Narrowing his eyes, Kirishima's lips pulled into a rather disturbing shit-eating grin. "You...like them," he said. "You like the drawings!" He pointed directly at his best friend.

Bakugou's nose wrinkled. "The fuck?!"

"I kept wondering why you kept going back at the same time everyday, and why you didn't just bring your own cup, or make coffee in your dorm, but I get it now! I get it! You like the drawings, you like her!" He began to laugh, gripping his stomach with his palms. "I can't believe it!"

"Shut the fuck up, Spiky Hair!" Bakugou yelled, smacking his hand down on the table. "I don't like Round Face! I hate her. I h-a-t-e her! Get that through your spiky head!" he snapped.

The grin was back. "Oh yeah? Then why do you keep going to get coffee from her? And why are you blushing right now!"

"I'm not fucking blushing!" he growled. "My cheeks are red with rage! You wanna get pummeled?!"

"Dude! There's no need to get so upset! Just ask her out! She obviously likes you too if she keeps spending all this time on your drawings. Hell, some of them look like she spent a lot of time on it. I've been telling you this since day 1!" Kirishima urged.

Bakugou grabbed the cup and crushed it in his hand, tossing the empty trash into the can next to him. "Shut up!" he growled. "You got it all wrong! I don't like her." Snatching up his backpack, he stormed off, heading towards class.

"Just do it, man!" Kirishima called after him, and Bakugou hated the way his voice echoed across the campus. It felt as though everyone's eyes were falling on him.

He didn't like her. He didn't like her at all. It wasn't like he sat around wondering what would be on his cup the next day. Oh no. He never did that. And he never wondered what classes Round Face took. He never imagined what she looked like in not her coffee shop uniform. Her shapely hips probably looked awful in a cute skirt and she probably looked stupid in a form fitting tank top. And the more Bakugou continued to NOT think about her, the more embarrassed he grew.

"Fuck this," he snapped, kicking a rock against the pavement, his cheeks about as red as Kirishima's hair. He had to focus on classes, his schoolwork. He was smart and got good grades, hell he was the best in the whole damn college! He didn't have to be thinking about Round Face being his damn girlfriend or whatever! This was all so fucking stupid!

Okay. So maybe Uraraka Ochako did have a teeny tiny crush on Bakugou Katsuki. Whenever he came in in the mornings, she always secretly looked forward to his outburst when he picked up his cup with her drawing and stormed out the door, looking more than just a little angry. And she also enjoyed seeing what sort of daily tactic he would use to get her to stop.

Sometimes he would hold his money, saying he wouldn't pay her until she agreed to stop. Of course, she never would agree, and eventually he'd slam the bills down when people behind him starting yelling that he was holding up the line. He would obviously yell back, but cave when he realized he had to be at class soon anyway.

There was another time he had threatened to go to another coffee shop, but she had pointed out immediately that there weren't any other coffee shops on their campus, seeing as their college was extremely tiny.

"I'll bring a cup holder!" he snapped another time.

"Go ahead," she smirked. "But you'll know," she teased, leaning over the counter towards him. "You'll know that underneath that holder is a cutesy drawing done by yours truly." That time, their faces had been the closest they'd ever been, and Uraraka had noticed how sharp Bakugou's eyes were. They made her heart throb, and her face heat up.

A third time, he had mentioned investing in buying his own coffee maker to keep in his dorm room, and Uraraka had sighed, musing that homemade coffee just never tasted quite the same as coffee you got from a cafe. With the way Bakugou's eyebrow had twitched, his face contorting in anger, Uraraka guessed he agreed.

She slowly realized after a while, her responses were just tiny ways to make him stay. She wanted to see him every morning. She wanted to hear his gravelly voice, listen to his excuses and watch him grow angry about the most ridiculous things. It was oddly cute? And endearing in a weird way.

Basically, Yaoyorozu had been right, and Uraraka wasn't really sure how to admit it.

With a sigh, she pulled out the coffee cups, and turned on the machines for the day.

"That was a big sigh," Yaoyorozu giggled, slipping her apron on over her head while tying it around her back. "Nervous your boy isn't going to come in today?"

