#too weak to walk. great. at this point it's hopeless not even sports will get me out of this

[starpros-sunshine]

I'm so cringe <- just put like three phones wallpapers to the wataei tempest cgs

[indianamoonshine]

Chapter 7 | Superman (Ice Cream)

Summary: Every summer you work on your father’s strawberry farm with your three sisters. It’s a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. This year, your father’s old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. Din Djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become…well, let’s fact it…smitten.

Rating: (+18) for future and explict sexual content.

A/N: Hi friends! This chapter isn't as long as the others, but I've already got a head start on the next one!

Warnings: I can't find anything in this short chapter that would trigger anybody, so yay!

One can tell a lot about a person by their choice of ice cream.

For instance: Rhea likes honey flavored. It’s a rarity, but Scoops specializes in it. It meant she was sweet, though refined, and organic in these regards. Charlotte prefers amaretto fudge which implies she is a hopeless romantic and the kind of woman who loves vintage films (that alone says quite a bit). You prefer Superman. Maybe that meant the obvious; you’re the youngest and a little bit of a fledgling with a silly sense of humor. You like to be doused in color and leave a sweet taste on people’s lips (some say you’d do anything to please and they could be right).

And Din, well, you were surprised to find that Din ordered sherbert; raspberry and just one scoop. When you questioned his choice (not to say sherbert wasn’t tasty, but at an ice cream parlor it just felt wrong) he justified it by saying he didn’t like the texture of ice cream. Ice cream reminds me of snot, he says to you. You still haven’t gotten that out of your head (and was a bit turned off when you received your cone because of it).

Scoops is in the next town over. It’s a tourist town full of counter-culture fanatics and overlooks the stunning landscape of Lake Michigan. The beach is always packed with families toting cheap red coolers or wild young adults slathered in sunscreen. The air is light and clean with no trace of salt, but it’s a glorious kind of smell you’ve never been able to describe. Lake Michigan is something of mystery – after all, it’s one of the biggest freshwater lakes in the world -- but its appeal might be because it’s watched you grow throughout the years. The great body of water is something of a deity, all-powerful and all-encompassing in its compassion and protectiveness.

The weather is still scorching, but while the ice cream helps, it melts quickly. Along the boardwalk where Scoops is located are dozens of shops all lined up in a neat row and bustling with smiling people, laughing with one another, and arms weighed down with chic looking boutique bags. Most of the population is wealthy because of its tourism and the ridiculous economic situation, so this comes as no surprise. Charlotte and Rhea fawn over the window displays, pointing out which expensive items of clothing they wish they could afford.

Charlotte squeals upon seeing a sundress with a silhouette that she couldn’t possibly deny; Rhea agrees enthusiastically. While they gaggle, you keep your eyes on some birds that dive for pieces of corn dogs fallen upon the walkway. There was a lot going on so it was only natural that your brain retreat to idle, given that you had little to no spending money in general.

“We have to go in,” Charlotte sings to Rhea. “We have to. I need it.”

Rhea admits that she couldn’t pass up the chance either but promises she wouldn’t buy the same dress. The two of them invite both you and Din inside, but you shake your heads, eager of the idea to be alone with one another. It was a risky thing, especially considering how your feelings for Din exposed themselves upon your face like traffic signs. While your sisters certainly knew of your schoolgirl crush on Din, they’ve made no indication they suspect Din of reciprocating those feelings. How embarrassing for you.

When the girls are out of view, door closing behind them with a ring of a silver bell, Din immediately turns to you with a grin. It’s a slight grin – the kind you wouldn’t have been able to notice had it not been for your keen observation of him. His thoughts, actions, and feelings show upon his face like a stroke patient’s might – a little lopsided and faint, but still genuine. You can’t help but wonder why he’s so hesitant to show any exuberant display around anyone else. Did that have anything to do with his family? Any past relationships? Even his career? The career you had no inkling of? It wasn’t like pulling teeth; getting him to chuckle seems easy enough, but his friendliness couldn’t be mistaken for jolliness in any sense of the word.

Either way, Din is smiling – albeit, faintly – as he appears next to you.

“Were you planning that?” he teases, spooning his sherbert.

You shrug, licking the sides of your waffle cone. “I was counting on it.”

The two of you smile at one another and continue your walk with pleasant conversation. You people-watch and he casually jokes around by creating exaggerated scenarios for each of them as they pass. (“That guy in the red swim trunks and sports shades definitely cheats on his girlfriend.”) You can’t help but wonder if you sound ridiculous by the way you snort with laughter each time he says something clever, but he grins pleasantly anyway. It’s difficult to not get a big head each time you manage to get him to do anything other than monitor his surroundings – you notice he has a habit of it, despite how hard he tries to pretend he doesn’t.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna try it?” you offer, ice cream cone melting a bit down the sides.

Din wrinkles his nose but sighs after a moment, maybe weakened by your puppy dog eyes. Wishful thinking. “Alright. Just for you.”

You smile widely with satisfaction, bringing the cone up to his lips. And just when he’s about to bend down to lick the sugary treat, you push the cone onto his face. Din blinks, expression blank, and you’re afraid you might’ve crossed a line. The colorful ice cream stains his chin, dripping down onto his neck, and then soils the collar of his t-shirt. You prepare for the blow, cringing a bit under his gaping. But just when you’re about to stutter an apology and run away, Din presses his lips in a thin line to stop himself from letting out a full-bodied laugh.

“Oh, you think that’s funny don’t you?” he raises his brows in jest.

You sigh out in relief. He’s clearly amused. “Yes actually,” you quip, donning a pair of innocent and fluttering eyes.

He nods a few times, lips pursed, and humming with consideration. “I see,” he muses, hands placing themselves on your hips and squeezing.

You shriek in a fit of giggles as he pushes you gently against the brick of a nearby building. It’s cold against your skin, but nowhere near as chilly as Din’s milky lips peppering chaste kisses against your cheeks. His lashes bat against you, tickling your cheeks, and you become sticky with fruity condensed milk as the gleeful bombardment continues. His name escapes your mouth between your humored twittering. He has you pinned between himself and a wall - you are quite literally trapped - and in front of the public no less.

He wasn’t ashamed of you.

It’s almost a reaction what happens next.

Your hands lock themselves around his neck, mouth pressing against his full lips for the very first time. The people surrounding you disappear, the noise of the busy street vanishing completely. You’d expected your first kiss with him to be serious, maybe even a little awkward with graceless fumbling. But the two of you are snickering against one another, the embrace as natural as breathing. He’s cupping your cheek with the caution he’d shown this morning; he must’ve been terrified you’d crumble beneath him.

You felt like you could.

He’s holding back, and you know this because his lips are soft and slow as a wounded butterfly with clipped wing. The hand that isn’t holding your cheek has pulled you in by the hips. It’s getting harder to breathe, even if it’s closed mouthed. He spoke and the world spun - but his lips make the world sing.

You’re the first to pull away, eyes fluttering open with an uncontrollable eagerness to perceive his countenance. What you expected, you can’t remember, because when you find his eyes still closed, relishing in the kiss with a full-bodied smile, you feel nauseous with excitement. It was almost too much.

Yet not enough at all.

The napkin around your ice cream cone is soaked, but you crumble it in a ball and bring it to Din’s face anyway. You pat against his cheek, wiping away as much of the ice cream as you could while he recovers. Some of it has collected on his dense mustache and you resist the urge to laugh at that.

He nods to himself like he’s trying to get a grasp on what just happened, eyes opening with caution to gaze into yours. He looks tired, but the kind that was delicious; the kind that you look forward to remedying. You must’ve taken an energy from him.

You hope you did.

Because he took it all from you.

He lets out a breathy laugh and you place a thumb against his jaw to wipe some stray remnants from him. “I think I like ice cream now,” he jokes.

•••

The two of you manage to escape.

This is after Rhea and Charlotte come bouncing out of the store, bags in hand, and giddy smiles upon their faces. You laugh with them as they show you their purchases while Din looks on from the sidelines, knee bouncing with alacrity.

You’re weak by the kiss, the blush from your cheeks still prominent. You were positive your sisters would notice, that tonight they’d drill you with questions they already knew the answer to. Women have a way of knowing when another woman has been kissed as zealously as you just had. It wasn’t just the pink in your face that would give you away; it was the dreamy glint in your eyes, the bit of Superman that you’d missed upon Din’s cheek, and the trembling of each item they forced in your hands.

You say your goodbyes to your sisters, promising you’d be home in time for movie night, and skip alongside Din while walking to Bessie. When he’s sure the two of you are in the clear, he takes your hand and massages the space between your thumb and forefinger. Tension subsides in your shoulders.

This was new to you. You’d kissed guys as a teenager; even had a few boyfriends here or there. But that’d been years ago and none of them alighted a fire in your belly like Din has. His company was ethereal - he was made of stardust; you were sure of it. And it seemed silly - even a little frightening - that your feelings have evolved so quickly. For hells sake, you’d just met him a few days ago. Could you really be just, well, stupid? And maybe he was feeding off that stupidity for his own personal gain?

This thought alone makes you feel guilty. You try to ignore the anxiety and focus on the feel of his hand, tanned and masculine, and breathe. The smell of fried dough wafts from down the boardwalk, the tune of an old carnival song muffled in the distance by the chaos of summer. The sun was still high in the sky; it was only five in the afternoon but your body felt as though it’d been up for an entire day, weak with the intensity from such a rush of adrenaline.

Upon arriving to the car, Din opens the door for you and a bit of paint from devoted Bessie showers upon the pavement. You can’t help but wonder if he knew you’d leave early with him and the idea of bringing two separate vehicles was clouded with hidden agenda. This, of course, starts up the cycle of mental dramatization again.

Gods, why can’t you just leave it alone? Why can’t you feel something for once in your life? You’ve spent so many years hiding in the corner in fear of getting hurt – of opening yourself to be exposed to new and terminal wounds even if the process was liberating. And Din was liberating in more ways than one; in ways that have surprised you, despite how little you’ve known him.

As soon as he climbs in, you scooch as close as possible to his side. Your bravery surprises yourself, but you wouldn’t overthink it, especially when he smiles cheekily your way. You’ve leaned your head against his shoulder just before reaching for his free hand again and placing it in your lap with a tight grip.

You may get hurt later. But for now, that pain was worth experiencing. Din Djarin already seems to be worthy of experiencing.

Bessie rumbles to life but he starts for the crown of your head first, lips brushing against you, and light as a feather.

•••

If Din hadn’t been such an experienced driver, he was sure he would’ve crashed by now.

No. He was positive he would’ve crashed. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on the plainness of the road when a goddess was sitting in the seat beside him, holding his hand, and gazing out into the fields you rush past. You exuberantly point out each time there was a farm where cattle and horses grazed, their tails flicking to shoo away flies. He realizes that you love cows (“especially the brown ones,” you had smiled) and makes a mental note of it.

The house is in view now, the strawberries blooming the land with color beneath their plants’ emerald leaves. Your sisters hadn’t beat you there and your father’s truck wasn’t parked in front like it normally was. Not that it would’ve mattered that his friend was home, but Din preferred your father find out…later; when Din felt confident in your feelings for him and you felt confident in his. You were too important to risk losing so soon or even at all.

And that terrifies him.

And just when Din’s about to turn onto the road that leads directly to the house, you gasp beside him.

It frightens him. He isn’t well acquainted with your exclamations yet, so it was hard to distinguish whether your outburst is harmless or exclaimed in the face of danger. He pauses, foot stepping on the brake pedal, and lunges Bessie forward with too much exertion. Upon instinct, he reaches out an arm to prevent you from slamming yourself against the dashboard by the sudden halt.

He immediately looks to you, brows furrowed in concern, and chest heaving with epinephrine. “What is it?!” he jolts out.

You’re staring into the nearby woods with narrowed eyes, silent as a bug. The thicket and vines wrap themselves around one another, graceful in their disorganized summer. Din couldn’t find any movement interrupting the overgrowth, but he had a suspicion you’ve seen an animal of some kind. What else could have caused you to gasp so randomly?

Something pretty incredible, apparently. Because just as Din’s about to repeat himself, far more concerned with your silence than anything, you swing open the rusted door and sprint into the woods.

{ Tag List: @steeevienicks, @hallway5, @t3a-bag, @dodgerandevans, @lumimon47, @dancingwiththeplanets }

[ddaenggtan]

chasing butterflies | jjk

you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend’s orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you’ve spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he’s around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it.

pairing | jeon jungkook x reader

genre/warnings | fluff, college au, coffee shop au, pining, somewhat idiots to lovers, jock!reader, nerd/weeb/otaku!kook, swimmer!kook, jock!jimin, kook smiles a lot, reader is a dumbass, jungkook is a dumbass, everyone’s a dumbass tbh, love confessions, profanity, like a lot of profanity, smut: oral (f receiving), face riding, grinding, hickies, unprotected sex (wrap ur willy before things get silly kids!), creampie, soft!kook except when horny, this is somewhat crack-y, there’s also a very fair amount of secondhand embarrassment in this just fair warning i cringed a lot while writing it

word count | 12.8k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | i busted literally all of this in one day because i couldn’t sleep and had the idea for a coffeeshop au with pining nerd/jock, but i didn’t want to do the trope of pining nerd and i also kept seeing @strawbxxymilk‘s tags saying she was going to fight jungkook, so you can partially blame her for his (love u reni xx) i’m honestly REALLY in love with this fic, it was so much fun to write and even edit, like i honestly have never been happier with how a fic turned out.

If asked, you don’t think you’d be able to point to one exact moment that led to this. You aren’t sure why anything about your college life has been the way it is. You went through almost all middle school and part of high school intending on coasting through under the radar. You didn’t have many friends and you didn’t mind that, citing quality over quantity, and you definitely expected that to continue into your extended school career.

Somehow, though, you ended up on the volleyball team - the captain had seen you playing in a gym class and recruited you. She was adamant that with practice and training, you’d be great, and also they needed at least one more person if they were going to have any chance at competing that year. So you agreed, started practicing, got good, and…kept doing it. You were a talented player, and you made several close friends through the game, ones that had lasted you until even now.

You only got better and better, too, earning you more than one offer from various universities. It was exciting when you finally chose one, and even more exciting that your friend group almost tripled overnight. University teams were large, you discovered, and while that meant more competition, it also meant more friends. More friends that had more connections to people on other teams, in other sports, who were also fun and extroverted and threw really good parties. 

You like to think you’re still that little nobody from middle school. You enjoy your readings and your coursework, and a lot of nights you choose to stay behind in your shared apartment instead of going out. As much as you like to think that, though, you can’t help but face the truth every time you look in the mirror after practice or a game or a workout.

You’re a jock.

You don’t even know why. The labels were supposed to end when high school did, and yet here you were. You pretty much only hang out with other sporty people, since no one has much time to make friends with anyone they didn’t see five times a week and every other weekend. You have a strict workout regimen that you run through with other girls from the team. Your class schedule is built around your volleyball schedule. You call yourself an athlete. You get looks sometimes, from the smart kids who think they’re better because you’re ‘only’ an athlete and they’re not. It reminds you of the people who look down on other sports because theirs is the only ‘true’ sport. Those people used to piss you off, but you’ve grown used to them now; there would always be people who thought they were better because of some imagined divide.

Realistically, there is no divide. People are free to associate with whoever they want, fuck the social norms that become ingrained in high school to contrast class differences. Okay, your Societal Influences class may have skewed your thinking a bit, but your point stands. You had no good reason to conform to the antiquated ideas of high schoolers.

So why, why, are you still standing by a waffle maker and staring helplessly at him?

Jisoo nudges you and you move to let her at the waffle, not looking away from him. She follows your line of sight and laughs when she sees him. “Seriously?” She asks, shaking her head.

“Shut up,” You groan, popping part of a roll into your mouth.

“It’s been almost three years,” She teases. “How have you not worked up the nerve to talk to him?”

“Two years, three months,” You correct as you follow her to where the chocolate syrup and fruit await for her waffle monstrosity. You can’t even look at it anymore, sickened by the mere sight of all the sugar stacked atop it.

“That is not helping your case the way you think it is.”

“I can’t just…talk to him, he’s gonna think I’m weird. Who just walks up to someone and says ‘hi, I saw you in my friend’s orientation group two years ago and thought you were the most beautiful man in existence, and still think that in fact, would you mind going out with me?’” Jisoo levels you with a look that could make cacti wilt.

“Uh, plenty of people do that every day. That’s how relationships happen. I know you’ve got this big hard-on for this whole…pining, lovesick idiot look,” She barrels on, ignoring the squawk of defiance you let loose, “But it’s getting kind of hopeless. That one guy asked you out, like, last month, and you literally laughed at him.”

“In my defense, he was like way older than us! I don’t want to go out with a grandpa!”

“I cannot believe you just called Kim Seokjin a grandpa, the entire team is going to revolt against you for this.”

You huff and lead her to the table you picked out, which she very kindly does not mention gives you a perfect view of him while you pick at your food. She continues to rant at you about your hopeless crush, but you don’t even hear her anymore, because he’s laughing at something across the dining hall and it makes your chest tighten.

God damn, you don’t know how in the hell someone so fucking nerdy can make you so fucking weak in the knees.

Across the room, Jungkook adjusts the round lenses that have been sliding down his nose, and it makes your heart flutter. He laughs again at something someone beside him said. His nose scrunches as he does it, and the cute bunny teeth are obvious, and it makes you want to die a little inside but also throw him off a bridge a little bit. He starts talking, animated and excited, and you wonder what it is he’s talking about. You can almost pretend that he’s talking about you for a second, until he pulls something out of his bag and sets it on the table, covering it with his hands before pulling them back in a dramatic effort to reveal–

God, it’s a fucking Hatsune Miku figurine. 

You feel like sobbing at the sight. “God, he’s such a fucking weeb,” You say, hatred for yourself rolling off the words in absolute waves. Jisoo huffs, probably annoyed that you haven’t been listening to her rant, and waves a hand.

“You knew this,” She tells you bluntly. The issue is that she’s 100% correct; the first time you ever remember seeing Jungkook, he was in a God damn Naruto cosplay, dumbass wig in his hands while he adjusted his ninja headband, and he was still the most beautiful human being you’d ever laid your eyes on.

His eyes dart over like he could hear your thoughts and he makes eye contact; you get whiplash, you look away so fast. Your face is burning, you can feel it, and you’re actually in danger of staring a hole into the table with how hard you’re looking at it.

“You’re safe, he isn’t looking anymore,” Jisoo eventually says. You chance a glance to see that Jungkook is focused on whatever conversation he’s having, Hatsune Miku nowhere to be seen and replaced with a very pretty red flush across his cheeks. You audibly coo over the sight and Jisoo pretends to gag.

“Don’t you have class?” She says. It’s obviously an attempt to distract you, she’s always so transparent about those things. Jungkook looks over again and suddenly your phone becomes the most fascinating thing in the entire world. You balk at the time, because fuck, you really do have class in two minutes.

“Bye Jisoo, love you, don’t gorge yourself on waffles, or Rose will kill you at practice!” You shout over your shoulder as you bolt from the dining hall.

You don’t see nor feel the eyes on your back as you go, too focused on making the five-minute walk into a sixty-second sprint.

Work is boring. It always is. You work the overnight shift, 9 pm to 4 am, so that you can balance your volleyball schedule and your classes and your bills. If there were less 24-hour coffee shops around, it may be busier, but alas, the trend of having spaces for haggard and exhausted college students to roll into at all hours of the day had caught on, and thus, you work at one of four all-night coffee shops. And that’s only on this side of campus. There were even more on the other side, where the dorms were, and they see much more traffic than yours. Kids never want to go very far to get caffeine, so the ones across the way were always bustling and packed full of people writing last-minute papers and emailing for sources and who knows what else. 

Which meant that only the stray customer wandered in after dark, usually people getting off work and wanting to unwind for a second before heading home. You got a lot of homeless people, camping out in corners away from other people and sipping on one coffee for hours at a time. Some of the other workers complained about them, but you didn’t really care one way or another. If it kept them off the street and out of the cold, then you’d let them sit there as long as you could. It wasn’t like there were many people around to complain, anyway.

