#the kitchen in my dorm is miniscule

[eiirishi]

it's my birthday and i deserve a cake with my hyperfixation

[dashielldeveron]

soulmate trope | todoroki s.

Todoroki’s route of soulmate trope.

Wow, you sure seem to be injuring yourself more than usual. That can't be related to anything significant.

warnings: extremely mild self-harm. secondhand embarrassment.

~11k words. Female reader.

When you’d first woken up in Recovery Girl’s office after inhaling the pink dust, you’d had a massive headache. You’d not recalled hitting your head in the first place, and though Recovery Girl had been able to heal all of your other wounds from the attack, the headache had remained.

 It still ached.

 Now it didn’t feel as intense as a migraine, and instead it had settled and cosied into a topical, surface-level sort of pain, and though it certainly hurt less, it didn’t mean you could ignore it.

 Constant, unignorable pain throbbed throughout your head, practically in miniscule, irksome waves (world’s worst beach). If you really concentrated on something, then you could numb yourself to the pain and almost zone out of it.

 You spoke to Recovery Girl about living with chronic pain, since she couldn’t heal you, and after spending time in office hours with her, you deduced that the pain most likely had to do with your soulmate. Somehow. Maybe when you first meet your soulmate, he’ll punch you in the face?

 But then, randomly, while you were baking in the dorm, your calf felt like it was burning, fucking boiling, and you plopped to the kitchen floor, rolling up your jeans to expose the area—to reveal completely unaltered skin with no suggestion of a blemish or wound. Yet it was scorching, and running it under water didn’t help whatsoever; the burning continued for around fifteen minutes—and you were biting your lips so hard that it bled, clutching your calf and sobbing silently on the floor in the dorm kitchen. Until it somewhat subsided—a sudden sensation of ice pressing against it.

 When it was over, the pain lingered without scar, and it had you hiding a limp as you walked to class.

 From then on, you took extra care to keep your body from physical harm. Being overly cautious in hero training (hindering your offensive moves, to be honest), staying in your dorm instead of going out, eating foods that weren’t difficult to digest, frequenting Recovery Girl to talk—which really cut into your time working with Present Mic on his radio show, but he waved it off.

 The odd nick and cut still showed up, mostly on your hands. Shinsou asked if you’d adopted a cat, and you wished. Instead, you’ve got a soulmate who may be trying to kill you.

 ***

 Aizawa was leading you up the bleachers to the commentators’ box when it struck you that you were an idiot.

 “I’m an idiot,” you said, smacking a hand to your forehead and stopping with one foot halfway up the next stair.

 Brow furrowed, Aizawa looked over his shoulder, opened his mouth, closed it, and kept digging in his pockets for the box keys. “So long as you’re not an idiot on mic, I think you’ll be fine,” he said, once he’d jammed the key into the lock.

 “No, Aizawa-sensei, I’m a big idiot,” you said, walking through the box door he held open and ran a hand through your hair, “I think I’ve just realised something about my soulmate bond.”

 Aizawa got to work flipping on lights and the sound system. “Do you need to go to Recovery Girl or sit out this practise?”

 “Ah, hm.” You bit the inside of your cheek and unfolded the chair, setting it in front of the primary microphone. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got to work through a few things, but, uh. I can still commentate.”

 “All right,” he said, nodding, “Yamada-sensei wants you to make your fight narrative more focused��more description of what’s actually happening rather than speculation, even though he should be working on that himself.” Aizawa tossed the keys on the desk next to the stadium light system controls, and he headed for the door. “Try not to swear on mic this time.”

 “Wait, Aizawa-sensei? Who’s working camera today?”

 His hand paused on the door handle. “Should be Monoma and Ashido.”

 “Cool. Thanks,” you said, shooting him a thumbs-up as he left. Monoma and Mina working camera—that means you’ll get lots of close-ups looking for faults from Monoma and wide-angle, big-picture shots from Mina—though she should give up on the Dutch angles. Fine. That’s a fine balance.

 After checking the lights and sound system, you turned the knob for the primary microphone (volume way down from where Yamada-sensei liked it). “Greetings and salutations, sports fans—” You liked to start off your commentary with a little joke, since it was just 3-A and 3-B listening, and not even all of them at that—supplementary training didn’t scratch everyone’s backs. “—once again coming to you from a cramped, commentary box, we are live in our commentary of our first team battles of the semester. Right now, if we focus on the playing field in front of us, you’ll see nothing, as everyone is still getting costumes on and not even outside yet. But we wait in salivary anticipation as our fellow students enter the stadium to discover what teams they’ll be playing on. Until then, please enjoy these sounds of ambient nature.”

 You turned off the microphone and sat back in your folding chair. Announcing for an empty stadium—besides Aizawa, you supposed, as he trudged back down to the field—was when you got your warm-up, testing out what sort of adjectives you’re feeling today. As Yamada-sensei advised, your goal was always to make Aizawa cringe. Frankly, you thought you got there with the usage of salivary, but—

 You’re an idiot.

 Use this time to think about your soulmate, dipshit.

 Connecting the dots took playing an otome game under your desk in the previous class. In it, the heroine was patching up the route’s love interest after a gunfight, and amidst the florid (but fluttery), cheesy (but so cute!) prose about feelings and his rippling pectorals, there had been a line about how the heroine loved him so much that it was as if she could feel the gunshot through her own tit.

 Well, she didn’t say tit, but—the point—

 Feeling his physical pain. Sharing it.

 It made a hell of a lot more sense than whoever-he-was punching you in the face when you first met. It would explain the frequent injuries—why they kept coming over and over—along with why the pain kept coming, since hero course idiots like yourself hurt yourselves almost constantly. For a moment, you considered punching your soulmate when you met him, as a joke, but then—you’d feel it, too, most likely. Really, you’d like to find some industrial strength painkillers for the both of you. This ache pulsing in your head—his head—needed to be alleviated.

 So, now, the plan: hurt yourself in very specific ways so that your soulmate has the same injuries. And, judging by how you’ve got a perfect view of all your classmates, complete with camera zoom, you’re in a good spot for it.

 You flipped the microphone knob again. “As the first of our classmates who have perfected the art of getting in costume walk onto the field, allow me to remind you that I am filling in for our glorious and verbose sensei, Presentation Michael, for totally unbiased commentary on today’s matches.”

 Grinning, you stuck your tongue out at Bakugou, even though he couldn’t see you. He’d shot the commentary box a disgusted look and had shaken his head, hanging off to the side of the field with Kirishima and Sero.

 When teams were announced, you decided you’d hurt yourself then when their attention was definitely on something else, and therefore, they’d react genuinely to the pain. Sweet. Solid plan.

 Wait, how are you going to hurt yourself? It can’t be too bad, because 1) that’d be mean, and 2) you also have to concentrate enough to see how everyone reacts. Eh, you’ll wing it.

 “Now that all of those participating in the team battles are prepared and on the field waiting for assignments,” you said, pulling the mic towards you and zooming in on the bottom of your system screen, “we all wait for our brilliant, talented, eclectic, beautiful sensei to get off his phone to announce the teams.”

 Stowing away his phone, Aizawa addressed the group, and you sat on the edge of your seat, your hand raised (for what?). “Team one,” said Aizawa, “is Asui—”

 Okay, she’s got a soulmate—

 “—and Bakugou.”

 You slapped yourself across the face, hard.

 Whimpering, you clutched the spot while hunching over in your stupid folding chair, missing Aizawa’s explanation of why they were paired together, and goddamn it, you missed Bakugou’s reaction. Footage, footage, yeah; there’s footage. You’re filming for Yamada-sensei. You’ll review it later—no! You want to know now!

 “Team two,” said Aizawa.

 You snapped back upright, blearily making yourself focus on the what’s going on down there and giving your cheekbone a final, indignant swipe. You raised your hand again, the opposite one this time.

 “Team two is Ojiro—”

 Safe. He’s matched.

 “—and Shinsou.”  

 You hit your other cheek, this time bracing yourself and clenching your teeth. Cursing yourself immediately afterwards—because if you don’t feel the pain, nor will he. Fuck.

 “Team three is—”

 Oh, God.

 “—Hagakure and Yaoyorozu.”

 Breathe in. Breathe out. You can do this.

 Amendment: you can do this well and correctly.

 Two more teams until you facepalmed so hard that you had a red splot on your forehead. Another two until you thought you’d bitten the tip of your tongue off (idiot!). Then four unmatched people all in a row led to four slams of your funny bone right onto the edge of the desk.

 Gasping, wheezing, and cradling your arm, you bitterly shook your head as the teams took their places, either on field or in the dugout. It just wasn’t fair, but you piddled it all into your jar of petty emotions and would have to deal with it later, since you were working.

 “Our first two-on-two battle for the morning is team seven, Kendo and Komori, versus team ten, Kirishima and Shoda, making for a battle centring around close melee combat, so long as you can keep breathing—teams two and eight on deck.” You zoned out enough to commentate without zest and flair (which went against your morals, but still) but still throw your mind elsewhere.

 Ugh, well. Your soulmate didn’t react to a single fucking thing, provided he was somewhere in the crowd. Either your soulmate gets off on being beaten up, or you’re wrong about the soulmate method, or he… You frowned, but you tried not to let it creep into your voice as you commentated. If you’re not wrong and he’s not into getting hurt sexually, then…then your soulmate is so used to pain that it’s become normal to him. That physical pain is just part of his everyday life.

 You rubbed at your eye, where a good bit of the constant headache settled. This was shit, and you’d only been living with it for a few weeks. If your soulmate lived with this constantly, well, then—step one, wrap him in blanket. Step two: kiss on forehead. Step three: hot choccy for the boy.

 Oh, shit, you’re working.

 “And that’s Tokoyami coming in for the final swoop,” you found yourself saying, “Can’t get it, can’t get it? And he does, swiping the feet out from underneath Jirou there, meaning that Tokoyami is the last one standing. Team Four wins!” You sat back in your chair, flicking off the knob so that you could huff agitatedly. A fair number of matches had gone by in a blip, and you didn’t even know what you’d said. Well, Aizawa hadn’t stormed up here telling you to stop cursing, so you supposed you’d been doing an acceptable job.

 “Next up, next up! Team one versus team nine, Asui and Bakugou versus Kouda and Todoroki. Judging by the patterns on Asui’s offence, we can—”

 God, your head hurts.

 “Aaaaand there’s Bakugou, Bakugou with the advantage, Bakugou with an overarching sweep shot, using the weight of his gauntlet as a crushing weapon in addition to that blast. Oof, ouch, scorching Kouda just over on his—”

 You made your mouth run a mile a minute, making yourself focus on the match instead of your soulmate and the ache.

 “Asui comes from below with the first true ranged attack of the match, but it doesn’t look like it hit its target; Todoroki managed to slip past yet again—”

 Blinking to stave away the irritation, you gave up and rubbed at your eye. It’s like it was getting worse, like, uh, you didn’t know—like smoke was rising into it.

 “It’s a close, close match; so far it could be anyone’s game, and, and Todoroki lands a focused ice strike to Bakugou’s core. He’s doubled over, taking a moment to threaten Todoroki—psychological warfare against your opponent in addition to physical, sometimes uncouth but still a worthy tactic, especially if it—oh, he’s—Bakugou’s shot a pissbaby look towards the commentary box, but he’s winding up and going for Todo—oh, Kouda! No, no, it's a feint; Bakugou was feinting—”

 And instead of inhaling, you screamed, louder than you ever have in your life, at the same time an A.P. shot burst into Todoroki’s stomach from less than a foot away.

 Like your skin melting and reforming on a fresh skeleton, like nothing mattered between here and now and when but this burn, feeling nothing—no extremities, no celebrealities to take yourself away—nothing but this agony scorching its way through your stomach and cutting into you below your ribcage.

 As you lay crumpled on your back on the floor (when did you get there?), it far outweighed the ache on the left side of your face, and you woozily blinked through a few images that smeared together: the shitty fluorescents above you (too bright—you tried to hold a hand up to block them out, but you couldn’t lift your hand), Aizawa bursting through the box door to kneel next to you, and someone’s hands on you while you shuffled about on a thrilling variety of hard surfaces.

 ***

 You woke up with a dry mouth in Recovery Girl’s office. Been a while since you’ve been in one of the hospital beds; you’re even tucked in, and shit, and ooh, ouch, oof, don’t sit up so fast. It makes your stomach—oh my god TODOROKI.

 Where is the fucker? Where’s that handsome basta—ah. The bed next to you. Reading some shonen manga you didn’t recognise.

 You tried to be stealthy when you flipped onto your side to face him, but you couldn’t escape the involuntary grunt of pain.

 Todoroki’s eyes flicked to you, holding his book still.

 “Hi,” you said, swinging your legs around to dangle them off the side of the bed, “I think we should make out.”

 Todoroki blinked. Twice. He reached for his bookmark and started to rise from the hospital bed.

 “What? Where are you go—jokes. It was a joke,” you said, watching with horror as he stood and walked away from the patient area, “I’ve got jokes all week. I’ve got jokes forever.” Your voice died out when he filled a paper cup at the sink, and Todoroki returned steadily towards you to hand you the cup. His fingers grazed yours, and you jolted, though Todoroki, cool as you please, merely blinked sleepily.

 He gave a careful nod towards it. “Drink. You were breathing through your mouth while you slept.”

 Oh, God, did that count as pain and therefore transfer to him? Did—nope, you’re not going to worry about that. There are worse things. You brought the cup to your lips to stifle the impulse to ask him to spit in your mouth.

 After a few swallows, you—fuck, he’s too close and too good-looking to look him in the eye for this—stared into your water and said, “So. We’re soulmates. Have you told Recovery Girl yet?”

  “We’re soulmates?” asked Todoroki, sounding alarmed.

 Your head whipped towards him, and his (fucking gorgeous) eyes widened, his broad shoulders stiff. Good God, he didn’t know, and now he’s going to be fucking repulsed by you. He deserves someone cooler, more graceful, more—

 Todoroki cautiously sat near you on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, and your brain emptied. He was so close; you could feel his excessive warmth coming from his left side, and he’s so fucking—he. He could take that elegant hand between you on the mattress and wrap it around your shoulders right now, pulling you close with those lean, lithe muscles, and oh, God, he could make you feel so safe—

 And.

 Fuck.

 Since your first year, you’ve acknowledged in the back of your head that Todoroki was essentially the ideal man (complete with power and talent and a gentleness that aches), but since he’s liked by basically anyone with sense in the school, you’ve packed any shred of affection away, folding it into a cardboard box and shoving it into the back of your mental closet.

 It feels like the box has spontaneously combusted.

 But no, fuck, you saw that look on his face. He doesn’t want you—and that makes sense, since…y’know. You’re you. You haven’t attracted anyone—God, how embarrassing that the only way someone is going to look at you potentially romantically is from a fucking soulmate accident.

 Todoroki shifted, his expression taut. “How do you know we’re soulmates?”

 Right. He’d like to get out of it. You won’t lie to him. “By the way we’ve been sharing each other’s pain,” you said with a sigh, “Didn’t you notice we’re in Recovery Girl’s office for the same injury? Getting hit by Bakugou? And…and you must have burnt your calf a few weeks ago; that had me collapsing in the dorm kitchen and overcooking my eggs, and you’ve got this nasty, constant headache, which has got to be—” You were going to say aggravating, but you realised it yourself when you looked back at him. “—your scar.”

 His brow furrowed in thought, Todoroki tapped his fingers on his thigh, and he nodded.

 “Hang on,” you said, screwing up your face, “I was—I kept hitting myself during the team selection, trying to find you. You never reacted.”

 Todoroki turned his head towards you slowly, and under his slowly blinking gaze, you were frozen. “I didn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary.”

 You let out a weak, incredulous laugh. “You didn’t think—didn’t you feel it?”

 Todoroki ducked his head, staring at his hand on your sheets. “Since the soulmate incident, my scar hasn’t hurt as much. The skin hasn’t been as sensitive, and I don’t get headaches as often. I’ve been able to concentrate. To relax.” He pinched the fabric and let it fall. “When I’ve trained, it’s as if I could go forever, as if the blows that fall don’t mean as much.” His eyes turned up to you again, pinning you. He’s got to stop doing that so suddenly. “It must have been you taking the pain away.”

 Huh. You hadn’t considered. “So, you think we’re splitting the pain between us, not that we just both feel the pain.”

 Todoroki nodded. “Look at how Bakugou hurt us. We should be much worse off from a close-range shot,” he said, raising the hem of his shirt.

 You slapped a hand over your eyes, taken off-guard by the abrupt reveal of the lower half of his tightly muscled abdomen, but you slotted your fingers to peek through. “You’re—you’re right,” you said, feeling saliva build in your mouth. You pulled the move into rubbing one of your eyes, the one that kind of itched—it’s the one with his scar. “Does your scar always itch like this?”

 He hummed. “Less now, but still enough.”

 Your hand fell to your lap. “Are you…always in pain? Does it always hurt?”

 “You can answer that.”

 Fuck. The school’s powerful, pretty boy lived in constant pain, and he never said a word. “May I ask how you got it? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

 Todoroki was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Do you know about quirk marriages?”

 “Refresh me?”

 “Quirk marriages are arranged between those with compatible quirks to hopefully manipulate the quirks of their children. My father sought this,” said Todoroki, “and, he would argue, that he failed three times, until me. I was sick a lot, when he trained me. Mom would try to help, and he’d—” He cut himself off, pinching his lips together. “Anyway. My mom lived with the pressure until she couldn’t. She thought I was him, and she poured boiling water on me. She’s getting better now,” he said with finality, leaning back on his hands on the bed and kicking his legs out.

 Uh. Holy fuck. How do you respond to that?

 Present Mic was always emphasising the importance of word choice.

 Steeling yourself, you reached for one of his hands, taking it firmly, even though it threw him off balance for a moment. He adjusted quickly, his fingers easily guided by you to lace between yours. “Todoroki,” you said, making yourself stare him in his eyes, “Let’s kill your father.”

 His lips parted, Todoroki straightened himself hastily. He clamped his other hand over yours, and with a wide, earnest expression, he said, “We shall have a winter wedding.”

 You snorted and squeezed his hand (his hand! Which you were holding!). “Sure. Yeah, Todoro—”

 “Please call me Shouto,” he said, scooting closer to you on the bed and squeezing back, “I would like to hear your thoughts. Have you considered this before?”

 Killing Endeavour? Yeah. Who hasn’t? Ah, ha, hold up. Maybe that’s not a normal thought you should be having about one of the biggest heroes in—fuck it, he’s a rat bastard of an abusive father. Die, bitch.

 Still, it’s nice that Todoroki wanted this, too. Validating. “You wanna make an event out of it?”

 He smiled—and it’s so gentle in a charming sort of way that your first instinct is to turn away, like you’re not worthy to look at him. But hey, he’s yours to look at now.

 “Only if you want to,” he said, his soft grin only growing wider.

 “I do,” you said, and for some reason, at those words, Todoroki ducked his head, the tips of his ears very red.

  ***

 Bakugou shouted across the classroom door the moment you opened the door. “Back from the infirmary, motormouth? Can’t believe you fucking screeched over the intercom.”

 Kayama-sensei paused mid-lesson, her whip still pointing towards the board.

 “And what of it, Bakugou?” you asked, stepping forward so that Todoroki could close the door behind you. “Did I make you lose a match?”

 Bakugou gritted his teeth. “As if someone like you could make me lose a ma—”

 “I won my match,” said Todoroki, taking your hand in his large, calloused one. (You were very startled by the physical contact and stared down at your joined hands, as if you were noticing that you had fingers for the first time.)

 Bakugou scowled. “The fuck do you—”

 “Todoroki’s your soulmate?!” Mina slammed her fist on her desk. “I’m literally wet with envy!” Kirishima immediately stopped chewing on the end of his pencil and reached for her.

 Midnight couldn’t get the class to calm down for a while, but, you supposed, they needed the noise. Todoroki escorted you back to your desk (your eye twitched at the tenderness), and when he returned to sit at his own, he couldn’t stop smiling to himself.

 ***

 “So, you’re Shouto’s soulmate!” Fuyumi hugged you before you could toe off your shoes near the Todoroki threshold. “You’re just as lovely as he described. Please, come in.”

 You exchanged a curious glance with Shouto while you unfurled your scarf, and as he hung up your coat for you, he was looking at you with a nearly unbearable fondness. You had to look away, feeling the heat rush to your face. God. Nothing had even happened yet, and you were already fucking overwhelmed.

 Natsuo was out, so it was supposed to be just the three of you at dinner. It had been a while since you’d eaten in a traditional setting, since dorm living had you grazing and cooking simple meals for yourself most of the time, so you were watching Shouto closely for any way you could possibly fuck up—and he seemed to notice and started to make his movements more obvious. You wouldn’t admit it, but you couldn’t even recognise some of the gourmet dishes Fuyumi had cooked—but all of it was fucking scrumptious; you eventually found yourself unable to compliment her coherently, because it all devolved into variations of “I’m going to cry. I’m weeping. I’m. Crying. Crying forever. I’ve never wanted to marinate myself in a sauce before.” Since you worked with Present Mic, you would have been embarrassed for being so inarticulate, but Fuyumi and you had warmed up to each other easily. She made you feel at peace.

 Well, that’s good. At least there’s one safe family member for Shouto to be around.

 (You had already met his mother, albeit briefly. You had been freaking out about what kind of gift you should bring her for your first meeting, but Shouto had simply put his hand on the small of your back (!!!) and told you that you didn’t need to feel any pressure.

 “She’s going to love you,” he’d said into your ear on the train ride to the hospital.

 “But how do you know?” The cool of the tin of tea you’d gotten anyway had seeped through your mittens.

 You had heard the self-satisfaction creeping into his voice—it was light, but it was there.  “My mother tends to feel the same way I do about people.”

 Shouto hadn’t laughed when you’d stuttered your way through a feeble, flustered defence before giving up, but he hadn’t needed to. You could see it in his eyes.)

 When Fuyumi left for the kitchen near the end of the meal after making you promise to try on some rings that had belonged to their grandmother, you scooted closer to Shouto. “Your dad should be showing up soon, right?”

 He nodded, closing his eyes as he swallowed his mouthful of water. “It’s past time for his patrol to end.” He set his glass on the table with a muted clink. “Are you sure about this? If you would prefer, we can retreat to one of the back rooms, or we can go back to campus.”

 You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s good to meet the enemy, yes? Plus, if he’s lured into a false sense of security around me, then it’ll be easier to get physically close to him when we fucking kill him.”

 Shouto laughed through his nose at that, and his expression softened (really incredible how soft the man can get when everything about him is so sharp: sharp features [especially that high-bridged nose and the unfairly pretty cheekbones], sharp gaze that seemed to notice everything about you, sharp and deliberate gestures and movement—his body’s all sharp angles and hard lines, and—your gaze fell to those fucking sharp collarbones barely peeking out of his button-up. Funny how your mouth can start to fucking water when you’ve just eaten Fuyumi’s cooking). Shouto propped an elbow on the table and rested his cheek on his fist, and he reached for your hand, hesitating just before touching it.

 When you nodded, he let out a heavy sigh and took it—for a moment you felt his normal body temperature before he began to heat his hand for your benefit. “He’s not going to like you,” Shouto said after a moment, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand, “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve whatever he’s going to say to you.”

 “Whatever he chooses to say will not affect me in the long run. I don’t need him to like me,” you said, proud of being able to speak while making physical contact.

 Shouto visibly swallowed (Ad—Adam’s apple…), his brow furrowed in thought.

 “What I do need,” you said, sitting up straighter, “is for him to not think of me as any sort of legitimate threat. That way he’ll let me get close enough to shave off his eyebrows in his sleep.”

 A wide smile spread across Shouto’s face, and he had to look away this time. Score.

 Fuyumi returned from the kitchen with multiple tiny plates balanced on a tray. “Ta-da! Time for the tasting. We considered putting cubes of each selection into a cute little bento for Shouto to bring to school,” she was saying as she set around ten saucer-size plates in front of the both of you, “but Shouto convinced me that transportation and refrigeration might mess up the flavours. So! Most of these came from a bakery in the Takoba district, but two of them were made by me today.”

 Fuyumi had set about ten different slices of cake on the table, each plated a bit too stylishly for you to feel like you were allowed to eat them. You didn’t know if she’d drizzled raspberry sauce over that slice and arranged wedges of strawberries next to that one, or if the bakery did.

 Uh.

 “I won’t be offended in the slightest if you like a professional cake over either of mine; that’s to be expected.” Fuyumi grinned from across the table, now that she was settling down. “But I won’t say which ones I made until you’ve tried all of them! Shouto, if you can guess, I’ll make you cold soba the next time you’re home.”