"W-What?! No! He comes in everyday!" Uraraka retorted quickly.

"Right, sorry," Yaoyorozu giggled.

"Actually," Uraraka began, adjusting her hat. "I...think maybe you were right. What you said...you know...about a week ago?" she mumbled.

"What? About your crush on Bakugou?" Somewhere along the way they'd started calling him by his real name, even though he could only seem to call Uraraka 'Round Face'.

"...Y-Yeah...T-That..." she said nervously. "You were right."

"Oh, I know! I was just waiting for you to come to terms with it!" she giggled.

Uraraka sighed. "Yeah, but what am I supposed to do? It's not like he likes me back!"

"Ura...the guy comes in here everyday to get coffee from you. And if he really hated your drawings, he could do so many different things about it!" she laughed. "Trust me, I have a feeling he likes you too. Even if he might not know it, because he seems a little...well...emotionally stupid."

"Hmmm..." Uraraka moaned, resting her head on her hand.

"You could ask him out?" Yaoyorozu suggested. "I mean if you want. I know it took me and Shouto forever to finally figure things out."

It was true, Todoroki and Yaoyorozu had spent a great amount of time dancing around the subject. Before officially becoming a couple, they had kissed once and still hadn't figured out they wanted to be together. Uraraka really did not want things to be like that with her and Bakugou, if they were even going to happen.

Uraraka sighed. "Maybe I will. Maybe I'll just do it! I mean what's the worst that could happen? He'd say no?" she said, trying to talk herself into it. Slamming her hand down on the counter, she heard Yaoyorozu jump behind her. "Yeah! I'm going to do it!"

But as the time to open the cafe was ticking closer and closer, Uraraka felt her nerves build more and more. With each person that walked through the door, she kept anticipating Bakugou, and everytime it wasn't him, her heart thumped louder and louder in her ears.

And what was she going to say?! They didn't have a very...friendly relationship. Most of their conversation consisted of her retorting against his anger with a snarky comment. Oh gosh, why did she like him?! She couldn't just randomly start being sweet to him and casually ask if he wanted to get a cup of coffee sometime. Actually she definitely couldn't ask that. Asking someone on a coffee date when you worked at a coffee shop was possibly the lamest thing!

Then, he walked through the door. She saw his spiky blond hair immediately and her heart stopped, her mouth ran dry. What was she going to say? He was walking up to the counter with such purpose, his red eyes already trembling with frustration.

"Alright Round Face," he grinned. "Do your worst." He slammed the money down on the counter and Uraraka couldn't find the words to speak. What could she say?! "Oi! What the hell is your problem today?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her strange quiet behavior.

She picked up the coffee cup, her hand trembling, and it suddenly hit her. "Oh nothing," she hummed. With a smirk, she scribbled her message onto the side of the cup, and handed it off.

She couldn't even hear the order of the next customer, she was wringing her hands together tightly, waiting for Bakugou to look at the cup. Yaoyorozu called out his name, and he grabbed it from the counter. He stared at it, and then turned it around in his hand, standing in place.

In a flash, he was back up at the front counter, pushing past the people in line without a care. Unsurprisingly. He slammed the cup down, some of the coffee splashing out through the small hole in the lid. "What the hell is this?!"

"I dunno," she shrugged innocently.

"'I'll stop doodling on your cup,'" he began to read, turning the cup around to see the other part of the message. "'If you go on a date with me.' You fuckin' serious Round Face?" he snapped.

Biting her lip, she nodded.

"Tch," he scoffed, folding up his arms. "Gross, fine. But you're going on a date with me! Got it!?" he snapped, gesturing his thumb to his chest.

"Isn't that...the same thing?" she asked, raising her eyebrow, but she couldn't stop the wide smile which tugged across her lips.

"NO! It's not!" Bakugou growled, and glared at the person behind him when they poked his shoulder. "Hold the fuck up, I'm asking this chick out!" he snarled, the other guy immediately taking a step back.

He yanked a napkin from the tray and scribbled his number on it with one of the pens. "Text me your damn number Round Face and we'll go to see a stupid movie or get food or whatever."

