#this is me speed dating | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

willowser · 1 year ago

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bakugou + strawberries ; 2.7k ੈ‧₊˚ for our meet fruit collab ! ‧₊˚✧ ₊˚

mina suggests speed-dating.

first as a joke — you think — after the two of you spend too many weekends in a row watching sappy rom-coms on her couch while crying into a bowl of trail mix, and then a second time, and then a third time, after you refuse.

in her last attempt, she pulls out the big ones: her upcoming birthday. it will be so fun!! she tells you, with her big eyes and bigger pout, looking at you as if you'd hung the stars by saying yes. it's a cheap shot, really, because she knows you or anyone would do pretty much anything when it comes to mina the birthday girl.

— and that's how you find yourself here, sitting in too nice of an outfit to be spending your allotted time listening to a man bash his ex-girlfriend.

you might have found him a bit cuter if he wasn't doing that, or if he showed even an ounce of interest in you whatsoever. instead, he's treating this like a therapy session, and you're not getting paid for it.

when the timer rings, you're more than thankful. irritated enough, even, to spin around the room in search of mina — who is happily watching on as two men grapple with each other for who gets to sit across from her next. you suppose being a top hero is good for that, finding someone who is willing to give you their all.

to yourself, you sigh quietly and turn back to the little bowl of strawberries in the center of the small table, the flutes of champagne on either side of it. mina's bottle, you noticed, is almost totally empty; your last date hadn't even looked at yours, nor did he seem to think to offer you a drink.

it's not that you're jealous. really. you wouldn't even say that you're interested in dating right now, finding your job at the agency to be too much of a whirlwind to balance, anyway. you love mina: she's your closest friend, your home away from home, your cheerleader and personal hero — but working for her is nothing short of a full-time job.

sometimes your bed is a little lonely, when she's not staying the night in it after another rom-com evening, but you really can't think that you'd like someone in it, anyway, much less a stranger. it's hard to explain where your time goes, who it goes with; having to share that with someone, you think, would take more emotional energy than you have right now.

and maybe it also sorta, kinda has to do with the fact that the one and only man you're thinking of outside of work — is the same man you see inside of it every single day.

the very thought of bakugou has your stomach turning, painfully. the image of him in the late afternoons with the sun glowing in his hair, the gentle look he spares you as you wait for the elevator, how he'd looked at you today, when you told him where you and mina were going; you don't know how anyone could make you feel the way he does, at least right now.

the seat across from you is taken up suddenly, then, and you look up into the eyes of someone that looks — nice. a little shy, a little nervous, as they introduce themselves. they decide to pour you a glass of champagne, and they even tell you, openly, voice shaking, how nice you look tonight.

you smile so hard that your cheeks hurt, much to your own surprise.

"i'm actually allergic to strawberries," they tell you with a laugh, gently pushing the bowl closer to you. "that would be a hell of a first date, wouldn't it?"

you agree. "definitely one to remember!"

"well, in that case—" they joke, suddenly leaning forward as if they're going to pull it back towards them, and it's so earnest and sweet that you feel your heartbeat in your throat a bit. "i sound like i'm kissing up to you, but—you have a really nice smile, also."

you have to sit back in your seat, fanning your face dramatically as you both laugh. "wow, i'm not used to someone—"

"time's up, extra."

you blink so hard that your eyes are crossed when you open them, and you look up at the man standing there, waiting for his turn, just as the timer dings and the room comes to life with a bustle. the person across from you only frowns, too timid to say anything in response before they're getting up and casting you a regretful glance. they're barely a foot away before the chair is taken, so aggressively that it scrapes against the floor and shakes the table.

you can't believe what you're seeing. you can't believe bakugou is sitting across from you, right now, ruining everything.

"what—are you doing?" you hiss, though your feelings — with a mind of their own — flutter like butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him.

the scowl he gives you is ugly, as always, but his face is smoother than you remember it being today; freshly shaven, maybe. the cologne he's wearing is strong, woodsy, potent enough that it dizzies you from across the table, that you can only imagine how sweet it smells soaking into the soft skin of his neck. even the shirt he's wearing, you notice, is a button down that you've never seen him in.