 You were trying to shoot Shouto a look that said Why the fuck are we eating so many cakes and Is this how rich people have fun, but once his sister offered that, he had a laser-focus on the cakes in front of him.

 Shouto picked up both forks and held one out to you. “We have a new mission,” he said gravely.

 I mean, whatever. Sure. Pretty boy word choice go brrr.

 Shouto noticed your noticing a probable strawberry-flavoured cake (in contrast to all of those pale bitches who probably tasted like vanilla or almond) and silently passed it to you for you to stab a bite from it, and as he set it with a quiet clink in front of you, the front door slammed hard enough to shake the shoji dividers.

 It couldn’t be a coincidence that a sharp pang shot through where Shouto’s scar would be as his father’s heavy footsteps grew closer. Scowling, you rubbed your mirroring eye, massaging away whatever of the ache you could, and that’s how Endeavor first caught you when the shoji slid open.

 He’d given a cursory nod towards Fuyumi, his gaze dragging over Shouto before latching onto you, rubbing your eye with one hand and holding up your fork with the other. The corner of his mouth involuntarily twitched as he wrinkled his nose.

 You held your ground the best you could, glaring up at him while twirling your fork idly (seemingly idly, instead of the power play showing composure that it was). Endeavor’s beard flickered to life once you tilted your head at him, as if analysing him for the first time, and you squinted, his flames almost too bright to look at without hurting your eyes.

 After a beat, you sighed heavily, stabbing your fork into the cake. “Do you have any sunblock?” you asked Shouto with your mouth full.

 Judging by the sharp increase in shadows on the dividers, the flames surged behind you, the heat washing over your back.

 Todoroki took a bite of the same strawberry cake, holding a quiet, excited look with you.

 (You’ve noticed, recently, that Shouto makes a lot of little expressions only intended for you to see, how he’s started instantly glancing towards you for a secret sort of empathy and comradery. Shouto expressed himself in the thousands of tiny looks just for you, and while you loved the trust growing in your relationship, it also saddened you that he felt the need to hide these impulses from everyone else.)

 “Fuyumi,” Endeavor began, the floorboard shifting under his weight as he approached, “Again, you’ve failed to warn me that one of your friends was coming over.”

 Fuyumi held her hands up and laughed nervously. “She’s not exactly my—”

 “She’s my soulmate,” said Shouto, pulling a plate noisily towards him and gesturing for you to try it first, “Irreversibly so.”

 This cake tasted heavily of almond, but there was something under it—maybe rum extract?

 Endeavor’s glare bored into you. “Soulmate. So you are suffering from that villain attack.” His furrowed brow tightened. “What’s her quirk?”

 Either way, that was definitely buttercream frosting, though it would be more visually appealing if it and the cake weren’t all white.

 Shouto scowled. “Don’t speak to me, as if I’m her owner, as if she’s not in the room. You should ask her yourself.”

 You hadn’t even detected that disrespectful jab; you’d been too lost in considering recent trends for monochrome, minimalist design—and how that apparently had spread to the cake world, since most of these cakes were all white. It really emphasised how delightful a shitty sort of colourful maximalism was—those cute little bitches with the berries and fruits sauces drizzled over them were next on your tasting list.

 You finished chewing your bite and ignored Endeavor’s intensity the best you could. “I’m quirkless,” you said, lying through your teeth (Fuyumi openly looked confused, since you’d demonstrated your quirk earlier, but Shouto caught on right away). You turned away from Endeavor and to Shouto. “Have you figured out which ones Fuyumi baked yet?”

 Shouto was trying his best to not laugh (another thing that disheartened you: all too often Shouto hid signs of joy. You wanted to help him feel comfortable enough for joy to burst from him without fear). “I am not yet certain,” he said, moving all of the colourful, fruity slices closer to you, “I have my suspicions, though. Have any of them felt too professional to you?”

 “Shouto,” said Endeavor through gritted teeth, the breath from his harsh consonants making his flames flicker, “What have you done. Shackling yourself to someone who’s—”

 Endeavor then used a phrase that you, frankly, just didn’t understand, because you’d never heard it before. Evidently, it must have been some archaic insult specifically for quirkless people that Fuyumi and Shouto had heard their father use before; it was abominable enough for the drinks on the table to freeze over in a splintering path of ice from Fuyumi’s clenched fist in her lap.

 Shouto’s quirk didn’t flare. He instead shifted his jaw and very deliberately took your hand, lacing your fingers together and displaying them on the table between you.

 A few painful seconds passed, and Endeavor’s flames surged again. “How you’ve wormed your way into U.A. and my son’s life is unfathoma—”

 “I like this one,” you said, tapping the plate with around half of a chocolate-raspberry-drizzle slice remaining.

 Shouto took another bite out of it and nodded.

 Crossing his arms, Endeavor started to spit out another diatribe, but he cut himself off as Shouto brushed a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth.

  ***

 Shouto, his face flushed and besotted with a constant flow of tears, rounded the corner to the dorm kitchen, and when you straightened yourself up to look at him, he had even more questions.

 You had on a protective face mask and dark sunglasses at this time of night, and you, too, were crying, despite your attempt to block out the fumes. “Sorry,” you said, brandishing your knife, “I’m chopping onions. I guess the soulmate bond perceives this as pain.”

 “It’s okay,” said Shouto, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his face with, “What are you cooking?” He held out a towel so that he could wipe your face as well.

 “Holy shit.” You whipped off your sunglasses, and you held your onion-y hands at a distance while leaning into Shouto’s touch. “It’s only the best fucking French onion soup you will have in your life. Doesn’t even matter if you don’t like onions, because this is on a different level. The onions don’t melt in your mouth; they fucking evaporate. Your mind is going to be blown.”

 Shouto halted in his blotting away of your tears and snot. “You’d let me have some of your cooking?” He tossed the (very wet) paper towel in the rubbish bin.

 Nodding, you braced yourself before cutting into another onion. “Obviously. I know you just sort of collapse after your training sessions with Midoriya, and you deserve better than microwave ramen after that.”

 Shouto took a moment, and he placed a hand on his chest. “You’re cooking for me?”

 “Yes, Shouto. Of course. That why I chose to use words implying the intention. Context clues, my dude.” You scrunched up your face. “Scratch that. Context clues, my love.”

 Swallowing, he pressed two fingers to his wrist, counting his pulse. “I think I have to sit down for a bit,” he said, “I may pass out from the sheer tenderness of it all.”

 ***

 And so the semester crawled closer and closer to the end of the semester and therefore closer to the day of the assassination attempt, which would be over winter break. But each day was somehow a delight with someone permanently in your corner and waiting for you, someone learning how you live and what you like. It was odd to be studied but an embarrassing sort of pleasure to be known.

 Shouto was careful to avoid injuring himself, now, since beforehand, he didn’t exactly care about his own physical wellness. Now that you’re connected, it’s not that he’s become cautious but that he’s more intentional.

 You gave him a travel bottle of sunscreen with moisturiser to put on his scar in the mornings, since you’d done some research on how to care for scars, which apparently were more prone to heat sensitivity (how fucking ironic), stiffness, and itching. The two of you had done some experimenting to determine if the other felt how the other cared to the pain, and it turned out that relief was only found if the one who was originally injured did something about it. A damn shame, since you’d been wondering if you two could potentially heal each other from the sidelines or at a distance.

 (This led to an awkward week in which the both of you had a sunburn flecking skin off of your noses, but only Shouto could do something about it. No matter how much aloe vera you applied on your end, it only counted on his, since he’d gotten the sunburn in the first place. Mina took many photos.)

 Hanging out in his dorm room revealed how often Sero came to borrow volumes of manga (Sero got upset the time you hadn’t finished the volume he needed yet), how often Midoriya came to discuss classes and the upcoming work studies, and how often Kouda came to lend Shouto a cat for the afternoon, among others. Shouto lay, his head on your lap while you both were sprawled across the tatami mats, completely oblivious to how popular he was. You were learning a lot about your classmates through how much they valued their friendship with Shouto, and the fact that he was so loved outside of his own household made your heart ache—and you hoped he couldn’t feel it, too. Plus, hey, you got to pet a cat, and whenever you couldn’t, Shouto would send you pictures of the cat that day.

 (Usually, this was a chocolate-point cat named Dango, who, according to Kouda, absolutely adored Shouto and praised how calming Shouto’s presence was. She often curled up on Shouto’s left side, while you huddled up to his colder shoulder. Shouto thought the competition between you and Dango for his warmer side was wildly funny.)

 In class, it was wonderful to have someone to look to for a first reaction, for a moment of empathy, or to remind you that he’s still there. On a thirstier day than usual, since Shouto had stumbled into class with ruffled bed-head and a charmingly dishevelled uniform, Shouto’s careful gaze caught you staring at him. You hastily looked at your desk, heat rising to your face, but you chanced another glance at him. The smug bastard kept his eyes on Aizawa-sensei as he wrote on the board, but Shouto couldn’t suppress his self-satisfied little grin as he unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt and surreptitiously pulled the collar down and to the side so that he could flash you his vexingly perfect collarbone. He knew your weakness, and now you had to sit in frustration for the rest of class. He had villainous qualities no one else could fathom.

 And you’d grinned to yourself before stifling it down: you knew him, too, in ways no one else knew about. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life learning more.

 ***

 He’s started referring to the day of his father’s assassination as the big day, so you’ve adopted it, too, revelling in its vagueness that let you talk about it in public. He’s been more theatrical about it than you thought, but more layers of his personality revealed himself to you the more time you spent with him.

 Today, the two of you had been staking out shrines as assassination locations, because there was something poetic about the bastard dying in a holy place. There’d been one last shrine that Shouto said couldn’t be the actual location, since it was shabby and small, but he wanted to take you to it today anyway—reasoning that it had a magnificent koi pond/river that you had to see.

 “Natsuo, after all, is into breeding carp,” said Shouto as he sat to cross his legs on the edge of the pond’s stone barrier.

 Natsuo? Into breeding? “Tell me more,” you said, “Why breeding carp?”

 Shouto gestured loosely. “That’s what I call it. It sounds more ridiculous than he’s helping out a friend with his koi dynasty. Carp sounds less elegant than koi.”

 “Misleading word choice to make people laugh is always appreciated,” you said, snapping your fingers as applause and setting your bags behind you so that you could freely lean over the pond’s surface, “What got him into it?”

 “It’s for Mom,” said Shouto, mirroring your position over the water, his shoulder bumping against yours, “Mom’s koi pond was destroyed by my father when we were in primary school, and Mom’s been too scared to start another one. Natsuo’s working with his friend to pick out high-quality koi for a pond my mom could have on her own.”

 “That’s sweet.” You poked your finger underneath the water and waited for a fish to nibble at it, but they scattered when you disturbed the water. “Horrible what your dad did, though. How do you tell a good koi from a bad one?”

 “Even now, I’m not sure.” Shouto dipped his fingers into the water as well, and he made a little icicle that the nearest fish started to inspect. “This one looks odd, though. As if he’s the fish form of an ancient wizard. The whiskers are oddly long.”

 Sure. “His name is Clog. In his spare time, he corresponds with prisoners.”

 Shouto’s face lit the fuck up. “Of course.” He lifted his hand from the pond, water dripping from his little icicle, which he used to tap another koi. “This is Klaus, whose hobby is doubles tennis.”

 God, you’d eviscerate the whole damn planet for Shouto to stay as happy as he looked. “Those two cavorting about in the far corner there—they’re a mother-son team, called, uh, Kyoya and Takoyaki. They—if you spoke to Takoyaki, Shouto, what would she say?”

 Brow furrowed, he pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger while he examined the fish. You were too distracted by the fullness of his mouth to concentrate on the fish—idly, you wondered what chapstick he used. You saw the moment he came up with his dumb little joke, and he faced you with a bright sort of eagerness and said in an affected voice, “If anything should happen to me, then my son, Kyoya, will take over the family business.”

 “So, all of these fish are now in the mafia. What are they trying to gain?”

 “Not all of them,” said Shouto, and he activated his quirk to extend his little icicle to stretch all the way across the pond, where he stroked a long koi down its back. “This one isn’t.”

 “Tell me about him.”

 He ran his tongue over his lower lip, glancing at you and back at the fish. He melted his pointer-icicle back to its original length before letting it dissolve between his fingers. “His name is Dick.”

 You barked out a laugh before covering your mouth. “Not even a shred of innuendo this time, looks like. Going straight for it. And?”

 “Dick likes disembowelment and working with sheet metal.”

 You clapped a hand over your eyes, groaning. “Better watch out, pretty boy, or I’ll kill you after we kill your dad.”

 “If it’s at your hands, I’ll take anything,” said Shouto, and with a soft grunt, he raised his arms above his head to stretch. Your eyes immediately honed in on the skin the hem of his parka exposed—oh. Boy has…tumby…

 You snapped out of it as Shouto checked his watch. “Looks like we’ve got fifteen minutes before we have to be at the shop.” He pulled his sleeve back over it. “Want to start walking there?”

 He’d told you that you were buying outfits for the big day (sure, bucko, very generous of you), and though you’d expected something like an army surplus store, he escorted you to a high-end, formal boutique. Really quite sexy of him, to insist that you kill his father in style. What’s the point of murder if you can’t look hot while doing it? None.

 So, that was your internal justification walking into the poshest boutique you’ve stepped foot in, feeling a bit grimy and out-of-place, but three saleswomen were waiting for you towards the front-of-house already, one handing the both of you cups of fancily decorated hot chocolate.

 Shouto turned to you before they could get a word out. “Do you have a colour in mind? I want to match you.”

 “Well, obviously not fucking white,” you said, and for some reason, one of the saleswomen’s eyebrows shot towards her carefully maintained hairline. Yikes, you forgot that people don’t like swearing in public. You’ll tone down your language. “Blood shows a bit too easily on white, so it’s like we wouldn’t have to work for it. Black—opposite problem. Wouldn’t show up much at all. Probably—” You tilted your head, considering what would piss off Endeavor. “Probably a light blue.”

 “I’ll pull a swatch of whatever shade she chooses,” said the hot chocolate saleswoman, and she took Shouto towards the back of the store while the other two took you towards the front corner.

 Thanks to Chieko’s and Hanazawa’s guidance (and quirks: Chieko’s let her instantly know what colour palettes looked best on someone [which was very niche but nevertheless insanely helpful], and Hanazawa’s quirk allowed her to tailor certain fabrics in minutes [certain fabrics being the deciding factor in how she’s working at a formal shop instead of, like, on a fishing barge]), it didn’t take long at all to find something that was suitably mobile for the assassination in addition to making you look good as hell. It was a shade of blue you wouldn’t have gone for, originally, but Chieko made you see the light.

 With Hanazawa’s sartorial quirk, you felt more tailoring phantom pinpricks from Shouto’s side rather than on your own. You finished up much more quickly than he did, so you waited where the ladies left you at the tri-fold mirrors.

 You have never looked this good in your life, and you’re thrilled to bits about looking like this as you make Shouto’s life a lot easier once the big day passes. Y’know, you should have some sort of back-ups in case you don’t kill Endeavor on the first try. Where in your dress can you hide—? Oh, it has pockets.

 Fumbling in your copious skirts, you glanced up towards the mirrors for how well a gun-sized lump could be concealed at the waist, and Shouto was tilting his head at you in the reflection. Once you’d said fuck white dresses, Shouto must have decided to stray from traditional suits as well: his fitted, navy suit was unbuttoned to show the button-down the same blue as your dress, with a thin tie a shade darker—ultimately contributing to Shouto’s being horribly, horribly pretty, despite the strangely constipated expression.

 You spun towards him, your skirts following you (good for hasty, violent movements). “I was searching for a slit in the dress,” you said, smoothing out the fabric and bouncing on the balls of your feet, “It has pockets, but I was thinking about something that might not fit in them, especially if someone frisks me at the beginning of the night. I was thinking that I could strap a stiletto to my thigh—the knife, not the shoe—obviously—and use it if—”

 His expression darkened as he surged towards you and took a step up onto the modelling platform. You cut yourself off, unable to say anything more as a grimacing Shouto cradled your face in his palms (one of them noticeably hotter than usual), forcing you to stare up at him in his unbearably gentle way. He’s too overwhelming to look at this close up, but your gaze was drawn to his mouth as he opened and closed it, winced, and said after a beat: “It is imperative for you to know that I am dangerously near losing it.”

 Your eyes crossed for a second—first due to the heat of his breath washing over your skin, but his words really didn’t help your attempts to ground yourself. “Huh?”

 And Shouto was kissing you, kissing you with a quiet sort of desperation, his lips parting to lightly nibble on your lower lip, and ultimately soft and warm and annoyingly perfect. Something hot rushed up your spine when he curled his fingers snugly into the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling simply through the tension, and yes, it was him who used that pomegranate beeswax lip balm that you’d found between couch cushions at his house a few weeks ago, and fuck, just being in Shouto’s arms made you feel small but safe, and you never felt those, and never-never at the same time, and—

 It's amazing how Shouto can act like he wasn’t just caught kissing in public by three salesladies when you want to melt into the floor, how he can behave like a normal person while paying for the clothes, how he can stroll right out of the dress shop with you under his arm as if he hadn’t been sticking his tongue in your mouth reflected in three different mirrors, and Shouto, too pleased with himself, too influential, and too handsome for his own good, eventually conceded to taking the back way to U.A. so that you could patronise your favourite food stall in an attempt to ameliorate your worries—but he’d already accomplished that by shooting you a roguish grin and pressing his lips to your temple.

 ***

 So, that was your first kiss with Shouto, and it’s sizing up to be your last. He hasn’t touched you since then. Not even holding your hand.

 Mina mentioned you’ve developed an eye twitch, and not because of the scar-sharing.

 During Present Mic’s lesson on the finer subtleties of using his professional soundboard (a process he called sounding, despite your fervent attempts to convince him that that is not what that word means at all, so please stop saying it in front of the entire cafeteria on microphone), you let a thought you’d been trying to stifle surface: what if Shouto can no longer see you romantically? He got a taste, and now that the assassination day was almost here, he was backing off in order to cut ties with you with the least amount of pain.

 These concerns burdened and kept you from preventing yet another terrible Freudian slip from Present Mic over the intercom.

 Thrusting his phone with an entry for the urban dictionary pulled up on the screen, Aizawa-sensei came to relieve you of your duties, and you absently waved back at your dismissal, instead focused on Shouto’s unfairly handsome smile as you approached the bench where he usually waited for you to walk to the dorms. Walking alongside him, you bit at a hangnail and had the troubling thought that Shouto may have finally realised that is he so woefully and irrevocably out of your league that he would search for someone better after you killed his father, regardless of soulmate status.

 All of your insecurities bubbled up to smother and obfuscate the main point: you really wanted another kiss, and you weren’t sure you were getting another one.

 From a sideways glance, you garner that he’s texting Midoriya, but you can’t tell what. Even with his head bowed to text, Shouto maintained his usual grace and paused by the dorm mailboxes for you to knock on them for good luck, like normal. You did, hesitantly this time, because you’re going to need it. The assassination attempt was tomorrow, and you were about to bring up the questions you’ve been beating yourself up over.

 “Hi,” you said, even though you’re already well into the walk back to the dorms, “Hi, Shouto.”

 Shouto clicked his phone to sleep but kept it in his hand. “Hi.” He frowned. “Is something wrong?”

 You sighed, your breath clouding in the cold. “That’s what I wanted to ask you,” you said, shoving your hands in your coat pockets, “I’m—have I done something wrong?”

 Shouto blinked slowly, like a cat. “What do you mean?”

 “Um.” You took your hands out of your pockets only to return them a moment later. “I, uh. I was wondering if you were tired of being my soulmate or something along those lines? If I’m tiring to be with? I worry if I’m—I don’t know, suddenly repulsive. I know I may be jumping to conclusions, but from my perspective, you’ve been suddenly distant physically this past week and a half, ever since—since we kissed,” you said, rubbing the inside layer of your pocket between your fingers, “I don’t mean to pressure you. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s just—and I know it hasn’t been long, and you’ve been busy with your scribbly notebook and meetings with your sisters and stuff—I miss you.”

 Sharply inhaling, Shouto scrunched his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek. “Do you know how painful it is for me to hear that,” he asked flatly.

 You’ve done it now. “Shouto, I’m sorry—”

 “That word you said. Repulsive.” Shouto took a step closer to you, his heavy exhale so cold it wasn’t visible in the winter air. “Nothing could be further from the truth. You’re entrancing. Anything you do or say can or will make me bust a nut.”

 You did a poor job of convincing him your snort-laugh was a sneeze. “Do you know what that—who taught you that?”

 He tilted his head. “Shinsou, but he told me not to snitch.” He rolled his shoulders back and shifted his jaw before very, very delicately taking your hand, curling his fingers into your palm, and once he sensed that he wasn’t going to react in a bust-a-nut way, his shoulders slackened. “I’m sorry that I caused you such trouble. It’s—ah.” Shouto frowned again, but he slid his phone into his back pocket so that he could hold your hand between both of his. “Like I said, I’m close to losing it when I’m around you. It’s hard holding myself back. It is in no way that you’re repulsive or that I’m tired of you. It’s more that I can’t get enough.”

 Nodding as your heart rate slowly went back to normal, you tugged him along the path to the dorms, your footsteps crunching in the frosted-over grass.

 “It’s not that I’m waiting until marriage to do anything with you, if that’s a concern of yours—”

 It…it wasn’t. Odd of him to bring that up.

 “—and again, I’m sorry for causing you distress, but I wanted to concentrate on tomorrow. To do it well and enjoy ourselves during. That’s a contributing factor to why I’ve been huddled off with my planner and consulting my sister about this sort of thing, since I want so hard to do this right.”

 Since when has Fuyumi known about the assassination plans?

 “But I assure you,” said Shouto, sliding his index finger along your jaw to guide your gaze towards his own, his voice growing firmer as he examined with darkened eyes your expression, “After tomorrow, I’m not holding back.”

 Your throat ran dry. “Uh. Good. Excellent.” You made a vain attempt to swallow in a way that wasn’t clearly desperate. “Cool. I’ll look forward to it.”

 He let you stew in the silence of innuendo as the two of you reached the entrance steps to 3-A’s dormitory, and you hopped up the first stair, spinning around when you had a nasty little perverted awful evil idea. “Shouto,” you said, grabbing the lapel of his coat, “May I kiss you?”

 “Of course. If you’ll allow me a moment.” Shouto shifted away from you for a bit, as if you couldn’t tell how and what he was adjusting with his belt, and his phone let out a chirrup.

 Feeling bold, you reached into the back pocket of his jeans (Shouto froze, even though your fingertips barely grazed him) to yank out his phone.

 “Midoriya’s saying something about bowling tonight?” You handed it to him once he turned around.

 “Yeah,” Shouto said, and he unlocked his phone to scan the text. “He and the rest of the guys have pooled to rent out a bowling alley for the bachelor party tonight, after Spirited Away at Kirishima’s folk’s house.”

 Laughing through your nose, you shook your head. “Shou, y’know that bachelor party isn’t a label you can whip out for every guys’ night. It’s specifically the guys’ night before the wedding.”

 Shouto shot you a wry smile. “I know.” He stowed his phone and took your hand again. “Let’s get you out of this cold; you don’t need to be sick tomorrow of all days.”

 He opened the door to the dorms for you. “What’s Ashido arranged for the girls to do tonight?”

 Huh. You hadn’t told him about the girls’ night tonight. “Mina’s been texting me about getting our nails done, and then she’s dragging me to a—well, she won’t directly say. She wants it to be a surprise, for some reason.” It’d be nice to have pretty nails while covered in the blood of your soulmate’s abuser. It would add to the overall posh vibes, you supposed. “In general, everyone’s been very secretive and giggly about it. Makes me nervous.”

 “After how composed you’ve been through this whole process? Bullshit,” said Shouto, startling you with his casual swearing and utmost confidence in you (but you were still welcoming it), “So long as you don’t quit on me before tomorrow at 11:00, you’ll be fine.” He stretched his arms above his head, making a quiet sort of grumble in the back of his throat, and he grinned when he caught you staring at his stomach. “By the way, my grandmother’s ring finally got resized,” he said as he dragged the hem of his sweater back down, “so I’ll be picking it up before the bachelor and bachelorette parties start. I know it’s cutting it close, but it’s worth it, wouldn’t you say?”

 He was grinning. The smug bastard was grinning—in his soft, gentle way that somehow emanated the fucking pinnacle of self-satisfaction—and you took a step away from him, scratching the back of your neck.

 “Ah, ha, ha,” you said, glancing around for anyone to come help you with this, but the commons were vacant. “What are—why are you choosing those particular words?”

 Shouto shuffled off his coat and reached to remove yours, and you let him, cogs unfortunately turning all the same direction at last. “You’re an advocate for using the proper words in the correct situations.”