Of course, the few customers meant that there were fewer interruptions to the daily tasks you had to do, so it only takes an hour or two, max, every night to get everything clean, stocked, polished, and counted. Which left another five for you to fill.

You sigh, staring at a blank page of your notebook. You’re lucky your boss doesn’t care if the workers do schoolwork on the job, so long as the work gets done and the customers are happy, but just this once you curse him for being so kind. You’ve been procrastinating this essay for a week and it was due next class, but you had absolutely no idea where to even start. You sigh again and straighten as the bell over the door rings, the customary 'Welcome to Brew’d Awakening, what can I get for you today?’ already halfway out before you actually look up.

You choke on air as Jungkook smiles at you, small and shy and sweet, and you can actually feel part of your soul shrivel up and die along with every single one of your brain cells. You stare at him for a solid six seconds as he peruses the menu hanging above your head, and you’re so focused on memorizing the way he looks this close up that you nearly miss his order.

“A large iced black, please?” He phrases it like a question and it’s adorable, despite the countless times you’ve bitched to Jisoo about people doing the exact same thing in the past. You tack on your customer service smile as best you can and ring him up.

It’s a relief to turn away from him to actually make his drink. He’s gorgeous, even with the dumbass hoodie with some naked anatomy model on it that has to be from some anime, that it makes it hard for you to breathe. He’s not even wearing the nerd glasses and it just makes his eyes so much more obviously beautiful, and you know Jisoo is going to whine about hearing you wax poetic over them for weeks after this. Your hands shake as you pour the coffee into the cup and click the lid into place, but you force yourself to steady them as you hand it to him.

He’s blushing again, and you want to kiss it so badly, and he waves. “Thanks,” He says as he starts to leave. Your brain is torn between responses, one half reverting to your generic response and the other wanting to assure it him it was absolutely not anything he needed to thank you for, and you can feel the stupidity coming, but you cannot stop the words as they claw up your throat and you nearly shout–

“Your problem!”

He falters in his steps, turning to give you a confused look, and you’re honestly disappointed the earth doesn’t quake and part to drag you directly to the pits of hell, because even that would be less painful than having to maintain your professional demeanor like you didn’t just say the absolute stupidest thing you’ve ever said in your entire fucking life.

Jungkook just nods and strides out of the coffee shop, bell dinging in his wake.

The screech you unleash in the break room a few seconds later is inhuman and chilling, and yet Rose doesn’t seem at all fazed.

“I would say you should just talk to him, but clearly you can’t even do that like a normal person.” She pats your arm as you bang your head into the table, and you consider the option of getting new friends.

You’re no stranger to wild Jungkook sightings. You both go to the same university, you both have similar classes, you both take full advantage of the dining hall at every opportunity, you both use the library. It’s hard to go ten feet on campus without seeing someone you know, and it’s even harder when you’re actively looking for that person everywhere you go.

So you’ve already seen him a couple of times after the Your Problem Incident - and you may have turned around and completely avoided even thinking about it, but who’s going to judge you for that, really - when you walk into an extra-credit lecture for one of your science classes to immediately zero in on the familiar grin.

You’d foolishly believed this would be a popular lecture and as such would be held in one of the big lecture halls, the ones that seat 100+ people, but no. Of course not. This was in a regular ass classroom, with regular tables and regular students and regular everything, including the dumbass that regularly stars in every single one of your daydreams. The impulse to turn and run jolts through you, but before you can do exactly that, Nayun is calling your name and waving you over to the seat she saved just for you.

Right in front of him.

Several people turn at her call, but you focus your gaze on the chair and refuse to look to see if he’s looking at you. You refuse, you will not be that girl, you have standards, dammit, and grades to keep up, and immense public humiliation to pretend never happened.

You have to pass him to sit at your chair since Satan himself designed the classroom and put the door at the back of the room, as only a literal demon would do. You focus on not falling flat on your face, as you’ve been prone to do when Jungkook is in your range of vision, and as such you’re wholly unprepared for the way his scent floods through your brain.

You’re able to sit before you collapse entirely, legs shaking because he smells so fucking good. You’ve become accustomed to the boys’ volleyball team, who’re known for always wanting to hang out right after practices but not ever wanting to shower after practices. You’ve been friends with guys before. You are very close with several of the guys on the volleyball team. You’ve been around college dudes for three entire years. You know how guys smell, you know they all tend to get wrapped up in whatever boys think about and neglect their own hygiene unless gently reminded that no, Taehyung, girls do not like it when a guy is sweaty.

Apparently, one dude didn’t get the memo, because Jungkook smells like fucking heaven. Clean linens and summer flowers and rainstorms, with a lingering and faint whisper of chlorine that shoves you into the nostalgia of high school summers at the pool with your friends. It’s glorious and wonderful and you’ve never been close enough to smell him before, which you also never thought would ever go through your brain.

You wish you could say you’ve never thought of how he might smell, you really do. But the truth is you are a girl in love, with an overactive imagination and a lot of time spent not writing essays. You’ve imagined a lot of things. And yet. Even in your wildest daydreams, there is no possible way you ever could have expected it to floor you the way it did.

Nayun is saying something and you’re nodding along, but she could be telling you the secret to life itself and you would never know. You’re too focused on him. You can’t look at him - a blessing and a curse, because now you may be able to pay attention to the lecture, but you’ll also be too distracted to think about anything but if he’s looking at you - but you can hear him. You’ve heard him speak before, you’ve built up somewhat of a resistance to his voice and the way it slides along the air, which is such a sappy romantic thing to think but here you fucking are.

You have not, however, heard him speak for such a long period of time about the continuity errors in Boku No Hero Academia. You don’t even know what the fuck that is, never heard the phrase in your entire life, but he’s so passionate about it that you can’t help but listen. He’s making all sorts of points and giving all kinds of examples and you want to nod along just to encourage him. For all you know he could be wrong about every single instance he mentions but fuck, he just sounds so sure of himself and so absolute that it has you wanting to agree.

The sheer confidence in what he’s saying has you getting weak in the knees. He’s such an absolute fucking weeb, and yet it’s always been so sexy to you when someone knows their shit and can prove it. You could have gone your entire life without knowing that that particular kink extended to fucking anime.

The professor walks in shortly after and you are blessedly saved from more of Jungkook’s rants about anime inconsistencies. You’re impossibly wet and you curse yourself for the millionth time for somehow falling for the biggest dork the planet has possibly ever seen. You focus all of your attention on the lecture, doing your best to take notes even as you find yourself doodling the best (read: atrocious) representations of Jungkook in the margins of your notebook.

You groan on the way out. You’d spent the full hour and a half taking sporadic notes between doodles of Jungkook as a prince. You still couldn’t decide if you were imagining the feeling of someone watching you, either. Nayun just laughs and leads you to the dining hall for dinner before you both had to head to practice.

You are blessedly free of Jungkook for exactly four days. It is, in fact, a new record, since the first time you saw him.

It’s turned your life into a hellscape and you hate it.

You look for him around every corner and past every door, and more than once you’ve caught yourself expecting him to walk through the door at the coffee shop for absolutely no reason. You’ve only ever seen him there the one time. There was literally no reason to expect him to show up ever again, and yet each time someone walked in, you responded as if it was the 1500s and the king himself had entered the building.

If you’re being honest, though, your biggest issue with not seeing Jungkook’s dumb ass for four entire days is that it is just long enough for you to start to expect not to see him. It’s just enough time for you to get so accustomed to not seeing him around that you stop turning corners and looking for him immediately. You don’t immediately think 'this is it’ when the bell above the shop door rings. It takes a second to kick in, a delayed response that is still habit but one on its way out.

You miss him, that is definite. You find yourself wishing that he would show up out of the blue one day, spouting some nonsense, just for the sake of hearing it again. His rants about which Bleach character would actually win a fight because 'well, according to the manga,’ his tirades about how the revamp of Voltron is nowhere near as genuine as the original and is clearly pandering, you just…miss it. You never understand a goddamn thing he’s saying but it’s so fucking attractive. He’s so passionate about all of it and he’s so knowledgeable that even the discussion you overheard in the library about the top ten most powerful moves in the entirety of YuYuHakusho had you dripping and running for your apartment, and you miss that.

At this point, though, you should know the universe fucking hates you.

It’s late, close to 2 am, you haven’t slept in too long because you had an away game that afternoon that you lost on a fucking bullshit call and then had to stay to watch the boys’ team play. They, of course, crushed their opponents, which you were proud of, but it only made your defeat that much more bitter. You were still pissed about it when you rolled into work that night, Rose lagging behind to talk to the coach and Jimin glowing beside you with how well his team had done.

You’re tired, you’re pissed, you’re starving, you have a test in six hours that you haven’t studied for, the cafe is mercilessly dead, there’s a guy in the corner building an actual literal scale model of a castle, and all you can think about is the bullshit ref insisting that the ball touched Jisoo’s elbow after she made contact and completely fucking over the last serve of the game in favor of your opponents.

Jimin, the light of your life and angel among men, had gotten your food before your break. It isn’t fancy, two quick drive-thru burgers with fries and a drink, but it may as well be the nectar of the gods with the way you’re inhaling it. The angel and future father of your immaculate conception babies sits on one of the stools against the counter, chin in his hand as he watches you eat. He looks torn between horror and fascination and you can’t blame him for it. It must be a sight to behold: you, behind the shop counter, elbows planted for maximum efficiency, mouth stuffed full of French fries, ripping viciously into a burger as you continue to go off about the bullshit that was your match that day.

Really, you wouldn’t be this mad any other day. But the combination of so many shitty things - hunger, exhaustion, stress, frustration, not having seen the love of your life Jeon Jungkook in y e a r s - has you absolutely livid. You’re well past the end of your break by now, but Rose knows all too well how you are and is graciously letting you vent until you’re less ready to rip the head off the next person that comes in the door.

You express the sentiment to Jimin, who laughs, the fucker, and fail to realize that someone has, actually, just walked into the coffee shop. You’re halfway through your sentence - “I swear to God, Park, if I see that fucking ref again, I’m gonna rip his balls off and shove them so far up his ass that he starts to digest them, what kind of bullshit even was that, her elbow was nowhere near the ball, that foul never would’ve stood if we had been on our court,” - when it registers that Rose is taking an order. You glance over, out of habit more than anything, and proceed to attempt to inhale the food crammed into your mouth as you gasp.

Of course, of fucking course, Jungkook would show up while you’re like this. Your hair is a mess, still damp from the post-game shower, you’ve got some kind of stain on your shirt from the food that’s absolutely smashed into your mouth, and you’ve just been basically shouting expletives all over your workplace, which he definitely heard. It’s made worse because he’s staring at you, eyes wide behind his stupid round glasses, and his striped shirt with fucking ridiculous overalls. You’re torn between planting one on him since he looks so fucking cute and bewildered, decking him straight in the face because where the fuck has he been, and just bolting straight out of the shop because the guy you’ve liked for two fucking years witnessed all of that and you want to die.

You stare at him and he stares at you, looking as shocked as you feel. Jimin is just looking between the two of you, a shit-eating grin overtaking his face as he starts to connect dots you never ever wanted him to connect, because-

“Jungkook-ah, I didn’t know you came here!” Jimin says, grinning at the younger boy and one of his very best friends. He’s got a glint in his eye that you recognize and you contemplate not for the first time if you could actually impale him with a coffee stirrer.

“Oh, yeah, well…” Jungkook stutters and you hate that it’s so cute. “The others close to my dorm are all really busy at this time of night, y'know, so I like to get coffee on this side of campus so it’s still coffee and not watered down when I get back to my dorm.”

“Why don’t you just drink it here?” Jimin asks as he stirs his own coffee that had long since gone cold, as if he had every right in the world to offer up your coffee shop to a literal God among men. “It’s quiet, you could probably get more work done here than in your dorm. I remember you said your neighbors have been keeping you up.”

Jungkook turns red and looks away. Rose takes the opportunity to slide his iced coffee across to him and he takes it with a smile that makes your heart melt. You watch the exchange with more focus than you probably should, and the food is forgotten in lieu of your future husband right there in front of you for the first time in days.

“I guess I could,” Jungkook eventually says, eyes darting all over. They rest on you every few minutes before quickly flying away, and it makes you even more self-conscious of the stain on your shirt and the way grease has no doubt pooled around your mouth. You grab a napkin to try to clean yourself up as Jungkook continues. “I just don’t know if I could focus here, y'know, there’re a lot of…distractions.”

The silence that follows the statement is deafening, only broken by the quiet huffs of the guy building a castle in the corner.

Jungkook turns even redder and ruffles the back of his hair. It’s impossibly cute and you’re halfway to offering to ruffle it for him, either between his sheets or in the alley out back, when Jimin cuts you off.

“Well, you should consider it, at least. I always have the best times here, even with all the distractions.” Jimin sips at his coffee as he speaks and you get the very distinct sense that he’s teasing Jungkook about something you don’t know. The younger boy just smiles and gives a quick bye to Jimin and Rose. You like to think his smile softens as he looks at you, and the way he says your name as he waves will forever be embedded into your mind.

He’s gone before you can respond and you’re glad, sure you must be at least as red as the strawberry syrup. Jimin whirls on you the second Jungkook is out of sight, Rose doing her best to pretend she isn’t mortified for you.

“I cannot believe that you didn’t tell me - me - that the guy you’ve been pining after all these years is Jungkook.” Jimin sounds scandalized and betrayed and his face just makes you think of- “Top Ten Anime Betrayals, really.”

“Fuck, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to know! I used his codename for a reason.” You whine, dropping your head to the countertop with a resounding thud.

“Oh, yes, because Dumb DumbDook is oh-so-subtle,” Rose mutters. You ignore her.

“I could have been doing wingman work this whole time, though! Imagine how much further along you’d be if I’d been able to hype you up every time I hang out with him. You’d be able to talk to him, five words at least.” You smack Rose when she laughs.

“No, absolutely not. There’s no way it’s gonna happen, Jimin, I can’t set myself up for that failure.” You shake your head and go back to your food, though you’re much less angry after seeing your weeb. “Besides, we’ve got like…nothing in common, what would we even talk about?”

“Are you serious?” The deadpan is what catches your attention, and when you glance up, the look Jimin is giving is scathing. “I’ve heard you gush about his nerd rants, alright, you said yourself you could listen to him talk for weeks without getting bored of hearing his voice.”

“Conversations are a two-way street, Jimin. What the fuck could I contribute to that?”

“Uh…you’re kidding me, right? You didn’t see that face he made while you were doing your whole 'I’m gonna shit talk the ref because he made a call I didn’t like’ thing.”

“It was bullshit and you know it, he never would’ve done that shit for the other side.”

“Point stands, dude. Kook could listen to you go off about your sports shit for just as long as you could with his anime shit. I’d put money on it.”

“You’re delusional, Park, but I’m gonna let you live in this fantasy world because it’s nice to have company here.” He scoffs but doesn’t press the topic, which you’re thankful for. Instead, you fish your study guide out of your bag and hand it to him so he can quiz you about the test you have in four hours.

It seems that Jungkook takes Jimin’s word as law because he starts to show up more and more often. At first, it was just the coffee shop, where he would order his iced black and then leave with a shy smile that had you melting. Then he was at the library at the same time you were, one table over and typing furiously away at his laptop. You assumed it was for a class until he disappeared and returned with a printed copy and you caught the “Neon Genesis Evangelion: A New Order, Chapter Five” at the top.

You won’t lie, you did judge him just a bit for that because you don’t even know anything about the show but no way in hell would you be caught dead printing your fanfic on wireless school computers when cloud hacks are a thing.

He appears at your favorite takeout place, too; not that he saw you since you dove behind a fish tank to avoid getting caught. You’d watched carefully through the water as he waited, looking around in the meantime as if in search of something. He almost looked dejected when he left, though you didn’t know why until you got your food and found out they were out of crab rangoon like you hadn’t just been playing peekaboo with one in the fish tank for twenty minutes.

The thing that really gets you, though, the one that grinds your gears, is how he makes the coffee shop his thing. He just keeps showing up, night after night, and while at first he just left with his coffee, he apparently decided that wasn’t enough, because now he stays. He parks himself at the corner table near the outlet and taps away at his laptop while you try to do any semblance of work. He’s so distracting. He makes the most adorable faces - the brow furrow and slight frown when he’s focused and trying to figure something out, the clenched jaw with tongue in cheek when he’s irritated or frustrated, the cute ass bunny smile that makes you want to jump off a bridge and/or push him off a bridge.

Honestly, if you’re being truthful, you could’ve gotten used to that. He’s quiet and doesn’t talk much and even though you can feel him nearby like a sunflower to the sun, you could’ve managed eventually.

The issue is that his nerd friends start joining him, and they are not quiet. They are loud and argumentative and enjoy debating their dweeb things and they especially enjoy dragging Jungkook into said dweebates, if you will. Which in and of itself is not terrible. You’ve had a literal debate team in here practicing, you’re accustomed to that kind of thing.

No, the issue is that Jungkook is like the king weeb. He seems to know everything about everything complete with sources to back it up and even if he doesn’t know something he can either find out in ten seconds or he can bullshit his way to being right. And it’s so goddamn sexy. He just fucking…owns the other nerds, no matter what the subject is, and he’s so confident and sure and he gets sassy with them when he knows he’s right and they’re wrong. The body language, the expression on his face, the way he just stomps them into the dirt…it gets you hot and bothered every fucking time, and it’s a problem, because you’re at work. It is not socially acceptable to kidnap someone into the break room to fuck their brains out because they just won an argument about whether Yu Gi Oh or Pokemon was a more successful trading card game.

It’s made even even worse because Jungkook has started to pay attention to your rants. Every time you have a game or watch one with the team, you and Rose spend at least part of your shift talking about the ups and downs, what can be improved, what you specifically need to work on and how you can do it. One night the two of you spent upwards of an hour debating whether Lang Ping or Mireya was a better overall player and why, and when you finally stopped to restock the coffee beans, Jungkook was staring at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

Of course, that was when you turned and hid in the storage room for the rest of your shift, but the point fucking stands.

Jeon Jungkook is a menace and he is taking over your life and you really should be more mad about it. It almost comes to a head when Jimin drags you to a swim meet, which you have attended exactly zero times in your entire life because who the fuck cares about swim meets.

“Trust me,” He had pleaded. “I want to go to support some friends, but I’m gonna be bored if I have to sit alone on the bleachers.” You’d eventually caved when he promised to buy you food, and now your ass was planted on the most uncomfortable stand seats you’ve ever been on and you were about to pop a blood vessel because Jimin was being so fucking infuriating about everything. He’d pulled you straight from practice, not letting you change or shower or anything, and he’d been trying to goad you into a debate the entire time you’d been waiting for the meet to start. It was legitimately starting to get you riled up, even as you stretched your legs out, thighs spread wide as your fingers massaged the muscles in your familiar post-game routine.

“For the last fucking time, Jimin, no, the Canada/Mexico save was not better than the fucking Italy/France save!” He rolls his eyes, but he opened this can of worms so now he has to suffer with you. “It was flashier, sure, with the sliding and the moving of the barriers, but the Italy/France save was more technically sound and less likely to result in any kind of ref interference. They were both good, sure, but there is no way you can truly believe that the flashier and less technically sound and less safe of the two is actually better.”

“Oh, your boyfriend’s waving,” Jimin says as he smiles and waves, eyes turning into crescents as he does.

“What? I don’t have a-” You stop when you look. You really should have expected this because life is a cruel mistress and the universe itself is even crueler, but here you were. Rendered speechless by the sight of Jungkook. In swim pants. Shirtless.

“You’re drooling,” Jimin comments dryly.

“Fuck off, it’s not my fault he’s sculpted by the gods.” You don’t even bother to look at Jimin, too focused on the way Jungkook’s back flexes as he pulls himself out of the water. Time legitimately slows, water falling off of him and trailing down abs you did not know were there, and your heart honest to God stops beating. “What the fuck is he even doing here?”