"the hell do you mean?" he growls, face pinched as he leans closer, so that his voice doesn't carry as it usually does. "'s'it look like i'm doin'? saving you from some sorry dumbass."

"bakugou," you grit, though the room quiets as everyone takes their seats again, and you have to swallow back your annoyance so you don't draw anymore attention to yourself.

you're not dumb enough to think he'd get away without some people fighting for his attention, too, the same way they did to mina, and — as irritated as you are, suddenly, at his appearance — you're not exactly keen on sharing him, either.

"they were very nice, thank you very much,"

"psh," he rolls his eyes, a muscle in his jaw jumping. "couldn't even look me in the eyes to tell me to fuck off—"

"maybe because they were worried you would blast them through the window—"

"and i would have—"

"oh!" you clench your hands into fists and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will your anger back down. losing your cool isn't a good look, especially in a room of people that are trying to get to know you. "are you serious right now? why are you here?"

"you really wanna spend our five minutes doin' this?"

and there's something about the way he says it — our five minutes — that has your stomach turning in that horrible way it always does, whenever you bite into the softer parts of him. the look on his face is pensive, nervous if you thought that he was capable of being nervous. his shirt, his shaven cheeks, his alluring cologne; he's here, right now, on a date with you. pushed his way into it, even.

you straighten in your seat and sit back, dropping your eyes to the table, ashamed at the fire you've just thrown at him. "can you at least tell me why you're here in the first place?"

bakugou is silent for long enough that you can't stand not to take him in, how appealing he is to look at, how your heart sings when he looks back. one shake of his head has him sighing and then he's leaning back, too, staring only at the strawberries.

"this is her birthday thing, ain't it?"

"yeah," you murmur in agreement quietly, fiddling with your own fingers in your lap as your nerves harden into bitter disappointment. he's here for the same reasons you are, you tell yourself: for your friend, only.

distantly, you try to remind yourself that this nothing out of the ordinary. that you shouldn't be thinking of him this way, getting so hung-up on someone that's never expressed an interest in you to begin with. there have been a few late night conversations in the stairwell, that ran longer than they should have, that revealed more than they should have — but it doesn't make him yours. not in the way you want it to.

in an attempt to swallow down your own sourness, you reach for a strawberry, picking through them until you find the fattest one, and then bite it to the stem. a little stream of juice sprays out, dripping down over your bottom lip as you scramble for your napkin. you lick after it before patting at your face, spreading the sugar, the sweetness.

bakugou leans across the table so suddenly that you startle, mouth twisted like he's struggling to say what he's about to say. "alright, look—"

the timer rings, horribly, but his ruby stare never dims, never leaves yours and yours never leaves his, either, as if you're both suddenly trapped in a weird limbo of in-between; in-between the quiet moments, in-between the loudest ones, in-between everyone else, together.

and then mina notices.

"oh my god, blasty, you came!" she shouts, springing up from her seat to wave at you both from across the room. her earrings jingle loudly, bracelet beads knocking together as she leans too far to the left, champagne-drunk already. it snaps the moment between you and him, worry filling the gaps as you think about how you're going to get her out of here, once the night is over.

bakugou sinks a little further into his chair, as if it will hide him, before grumbling to himself. cheeks reddening, you realize; strawberry-kissed. he heaves a heavy sigh before digging his fingers into his eyes, deep enough that an ache develops in your own, and he opens his mouth to speak again when someone else approaches the table.

"okay, time to switcheroo!" he sings, grinning too cheerily at you, enough to make you laugh at his enthusiasm.

it darkens bakugou, considerably; "piss off," is all he says, scooting his chair further into the table as if to claim it. he barely gets another word out before the man is starting to protest, and the look he gives him then is awfully viscious: nostrils flared, looking up from beneath his long lashes and furrowed brow, as if this stranger had pissed in your champagne. "i said, fuck off, before i howitzer you through the—"

"okay!" you interrupt, reaching across the table with both hands to close one of bakugou's. his fingers are curled dangerously, and you swear you can see little sizzles of steam slipping between your linked fingers. "let's just—do an extra skip this time, okay? how about you just gives us this one, and you go to the next table?"

the man frowns — which is a bit flattering — but ultimately takes the lifeline you offer, trailing away without another word down to the next table. you can feel the couple on the other side watching you and bakugou now, a little open-mouthed, and your heart quickens at the worry that they're noticing him, that your new five minutes are going to be wasted, too.