 You were afraid of that.

 You strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge, scanning the inside of the door for Aoyama’s bougie soda (no touching!), which you took a can of, cracked open with a hiss, and chugged as if you were an alcoholic on death row and it was a bottle of contraband hand sanitiser.  

 “So,” you said eventually, pushing yourself up to sit on the kitchen counter, “Are we still on for tomorrow? The murder part, not the wedding part.”

 “I assumed you would kill him at the reception.”

 “Okay, no,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Let me be clear, since apparently we’ve been dancing around each other’s intentions all semester: are we killing your dad tomorrow, Shouto?”

 Shouto sidled next to you, his forearms flat on the counter to support some of his weight as he leant against it, with one of them pressed along the outside of your thigh. “I figured he would suffer enough seeing us be enormously happy and outside of his influence.” His pinkie finger traced along the side seam of your jeans. “While we may not like him, a lot of civilians value his work. And an assassination on our résumés wouldn’t do wonders for our careers post-graduation.”

 Well. You could annoy Endeavor for the rest of his stupid life. Enjoy his reactions. Chest heaving, you reached over to run your fingers through Shouto’s hair, and he tilted his chin up like a cat to lean into your touch. “Is he invited to the wedding?”

 “Of course not,” he said, his eyelashes fluttering as he shut his eyes—but he cracked one open. “Are we still getting married tomorrow?”

 “Aren’t we too young? And still in school, and aren’t we going to endanger each other—”

 Shouto guided your palm to his mouth and pressed a kiss into the centre. “Aren’t we soulmates?”

 Frowning, you said, “You make a convincing argument.”

 He hummed, and he shifted to your front, took your soda to set it aside, and parted your thighs to stand between them, his arms wrapping loosely around your hips (his sneaky little fingers dangling to graze your ass). “So, all this time, I’ve been planning a wedding, and you’ve been plotting an assassination.”

 “I guess,” you said, giving up and sliding your arms around his broad shoulders to pull him closer—the winter weather still hadn’t dissipated in the dorm’s heat, after all. “You shouldn’t’ve had to plan it all by yourself, though; I’m sorry I didn’t get my head out of my ass—”

 “What are you talking about? I want to make grand gestures for you. I want to put in the great effort that you’re worth,” he was saying into your shirt, his mouth moving suspiciously lower to your boobs, “I don’t want you to worry about what you shouldn’t have to; I want you to feel as at peace with me as I do with you—”

 “Shouto,” you said, pulling back to grab his chin, to make him look at you, “I fucking love you.”

  “I also find you acceptable,” he said, nodding seriously, but a soft laugh broke through the sternness when you slapped the back of your hand to your forehead and gasped loudly.

 “Shouto,” you said, your other hand over your heart, “Do you know how much pain that brings me? I’ve having—we’re having a heart attack, all because my fiancé won’t say he loves me, on the night before our—”

 “Funny,” he said softly, his hands flat on your thighs now that you’ve dramatically languished on the kitchen counter, “I don’t feel any pain.”

 Sitting upright again, you placed your hands over his, curling your fingers into his at an awkward angle.

 “I don’t feel any when I’m with you.”

 “Oh, you poetic bastard,” you said, drawing him near to plant an exasperated kiss on his cheek, followed by another to his scar (silencing his protest that he was being genuine), “Don’t you have certain words to tell me, pretty boy?”

 His smile at first was impulsive and then grew brighter as he chose to share it with you, and Shouto pulled you even closer to whisper them in your ear.

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou

[voraciousvore]

Boarding School for Giants (25/25)

1st chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731600430392639488/boarding-school-for-giants-125?source=share

------ Chapter 25 (Conclusion) ------

“I want to stay,” I repeated, “and I want you, Joey, to be my boyfriend, and Mr. Henderson, I want you to be my father.” I could scarcely believe the words came from my lips, but I felt as if an impossibly heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I realized then I didn’t care about the risks. More than anything, I wanted to be loved, to be accepted, to belong. I had a home here, with the people who cared about me: Joey, Mr. Henderson, and my new budding friendships with Stephanie and the others. 

Having held back his tears all day, Joey finally started crying, but his were tears of joy now rather than despair. Overcome, he grabbed me in his hands and planted a big kiss on my tiny frame. “Oh, Eren!” he cried. “I’m so happy!” He embraced me heartily against his chest, and I could hear his heart pumping vigorously. He had been so pent-up with stress the whole day, but now the relief was exploding out of him. 

Mr. Henderson had a more subdued but just as meaningful reaction. He restrained himself and allowed Joey to hug and kiss me as he pleased. His eyes, however, sparkled with excess moisture and the rigidity of his posture relaxed as he was granted solace. When Joey was finally finished loving on me, I walked across the desk into the waiting hands of the man who wanted to be my father, and I felt like I was home. He gently lifted me up and held me to his massive chest in a hug. I sighed with contentment. 

The next few weeks were a dream. I hung out with Joey most of the time, both in and out of school, but I was making new friends every day. Giants greeted me in the hallways, and I felt safer with people around who knew me. Drake, after being humiliated, stayed far away from me, and nobody else harassed me. Joey kept me safe and helped me when I was having trouble with my classes. I admired his intelligence, patience, and talent, and my love for him only grew with each passing day. My academic performance improved significantly with his tutoring, and my teachers treated me well. I had transformed from a rowdy brat into a respectable student. I was, for once, happy with my life and the choice I had made to stay among giants. 

Before long, the legalities surrounding my adoption were completed, and Mr. Henderson was officially my dad. I continued to attend the boarding school, but instead of living in the human dorm the plan was to move in with Mr. Henderson at his house. 

“I don’t live too far from the school,” Mr. Henderson said, as he carried me along. I was finally going to get the opportunity to see my new home. 

“Mr. Hender—I mean, Dad,” I corrected myself. “Do you usually walk to work?” 

“Usually, yes,” the giant answered. “And I’ll be more than happy to take you with me. It would be nice to have some company on the way there.” He smiled kindly, and I was more than pleased to reciprocate. 

“Here we are. Your new home, and our humble abode,” he announced. “I’ve made quite a few adjustments so you can be comfortable living in a giant home.” He gestured to a ramp constructed alongside the giant steps and a human-sized door built into the wall. He placed me on the ground so I could try out these new additions myself. I ran up the ramp as the giant walked up the steps alongside me and we both opened our respective front doors to go inside.  

The house was vast, of course, but most of the giant furniture had been outfitted with little ladders or ropes for me to climb up on. My new dad had also splurged on plenty of human appliances that were miniscule versions of his own, such as a human-sized refrigerator and microwave in the kitchen. He told me that he was able to obtain these items via his connections with the school’s supplier, an easy task since he was the principal now after all. Additionally, he had provided me with my own private bedroom and bathroom, which were contained within a confined space that to the giant was about the size of a shoebox. 

“So, what do you think, Eren? Miss Eren Henderson? Do you like it?” my giant dad asked me, after giving me a full tour of the house. He was both excited and a little nervous. He kneeled down to my level and held out his hand to me. 

I looked up at him, my eyes sparkling. “I love it!” I cried, jumping up into his hand. He lifted me up and cradled me against his gigantic body in a warm embrace. I snuggled up to him and closed my eyes. The hole in my heart that had plagued me for most of my life had finally been filled. I was home. 

Author's Note: Thanks for reading to the end! I hope you enjoyed the story, despite its flaws. Feel free to leave comments, including criticism. If you liked this story, I have a lot of other g/t and vore stories!

Writing Masterpost

This particular story has a sequel as well, but be warned: the sequel is far more "adult" in content and contains lots of vore, explicit sex scenes (including non-consensual), violence, kidnapping, torture, and in general is very gruesome (though it has a lot of fluff/ sweet moments too). It is titled "In the Belly of the Giant" and can be found here.

[sukirichi]

earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it.  But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

[rocorambles]

Home Schooling

Pairing: Stepdaddy!Meian x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, NSFW, Invasion of Privacy, Overbearing and Controlling Behavior, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Non-Con/Rape, Degradation, Overstimulation, Humiliation

Summary: Why would Meian let you go to college in Tokyo when he can teach you everything you need to know right here in Osaka?

A/N: Happy birthday @iwaasfairy ! Of course I need to dedicate my first ever Meian fic to you on this very special day~ I hope this fic manifests a real life DILF Meian for you!!!

Meian has always been protective, even before your mother’s untimely demise. You remember how uncomfortable you had been about this handsome man waltzing into your family home one day, acting like a father figure almost since day one. Only your love for your mother and your desire for her to find happiness again kept your mouth shut, although when she wasn’t in view, you not so subtly found ways to keep your contact with the older man as minimal as possible.

There’s nothing necessarily “wrong” with Meian. In all honesty, if he weren’t so overwhelmingly involved with your life, you’d even argue that he’s a great guy. You can tell he truly cares for your mom, maybe even loves her— although you gag at the cheeky winks and flirtatious touches they generously dote on each other in front of you. And you’re happy for her! You really are. It’s been a long time since you’ve been forced to rely only on yourselves, only on each other. You’ve seen how hard she’s tried, keeping a strong front whenever you’re around, working twice as hard as anyone else to try and fill the aching hole in both your hearts from the loss of your father. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s her.

But there’s something unnerving, even aggravating, about the way Meian interferes with every aspect of your life. You can’t help a strange foreboding feeling twisting inside of you as a heavy gaze trails after you wherever you go, as he begins to rope you into every conversation he has with your mother, almost demanding and insistent about not letting you withdraw to your room despite your well-meaning wishes to give them their privacy.

You try to be on your best behavior, not wanting to be the reason your mom’s new relationship is ruined, especially when you can see just how much she likes him. But every time he opens his mouth and questions everything you do, everything you wear, and everything you say, you can feel your temper rise, wondering where his audacity to act as a father figure comes from.

It’s easy enough to retreat to your room, closing your door and sighing in relief as you escape those sharp eyes. You find comfort in the fact that you have at least one safe place he can’t breach, finding false security in the hope that he’d never invade an adult woman’s bedroom. Except he does, and your heart drops when you notice the miniscule adjustments in your room — your underwear drawer slightly ajar with some pieces missing, your bedsheets slightly rumpled in a way you know you hadn’t left them this morning. Things you know you could never bring up to your mother without sounding like a madwoman. So without irrefutable proof, you keep quiet, knowing that at least there’s not much more time left before you can truly run away from all of this.

Being an adult comes with many responsibilities and adventures, and together, your mother and you pore over myriads of college pamphlets, debating which locations make the most sense, planning how you’re going to make the finances work, and thinking about which colleges have the courses best suited for you. It’s a fun and stressful rollercoaster, but you beam when your mother proudly ruffles your hair, when you both agree on you leaving Osaka behind and adventuring out, creating new memories and beginnings in a different city.

(“Plus, I’ll be able to visit you and play tourist”, your mom excitedly says, and you giggle, letting her affectionately hold you as you stare at the universities you’ve narrowed your choices down to.)

The future seems bright and exciting as you studiously sit down and scan over textbooks and practice exams, dutifully attending your tutoring sessions, cramming for the college entrance exam. It’s all going to plan, except Meian has different opinions. And this time, you can’t hold back the scowl when he yet again goes on and on about how he doesn’t understand why you can’t just stay in Osaka for college.

It’s not a new argument by any means. Just the same few questions being twisted and worded differently and tossed back in your face on a daily basis.

“Don’t you think your mom will be lonely if you move away and only come back for the holidays?”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for? To keep her company?”

“Don’t you feel bad about spending your mom’s carefully saved money on room and board when you could just continue living with us instead and just pay tuition?”

You silently thank your mom when she steps in, firmly telling Meian that she doesn’t mind, that this is exactly why she’s saved up.

But the arguments keep on coming, and you can feel the tension growing in your household, your own stomach churning with guilt and worry, wondering if you’ll end being the cause of their breakup after all as you constantly hear their raised voices going back and forth about you leaving or staying in Osaka.

So despite your discomfort and wariness towards Meian, you can’t help the relieved grin that stretches across your face when your mom comes squealing to you, flinging her arms around your body and shoving her gorgeous engagement ring in your face. You even muster up a slightly tight smile, that only feels a little forced, as you look to the tall man who leans in the doorway, muttering congratulations before directing your attention back to your mom, fondly smiling as she continues raving about her new piece of jewelry, ignoring the way Meian continues to loiter around the both of you.

Your mom is the most beautiful bride as she walks down the aisle and you stare in awe at how she glows, hoping one day you’ll look even remotely as mesmerizing as she does. And while you look on, star-eyed and in wonder, at the woman who had raised you, you miss the way dark eyes intently gaze at you, eyes that should be on the woman he’s about to publicly vow to be with his entire life.

Maybe if you had been more aware, more cautious, you wouldn’t have so eagerly waved both of them off on their honeymoon, wouldn’t have been so excited to shove your mom towards the airport, giving her one last hug and kiss before sillily demanding that she enjoy herself and have the best time of her life.

Maybe then your heart wouldn’t be shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as you collapse in Meian’s strong arms, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking your head in denial when he returns by himself and breaks the news of your mother’s passing.

You delay going to college in Tokyo for a year, allowing yourself time and space to grieve. Or so you had planned, but it seems that Meian has no intention of letting you have your privacy. You share the house with him after your mother’s funeral, unable to argue against him completely moving in when he now owns the property.

He’s still up to his usual overbearing ways, although his tone is softer as he treats you like a wounded animal, carefully handling you as he rouses you from your sleep in the mornings, startling you the first few times he sits on the edge of your bed and wakes you up by tenderly stroking your cheek, preparing all your meals for you and scolding you when he thinks you haven’t eaten enough. It’s almost frightening how easily you fall into his rhythm, not even flinching after a while when his large hand finds itself on your face, your shoulder, your back, your hand, your thigh. Tiny, seemingly platonic touches border the line of what’s appropriate for a guardian and their ward. Although, deep down, you know the two of you are diving in dangerous territory when you feel his knuckle brush against the swell of your ass briefly, his calloused fingertips quickly skimming your breasts, his palm squeezing just a tad too high up your thigh.

But you seek any remaining softness your mother had instilled in your heart for a man who’s lost his wife of just a few days, letting your new guardian (you don’t dare call him father) do as he pleases, not wanting to deal with any more conflict when your heart is still mending. And maybe, just maybe, you find some solace in his touches, in the love he forces upon you, seeking even just a hint of the parental affection your mother had bestowed upon you.

Time heals all wounds, or so they say. You can’t agree that it resolves everything, but you can admit that you’re feeling much better now that a year is almost up, ready to move on, live your life, and make your mother proud. You start re-looking into Tokyo housing, comparing the expenses of living off-campus versus living in the dorms, typing and reworking budgets over and over again in your Excel sheet until your eyes burn and you let out a huge yawn.

Coffee now. Budgets later.

You trudge to the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of dark caffeinated liquid, letting out a pleased sound when the aroma fills the air, happily making your way back to your room to revisit some of your calculations, mug in hand. But you freeze when you see Meian sitting at your desk, clicking through the different tabs of apartment and dorm options you had been looking at, scrutinizing your planned expenses.

There’s no reason for the guilt that claws at your chest when you see the way his jaw clenches as he turns to look at you, hurt in his eyes as he silently demands an explanation for what he’s looking at. But it’s guilt that has you slamming down the mug on your desk and planting your firsts on your hips in a confrontational stance, that has defensive angry words spewing from your lips as you yell at him for invading your privacy, that has you storming towards him and trying to shove his much larger and stronger frame away from your computer.

But it’s futile and you gasp when you’re pulled into his lap, his hands easily pinning you to him and holding you still as he holds you in a mockery of an embrace, your back against his toned chest, his mouth right against your ear.

“You were just going to leave for Tokyo without telling me?”

You want to stay angry, want to continue twisting and fighting against his grip. But the vulnerability you hear in his words has you staying still, has you anxiously biting your lower lip as you try and find the right words to soothe the man clutching you.

“I- I didn’t think I needed to tell you anything. This was always the plan. You knew I only put off attending college for a year to take some time for myself. But I’ll come back and visit during the holidays-”

Your words are cut off by a pained gasp as thick arms tighten their hold on you, but the growled threat in your ear has your anger bubbling over, masking any other feeling.

“You’re not leaving.”

The matter of fact tone, the final decisiveness of the words, the way Meian leaves no room for discourse or arguments, has you lashing out at him and before you can second guess yourself, the position you’re in, or the difference in power between the two of you. In a matter of seconds, you’re snarling right back at him.

“You’re not my father! You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

Righteous pride swells in your chest and you spare him a sharp, wicked grin, haughtily tilting your head up condescendingly, basking in the viciousness of your words. But what you aren’t expecting is the hearty laugh he responds with, something dark and gleeful swirling in his eyes as a cruel smile cuts across his face.

“You’re right. I’m not your father, not even your guardian. So this is fine, right?”

You scream as the arms still wrapped around you haul you up, your limbs thrashing and flailing as you try to force your way free from his iron grip to no avail. Fear and anger make you hysteric as you register the fact that you’re quickly approaching the room that once belonged to your mother, the room Meian now resides in. Disbelief and nausea overtake you when you’re assaulted by the familiar four walls as you’re haphazardly tossed onto the bed, sobbing as memories of your mother surround you and invade your thoughts while calloused hands easily tear your clothes off your body.

But you’re immediately silenced, sobs turning into choked whimpers as a large hand grabs the bottom half of your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, a palm suctioning your mouth shut.

“Where are all those manners your mother taught you? What would she think if she heard you throwing a temper tantrum like a child?”

The callousness of his words hits you like a ton of bricks. Meian smirks at the new round of fat, watery drops that stream down your face, mockingly cooing down at you, calling you a good girl, praising your newfound silence as his hand slowly drags down until it's wrapped around your neck, where he lightly squeezes, reveling in the adorable whimper you release.

But as pathetically amusing as you are, sniveling and choking under him, there’s more that he’s keen on seeing. You feel like a slab of meat under his observant gaze. Prized meat, but meat all the same as he runs his hands across your figure like a butcher testing the firmness of his livestock, pinching and prodding almost methodically, coldly. Only the amusement and hunger in his eyes are indicative of how much this is truly affecting him. Yet it’s tolerable, barely, if you just stare up at the ceiling, pretending you’re at an incredibly invasive medical exam.

He’d be offended by how hard you’re trying to ignore him if it weren’t for the telltale signs of your arousal that you desperately try to deny. He grins at how your nipples harden from just a few teasing circles, how your clit stands to attention, your pretty folds already beginning to glisten as he pets your velvety walls. You’re even more beautiful than he had imagined after watching you prance around the home in your skimpy loungewear. And suddenly, his pants are far too tight, cock straining uncomfortably against the fabric he’s quick to rip off. It’s music to his ears when you shakily say his name over and over again, as you try and resist the way he forces himself between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart, toned body pinning you down, something hard nudging at your tight entrance.

“Meian, please. Please! Please, Meian.”

He ignores your tears, ignores the other words of resistance that slip past your mouth, head dipping down to your mouth and neck, kissing and marking every part of you he can reach, murmuring for you to call him by his first name. And when he loses patience with your whining, you finally acquiesce as he forcefully shoves himself balls deep inside you, a sneer ruining his handsome face as he lightly slaps your face in approval when you wail his first name, “Shugo” howled in an agonizing exclamation as you try to somehow dislodge him from ripping you in two.

“Look at that, the little slut can behave when she wants to. I bet your mother would be so proud.”

You hate how he drags your mom’s name in the ground as he defiles you, violates you in the bed they had once shared. You hate how his large frame feels crushing you, overpowering you, making you feel so incredibly helpless and weak. But mostly, you hate the slick lewd sounds your pussy makes as he pounds hard and fast into you, the undeniable proof that your body doesn’t hate this nearly as much as it should. Hot angry disgusted tears roll down your face as you glare up at him, desperately fighting back the rising moans threatening to humiliate you even more.

Your little defiant attitude is punished by Meian thrusting even harder into you, practically bending you in half as he pushes down on the back of your thighs, forcing you into a mating press. And he laughs at your wrecked face, hungrily taking in the way your eyes roll back in your head, the way your jaw drops wide open, your tongue and rivulets of drool trickling down your face, wanton moans loudly filling the room.

“For all your whining and complaining, you sure do look like you’re enjoying this, sweetheart.”

You wish you could deny his words, retort back with a scathing remark, do anything really. But when he reaches a hand between the two of you and rubs rapid circles against your erect clit, hips still pistoning against yours, cock stuffing you full, your mind blanks and an animal-like howl tears through the room as your body convulses, pussy walls clamping down and quivering as you cream all over the shaft still dragging against your sensitive walls, only heightening your peak.

Meian briefly wonders if this is what heaven feels like (or as close to heaven as someone like him is going to get) as he groans at the way your velvety walls milk his cock, gritting his teeth to not be dragged over the edge with you. He’s not delusional to think that any of this is right, the photo of his ex-wife, your mother silently watching you from the nightstand only emphasizing just how wrong this all is, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re a fucked out mess underneath him, so obediently and submissively slurring his name over and over again, drowning in pleasure and bliss.

There’s nothing more he wants than to just lose himself in the feeling of your tight walls, to fill you, mark you, claim you with his seed, but he’s not quite ready for a full house just yet. He has a few more years alone with you all planned out in his head before he breeds your pretty little womb. So just as his control teeters on the edge, he pulls out of you, casually sitting back and spreading his legs, slowly stroking his cock as he orders you to come and suck him off.

He’s almost proud of the little fight you still have left in you, lips quirking upwards at the way you try to ignore him, trying to look anywhere but at him. But his balls are almost painfully tight, his cock aching for release.

“Suck me off like a good girl or I’m going to cum inside of you over and over again until you’re knocked up. Bet your mother would have loved that for you. Her precious college-bound girl turned into a pregnant uneducated whore.”

It’s an empty threat, but you don’t ever need to know that, not when it has you obeying so well as he threads his fingers through your hair, groaning as your hot wet mouth sinks down on his cock still covered in your essence. All it takes is a few harsh shoves of your face, his hand pulling you up and down like a warm fleshlight, and as he finally reaches his end, he completely pulls you off, arching your neck back in a way that leaves your mouth open as he spurts thick white stripes all over your face and in your orifice.

You make to wipe your face, grateful at least that this is all over, but before you can move even an inch, you yelp as you’re shoved back down on your back, hands instinctively trying to push at broad shoulders as your legs are once again forced open. You’re a quick learner though, and with one dark warning look from the man whose face is now hovering over your spent hole, you instantly bring your hands down to your sides, clawing and fisting the ruined bed sheets instead as Meian ravenously licks and laps at your dripping cunt. The disgusting wet sounds echo in your ears as pleasure and shame swirl inside of you, a crescendo ascending too quickly, too high.

But your thrashing and blissed out pleas to stop, to let you rest, only serve to whet Meian’s appetite even more. Time becomes surreal and meaningless as you drown and float in a mixture of pain and pleasure, brought to climax over and over again until you feel boneless, your pussy and body ceaselessly twitching, mind broken beyond repair as you babble incoherently, unsure of anything except the lips and tongue at work between your thighs.

You cum one last time, body barely moving aside from a slight shudder, too worn out, too dazed to even comprehend the fact that Meian unravels himself from you, wiping his face of your arousal and taking a few swigs of water before making his way towards your desk and dialing the admissions office number he finds. And as the phone rings and he leans back in your chair, he adoringly gazes at the sinful display you make, looking like the epitome of debauchery as your body splays out, a stupid blissed out expression on your face, reeking of sex and sweat.

He strokes his cock as it rises back to life, raring to go again as he licks his lips, tasting your sweet juices on his tongue, never stopping even when a voice finally comes through the line. He only pauses slightly to bite back a laugh when something shatters in your pretty eyes, a sliver of realization piercing through your dazed look as you hone in on his conversation.

But you do nothing to stop him, unable to do anything but listlessly stare and watch as he cancels your enrollment in front of you, hangs up the phone, and casually makes his way back towards you as if he hadn’t ruined years of hard work and decimated your future plans in mere minutes.

“There’s no need to go all the way to Tokyo for education, sweetheart. Not when I can teach you everything you need to know right here. Now open up your mouth so we can get your first lesson started.”

[bakubub]

Best friend rigs the Secret Santa for Bakugo and yourself to get one another...

A/N: Hi everyone!! Here is an earlier than expected part 3 of this random Pinterest prompt (find part 1 HERE and part 2 HERE). Ended differently than I expected, and even includes a snippet of Mina's POV. Enjoy <33

Warnings: Some low level swearing, SFW, very miniscule amount of reader flinching from Bakugo's overall aggressiveness, and accidental pain infliction from Bakugo onto reader.