“He’s on the swim team,” Jimin smirks and calls Jungkook over before you can shove your hand over his mouth. “Kook-ah, good luck! You’re gonna do great!”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jungkook says with an excited grin as he jogs over. You don’t think you take a single breath in the five minutes they chat. Your chest may actually explode, and you’re tempted to dive into the pool not two feet away to cool off. Jungkook steps back like he’s going to leave, giving you a small smile as he does.

“Wait, Jungkook, remind me, how did you get into swimming? Someone was curious,” Jimin nods ever so subtly to you but you can’t even find the strength to be upset because Jungkook’s chest is right there and you want to run your tongue along his muscles.

“Oh, there’s actually this anime called Free! I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, it’s really good, but it’s about these swimmers. They complete and a lot of it is them learning how to get better at their techniques so I thought, 'well, that can’t be that hard can it?’“ You let out a quiet sob. He’s just…you clench your fist in your lap and sigh. He’s just such a fucking nerd. Jungkook shoots you a somewhat worried look but continues. “It’s how I learned archery and boxing, too. I saw them in manga and got really interested and figured if the characters can do it, why can’t I?”

“God, that’s so fucking nerdy,” You mutter. It doesn’t register that you spoke out loud until you see Jungkook’s reddening face and hear Jimin’s soft choke. “In a good way! I mean, I think it’s…it’s really awesome that you just saw it and did it, that’s really…” Don’t say sexy. “…cool.”

Jungkook stares at you, cheeks reddened, and you struggle not to start digging your own grave here and now in the middle of this indoor pool area. You’re about to stand and do exactly that when Jungkook’s face brightens and his nose crinkles and the most blinding grin you’ve ever seen in your life takes over his face as his shoulders bunch up. Your eyes are probably actual fucking hearts now, it’s easily the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen on a human male as tall and buff as he is, and it kind of makes you want to shove him in the pool.

You really don’t have to, though, because he just shakes his head and turns to go back to the swimmer’s benches or whatever they’re called in swimming. He’s ruffling the back of his hair again and watching the ground, but he keeps turning back to beam at you and Jimin. You see it before Jimin does, and both of you start to call for him when his heel slips and he falls completely back into the water.

Every face in the area turns to look at where Jungkook is surfacing, wiping his face and slicking his hair back out of his face. The sight of it nearly sends you into heart palpitations because you honestly didn’t think he could get more fucking attractive but you were wrong. You force yourself to calm down because Jimin is too busy rolling on the ground beside you to be of any use in resuscitating you if your heart actually gave out.

“Ah, nani,” You hear Jungkook mutter as he climbs out of the pool and you wish you had a brick to hit yourself with because of course, of fucking course, he looks so fucking good and is so fucking bone-meltingly hot and still says weeb shit like ‘ah, nani’ when he falls into a goddamn pool.

You’re honestly legitimately fucked and the fact that you don’t even care anymore says a lot more about you than you want it to.

It all actually comes to a head nearly a week after the swim meet. The sight of a wet and dripping and half-naked Jungkook doesn’t leave your mind, forever burned into your retinas, but even more wonderful is the shy, bashful Jungkook that greets you the next day at the coffee shop. It’s almost like he thinks you’re going to tease him, as if he didn’t see you shoving your whole mouth full of junk while cursing out a ref, as if he didn’t fully hear you tell him ‘your problem!’ with a happy grin and death in your eyes the first time he came into the shop.

It’s just…it’s so fucking cute that you physically cannot contain it anymore, and you find yourself bemoaning your state of perpetual adoration with Jisoo and Rose while you all shower after the latest match.

“I’m just going to suffer for the rest of my life aren’t I?” You say, speaking louder than you typically would in order to be heard over the several showerheads currently running. “It’s too much for my heart to take, absolutely too much, he’s too fucking…ugh, clenches fist, he’s too fucking cute.”

“Did you just verbalize the ‘clenches fist’ meme?” Rose shoots from her own stall. You shoot a face at the wall separating you, not that she can see it. “Listen, you know how I feel about this. You need to make a move because that boy never will. He’s a mess.”

“Wow, who else do we know that’s also a mess at all times for the guy they’ve liked for years?” Jisoo comments from her own shower across the way. You groan and kick your stall door, which only results in a muffled curse and you cradling your toe as you balance precariously on one foot.

“Do not injure yourself, we have a tournament next weekend,” Rose says offhandedly. You huff.

“Why would I even make a move? He’s got…Hatsune Miku and anime girls and shit.”

“Oh, of course,” Rose says. “I forgot, every guy would willingly give up a gorgeous, real-life girl willing to fuck him senseless for a pretty cartoon. Silly me.”

“What I don’t get,” Nayun calls from the locker room proper. “Is why you think he isn’t interested. He gets a chub every time he so much as looks at you, and don’t think Jimin didn’t tell me about the swim meet. The boy fell into a pool.”

“Yeah, because he’s a goddamn idiot.” You shake your head and wash the conditioner from your hair.

“What if we dare you to do it?” Rose’s voice echoes from too close. You turn and see her silhouette against the plastic shower curtain. She takes your confused silence as permission to continue. “Seriously, if we dare you to ask him out, will you?”

“What the fuck,” You say, sticking your head out of the curtain to level a glare at her. “I’m not ten years old, why the fuck would I do something just because you dare me to?”

“Bet, then,” Jisoo says as she wraps her hair in a towel. Your eyes must be wide as saucers because she laughs. “Bet on it. If the boys lose this game, you have to ask him out.”

“No no,” Rose says, and a familiar and all-too-dangerous grin spreads on her face. “If the boys lose this game, you have to confess. Do the gift and the letter and the whole fucking anime thing for him. If they win, we’ll drop it, and listen to your moaning and groaning for the rest of forever without complaint or comment.” Jisoo and Nayun look much too excited at the prospect, but you’ve been watching the boys play all season.

“What kind of bet is that? The boys haven’t lost a game all season.”

“Then you don’t have anything to worry about, do you?” Rose says, grinning as she saunters over to put her street clothes on. “Five minutes before game start.” You curse and rush to finish your shower, determined not to run laps for being late again.

As fate would have it, you do have reason to worry, because apparently, the rival university recruited some fucking professional athlete super mutants or some shit. It’s a close game, the boys only losing by one, but with the level of skill they’ve been playing with all season, it should’ve been an easy win.

And yet.

You’re standing outside the boys’ locker room, waiting patiently for Jimin. It’s a routine you got into when you first met, just after you’d both joined the respective teams. He would wait for you and you would wait for him, as long as it took, especially after a loss. You’re still in shock, still reeling from the game itself. You would almost think Jimin had found out about the bet and thrown the game, just to get you to shut the fuck up about Jungkook, if you didn’t know him.

If you didn’t see the dedication he put into the game, the perfection he expected of himself and his team. It rivals even Rose’s, and you can hear him yelling from where you stand, slamming what is probably his fist into a locker several times before he falls silent. As much as you had riding on this game, as pissed as you are that you lost the bet, you know it’s minuscule in comparison to the way Jimin feels, and you can’t even summon up enough energy to fool yourself otherwise. You’ve known him too long.

When he finally does emerge, you help wrap his knuckles with a clean bandage and ruffle his hair. “It’ll be alright, Park,” You tell him, quiet. He doesn’t say anything, just nods, and you sling your arm around his shoulder to lead him to your car. He’s quiet the rest of the night, even as you eat shitty fast food burgers in your car, even as he sits at the counter at the coffee shop, textbook open in front of him but not reading it.

“So I bet the girls that I would do an anime confession for Jungkook if you lost, you wanna help me plan it?” You ask him towards the end of your shift, long after said dork is gone from the shop. It’s the only time you see Jimin smile all night, but it’s worth it for the way his eyes crinkle and he starts outlining ideas.

“Did you even sleep last night?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Jimin responds as he chugs the rest of his coffee. Calling it coffee is generous, if you’re honest because it smells like he put twenty espresso shots in a cup and added some sugar. You force back a gag and shudder at the thought. “Everything’s in place?”

“This isn’t a bank heist, Jimin, I’m giving him a fucking box and a letter.” Even behind sunglasses you can tell the look he’s giving you is withering. “Whatever, yes, everything’s in place.”

“Good. Target sighted. Commence mission.”

You huff, grumbling as you move forward to the door. Of the cafe. Where you work. Where Jungkook is sitting, surrounded by his dork friends and heatedly arguing about something you no doubt have no clue about. Looking absolutely delectable, despite just being in a regular ass fucking jacket and a beanie that almost matches his skin and his hair looks so soft that you want to rub your face in it and also maybe bury your fingers in it while he’s between your legs.

You open the door and are immediately hit with the sound of Rose choking on her drink, the sudden conversation about which dps character is better - what the fuck that means, you don’t know - screeching to a halt, and every single person in the shop staring at you. Which is only like three people that aren’t Rose, Jungkook, Jimin, or the six people around Jungkook, but still. You force yourself not to throw up and move, cursing the itchy and uncomfortable dress the entire way.

Really, it was Jimin’s fault. You’d been brainstorming ways to confess and how to make it so perfectly Jungkook that he at least had to respond. He’d been the one to suggest dressing up as Hatsune Miku, which you, of course, nixed immediately. You weren’t about to spend who knows how much on a fucking wig and costume of one of the most popular cartoon characters of the modern age, not when you were only going to use it one fucking time.

So here you fucking are, dressed up like god damn Haruhi Fujioka, in an itchy yellow dress that doesn’t move where it should and feels like fucking sandpaper against your skin, that Jimin just happened to have on hand, like that wasn’t super fucking weird, and now everyone at your place of employment is staring at you and the small white box in your hands with a little pink envelope on top of it and you can hear Rose’s muffled laughter as you step further into the shop.

You stare at the ground as you walk, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. It doesn’t take more than a few steps before you’re staring down at Jungkook’s Timbs. You take a deep breath, and then another, and then another before you look up. He’s openly gawking, jaw nearly on the floor as he looks you up and down. Not a single soul is making a noise in the shop, so your voice rings out loud clear as you say–

“My chest hurts when I think about this person. When this person is happy, I am happy. When he smiles, I feel like crying. I distinguish his voice better than other people’s. I think this person is respectable. I want to become this person’s strength. I have scored more than 80 points, and it’s official. I-” You stop, cursing the fact that you’re doing this at three in the fucking morning on your day off in your workplace all because of a fucking bet and the fact that you couldn’t shut up about Jungkook’s stupid fucking face for more than two minutes without being in danger of combustion. “I like him, and I hope that he feels the same.”

You shove the white box into his hands and turn on your heel. Without looking back, you march out the door, grabbing Jimin on the way even as Jungkook calls after you. You keep going, walking quicker than you ever have to get to your apartment as fast as possible. Jimin just laughs as he follows you.

“I can’t believe you actually did it, holy shit. I hope he likes the chocolates, you worked really hard on them.”

“This is going to end up on the internet, I just know it, and I’m stating right now that this was not how I ever wanted to fucking tell him.” Jimin laughs again and hands you the coffee Rose had made you. When you finally make it back to your apartment, he helps you take the dress off and gets the pint of ice cream out of the freezer so you can wallow in peace.

“You don’t even know what he’s going to say,” Jimin protests, though he heaps his own spoon with ice cream in the process.

“I walked up to him in a jank cosplay of a shojo manga character and confessed my fucking love for him, Jimin.” He balks at the look you give him. “I don’t care how much of an otaku he is, he’s gonna think I’m fucking weird.”

“Well, don’t count yourself out just yet, alright?” Jimin ruffles your hair and you swat at him. “You never know. Maybe he’s really into Ouran and you just don’t know it.” You groan and bury your face in a pillow in an attempt to smother yourself. It doesn’t work.

It still hasn’t worked the next day when you wake up around noon to find Jimin gone and your dishes done for you. You grumble about it since you had every intention of doing your own dishes, but you send him a quick ‘thanks for washing my grime bitch’ because no matter how capable you are, you never want to do them.

It’s later that night when you’re fresh out of the shower and getting ready to head to your practice except for the fact that you can’t find your fucking keys that there’s a knock on your door. You open it without looking and dive back into the couch, bent nearly in half while you dig through the cushions. “Hey, Nayun, I’m almost ready, I just have to find my keys. I think Jimin threw them somewhere last night, after that fucking debacle at the shop-” A choked noise that definitely does not sound like Nayun reaches your eyes and you bolt upright, eyes wide.

Jungkook stands in the doorway to your apartment, wide eyes darting up from where he most definitely was staring at your ass and his face bright red. “Jimin gave me your address. Um…can we talk?”

You really want to say no. You want to tell him that no, you can’t, because you have volleyball practice, as he can tell from your uniform, and you absolutely cannot be late because Rose will literally use your entrails to make a new net.

Instead what comes out is, “Sure!”

You wave him in and close the door behind him, shooting off a quick text to Rose to let her know you might be late or may not show up at all, you’re not really sure because motherfucking Jeon Jungkook just showed up at your door. All you get back is a string of the cry-laughing emojis, and you curse whatever deity decided she should walk this earth with mortals.

“So,” Jungkook says. It’s long and drawn out, like he doesn’t really know where to go from here, but you’re distracted because he looks so good. Matching grey hoodie and sweats that are just the right side of baggy, standard Timbs, hair pushed to the side slightly to show off a bit of forehead. God, what is the world coming to that you’re this worked up over some fucking forehead?

“So,” You echo.

“Did you mean those things you said yesterday?” You hesitate and he takes it as an answer in itself. “Listen, I…I get it, y’know? You’re this super cool volleyball star, and I’m a big nerd who swims, haha, let’s tease the kid about his crush, but…it didn’t really seem like you were teasing. And now I’m confused because I can’t tell if you actually meant any of that or if you were just…dared to do it.”

“I was. Kind of. It was a bet, actually.” Jungkook’s face falls and you wince. “No, not like that, it wasn’t. Fuck, okay, it wasn’t a mean bet. I made a bet with the girls on the team that if the boys lost their game, then I would confess my feelings to you in some big dramatic anime way, like all that shit you like, right, and then the boys actually lost their game, so I had to do it, and then, wait.” Your brain catches up. “Did you say you have a crush on me?”

Jungkook’s face is still slightly pink, but he’s got the most tentative bunny smile on and he looks so unbearably fond that your heart is breaking. “I did,” He says softly. “So you really have feelings for me?”

“I’ve been in love with you for more than two years,” You blurt. You immediately want to take it back, want to suck the words back in before they can escape and embarrass you further, but it’s too late. “I mean…I was an orientation leader with Jimin right before my second year and you were in his group, and I saw you talking to some people and you were just really super cute and you have a really nice smile and I was kind of hooked and then later that year we were both at the dining hall and I was sitting near you and this guy said something about some anime and you were all, ‘really, because if you’d bothered to watch the show then you’d know blah blah blah’ and it was the single hottest anime takedown I’ve ever seen.”

Jungkook is silent through your babble, though his smile just grows and he fluffs the back of his hair. He looks around your apartment briefly, like he’s looking for words, and he’s got the prettiest flush on his face and you want to kiss it but he hasn’t said anything.

“I went to your first volleyball match that year, and you spiked a ball into a girl’s face,” He admits. You remember that match, mostly because- “And then you argued with the ref for almost ten minutes about whether or not you deserved a penalty for it because technically she was the one that tried to hit the ball with her face, you hadn’t tried to hit her in the face. I’ve never been so turned on by sports in my entire life.”

“I once spat water out my nose because you said hi to me in the dining hall.”

“I fell into that pool because you looked really fucking hot in your uniform and I couldn’t process the fact that you thought my anime shit was cool.”

“I want to lick your abs.”

He stops at that, and for a second, for a single second you think maybe you went too far, but then he’s glancing around at the apartment as if he’s actually looking for something now. “Is there anyone else here?” He eventually asks. You can’t even finish shaking your head before he’s on you, pressing his mouth to yours in a feverish kiss.

You want to say that it was soft and sweet and gentle at first, but it wasn’t, at all. The two of you had too much pent up sexual frustration for that. Instead, his lips move against yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect, and his hand on the back of your neck is unforgiving as he tilts your jaw to get deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck, Kook,” You moan, hands already roaming along his sweatshirt. “Please take it off, I’m begging you.” He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling against your lips and it sends a wave of arousal crashing through you even as he strips his hoodie off to reveal nothing underneath. You feast your eyes on the muscles he keeps hidden away, hands hesitating as they start to run along the skin. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind, seems to actually bask in it, and he chuckles again as he lets his hands fall to your hips.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” He whispers in your ear, and you find yourself shaking at the way it feels. Erotic and sensual and hot as fuck, you want to return the favor, but you find yourself at a loss.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” You ask, pushing against his chest and walking back with him until his knees hit the couch. “Do you know how often I’ve thought of this?” You push again and he falls back onto it, hands coming to grip your thighs as you straddle him, and you make sure to grind your hips against his as you move to whisper into his ear. “How often I’ve touched myself thinking of you?”

Jungkook moans, and you want to etch the sound into your fucking skin, it’s absolutely glorious. He says your name like it’s a curse and you’ve never wanted someone more. You grind yourself against the stiffness you can feel through his sweats, your own volleyball shorts leaving little to the imagination. You’re absolutely soaked, and you know it’s going to be a bitch to wash but you could not give less of a fuck right now.

He rolls his hips up to meet yours and it’s your turn to moan, hands coming up to brace on his shoulders as your tongue slides along his neck and down to his throat. His breath hitches when you graze the skin there with your teeth, so you repeat the action. His hands tighten at your hips and slide to palm your ass; you never thought a guy’s hand on your ass would feel as good as it does, but you also never thought you’d be making out with Jeon Jungkook on your couch instead of going to practice.

“Fuck, Kook,” You moan into his mouth as he slides his right hand up your shirt to cup your breast. It’s more difficult than it usually would be, as you wear your sports bras to practice, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Need you.”

“Don’t wanna fuck you on your couch yet,” He replies between the slide of his tongue against yours. “Your room, wanna make you come in your bed first.” Your legs tremble at the thought and you push yourself up. It’s hard to stand, your legs are wobbly, but Jungkook doesn’t even seem to notice it as you turn. His chest is pressed against your back immediately, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady while the other gropes your ass. His mouth is harsh on your neck and you can feel the bruises forming but at this point, you don’t even care.

You press yourself into him, and you can feel him. He curves, you can already tell; the heat radiating from the hardness pressed into the swell of your ass is delicious, and another wave of wetness seeps into your shorts as you think about what it’s gonna be like with him inside.

“You have no idea what these shorts do to me,” He whispers, nipping at the skin of your neck one last time before he slaps your ass - hard. You yelp, more in surprise than anything, but before you can say anything he’s pushing at your hips to force you through the apartment.

You’ve only made it to your bed faster once before this, when you thought you were being chased by an ax murderer that turned out to be a coat rack.

Jungkook isn’t gentle when you get to your room. He doesn’t even pause, just flips you around and shoves you onto the bed. It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, and you’re quivering a little because of it. He slides between your legs, hands running slowly up your thighs, and it seems that now he’s decided to take his time.

His touch is feather-light against your skin. You can barely feel his hands as they slide up your thighs and over your hips, around your waist, and between your breasts, but you can’t ever deny where they are. You’re hyperaware of him, and the smirk on his face tells you that he knows it. The competitive side of you, the one that makes you so fucking vicious during games, swells; he needs to know you’re not one to take it lying down, and he needs to know now.

Your legs move up around his waist and you push, using all your weight to flip the two of you so he straddles you once more. He’s rock solid against your ass and you grind back into it. His hands slide along your waist again and he pouts a little.

“Wanted to taste you,” He whines, fingers dipping just below the waistband of your shorts. You hook your thumbs in alongside his and pull, letting the material slide down just enough to tease.

“So do it,” You tell him. He looks confused for a second before recognition washes over him. His dick twitches behind you, but you pay it no mind. You rise up enough to slide your shorts off, a true feat of excellence considering how tight they are, and when you settle back down on your knees, his tongue runs across your slit. You gasp at the feeling and he takes this as permission to continue.

Whatever you expected him to be like in bed, every sexual fantasy you’ve ever had about him, none could ever live up to the reality of Jungkook’s tongue sliding between your folds to flick your clit. You moan, nails digging into your thighs.

“You like that, princess?” He asks, muffled by your thighs and pussy. You nod before realizing that he may not be able to see you.