—but his hand hasn't moved from yours and his eyes have returned, full to the brim with some emotion you can't read. if you had to guess, you'd say regret, maybe, but you aren't sure how to take that, and so you don't.

you should let him go, literally and figuratively, but the solidity of your logic is no match for the soft beat of butterfly wings in your gut.

"what are you doing?" you ask him again, softly, surely, because you want to hear the answer whatever it is. he either needs to deny you, here and now so you can move on — or he needs to acknowledge the confliction on his face, the soft intertwine of his fingers into yours.

bakugou looks at you now the way he does in the stairwell, the way he does when the sun is painting you warm, too. "i told you," he murmurs, "savin' you from some dumbass."

"but why do you even care?"

another heavy sigh falls from him and you can feel your glass-fragile heart breaking when his hand slips from yours, a little roughly. it surprises you when he grabs the champagne bottle from the center of the table and pours himself a small glass, downing it in one, bitter go before filling up your flute, too.

liquid confidence, maybe; his cheeks darken, noticeably, before he's running a rough hand over his face, still struggling to wash out the words.

"why the hell do you think?" he finally says, though his harsh question lacks the abrasive tone his voice usually has; instead it's gentler, more sincere, bakugou — katsuki — in his rawest form. "why d'you think i do—any of this shit?" one hand waves around to gesture to the span of the dining room, but you know he means more than that, much more. "you think i spend that much time after work just 'cause i have time to waste? jesus."

"i don't know," you say, earning a flat look. "why do you?"

"why do you?"

you take the glass from the center of the table and peer down into it, how it bubbles. maybe you're playing dumb and maybe that's what's really bothering him, but — someone like bakugou deals in absolutes, and you need him to do it now.

the struggle is clear, though, across his face, thickening how he swallows and turning down his lips that much more. you feel a bit bad in the silence, when the timer rings and the muscle in his cheek jumps again.

before anyone can even approach the table, he simply sticks his hand out, and the man beside you was definitely watching on, because he doesn't spare you a glance before going around.

and maybe, you think, decidedly, that's enough.

"because i don't want to go home yet," you tell him honestly, trying to ignore the blood rushing in your ears with his mouth twists and he starts to squirm at your truth. "because i'd rather spend the night with you in a stairwell, than anywhere else."

there's a ludicrous amount of tension that leaves his shoulders then, so much that you didn't notice it until it was gone, and he slumps back into his chair with pink ears, now. the sight makes you smile, widely, as if the sight is a confirmation.

maybe for him, it is.

"yeah, well," he grumbles, eyes dropping to the strawberries before darting away, as if he'd thought of something he shouldn't have. "that's what 'm sayin', too."

"no, you're not!" you laugh, nose crinkling when he side-eyes you with a frown. "you're not hardly saying anything!"

"i'm here, ain't i?" he argues, huffing like a bull. "makin' a damn idiot of myself just to stop you from—"

"—going home with some dumbass?"

"well, yeah!"

"so you want me to be going home with you, then?"

"yeah! no! i mean—" he scowls when you laugh again, lip pulling up over his teeth as if he means to bite into your softest parts, too. the thought is more thrilling that you're willing to admit — at least for now. "quit laughin'!"

but it's not just you; across the dining room, you realize mina's giggling, too, turned around in her seat, ignoring the chatty man that wouldn't shut up about his ex. when bakugou turns around to glare at her, she nearly tips out of her chair by throwing her head too far back, and when he moves to stand up like he needs to help her, all she does is wave at him to turn back around.

and he does, to you, cheeks flaring as he grabs the bottle of champagne again, pouring himself his own glass to glare into. he mutters out another quiet, "jesus" before slamming both his elbows on the table, rudely, and holding his glass up for — what you belatedly realize is — a cheers.

behind him, the afternoon sun has long since set, replaced now by nightfall and stars that shine through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows — but he glows regardless, and the look he gives you is just as warm.