Word Count: 2.7k (I really do not know so don't ask how)

Stupidity isn't typically one of my traits.

In fact, when watching sappy romance films with my friends, I'm often the first to call out the evident stupidity of the main character for not being able to tell that the love interest CLEARLY likes them back. Now, staring at the ceiling of my dorm, I wonder if I am that main character, or if I'm just an incredibly self-centered person for even thinking this could be a possibility.

Bakugo... Liking me back?!

It genuinely seems way too good to be true.

But why else would he be looking at me like that?

I sigh as I unlock my phone yet again and psycho analyse the photo Mina took earlier this evening. Eyes flickering to the screen, I realise that it was taken 7 hours ago, and yet I am still here, lying on my bed, thinking about all the possible reasons why he could have been looking at me in the exact way I've caught myself looking at him.

Maybe he saw the reflection of someone else, whom he actually likes, in my eyes?

Is that even possible?

Mina, Kaminari, Kirishima, Hagakure, Shoji were all there too...

Getting up from my bed and chucking on a long hoodie over my pyjamas, I stuff my feet into slides I use for around the dorms and make my way downstairs.

Maybe he likes Mina, and gets all weird around me because in one way or another I'm always next to her.

Or maybe he likes Kirishima. Isn't he like the only person in our class he kind of tolerates? Now that I think about it, they would make an awfully cute couple, what with the whole friends to lovers trope-

"Move it, dumbass," Bakugo's rough voice jolts me out of my thoughts. Quickly registering that I almost bumped into him, I mutter a quick apology and flush red before walking around him and to go dig through the kitchen cupboards for some sort of comfort snack.

What are the chances that on the one night I can't bear to see him, he comes out of nowhere? And I'm in my embarrassing pajamas- the long straight leg pants with little fairies and unicorns all over them! Shouldn't he be asleep anyway?! It's nearing 2 in the morning...

"Why the hell are you awake?" His voice causes me to jump, once again jolting out of my thoughts.

"Why are you awake? Don't you go to bed at like 8?" I ask, refusing to take my head out of the cupboard to look at him.

"Couldn't sleep," he mutters, his voice seeming to have come closer.

I peek out of the cupboard, only to see him staring at the floor with a blush on his face.

Why, why, WHY is he blushing again?!

I calm my breathing in a feeble attempt to slow the erratic beating of my heart as I open another cupboard, standing up on my tiptoes to see. Zoning in on a box of crackers on the very highest shelf. I begin to climb in order to reach it, before seeing a hand reach over my head to grab them.

I lower my knee off the bottom shelf as I register Bakugo's body and the heat he radiates as he stands right behind me, his exposed muscles flexing right next to my face as he reaches for the box. The familiar scent of burnt sugar fills my senses as he looks down at me for the second time tonight, before proceeding to step away, taking his delicious scent and my delicious snack with him.

"I- Hey! Those are mine!" I say, watching him open the packet and chuck one of them in his mouth.

Without even looking at me, he walks out of the kitchen, going to sit in the common room.

Huffing, I follow him, planning to snatch the box out of his hands and make a run for it. As I near him, he abruptly turns around, his energy immediately changing from easygoing to agitated, grabbing my wrist and coming incredibly close to my face.

"What are you doing?" I ask, slightly breathless, looking anywhere other than his lips.

"If you want the crackers, then fight me for them," he demands, voice low and laced with venom. My eyes flicker to look at his, and the sheer desperation I see throws me off a little. "Fight me, and then we'll both know that I'm stronger," he says, his hand holding my wrist tighter.

"Right now? Everyone is sleeping. What brought this on, anyway? We already know that currently, you're physically stronger," I state, narrowing my eyes at him. His physical test scores were higher than mine, though the same cannot be said for the written exam scores.

"I know that, dumbass! But somehow, every time I'm around you, I feel weak. My heart rate speeds up as if I've run one too many laps, my hands sweat more than usual, my breathing becomes uneven, hell, I feel like this even when you're not around! What is this, some sort of weird side effect from your quirk? It gets stronger and stronger, day by day, and it won't stop! I'm not strong enough to make it stop, to get my body to stop reacting the way it does. So, right here, right now, I challenge you to one final fight. I win, and you stop doing whatever this is!" Panting, Bakugo looks at me with desperation and anger, his voice rising higher and higher as his grip on my wrist becomes tighter and tighter.

Blinking at him, I feel my face go hot, my ears burning as I feel as though my heart was going to beat itself out of my chest to smack some sense into him.

"ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!" He screams, causing me to flinch at the sudden sound.

I shake my head slowly, beginning to speak, "Bakugo, I... My quirk doesn't have that kind of side effect," I say, watching his reaction carefully.

"What do you mean it doesn't have that kind of side effect? HOW THE HELL DO YOU DESCRIBE THIS THEN, HUH?!" He yells again, gesturing aggressively at his chest with the box of crackers clutched tightly in his other hand.

"Bakugo, let- let go of my wrist." I say, the pain of his tight grip having escalated.

Silent for once, he lets go, backing away to sit on the couch we had fallen asleep on last time we were here together.

"Bakugo, I'm not saying you do, but you're- you're describing-" I gulp. How the hell am I supposed to tell him that he's describing exactly how I feel when I'm around him? Feeling hot tears collect in my eyes from the complete and utter frustration I feel, I blink them away, refusing to cry in front of someone who values strength above all else.

"I...Um," My voice shakes as I look down, rubbing my hands over my face, "I don't know. Maybe you're just overworking yourself..?" I suggest weakly, looking at him cautiously.

Staring intently at the floor, Bakugo silently stands up, leaving without a word.

Releasing a shuddering breath I didn't know I was holding, collapsed onto the couch he just vacated, finally letting the tears fall.

He likes me back, but he won't even acknowledge it.

---

"Next period Midnight will go over this in more detail..." Aizawa continues, his voice lulling me to sleep, my head nestled on the nest my folded arms create on my desk. Nodding off into dreamland, I'm jolted awake when something hits my back.

Turning around with half lidded eyes, I look to see Kirishima pointing to the floor, where a scrunched paper lay.

I pick it up, opening it under the table inconspicuously, and read his message,

What happened to you and Bakubro? You both look dead

I raised my eyebrows at his perceptiveness, glancing toward Bakugo, who looked like he was struggling to stay awake, with dark circles and bags under his eyes. I quickly look back down at my table when I see his eyes flicker towards me.

That was close.

I sigh, writing that I had no idea why Bakugo was tired but that I couldn't get much sleep last night, and threw it back to Kirishima when Aizawa turned around.

Sighing once more, I pick up my pen and lazily flick it again and again, watching the hypnotising way it circled around my thumb and came back to rest between my fingers.

Maybe I should tell Kirishima about what happened, if only so he can break it to Bakugo that he apparently has a crush on me, but it seems a little... Intrusive and rude to just tell someone else about his personal problems.

Then again, I don't know how else to help him... Unless I tell him myself. Mina is a massive advocate for this option, but I just can't tell him face to face.

Maybe I should message him about it?

Wanting to scream on the top of my lungs out of frustration, I gather my things after Aizawa finally dismisses us and go out for lunch with Mina. Having already filled her in first thing this morning, she just patted my back and entwined her arm with mine as we walked towards the cafeteria.

"So, hate to ask this question when you're in such a shitty mood, but have you decided what to get him yet?" Mina asks, looking at me sympathetically.

"Nope. I haven't even thought about it since you last asked." Grabbing our food and sitting down, we continued chatting about what she was getting Kirishima.

"I'm thinking of getting him a headband to wear while working out to mop up his sweat and stuff but I'm still not sure," she answers, lowering her voice as the boys approach.

"Hey girls," Kaminari says, sitting right next to me.

"Hi boys," Mina answers, swiping a chip from Kirishima's tray.

I look up to see Bakugo looking conflicted about sitting down, and look away, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable because of me.

"Whatcha doin' Kacchan of the Bakugos? Sit down!" Kaminari calls out, patting the seat in between us.

"Yeah Bakubro, what are you waiting for?" Kirishima adds.

Sighing heavily, he reluctantly sits, facing away from me.

Hyper focusing on my food, and zoned out of the conversation, I eat about half of it before my eyelids get heavy once more. Leaning slightly on Mina, I fall asleep, hoping to catch a quick power nap.

---

Mina's POV

I look down at my best friend, eyebrows scrunched and her eyelids fluttering slightly as she falls asleep. The eyebags under her eyes are bigger than usual, and her dark circles are only getting worse as the day goes on. Looking over at Bakugo, I catch him glancing at her, a, dare I say, worried expression on his face, and I get a wicked idea.

Mina Ashido, you absolute legend.

I gently lifted her off me, and rested her against Bakugo, who turned back towards Kaminari for some absurd reason.

I watch him stiffen as he feels her weight on his arm, and then literally witness him adjust her so she's comfortable.

MY HEART-

I quickly take out my phone when he turns back around, acting annoyed to the boys but when he looks at her, the soft look that shines through his eyes is unmistakable.

Snapping a few photos of them, this time my phone on mute, I can't stop smiling as he checks on her every few minutes to make sure she's still comfortable.

This blind, blind boy.

I'm so excited to see what he's going to get her for Secret Santa.

It better be worth my efforts to rig that stupid name drawing.

---

Christmas morning, back to your POV

Fidgeting with the red bow of the present I diligently wrapped, a smile comes onto my face as Mina nears me in her red Christmas get-up.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS BESTIEEEE!!!" She screeches, running towards me with her arms held out. I laugh as I get up, running to meet her half way.

This was the 5th time today that we wished one another a merry Christmas. Now, at the Christmas party we all arranged, it only makes sense to say it again.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO, MINA!" I squeal, hugging her tight.

"Is that the gift~" She asks suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows. I nod in response. Since the freak sleeping incident (what is it with me and sleeping incidents?!) in the cafeteria, I made a conscious effort to avoid Bakugo for the rest of the week, which wasn't difficult since it seemed he was doing the same.

Mina made it clear that she didn't approve, but it was just too awkward.

Especially when sitting with the whole group at lunch, I couldn't just pretend he hadn't confessed his attraction to me, however oblivious he may be.

And now, today, I had to give him his gift.

That damned gift.

"C'mon!" She exclaims, before rushing to wish our other classmates a merry Christmas. Smiling slightly, I do the same, hugging everybody and eventually all gathering to exchange gifts.

I take a deep breath, as I approach Bakugo, who has no Christmas apparel on whatsoever, and hold out the wrapped gift to him. He looks at me with a stubbornly expressionless face, before handing me the present he held in his own hand.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I take it, astonished that we had somehow gotten each other. I turn my head to see Mina staring at us with the most giddy expression, watch her wink at me and immediately know exactly what happened.

She rigged the Secret Santa and didn't tell me.

Glancing at the blond boy in front of me from the corner of my eye, I see him tear open the packaging to reveal my gift. I see a flicker of confusion in his features as he realises what I got him.

I got him two books. One was a recipe book for the spiciest dishes around the world, and the other was 'Having a Crush for Dummies'.

Putting my hand over my mouth to hide my laughter, I watch his eyes widen as he looks around to make sure no one saw, stuffing the second book back into its packaging, and proceeded to look like a confused puppy. In the midst of his confusion, Mina takes advantage and plops a red Santa hat on his head with a little red explosion instead of a white fluff on the end.

He looks up at me through his hair which was now hanging low over his face because of the Santa hat, and stares at me in complete and utter shock.

How cute.

Without thinking, I take out my phone and snap a photo of him, which seems to jolt him out of his state.

Laughing, and definitely not ready to face him after two consecutive incredibly bold moves, I literally run away, losing him in the midst of all of our gift exchanging classmates.

Out of breath and panting, I sit down to finally open my gift, to find a new novelty Christmas mug packed snugly inside the box.

It was the bottom half of a green elf, with feet underneath that the mug stands on, encased in red Christmas shoes with pointed up toes and a little bell on each foot. The actual mug is striped white and green with 3 gold bells lined at the front, and a small red collar painted on the rim.

Unable to keep my grin off my face, I look up to see Bakugo watching my reaction to his gift.

Hesitating for a second, I damn it all to hell and get up, wrapping my arms around his neck. I feel him immediately stiffen but lean into the hug a little, though still not lifting his arms to hug me back.

"Thank you for the gift. I love it," I say, backing away and giving him back his personal space.

Flushing tomato red, he scratches the back of his neck, "tch, of course you do. I picked it," he states, before turning around and walking towards our friends.

I smile behind him, sporting a little bit of a blush of my own.

"Oi, dumbass, are you just going to stand there all night?" He yells, turning his head slightly to look back at me.

Laughing, I jog to catch up, and we make our way over to Kirishima and Mina, whom were also exchanging gifts.

At least he knows that he likes me now.

---

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!!

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Taglist: @tspice283 @iiclal @3daa

[thatslikely]

Monster - R.L.

Monster- (Young) Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader (unspecified house)

Warnings: descriptions of blood and violence

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I don’t normally write for the Marauders, but this was a special request for my best friend Ocean, who has stood by my side for as long as I can remember. I love you Ocean <3

Just a reminder: Y/N is Your Name, and thoughts/flashbacks are in italics.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @probably-peeves @anchoeritic @theweasleytwinsgirl

if you want to be added to my general or character-specific taglist, send me a dm or an ask!

----

Remus Lupin was a monster; a hideous beast deserving of nothing but a depressing life. A creature doomed to an eternity of rightfully earned misery and isolation. He was nothing more than a savage, barbaric werewolf.

Y/N, Y/L/N was a gorgeous and effervescent girl, who seemingly had the whole world rooting for her. She was exceptionally astute, a skilled and hallowed prefect, and unimaginably beautiful in every sense of the word. Someone who deserved nothing but the best.

While Remus would never believe it, he was the exact antithesis of a monster. To his friends, and to his great surprise, you, he was an altruistic, solicitous, and perceptive boy. A boy who you loved with every fiber of your being. A boy who needed to learn to love himself.

No matter what actions you took or words you sang, Remus sat in denial of your true feelings for him.

“But… why would you love someone like me? You already figured out that I’m a werewolf. I’m a monster, Y/N. You deserve so more than I could ever give to you,” Remus stated somberly. His eyes glistened with tears and were distinctly tinged with self-loathing. His normally soft, caramel locks were disheveled, and his worn Gryffindor uniform was wrinkled.

“Moony,” you started, Remus flinching at the nickname spilling from your lips, “I don’t care that you’re a werewolf. You’re breathtaking to me all the time, full moon or not. You have to understand, you’re not a monster! You’re someone I love. Someone I can’t live without.”

With the last sentence escaping your mouth with a plea, the tears that had been brewing in Remus’ eyes finally dripped down his face freely. He looked so broken, all the concrete walls that he had built up for so long crumbling under your acceptance and love. He was completely and utterly vulnerable.

He couldn’t be bothered to smudge away the translucent tears staining his cheeks, instead his arms instinctively reached to you like an infant, for a tight hug. He clung to your body like a lifeline; your soft and delicate skin drenched with a well-kept cardigan pressed into his aching chest. You felt so comforting in his arms, he could’ve held you forever. 

“Y/N… I love you.”  

The Great Hall was packed to the rafters with students adorned in varicolored robes, laughs and conversations dancing in one ear and out the other. The ancient, wooden tables were enveloped with pearly plates of every size, each supporting sky-scraping mounds of delicious house elf-made food. You promptly took the vacant seat next to Remus, reserved courtesy of himself, excited to see him after an endless day of droning professors.

James and Sirius were already plotting some sort of devious scheme, probably directed at their fierce rival, a raven-haired fellow fifth year named Severus Snape. You and Remus never became involved with the dastardly pranks, however, instead opting for unbiased pacifism. While a beady-eyed Peter was eagerly lapping up James’ and Sirius’ plans like ice-cold water in a desert, your stunning eyes lovingly locked with Remus’ handsome, mahogany ones.

You were quick to notice that Remus’ loaded plate of food remained untouched all dinner, contrasting the hefty meal residing in your own stomach. The full moon was approaching quickly, and there was no doubt he was worried out of his wits. You subtly motioned for him to pick at his plate, to no avail. 

If only he would allow you to comfort him about his monthly transformations. He had always been quick to shut down discussion of anything related to the lupine side of him, no matter how much you begged on your hands and knees for him to open up. 

“Remus, you really should eat. It’ll make you feel better, I promise,” you said with a concerned smile. The already troubled expression he wore fell even lower.

“I’m not hungry,” he said softly with strict finality. His face was painted with worry and guilt, a familiar but unpleasant sight. Once he noticed your gaze remained locked on him, he hastily covered up his unhappy expression with a small pseudo-smile.  

“Can you at least have a bite of chocolate?” you asked, grabbing a small chuck of delicious candy from a wrapper in your robe pocket. You extended your sugar-filled hand to him expectantly, and he obliged, grabbing the cracked square with annoyance. Once he started chewing on the sweet chocolate, however, his nerves relaxed and his demeanor softened.  

“Where’d you get this stuff, darling? Tastes quite good,” he asked, his words barely distinguishable thanks to the silky chocolate that filled his scarred cheeks. The nervous look that previously resided on his face was completely erased, a goofy grin triumphantly taking over.

“I’ll tell you, only if you swear to eat at least a little bit of your dinner,” you said motherly, gesturing your hands towards his plate of cold food. He emitted a sarcastic grumble before spooning some cold mashed potatoes into his mouth. He tried, and failed, to hide his gagging at the taste of the cold mush on his tongue, but he persevered, swallowing a few bites. 

“I believe I owe you some chocolate,” you said satisfied, this time removing the whole bar from your inky black cloak pocket. You ensured the bar was wrapped nicely before gingerly giving it to a giddy Remus.

“Now, where can I get myself some of this? They don’t sell it at Honeydukes, do they?” he questioned, before breaking off a bit of the milky chocolate, promptly popping it into his mouth. He kindly shared some extra squares with the other three Marauders, ‘thanks’ repeatedly passed his way.

“It’s homemade, straight from Mum’s kitchen. I get sent some just about every Sunday, so it looks like I’m your only source. Bummer.”

“Oh well. I suppose it’s worth it.” Remus rolled his eyes jokingly, sending a thankful squeeze to your interlocked fingers.  

The rest of dinner flowed along effortlessly.

----

Your droopy eyes languidly peeled open, revealing the lazy golden rays of light dancing across the stone walls of your cluttered dorm. The repulsive taste of mucus lingered at the back of your throat, an unwelcome side effect of your restless sleep.

Tonight was the night of the dreaded full moon.

Violent images of a bloody and wounded Remus flashed through your brain, causing a pained whimper to escape your throat. It always shattered your heart to see Remus returning back from a transformation, beaten, limping and broken. 

He made every effort to conceal himself returning in that state, cautiously darting to the Hospital wing, not wanting you to see, and subsequently pity him. But unknown to him, the tucked-away broom closet parallel to Madam Pomfrey’s provided a miniscule glance of his disheveled self every dangerously moonlit night.

You sluggishly got up from your bed, a bone-creaking stretch of your arms coupling with a sloth-like yawn following suit. You trudged through quicksand to the bathroom, quickly brushing your teeth to rid your mouth of the unpleasant morning taste that coated your tastebuds. 

Not long after, you threw on a comfortable outfit, one of Remus’ worn and oversized t-shirts and some sweatpants. If wearing his clothes could bring him a little joy today, it was worth it. 

“I like your shirt today. Looks quite dashing,” you said in a joking tone to the boy sprawled on the crimson-dressed bed below you. Remus was donning a holey, earth-toned t-shirt, topped with a matching unbuttoned, cocoa-colored flannel which complimented his messy mop of hair.

He sat up with an innocent smirk, saying, “It’d look pretty ‘dashing’ on you, too.” Remus’ cheeks gained heat at his bold comment, his mind imagining you wrapped in his clothes. Your goofy smile added to his favorite shirt would be near perfect.

“Wanna test your theory?” you casually asked, tiny droplets of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You were always a bit flustered around Remus, but the prospect of his shirt was too alluring to pass up. 

His face morphed into a slightly mischievous grin, and his hands quickly tore off the flannel overshirt that complimented the coveted top underneath. “Turn around for a second.”

You cocked your eyebrow in surprise before complying, pivoting your body away from the changing Remus. You envisioned his bare torso, dotted with sore scars. The exciting ruffling of clothes played behind you in a whisper.

Your eyes begged to sneak a peek, but they listened to Remus’ request, remaining clamped shut until he signaled, “Okay, you can look now.”

The prized brown shirt laid scrunched-up in his lap, his hands busily buttoning the few top buttons of his flannel, which was now stretched across his whole chest. After the flannel was fitted to his satisfaction, he tossed you the shirt with an amused smile.  

You promptly slipped it over your head, the familiar and angelic smell of Remus brushing your nostrils. The shirt fit like a potato sack on your body, but to him, you looked ethereal. 

Remus wasn’t seen all day, for he was locked up in his dorm, rotting away with anxiety. James, Sirius, and Peter all attempted to get him out of the cage he laid trapped in, but nothing, even the most enticing offers, would make him budge.

He finally emerged from his cave to the common room late into the afternoon, wearing puffy, red eyes with heavy purple bags underneath. You immediately ran to him, arms wrapping tightly around his stiff chest. He released a sigh before reciprocating the hug, a tiny, tired smile, resting on his face.  

“Good afternoon to you, too,” he breathily muttered in your ear. Your whole body sprang up with goosebumps at the feeling of his warm breath hitting your skin.

“I’ve been worried sick about you.” Your soft, relieved voice rang through his ears, guilt panging his heart.

“Don’t ever worry about me, honey. I’ll always be okay, and here for you.”

After stepping back from the solacing embrace, the other Marauders were quick to check on him. You stood away from their tight circle by the fire, simply admiring the laugh escaping Remus’ lips at one of James’ jokes. 

He’ll be okay, you comfortably told yourself, He’ll always be okay.

However, you failed to consider your own safety.

----

The pale strips of moonlight that shone through the window illuminated your glassy, saucer eyes, accompanied by your heart rapidly banging in your chest like a fast-tempoed timpani. Your arms vibrated with fear, and your ears remained steadily perked, listening for any stray howls reverberating from the Shrieking Shack.

You had tried your best to think positively: at least after tonight, he won’t worry for a while, but the images of a currently suffering Remus swam in your head, swiftly extinguishing your optimism.

Lupine-esque whimpers echoed through your brain, accompanying the ghastly memories of a bloodied Remus, causing your stomach to churn like the sea in a thunderstorm. You were plagued with such intense worry and guilt that you refused to remain idle in your dorm any longer.

If he remained abandoned by you every full moon, the scars that accented his skin would come back even more profound than last month. His chest would be drenched in his own blood, a familiar but nauseating sight. His leg would wobble to class every day just as badly, his knee sore and rigid. You couldn’t just sit and watch him break and heal again every month. Remus needed help.

You stuffed your feather-filled pillows under the duvet of your four-poster in the rough shape of a human body, hopefully convincing as your own. Then, you proceeded to noiselessly creep through your tranquil dorm, the minute tapping of your slippers on the hardwood blending seamlessly with the regular humming of the ancient castle. 

After safely out of the dorms and lifeless common room, you dashed to the Gryffindor tower, careful to avoid the observant eyes of patrolling professors. You softly muttered the password to the half-asleep Fat Lady, who you were well acquainted with thanks to the Marauder’s frequent antics.

You tip-toed up the cold, stone steps to the boy dormitories, promptly arriving at the fifth year dorms. You gave the sturdy, wooden door a light rap, crossing your fingers that the notorious night-owls would open up.

Your desperate wish was soon granted, a worried James peeling open the door, revealing the rest of the Marauders sitting in a circle on the rug behind him. “What’s up?” He whispered, a glint of mischief still present in his eyes, “you worried about Moony, too?”

“N- well yes, but I’m not here for a group therapy session. I need your cloak. The invisible one,” you quietly stated, confident and determined.

“What could you possibly be up to? Something tells me it’s not just a trip to the kitchens.” James looked considerably more suspicious, his knuckles’ grip tightening on the door. Sirius got up from his spot on the floor, approaching the door frame. 

“Er- just give me the cloak, please? I can’t sit around knowing he’s suffering alone out there. Not anymore.” Your eyes threatened to fill with tears, but you successfully fought to keep them under control.

“Y/N, is this really the best idea? I know you two are ‘in love or whatever’ but is it worth dying for? You and I both know the danger of his condition.” You winced at James’ words before stubbornly nodding, determined to leave with the cloak.  

“At least let us go with you. I don’t think Moony would want his girlfriend dying, especially if it was his fault.” Sirius snatched his wand and coat from the nightstand, ready to accompany you to the lupine love of your life.

“I’m sure that there’s no way in hell I could stop you guys, but, please, don’t worry about me. I’m a perfectly capable witch, believe it or not.”