“Yes, I do,” You tell him, and your nails dig in harder when he flicks it again. He continues, tongue darting out to tease you but not giving you enough to get you where you want to go. You growl, and he laughs.

“Maybe you should be kitten instead if you’re going to growl at me.” You shudder at the name, and when you look down with red cheeks, he has one brow raised. “Really? Kitten?”

“Shut up, I know you have a Hatsune Miku body pillow,” You tell him. He looks ready to protest but you lower yourself so his lips brush your folds. He takes the hint, thankfully, and lets his hands curl up to grip your hips. “Put that fucking mouth to work, Jungkook, or so help me-” You’re cut off by an unexpected moan. He slides his tongue along you once more, from clit to hole, and you whimper.

You can literally feel the smirk against your pussy and you rock down onto him. He laps up your juices, swirling his tongue around your clit and back down to your hole. You grind your hips down into his mouth, desperate for more friction, and you feel soft breaths against you as he chuckles. You whine and he takes pity, angling himself better before sliding his tongue tantalizingly slow into you. You clench around him and are left unsatisfied. As wonderful and skilled as it is, it’s not nearly big enough to do what you need it to. Still, it feels damn good as he thrusts it in and out of you, good enough that when he starts to pull away, your hands dart down and tangle in his hair to keep him right where he is. You can feel your orgasm coming, it’s so close you can taste it, and when he slides a finger over your clit, you break.

Your hips stutter in their rhythm and you slide yourself to the side so he can breathe properly once more. He’s got a grin on his face and looks entirely too pleased with himself. He moves to lay between your legs, pressing soft kisses to your torso and thighs with every breath, and the fondness in your chest swells.

You can see him straining his sweats, it has to hurt, and yet here he is, showering you with kisses and sweet nothings instead of immediately trying to get off himself. What a refreshing change of pace.

“Thank you,” He mutters with a laugh, and you realize you’d been talking out loud. “I do really, really want to fuck you, though.” He trails kisses up your neck to your ear and you shiver. “Would you like that, kitten?” You whine and arousal courses through you once more. He trails kisses back down and unsnaps your bra; you would have to remember to thank Jisoo for suggesting you get a clasped sports bra, because it’s never been helpful before but thank God you don’t have to try to peel yourself out of a regular one now.

Jungkook presses his lips against your nipple lightly, fingers ghosting over the other to stiffen it. “You didn’t answer me, kitten. Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me to slide into that pretty pussy?” You whimper, doing your damndest to pull him far enough that you can grind against something that isn’t air, but he holds his body just far enough away that you can’t. He gives your nipple little kitten licks, his saliva making the air that much colder and your nipples that much harder.

“You’re so wet for me, kitten,” He mutters as he lets his free hand rest on your thigh, thumb swiping lazily over your hipbone. “Can you feel it? Because I can, even from here. You’re absolutely soaked, I could probably just slide right in. Do you want that, kitten? You want me to pound that little pussy of yours until you can’t walk straight?”

“Fuck, Kook, please,” You moan. Your hands slide along his body, looking for any kind of purchase and finding none. He’s enjoying himself too much, and you’re too desperate right now to do anything about it. “Please, Kook, please fuck me already. I swear to god, I’m gonna send your fucking Evangelion fanfic to your professors if you don’t get in me soon.”

“How do you even know about that?” He asks, momentarily stunned out of character. You give him a satisfied grin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lift your hips off the bed completely, letting them brush lightly against him. He stifles a moan and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, your entire body shivers with delight; he’s still that dumbass weeb but fuck, he looks like he’s going to absolutely wreck you.

“I’m gonna fuck this slut pussy of yours until you’re gushing, you hear me, kitten?” He says, kicking his sweats off. You don’t even get a chance to appreciate the sight of his dick before he’s lining up with your hole, the tip brushing against your clit in the process and making you moan. “I’m gonna fucking pound your pussy until it’s so fucking full you can’t remember your own name, let alone random shit about me. You’re gonna be begging for my cock, all day every day.”

“Fuck, Kook, yes, please, I want that,” You grind your hips up again and he moves, sliding inside of you in one easy movement. The stretch burns at first; he’s fucking huge, and he does curve, and it presses against every inch of you in such a phenomenal way that you never want him to stop. Your eyes must have rolled back in your head because when you open them, Jungkook has one hand stroking your cheek as the other supports his weight.

“Are you good?” He asks, soft and gentle. You nod, rolling your hips in a quick circle to let him know how good. He lets out another groan, soft and muffled, as if he’s containing himself. “You’ll let me know if you need me to stop?” You nod again. “Fuck, kitten, you’re so good for me.”

He starts to move then, dick dragging against your walls as he pulls back out slowly before slamming back in. Your moan echoes through the apartment, but all you hear is the soft call of your name from his lips as he repeats the motion. You raise your hips to meet his thrusts and it only takes a couple of minutes before you’re both panting. Your legs lock around his hips to bring him in deeper and he moans at the contact. He sits back on his knees and brings you up with him.

You’ve wanted to ride his dick for years, and it’s so much better than you ever thought. Every drag of his cock has you clenching, every thrust with this new angle has him hitting your g-spot and you’re seeing stars. He’s got one hand on the small of your back to keep you steady and the other on the back of your neck so he can bring you in close and kiss you deeply, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he has to breathe.

The two of you move in tandem, hips gyrating against each other’s as you chase that high together. Having him inside of you feels like heaven and you never want it to stop. He starts to pull out and you shake your head, slamming your hips down onto his with renewed vigor.

“Gonna cum,” He huffs, and you press a kiss to his cheek.

“Good,” You tell him. His grip on you tightens and he slams into you harder. “Fucking cum inside me, Kook, please.” He moans, loud and unashamed, as he hits deeper inside of you with more force than you expect. You’re bouncing on his dick now, there’s no other word for it, and you fucking love it.

“Fuck, kitten, gonna fill you up so good,” He mutters. You nod, feeling the pressure inside of you tighten. “Gonna paint you with it gonna cover your pussy with my cum, want you to feel me inside you for days. Fuck, take it, kitten, take my cum inside, all of it, don’t let a single drop fall out.” He slams into you, again and again and again. Your throat is raw from the screams, you’re pretty sure he has scratch marks on his back, but you can’t bring yourself to care because, fuck, he feels so good.

He slams into your g-spot again, at the same time he kisses you deep and moves his hand to rub against your clit, and your orgasm slams into you like a freight train. You can’t even say anything, moans swallowed up by Jungkook’s mouth, but he knows by the way you clench and spasm around his cock, you can tell, because it only takes a few more shallow thrusts and he’s over that edge with you. You can feel his hot seed settling inside, spreading to fill you completely.

He lays you back on your bed, gentle, and slides out. His cum starts to seep out of you, you can feel it on your thighs, and when you open your eyes, he’s staring at the sight.

“Is this…something to be worried about?” He eventually asks. You shake your head and tap your bicep.

“Implant,” You tell him. “We’re good.” He nods and leans forward, and you feel his finger slide up your slit once more, gathering all of his cum before he pushes it back inside of you. When he’s satisfied that you’re as full as can be, he lays down next to you and tugs you into a lazy embrace. You take his hand and lick it clean, surprised at the fresh wave of arousal that hits despite your exhaustion. He smiles, cute and bunny-like, with the nose scrunch and everything, and you let yourself get lost in it.

He traces invisible shapes on your skin with his hands, all over your thighs and belly and arms and chest, and it’s an intimacy you’ve never had before. You watch him, eyes following each curve he makes, and trying to figure out what he’s drawing.

“It’s not Hatsune Miku,” He eventually says. You raise your brows at him and he grins. “I don’t have a Hatsune Miku body pillow.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. “Well, then, I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

“It’s Nami from One Piece,” He admits. You roll your eyes and grab a pillow to smack him.

“This is why we can’t have nice things, Kook.”

“I disagree.”

“What do you mean, you disagree?”

“I’ve got you, don’t I?”

The blush on your face gives you away even as you suppress the smile, but Jungkook lets you pretend, content to continue drawing on you with his fingertips. It’s the first time you’ve felt content and at peace in two years, and - you can’t believe you’re about to think this - you’re glad you put on that fucking cosplay.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: The Proposal (Keanu x Reader)

Summary: Follow up for Always the Quiet Ones. After a month away, Mr. Reeves is back and he has a proposal for you. Part 1 - Always the Quiet Ones | Part 3 - Dark Paradise| Part 4 - Without You

Author’s Notes: I just got attacked by a plot bunny and this happened. I will continue to visit this universe because I totally love the possibilities here. If you have ideas or suggestions, my ask box are always open. And as always, feedback is appreciated.

Wordcount: 5985

Warnings: Smut (dirt talk; bad language; d/s vibes; unprotected sex)

Your shift had wrapped up a few minutes ago and after hours on your feet, you were taking a few moments to rest before heading home. Trying to avoid rush hour and a packed train, you were hanging out in the breakroom with Sean, one of the bellboys.

The breakroom was the place of rest for all the employees, from the secretaries in the administrative offices, to the front desk girls, the housekeepers and bellboys. It used to be a dark, depressing place when you first started 3 years ago, with concrete walls and poor lighting, but everyone pitched in to turn it into a comfortable room.

Now with painted walls, nice couch, and armchairs; a dining table and even an old expresso machine the restaurant threw out and one of the guys from the laundry room fixed, it felt like your second home. How sad was that?

You moved to town for college with big hopes and dreams to become a lawyer and help out your family, but to make those come true you had to face long work hours at the hotel, fitted between your classes. Whatever free time you had was spent studying and finishing college assignments.

You didn’t even know what a social life looked like at this point, but that was ok. You were almost done with college and if you kept your grades up – which you have been doing – you had great potential to get an internship at Pearson & Hardman and then your life would change, you just knew it.

“Earth to Y/N,” Sean called, making your attention snap back at him. “Did you hear a word I’ve said?”

You hadn’t, lost in your own thoughts. He had been telling you about his quarterback days before he blew his knee and had to give up a career in sports and take this job to help his family. Sean liked to reminiscence his glory days and you didn’t mind listening, but sometimes you didn’t really pay attention.

Not like some of the others. They would hang to every word. Mostly because Sean was handsome and funny, and everyone seemed to have a crush on him. However, according to Maggie, he only had eyes for you.

If you had known about that a month ago, you would be more excited by the prospect. You liked Sean. He was a great guy. Always took the time to walk you to the train station whenever you finished your shift late, like a perfect gentleman. Definitely boyfriend material.

He wasn’t, however, the one that filled your dreams; made you wake up gasping and wet, in desperate need for release. He wasn’t the name you hoped to see crossing your cellphone screen every time your phone rang or the face you searched in the lobby whenever you walked in for work.

“Sorry, I didn’t.” Your smile was sheepish and apologetic.

“That’s ok. I think I’ve told this one before,” he said with a shrug, his blonde hair falling over his eyes. “So, I was thinking, since we’ve both done for the day, maybe we could…”

He trailed off when Maggie walked in, her blue eyes wide and excited as she looked your way, small hands compulsively straightening her receptionist uniform.

“A guest just requested housekeeping in his suite,” she announced, her eyes darting at Sean, before looking back at you as if trying to convey some secret message that went over your head. “He asked for you specifically.”

“So? She clocked out,” Sean was the one to reply. “Send someone else.”

“I can’t.” Maggie’s eyes seemed to plead with you, but you could only stare at her in confusion. “He’s in the presidential suite.”  

“Mags, she’s not going,” Sean insisted, his voice turning annoyed. “Doesn’t matter how VIP this guy is.”

“It’s Mr. Reeves!” Maggie blurted out, panicked and you couldn’t contain your small but sharp intake of breath. She was the only one who knew. No wonder she was so nervous.

“Again…” Sean began. “She’s not…”

“No, I’ll do it,” you cut him off, getting to your feet. “I know he’s very… particular about his bedsheets.”

It was a weak excuse, you knew, but you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to see him again. Even if you didn’t hear from him for a month. Even if you didn’t even know if he wanted to see you too. For all, you knew he really just wanted you to change his sheets.

Heart hammering in your chest, you made your way to the top floor where the presidential suite was. Your feet were heavy like lead; anticipation and dread mixed in your belly as you approached his door, holding the vacuum-sealed package with the new set of bedsheets. You rasped your knuckles on the polished wood, announcing yourself.

It wasn’t Mr. Reeves that opened the door, but a gorgeous redhead, tall and with a model’s body, her makeup and hair perfect and part of you wanted to reach over to check your hair, which had been in a ponytail the entire day.

She stepped aside so you could walk in and at first glance, you saw no sight of Mr. Reeves and wondered if maybe Maggie got it wrong, but when you walked into the bedroom, you could see his broad back fitted in a perfectly tailored grey suit as he spoke on the phone at the balcony.

“Considering how expensive this place is, you’d think they would keep their sheets clean,” the woman spoke, shaking you from your staring and bringing you back to work.

You quickly stripped the bed from the old sheets which were in perfect condition and started the slow task of redressing the bed under the watchful gaze of the woman and you fought the urge to squirm.

Who was she? A girlfriend? Wife? Lover? You had researched extensively about Mr. Reeves and for all accounts, he was single and one of the most eligible bachelors out there. Maybe it was so new the gossip sites didn’t get word of it yet.

You knew the second Mr. Reeves walked back into the room because the scent of his aftershave preceded him, and the piercing gaze of the redhead moved away from you.

“Keanu, darling, should we head for dinner? I heard they have an excellent duck here,” she said, her tone so pretentious it grated on your nerves.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Cheryl, but I’m exhausted. I’ll just gonna order room service and catch some sleep. It was a long flight.”

And how was it possible that just the sound of his voice was enough to send a thrill of arousal through you? Your entire body was suddenly tense with expectation, waiting for the undeniable pleasure his voice promised.

“Of course,” Cheryl said, sounding disappointed. “See you tomorrow then, handsome.”

You glanced over in time to see her lean for a kiss. Mr. Reeves turned his head just in time and her lips landed on his cheek instead. Cheryl looked upset but had no time to protest because he closed the door in her face. You let out a small snort, attracting Mr. Reeves’ attention.

“You didn’t actually have to change the sheets,” he said, walking closer to you, one hand loosening his tie. “It was just an excuse.”

You stood there, holding one of the pillows halfway into the new pillowcase, watching him. You thought he looked like sin in jeans and a t-shirt, but in a suit like this, he was just perfect. It was dark grey, the shirt a shade lighter, the tie black. His hair was combed back, a bit longer than the last time you saw it, and his beard trimmed and neat.

“You like whiskey?” he asked on his way to the bar, shrugging off his blazer and throwing carelessly on the couch.

“Not really,” you replied, leaving the pillow on the bed and walking into the sitting room. He had already measured the amber drink in two glasses, offering one to you.

“You’ll like this one,” Mr. Reeves said with a smile and you took the glass because you didn’t really know what else to do. “Maggie in the reception said you were off duty.”

“I clocked out half-hour ago,” you said, sipping the drink and wincing as it burned down your throat. It tasted like oak flavored cough medicine, so you set the glass aside under his amused gaze.

“Good. You can have dinner with me,” Mr. Reeves announced, taking a seat at one of the armchairs and you fought the urge to glance down his lap, at the prominent bulge you knew it was there.

“Won’t your girlfriend mind?”

“Cheryl? She’s a business partner, nothing more,” he said, sipping his drink.

“Does she know that?” the words slipped from your lips before you could contain yourself and Mr. Reeves snorted, his eyes crinkling with amusement and your heart leaped at the sight.

“Is that jealousy I’m hearing, sweetheart?” he asked, offering you a hand.

Your rational side was telling you to stay away. That he was just using you. The stupid, hopeless side of you took his hand, letting him guide you onto his lap and cup your cheek. His rough thumb traced your lips and you parted them, allowing Mr. Reeves to push it inside. You even swirled your tongue around it, sucking slightly and his gaze darkened, his erection pressing against his zipper and your center.

“I’ve been thinking about this the whole day,” he said, his voice lower, throatier. His hand coming up to your back, finding the zipper of your uniform. That was what gave you pause, made you let go of his thumb and get up from his lap. “Something’s wrong?”

“I’m a housekeeper, Mr. Reeves,” you declared, voice surprisingly strong considering your nerves were wrecked. “Not a…”

“I never said you were,” he interrupted, a confused frown marring his handsome features and you snorted, arms crossed over your chest.

“No, you just fucked me senseless, then disappeared for a month and came back like nothing happened, ready to fuck me again.”

There was a biting tone to your words, you knew, but it was warranted. You had your pride at the very least and no matter how amazing the sex had been and how you hadn’t been able to push him out of your mind, you weren’t just getting back in his bed without knowing what this was.

“You’re right.” His words startled you a little. You were expecting him to argue or even kick you out. You didn’t expect him to agree with you. “I should’ve called. I just get into my head when I’m working a deal and…” Mr. Reeves looked up at you, his brown eyes big and soft, like a chided boy. “I know that’s a crappy excuse, but it’s the only one I have.”

He patted the couch next to his chair and after a moment of hesitation, you took a seat begrudgingly.

“I should’ve made myself clear last time. I apologize for that,” Mr. Reeves said. “The truth is, I’ve been watching you for a while.” You raised your eyebrows at his words, and he grimaced. “That sounded weird, I’m sorry. What I mean is, I’ve noticed you. Before last time.”

“I know.” You noticed him too. Several times since he started staying in the hotel. Whenever you two were in the same room together and you glanced his way, he seemed to be watching you, but it was only last month that you actually talked to him. “Why?”

“You really don’t know?” he asked with an amused smile, eyes traveling over you. “It’s not just a physical thing. I can tell you’re smart, hardworking, kind and attentive… I like you.” Mr. Reeves declared, his gaze piercing. “And when I see something I like, I take it.”

“I’m not a thing,” you pointed out, lips pressed together in displeasure. He had sounded so nice at first.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he amended. “I just want you, but I don’t really have time for relationships, so I hope we can reach an agreement.”

“An agreement?” you repeated in confusion.

Mr. Reeves stood up and moved to the table where a briefcase rested. He took out a manilla folder and hand it to you, giving you an encouraging nod until you opened it. You gasped as your entire life was displayed in front of you on paper.

The fact that your dad left when you were ten, abandoning you, your mom and your younger brother. How your mom had to take a loan so she could pay off your father’s debts, leaving your family and a horrible financial situation. Your own student loans and other financial issues; a copy of your paycheck and a bank statement that showed you only had a hundred dollars in your account. All the complaints you filed with your housing counselor about how loud your roommate was.  

“Wha… ho…?” you couldn’t form words, too shocked to speak.

“I can make all those problems go away,” Mr. Reeves said, taking his seat again. “I can get you a proper apartment, all expenses paid and even an allowance if you want to quit this job to focus on your studies or get an internship in a law firm. I can even get you some referrals, but with your GPA, I don’t think you’ll need them.”

“Why?” It was all you could manage, your mind a turmoil of thoughts.

“I told you,” he started, swallowing his whiskey, one hand resting on your knee. “I take what I want, and I want you. I tried fucking other people to feel the same thing I did with you, but I was right. You might have ruined for others, sweetheart.”

Mr. Reeves cupped your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, but his touch which before seemed so inviting, made you pull back, stand up and pace.

“And what would be expected of me? If I accept this?” You asked, words coming out a lot more bitter than you intended.

“Your company and exclusivity,” he replied easily. “You’ll have the same from me, of course.”

“And when you say my company, you mean…”

“Your company,” Mr. Reeves interrupted, sounding a little impatient. “If I wanted a hooker, I’d pay for one. I just…” he let out a long sigh. “The time I spent with you? It was the first time I had fun in a good while. It wasn’t just the sex, it was everything. I want that on a regular basis. Especially since I’ll be coming over more often with the new brand of Arch about to open here.”

“I had fun too,” you admitted. “You don’t have to… you could just take me out for dinner and date me.”

“I want to take care of you,” Mr. Reeves said, tone soft as he stood up, coming to stand in front of you. Once again cupping your jaw, but this you let him. “Is that so bad?”

“I guess not,” you breathed out shakily as he guided you closer for a kiss.