"It's...Uraraka, call me that," she snorted, folding her arms. "If you're actually going to take me on a date call me by my name!"

"Fine, Uraraka," he snapped. "And...don't stop with these." He gestured to the writing on the cup. "If you're gonna be my girlfriend, my cups should be special!" he yelled, and yanked the coffee cup off of the counter as he stormed out of the store.

Girlfriend. She liked the sound of that. She smiled, hugging the napkin to her chest for a minute before taking the next customer's order. She was going to go on a date with Bakugou, and though it would probably be loud, and he'd probably be a little grouchy, she couldn't help but smile, cause she had a feeling it was going to be damn fun.

A few hours later, Bakugou received a text from an unknown number, but he knew immediately it was Uraraka.

[Text from: Round Face]: Hey Bakugou. It's Uraraka. Can't wait to see where we go! <3

He'd known it was her from the heart emoji she'd tacked on at the end.

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't really a heart person. He didn't like cute things, and he thought emojis were stupid. But he supposed, even if he only admitted it in his very private, very personal thoughts, Uraraka Ochako was pretty damn cute, and he didn't mind her hearts.

#kacchako #katsuki bakugou #uraraka ochako #boku no hero academia #kacchakosecretsanta17 #BHNA Fanfiction #BHNA #Coffee Shop AU #AU #One shot #I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!!#<3

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face-turn · 7 years ago

Text

Hands to Learn

Pairing: Kenny/Kota (golden lovers) Words: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: I was talking to @breadclubrising about how cute it would be if Kenny and Kota talked about how they would continue their own story. Answer: Very Cute Tags (i’m stealing @breadclubrising‘s tag list let me know if you don’t want to be tagged): @kidvoodoo @newjapan@kazuchika@wookieelover101 @geek-fangirl@lostsassafrass@brittany012364 @culturalrebel @sailoralderaan@mitchtheficus@kiwibunny @mistressbalor@50shadesofkennyomega @leelakoiwolff@daintymissdevitt@ultrabarbe1981-blog @mithen @nikkisflair

Kenny jostled his laptop when he flopped gracelessly onto his bed, some kind of sick off-pink protein shake in a glass bottle cradled in the crook of his elbow. Kota peered out of the screen at him, all dark eyes and cupid’s bow and distracting shirtlessness.

“Those drinks are disgusting,” Kota said reproachfully, the corners of his mouth tucking down. Kenny gasped defensively and held the drink closer to his chest, balancing it like a baby.

“You’ve never tried them!”

“I’ve tasted them,” Kota replied. The aftertaste lingers in your mouth went unspoken, but Kenny could see it writ large across Kota’s face. There was something very expressive about the way his nose crinkled and his brows folded down. It spoke volumes about how whey protein tasted off of Kenny’s tongue. Apparently, not great.

Kenny waved it off, settling more comfortably against his pile of pillows and drawing his knees up to his chest.

“So I want you to get to the final,” Kenny said, uncapping his bottle. Kota’s eyebrow inched up. “Alright, I’ll get right on that,” He snarked, shifting up the bed on his side of the screen. “Let me just pull out my magical booking pants, where I get to book myself--”

“No-- shut up, listen. I want you to get into the final, right-- as, you know. The bullet club leader, right? Because I’m still in love with you?” “Mmhm,” Kota hummed. “And you’re absolutely sure you’re going to make it into the finals?” “Well, I hope so,” Kenny hedged. “But, uh-- as him, you know, I’m sure I will. He knows that he deserves it and-- I don’t know, I think more than that, he needs to make it to the finals? He’s under a lot of pressure, you know?”

“Aaah,” Kota said sagely, leaning out of frame to grab something. Kenny watched the smooth stretch of skin over his ribs ripple attractively. “But what if I don’t make it to the finals, and you do? I put on good matches, right, but I don’t win-- blame the booking, whatever, we know it’s because I left but we can pretend-- but I win… not all of my matches but the important ones, with a knee?”