James uneasily handed you the cloak while Sirius gave you a comforting pat on the back. You turned away from the dorm, your mind set on the Shrieking Shack. 

----

The fierce wind howled through the towering, spiky trees, not soothing your jittery nerves in the slightest. The previously clear, starry sky was now blanketed with inky storm clouds. The ground occasionally rattled with booming thunder, making your tingly legs shake even more.

Your wand was out and eager to spew spells at any unusual sights or sounds, despite knowing that the only real threat, Remus, resided exclusively in the shack. You gradually inched closer to the Whomping Willow, not exhibiting any Gryffindor-ish traits as you did so. 

When you were finally within range of it’s murderous branches, you skillfully levitated a rock to perfectly rest on the trunk’s secret pressure-point, paralyzing its wooden limbs without a sweat. You ducked under it’s ancient roots, running towards the demonic barks that echoed in the distance.

You tore the transparent hood off of your shoulders, dropping it on the porch of the dilapidated house. Your vision blurred with fearful tears, but regardless, you pushed the peeling door of the shack open, scared to see what lay inside.

Musty, forgone furniture was haphazardly thrown around what was presumably the den; deep and fresh claw marks mangled the grimy plush of chairs. Moldy tabletops were smashed in, opaque glass windows were shattered into millions of pieces, and there were unsettlingly large paw prints dotting the rotting floor.  

“Remus?” you squeaked, your throat tense and withdrawn. Low, animalistic growls could be heard from the second floor, and with a gulp, you slowly ascended the creaky stairs which groaned under your every movement.

“Remus…?” you repeated at the top of the desolate stairs, this time barely audible. “Moony?”

The level was eerily quiet, making you regret your decisions a hundred times over. You scampered forward, the small beam of white light emitted from the tip of your wand growing shaky with fear. He’s up here, somewhere. Thoughts of a suffering Remus drove you to peer through every room, fearfully expecting to find a helpless, balled up werewolf sitting in the corner.

Each battered bedroom lay devoid of life, disregarding the infestation of cockroaches that resided in the decaying walls. Your legs felt numb and uncontrollable as you stepped to the final bedroom at the end of the hallway. Remus must be in here.

You rolled your wrist around, making sure it was pliant in preparation for the spells that would likely need casting. You pushed the unhinged door to the side, ready to face your lupine boyfriend.

Barbaric, unintelligible noises tickled your ears at a low frequency. You walked silently into the room, the quivering grip on your wand increasing. You stepped further and further into the room, towards the bed that lay broken in the center.

A thunderous snarl from the closet jolted you around, invisible tears pouring down your face. “Remus? Remus, come out, it’s m-me.” 

Bloodied claws, sharp as daggers, dug into the aged wood, slowly approaching you like a predator sneaking up on its prey. “Remus, its Y/N. Don’t worry. It’s okay, I’m here.”

Inhuman, savage eyes pierced into your own soaked ones. Not an ounce of your boyfriend was left in the shadowy wolf; the way he slinked towards you viciously, the way bubbly drool fell from his twisted snout, the open wounds that characterized his back. 

His demeanor showed no signs of recognition, only ferine instincts ruled his primitive mind. “Remus… it's me…” Your voice cracked with heartbreak, a sob escaping afterwards. Silence, save for the deep, drawn out growls from the werewolf.

“REMUS! REMUS, TELL ME YOU REMEMBER ME? PLEASE, REMUS, PLEASE,” you wailed. Maybe you were yelling to get through to him, or maybe just to hear your own voice over your booming heart that drowned out your thoughts. 

Remus left you no time to think, let alone act, as your whittled wand thudded to the floor, and the vicious werewolf’s jaw sunk into your delicate collarbone. Sanguine blood splattered extravagantly across the decrepit room, its hauntingly intricate patterns tainting the rickety bed behind you, turning its dusty white sheets a sickly crimson.

A hoarse shriek rattled through your teeth as the feral canines dug deeper into your shredded flesh. Your vision went blurry, not from the tortured tears spilling from your eyes, but from mind-numbing exhaustion. The last thing you saw before collapsing onto the floor with a groan, your mouth contorted open in pain, was a quick flash of black and brown.

----

“Y/N… I’m so sorry.” Your chest vibrated from the lugubrious sobs escaping Remus’ nauseated throat. His lips and chin was crusted with a rusty red waterfall sourced from his now human teeth, his tousled, sweat-drenched hair rested on your heart. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“I’m a monster.”

Your dried, bloodshot eyes peeled open, taking in the confusing sight that surrounded you. You were crumpled on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, held by a sobbing, gory Remus. A melancholy James, Sirius, and Peter stood further back, taking in the depressing sight before them. 

Languid morning rays shone through the opaque glass of the window, the beams perfectly highlighting the slick trails of blood that dried all over your body. Your shirt was torn to shreds, the collar being the most mangled. Your shoulder stung with the pain of a thousand Crucio-curses.

“Remus… what happened?” you croaked, your throat unwilling to cooperate, its texture like sandpaper. His drenched, brown eyes looked up to you in shock, tears falling down his scarred checks even faster. Last night was nothing but a hazy black blur which made your head pound even thinking about it.

“What happened to me, Remus?”

“I turned you. You’re a monster like me now.”

“I-I don’t think I understand…”

“You came to the Shrieking Shack last night to comfort Remus, and well, he bit you. You’re a werewolf now,” Sirius solemnly said, his gaze pointed to his black Doc Martens. Remus soon ran out of tears to cry, his eyes instead spacing out, his mind drowning out your words and touches.

“I turned you into a werewolf. I’ve sentenced you to the same hell that I live. I’m so sorry, there’s nothing we can do. I’m a monster!” Remus shouted, his shaky voice the most depressing thing that’s ever graced your ears. You sat on the floor, wrapped in Remus’ sorrowful embrace, shocked silence filling the mournful room. Tears subconsciously coated your burning cheeks and chin, fusing with the rust-colored, crusted blood, creating a sickly pink waterfall down your face.

“Remus, it’s okay-”

“No, it's not. Not this time, Y/N. It's all my fault,” he cried, “I swore that I would protect you, protect you from that monstrous side of me, and now look. We’re one and the same. Except that I’m a truly vile being deep down. I should be gone.”

“Being a werewolf isn’t some cool superpower or something; it's a disease! It's a ravaging, dangerous, violent disease; it taints everything, it’s inescapable. A disease that the person that matters the most to me now has, and it’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have come to this school in the first place. I don’t deserve any of this. I deserve to die.”

“Remus John Lupin, don’t you dare say that you deserve anything even remotely close to death! I know being a werewolf is going to be difficult, painful, everything, but at least I have someone to help me! At least I have someone who isn’t just going to leave me on the streets and have me fend for myself. I trust you more than anyone, I know it’s going to be okay, okay? You’re far from a monster, Moony. You’re someone I love,” you choked out, your voice fading with pain.

Remus’ eyes found crystalline tears once again, and you held his bloodied head to your chest, allowing his ears to hear your slow heartbeat, cooing, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I love you. It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’ll survive, we’ll survive, together.”

[wonhaebunny]

a,, a crying katsuki fic— just,, maybe a prank by the rest of 1-a to be mean to katsuki all day but ofc they didn’t expect him to cry??? then they would just baby him the rest of the day the end :)

hi!! sorry for the late response, this took a fair bit of time to flesh out!! it ended up being like 2.5k long lmao OOPS. anyways i kinda strayed a tiiny bit from your prompt but i hope this is still okay :’) 

tw// panic attacks and just teenagers being idiots and slightly ignorant in general

-

it started as a joke.

really, it did.

they’d been messing around during lunch, and in the middle of telling a joke, denki had wrapped an arm around katsuki’s neck easily.

it wasn’t anything new, this routine. denki giving his affection, katsuki rejecting it remorselessly.

what wasn’t routine was the miniscule flinch of katsuki’s shoulders under denki’s arm, before he was snarling, shoving the latter a way a little too hard.

“geez man, accept my love!” denki had whined loudly, but the other just cursed at him with hard eyes. 

he was grumpier than usual for the rest of the day, but denki brushed it off as one of his many bad moods.

that was, until a few days later when hanta placed a hand at the base of the back of katsuki’s neck absent-mindedly during class and the blonde had whipped around so fast he sent his table flying, explosions already flickering to life in his palms.

“calm down, dude, I was just passing on the homework packets,” sero said, eyeing the blonde’s tensed shoulders warily. katsuki was silent a few moments, eyes scanning the classroom as if daring them to say anything, before he finally snatched the packet from hanta’s outstretched hand and sat back down at his seat with a scowl and his shoulders hiked to his ears. no one mentioned it, simply watching in apprehension. but denki’s brain was whirring.

he mentioned it to mina in passing during english class.

“dude, bakubro’s totally got a ticklish neck!” he said to her under his breath, and she turned to give him a dubious look.

“i don’t think he’s capable of having a ticklish anything, kami.”

their gazes both flicked over to the blonde in question, who was quietly working through his worksheet diligently like the nerd he was.

then, slowly, mina tore a corner off her paper and scrunched it into a ball, before tossing it at katsuki’s back. the two watched in silence as it sailed through the air and ricocheted off the back of their target’s neck. the second the ball made impact, katsuki’s head was snapping around and his pencil was snapped in his grip, explosions flickering in his hands again and earning a look of exasperation from present mic. katsuki’s almost feral gaze snapped onto the duo, and he gave them a look of pure wrath that they met with sheepish smiles.

word spread quickly after that, and it became a small contest in the class to try and touch katsuki’s neck to watch him squirm.

eijirou looked uneasy at the idea of riling him up like this, and izuku was downright annoyed at the little game, giving everyone who participated in it a disappointed frown. but everyone else continued nonetheless, even students like ochako and rikido getting involved.

tsuyu would brush the back of her hand across his neck when walking past where he was seated on the common room couch, and the class would hide their snickers at the way the blonde would jerk to his feet and away from the touch, palms crackling menacingly.

mina would wrap her arms around his neck in an impromptu piggyback in the corridors and get thrown to the floor for her efforts, grinning all the while at the reaction she garnered.

(none of them noticed the way katsuki’s shoulders would tremble minutely even after the touches faded, or the way his eyes would grow distant and panicked. of course they didn’t - not when he hid it behind explosions and loud cursing.)

it went on for more than a week, katsuki growing increasingly irate and agitated with each instance. he avoided everyone more, except for eijirou and, surprisingly, izuku.

he would eat his meals in his room, wear his jackets with the collar popped up. at trainings, his explosions were erratic and frenzied, and in class he would snap at anyone who approached him, reverting back into his anger the way he had in their first year.

“i think you guys should stop.” izuku had said quietly around a mouthful of pork at dinner one night. the class was seated in the common room sans katsuki and eijirou, who were eating in the latter’s room. “you’re getting him worked up for no reason.”

he’d been brushed off easily, the class laughing his suggestion away.

“loosen up, mido,” kyouka grinned, bumping his shoulder lightly. “bakugou’s just allergic to affection, we’re messing around.”

“you can consider this exposure therapy!” mina piped up, earning another round of chuckles.

izuku scowled into his rice. “you’re not therapists.” he muttered under his breath.

that night when katsuki and eijirou brought their dishes down to wash them in the kitchen, yuuga brushed past them and trailed a finger across the side of katsuki’s throat innocently, making him drop his plate and jerk away with a curse.

“will you fucking- stop!” he roared, face growing red instantly and lips parting in a snarl. “stop it! stop fucking touching me!”

yuuga apologized easily with glinting eyes and glid out of the kitchen, leaving katsuki hunched over the counter with clenched, trembling fists.

after a moment of tense silence, katsuki finally dropped his plate in the sink and stomped away, not even bothering to wash it. eijirou followed him quietly, turning to give the sniggering occupants of the common room a glare as he passed.

“you guys are being so unmanly.” he muttered with a frown.

“what an overreaction.” he faintly heard mineta pipe up from the couches as the door closed behind them.

“dude,” eijirou called, speed-walking to catch up to the blonde. he raised a hand to put it on katsuki’s shoulder but was shoved away roughly.

“fucking leave it, shitty-hair.” katsuki spat, storming into his room and slamming the door shut behind him.

eijirou was left standing in silence, staring at the closed door in frustration as he realized katsuki had gone back to calling him that goddamn nickname after the entire year it took to finally convince him to use his name.

it came to a head two days later.

katsuki had been studying at the common room tables while the class was out training. he’d fallen asleep at some point, head buried in the arms he had crossed over the desk.

the class started filtering in slowly at some point, eyeing his prone form slyly as they entered. eijirou was nowhere in sight, probably still outside, and izuku was at an internship meeting.

the one to finally make the move was denki. he sidled up to katsuki, inching a hand towards his unmoving form as the group watched in anticipation. then, as quickly as possible, he wrapped his hand around the back of katsuki’s neck, palm pressing flat against the skin, and squeezed.

it happened so fast denki was left disoriented. one moment katsuki was asleep and then next he was startling awake with a strangled curse, explosions crackling at his palms as he jerked away and to his feet.

“dude, dude, it’s just me, chill!” denki had cried between snorts of laughter, the entire class watching the scene in amusement.

but katsuki didn’t calm down. in his half-asleep state, he lurched away from denki’s outstretched hands with an aborted cry, sparks in his hands growing to dangerously large explosions.

“imagine that,” kyouka snickered into her palm. “the great and mighty bakugou katsuki, bested by a single touch to his neck.”

she didn’t see katsuki’s flinch at the words, the way his face twisted and his shoulders began to tremble.

spitting out another string of weak curses, katsuki turned away from them and towards the dorm rooms only to be stopped by a bewildered eijirou, who had just entered.

“what’s going on?” he asked hesitantly, eyeing his snickering classmates and then katsuki, who was trembling in his grip with a lowered head.

“fucking let me go, please, just stop,” the blonde whispered hoarsely, quietly enough that only eijirou heard it. the redhead blanched at the words, almost losing his hold on the blonde’s arm.

“what the hell is going on?” he demanded, at the group this time.

the class were still chortling slightly, unable to see katsuki’s expression from where he was turned away and assuming his shaking was in rage.

“you think this is how the villains got him?” mineta leered. “just a hand at his neck? must’ve been easy as hell!”

eijirou felt the flinch that ran through katsuki’s body at the words, and the blonde’s head dipped even lower, hair falling over his face. his breathing was shallow, chest starting to heave slightly.

“hey-“ eijirou began, but shouto was already cutting him off with a frown.

“that’s too far, mineta.” he said quietly, looking irritated. a few of the students nodded in agreement, suddenly looking less amused after the purple boy’s comment.

"i'm just messing around!" mineta shot back.

"well don't mess around about tha-"

a choked sob cut through the argument, and they all froze, heads swiveling to the source.

“bakugou?” eijirou asked quietly. the blonde’s body was trembling visibly at this point, shoulders shaking and hand pressed to his mouth tightly. a droplet of moisture fell from his bowed head and onto the floor, and eijirou blanched.

“shit- dude. bakugou.” he reached for the blonde’s shoulder only for him to flinch away from the touch violently, uncontrolled explosions roaring at his palms. another sob tore itself from the blonde’s throat, echoing through the silent common room.

“what’s going on?” mina asked quietly, looking completely terrified.

“someone get aizawa-sensei.” eijirou whispered. “i don’t- i don’t know-”

tenya ran off in search of their teacher instantly, and eijirou turned to the hunched over blonde, gently ushering him away from the centre of the room and towards a corner.

“bakugou,” he tried slowly, an edge of panic seeping into his own voice at the sight of his best friend’s tear-stained and rapidly reddening face. “katsuki. you need to breathe.”

the blonde shook his head, expression twisting desperately. “c-can’t,” he choked out, hand creeping up to clutch the back of his own neck. “can’t, i can’t!”

tears were falling freely at this point, staining katsuki’s shirt quickly.

“no, they’re- i can’t, please-” katsuki gasped, grip tightening at his neck until the skin went white.

eijirou’s eyes were starting to well with tears at his own helplessness, when aizawa-sensei came skidding into the common room.

“what happened.” he asked briskly, maneuvering eijirou away from katsuki smoothly.

“i- i don’t know, he just started-” eijirou tried numbly. “i don’t know.”

aizawa-sensei pulled katsuki out of the common room and into the corridor, and the class was left standing in tense silence.

“i told you guys to stop!” eijirou cried finally, voice shrill as tears finally rolled down his own cheeks. “i told you!”

his classmates flinched, all of them pale and shaken.

no one spoke.

they waited unmoving until aizawa-sensei was walking back in, a still-trembling but slightly better-looking katsuki trailing behind him with swollen eyes trained on the floor.

“someone better explain to me what the hell happened.” their teacher said finally, murder in his eyes.

mina was the one to do it, shakily explaining with stilted pauses how the game had started.

aizawa-sensei listened quietly, expression growing stonier with every passing word. when the pink-skinned girl finally finished with tears welling in her eyes, he fixed them all with a stare angrier than the one they had received after kamino.

“do you all know what that was?” he asked lowly. “harassment. you harassed your classmate.”

a flinch ran through the group at the word.

“sensei, we didn’t mean to-” denki began quietly, but he was stopped by the teacher’s raised hand.

“i don’t care what you meant. i’m telling you what it was. you harassed your classmate and led him to a panic attack. you’ve all been through enough together to understand the trauma that can follow your experiences as heroes, so why did none of you have the common sense to stop and consider why bakugou didn’t want you touching his neck?”

silence followed his words for a long moment, before realization dawned on the class as one.

“oh my god,” ochako whispered in horror, eyes filling with tears. denki and mina went very still next to her, stilling as their own eyes widened in guilt. the atmosphere in the room grew heavy, and their gazes slowly trailed to the blonde sitting hunched at eijirou’s side, still trembling minutely.

“i think you all owe bakugou an apology.” their teacher said finally. “every single one of you except kirishima and midoriya will be attending after school detention every day for a week.”

for the first time ever, there were no protests. aizawa-sensei pushed to his feet, and with a lingering glare at the group of them, brushed out of the common room.

when the door shut behind him, they sat in tense silence.

“bakugou,” eijirou whispered hoarsely to the unmoving blonde at his side. “can i-”

his arm reached out, making an aborted movement to hug the blonde before he paused mid-way. but a moment later, katsuki leaned forward to bury his face in the redhead’s shoulder and nodded weakly in consent. eijirou’s arm settled around him slowly, resting at his hip and avoiding his neck area clearly.

“b-bakugou?” denki started shakily. “i fucked up really bad. i’m sorry.”

katsuki shrugged weakly against eijirou’s chest.

“’s fuckin’ whatever.” he mumbled roughly.

“no!” mina cried. “it’s not whatever! we were horrible to you even though you kept telling us to stop!”

“i’m sorry, too,” ochako echoed quietly. “it was easy to forget how traumatic kamino would have been. you’re so strong that i forgot you were a person like us, and i never thought about how you would have been affected by it.”

there were murmurs of agreement throughout the group as they all gave their apologies to the awkwardly fidgeting blonde.

“this is fucking stupid.” he muttered finally, flushing slightly. “can we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

they all chuckled lightly.

“it’s nothing to be embarrassed about!” mina insisted. “if i was in your position i probably would’ve cried the entire time the villains had me!”

“honestly, i think they’d just return you at that point, ashido.” hanta mused, earning another round of laughter.

“well maybe that was my escape plan the whole time!” she cried dramatically. “we can’t all be inhumanly strong and powerful like our bakugou over here!”

she kicked at his side lightly amidst the class’ laughter, eyeing him cautiously as if checking if the touch was allowed.

katsuki just nodded at her once, making her beam as her shoulders sagged in relief.

“shut up, dumbass.” he rasped, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

from his side, eijirou watched the exchange with a faint grin of his own.

(later, izuku would return from his internship and receive a rundown on what happened. the class would cower as they received a stern talking-to from the green-haired boy that put aizawa-sensei’s lecture to shame, while katsuki sat behind him and watched the entire thing smugly.)

[onyourzeus]

in ruins | kyh

title: in ruins pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you genre: heavy angst, not a happy ending i’m warning you, small caps words: 4.0k

author’s note: i love hurting myself this way. 

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

you thought upon knocking on the door, you’d be greeted by the one person you have been looking forward to seeing all week. instead, an unexpecting friend of his unlocks it ajar, eyes peering over to your figure before realizing who you were. 

“wonpil, hey,” you greet him amidst the confused expression on his face. it brings him back to his senses, shaking his head slightly before fully letting the door open. he gulps slightly yet you catch it, but don’t question why he looks.. so nervous.

“is this a bad time?” you hesitate, taking one small step forward as you crane your neck to look around the apartment. wonpil immediately shakes his head again, sidestepping and gesturing his hand over. “no, no! please, come in. make yourself at home.” 

“okay, thanks…” you trail off, a small smile on your lips but a certain emotion tugging at your heart. with a better sight of the inside, you notice dowoon lying down on the couch with his phone on hand, seemingly focused on a game that requires both of his hands to control. wonpil closes the door behind you, and excuses himself to the kitchen before asking, “did you want anything to drink? water, tea?”

“i’m okay, wonpil. thank you, though,” you tell him, nodding your head to let him be. as he makes his way to get a glass of water for himself, you walk into the place further, taking in the minimal decorations and a few picture frames hanging on the walls. it’s been a while since you’ve set foot in the dorm, and taking in its unique scent and interior gives you some comfort from the anxiety building up from your stomach. 

you tell yourself that’s just how wonpil acts around you when younghyun isn’t around: a little shy, polite, and a smidgen bit careful not to say anything weird. you wish, at this point, he can get used to your presence. then again, you only get to see most of them whenever the bassist invites you over.

“hey, dowoon, what’cha playing?” you attempt to start a conversation, standing next to the edge of the couch where dowoon’s head rested. his sight is obstructed by the screen of his phone, so you bend down to check what has gotten most of his attention: genshin impact. 

“ah, jae had told me you rolled a keqing yesterday, that’s pretty cool,” you comment, and dowoon jumps from the sound of your voice so close to his ear. you get up, stepping back while apologizing. “sorry, sorry! didn’t mean to be nosy.” 

“no, you’re good—” he starts to say, sitting up from his comfortable position while pausing his game, haphazardly placing his phone on the side. a scratch on the back of his neck, he glances over to you. similarly to wonpil, he looks surprised to see you here. “oh! how’s it going?”

“it’s going,” you reply quickly, realizing more and more it doesn’t seem like you were expected to come. weird, you wander in the back of your mind, younghyun usually gives them a heads up when you’re coming over to hang out or just pick him up to leave. 

“did younghyun not say anything today?” an air of silence is felt, and now you’re more concerned when turning to look at his bedroom door— he’s not in there. 

“he probably forgot,” wonpil chimes in, approaching the living room as he sets down his glass. “hyung has been really busy lately, so it might have slipped his mind.”

“yeah, yeah. it’s no big deal. you’re always welcome here,” dowoon adds, an encouraging smile appearing on his lips. you reciprocate, albeit a little forced, feeling less sure of the fact that the plans you and younghyun had made and promised to pursue are starting to crumble beneath your feet. 

sighing deeply, you grip onto your purse and interrogate further: “he’s not in his room, is he?” 

the drummer and pianist steal a glance at each other for a split second, but every detail of their silent conversation is not lost on you. that’s a look of panic, worrying what you’d feel if they told the truth, rapidly forming excuses in their heads they can use to white lie their way out of the situation. 

“he’s…” wonpil begins, and dowoon’s ears have warmed up to the tense air looming all over you three. a door to the left creaks open, and for a moment you’re relieved. maybe you were overreacting, already affected by the many times something similar has happened to you, but there was no reason not to forgive younghyun.

 however, this time, it’s different. if that’s not him coming out of the door right now…

“hey, i’m gonna go on a run—” sungjin informs his roommates, locking the door in his wake. he finally looks towards the three of you in the living room, and given his certain sense of maturity— and analyzing what’s going on by the awkward expressions painted on your faces, he gives you a wave of his hand. 

“hi. you’re looking for younghyun?” 

“sungjin, i… yeah. where is he?” you let your breaths stabilize, not wanting to break down in the middle of what once was a familiar space, and is now becoming more and more foreign to you. as wonpil and dowoon remain quiet, pretending to busy themselves with his almost empty glass of water and overheating phone respectively, you keep your eyes on sungjin. begging him to tell the truth. 

he delivers, but his stare is hard, almost as if he’s hiding something behind the glassiness of his eyes. “he’s been out for the whole day. he said to not wait up on him since he still has another work schedule tonight.” 

as you stand there, knuckles turning pale with the way it holds onto your purse for dear life, you scoff sarcastically. leaving sungjin’s gaze, the anxiety had reached the base of your throat, restricting words of profanities to come out of you like a broken dam. 