“So, you’ll do it?” he asked, inches away from your lips. Close enough that you could smell the whiskey in his breath.

“Can I think about it?” you asked, and he nodded, his eyes searching for your consent. You nodded too and Mr. Reeves finally kissed you; chasing away all thoughts of the proposal he just made you.

---

You’ve been staring at your computer for the last twenty minutes. You were supposed to start an essay, but you were thinking about Mr. Reeves and his proposal instead, wondering what to do.

Your first impulse was to say no. Pride and indignation rearing their heads. You were broke, but you had some self-respect. You weren’t interested in selling yourself like that. Be his… kept woman?

Then again, it would be nice if your mom didn’t have to worry about the loan anymore. She could start saving money for your brother. A college fund so Jason won’t have to struggle like you.

It would also be nice not to have your own student loans any longer. To know that once you graduate you won’t have to slave yourself to pay back every cent. And having a place for yourself? Not having to share with a loud, insufferable bitch like your roommate or deal with the hallway parties and neighbors being noisy…

There was this apartment building close to campus, two bedrooms, one bath that you always daydreamed about whenever you walked by. In your mental picture, you’d turn one of the rooms into an office, with ceiling to floor shelves and a window bench, because you’ve always wanted one. A pullout couch so your mom and Jason could come to visit you and a fully equipped kitchen because your mom loved to cook…

Were you really considering this? Committing to a man you knew barely so you could have nice things? You were really that desperate? Well, no, but who didn’t want comfort? Who didn’t deserve to go to bed every night and not worry about money? About the roof over their heads? Over their families’ heads? And if you played your cards right, you could make sure to get everything you wanted and needed out of this arrangement.

Getting to your feet, you grabbed a few reference books and everything else you needed to know to make a viable contract and sat back in front of your computer, ready to work. After three hours, you stepped out of the library, laptop on your backpack and a copy of the contract you drafted inside a manilla envelop as you headed for the hotel.

It was your day off and you weren’t really planning on going anywhere near your place of employment, but if you were going to do this, you wanted to talk to Mr. Reeves as soon as possible.

You made a beeline for the reception desk where Maggie was talking to a guest. Her expression shifted into confusion when she saw you there, but realization quickly drew on it as well as an excited smile. She thought you and Mr. Reeves made a cute couple and said the whole thing sounded like a fairytale. She was so naïve it hurt.

“Is...” you trailed off, giving her a meaningful look, ignoring the curious look the other receptionist gave you.

“Yeah. I’ll make sure they know you’re on your way up.” Maggie winked at you, already grabbing the phone as you moved towards the elevators, your heart once again hammering against your chest, your palms sweaty.

The sound of your name as you waited for the elevator made you jolt, turning around to look at Sean coming over to you with a confused smile.

“I thought it was your day off,” he said.

“It is. I just…” you looked down at your hands, at the envelope and back at him. “Have some business to take care of.”

Right then, the elevator’s door parted, revealing Mr. Reeves in workout clothes, towel hanging from his shoulder, water bottle in one hand. His eyes landed at you, his lips pulling into a smile as he rested his free hand on doors to keep them open.

“Is that for me?” he asked, gaze dropping to the envelope before meeting your eyes again. You swallowed the lump of anxiety in your throat and nodded. “Well, let’s go then.”

You glanced back at Sean, at the understanding in his eyes, that quickly shifted into disappointment as he gave you a quick nod and walked away, leaving you to follow Mr. Reeves into the elevator.

As the doors slid closed, you could feel your entire body trembling with nervousness; you could barely draw breath like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the cart and you were painfully aware of Mr. Reeves' presence behind you.

He led the way to his suite, holding the door open as you stepped inside first.

“May I have some whiskey?” you asked as soon as the door was closed.

“I thought you didn’t like it,” he pointed out, setting his things aside as he made the way to the bar and poured you the drink.

“I don’t. I just need something to…” you paused, thinking about how to phrase it. Settle your nerves? Give you some courage?

He set the drink aside and walked towards you, helping you to shrug off your backpack and coat, setting it on the table along with the contract, before he turned back to you, his presence strong and strangely reassuring as he looked into your eyes.

“Whatever you decide, I will not judge you,” Mr. Reeves declared, resting his forehead against yours.

“But you won’t have me either?” you asked, hand coming up to his jaw, running over his beard.

“When you’re the owner of a multimillion company, people can try to take advantage of you,” he sighed. “I don’t mean you, just to be clear. This way, I get to take care of you and get what I need out of this, without risking my company.” He kissed your forehead and each eyelid, and you sighed too, your body instinctively relaxing in his embrace. “Tell me your terms.”

“I brought a contract,” you whispered, arching your neck to give him room to work as his lips moved down, kissing first your cheeks, then your chin and finally the hollow of your throat.

“I hate reading contracts,” he mumbled against your skin, his warm breath tickling you. “Just tell me.”

“Ok.” You struggled to focus and think back at the document you spent most of your afternoon working on. “The apartment. I want to pick it and when this is over…”

“If,” Mr. Reeves corrected, one eyebrow arched at you. “I don’t want us to start anything already thinking about the end.”

“If this is over,” you reworded with a nod. “I get to keep it. I want it in my name.” he only hummed in response, his fingers making quick work of the buttons of your shirt, pushing it down your arms. “And to ensure your investment, I’ll stay for at least a year, but after that, I can call it quits whenever I like.”

“No,” Mr. Reeves said, pulling back.

“No?”

“No,” he repeated, looking at you. “I don’t want someone who doesn’t want me. You break things off at any moment. No need for that one-year clause.”

“And what makes you so sure I won’t just wait until you give me the apartment and end things?”

“I guess I’ll just have to trust you,” Mr. Reeves declared with a lopsided smirk, before catching one of your nipples in his mouth and sucking lightly through the fabric of your bra, making you gasp and grab his hair. “and in my ability to keep you entertained.”

You nodded, your head suddenly foggy and sluggish, too focused on the bolts of pleasure running through you to actually remember what you were doing.

“Sweetheart?” he called, looking up at you with that same smirk. “Your terms?”

“Right!” you shook your head, trying to clear it as you took a step back from him and he actually pouted in displeasure, but if you let him continue, you weren’t going to remember your name, let along your contract. “I don’t want an allowance. I can work.”

“Whatever you want,” he nodded taking his seat on the same armchair from last night and even though you knew it was probably a bad idea, you sat on his lap at his invitation. “I just thought you might like some more time to study, even find some internship in environmental law. Didn’t you tell me that was what you want to work with? I don’t think there are many paying positions in non-governmental organizations.”

“True,” you conceded as his lips returned to your body, pressing soft kisses all over your neck, his hands kneading your thighs, making wet heat pool between your legs. “Maybe I should be more realistic. Administrative law is pretty interesting as I found out.”

“If you say so.” His fingers skimmed over your cunt, making you roll your hips and groan, desperate to feel him without the barrier of clothing.

“Ok, so maybe a small one until I get a new job in a company I like,” you conceded, getting up long enough to kick your jeans aside, before coming back to his lap, earning a pleased grin from Mr. Reeves.

“Like I said, whatever you want.” He kissed you and you sighed again his lips unable to believe how much you missed this after only having one time before.

“How about your terms?” you asked breathlessly when Mr. Reeves released your lips. “It’s not fair if only I get a say in it.”

He paused for a moment and you took the opportunity to tug at his shirt. He obeyed without a word, letting you take it off him, his eyes had a faraway look as he thought about what you had just asked.

“The apartment. Pick someplace with a gym and a pool,” Mr. Reeves finally said, meeting your gaze. “I’m planning on staying over whenever I’m here.”

“I can do that,” you nodded, trying to think if the building you liked it had those things. “What else?”

“Your studies need to come above everything else. Even me,” he said and once again you nodded. “And I hope you understand that my company will come first too.”

“I understand.” You really didn’t expect any different. “Anything else?”

This time, you were the one to kiss over his neck and jaw as he thought things through, but you didn’t manage to go very far, as Mr. Reeves tilted your face back up, catching your eyes.

“You need to be completely honest with me. If you’re not happy with something I did, with this arrangement, with me, you need to tell me.”

You looked at him stunned; surprised by the care and worry in his tone. How could you think for even a second he just wanted to use you? And it made you wonder if you even need all of these terms and contracts and arrangements in the first place.

“Mr. Re… Keanu,” you amended when he arched an eyebrow at you. “Will you do the same?”

“Yes.” He gave you a short nod, eyes never leaving yours.

“Then yes.”

“That’s all I need,” Keanu smiled at you once again catching your lips and you melted in his embrace.

His hands traveled over your back, touching softly until he found the clasp of your bra and released it, helping you out of the garment, before kissing you once again, hand cupping your breasts, thumb teasing your nipple and making you arch up towards him, your moans muffled against his lips.

You rolled your hips in payback, rubbing yourself against the bulge in his sweatpants, making Keanu’s breath catch in his throat, the hand in your hip squeezing slightly, encouraging you to continue, root against him, seeking your release, but it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. Your body begged for his touch; your center pulsed and throbbed in need of him.

Reaching between your bodies, you tugged on the waistband of his pants and Keanu lifted himself so you could pull them down enough to free his cock. It laid hard and heavy against his lower belly and you licked your lips in anticipation, sliding to the ground on your knees so you could take him in your mouth.

He grunted above you at the first hesitant touch of your tongue against his head. His hands squeezing the arms of the chair, his eyes hooded watching you, lips parted, drawing shaky breaths.

Holding him steady, you let your tongue sneak out again, brush against his slit, collecting the pearly white drops gathering there, tasting him. You were surprised to find you quite enjoyed the salty, slightly bitter taste.

Emboldened by the discovery, you took his head fully in your mouth, eyes never leaving his as you sucked on it, making sure to stroke the rest as you’ve seen it.

“Give me your hand,” he croaked, his voice rougher than before and you obeyed, almost pulling it back when he ran his tongue over your palm. “To smooth things over.”

You only hummed in response, bringing your hand back to his cock and he was right, this time your motions were easier and by the way, Keanu’s lids fluttered, quite more pleasurable.

Slowly, you moved your head down, taking more of him, your tongue licking the underside vein, before swirling around his girth, exploring every ridge, every bump, before you pulled almost all the way back up and started all over again.

Keanu’s breaths were coming in short pants, his head was thrown back, his hands fisting the chair, his moans filling your ears and the sight of him this undone was making your body hot with want, sending a thrill through you. You did this. You made this powerful man succumb to you with just your mouth.

“Faster, sweetheart,” he asked, one hand coming to rest on your nape in encouragement, but not pushing it down.

You followed his request, bobbing your head faster, trying to hollow your cheeks to give him more friction and Keanu cursed above you, his hips moving up just slightly and you wondered how it would feel to let him fuck your mouth.

“Stop, stop,” Keanu said, tugging on your hair and you let him go with a pop, watching him with unsure eyes.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Absolutely not,” he assured, pulling you back to his lap. “I just need to be inside your pretty cunt when I cum tonight.”

His words made you ache for him, your neglected clit throbbing in need and it was almost as if Keanu could read your body better than you, because he brought his hand to your core, thumb rubbing against your clit, fingers teasing your folds through your soaked panties, making you cry out and rock against his hand desperately.

“See? You need it too,” he whispered against your ear and you nodded, your arms around his neck as you rolled your hips. Keanu pushed your panties aside so he could press his fingers into you, rubbing your g-spot.

“Oh sir, please,” you gasped, pressing your forehead against his, one hand coming to stroke him. “Fuck me.”

“Soon, sweetheart,” Keanu assured, his fingers moving in and out of you. “I gotta get you nice and wet and ready for my cock. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

All you managed was a nod as you rode his hand, chasing the sweet pleasure of your climax, feeling your entire body tight and tense and ready.

 “You’re gonna cum, baby?” he asked, lips drawing into a smirk and you nodded, feeling Keanu speed his motions, his thumb pressing a little harder on your clit. “Do it. I wanna feel you soaking my fingers.”

A long moan slipped from your lips, your body arching and quaking above him as your orgasm washed over you, setting all your nerve-ends into haywire. You were so lost in the aftershocks that you barely noticed as Keanu pulled his fingers away, replacing them with his cock.

All you knew was the way it seemed to drag out your pleasure as he filled you up, your walls quivering around him as if trying to draw him deeper into you until you no longer knew where Keanu ended and you began.

“Ready, baby?” he asked in a pant, his hands on your ass and you just nodded, still too dizzy to really follow what he meant. Not until he slapped your ass lightly, bringing you back to the present, meeting his eyes and smirk. “Ride me, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” Using his shoulders as leverage, you raised yourself until he was almost all the way out, before sinking back in, making both of you moan at the sensations.

It took you a while, but with Keanu’s help, you managed to set a good rhythm, bouncing on his cock, while he licked and kissed and nipped your breasts, his own hips rising to meet you, making the armchair shake and squeak beneath both of you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Not when your entire body seemed to sing with delight. All you could feel was Keanu beneath, around and inside you. His cologne mixed with the heady scent of his sweat filling your nose; the sight of him completely lost in pleasure as he marked your skin, branded you as his. His grunts and curses and moans like music to your ears. The taste of him still in your tongue…

There was nothing else in the world you wanted and the last rational part of you that seemed to have managed to keep going wondered why you were so hesitant in getting into this arrangement in the first place. You would be winning even if all you got of it was him.

“I’m not fucking you well enough if you’re still managing coherent thought,” Keanu whispered, pulling your closer to his body, until you were flushed together and stood up, making you squeal in surprise, arms tightening around him. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna drop you.”

He brought you to the table, spreading you open on the polished chestnut surface, before pushing back inside you, startling a cry out from your lips. Soon enough he was fucking you hard and fast, one of your leg over his shoulder, his thumb once again rubbing your clit and all you could focus was him, needy little moans spilling from your lips.

“That’s better,” Keanu said with a smirk, bending down to nip at your belly.

You threw you head back and held onto the edge of the table, too far gone to do anything else as your second orgasm washed over you, making you almost scream out his name, your senses blacking out for just a moment until your felt Keanu stilling, a loud groan spilling from his lips as he came too.

For a while the only sounds in the room were your ragged breathing as the two of tried to recover, Keanu draped over you, head on your stomach making your leg bent in an awkward angle, but you were too boneless to give a fuck, even if you knew you’d end up with a cramp. You were too blissed out, sated and sleepy to care.

You barely felt Keanu pulling out of you or taking you in his arms and bringing you to bed. It was all just flashes.

Keanu cleaning you up with a warm cloth. The bed dipping with his weight as he pulled you into his arms, cuddling you close. Keanu getting up despite your protesting grumbles. Kissing your forehead and promising to come back in a bit.

You finally woke up, groggy and pleasantly sore, looking around in the dark room to catch your bearings, taking a moment to recognize where you were and why. Another one to realize you were along in bed and Keanu’s side had long grown cold, but there was a note on his pillow. He had a business dinner and would be back late so you should order anything you wanted from room service. You guessed you were gonna need to get used to that sort of thing. There was no point in being disappointed.

Naked, you padded into the sitting room finding the contract you wrote on the coffee table. You picked it up, noticing Keanu had scratched out the one year clause and added the other things you two had talked about, his handwriting neat and elegant, but his signature at the end, a messy chicken scratch.

It was official then. You were his. And Keanu was yours. For as long as this arrangement lasted at least.

xxx

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[ohokimdumb]

Carlos Oliveira Imagine (We belong together, we will die together.) 💔❤🤍

Request:  How about we get some sadness in here? Request: During the events of Raccoon City, Carlos must shoot the reader before they turn. Despite how many times Carlos refuses to do so, the reader insists. Have a great day!

WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH(S), IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY DEATH OR IMAGINES RELATING TO SADNESS, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: so this imagine is a bit longer than most. A lot of people wanted longer imagines. Writing this made me a little emotional not gonna lie xC. I hope you all enjoy this as much as I did writing it. I didn’t write it as Carlos CONSTANTLY refusing to end the reader’s life, because honestly I don’t feel like he’d want the reader to suffer, no matter how much it broke his heart to lose them.

Word count: 1.3k

Carlos bashed through the hospital entrance. He quickly barricaded the double doors with whatever he could find lying around; benches, wheelchairs, runaway transport beds. By the time he had the barricade towering above the doors, zombies crashed against the thick glass. He wasn’t sure how long it would hold, items were already shaking and falling off one another.

“Fuck.” He muttered and grabbed his assault rifle from the receptionist desk; ready to burn through the rest of his bullets. Fear rested at the bottom of his chest cavity; at that point he wasn’t sure if surviving was an option. Carlos refused to leave the city until he had found you. You were all he had left. He was scared to be alone, to have no one by his side while everything around him was destroyed. Carlos felt more than alone as he stood waiting for the barricade to crumble. One by one, whether it was a wheel chair or bench, the item fell to the ground. He was fatigued and hopeless. There was nothing more painful in the world, than accepting he would die alone…no one to hold his hand. He was strong and level-headed, but everyone had their breaking point.

Suddenly, the double doors that led deeper into the hospital flew open. Carlos quickly turned and aimed his rifle at you. You held your hands up in surrender. Your fiancé couldn’t help, but smile. For hours he had been looking for you. Through the chaotic streets, inside crumbling buildings, and infested corridors you were nowhere to be found. Immediately he pulled you into a tight embrace; as if it would be his last chance to feel your touch. Hopelessly, you sobbed in the crook of his neck. Not only was your willingness to survive destroyed, but your body ached to the point it was painful to move. Every bone in your body felt like it was going to break. You were hot. Sweat ran down your bruised skin like a waterfall; your temperature skyrocketed to new heights during those hours were surviving on your own.

“Are you okay?” Carlos cupped your face, but you didn’t give him a proper answer. You knew he wouldn’t accept the truth. Instead you pulled him deeper into the hospital where you marked a safe-room. Once inside he chained the handles once more and immediately gave Carlos the key to the lock. You didn’t want to make anything more difficult for him to survive. The last thing you wanted was him to be inevitably stuck in that city with you…or what you would become. You remained silent as you removed your torn coat. The arms and back of your coat were ripped apart by the infected. A confused expression rested on Carlos’ face as he grew worried; you were acting strange…distant. Your coat dropped to the floor leaving you in a tank-top and sports-bra. The bite wasn’t hard to miss. It was on your right shoulder-blade. The teeth marks were deep and swollen. A small amount of blood was still oozing from the infected wound.

Carlos stumbled back out of shock and disbelief. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Right when he thought everything would be okay, hope was ripped from his grasp. Tears of pain and guilt filled his brown eyes and ran down his dirt-covered cheeks. It was terrifyingly silent, not even moans from the dead echoed in his mind. You stepped back even further; afraid you might act out on your growing cannibalistic tendencies.

“This is my fault.” Carlos blamed himself. You shook your head and stepped close to him; unaware of your actions. You cupped his face as he did to you earlier. His tears dripped from your hands to the cold ground. Even though you were terrified of what was to come, you still smiled. If you showed fear, Carlos would fall apart. You had to be his strength.

“This isn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault we got separated at the police station. It was an explosion and fallen rubble from above. We can’t control what happens around us.” You calmed Carlos with your soothing voice, even though your vocal cords trembled in fear. Carlos shook his head, he refused to shift the blame to fate. But, what could he have done against Umbrella’s sadistic nature? The bombing of buildings was only the first stage of their cover-up plan. He needed to leave. You wanted him to say goodbye. You know he was never good at saying goodbye, especially to you. It was hard for him to say goodbye when he left for work, knowing he would see you that night. His slim window to survive was closing. It was time.

“Come here.” You pulled him into a loving embrace. He felt so warm and protected in your weak arms. But it became difficult to hold yourself up. Within seconds you crumbled in his arms as you whimpered from the horrific nerve pain in all your joints. It was hard to stay strong for Carlos when you were aggressively falling apart in front of him. Carlos fell to the ground and he gently pulled you into his lap, afraid he might hurt you more.

“You don’t have time to waste, Carlos.” You coughed up blood. There were no visible puncture wounds, but it was the virus’ nature. Its purpose was to destroy living cells. Slowly, your body decayed. Carlos knew what you were implying and he wanted no part in it. Unfortunately, he was your only chance. Carlos was the only one who could bring you peace.