Kenny could feel himself brighten from head to toe. “My knee?” “You don’t have a copyright on knees, Kennytan. But yeah, I think so. If I could finish Tanahashi with a knee--”

Kenny narrowed his eyes at the screen. Kota looked this close to orgasmic.

“I don’t like you looking that way when you think of another man.” “Get your mind out of the gutter. Just think of the drama if I ignored you the whole tournament but went and stole all your moves like they weren’t even yours.” Kenny made a mildly distressed whining noise, “Don’t ignore me…”

“You big baby, we are talking right now. Don’t you think the payoff would be better if we didn’t speak until we had a match?”

Kenny could feel himself starting to pout but was powerless to stop it. “But Ibutan. I miss you-- in a wrestling way.” “Don’t be petulant, Kennytan. You can always come and wrestle with me, if you know what I mean.” In case Kenny didn’t know what he meant, he waggled his eyebrows in a lascivious manner.

“I actually did want to talk in person-- I was thinking maybe I could do some high-flying moves, and then--” “Tell me in person!” Kota laughed, leaving Kenny a touch winded. Jesus Fuck, he was so beautiful. Kenny despaired of the rest of the population. How could the rest of the world survive knowing that Kota existed and they didn’t get to text him good morning, let alone Skype him and blow kisses into the webcam?

“Okay, I’ll be just a little bit,” Kenny made a goofy kissy face at the screen before snapping his laptop shut and abandoning it on his bed. The glass bottle went into a bag to recycle later, along with a packet of sticky notes, some sharpie markers, and a couple of rolls of tape. When it came to fantasy booking, Kenny was always well-prepared.

Kenny toed on his shoes with the bag slung over his shoulder, not bothering to tie them. It was only a couple of floors, and he was… hopefully coordinated enough to navigate a few flights of stairs without busting ass tripping on a shoelace. Hopefully.

He slipped out the door, letting the lock click shut behind him, then had a minor spasm of panic thinking that he may have forgotten the room key inside the room. But no, it was fine. It was in his wallet which was in his pants, like it always was. Jesus Christ.

He was close by the stairs and he took them two at a time. It would make him seem over-eager if he knocked on Kota’s door less than 3 minutes after shutting the laptop, but frankly, he was nothing if not predictable in his over-eagerness. It would be embarrassing if anyone knew, but the stairwell was empty and there was nothing Kenny could do that would surprise Kota anymore. He’d already gotten all of his embarrassing antics out of the way in their first two years of dating.

Besides, Kenny thought as he shouldered open the stairwell door that guarded Kota’s floor, anyone who thought that Kenny was the embarrassing one had clearly never seen Kota coo over his cat for fifteen minutes, even though Hoshi was constantly pawing at the door for attention when they did anything that she couldn’t be included in.

Like trying to have sex.

Though, to be fair, Kenny did relate to that level of neediness. He, too, wanted to be with Kota all the time, getting his ears stroked and being told what a sweet, soft boy he was. It hadn’t happened yet, but Kenny was willing to bet that the experience would be well-worth the five year wait.

Kenny tapped on Kota’s door with his knuckles, the room number long since memorized. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, but the door swung open before he could finish, as it always did.

“You know that you could just knock?” Kota asked. The way his mouth quirked up into a smirk was even more attractive in person. Kenny despaired. “This makes me feel like a spy,” Kenny sniffed, herding Kota into his own room and kicking the door shut behind them. As soon as it snapped closed, Kota was in his space, pressing Kenny up against a wall and kissing his mouth, his chin, where his dimple would be if he were smiling. Apparently the taste of the protein shake wasn’t that much of a deterrent.

“Mm,” Kenny protested mildly, lifting his chin so Kota could suck biting kisses into his throat. “I wanted to talk about booking?” Kota pulled away, looking mildly incredulous. “I thought we were going to talk about wrestling.” He did the eyebrow thing again, to make his point clear.

“Oh, I mean--” Kenny said, feeling a little silly for wanting to talk about wrestling when they could be wrestling, eyebrow waggle. “--I brought post-it notes.”