“you can wait for him in his room. did you text him?” sungjin continues to console you, walking closer but allowing personal space between you. “i can call him while i run, he’s going to get annoyed eventually and pick up.” 

“yeah, i’ll do the same as hyung. we’ll blow up his phone so he can come back home,” dowoon joins with a perk to his voice, seemingly anticipating their master plan to succeed. wonpil nods along, but doesn’t meet your gaze, only swirling the remaining liquid in his glass. 

“you don’t have to do that,” you let them know as much as your voice can muster before breaking. “i’ll take you up on your offer of waiting for him, if you don’t mind. i’ll call him myself.” 

sungjin brings his fingers in between the bridge of his nose, contemplating on accepting the compromise. to hurry things up, you bring a hand to his shoulder and squeeze it gently. he seems to understand as he nods firmly, patting your hand before you let it go. 

“okay. let me know if he doesn’t come back in an hour, yeah?” 

“yes, sir.” 

“do you want some snacks? leftovers? are you hungry?” wonpil goes off with his questions, and it’s an endearing sight to watch him treat you so politely in his humble abode. honestly, at this point you’d rather leave and forget this day even existed— but you needed answers, and you know you’re not getting it from them. 

you don’t want to, anyway, because they shouldn’t be involved in this. they don’t need to be. this is between you and younghyun, and if you were to wait for him again, for the longest time— and maybe the last time, then so be it.

you’re not going to leave until you get what you wanted. 

“don’t worry about me, wonpil. i’m sorry for intruding on your night,” you apologize, bowing down before him as you make your way to younghyun’s bedroom. thankfully, he left it unlocked, and you swung the door open and close in an instant. with your back on the door, your labored breathing comes back— it took a lot from you to stay calm, collected, and unbothered by what’s going on. you didn’t want to make it a big deal, they’ve seen this before, and it usually gets resolved.

like you said, forgiveness was not an uncommon concept with you and younghyun. you believe it’s essential with how… complicated your relationship is with each other. you’ve fucked up a couple of times, said things that weren’t within your best intentions to, and younghyun didn’t hold grudges because of them. 

he would be upset, justifiably so, but after a day or two, you were both back to normal. he reassures you there wasn’t any bad blood, and he understand the frustration himself. 

from then on, you tried— really hard not to fuck things up anymore because it’s scary. it’s terrifying to think about the consequences of unwanted words, uncalled for actions with a person whose schedule is jam packed everyday, and his thoughts never ending. 

younghyun is always on the run, whether that be hopping from studio to studio or collecting ideas for a new song and another. 

it’s not like you aren’t busy yourself, but the degree to which he pushes himself further into his career is miles ahead from yours. and it’s not your place to complain about, it’s your choice to be supportive, though. which you promised. from day one, and he kissed you like it was the one answer he needed to hear.

you miss it. you miss him, his lips, his touch; everything that screamed younghyun, it’s right here. in his room. the only thing missing is the person himself, him. 

you walk over to his bed, kept clean and sheets folded. always organized, rarely leaving miscellaneous crap in random places. sometimes it’s intimidating, to visualize the kind of person who inhabits this room, but knowing who he is, you feel safer than insecure here. 

walking over to his desk, a black notebook sits atop with a pen to the side. ah, you notice the cap is missing, and you look for the miniscule thing all over the place. you find it on top of his dresser, and quickly put it back in its place. 

you guess, there are some things that younghyun forgets, that he misses, but never the big picture. 

you’re tempted to turn the pages over, but respect his privacy nonetheless. it might be lyrics he’s not ready to show anyone yet, and you of all people know what it’s like to write something new, a genre you haven’t dipped your pen in yet. it’s quite the daunting experience to bring it into the world, for other inquisitive eyes to read. 

most of the time, younghyun’s words are never amiss. in fact, they always fall in the category of perfect, for you. you don’t like to admit that because he will never believe you, so it’s best to keep it a secret for yourself. 

you enjoy his new releases better that way, making you feel more special in a sense that you’ve heard his melodies first. you’ve heard the stories behind these metaphors face to face. 

you wish you could see him face to face right now. 

before you forget, you pull out your phone and pull up younghyun’s messages with you. your text was sent three hours ago, and it was read which made you think okay, he’s seen it and acknowledged the fact that you’re coming over, maybe he’ll reply once he gets a break soon. 

he never did. 

you scroll up to the previous messages, a lot of back and forth short phrased responses that don’t mean as much as the way you guys would constantly bombard each other with long conversations. 

have you eaten? yeah, a lot. you? yup, out with a friend rn. ight, stay safe. u too. 

r u asleep? no, in the studio. oh, it’s super late. yeah, working on stuff. alright, text me when u’re home? i’ll try. 

he never did. 

feeling a tear fall down to your cheek, you wipe it away roughly and begin to type another text. 

i’m at the dorm. the boys didn’t know i’d be here. do you remember our promise? please respond.

your hand hovers on the send button for longer than you thought, and you bite your lip in anticipation for a decision so foggy in your brain. should you? should you be this upfront and accusatory? it’s not that bad, right, because he did promise. and now you’re here, the only one taking care of that promise— what’s his excuse?

i’m at the dorm. the boys didn’t know i’d be here. are you coming back soon? is what you sent instead, feeling the lump on your throat getting bigger and your eyes welling up hot, salty tears. you try to compose yourself. sitting on the edge of his bed, hands going over his white sheets as a way to ground yourself. 

you can’t cry, the walls are too thin and dowoon or wonpil will know. and wonpil will be too polite to leave you alone, and dowoon wouldn’t know how to confront the situation and just run to his room leaving wonpil by himself. 

it felt like forever that you wake up uncomfortable lying down on younghyun’s bed. you blink a few times before sitting up straight, your side hurting from the way you fell asleep on the mattress. you straighten out the right half of your hair that had been messed up having plopped down on the pillow, and look for your phone in your purse. 

it has been an hour since you got here, and no new notifications on your phone. 

you have had a fair share of getting stood up on blind dates before meeting younghyun, and at one point you stopped caring. boys don’t deserve your tears, you’ve never even met them and if they thought you were fooled by their persona online, then they were dead wrong.

but this is younghyun, the guy who proved himself different. the guy who came to your first date spot prim and proper, an hour earlier than the designated time. to think you were actually going to cancel this one because it was too tiring, too predictable at this point. 

but seeing his selfie that day, a table already reserved for the two of you and you haven’t even gotten ready yet, you felt guilty for assuming so wrongly of him. 

two years later, you’re thinking you should have listened to your gut all this time. 

as you are about to leave and practice what you have to say to the boys in the living room, the door opens and in comes a disheveled looking younghyun. his coat hangs on his arm, his hair a little haggard but his smile soon disappears upon seeing you invading his space. 

“oh, you’re here.”

oh? you’re here?

you stand up from the bed, eyes directly staring at him just five feet away from you even though he feels like a galaxy away with that kind of answer. 

“did you look at the texts i sent you?” you deadpan, trying your hardest not to seem fragile. 

younghyun shakes his head, plops the coat on his dresser and shrugs. “i’ve been busy, did you need something?” 

“you don’t remember?” 

he stands rigidly, his own fox like eyes avoiding your burning stare. they focus on the wall, with his lips in a tight line. 

he looks different to you. 

there’s something about the younghyun in front of you that makes you question your presence in his room. and how unwanted he’s making you feel. 

“younghyun, what’s going on?” 

“what do you mean by that?”

“don’t play dumb with me. you promised, hell, we promised we would see each other tonight,” you remind him, your voice rising a pitch higher and it strains your throat. you drop your purse on his bed, and cross your arms defensively. 

anything to make you feel safer in the cold that has entered the room once he got in. 

“something came up, i’m sorry. you know how work has been,” younghyun explains nonchalantly, still refusing to see you. refusing to tell you the truth with his eyes. 

it’s not enough anymore. 

“you could have texted? you could have let wonpil or dowoon or even sungjin tell me that , you’re busy, you can’t even do that?” 

“i don’t want to bother them.”

“well, younghyun, guess what? you’re bothering me!” your sudden outburst causes him to turn towards you, eyes wide and brows furrowed. 

they definitely heard that, and they’re definitely listening from the outside. but any worries about your image towards his friends had gone out the window by now, only to be left with an ounce of desperation for an explanation. an answer. an apology, even. 

he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and you’re scared to break off the eye contact at this point. you’re determined to tell him you’re not really mad, just frustrated. you’re not holding a grudge, you just want to hear it from him that he didn’t mean to do this to you. that he didn’t mean to hurt you this way.

your vision gets blurry, but you force the tears to pool over your eyes and not fall down. not right now, not when his gaze is steel and intimidating. 

“i’m leaving, stay as much as you’d like but i’m not going to be back until midnight,” he dismisses  you, grabbing his coat to bring it with him. 

a scorn burns on your mouth, words tasting like lead when you say: “leave, that’s all you know how to do.”

this stops him from his tracks. a pin can drop in the middle of the room, and you still can’t hear it. your thoughts are screaming, a headache forming on your temples not understanding how it’s come to this so suddenly. 

you didn’t mean that, but now your tears are saying sorry for you. you sob standing up, arms on either side and hands shaking from the pent up frustration popping out of your veins. 

you’re tired, so tired of being the one to adjust. of being the one to stay when he leaves, and foolishly wait for him to come back. only that he doesn’t, and this time he probably never will anymore.

“pull yourself together,” younghyun tells you, tone hinting pity which aggravates you further. he doesn’t look as mad anymore, but his shoulders are tense and his eyes fierce. “we can talk later. i have dinner with heejin and i still need to record kiss the radio later—”

“dinner? with who?” you snap, tears momentarily stopping with the mention of a name you’re unfamiliar of. “when did you schedule this? could it not have waited after tonight when i have been asking you for some time together for this very day?” 

younghyun rakes his fingers through already unkempt hair forcefully, distaste in his mouth as he shoots back at you, “i told you i’ve been busy, heejin and i have a song together and it’s supposed to come out in two days so we’re meeting up as much as we can—”

“yeah, okay. over dinner, at a fancy restaurant away from a recording studio, am i right?”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“younghyun, it’s my fucking birthday,” you talk over him, your voice speaking over the loud beating of your heart. sweat drips down your temple, the headache hammering itself on your skull as the tears escape down the surface of warm cheeks. suddenly, you hear yourself laughing. monotonous, without emotion, as you see younghyun’s scowl snap into a look of confusion, then of realization. 

“i know what the fuck i’m talking about, brian. and from the looks of it, you don’t. you never did.” 

“you should have told me—”

“and i need to remind you of that? after knowing each other for years?” you snap back. the walls vibrate with the volume of your cries, and you hear a knock on the door and a person asking if everything is alright. 

younghyun looks back, but doesn’t respond and turns to you with pained eyes, a fine line between guilt and feeling bitter. he knows he should have remembered. besides, your first date with him was on your birthday too. 

“enjoy your fucking evening, brian. i’ll see myself out,” you mutter under hot breath, breathing hard and eyes red. grabbing your purse, you walk past the man you thought you knew. and now he just feels cold. 

it stings when he grabs you, and he loosens his grip when you exclaim loudly. “brian, stop.”

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry i fucked up.”

“it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“yes, yes it does,” he pleads, pulling you closer to his body. you shiver, not liking the way he presses into you with a desperate attempt to forgive him. maybe if it wasn’t today, you’d drown yourself in his needy touches, inhale the scent you miss having all over your skin, kiss younghyun on the lips and understand he’s human too. 

not anymore, not when all the chances you have given him were taken for granted, and there’s nothing left inside of you to give him another one. you’re all out, exhausted from the waiting, the forgiving, the crying. exhausted from it all. 

“younghyun, let me go. please. i’m tired.” 

he hesitates, but once you pull yourself off him he releases his stone cold grip. your eyes hover downward, face sticky from the tears you have shed. 

no more. 

coming out of his room, wonpil and dowoon are nowhere to be found anymore. it was only sungjin, sitting by the island counter, scrolling on his phone absent-mindedly. he notices your presence, looks up and offers you that warm smile of his even if his eyes sympathize with your heartbroken gaze.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

you close your eyes, shake your head and offer a grateful smile. for him. “not your fault. i’m sorry you had to hear that. please let the others know i’m deeply sorry.” 

“text me when you get home, okay?” sungjin hops off the barstool and places his hand on your shoulder this time, transferring the kind of warmth you have been needing all day, all week. 

you know he’s just being kind, roped into the tail end of your disastrous break up with younghyun so you nod once. he doesn’t take it and adds, “i’m serious. if i don’t hear from you, i will text you. multiple times. you’ve seen me do it.” 

with no escape from his compromise, you emit a small laugh and firmly nod this time. “okay, sungjin. thank you.”

“happy birthday, by the way,” he consoles you, and you do your best to keep another wave of pain locked up. you thank him, accepting the side hug he offers you, and make your way out the door. 

as the breeze outside doesn’t do well in vanishing the evident sadness on your expression. you walk the streets of the city holding in a breath, careful not to attract too much attention to your lonely self.

you get home barely alive, shoes left on the doorstep and your clothes slithered off on the hallway. you text sungjin what he wanted to hear, and once you’ve landed on your bed, you let it all out again. 

birthdays were never really a favorite “holiday” of yours before you met younghyun on this very same day two years ago. 

it was as if being alive on this earth for another year was a favor given to you by fate, having to know younghyun even more as the days go by past it. as much as he created meaning to your birthday for the past two years, this time, younghyun had destroyed everything you built together. 

the pieces are too small, much too fragile to make your heart whole again.

[playitbackreplay-moved]

LITTLE MOMENTS !

SUMMARY :: In which Felix teaches Donghan how to bake ( but not really ). CHARACTERS :: Han Donghan, Lee Felix, Jeon Sunwoo WORDS :: 0.9K WARNINGS ::  none ( if i missed anything let me know ! )

Donghan let out a loud sigh as he sat at the table, staring at his boyfriend as he stirred the batter for the brownies they were trying to make. Well, that Felix was trying to make, since Donghan had given up a long time ago. Donghan loved watching his boyfriend perform mundane tasks like these, watching him while he was completely in the zone on something so miniscule that most people would miss.

“You know you could help me, instead of just staring at me, right?” Felix’s deep voice rang out, breaking the slightly younger man out of his thoughts. 

Donghan rested his chin on his palm, his eyes never breaking away from the look that Felix was giving him. “Yeah, but you just look so good baking, it's distracting.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but Donghan didn’t miss the way that his ears turned a bright shade of red under the complement. “When you asked for me to teach you how to bake, I thought that you would actually try.” his voice was low, almost a mumble, but Donghan heard every word clearly.

The slightly younger boy let out a loud, annoying whine, much like one a child would let out to their parents. “But you’re good at baking and I’m good at cooking, that’s why we work so well together!” 

“Oh really?” Felix raised an eyebrow, a smile threatening to form on his lips. “That’s the only reason we work well together?”

“And,” he drew out the word, looking around like he was trying to find another reason. “Because I love you?”

Felix just rolled his eyes, going back to stirring the batter. “You better,” he mumbled as the younger boy made his way over to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his torso.

“Oh come on,” he smiled, kissing Felix’s cheek. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he sighed, shooting Donghan his signature bright smile. “Sadly,” he continued after a moment, laughing at the way that Donghan’s face formed a small pout. “Now move, I have to put these in the oven.”

Donghan moved back slightly, sticking to Felix’s side as he poured the batter into a pan and placed the pan into the oven. The slightly older boy laughed lightly at the way his boyfriend clung to him, turning around in Donghan’s arms and pulling him into a tight hug.  Felix’s arms were also so warm and soft, making it the one place that Donghan never wanted to leave. If he was being honest, Donghan hadn’t been the most cuddly person. The rest of his members, all of them being very touchy-feely people, would laugh at the fact that he actively avoided hugs. Though, if he was dating a person like Felix, there was no way he could get  away with not getting cuddled on a daily basis, not that he was complaining. Donghan was slowly starting to realize that he liked to be cuddled and liked to be hugged.

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other’s company, neither of them wanted to be the first person to let go, though they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Sunwoo stood in the entrance of the room, a strange look sitting on his face as he watched the two of them. 

The couple broke apart quickly, Felix’s face heating up, instantly going to apologize to the older, though he paid them no mind as he walked over to the fridge, grabbing one of the water bottles out of it, turning on his heel and walking out of the room. Donghan felt Felix let out a deep sigh as soon as the older was out of ear shot.

“I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

Donghan raised an eyebrow at the older’s words, wondering why he would even think that. “You knew him before I even knew him, he’s just weird with showing his feelings.”

“I barely knew him, Jiwon only trained with us for a bit once I got there and Sunwoo was never part of training with us.” Felix shrugged, his eyes a little downcast and Donghan knew it was because his boyfriend hated feeling like he did something to make people upset with him.

“Look,” he started, making sure Felix looked up at him before he continued to speak, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. “Sunwoo likes you. In fact, he even told me that he thought we were cute together, he’s just weird about PDA, he gets like this with Jinhwan and Maisie too.” Felix didn’t look convinced though, and his boyfriend could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “He also probably feels weird cause he’s the reason Jiwon never debuted with you guys and even if there are no hard feelings about it, he’ll still feel like it’s his fault.”

Felix finally started to look convinced, nodding his head lightly at Donghan’s words, causing the younger to smile. “Trust me, he likes you,” he continued, with a big smile, grabbing his boyfriend’s hand. “Now, let’s go to my room cause Jinhwan’s out with Maisie and I want to watch a Disney movie and cuddle.”

His boyfriend’s eyes lit up at Donghan’s words, a smile forming on his face. “Can we watch Star vs. the Forces of Evil instead?” Donghan couldn’t help but smile at his boyfriend, nodding lightly before pulling Felix away from the kitchen, making sure to tell the older to put a timer on his phone so they didn’t burn down the dorm.

[foolishlovebugbaby]

ten-thousand miles gone

prologue

summary: they say time heals all wounds, but the one left by han jisung on your heart is one that you still treat tenderly. alternatively; han jisung reappears into your life like a whirlwind, knocking you off of your feet, after leaving you without a goodbye.

genre: angst

warnings: nothing triggering or rated

word count: 6k

note: in my head, the mind map of the way this particular fic ended went in so many directions, but this was very draining to write so i settled on the one that wouldn’t leave you hanging. 

been travelling these wide roads for so long my heart’s been far from you ten-thousand miles gone

In your younger years, life had always seemed to move gradually. Time seemed to be muffled by all the firsts and seconds that came and went like waves, distracting everyone from the reality of growing pains. But college certainly ripped off that bandaid, a cushion no longer supporting your fall into the harsh realities of life. 

Second semester of sophomore year had just ended, so now every college student across the country was making a beeline for the airports and bus stations, with tickets home clasped tightly between hands that were potentially developing carpal tunnel syndrome. Luckily for you, home was two train rides and a taxicab away. But like all your independent adventures of navigating life unhinged, no journey would be complete without twenty-something voicemails from your mother telling you to padlock your luggage and some vague, superstitious advice she read on Facebook. 

[To ma: yes, i didnt forget to pack your scarf and no, im not going to drink ginger and ginseng to ward off bad train spirits.]

[From ma: thank you. suit yourself , you will be bad spirit magnet !]

You chuckle and shove your phone into your pocket, hailing a cab with one hand while the other slings an abnormally large duffle bag over your shoulder. “North-Hill train station please.” You say to the cab driver and shove your luggage into the seat next to you. 

You let out a tired sigh and slump into the pleather seats. Butterflies swarmed your stomach- you always seemed to get them whenever you went back home. Back to the place of some of your greatest and worst memories. Somehow, through the years, the fear of seeing him again in that godforsaken town died down, because the thought of ever being able to see him again at all proved itself to be almost impossible. 

Even a fool knows this, you’re the best thing I’ve got…

You almost choke on your spit when that song comes on the radio. Of course that song had to come on so conveniently in the middle of your trip down melancholy lane. You have half a mind to reach over and turn the radio off, but decide against it when you see the cute old man bobbing his head to it. 

So instead your mind traces its steps back a few moments until all you’re reminded of is him. 

In your head you remember all these great experiences- graduation day, senior prom, camp nights during wintertime and summer carnivals down at the boardwalk. But then your mind tortures you and conjures up these images of what it would’ve been like to have experienced it all with him next to you and suddenly the memories become less fond. It’s treacherous, really, being your own worst enemy. But you learnt the hard way that time slows down for no one. 

When you get to the train station, you move in a daze. The muscle memory of validating your ticket and walking to the platform does all the work for you. And usually that would be a good thing, except now it only allowed you to stay in your head a lot more. It’s funny, really, how everytime you see posters and billboards of his group around you don’t flinch. Not anymore at least. Because you don’t know him anymore, and he’s probably forgotten about you.

Sometimes, you’re convinced he was just a character that your very active imagination conjured up to fill gaps in your life with meaning. But every time you open a picture of the pair of you way back when, you’re met with the reality that he was real. Even if it was just for a short amount of time, he was visible to you. Tangible. And meant galaxies to you. 

[From mama han: cant wait 2 see u back again ! have dinner with us soon xoxo] 

You smile fondly down at your phone once you’re situated in your seat, typing out a reply to the woman you consider a second mom. 

You thanked the universe for still keeping her in your life. Sure, her son would probably be known to you as the biggest jackass to exist for eternity, but she would remain sweet and tender in your heart for longer than that. 

[To mama han: can’t wait to see you too:)]

You don’t confirm your spot at their dinner table, because frankly speaking, the last time you stepped foot in their house was the summer before university when you went to drop off a box of jisung’s things that you found in your room- sweatshirts, t-shirt’s, notes and other miscellaneous items that demanded you remember every miniscule moment spent with him. And since then you’ve found every excuse not to go near that place. You knew it probably hurt the woman whenever you conjured up some arbitrary excuse to not dig in to her incredible cooking, but the finger is to be pointed at Han Jisung and Han Jisung only. Screw him. 

She sometimes tries to address the elephant in the room whenever you do get to talk during her visits at your childhood home. Like It would be great to have you both visit at the same time or Would you like me to call him? I’m sure he’s not busy right now. Yeah, subtle as a gun, but you love her still. 

You’re not one to believe in luck, and if you did you’d actually quite fancy yourself as the most unluckiest person of them all, but you thank the heavens that he’s never been back home the same time as you have. Either that, or you’re just way too good at being further than a 10-mile radius from him. Like last semester break, when you got word from one of your childhood friends that he would be in town so you decided to cancel all your plans of going back home under the guise of going on a group excursion somewhere up north. Obviously, all you did was stay in your dorm and binge watch Gossip Girl for three weeks, but you concluded that anything would be better than having to confront your demons- or demon. Singular.

What would you even say if you saw him? Realistically, not that much. Ideally, you’d destroy him with words. All that pent up anger for him leaving you behind and all the unresolved feelings left to concentrate in an urn you buried deep in yourself exploding like Pandora's box right before him. 5 years passed, and yet you still found it difficult to imagine what a conversation would be like with him again. 

Honestly, you’d tell him to stay a while longer, just so that he’d remain vivid in your memories once he decided to leave again. 

When the taxi cab pulled up in front of your childhood home, you were half asleep and in desperate need of a solid meal. “Thanks, keep the change,” you say groggily as you pass the money to the driver. 

You take a deep breath once you’re out of the car, your duffle bag slung around your frame. It’s been a very long time since you were last here. The months seemed to pile up without you noticing, and now that you think about it, it had been a good whole year that passed. You don’t know where the time went, but you were definitely here now. 

You trudge up to the door, ringing the bell once. “Hey ma,” You say as she squeals and pulls you in for a hug. “I’m glad you’re back in one piece, especially since you ignored my advice.” She says pointedly and ushers you in. “Yeah, well, I guess the train spirits didn’t feel like victimising me today.” She looks at you with her mouth hung open and slaps your arm. 

“Don’t say that!” She’s about to scold you more when your dad enters the living room in his pajama pants. “My daughter finally decides to show her face around here! Send in the doves!” You always knew that you got your flare for drama from your dad. 

“How are you doing sweetie, we missed you.” He gives you a big bear hug and you sigh. “I know, it’s been too long.” 

“There is not enough time in this world to mope around! Now, darling, it’s very late so your father and I are off to bed. There’s some leftovers for you in the toaster oven in case you get hungry,” They both smother you in a hug and you almost suffocate. “We’d love to hear all about your university in the morning. Sleep tight honey.” 

And so you’re left to your own devices. Again. Sighing, you reluctantly head up the stairs and make your way into your old room. A smile finds its place on your lips.

The room is oddly clean- you figured your mother must have emotionally cleaned in here (more than once) during your time away from home. But the walls are still the same ugly navy blue, and your star-print curtains remained planted in front of your windows with planet decorations all over the ceiling to match. Funny. He helped you decorate. Said it made your room feel like the universe was just the two of you.