“I-I can’t.” Carlos squeezed his eyes shut as he openly fell apart. Seeing you suffer was worse than any pain he had felt before. If he had the option to take your place, he would in a heartbeat. You gently placed a trembling hand on his cheek. Not even your touch calmed his thoughts. Carlos was too deep in his emotions. He might not have heard the cries of the dead, but you certainly did. They had already broken through the barrier Carlos built. You needed to talk some sense into him; even though it broke your heart.

“This isn’t goodbye.” You say in a weak tone as your life was slowly slipping out of reach. It felt like your soul was gradually lifting from your soon-to-be corpse. Your senses grew weak and inaccurate. Carlos’ body trembled from the immense amount of adrenaline running through his bloodstream. He was angry at the world, at himself. He had failed you, and all the innocents who perished in Umbrella’s chaos. He didn’t feel like a hero the company claimed him as. Just another useless soldier.

Carlos glanced down at you. You were at the point of unconsciousness; it was hard to tell if you were even breathing. The last thing he wanted was you to become one of those monsters; to walk among the dead. It wasn’t fair to you, no matter how much he wanted you to stay. If he let you turn, he’d be as evil as the company he worked for. He forced himself to pull his pistol from its holster. Before even thinking about holding the gun to your head, he admired what life was left in you. Droplets of sweat shined against your skin. Even close to death, you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He breathed in; his lungs fluttered as he held a finger on the trigger. The chains began to shake and rattle as the infected tried to bash open the doors. Even if he managed to escape the dead, he wouldn’t make it out of the city before the nuclear detonation. No matter what he did, the two of you would die together. He counted the seconds as the chain gradually loosened around the door handles. The dead’s hands started to slip through the double doors, blood dripped from their fingertips.

“I love you, y/n.” Carlos pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. As you began to wake up from death, he immediately pulled the trigger.

           Those who belong together, die together.

[taetaespeaches]

valentine’s day mini drabbles.

hyung line.

genre: fluff word count: 1.8K

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day lovelies! Here’s the hyung line’s mini drabbles to celebrate this silly day of love. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading :)) 

Check out the maknae line mini drabbles here. 

“I can’t believe you destroyed six bouquets.”

kim seokjin x reader genre: fluff word count: 431

YOU giggled at your boyfriend who was excitedly telling a story about his hunt for rose petals earlier that day. He was sat at the opposite end of the tub, ranting about how the stores were understocked, bobbing his head like crazy as he spoke causing water to splash out of the tub onto the tiled floor.

The scene was like one straight from a romance film, a trail of flower petals leading down the hallway to the tub, candles lit up around the bathtub that was overflowing with bubbles. Petals were scattered all around, of all different types of flowers.

“I could not find a single thing of rose petals,” he complained with pouted lips and wide eyes. “I ended up buying six bouquets of flowers and pulling all the petals off just to do this.”

At that, you cackled loudly, Jin joining you in laughter with his own squeaky version. “Freaking ridiculous,” he laughed.

“You are ridiculous. And hilarious, and beautiful,” you complimented, Jin smiling softly at you as he tried to hide it behind his hand. He finished the wine that was in his glass, reaching out of the tub to place the empty glass on the floor. “It’s perfect though. This,” you gestured around the bathroom.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said sincerely. “I worked hard for it so you better appreciate it,” he added in a joking tone.

“I can’t believe you destroyed six bouquets,” you shook your head with a smile. You finished the wine in your glass, depositing the glass on the floor next to Jin’s.

“Don’t worry, it was only five. I saved you one,” he smiled. You laughed as you reached for the wine bottle, foregoing the glass as you took a sip straight from the bottle.

Sitting up, Jin followed suit as he sat up as well, your faces inches from each other. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love,” you whispered as you lowered the bottle, dangling it outside of the tub.

“I love you, you goddess,” he spoke, his lips hovering over yours. Pressing his mouth against yours, he left a lingering kiss. Trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck, his fingers dragged down your arms until they reached your hand. His fingers toyed with your fingers until he grabbed the bottle from you, bringing it to his own lips.

As he took a drink of the wine, you leaned forward, placing kisses along his shoulder as your hand settled on his side, squeezing his flesh. “Love you too,” you whispered against his damp skin. “The thought of you, the reality of you, all of you.”

“I romance you all the time.” 

min yoongi x reader genre: fluff word count: 390

YOU were sat on your kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal when your boyfriend let himself into the apartment and shuffled through the hallway to find you.

“Cereal?” He asked, standing across the kitchen from you holding a pink box.

“Heck yeah, want some?” He thought for a moment before shaking his head. Yoongi made his way to you, positioning himself between your legs as he placed the box on one of your thighs. You raised your eyebrows in curiosity and lifted the lid to show you a dozen heart shaped sugar cookies with pink icing.

“Oh my god,” you smiled. “You know, for someone who hates this holiday, you sure do tend to partake in the capitalism of it all,” you teased him, earning a scoff from your boyfriend.

“I’m a conformist.”

“You’re cute,” you smiled as you moved the box of cookies to the counter next to you.  

“Oh, shut up,” he whined, a bashful gummy smile threatening to overtake his expression. “I can hate the holiday and still want to spend the evening with you. It’s not my fault all the desserts are shaped like hearts.” He sported a pout as he gave his weak explanation.

“Yeah, yeah,” you patted his cheek. “I kind of love when Lover Boy Min Yoongi makes an appearance.”

“What are you talking about?” He pulled a look of confusion, nose scrunched. “I romance you all the time.”  

You held back a laugh at the word choice, romance you, leaning in to leave a peck on his pouted lips. “That’s not Lover Boy Min Yoongi, that’s just Min Yoongi my soft boyfriend,” you teased him. “Lover Boy Min Yoongi is the hopeless romantic who buys heart shaped cookies on Valentine’s Day despite it being capitalistic bullshit,” you quoted him.

“I hate you,” he told you through a bashful gummy grin as he stepped closer to wrap you up in a hug, burying his face in your neck to hide his growing blush.

“Love you too, Lover Boy.”

He groaned against your neck before leaving a peck there. “Love you more, Kid.”

You threaded your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck as you massaged the spot soothingly. “Now what was that you said earlier? You romance me?”

Yoongi groaned louder, you giggling as he squeezed your waist tighter.

“We’ll go to the moon.”

jung hoseok x reader genre: fluff word count: 430

AS you sat with your legs spread in a v-shape atop the picnic blanket, Hoseok sat between your legs, his head resting against your chest as he munched on piece of chocolate. You supported yourself with one arm stretched behind you as your opposite hand stroked your boyfriend’s hair.

You snuck your hand around his face, booping his nose, surprising the man. His lips spread into a fond grin as he took your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it, and then placing a kiss to your wrist. He held your hand there for a moment before returning it to the top of his head.

“Demanding, aren’t we?” You teased as you began running your hand through his hair again.

With a chuckle, he nodded. “Just a bit. It feels nice.”

“You’re cute,” you complimented before adding, “even if all that success is going to your head,” you joked, Hoseok giggling as he closed his eyes.

“Only ego, ego, ego,” he sang, referencing his solo outro track making you laugh loudly.

“Trust myself,” you joined in, Hoseok smiling brightly in response. You looked around the mostly empty park, 1 am being pretty late for most people to be out roaming around. “Thank you for this picnic,” you said, looking down at Hobi, watching as his eyes opened and his head titled back to meet your gaze.

“Did you get enough to eat?” His eyes were wide as he anticipated your answer.

“More than enough. I’m stuffed.”

“Good,” he smiled, looking up to the sky.  

As he admired the night sky, you admired him, appreciating the way his features shined in the moonlight.

“You know that movie where the guy says he’d lasso the moon for his girl?” He asked before quoting it with your pet name. “What is it you want, Petal? You want the moon?”

With a fond smile, you nodded. “Yeah, ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I get it now,” he confessed as he stared up at the moon. “I would give you the moon if I could. If you asked for it, I’d find a way.” You ran your hand through his hair as you peeled your eyes from him to look up at the moon.

“Maybe we could just fly there instead,” you suggested.  

“To the moon?” He shifted his gaze to yours as you looked back at him.

“Yeah,” you smiled, leaning down to kiss his forehead.  

“I like that,” he nodded. “We’ll go to the moon.”

“Perfect,” you mumbled into his hair. “We’ll go to the moon.”

“You’re cute when you’re shy.”

kim namjoon x reader genre: fluff word count: 586

HAND in hand, you walked down the city street, cars speeding by, headlights creating a constant stream of lights that lit up the man beside you. You and Namjoon opted for a casual Valentine’s Day date, deciding to check out an exhibit at one of your favorite museums.

As you both talked excitedly about your favorite pieces, you walked around the city with no destination in mind. And as much as you basked in the pale moonlight, and as much as you enjoyed his conversation, the thrill of him being near was more than enough to delight you.

Suddenly, Joon stopped talking about a painting he found particularly interesting as he dragged you to a street vendor who was selling tulips. As Namjoon picked up a red and pink bouquet wrapped in brown paper and tied together with some string, he took a shy glance at you, quickly looking away when your eyes met.

After buying the bouquet, he handed it to you with a dimply grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, babe.”

You let out a breathy laugh at his shy demeanor, leaning into him to kiss his cheek softly. “Thank you, Joonie.”

Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he suddenly pointed across the street. You followed the direction of his finger, your eyes falling on a little diner.

“You hungry?” He asked, looking at you with a soft smile.

Nodding, you shrugged. “Starving actually.” His smile lifted just a bit more as he nodded back. Dragging you to the crosswalk, he pressed the walk button.

“I want some pie,” he said randomly.

Grinning, you squeezed his hand, peering at the cars. “What kind?”

He thought for a moment, going through the options in his head. “Cherry maybe? You have to share it with me, so whatever kind you want.” Your boyfriend turned to look at the light to see if it was changing yet and you took the opportunity to wrap your arms around him in a back hug, holding the bouquet at the center of his abdomen.

“Cherry sounds great,” you replied as the light changed. He started walking, dragging you along with him as you both repeatedly tripped over each other’s feet. “As long as there’s ice cream involved too.”

Namjoon chuckled, grabbing onto your forearms as he nodded. “Of course. À la mode.”

When you made it across the street, Namjoon was wearing a big smile as he pulled you around to walk next to his side, your arm still wrapped around his back, his snaking around your shoulders. Entering the café, it was mostly filled with groups of friends. It was loud and casual, and somehow absolutely perfect. Then again, maybe it was just the nearness of him.  

Sitting across from one another in a booth, Joon quickly ordered the last piece of cherry pie, à la mode of course, smiling giddily. You took the opportunity to admire his gorgeous dimples again.

“You’re adorable,” you complimented him, a light blush gracing his cheeks as he looked down to the tabletop.

“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to you saying things like that,” he told you shyly, looking up at you.

“I hope not,” you reached across the table, taking his hand in yours and threading your fingers through his. “You’re cute when you’re shy.”

His bashful smile grew as he shook his head, bringing your hand to his lips to leave a kiss to your knuckles.

“You’re always the cutest,” he chuckled against the back of your hand. “I love you.”  

[muffinwalloper]

Why General Cortez from Queen of the South is a tragic character

First of all I've got to say that I love this series! The story is interesting, the character development is amazing, the cast is great and I've picked up some useful Spanish vocabulary. ;-)

As for character development, I think that General Cortez was one of the most complicated characters I've ever seen. At the beginning when he works for Epifanio you only get to see this vile side of him which consists of cruelty and hunger for power. Soon, it gets evident that Cortez has his own plans and is far more than just his governor's lap dog. During his hunt for Camila he reminded me of a blood hound, not backing down until he'd finally got his prey. However, for a soldier, he shows very little obedience towards Epifanio as he asks him repeatedly not to harm Camila. This disobedience quickly makes us realise that he's killing for sport and that he's taking pleasure from hurting others. When Epifanio tries to have him killed by Badman, he retaliates by killing Badman and serving his cooked flesh to Epifanio in a taco in his own house. This is not only an act of cannibalism but it also makes clear how depraved the general's hunger for power and control really is. He takes total control with this, showing us that he knows no mercy and no morals at all. It's at this point when even the last of us realises that Cortez is a psychopath. He manipulates people, feels no remorse and wants nothing more than control.

When he survives Epifanio's second attack on him it gets clear that this one is not easy to kill. Cortez has, in spite for his unhappiness which shows more and more towards his end an incredible will to live, literally walking out of a fire.

I must admit though that it came as a surprise to me when he offered his service to Camila after Epifanio's death. For one, he's mentioned more than once before that he doesn't believe in female leadership. He makes a few hateful comments about women in general throughout the series but it wasn't until he tried to become more than an employee to Camila that I realised that Cortez was in fact desperate for affection.

It seems to me that he must've been hurt deeply by women in the past (perhaps by his own mother who he only ever brings up once, saying that he'd never dared to raise his voice against her as his father would have punished him for it) which led to a bitter antipathy towards women in general. However, the more time he spends around Camila and Isabela the more affectionate he becomes. He smiles at them, tries to step into the role of a father for Isabela more than once, even though Camila keeps shutting him out and even sleeps with someone else right under his nose, or more like in front of his camera. The fact that he films his bosses sexual activities with the DEA officer as well as the fact that he tries to separate them through manipulation shows that he's very controlling of things and people he considers to be his.

When Isabela's fiancee Kique tells him to his face that he's making a fool out of himself for believing he will ever be more to Camila than “a puppet” Cortez reacts by killing him violently, once again going specifically against his bosses wishes. At this point, it seemed to me that a part of Cortez knew that Camila would never return his affections but was not ready to admit it to himself. We could see a huge part of him that was nearly begging for love, doing anything he could to please Camila by taking her orders and do her dirty work which seems to be the only way he knows how to show his devotion.

After he fails to kill Teresa he apologizes for his failure and for the first time ever he looks really devastated which shifts quickly when Camila invites him into the kitchen, feeds him and implies vaguely that they could become “family”. When he hears this Cortez is truly delighted; he thanks Camila and tells her to take all the time she needs as she's still grieving her husband's death. This is the first of only two times when the General behaves almost lovingly towards someone.

However, when Camila tries to get rid off him he doesn't hesitate to give her up and use her own daughter against her, making her believe that Camila ordered him to kill Kique. When he shows Kique's body to Isabela he's caught by surprise when she hugs him out of sheer desperation. He doesn't know any gentle touches or has been refused any for so long that he hardly remembers how it feels. Still, he craves it as he tries hard (through manipulation) to keep Isabela on his side as he claims one night that she's the only person he trusts. Isabela seems to answer his prayers by telling him that he's her family now and again, just like with Camila his whole demeanor seems to soften for a brief moment. Whenever he feels like he's got the chance to have a family he's truly happy.

Another defining moment for his character was him questioning Camila's staff after one of them tried to poison him. Camila's maid confesses the deed but not without telling him to his face that he's weak for he is defined by cruelty, yearning for “empty affection” and has a rotten soul. Just like with Kique, Cortez reacts with deadly violence hammering home that he's not ready to face his own motives and demons. Whenever he's forced to face the truth about himself he lashes out in a desperate attempt to make it go away.

All these scenes indicate that all Cortez ever wanted was a family, a place to call home.

It makes sense that a man like him would join the military, finding comrades and moving up the ranks until everyone had to respect him, filling the huge hole inside of him. At some point however, he must have realised that in spite of all the power he gained there was still something missing. It seems that he believed that Camila and Isabela were his last chance to gain what he truly wanted. In the end when even Isabela betrays him he's not only hurt but there's also a shadow of hopelessness crossing his features. Isabela had been his last hope and after that has been taken from him he runs into battle, determined to win but not as hard as before. At this point a part of him has given up. True to his character, he's not afraid to die. Cortez keeps his mental strength until his very end, fearing neither death nor horrible pain.

In fact, throughout the series he never seemed to mind physical pain too much which seems funny when being hurt emotionally affects him so much more.

I do not deny that the general's character was vile, cruel and simply despicable. However, I can't help but feel sorry for him. Even though we've seen the story of the unloved child turning into a monster more than once before Cortez' story really got me. The more layers that were peeled back, revealing his soul the sadder I felt for him. Here's what I mean when I say that this series has great characters: everyone of them has something more deep going on inside and it's slowly but surely revealed and I love the show for that!

[dorky-bird]

Gift for the Exchange!

Note: Hey Aki! I’m not sure if you ever finished mine, but I thought what the hell and decided to post it anyway. You asked for Shinsou angst and told me to just be creative, and maybe that was a mistake since it ended up being 2,357 words. But I hope you enjoy it and that it’s good enough, I’m not exactly the best writer <3 @akimiithewriter @bnhanewyearsfanfictionexchange

Triggers(Please read all just in case!): mention of verbal abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, mention of neglect, mention of stealing, successful suicide attempt, main character death, overdose, pills, self-harm, blood, cliff hanger (kinda)

“Goodbye.”

Hitoshi was used to being ignored. It was either be ignored or be yelled at and hit. He’d much rather the first option, even if it meant not talking to people for days on end. He was used to be alone. People in his school either tossed him aside as the creepy emo kid who never talked or was too afraid to speak to him directly. There were very few in the last year that gave him a chance, though they were also verbally abusive. They always had some kind of backhanded comment to make about him or his quirk. It was always the same, he knew nothing different.  

Though when he got to U.A. it... Semi-changed for the better. He was being talked to in general studies more, even if most still did avoid answering his questions, even teachers. He hadn’t ever done anything with his quirk, but he was still treated as a hazard. As a threat.

Then there was the sports festival, his chance to finally do something with himself, to be in the hero course and be the hero he had always dreamed of becoming. And he lost.

Though, It wasn’t all bad.

After his loss during the sports festival, he was talked to more. People saying how great he did, people congratulating him for making it that far. He was happy for once, though he didn’t let it show. He didn’t want to lose that persona he had kept up this year.

The only time his mood dropped since then was when he needed to go “home”. Back to his foster home, to his foster parents. He didn’t want to… but, it’s not like he had anywhere else to go unless he wanted to live on the streets. Sometimes he felt like that may be a better option to living with the she-witch and behemoth.

Every day, he took his sweet time getting back to that house, making stops every once in a while to look in shops even though he didn’t have a lot of money. The only money he got was when he stole it from his foster parents, and he had to in order to get some kind of meal every couple of days. Otherwise, he wouldn’t eat at all. They indirectly made him a criminal and he hated that.

Every day, it was beating after beating, yell after yell, and comment after comment. The happier he seemed when he got home, the worst they made it for him. They were actively trying to break him, and he could tell. They had fun messing with his mind, telling him he was worthless. They enjoyed hurting his head and body. They must get some kind of sick pleasure out of torturing him this way.

And it only got worse after he started getting closer with two teachers that weren’t even his teachers, Present Mic and Eraserhead. It got worse because he started to feel better and hang after school more often to train with Eraserhead and talk with Mic. He could tell that they were worried about him, but he kept telling them he was fine. ‘Nothing was going on at home,’ he insisted. ‘I fell down the stairs, I’ll be fine though, it’s just a couple bruises.’

All lies. What was he gonna do, tell his teachers the truth? That he was weak and let himself be hurt at “home”? No way. Never would he admit to that.

Eraser and Mic were worried. They worried about their student a lot. It wasn’t hard to tell that something more was going on. The way he acted screamed that he was being abused in some capacity. But they had no evidence other than the way he acted and bruises that commonly littered his arms. Though he always had an excuse and seemed to refuse any help. Their guts told them to act anyway, to get him out of there, but for some reason, they held back. They may have been wrong… maybe Shinsou was just clumsy, they hoped.

They should have done something.

______________________

Hitoshi lay on the tiled floor of the bathroom, his breathing labored and covered in blood and bruises. Another beating with sharped tounges by his foster parents, the people that were supposed to be taking care of him. It was worse than usual. He actually came home smiling. He had a good day until he back to the wretched house. He felt hopeless. Nobody cared about him, and if they said they did, they were probably lying.

He couldn’t move without spasming pain spreading through his body, but he moved into a seated position anyway, his knees curled to his chest as he winced from the pain. He needed to get up… he guessed.