Kota started laughing, pressing his forehead into the crook of Kenny’s neck. “I love you,” He told Kenny’s t-shirt. “I love you so much. You said you wanted to do flips?” Kenny kissed Kota’s bottom lip, because it was wet and shiny and he looked very pretty. Kissing Kota’s freshly kiss-swollen mouth was pretty much a compulsion, even if Kenny really did want to talk about the parallels in their narrative and how to reflect them in their movesets.

“Yeah,” He said, gathering himself and slipping past Kota into the room proper. “If you’re going to do knees, I want to do moonsaults. Standing moonsaults? I know that we always both did moonsaults but it’s really more your thing than mine. Or-- missile dropkicks, or those springboard--” Kenny was forced to cut himself off, because Kota was looking at him so fondly that Kenny’s heart stuttered a little. He trailed off into silence.

“Are you writing a love-letter to my wrestling, Kennytan, or are you fantasy calling?”

Kenny opened his mouth. Closed it. “-- Both?” He had the good grace to look a little embarrassed.

Kota kissed his cheek again and climbed onto the bed, settling against the cushions and opening up his own notebook, which had been sitting on top of the covers. Kenny was unsurprised to see that Kota had been taking notes-- when it got right down to it, they were equally nerdy and terrible. Kota just looked hotter while doing it.

“I think you should try bridging your suplexes,” Kota said thoughtfully, jotting something down in a margin. “You always look really hot when you do it.” Kenny could feel himself starting to blush, even though he also thought that Kota looked really hot when he did any kind of bridge. “That’s not as obvious as a standing moonsault.” “But you would look really hot.” Kota urged. “And you could do both, of course. Maybe theatrically scan the crowd like you’re looking for me before and after?” “I’m never theatrical,” Kenny sniffed, bouncing onto the bed and starting to make notes on his post-it note booklet. “All of my actions and reactions are 100% genuine, there is no over-acting in my wrestling.”

“Mmmhm,” Kota hummed in that way he had where it was clear he’d stopped listening and was instead thinking hard about something else. The nonverbal equivalent of a ‘yes dear’. “What if I used the one-winged angel? Would you be mad?” “No, that would be amazing. You know it’s really hot when you hit my moves, right?”

“No, no-- I know you wouldn’t mind, I mean. In kayfabe, would Kenny Omega be mad that I hit his finisher after ignoring him all tournament?” Kenny had to consider that, idly doodling circles on his hastily-scrawled post-it list. “I… think so? Especially if I’d been having a hard time hitting it myself, you know? It would push that ‘Kota is better at wrestling without even trying’ angle we’ve had going.” Kota nodded slowly, writing it down. “You could post about it on Twitter.” Kenny’s knee-jerk reaction was good luck stopping me, so he supposed that all was working as intended. “It does help that you’re actually a better wres--” Kota was over him in an instant, pressing warm palms to Kenny’s face and forcing him to meet surprisingly fierce brown eyes. “Don’t say that. You know that’s not-- Kenny.”

“Well--” Kenny said weakly, dropping his post-it notes onto chest and not really minding when they slid off onto the floor. “Ibutan, I mean, objectively,”

“Don’t talk about my best friend that way. Asshole.” Kota brushed a sweet kiss across Kenny’s mouth. “You know you’re good. We’re fucking amazing.” Kota was incredibly foul-mouthed when he was trying to make a point. “I know, I know,” Kenny mumbled, tipping his face up for more reassuring kisses. He may as well get something out of his bout of mild insecurity. “I’ll do a golden triangle moonsault and when I call it, instead of pointing up I’ll point at you.” Kota kissed him again, lingeringly, this time. “I’m going to wear an Okada t-shirt.” Kenny inhaled, offense, for once, not feigned. “You wouldn’t.”

Kota laughed, burying his hands in Kenny’s hair and thumbing at the hollows behind his jaw. “I wouldn’t,” He agreed. “You know I’m always rooting for you.”

Kenny tipped his face into Kota’s palm and kissed the heart line. Kota was right-- they were fucking amazing.

#Golden lovers #njpw #my writing #Kenny omega #kota ibushi #tfw kenneth cant keep his insecurities to himself for one second even tho youre writing fluff #kenneth please

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