You didn’t know that what he really meant was that you were his safe place.

You spend a good thirty-minutes unpacking, tinkering around your old room and texting your friends about your trip home. It feels like an eternity passed when you finally decide to listen to your growling stomach and go get something to eat. But you’re picky and nothing in your kitchen seems to entice you enough to devour it, so you swipe your house keys off the kitchen countertop and head to your door. 7-Eleven it is. You’re dressed in a pair of leggings and a pink sweater with fluffy slides to match, but you could care less.

As you walk out of your driveway and head down your street, you pass by his house. The lights are off (of course, since it’s an ungodly 1AM) and it practically looked like a dollhouse. 

You turn your gaze away. 

The walk to the local 7-Eleven is only 5 Hozier tracks away, so you reach there in no time. Your tummy growls when you enter, and you immediately head to the instant section. Hmm, ramen, tteokbokki or pasta, choices choices choices…

You’re too busy pondering to notice the figure clad in sweats and a baseball cap standing frozen at the end of the aisle, gaping like a fish your way. He practically isn’t breathing, but your presence had knocked the wind right out of his chest. 

“Y-Y/n?” He manages to breathe out, and you look around, confused. Did someone just say my name?

Your eyes slowly turn to his figure, and you can barely see who it is from afar. Tan skin can be seen from the collar under his hoodie, and dirty-blonde hair peeks out at the ends of his baseball cap. You feel like you’re seeing things, because you know that baseball cap. You bought it. 

Slowly, your eyes trail over his face, and you feel the air leave your lungs.

Jisung still remembers the last time he saw you. Well, the last time he saw you before he didn’t say goodbye. 

It was a Thursday afternoon, History class had just ended. On the way out, he caught a glimpse of you. He hadn’t seen much of you the entire week, but that was because he was actively trying to avoid you. But there you were, at your locker putting away your books with that puppy-dog expression you always wore whenever you were tired and in need of a good nap. He stood for a few moments, taking you in. Even if your hair was messily up in a bun with a hoodie two sizes too big drowning your frame, he still thought you looked like an absolute dream. He wanted to go up to you and ask you how was calculus? And when you pout and say boring, he would suggest you come over for some hot chocolate and a movie. And you would say yes, with a sleepy, lopsided smile, and his body would feel all warm and fuzzy at the sight of you.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he leaves his heart by the lockers, and with one last look, he walks away. His jacket does nothing to warm the cold that creeps its way up.

Had he known he wouldn’t get to see you one last time after that, he would’ve watched you for a few seconds longer. Had he known that you would fall sick and stay home from school the day before his flight, he would have told you to take better care of yourself. And had he known that the last time he’d see you would be when you’re drained and tired and down, he would have gone up to you to make you smile, one last time. 

He never stopped recreating pictures of you in his head, fearing the outlines of you would fade. 

Except now, as you stand a mere six feet away, he feels as though you stepped out of his mind and into his world once again. He can see you. You’re there. 

None of the pictures of you that he drew up in his head would ever compare to the way you looked right then. Beautiful, just as he remembered you.

Your name feels like a foreign language when it leaves his lips. 

The air is so thick between the pair of you that it makes everything around him slow down. He sees your eyes move from confusion, to shock, to utter fear and bewilderment, and then to pain. It feels as though a knife impaled his heart when he sees your eyes quiver.

He always loved your eyes. Dark brown, like freshly turned over earth, warmed by the sun. They look at him with sorrow now. 

Your arms drop to your sides and your lips quake, “J-Jisung?” God, he forgot what it was like to hear his name in your voice. He hates that it’s said with so much heartache. 

You run out without thinking twice. 

“Stop, slow down! W-wait!” You hear his voice call out for you, but you continue to run- where? You don’t know. You just wanted to get away. Your feet take you far down the sidewalk, lamp-posts your only source of light at this time of night. 

But you’re not fast enough, and for the first time in a long time, you feel his grip on your arm.

“Let go of me,” You say, your voice already breaking. He breaks with it.

“Y/N listen-” He pants out.

“No, let go of me!” You snatch your arm away from his grip. God, you’re furious. And hurt. And every other emotion there is to feel when you see the person who left you with nothing.

Your raised voice startles the two of you, and you both stand there for a moment, breathless. From running, from shock. 

He doesn’t say anything and just gapes at you, “Well?” You provoke pointedly. “What? Cat got your tongue?” 

“No ‘Hey y/n! How’ve you been? Long time no see since, you know, I abandoned you’.” You say harshly and the knife in his heart twists. 

“I know you’re hurt-” You cut him off.

“Hurt? Hurt? Hurt doesn’t even come close to what I feel, Jisung.” All the words you want to spew get caught in the back of your throat and you fight yourself to keep it together because you don’t want him to see you cry. You don’t want him to catch you vulnerable and raw, because you don’t know if you can trust him with that part of you again.

“Can we please just- can we please just talk?” He begs, and you scoff. “Please?” His eyes plead with you, and you frustratedly run a hand through your hair. 

“So talk.” You cross your arms over your chest and look at anywhere but him. He doesn’t say anything, and each time he tries to, all he does is end up biting his tongue. Where does he even begin?

“I’m sorry,” He croaks out, even though it’s the worst thing to say. 

“Great. All is forgiven.” You’re ruthless, but that’s only because he didn’t show any mercy when he left. 

He searches your eyes, not knowing what he could say to make things right. Or if that was even a possibility anymore. You both stand in silence for a while, and slowly your resolve breaks away.

“Why?” You say, your voice coarse and exhausted. “Why’d you do it? I tortured myself for months- no, years asking myself what I did wrong that caused you to leave me like that. What- was it something I said? Something I did? Please- tell me, I’m begging you,” You’re full-on sobbing now, tears flowing down your face like waves. They twinkle in the warm streetlights and he feels the ground beneath him crumble. The wound he left on your heart was ripped open again, and you couldn’t help but bleed in front of him. “P-please, Jisung. It’s been killing me for so long.” 

Tears leave his eyes, “It wasn’t your fault,” He says softly. 

“Then what was it? Because for all this time I broke myself down, questioning why you left like that. For so long I thought you were mad at me- I thought you became tired of me, bored of having me around. Do you know what that’s like? Tearing yourself apart to find answers you know you can’t answer by yourself?” “Shit, I thought you didn’t need me anymore. Which sucked, because I needed you.” You whisper through ragged breaths and he takes careful steps closer to you. 

“Of course I still needed you- I haven’t stopped needing you, y/n.” His voice is as broken as yours.

“Then why?” Your voice is barely above a whisper and you struggle so hard to not fall to the ground. 

“Do you know what it felt like to wake up one morning, clueless and thinking everything was fine, and then finding out that it was, in fact, not? Do you know what it was like to find out the person you cared for the most up and left you alone and with no explanation- not even a single goodbye? To be desperate to hear his voice again, and wonder to yourself why it was so easy for him to cut you off like that?” He stood right in front of you, so close that he could touch you. 

“I searched for you. I still looked for you in the hallways at school, hoping it was just one of your stupid pranks. I waited in my room for you to climb up to my window again and whisk me away to the park for one of our late-night walks. I called your phone for days, just in case you’d finally get annoyed and pick up. You never did. You never did,” You didn’t notice that your face was in his hands and that he tried so desperately to wipe your tears away, his own streaming down his face.

He sucked in a breath, “I left like that because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get on that plane with you watching. That I would drop everything, all my stupid dreams, to stay in this stupid town for god knows how long with you. Leaving you was the most painful part,” 

“That day I found out I passed the audition- do you remember? You were so happy for me, more happy than I was. The only thing on my mind was the fact that I had to leave everything behind to chase after this dream- to chase after a dream that came true because of you. I wasn’t sure anymore. But you were so sure of me, so ready to see me attain everything we talked about, that the thought of all of that being in vain because of my cowardice ate me up inside. I thought that maybe if I could keep you at a distance- make you mad at me for ignoring you, have you hate me- that it would make it a little easier to let you go of me,” Your lips quiver.

“It wasn’t easy-”

“I know, I know that.” He rests his forehead against yours and squeezes his eyes shut as he hears your soft sobs. “It was so that I wouldn’t have a memory of leaving you behind in an airport. I wasn’t ready to have that image in my mind haunt me. I’ve regretted it everyday. You have to believe me when I say that.” 

“Then why didn’t you call back? Or even send a message?” Your eyes search his for answers as you pull your forehead away from his to get a clearer look.

“I thought you hated me. That you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.” 

“Bullshit. You thought wrong.” Angrily, you push at his chest with closed fists and shut eyes, “You thought wrong,” You push him away until you’re no longer in his grip. “Let me go,” You whimper when he tries to reach for you again. “That doesn’t justify why you left me like that. I felt like I meant nothing to you for so long. You threw me away like I didn’t mean anything- made me feel like I was insignificant.”

“You meant everything to me!” He shouts out, shocking you into silence. “Don’t you see it?” When you only stare at him in confusion, he sucks in a breath. 

“The mere thought of leaving you was enough for me to think twice. Sitting with you in French class and giggling because we didn’t understand a word, spending so many nights with you in your ridiculous dinosaur onesie, getting to walk around aimlessly until 4am in this godforsaken town as if time wasn’t fleeting- I-,” He runs a hand over his face, frustratedly wiping his tears away. “I wasn’t ready for it to be over. I didn’t want to miss graduation, the day we looked forward to since grade school. I didn’t want to facetime you on prom night while you look so goddamn beautiful, knowing that someone else would be getting to slow dance with you. Knowing that I wouldn’t be there, that I would be missing out- that I would be missing you every goddamn day made me realise I wouldn’t be able to last without you.” 

“Selfishly ripping you apart from me felt like the only option. And it was so cruel, I know that. I’m the selfish asshole,” He takes exactly five steps to stand in front of you, and places a hand tenderly on your cheek. 

“I was selfish because I knew I couldn’t have you. I was in love with you, y/n. So fucking in love and you didn’t even know. And after all this time, I still am.” He says that last sentence in a whisper, and before you know it, his lips are on yours.

His mouth is so warm against yours, so tender, and yet they set your skin on fire. 

You pull away and take two steps back. 

“Y-you don’t get to kiss m-me like that, not again,” You say breathless. You’re reminded of sophomore year, and the kiss in his living room that made you feel weightless and lightheaded.

“Y/n-”

“I think we’ve talked enough for tonight,” Your heart hammers in your chest and the blood rushes to your face so fast that you swear you’re shivering. His eyes are illuminated by the streetlamps and you see them break right before you, defeated. Yours are no different. 

You walk away, choking back sobs.

He doesn’t try to stop you.

It’s 4PM when you decide to get out of bed. 

Your eyes are practically closed shut from your lack of sleep and you don’t bother to brush your hair, or undrape the blanket around your shoulders when you head downstairs. Your parents are sitting in the living room, oblivious and unassuming, but when they see you they almost go into cardiac arrest. 

“What’s wrong?” Your mother asks tentatively, extremely unsure as to why her daughter looked so abnormally disheveled. “Did you know he was going to be back in town?” You croak out, and she sighs. 

“So you saw him.” She states, and your dad pretends to read the newspaper. 

“Why didn’t you tell me ma, you know what happened-”

“Exactly; everyone knows what happened, and everyone knows how ruined you’ve both been because of it. But nothing’s going to change if you keep sweeping it under the rug. Honey, I know you’re hurting,” She rests a hand on your cheek and you close your eyes at the feeling. “But this is your chance to get closure.”

“What if I don’t want it anymore?”

“Oh that’s a load of cow dung. Look at you; you’re a mess.” Gee, thanks mom. 

She bites her lip and pauses for a second, “What if I told you that during your first year in college, the very first semester you were away, he came back? It was the autumn before things took off for him, and he showed up in town looking for you everywhere, not knowing you had left. I felt so bad, but you’re my daughter, and my first instinct was to protect you because I knew that for the first time in a long time, you were enjoying yourself. So I didn’t give him your new number, said your phone was broken, and he was absolutely heartbroken. I regret it slightly, but maybe this time you both can stop being constantly out of step.” 

Your mouth hung agape and your head spun. He looked for me?

“Don’t leave things like this, you need each other.” She gives you a squeeze, and you sigh. 

She was right. Years passed with so many things left unsaid, so much time gone. And as much as you hated to admit it, you were never going to get that time back. It would kill you knowing that you didn’t take the chance to fix things. You were already broken down to your bones, what’s left to chip away?

You uncoil yourself from your blanket and fling it onto the couch, groaning when you realise you’re going to have to face him again. The events that had elapsed last night were still hard to wrap your mind around, and you found yourself wondering if it ever did happen. You could already feel your heart pound at the thought of it. His words float in your mind ceaselessly; so much so that when you step out of your house, you almost miss the slumped figure on your sidewalk.

He gets up at the sound of your door closing. 

His hair was messy, pointing every which way, and the same clothes from earlier were now wrinkled and crimped. His eyes devastated you. They looked worn down and exhausted, much like yours did. 

“Walk with me?” He breathes out, and you nod. 

Seeing him in daylight is different. As you two walk, you become increasingly aware of exactly how much he’s grown. He used to be only a few centimeters taller than you, but now you only reach his chin. Barely. But his skin is the same golden tan and his cheeks remained full. You’re close enough that you can smell his scent- a scent you didn’t know you missed until now. But in retrospect, you just missed him. 

You both reach the small park in the middle of your neighborhood, and you find yourselves under the big oak tree that he had deemed our spot all those years ago. You look up into his eyes, and for a moment you remember what it’s like to feel home again.

“Do you remember the first time we found this place? You were always so terrible at hide and seek.” 

You find yourself smiling at the memory. He hid from you, behind this very tree, for so long that it had felt like you spent hours searching for him. When you finally did find him, you were angry and upset with him with red cheeks to match. 

“That’s only because you were always so good at hiding from me,” There’s ambiguity that you didn’t intend in that statement, which brings you both back to silence. 

After a while, you gather the courage to speak again. “So about that kiss-” He winces and scratches the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry for catching you off-guard like that last night-”

“I’m talking about the one on your birthday, sophomore year.” His lips squeeze into a tight line and his round eyes stare at you dumbfoundedly. 

“I-I always thought you never remembered that. You never brought it up, so I thought that it was just a mistake.” You fiddle with your fingers and gnaw at your bottom lip, feeling the heat creep to the back of your neck. 

“Y/n, it was never a mistake. I wanted to kiss you- and I did- because I was sick of being confused about my feelings for you.” You look back up at him, “I didn’t bring it up because I was too scared of scaring you away with it all.”

“Well you should’ve, so that I wouldn’t be so confused either.” His expression changes, and you didn’t think it was possible, but it becomes even more defeated than it was a few moments ago. He rubs his face with his face with his hands, leaning against the tree. 

He’s about to speak again, but your lips reach his before he gets the chance.

His soft cheeks rest in your hands as you taste him, soaking in the feeling of his warm lips against yours. This time, for the first time, the kiss lasts longer than a few seconds. 

The sensation sends shivers up your arms and down your spine. When he kisses you back, he kisses you with so much fervour that you’re worried you’ll pass out at the feeling. But his arms grip you tightly around your waist to keep you there, with him, firmly in place. Your mind is fuzzy and your heart beats erratically in your chest when he squeezes your waist. Craving him like this is new to you, and yet you can’t help but yearn for more. 

Where words failed you before, you make up for it in slow dances across his lips. 

“It was worth it, right?” Your question comes as a surprise to him. 

Earlier, when the sun had begun to set, the two of you decided that public parks were not exactly the most ideal place to have a heart-to-heart. So you walked back to his place, hands shoved in to the depths of your pockets, but your shoulders brushing against his with every step. 

The two of you laid face to face on his bed, pillow-width apart. 

“Leaving, yes. Hurting you, not at all.” He answers quietly, his hand drawing circles on the small of your back. 

Under his bedroom lights, you take his breath away. His eyes trace over your features, over every dip and bump of the outlines of your face and he hopes that this vision of you never leaves him. He takes in every mole and freckle on your face like it’s the first time he’s seen them, when the reality is that he always used to map out constellations on your cheeks while you slept. He’s afraid that if he blinks, you’ll vanish again, so he tries to keep his gaze steady on yours, unwavering and certain. The way he looks at you sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“I miss you,” You say, your voice meek and he feels his heart break all over again. “I miss you too.” You both speak in present-tense because even though he could touch you, see you, he knew it would take an indefinite amount of time for the pain of losing so many moments to heal. 

He pulls you into him, savouring the feeling of your embrace. Holding you makes him feel at home, and god knows he’s been away for so long. You nestle into the crook of his neck, and his hands rest under your sweater and on supple skin, willing your pain to go away. 

There are an infinite amount of things he wants to tell you, but he figures “I love you.” would suffice for now. 

Life never slowed down. As much as it felt like it had when you spent your days with him again, the days piled up one by one. And soon enough, time caught up. 

Soon enough, you would need to book your train ticket back to the city, because your three-week long semester break would draw to a close. He would have to book a plane ticket back to glitz and glamour, and the pair of you would wind up in the same dilemma that you were in five years ago. 

Only this time, he never leaves your side during your fleeting time together. This time, he tries to make up for all the lost moments within the span of three weeks. He doesn’t let go of any chance to be with you- to hold you, to touch you, to kiss you. He imprints the feeling of his skin on yours so that you never forget. So that he never forgets. Your eyes are cosmic in the moments that you share intimately, and he soaks up every inch of you so that he never forgets what it feels like to share the same breath. 

He listens to all your stories and all your bizarre adventures with a fond smile, because you tell them with such wonder that it makes him feel like he was there. Your voice is the only one he wants in his head. 

When he drops you off at the station, he doesn’t say goodbye. But not like last time; he doesn’t say goodbye because instead he says I’ll see you soon and Get there safely. When he watches the train pull away from the platform, he prays he sees it soon again because it carries his heart with him. 

He likes to imagine that you send him voice notes of your day and how frustrated you are with you OChem professor. That you send him pictures of yourself, and all the cute little cats you come across during your walks to class. That you send him long letters in the mail like the hopeless romantic that you are. In return, he would introduce you to his members- he knows you’d get along with Hyunjin the best, because you both would like to bitch about him while he’s still in the room. He likes the idea of facetiming you whenever you have the time, and getting to say he misses you, even if it’s only through a screen. He likes to imagine that in every lyric he writes, an essence of you treads in his words, because you’re his only muse. And he envisions the day when he’s finally back in the town where time slows, up in your room where the rest of the world crumbles away and your slates are clean once again. 

But for now he watches as the train becomes nothing but a speck in the distance, waiting for it all to play out.

[writingsofmyimagination]

Sweet Histamine

Sooo this was for the kwritersworld spring fic exchange!

My writing partner was @njssi . Sorry for jumping the gun :P The keyword Pollen Allergies with BTS pairing was an interesting one, but naturally because i’m going to hell I had to make it smutty! Enjoy!

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Summary:Who would have thought forgetting to take your hay-fever tablets could end so sweetly. 

Word Count:2663

Warnings:Smut (hot and heavy nothing too extreme), PWP. Swearing.

The sun was raining in through the window, sprinkling you with the glorious rays warming your skin. Your apartment overlooked an expansive park, clouds of leaves atop ancient trunks. The bustle of families, lovers and friends enjoying the parks greenery amongst the flowers and the centre piece fountain which offered a consistent flow of children wishing their pennies away.

“Achoo” you blew your nose and stuffed the tissue into the back pocket of your denim shorts.

“You forgot to take your antihistamines again didn’t you?” Jimin wrapped his arms through your and clasped around your waist from behind.

“Well in my defence someone was distracting me this morning” you twirled round in his embrace knocking his lips from your neck and redirected them to give your lips some much needed attention

“Don’t blame me, have you taken some?” his mahogany irises glimmered with a shy sense of amusement littered with sincerity. His hands dropped and rested at your hips as yours were linked softly at the back of his back.

“Yes, I’ve taken some, what time are we heading over to the dorms?”

“In about ten minutes if you’re ready?”

“I’m ready, all snacks packed and accounted for” you beamed “Achoo” When you looked up a smirk had crept on his face.

“Go and lie on the bed baby” Jimin demanded softly, tracing the outline of your figure with equal pressure.

“What?, We don’t have time for…” you protested

“It’ll take less than ten minutes I promise” his saccharine smile comatosed you into complying, like a puppy you just couldn’t say no.

“Lie down, eyes closed, no peeking” You rolled your eyes searching for a hint of his intentions before shutting them. You heard drawers open and close, the bed depressed as Jimins weight left the floor. His fingers teased open the button on your shorts, your hands flew to his in protest

“How is this going to take less than ten minutes” the words rushed out forcibly. You sighed audibly when he pinned your nuisance hands above your head and absorbed any more contesting by enveloping you into a heated kiss; which you naturally arched yourself into.

“I promised didn’t I? I just want to make your pollen allergies more…fun” Okay now you was confused. “Now are you going to behave and let me carry on or this will take more than ten minutes?”

Such a brat you thought.

He took your silence as the answer he wanted and you allowed him to slip your shorts and underwear off with no more complaints and one more sneeze into the back of your hand.

His lips first ghosted at your navel which was exposed thanks to the black off the shoulder crop top you’d decided to wear. His lips danced downward and you ceased to care about time. He knocked your legs further apart and your hands gripped round the pillow above you as his tongue continued to dance fluidly over your bundle of nerves. The interval was all too soon, pulling a wanting sigh past your lips as his left you. Before you could whine about anything his fingers took over the lead. You heard a satisfied moan of approval

“Always so wet for me baby, ready?” you didn’t need reminding.

“Mmm” was all you mumbled, not really knowing what you was agreeing so amenably too.

“Fuck Jimin!” you cried, the shock jumbling with pleasure. You’re eyes flew open and you rested on your elbows to get a better view. Jimin was sat on his legs, wicked grin plastered on his face, the wickedness also mimicking through his eyes. Your body adjusted to the feeling of Jimin’s great idea.

“I bought you some kegal balls, I was going to wait until your birthday but with you sneezing like nothing else I thought this would be a good opportunity to play with them to see if they’re fun” Jimin explained triumphantly.

“Seriously?, we’re going to be out?” you affirmed, your sudden anxiety glued your body in place.

“Exactly, I can’t wait to watch you become a flustered mess. You’ll be begging me to take you home”

Oh so he wants to play today

The possibilities of the next few hours flashed through your mind, working like acetone and unstuck? Your muscles into their normal state.

“I could just take them out” you challenged, fishing for his reaction.

“You will do no such thing, I’ll ruin all your orgasms for three weeks” Well. That told you. Lips pouting, he just looked at you bemused for a moment before climbing further and kissing the pout away. His knee pressed generously in between your thighs to feed of your gasps.

“Come on, we better get going” he starved you of anymore affection jumping up and offering you his hand to pull you up.

“Agh” Jimin’s palm burned into your behind, you exclamation was more the results of the balls shifting inside you. The feeling was like a half satisfied itch, it left you craving much more. Jimin’s smirk turned wicked as you finally realised how much torture you was going to have to endure.

“I hate you” you joked.

“You won’t be screaming that later, I promise”

 As soon as you arrived at the dorms the aroma of BBQ teased your senses and woke up your apparent hunger, especially when you saw that Yoongi was head chef at the grill through the large panel windows onto the balcony.

“Achoo…aah”  

I’m not going to last all evening

You brows furrowed, aiming directly for Jimin who met your gaze with a miniscule tug of his bottom lip between his teeth. Your blood heightened to a few more degrees, he knew what he did to you and how to get you.

“Where do snacks live?” you inquired holding up the bag of goodies.

“Just bundle them on the table in the living room with the others” Jungkook directed, carefully trying to decipher the snacks beneath the plastic with inquisitive eyes. J-Hope’s unmistakeable laugh ricocheted through the open plan living room and kitchen, drawing your attention from the large flat screen playing a standard music channel.

All the boys apart from Yoongi and Jungkook were lounging in the metal garden chairs, drinks in hands. Jimin tapped his knee and you sat obediently. One arm worked round your waist to sit lazily, fingertips ministrating slowly against your skin. You pleaded to your antihistamines to stop any more sneezing. Jungkook handed you a glass of soda, it sucked you was driving.

Food was cooked, food was eaten and everyone was full of delicious goodness. Now was the debate of what film to pick

“So Jurassic World two or Incredibles 2” RM announced.

“Obviously Jurassic World” Jimin blurted out in a high plea blanketing the pair of you on one of the corner sofas and slumping down at your side. Yoongi was sat non-chalant at the edge of the sofa quietly scrolling while the children squabbled amongst themselves.

“We’ve waited like 15 years for incredibles” Hope added.