He needed to get up just to do this all over again tomorrow. What was the point? He’d just go to school, feel happy, come back here, and make himself miserable again. It wasn’t fucking worth it anymore. He wasn’t worth it anymore.

“Dammit!” He shouted out, kicking the wooden cabinet that held the sink, tons of objects scattered across the floor due to the impact. He didn’t care. He didn’t fucking care anymore. He couldn’t make himself care anymore. He just couldn’t. It was all way too much.

He looked forward helplessly. He had no control. He wasn’t living anymore. He was just there. He buried his head into his knees, the pain spreading through his body now is almost addicting. He finally let himself sob. It was agonizing. The pain that coursed through his body was almost unbearable, but he didn’t care. He pulled at his own hair, scratched at his skin. He’d rather hurt himself than let them lay a hand on him anymore. It felt horrible, but it gave some kind of control. He just wanted to feel in control of his own life again.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He just felt so done… He needed to get away. It’d been months of this without rest. He barely slept, he barely ate, he had constant bruises on his skin and no one was noticing! No one at school cared enough to see how he was suffering. Nobody cared!

He only looked up again when he felt something hit his foot. His lavender eyes snapped up to meet the little bottle that had rolled against his foot. A pill bottle.

It was a small bottle, though due to the rattling of the little orange container, there was a lot inside. He reached out his hand and picked it up. His movements were tentative and slow. The label read Oxycodone, he remembered it being a pain reliever of some kind. Maybe… maybe it could help him. Maybe he could stop feeling the pain. This could be his utter control. The one way he has control over his life.

He shakily opened the bottle and shook out two of the pills from the bottle.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

His whole body was shaking as he looked at the pills in his hand. One shallow, that’s all it would take. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. He brought his hand to his mouth but hesitated. He couldn’t do this… not without…Not without some kind of explanation to the only two people he really cared about.

He put the pills down on the floor of the bathroom and stood up on aching legs to leave the room, coming back into the blood-soaked bathroom with a piece of paper and pen. He leaned against the wall with a shaky sigh before sinking down to sit down again. It was a few minutes of writing while trying not to make it look like chicken scratch, and crossing out things on the letter. If this was the last thing he was gonna say to them, he needed it to be perfect…

He finally finished the letter and sighed, folding the piece of paper in half and writing on the front, ‘To Eraserhead and Present Mic’. He then picked back up the pills that had been discarded on the floor.

And this time didn’t hesitate to swallow down all six of them.

______________________

A police officer walked down the street, coming up to a house with pale yellow wood on the outside and white shutters. The air was quiet and filled with dread as she held her hat in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. She took her time walking up the paved walkway of the quite house before she knocked on the door with a heavy heart.

There were muttering and footsteps from inside the home before the door opened and a very tired eccentric blond opened the door. Present Mic, or Yamada Hizashi, was out of his hero costume. A white t-shirt and yellow plaid PJ pants are what he wore instead of his usual gimmicky leather-clad outfit. His usual sky-high blond hair was down in a half up half down bun and he had glasses on his face. He looked like a normal person like this instead of a pro hero.

As soon as he saw her, his eyes lit up. “Ah, Yoko-san! What brings you here at 9 O’Clock in the morning?” He asked patiently with a smile.

Yoko didn’t smile back. “I have a letter for you and Eraserhead… and some bad news.” She said shakily. She couldn’t stand the fact that she would be the one to tell them. She had been working with the pair in the past year, and they had expressed their concern and worry for the boy… the boy that was now…

“...Do you mind coming in to tell us?” The hero said, now with a frown on his face as he opened the door a little wider for the police officer to step in. She agreed and stepped into the warm home. It was such a contrast to the bleakness of the outside morning, she almost wished she had denied the request. She felt as though the news she was about to tell the two would ruin the sanctity of this wonderful home for the two married hero’s.

On the couch was a just as tired-looking Eraserhead, or Aizawa Shouta. He didn’t look much different than when he did in-hero uniform except for his clothes. Same scruffy five o’clock shadow and mess of black long hair. He wore a black t-shirt and some godawful pink sweatpants. Did he put that on half-asleep or was that a conscious choice?

Yamada closed the door behind Yoko before heading to the couch to sit next to his sleepy husband. “Yoko-san, what is the news?” asked the blond, worry shining in his eyes. He was growing nervous.

Yoko took in a breath as she looked at the two heroes. “I’m afraid that a student of yours has… passed away.”

That was able to grab the attention of both the hero’s now. “Passed away?” The raven-haired hero asked, his usual monotone voice with a slight sense of disbelief. Yamada felt himself freeze and his hands start to shake.

“Who?” Yamada asked hesitantly.

Yoko felt herself tear up. “Shinsou Hitoshi. Suicide.” She said. It sounded resighted. Like she had to practice saying it the whole way here.

Both heroes found themselves unable to speak. Shinsou was… “There’s no way… This is got to be some kind of trick!” Yamada denied, looking on the verge of tears. There was no way that this was real. He couldn’t be…

Aizawa couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His student… His protege… The kid who he started seeing like a son to him killed himself. He was gone.

“You can deny all you want… but as I said before, you also have a letter.” She managed to get out without getting choked up. She held out the semi-crumbled up piece of folded paper to the two. “This is his suicide note. It was addressed to the two of you, so we thought it would be best for you two to read it first before anyone else.”

Yamada was too in shock to even move to grab it. Shinsou was… gone. Shinsou Hitoshi, the brightest kid in all of General Studies. The kid with a great future as a hero in front of him… gone. Tears rolled down the blond’s cheeks as he stared forward with a disbelieving look.

Aizawa reached up and grabbed the note from the police officer, trying and failing to hide the shake in his hands. He usually could keep himself composed, but this was a very different situation entirely. He placed a hand on his husband’s back, unsure of how to comfort him.

“We.. got to read it, Zashi.” He murmurs to his shell shocked husband, not even bothering to hide the slight tremor to his tone. Yamada blinked and slowly turned back to Aizawa, letting out a shaky breath and nodded.

Aizawa let out a shaky breath before he began reading the note from their student… Well, former student.

“Dear Aizawa-sensei and Mic-sensei,

I hope you were able to get this, in all honesty. Don’t trust the police much anymore to get shit done. Anyway, I wanted to say that I’m sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to be, that hero that you both somehow saw in me. And I’m sorry for doing this.

I just couldn’t keep going. Not with all the abuse that no one seemed to see happening every. Single. Day. I would wake up, be screamed at or slapped then go to school and feel happy for a little while, before going on and getting beaten and broken down for being happy. I’m done. I’m sorry.

I don’t know how you two thought I could be a hero… I mean, I couldn’t even stop or save myself, could I? What kind of hero gives up?

I don’t know… I just hope you two don’t take this too hard. I’m not worth crying about. See ya hopefully not soon. I wouldn’t want people I viewed as parents to die so soon after me.

                                                     Goodbye.”

[otome-addicts-notsoanonymous]

This is the entry from @otomemonogatari for the fanfic giveaway! Remember, in order to vote, you must COMMENT on this post! To find the rules for voting and the master post, look under #fanficgiveawaymaster or here. The other submissions can also be found under #fanficsubmissions.

Title: WORTHLESS GIRL

(aka when you give up on making cool sounding titles do you just riff off of ‘imperfect girl’.)

Summary: In a bathroom somewhere in the world, a hapless girl finds herself overwhelmed by the world.

Genre:  drabble, angst, slight romance

Pairing: mc/eisuke motherfucking ichinomiya

Rating: mature probably

WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE NEAR THE END

Author’s Note(more like incoherent ramble tbh): so this be my first “””””””eisuke fic”””” in that focuses more on mc and her inner turmoil. How I got this this idea was because in the past few days I discovered @catchthespade ‘s account and one particular post on mc and eisuke’s relationship they did. It looked at them, their relationship and how it is presented throughout season four. They ‘talked’ about mc’s lack of self worth and esteem and was just a real great break down of both characters. It’s a great read and something when I read it I felt it said what I’ve been thinking for a while  but way better. They also just framed certain scenes that shone them in new lights which me at twelve am doesn’t really ever notice.

So basically, I read this really thotful post and was like ‘mhmmmn, I gonna write about that.’

so I hope you enjoy.

She had once heard of the phrase ‘walk tall my friends…”. It was a baffling phrase. One whose origins she couldn’t remember, and whenever she did try to do so all that was garnered was a perilous sense of loss. But, like most things of torturous sadness, it had stayed with her all the same. The meaning chasing after her in a never-ending maze.

To Walk Tall.

What was it like? What was it like to be able to ‘walk tall’?

She was stubby, small, a midget. She couldn’t walk tall. Whatever god that had decided that didn’t allow her to. She slouched, was wobbly and couldn’t prance in heels. It was a permanent disadvantage to her life. It made it impossible for her to function in the society that had been thrust upon her.

Although, even if she weren’t stumpy and short and incapable of walking she still wouldn’t be able to ‘walk tall’. She was a leech, a parasite,‘an organism which lives in or on another organism and benefits by deriving nutrients at the other’s expense.’She took from him, Eisuke Ichinomiya. She was a negative force in his life that simply stole from and caused him trouble. He’d tell her not to worry, he always told her not to worry, but that never changed the fact that she attracted trouble. It never changed her being useless, and it never changed the fact that she could not walk tall because of her very nature.

Ahh, but dear, they’d cry,don’t worry. It’s just like how we kill our world slowly and how half the population is dying. We know it, oh it exists, but we just don’t worry about it. Ignore it, it shouldn’t matter to us. Instead of worrying, just let it grow, let it swell to a magnificent proportion that absorbs everything with it.

‘Become what you claim yourself to be, you can if you want to. I don’t mind.’Was what he had told her oh so many times.

And, he says that but: Would he really tear himself apart for something so selfless? Would he really allow her to become such a horrible leech on his life?

How could she walk tall then? How could she if she leapt into the arms of her failings? How could she when there would be nothing about her that would have a reason to? How could she when she was so useless? How could she if all she ever did was lean and prop herself up on another?

How could something so pitiful ever even breath?

‘Please. Please. Please just stop. Don’t exist for a minute. All of it, please, for one tiny moment as short as my worthiness, please just stop.’She screamed.

The window in front of her, it long and bearing her for all the world to see, was frosted with ice and snow to the point where it burned skin to a blazing heat. Inside out, her organs too were burnt to a crisp that would never fully heal. The white fire always so close that her tongue danced with its taste as if it were a crème brûlée flamed to perfection. It the best treat you could ever eat.

In the window pane itself, there was a girl. Now, the girl wasn’t there when she had first entered the lofty bathroom, there was nothing but the stillness of a frozen world. But once her toes touched the toasty waters of the tub, the girl appeared stark and bared for all the world to see.

And she, the girl, was a small thing. Pathetic you could say. Frame weak and fragile to the touch, she was almost like amber: easy to shatter and break into millions and million of teeny tiny itty bitty pieces. You could tell of her childish nature from how she carried herself. She slouched, shoulders bunched high and eyes downcast, almost afraid to look at the world as it was. There was nothing spectacular about her: body without any major curves with everything small, whatever beauty she sported not once ever captivated on.

She was, in short, a missed opportunity. Not quite a women in too many regards. A poor example of what a women should be.

She closed her eyes, head face up and did not look at the girl in the window. Her and the light reflecting a truth too vibrant to witness with open eyes. Too real to bear its consequence. She wouldn’t even peak a sneak.

Don’t think. Don’t give it a chance. Don’t give her room to breath.

Shoving it all away with hands and knees and elbows and anything she could use, she felt uncomfortable in the deep tub. The bathroom was too large, so much space completely useless for anything but walking. The marble floors cost an amount that would certainly make her head implode, with the bath itself able to fit too much.

In it she felt so tiny, like a rat scrounging for somewhere to live. To be truthful, she always felt like a rat and sometimes she even thought she had more in common with them than actual people.

It never used to be like that, however. Along the way she had devolved to such a pathetic way of existing. Where that had began she could pin point exactly however it was not like she could say it. To do so would admit a lot and neither of them could. She couldn’t face the fact and he couldn’t acknowledge her, and so it ended up as another shard of her reality that would chase after her like it were the hunt. Haunting her for all of eternity.

Ah~ But that was a bit dramatic, a bit of an exaggeration, a bit too much of a lie. There were moments where she forgot all about it, forget who she was and the way which the world she lived in worked and how vast it was. How poor of a person, a women, she was. It came in rough kisses and exposed breasts and tantalising touches that trailed up further and further along her thighs. Mewing like a kitten so hopeless in its ways.

Oh, how sweet those poisonous moments were~ Even now they brought a smile to her lips. The fact that drinking something that killed her made her happy too disgusting.

Although: was it better that there were times where all she knew was the man know as Ichinomiya?

Although: wasn’t that her life already?

…

…

…

Drawing in her legs, she tried to abandon that too. Yet, how could she when it was just her and them?

Then she couldn’t help but hope for there to be something else. For there to be the pattering of rain or even just a ringing hum. Just some noise so she wouldn’t be so alone.

Ahh, but that was all she ever was.

She chuckled.

No wonder she couldn’t stand tall. She was begging for things as simple as that.

Eisuke, on the other hand, stood tall. If anyone ever stood tall it was him. He was the tallest. And there she was trailing behind him, so insignificant and so small.

If anything he was untouchable.

If anything he was irreproachable.

She wasn’t worth him.

Wasn’t worth anything.

Her arm followed the dripping water, then the rest of her soon followed too, and then everything was clear. Or unclear. It wouldn’t matter much longer.

Instead, stay here for awhile, Don’t get up. Rest your pretty head, the watercalled.

Under neigh, everything was so blue and so beautiful. Was she too, for once, beautiful? A crown? A gem? Twenty million? Was she that?

And now, she could feel it. She could feel the water take her in its arms and it felt so good and so lovely and so right. Her breath was stolen and her checks became a blush red and her thighs dripped.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

More and more she cried.

More and more she wanted her vision to fade.

Body to fade.

World to fade.

Fade, fade away.

For there to be nothing but stardust.

Such pretty pretty stardust

[parttimehuman]

165: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?” For Brason?

I’d like to combine this with @extrasteps‘ “Ive seen you watching me.”  - turned out slightly nsfw - sorry, not a single tiny bit sorry at all

It’s not Mason’s fault. He can see Liam’s dramatically rolling eyes very well in spite of the flashing lights at Sinema, but what is he supposed to do? Brett is fucking gorgeous, okay? He’s tall, and nothing against Liam or any other guy who is perfectly valid and beautiful in his own way, but he tall guy like Brett makes Mason weak and that’s just how nature made him. 

Apart from that, Liam was the one who once dragged him along to lacrosse practice. So what if Mason happens to have found something pretty to look at there. Did Liam seriously ever think he came along for the fun of watching him? Mason’s a great best friend, but certainly not that great. Nobody is. 

Until that point it could have been one of those endless, hopeless, pathetic crushes on a guy who plays in an entire different league than him, a different sport, even. But then Mason and Liam discovered the pretty little secret that Brett spends almost every Friday night at Sinema, and from then on nothing about was innocent anymore, which isn’t Mason’s fault either, because, seriously? Just look at Brett! And the way his body moves when he’s dancing...

Honestly, who could resist him? Most other people who ever come to Sinema seem to agree. Brett is barely to never seen without at least one insanely hot person at either side. He likes to dance, and dancing often enough includes shameless grinding, he isn’t opposed to a little touching here and there, shares occasional kisses on the dancefloor, but at least he’s not one of those people who disappear to the bathroom with three different persons every night. At least not that Mason knows of, and not to make him sound like a stalker, but it’s pretty safe to say that he would know if it was the case. 

“Oh, sure, now he’s taking off his shirt,” Liam comments Brett’s current performance. He’s got all eyes on him in the middle of the dance floor, naturally, but Brett cranes his neck and looks at Mason. 

Mason’s heart beats so fast that it feels like it’s trying to jump out of him and throw itself at Brett, but then it stops and skips a beat, because Brett fucking winks at him. 

“How dare he?” Mason whispers, lost in quite intense dreams. “I feel like I wanna lick something.” 

“We’re not here to lick anything,” Liam mumbles, turning around and ordering shots at the bar. 

“You might not, I certainly am,” Mason informs him. 

Sure enough, not one of the six shots Liam gets is for Mason, and sure enough, Brett keeps dancing with entirely too many hot people that are not him. Is it too much to ask for to just have the hottest guys you know come over and talk to you, possibly grab you by the hips and start making out with you? Is it really? 

“What a cruel world we live in,” Mason mutters, lost in thought. Dirty thoughts. Very, very dirty. 

“Do you like it when I touch you like that?” Hot breath tickles behind Mason’s ear, and something else tickles everywhere inside of him. No, seriously, he is fucking hard in the middle of a public place from nothing but his fantasies and a warm, soft pair of lips brushing his earlobe. 

“Like what?” He asks, because no matter how badly he wants it, Brett isn’t actually touching him. 

“Like that,” Brett smiles into his neck, and then Mason almost explodes, because more amazing things happen at once that his starved body is ready for. He pressed back against Brett’s strong chest, two big hands snaking from his sides to his chest and stomach, roaming him, a tongue flicks over his pulse, and their both moving in the rhythm of the music, their hips swaying, although it’s more like Brett is moving them both. 

Mason doesn’t mean to moan quite so loudly as he answers. He’s not that guy. He’s not the one who other people tell to ‘fucking get a room’. It’s gross. It’s gross, except for when you’re the one who it’s happening to, because in that case it’s the most consuming thing ever, and it can never ever stop. 

“Fuck yes,” he groans, practically rubbing himself all over Brett. 

“I’ve seen you watching me,” Brett whispers into his ear, then bites down into his neck. How Mason manages to not cream his pants at that - only god - no, actually, no fucking deity in the world or beyond can know. It will from now on be the biggest mystery of the universe. 

“And did you really have to wait so long to do something about it?” Mason asks back. He sounds so breathless, his voice broken. He feels like Brett is the only think holding him upright. If he tried, he could easily come just from rutting against his thigh a little further. 

“I liked it too much,” Brett adds with a chuckle. “I don’t think anybody’s ever looked at me like you do.” 

“Like they want to rip your clothes off with their teeth?” Mason responds. “Are you kidding me? Literally every single person in here looks at you like that.” He should have prepared himself better before turning around in Brett’s arms, because the shiny, slightly sweat-slick pecs that are now right in front of his nose make him feel faint. 

“But that’s not all of it, Mason,” Brett growls, pressing his nose against Mason’s neck again, pressing him so close that he can taste Brett’s skin on his lips and feel their erections rubbing against each other. “You’re not looking for a dirty little hookup. I can smell it. It’s killing me. You know why?” 

“Why?” Mason asks, shaking all over. He’s trapped on the fucking dancefloor because there’s no way he’ll be able to walk ever again. 

“I’m a born wolf, Mason. My hunger is so much bigger than that of humans. So much more pressing. So much more consuming. I’ve wanted a lot of people. Deeply. And nobody’s ever smelled like they wanted me just as much. I didn’t even know what it would be like. Until one day, at lacrosse practice, it hit me so hard that I couldn’t concentrate. I had no idea. But now I do.” 

“Holy shit,” Mason gasps. That’s like the hottest thing anybody’s ever said to him. He brings his trembling hands to the back of Brett’s neck and pulls him down. “I need you to fuck me so badly right now. Take me home, Brett. I’m all yours. You can do to me whatever you want. And when I say that, I don’t mean I’ll allow it, I mean I want it.”

“Let’s go home then,” Brett smiles. 

“Let’s go home,” Mason wants to say, but Brett has already picked him up and carried him halfway outside. They’ve wasted enough time. 

[thokage-archive]

i'll bite, what's your opinion on BAKUGOU KATSUKI

BITCH IM READY 2 GOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

FIRST OF ALL……,,,,, SWEATEAL,

THATS MY SON! I WOULD D I E FOR HIM.

secondly, he is an extremely complex character & I beg all Bakugou haters to read what I’m about to write. I don’t think anyone needs to love him or kiss his ass by any means, let alone excuse his behavior towards Izuku. BUT! I beg of you to have some empathy for a fucking 15-year-old boy that has been through hell & back, is clearly emotionally stunted, obviously grew up in an emotionally manipulative, verbally abusive, and very likely, physically abusive household. 