#IT'S DONE I'M FREEEEEEE #literally i wrote both of these TODAY my brain is WORN OUT #somebody never let me wait this long again LMAOOOO #sorry that these are both dog water !!! :) i have no one to blame but myself !!!! :)#but it's DONE WEEEEEEE #WAAAAHH nikuniku gave me the idea of speed dating with bakugou 😭 where he just — absolutely refuses to play LOL #cuuuteeee #will edit in the morning brain sleepy.....#✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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stromulites · 2 months ago

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The Window to You, The Other

okay this is like, semi related. Pre-RGBverse stuff let's call it. My adhd addled brain can't figure out if it's consistent or not or if the convo jumps around too much but i also,,,,,kinda too tired to bother now, jkerlsdg.

Word Count: 1446

Hannah (IDU!gf) and BJ (IDU!bf) talk :) it's completely normal.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Sometimes it’s better, sometimes it’s worse. But whether he wants it or not, the smoke stings in his throat and burns in his lungs. A too bright fire flashes in his vision, his eyes already too dry to see anything beyond the white, black, and licks of orange dancing in mockery.

He’s dying, he belatedly recognizes. He’s dying, and someone killed him.

“Your death is an unrighteous one.” He hears Grayson say, days later when he finally stops running away. The older Reaper hangs over him like a vulture, eyeing its prey sprawled out on an open field. “...Come with me.”

The burning never goes away. It crawls on his skin and leaves him hating it. A persistent itch lingers in his lungs. The air hangs thick with black smoke and the scent of burning plastic. It’s his death all over again. He’s dead but it’s like his mind hasn’t fully caught up with the fact.

So like a rat in a wheel, it goes. And goes. And goes and goes and—

“BJ…? BJ! Liam!”

He jolts awake, body spasming as he immediately falls off of the bed he’s borrowing and onto the expensive hardwood floor. Between the mess that he’s made himself and the light thump of his landing, he’s no worse for wear thankfully.

Where the hell was he again…?

“...BJ?” Hannah’s face looks down at him from atop her bed, worry written all over her face. “...Are you okay?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah?” He replies, drawing a smile onto his face as he pulls himself upright. “Why?”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“You were having a nightmare again, weren’t you?”

He deflates instantly. Well, that’s kind of on him for trying to lie to his girlfriend.

“Kinda. Reapers aren’t supposed to really sleep, y’know?” he relents, averting his gaze. At least he doesn’t get the morning sleep haze like he used to. “...how long did I…?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Just ten or so minutes. Come here, you dummy,” she patted the mattress, inviting him back. “I’m still picking that new full body mirror my parents want me to replace, remember?.”

Instead of actually getting on the bed, BJ shuffles closer and sets his chin on the edge of the mattress. To accommodate, Hannah rotates her laptop halfway so that they both are able to see the screen.

“...They’re all so expensive.” Is his immediate reaction, seeing prices all the way to a thousand on the curated list Hannah had been given.

Her parents were still the same, after all; absolute control freaks in ever minute detail. BJ’s not sure how much energy they would need to micromanage all this, or how they have it at all. Seemed like a complete waste of time.

“...Not really? They’re only three-hundred dollars. That’s still on the lower end. My old one was in the five hundreds.”

He makes a face at that statement. Sometimes he forgets that she was also immensely rich and not raised in a frugal, stingy household like he was.

“Still, I didn’t think that Sebastian would destroy the old one,” Hannah remarked offhandedly as she continued down the list. “He seemed…fun, if a little gross.”

BJ winced. It was technically more of his fault, since he had riled up the older Reaper. But only because he would budge on who ‘Pinnochio’ was. Honestly he should’ve asked Rammy to accompany him. At least she was reasonable about her outbursts, and was liable to smash something out of nowhere.

‘Mommy issues: old man version.’ Not that Fafnir could be measured on a human age scale, but everything about her had promptly flew over his head.

“This one looks like my old one,” Hannah said, snapping him out of his musings as she pointed to her screen.

“...isn’t it kind of small?” He scoots further onto the bed to get a better look at the screen.

“I mean, maybe? But it has a wooden frame and backing. Maybe it’ll stand up to a little beating. Plus, it’s not like you need to walk through it to get to your…spooky dead people land, right?” She jabs, smiling.