“Yeah what’s wrong with you hyung, Incredibles all the way!” Jungkook blurted at Jimin and added in a slap on his legs for good measure before resuming his position sprawled on the floor on his front with V; both had pillows hugged at their chest resting their chins. He leaned into you as he flinched and his adorable laugh caramelised through your veins, the viscosity did nothing to slow your heart rate throbbing in your chest and the blood flooding down in-between your thighs.

“Y/N it’s all on you, you’re the guest, and we’ll be here for hours otherwise” RM suggested from the other sofa

“No pressure then” you leaned forward reaching for a bag of cool Doritos. “Obviously Incredibles” all you got in response from Jimin was a pair of bambi eyes with his lips at a pout.

Serves him right.

Jin drew the curtains and plunged the room into near darkness, the gentle glow from the lamp at the end of the other sofa chased away most of the shadows. The two of you were seated furthest away from the light, leaving you with the most shadows interrupted only by the rays of the TV.

“Achoo… bless me” your thighs squeezed together to cushion the sensation of the balls hitting your walls, you fidgeted your entire lower half until the hit had done its damage. A breathless moan reached Jimin’s ears and your peripheral vision discerned his lips creasing upwards.

“Want me to fuck you yet?” his whisper ghosted the skin on your neck causing a ripple of goosebumps to stand to attention. You turned your head to him quickly, your eyes sheepishly scanning the room for witnesses.

“Anyone need more popcorn?” you asked, your cheeks tainted a light pink as you got up and grabbed the two empty bowls on the table and headed to the kitchen completely ignoring his question.

The ache was becoming unbearable, but you were determined not to let him beat you. The microwave was whirring happily with you leaning against the side checking your social media to pass the time and distract yourself. Your boyfriend emerged in the kitchen not long after, sinful expression slapped on his face and grabbed at one of your belt loops propelling you into him, your dropped your arm to avoid your phone hitting his face.

“Can I help you?” you asked unperturbed.

“Yeah, I want you to answer me” his lips mere centimetres away from yours holding then in a desperate limbo. Your eyes sparked off each other, dangerously close to igniting.

“Why don’t you find out for yourself” you quipped, taking his hand and teased it down beneath your waist band. You knew he wouldn’t be satisfied with just a touch. Before he starting to tease with his fingers and before you’d completely cave and let him have you in the kitchen you pulled his hand away, kissed him in a heated burst shutting off his whine and not allowing a pout to form from his lips. The spark in his coffee eyes burst.

I have him

“Two can play the tease game my prince”

DING! Before he had a second to react you grabbed the popcorn and bowls and returned to the living area your chest puffed slightly and an accomplished grin sneaking through.

 “Hey guys is it okay if we make a move, I definitely underrated my lack of sleep last night” Jimin was at the living room doorway framing his small stature, he rubbed at his eyes and threw his arms up into a full body stretch.

From the shadows your head shook with a one sided coy smile.

He’s unbelievable

“Remember we have practice at half seven, rest well hyung” RM well wished.

“I will, I’ll just go pack some things, Hobi did you move that attack on titan replica to our room yet? Y/N’s been asking about it”

He really is unbelievable but he knows how to get me where he wants me

“Yeah it’s in there” Hobi replied.

“Come on then babe” Jimin prompted. He did not have to ask you twice.

As soon as the door to his bedroom was shut, he was on you, he pressed into you with a primal roughness you rarely saw from him. You tried to push back a little to stop from slamming into the door and hopefully cushioning the sound. Your hands were both scrambling at each other’s sides. His brown hair was silk underneath your fingers as they crept up the back of his neck. His lips scattering desperate kisses at your collar bone. You pushed him back harder this time.

“Not here” you half pleaded in between struggling breaths “Someone could walk in” You tried to take a few more steps into the neat light pastel pink room. You were always more cautious about these things at the dorm, naturally; especially when Jimin doesn’t have his own room when him and J-Hope are the only two who share.

“I am NOT waiting until we’re back at yours” He unbuttoned your shorts gripped at your shoulders and spun you round to face the wall, instinctively your hands flew to the wall, palms flat against the cool surface. “We’re not exactly going to be long are we?”

I definitely wasn’t

His hands entangled in your hair and with a yank your neck in full extension releasing a strangled groan from your throat. His lips next to your ear, his body tight against your own, his desperation digging into you.

“But you’ll have to be quiet, don’t want us to get caught again princess, can you do that for me?” your skin flushed with heat

“Mmmhmm” you answered, he relinquished his grip on your hair and your forehead rested against the wall as your shorts and underwear were hastily sent pooling at your ankles. The humidity shrouding you both was near suffocating, there was nothing but hot blooded need flooding through your system. You needed him to fuck you and you needed it now. His hands locked onto your hip and pulled you back slightly and pushed your back, you bent at his touch so willingly. Your fists contorted into balls as his hands stroked through your heat from behind

“I think we’ll use these again” he said as he pulled at the silver chain.

“Aa…” your hand secured over your mouth cutting any more noise from falling out. The emptiness you felt was anything but a relief.

“Jimin, I swear to god if you don’t hurry up and fuck me” he’d gone to his bedside table to grab condom “We don’t need ..”

“I’d rather not deal with the mess” he rushed, it was his turn to scramble at his clothes, his belt buckle clinked, the noise only served as to heighten your anticipation and impatience.

With his cock finally against your buzzing nerves, you tilted your hips in a fluid motion to get more contact.

“Always so impatient”

“Fuck” you breathed in a forced whisper. Jimin’s moan was flooded with relief, the fingertips that were digging sweet half crescents into your skin held you firmly in your place. Every thrust it was becoming harder and harder to filter out your moans through pursued lips. You were neglected of the usual beautiful sounds that Jimin would give you in moments like this, the sweet high notes that would escape him, the desperate and satiated whines.

You grabbed behind you, clawing at the side of his behind as hips began jerking unevenly as he was racing towards his end. You was both chasing that impending high.

“Stay with…me baby…I’m so close” you panted barely holding on to your own control.

More and more volume was slowly creeping out amongst the gasps and pants

“Fuck Jimin, I’m….” your body gave in to an onslaught of pleasure that threatened to buckle your knees. The pulsing of your core around him knocked him falling into his own release he’d so desperately held off for you. His body still behind you, breathless obscenities flowing from his lips under his grunts. The pressure at your hips lifted and a more delicate pressure enveloped your waist his head dropped onto your back, savouring the afterglow of the heat as it dissipated.

“I love you soo much you know that” he spoke into your back. Your body satisfied and no longer clouded with uncontrollable lust, sense and social awareness seeps back in; bringing back with it a rush of self-consciousness.

“I love you too” you rushed out “but maybe let’s get redressed and get your stuff” You pictured the content grin you knew he’d be wearing.

“It’s not like you to get shy baby, but fine!” he huffed, exposed your skin from under your shirt to bury a kiss against your skin. He separated from you and allowed you to cover yourself restoring all dignity.

“And for god’s sake remember to put those balls away, I will literally die of embarrassment if Hobi sees them”

[absolutelyxosmittenxo]

Imagine: Having Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna and Yang Xiao Long celebrate your birthday.

－ ＲＵＢＹ ＲＯＳＥ ⭐

⭐ Did you mention your birthday was on the horizon? Oh, boy. Good luck when Little Red finds out.

⭐ Energetic and adrenaline pumping vigorously, gravity has no limitations as Ruby is bouncing off the walls and nearly reaching the Heavens. The tiny huntress is itching the throw you a surprise party, contrary to the warnings her teammates have given. Sure, she has a tendency to get out of hand, but what could possibly go wrong?

⭐ Cookie dough is smeared on those squishy cheeks and small hands within a blink of an eye as she whips up numerous batches. It's enough to feed the entirety of Menagerie.

⭐ She somehow convinces the rest of her team to partake in the festivities, as they hang streamers and fetch supplies. Even sweet old Zwei pitches in and uncovers his most beloved dog treats to share with you. However, they are cautious from past experiences.

⭐ The silver eyed beauty cannot contain her giggles as she drags you by the hand to the party, trying to play it off as nothing important before the big reveal. Shouting a hearty "Surprise!" she nearly scares you half to death, but the pleasantries and delights revive your spirits.

⭐ She is hopping up and down as you unwind the gift wrap of your presents, cheering, "Open it! Open it!" And hugs you so tight while wishing you a very happy birthday.

－ ＷＥＩＳＳ ＳＣＨＮＥＥ ⭐

⭐ Birthdays were frivolous custom in the Schnee mansion; very little meaning was held in the word. But venturing to Beacon gave the heiress an opportunity to break those walls down.

⭐ Porcelain tips neatly folded over her gown, she inquires on your interests if she wasn't knowledgeable prior, paying heed as she devises a mental list for future reference. She wouldn't dare give you something you had no interest in.

⭐ Baking isn't a strong suit of hers. Klein was intended to translate those gluttonous fantasies to reality for the family. Yet in her pursuits, she musters a decent cake, a few tweaks needed, but is prideful she can improve as she tries again and again. And yes, the kitchen is practically almost burned to a crisp in the process.

⭐ Weiss is a sucker for spoiling you rotten. Guaranteed, you should anticipate stampedes of gift wrapped presents to topple through your dorm's door, transported via aircraft.

⭐ Ruby would insist on assisting, and uncovers once the W in RWBY complies, the B and Y tag along and she simply shakes her head, sighing softly at how grateful she is to have such a wonderful team.

⭐ You'll be content knowing how she approaches you, offering her hand as she leads you to the get together. "I just thought I'd get a little something together for you on your birthday. You've always made me feel special, so the least I can do is repay the favor." Undoubtedly, she's swept off her feet and you're free to reward her act of kindness however you please.

－ ＢＬＡＫＥ ＢＥＬＬＡＤＯＮＮＡ ⭐

⭐ Adept observation was inherited from the activities of the White Fang. Seemingly miniscule details won't be undetected as Blake evaluates each one of the things you say, retaining the memory as to hold onto what really counts.

⭐ She keeps her arrangements to herself; secretive through instinct, the Belladonna takes pride in her solitude. She desires to handle the responsibility of giving you a merry day on her own.

⭐ Companionship, no less romantic affairs, come few and far between for the midnight majesty, at least in a positive spectrum. But she cherishes you so very much. Why not make you feel amazing as you have done for her?

⭐ Of course, Sun intervenes - creamy yellow fur tickling her sides as to ensure she submits to his proposal, and Blake grants a chance to help out.

⭐ Speckles of stardust would paint the atmosphere as you are invited to the rooftops of Beacon Academy, evening air kissing your skin delicately. Blake stretches her hands outward, offering you something she spent time to design for you and you alone. Uncertainy gnaws at her internally, unsure how you would perceive the gift. Yet you disprove those concerns as you emphasize how appreciative you are.

⭐ "You've always made me feel so much stronger than before, helping me overcome my fears of the past-" "And not to mention helping her realize she can receive help from others!" the Wukong would chime in. "-Yes, and that. I just want you to know how important you are to me. Happy birthday, {Name}."

⭐ "Keep your eyes covered," she would command, escorting you to the dancefloor as music infiltrates your eardrums and your palms are upon your eyes. "Aaaand open!" Clusters of your closest friends have gathered, proclaiming their birthday wishes for you and warming your heart.

－ ＹＡＮＧ ＸＩＡＯ ＬＯＮＧ ⭐

⭐ The Xiao Long-Rose lineage doesn't take birthday celebrations lightly - they are an occasion to commemorate and treasure. The firecracker doesn't refrain from showing you how to be the life of the party on your special day.

⭐ Sway those hips, pucker up those lips, and party to your heart's content. Accounting for each year you have survived on this green Earth, Yang will pepper your body accordingly, setting her lips in a new section every time.

⭐ At a certain extent, you would be propelled into the air as your bombastic girlfriend declares how much she adores you and how the birthday kid belongs to her, much to your chagrin.

⭐ "You didn't have do to this, Yang," you mutter, aghast at the sights of flashing streams of multicolor lights, even a performance by Flynt and Neon raising the roof. She dismisses your thought, holding you in her arms. "I gotta treat my babe just right, don't I?"

⭐ As the evening draws to a conclusion, those hearty fists dissolve into a mass that melts into your hands, warmth overtaking it. "Thank you for being by my side when it seemed no one else was."

[umichenginabroad]

Arriving in Lyon

The 30ish hours from May 15th 6 9am EST/3pm CET (Central European Time) through May 16th 4pm EST/10pm CET were the most exhausting 30 hours of my life. I set my alarm for 6am because I (foolishly) thought that would give me enough time to take care of everything I needed to take care of before I left for 5 weeks. Spoiler alert [quite literally]: it was not enough time, I ended up sleeping in until 9am, and I only later realized I had left my milk in the fridge, so I'm in for a lovely surprise when I return.

At 11:32am, I left from the Ann Arbor Amtrak station toward Chicago Union Station, and the time it took me to finally arrive at the airport extended by about a full hour because of train delays on both the Amtrak and the Blue Line from Union Station to O'Hare. 🙃But then my flight out of the states was delayed by two hours, so I guess it all worked out...?

This particular 8-hour flight (or 10-hour flight, if you include sitting around for two extra hours) could have gone better, I sat next to a baby that constantly cried, so I didn't get much sleep. But at least this meant I was awake for our two in-flight meals, and handful of other snacks. The in-flight entertainment system had this fun tiny remote, and I didn't realize the lightbulb button was to control the seat light (I assumed it was to adjust the brightness or something) so my poor seatmates had to deal with that nonsense in the dead of night.

Once we landed, it was just a matter of getting to Lyon. I thankfully didn't deal with any more delays, and instead I just wandered around Charles de Gaulle for several minutes to figure out where my train arrives, only to learn the specific platform isn't announced until just before the train pulls into the station. I boarded a OUIGO train, which was decked out in bright pink and blue colors, and then dozed off as we traveled through the French countryside from Paris to Lyon.

I probably saw more cows in this particular train ride than I have in my entire life, which certainly makes sense given the country's fondness for cheese.

I found the architecture at St. Exupery--the train stop a short ways outside of Lyon proper--to be quite beautiful. I had two more transfers left before arriving at the campus, one onto the Rhonexpress, just a short shuttle/tram service between Lyon Part-Dieu and St. Exupery, and then one on the city's tramway from Part-Dieu to INSA.

At about 5:30pm CET (11:30AM for the folks back home) on May 16th, I settled into my rudimentary room. There's no WiFi in the dorms, but there are ethernet ports and we also got basic blankets and pillows. There was a fair amount of storage in the room, with drawers underneath each bed, a closet right next to the door, and even a weird ceiling basket in case you need to stow away even more things. A tiny bathroom, an even tinier kitchen with an itty bitty fridge and an absolutely miniscule icecube tray.

I was also greeted with this little sign on the toilet:

Which translates to: "Where are you going to be next year?"

"Back home with mom and dad", if you flush using more water, or "At INSA", if you flush using less water. This certainly reminded me of some of the toilet handles I’ve seen on campus at Michigan, but this featured a lot more guilt-tripping.

By about 7pm, almost everyone from the study abroad program had arrived, and we got to meet some of our INSA buddies! We were all paired with a student studying at INSA to help us get a lay of the land (e.g. apparently the on-campus eateries are only open during normal meal hours, so goodbye 3pm lunches and 9pm late night snacks). We spent the rest of the evening eating at a burger place near the campus, I tried to order my food in French only to realize I didn't properly understand the various options that my meal came with, so I enlisted a buddy for some help translating (and ultimately: for some help ordering as well). When it was time to pay, we went to the register on our way out--which was a bit unusual, I've never had to do that at a bar or sit-down restaurant back at home--and then we all parted ways for the night.

So much had happened in my last day in America/first day in France, and this was only just the beginning. Our classes don't start until Monday, and the time in between is dedicated to various campus/city/French activities. I'm writing this particular post 2 days later (obviously), so coming up soon are stories and pictures of the historic parts of Lyon.

a+,

Christina

Computer Science

Entrepreneurship with INNOV@INSA

Lyon, France

[imagine-korea]

BTS Christmas past

♥ Thanks @byoukye ♥

HEYYY! :D girl you specific ;) but you warm my heart anyway so no worries :p As always, Thank you so much sweetheart! I hope you like it :)

This was you third year celebrating Christmas with BTS and they had completely pulled you into the BTS Christmas ways. You went to the dorm very early the day before Christmas so you could help decorate. Hours went by quickly as you had almost done the entire livingroom and decided to make some more cookies, as the previous batch had seemed to have magically disappeared. Jin and Taehyung quickly came to help you. 

You could hear Yoongi playing Christmas songs on the keyboard you had bought him the year before and a smile made it's way onto your lips, enjoying these simple moments. that is until your smile fot replaced by a warning glare directed to Hoseok who was not so subtly stealing cookies, and when Namjoon did the same only minutes after, you decided to go for drastic measures. "Can you guys stop eating my masterpieces!" you yelled as you ran after him, following him into the livingroom where they were still decorating. 

This ending in an extremely unlucky chain reaction.

Namjoon bumped into Junkook who was holding a box, resulting in him almost tumbling backwards. As he tried to regain his balance, you couldn't stop in time and you tripped over his foot. You couldn't catch yourself so you fell face first onto the floor, your shoulder landing on a lost Christmas ball, crushing it into a million pieces. Luckily none of the pieces got stuck but you were now bleeding from both your shoulder and your nose. Jimin and yoongi ran to your aid, not even allowing Junkook and Namjoon to come close to you as they were now being yelled at by Jin about how they should be careful. Jimin practically carried you to the kitchen and sat you on the counter, ignoring your pleads to put you down, while Yoongi got the first aid kit. He tried to stop your nosebleed and Jimin cleaned your miniscule cuts, all the while, Taehyung clung to your other arm. "Are you crying?" You giggled as you felt him sob lightly. "No." He stated "I'm showing my empathy." "Well mister empathy, stop wetting my shoulder and light up. Christmas is made to smile." "Ah, daksal." Yoongi chuckled at your cheesiness. 

You heard Jin crack a joke as to not get all too angry at the two boys that caused the accident. "Whose nose is red and runny?" "Rudolf's?" Jungkook guessed confused. "No, Y/N's! Now go apologise?" Jungkook and Namjoon walked into the room, looking very apologetic. "Don't" You put your hand up, stopping them and they looked at you shocked. "Jungkook, I bumped into you so if anything, I'm the one that should apologise. And Namjoon , just stay off my cookies." He nodded and they both hugged you. "Now come on! let's watch some movies!" You cheered and you all piled into the livingroom.

"Hey guys," Jin stated as the third film ended and everyone was just slacking around. "What would you call Yoongi if he were an elf?" Yoongi gave him a warning look but he continued anyway "A wrapper." His signature laugh filled the room and was soon cut off as he was being attacked by Satan Suga. The night was filled with games, singing and laughter until the morning of Christmas day as everyone was passed out, scattered around the room. You woke up, a bit past noon, as one of the first. Taehyung seemed to have fallen off the couch in front of your feet, Jungkook was hugging your leg as he lay next to Tae and Yoongi's head rested on your lap, arms sluggishly around you waist. You sighed, knowing there was no way of getting out. "Good luck escaping them." You heard Namjoon from the other couch, you looked up and saw him on his phone, Hoseok and Jimin laying practically on top of him. You shrugged at him, chuckling at his own situation. You looked around the room, cherishing this moment with these boys, happy in a way that you couldn't go home at Christmas as you had family right here.

♥ Thanks for reading ♥

masterlist

[mx-requests-forum]

[Fulfilled] My Pretty Heonney

Prompt: Jooheon is tired of getting called pretty often by Minhyuk or Changkyun

Fulfilled by Moderator ReeLee~

Words: 1045

AO3 Link (for easier reading)

“Our Jooheonney is so pretty~” Minhyuk comments, leaning over to shoot Jooheon a dazzling smile. Jooheon merely gives his hyung a tight grin in return, an unreadable light filling his eyes. Minhyuk’s good mood falters ever so slightly, but he pushes it away. He’s the moodmaker, after all. If his mood falls, the interview goes sour.

“Our Kkungie is adorable, too,” Kihyun interjects, easily sensing the tension in the air. “The rapper line is always fun to have around, and they’re really cute dongsaengs for all the hyungs.” The interviewer hums in acknowledgment, scribbling down notes as she clearly readies herself for the next question.

She asks them something about ideal types, an incredibly typical question at this point. He gives his usual response, saying he’d like someone who’s the opposite of him. But, despite the progression of the interview, he can’t shake the feeling he’s said something to aggravate his favorite dongsaeng…

He resigns himself to having to ask later, when they get home. After all, he can’t very well ask in the middle of the interview… unfortunately.

 Jooheon ripples at the compliment from his hyung during the interview. Usually, he doesn’t care. Usually, he actually enjoys the endless compliments from Minhyuk.

However, today isn’t a usual day.

Today, he’s realized something.

Today, he’s come to terms with everything.

Today, he’s finally accepted his own feelings for a certain band member, and, once they get a chance, he and a certain vocalist will be having a very serious conversation indeed…

 After the interview, the boys are taken from the magazine’s location to the company building. With their comeback quickly approaching, they’re working harder than ever to perfect every millisecond of choreography, every miniscule pitch of the song. Everything has to be just right for their Monbebe. They have to make their fans proud.

 Later that night, with sweat pouring off them, they trudge back on shaking legs to their dorm. Their clothes cling to their bodies, and they find themselves very grateful for the cool breeze blowing through the air. They make casual conversation about things like who gets into the shower when and what they’ll be having for dinner.

Though, there’s a noticeable gap in the voices mingling together. Kihyun glances between Jooheon and Minhyuk, who by now are always impishly messing with each other and making a general nuisance of themselves… albeit in a good way. But, tonight, neither seem quite able to look at each other.

The main vocalist sucks in a breath through his teeth, hoping they resolve their issues soon. It’d be really annoying if they allowed whatever this is get in the way of their group’s dynamics. Then it’d be a mess he’d have to clean, and he’s got enough messes to take care of without their help.

 Minhyuk and Jooheon are left alone in the bedroom they share with Kihyun and Changkyun. Their other two roommates are too busy cooking in the kitchen for the others to be bothered with playing buffer for them. The vocalist glances over at his dongsaeng, unsure as to how he should approach the subject of his odd reaction during the interview, or even how he’d acted towards him during their hours of practice.

He’d purposefully put more and more physical distance between himself and the older throughout the time they’d been in the practice room. At first, Minhyuk had thought he was just being paranoid. But, the young man grew more and more obvious about his intentions, quite literally jumping away when Minhyuk had moved closer to help him with a certain move.

“… Jooheonney?” Minhyuk finally mumbles, playing sheepishly with his overly-fluffy comforter. Jooheon blinks rapidly in surprise at the older speaking. He hums in response, prompting his hyung to continue, but doesn’t look over. Minhyuk outwardly pouts at his actions, his paranoia worsening, but he powers through it. He can stand it when pretty much any member is mad at him… but not Jooheon.

“Did I do something to upset you?” Minhyuk asks. “You’ve been acting weird with me ever since the interview…” Jooheon heaves a breath, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in thought.

He hadn’t wanted to talk about it like this, but he isn’t very well going to lie to his hyung if directly asked.

The rapper finally tears his gaze away from his phone, and looks over to the vocalist.

“I wish you’d stop calling me cute and pretty,” he finally says simply. “It makes me feel like you mean more than you do, that you… that you feel for me a certain way.” He pauses, having to hold himself from closing the distance between them just to keep Minhyuk’s beautiful smile from falling any more than it already has. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it. It just gets my hopes up, and I know you’d never look at me how I want you to… so I wish you’d just stop.”

Minhyuk blinks his left eye repeatedly in thought. He hadn’t thought of it that way, of how Jooheon might one day feel…

Jooheon sighs, moving to get up from his bunk.

“Just forget about it,” Jooheon mumbles, Minhyuk’s silence very disheartening indeed. He feels it just proves his suspicions, and he wants nothing more now than to get out of this room.

Next thing he knows, Minhyuk’s grabbing him by the wrist and yanking him down into the bunk with him. Jooheon instinctively ducks to avoid hitting his head on the maknae’s bed above, which results in his head being held tightly against Minhyuk’s still-kind-of-damp chest.

“Jooheonney,” Minhyuk coos, humming a soothing tune. “Oh, my adorable Jooheonney~ …How could you ever think I didn’t love you with all my heart?”

Speaking of hearts, Jooheon’s quite literally freezes in his chest. He becomes paralyzed at the older’s words, his mind hardly daring to think the vocalist means what he thinks he does.

“You… You mean…?”

Minhyuk chuckles, and leans his head forward to press a kiss against his blonde hair.

“Of course, bumblebee,” Minhyuk replies. “I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious all these years, but now I guess not.”

Jooheon laughs himself, relaxing finally in Minhyuk’s hold and wrapping his arms around the taller’s waist.

“… I love you too, hyung.”