“Why would I need a mirror for that…?” he asks, genuine confusion setting in.

“I’m just joking, BJ. There’s a lot of media that uses mirrors as portals is all.” She pushes the laptop aside after shutting it off. “TVs too. I guess anything with a screen can be a conduit to the supernatural.”

“In fiction,” he amends.

“Yes, in fiction,” she agrees. “...How is that side doing, by the way?”

“Huh?” He sits up a little straighter.

“You know. With Sebastian. I know Grayson left recently, but I don’t know what that really means for you. You don’t really talk about him now. You used to whine all the time about how he wasn’t letting you steal his coat or taught you something new.”

“Them,” he corrects as a habit. “It’s um…” he wrestles with the words to talk about it.

“You’re doing that thing with your hands again…” Hannah says, pointing out his fidgeting fingers in his lap. “...is it that bad?”

“No! It’s not bad, I still see them. They’re not gone or anything,” he crossed his arms.

“And the others?”

That question was harder to answer.

“...I dunno. I don't really go to Veilside anymore. Everyone I give a shit about is here; you, Grayson, my parents...”

“What about Sebastian?” Hannah asks.

“He’s a Reaper. I don’t need to look out for him,” he replies defensively. The skull-headed man was downright obnoxious to be around, what with the constant teasing and jokes that might as well come from a twelve-year-old’s mouth. The guy was at least five hundred…

“Rammy?”

“She’s busy.” Looking out for her still living family and all. Truthfully, they were both doing the same thing, so he can understand.

“Grayson…?”

“I told youuuuu, they’re not a Reaper anymore! They’re doing like…rehab or something. I dunno,” he mumbled the last part. He last visited maybe two weeks ago now, back when they first woke up. Not sure what they were doing now, but they were probably fine without him.

Hannah only sighed at the rebuttals, weak as they were.

“Is there really nothing better for you to do other then…haunting me?”

“Hey! I go out and do other things!”

“For three days out of a seven day week, because I made you.” She immediately pointed out, an unimpressed look directed at him.

“Guh.” He wilted.

“...I’m just worried okay? Not that dying but still being around is normal or anything, but you’re always around me and I don’t hear about how you’re doing. You weren’t even this clingy before the accident.” She kneels down on the ground and pries his hand out of the deathgrip he has himself in. Her hand is warm, as it usually is nowadays, and BJ finds himself reluctantly letting her have it. “So can you tell me why?”

He could just brush it off, take his hand back, and go back to being a shithead about his own feelings. But it’s just Hannah. She has a right to know, wouldn’t she?

“...I have to be around when you die, y’know?” He lets himself say, “So your soul doesn’t drift off and—”

Not that the universe wants him to finish, anyways.

The shrill call of his girlfriend’s ringtone cuts through the air, drowning him out. He falls quiet anyways, as she has to answer it. There’s only two people still living in this world that have her number, afterall, and they’re the kind of people who don’t like to wait.

Hannah’s face is stone still as she listens. The call cuts without her having said a single word beyond a simple noise of affirmation.

“Sorry, I have to go. They’re…parked in the front already. Tell me next time?” She says, standing up. He stands up with her and follows her to the bedroom door.

“...yeah. Okay.” Regret and guilt stings his lungs, but he keeps himself from coughing.

The door closes, leaving him in an empty house. The warmth of her hand was already leaving his, even as he held it against his chest. A chest filled with ash and soot and that no longer intakes air, of a heart that no longer beats, of flesh that isn’t warm.

‘...I don’t want you ending up as demon fuel, with no one to guide you.’ He finishes for no one in particular.

He supposes he’ll follow her around now. Just out of reach, but ready if the worst comes to past. It’s the least he can do after going back on his word, after all, even if the circumstances were completely out of his hands.

#storm.doc #<- new tag for writing stuff though i don't know how much i'll do this hhhhh #IDU!au #In Death Unfavoured #IDU!bf #IDU!gf #writing stuff is like my way of speeding through how i wanna characterize these goobers #i have more ideas for that trivia now but i think i'll start that at a later date #my anxiety's chewing me out since i haven't posted my writing work for like 5 years now

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