As someone who was raised in a household like that, and as someone who was both the bully & bullied growing up, I just need you to understand how complex he is & that he is worthy of redemption!!! (after all, he is a child, he should be granted the opportunity to grow & learn from his mistakes. I don’t think people should give up on him just yet, lord knows where I would be if the people in my life had given up on me at 15). 

Deadass though…. let’s get into his fucking problems™ first because I am the last person on earth to act like he is perfect. 

#1 problem - extreme anger issues

It’s made clear from the start of the series that Bakugou expresses himself best through anger and violence, something he obviously learned from his mother. Horikoshi, in fact, has SAID that him & Mitsuki are essentially the same person. So can we all just take a fucking moment & imagine Bakugou as a parent…. imagine someone with that type of irrational & immature anger parenting a child. How tf do you think that kid is going to turn out? How does a kid being raised by a verbally abusive parent grow up?

Well!!! Luckily, this series provides us with two very good examples,

a) bakugou katsuki

while on the opposite end of the spectrum is 

 b)  todoroki shouto. 

Everyone deals with abuse in different ways, especially different types of abuse. While Bakugou is dealing with abuse by taking his anger & projecting it out, therefore reflecting his abuser, Todoroki internalizes all of his emotions & is extremely distant and at times submissive for fear of punishment.

Bakugou wards off his weakness/being punished by his mother for being weak, by expressing brute strength through his anger & aggressiveness, thinking of things such as friends and feelings (other than anger) as weak. Todoroki hides his weaknesses from Endeavor by closing off his emotions from him completely, so much so that he is emotionally/socially stunted.

In short

Bakugou’s emotionally stuntedness = lifetime of anger being his only coping mechanism/outlet & a huge failure on his parent’s part to foster any other sort of emotions 

todoroki’s emotionally stuntedness = lifetime of repressing all of his emotions from his father coupled with a lack of social interaction from peers

In both of their households….

losing = weakness

being #2 = weakness 

emotional vulnerability = weakness

all of these weaknesses = punishable by verbal & physical means

The reasons why people respond the way they do to abuse is very varied. My best guess for why Bakugou responds the way he does leads me to problem #2

#2 problem - His Huge Ass Ego/Superiority Complex

Bakugou is…. a perfectionist. Much like Momo & Iida (he is behind only them in terms of class rank) meaning not only is he a huge physical threat, but also incredibly smart & a very hard worker in all aspects of his schooling. He takes his future as a hero very very seriously, just as serious as Midoriya or Todoroki. He very clearly feels a lot of pressure from his parents & other adults in his life to do well & succeed due to the flashiness of his quirk. Even at four when his quirk manifested all people could talk about was how cool it was & how lucky he was to have it, therefore gassing him up & already inflating his 4-year-old head. 

All of the adults around him expected him to grow up and make something great of himself at only age 4, so he has quite literally been feeling that pressure for his entire life, at least as long as he can remember, which created this giant ego of his. 

(ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT ADULTS & PEERS ONLY GIVING A FUCK ABOUT BAKUGOU QUITE LITERALLY FOR HIS BODY. LIKE…. GENUINELY ONLY FINDING HIM WORTHY OF BEING A HERO BECAUSE OF HIS QUIRK BEING “COOL”. BECAUSE IF THAT DONT FUCK WITH YOU GROWING UP, WHAT DOES???)

Now his ego, in terms of how he responds to things, is why he most likely does not recognize what he is going through as abuse. And we all know that from ego, stems immense pride, and Bakugou would be far too proud to admit he was being abused IF he recognized his abuse, therefore he would not seek help for it, or vent / open up to anyone about it. But his ego is also part of the reason why he doesn’t recognize what he is going through as abuse. Admitting, even to himself, that he is abused would seem weak to him. He would have to admit he is not perfect, nor is his home life. He would have to admit that it has affected him, and he would most likely view that as a flaw or defect in his personality. He would never want to be viewed as a victim. (hint hint, how did he handle being called the “victim” of the sludge monster incident? He doesn’t want anyone pitying him or trying to save him from anything. He wants to handle things on his own & thinks of it was weakness to seek out help)

He also uses his superiority complex as a defense mechanism. For example, he overhears Todoroki talking about Endeavor with Midoriya the day of the sports festival right? And he later tells Todoroki that he doesn’t care about his home life and that he should still give it his all against him. This is because Bakugou probably realizes subconsciously that he too has been through some shit with his parents (not necessarily recognizing it as abuse, but not what all other kids go through) & yet he gives it his all. He almost says this as if to prove to himself that he hasn’t let what he has gone through affect him. He thinks it has made him stronger & that he will beat Todoroki despite his hardships, therefore proving him to be superior. When Todoroki decides to not use his flames at the last second it sends Bakugou into a rage because he believes Todoroki finds him unworthy of his full power. He thinks Todoroki is looking down on him, seeing him as weak, and just embarrassed him in front of thousands of people. (This is, by the way, the second time we see Bakugou lose it over the prospect of him not being better than his classmates).

The FIRST time we see it is when he and Midoriya fight one another on opposing teams for All might’s Class. He believes himself to be better than all of his peers & he is absolutely CRUSHED when he discovers that perhaps that isn’t so. After Midoriya fights him and wins, his spirit is broken. We see him retreat to the back of the class & silently watch as the other teams face off. 

His world is actively falling apart around him. For so long he was a big fish in a little pond. He was popular, he was powerful, he was looked up to and admired by adults and peers for his strength. He was talked up so high & told he was so special that for him to be anything other than the best was unthinkable. And yet, here was his childhood rival beating him in a test of strength and wits in front of their mentor and idol. And immediately following him was the son of the #2 hero showing his own display of brute strength & passing All Might’s test without batting an eye through the sheer power of his quirk

Bakugou is so incredibly saddened and shocked by the experience that he gives up, which is something he has never done in his entire life. Midoriya has to walk out after him once the test is over and ask him why he’s leaving, at which point Bakugou confesses, with tears in his eyes, crying, showing weakness in front of Deku, that he cannot keep up. That for once he is below someone and he cannot handle the feeling of failure that accompanies him not being number one. 

He gets over this, being motivated by both Midoriya & All Might to continue. But nonetheless, this is the first instance we see of Bakugou showing genuine fear & hopelessness for his future because he realizes he is not as great as he thinks he is. For him, there is no greater fear for him to face than for him to acknowledge the fact he is not perfect. He is flawed, there are things for him to learn and people he must learn them from and experiences he must go through before he can be number one, and that reality terrifies him. He sees it as nothing but endless opportunities for him to fail. So he determinedly puts on a brave face and screams at Midoriya and All Might that he will be number one no matter what it takes, that he will rise above everyone, even if it kills him. (Which of course it damn near does considering he is fucking kidnapped by villains impressed with his strength/power)

NOW ON TO THE ABUSE PART OF ALL THIS BECAUSE HOLY FUCK I CANT BELIEVE PEOPLE ARE GENUINELY OUT THERE SAYING THIS AINT ABUSE & WRITING WHOLE ASS ESSAYS TO DISPROVE MITSUKI AS AN ABUSER  ONLY SO THEY CAN WRITE HIM OFF AS A ONE DIMENSIONAL CHARACTER/ASSHOLE TROPE

Abuse is not only physical, and to dismiss emotional/mental abuse as not “real” abuse or merely “tough love” makes you an abuse apologist, sorry not sorry. 

The feeling I get from the few interactions we’ve had with Mitsuki, and the times Bakugou has mentioned his home life, is that the abuse he faces is overwhelmingly mental/emotional. He does, however, suffer some physical abuse too, which is essentially confirmed in this new chapter, it’s just unlike the abuse Todoroki suffers from. 

Todoroki’s abuse is blatant, its beatings, starvation, intense physical regimes, etc. The abuse Bakugou suffers is far more subtle and sadly enough, far more common. The abuse he is subjected too is what most of y’alls parents probably just call “good parenting” or parenting the old fashioned way, aka when most peoples parents were shit & everyone thought it was cool to beat their kids into submission & scream at them for hours and hours over simple things. (Sadly, a product of hypermasculinity and misogyny being the overarching influences in parenting tactics, especially in households with a male head. In this case, however, Mitsuki, a woman, is the abuser. So most of y’all tryna ignore it like women can’t be abusive, or violent how men can).

Her physical abuse most likely differs drastically from Endeavors as well. Parents who genuinely believe themselves to not be abusive, but just tough on their kids because they love them or whatever, rarely hit their kids as openly as Endeavor hits Todoroki. We see her slap him on the back of the head, which in another situation & with more context, could be taken as playful, not abusive. But again, all depending on the force of the hit, the intent behind it, how often these sorts of things, occur, and if Bakugou is comfortable with it. How he responds indicates that he does not like it. Therefore she is laying her hands on him in a violent manner, obviously without consent. 

A parent or not, “disciplining” your child or not, that is wrong. And I’m more than positive it happens frequently and in different ways after the new chapter. She is most likely a believer in spanking, which do NOT even get me started on that (my parents literally used to tell me I was fucking lucky to get beat with a belt and not an electric cord), spanking is abuse and I don’t wanna fucking hear it isn’t. You shouldn’t feel the need to beat your kids in any way shape or form to get them to listen to you. She also probably digs her nails into his arm or some shit when he says something she doesn’t like in public, or just generally is rough with him when she disagrees. 

Mentally/emotionally she does not come off as the type to apologize to a child, admit she is wrong to a child, or have a rational conversation with her child rather than beating them. Again, since when has Bakugou himself ever done those things? (and according to Horikoshi, we all know he is a carbon copy of her before entering yuuei). 

Gaslighting is when the abuser places blame on a victim by making them question themselves or attributing the situation to some imaginary fault of the victim. In this instance Mitsuki blames Bakugou for his own kidnapping, calling on his supposed weakness as the source of the problem.

She not only BLAMES Bakugou for his kidnapping, calling him weak and pathetic, but does so in front of his teachers, his idols, degrading him in front of the very people he wants to impress. And for someone like Bakugou, that is probably one of the biggest hits his ego can take and it is most likely killing him inside from shame and embarrassment. 

In fact, I KNOW it is because we later see him TELL Midoriya that he blames himself for All Might’s fall. He thinks he was too weak to handle the villains and so he had to be saved (something he hates having to admit) which lead to All Might’s battle with All for One and eventual retirement as a hero. He literally takes his mothers words and internalizes them to the point of breaking & then expresses them the only way he knows how: violence, by fighting Midoriya. 

So not only do we have concrete evidence of emotionally abusing him by calling him names intended to hurt him, but also of her mentally abusing him by placing the blame on him, causing him to question himself & his capabilities/role in the situation. She makes him genuinely believe that he should have been able to do something about the traumatic experience of being kidnapped by a group of known murders…. uuuuuhhhh does that scream totally normal parent to you? She is not even remotely concerned for his safety…. only how it looks, only with how weak he is. Does that um, cough cough endeavor cough, remind you of anyone? No? Okay. 

Which back to Bakugou and Todoroki, this new chapter killed me because Todoroki is a sweetheart and he really knows what he went through was fucked up. I can see him trying to get Bakugou to understand in the future that violence is not the way to get what you want in life, no matter how small the act, hurting someone, emotionally, mentally, or physically is not how you get people to do what you want or agree with you. Even though that’s all Bakugou has ever known, he just never recognized it as morally wrong the way Todoroki did, most likely because it was much more subtle & normalized in Bakugou’s household.

That all being said…. Bakugou has made many mistakes and I’m not kidding when I say he is a carbon copy of Mitsuki. I don’t want to go so far as to call what he does to Midoriya abuse because that implies a fundamental misunderstanding of his character in my opinion, but like…. bottom line… he abuses & bullies Midoriya severely. 

Bakugou is a classic case of an abuse victim turning into an abuser. However, he is a child, unlike Mitsuki. He was raised by someone who taught him that abuse is okay and normal. He has not yet matured or been able to view life through any other lenses. His parents have failed in teaching him healthy coping mechanisms, other adult influences in his life, such as previous teachers, have never discouraged his behavior either, therefore he merely copies what he knows. So I understand him not knowing any other ways to deal with someone like Midoriya, his antithesis, and rival. 

In sociology this semester we learned about a famous poem by Dr. Dorothy Law Nolte, a family counselor & writer. The poem focuses on the ways in which children develop due to what circumstances they are raised under. It goes like this: 

(Lines bolded reminded me most of Bakugou, lines italicized reminded me most of Izuku, lines with both… reminded me of both)

If children live with criticism, They learn to condemn.

If children live with hostility, They learn to fight.

If children live with ridicule, They learn to be shy.

If children live with shame, They learn to feel guilty.

If children live with encouragement, They learn confidence.

If children live with tolerance, They learn to be patient.

If children live with praise, They learn to appreciate.

If children live with acceptance, They learn to love.

If children live with approval, They learn to like themselves.

(Full poem)

I kid you not in the middle of class all I could think of was Bakugou and Midoriya and how this poem so beautifully contrasted and compared them.

Midoriya is the exact opposite of Bakugou. Where Bakugou is strong, powerful, fierce, influential, popular, admired, confident, loud & aggressive. Midoriya is weak, small, quirkless, quiet, timid, mumbling & stuttering, friendless, self-conscious, and not very vocal. They are completely different in all aspects, Midoriya represents everything Bakugou strives to not be. He is useless, weak in Bakugou’s eyes. Something he has been told his whole life to not be, and thus he does not want to associate with Midoriya. 

However, the thing that scares Bakugou most about Midoriya is how much they can relate. They were, after all, friends. Best friends as children, they had the same dreams and shared common interests. Their similarities are only on display even more so as they both get into yuuei and progress throughout the year. 

One of the most important moments in Bakugou’s life is when Midoriya reaches out to Bakugou after he falls. Midoriya the small, shy, quirkless kid, asks if Bakugou, the great, powerful, destined to be a hero kid, needs his help. As if that is something he would even want, let alone need. 

I’m sorry but no 5 year old is going to get an idea like that on his own, you can see where Mitsuki’s thinking has already taken root, whereas Inko’s teachings have taken root in Midoriya. Up until this point in time, Bakugou was content with just allowing Midoriya to tag along with him, be a follower, quirkless or not. But this instance Bakugou clearly saw as a challenge for leadership, a questioning of authority. At five years old, he is already so distrusting of the sincere intentions of those surrounding him that he makes it his mission to let Midoriya know that he is above him and will not be surpassed by someone so weak.

It just makes me so fucking sad to see how twisted Bakugou’s logic is due to Mitsuki & the constant almost coddling of his ego that adults in his life have encouraged endlessly. It really isn’t until he meets Aizawa that an adult makes an effort to change that mindset in him. And slowly but surely, along with the help of Bakugou’s probably first real genuine friends that he views as equals and not just tagalongs, he is beginning to change his thinking & learn from his mistakes. Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Ashido are all a wonderful influence on him and I genuinely think with their advice & trust he will be able to change his ways in the future, along with the guidance of All Might and Aizawa. 

And let’s not forget Midoriya, he needs to apologize to him, sincerely, and because he wants to, not because he is pressured into it by anyone. I have high hopes for him and his future relationship with Midoriya, but I don’t think it’ll be possible for them to be best friends again. I just hope Bakugou can realize that he was wrong for treating Midoriya the way he did when they were growing up and can put aside his ego for five minutes to correct his wrongs as best he can. I’m sure it will be in the far far future though because he still has a lot of growing and learning to do. No one is going to just be able to put aside an almost decade-long hatred for someone & admit they were in the wrong, over the course of a year. But still… I have hopes.

All in all, I really really love Bakugou. I have some extremely parental feelings towards him having seen all the shit he has gone through & the many failings he has endured from the adults surrounding him. I just want for him to embrace his friends and place at yuuei and change his behaviors so that he can be easier on himself & others. He deserves to feel that sort of peace.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. Bakugou Katsuki is deserving of love, friends, second chances, and a shot at redemption. 

[niigoki]

TWICE title: we’re a mess (let’s finish what we started) pairing: NaMo, MiMo, Saida, JeongMi, 2yeon, Chaeyu read on Ao3!

So it starts like this: five years ago they all became friends, and then they realized that the reason they were so close to each other was not just because of their undying love for music, anime, and extremely terrible TV series, but also— girls.

They do say queer kids tend to gravitate towards each other.

High school sucked – especially for the younger ones who had to watch their older friends graduate first – and puberty was a bitch. There were feelings involved. Sana tripped on an ice cream cone and broke her wrist.

Then they all entered college.

Now they were all adults. Personalities changed, they met new people, someone dyed their hair, some tried to pretend they were cooler now (spoiler alert: they weren’t). Despite being involved in different things, the nine of them were still as close as ever. No one else truly knew them as deeply as each other, anyway.

And, well, the feelings involved never stopped being a thing. If anything, things just got more complicated. They just learned how to deal with it better.

Some of them, anyway.

Then Sana tripped again.

--

“Are you going to Nayeon’s party, please say yes.” Sana pretty much flung herself on her seat to catch Momo before she left her class to go to another.

“You mean the Drama Club party where everyone who’s someone is going to be at?” Momo finished tucking her notebooks inside her bag and finally looked at Sana. “No. Why?”

“What? Why?” She was pouting now and Momo rolled her eyes.

“Too many people I don’t want to see.”

“But Mina will be there.”

“I know,” Momo flicked a finger on Sana’s forehead and smirked down at her. “She told me. We have calculus together.”

Sana whined, rubbing the sore spot. “I’m having trouble understanding why you’re not going if both Mina and Nayeon are going to be there.”

That was a really good argument, but Momo was too tired for drama – both literally and figuratively. It’s not that she hated the Drama Club – also known as the people who had stolen Nayeon from the group (from her) – it’s just that she wasn’t particularly interested in the snobby, hypocrite, know-it-all theater students that were absolutely convinced that they were going to get an Oscar as soon as they graduated.

She had tried getting along with them – Nayeon had pretty much dragged Momo backstage to meet everyone at the end of her first performance – but those people seemed more interested in sucking up to Nayeon’s ego than making Momo feel comfortable.

The Drama Club was obsessed with Im Nayeon, which was… well, understandable. Confidence and self-esteem leaked through Nayeon’s every pore, and she fed off compliments. Her acting skills were no joke either, and she sang like an angel. Musical theater was everything she had ever wanted, and everyone knew that. Getting into the club was the best thing that could’ve possibly happened in Nayeon’s college life, and Momo was happy for her, they all were. Nayeon had become a little bit more insufferable, but at the end of the day, she was still a closet nerd who had every Sailor Moon season hidden inside her dorm closet.

Momo just missed hanging out with her on a daily basis, that was all.

Okay, maybe she was jealous of the Drama Club. Big deal.

As for Mina…

“I’m just not in the mood, Sana.” Momo walked off waving a weak goodbye, and Sana sighed.

“I’ll tell Mina you bailed on her!” She yelled in a last attempt to make Momo stay, but Momo just flipped her off with a laugh.

Fine. Sana got up, off to find her next target.

--

The art studio was a quiet, calm place, intended for soul-searching and inspiration. It was almost always filled with students who shared the same space, but didn’t interact with each other. It was kind of like a library, but with a lot more naked people and paint.

Son Chaeyoung pretty much lived there.

Her afternoon class had been canceled, so she headed down to the studio to get a head start on her art project; honestly, just an excuse for her to spend some time there. There was something appealing about the characteristic silence of the room. She used to go there at lunch time, too, mostly to get inspiration for a few of her poems and short stories. Her friends were starting to think she had an obsession, but she reassured them that it was simply her will to learn.

And also to run away from people. Anxiety and all that jazz.

Chaeyoung was almost done with her lineart when she saw the door moving from the corner of her eye. She tried to ignore it, focusing back on the canvas, but then a bubbly girl full of personality and a broken wrist started – quite literally – bouncing towards her. Chaeyoung didn’t bat an eye.

Sana approached her from behind and stood there, hands behind her back.

She stood there for five whole minutes in silence.

Chaeyoung finally sighed loudly, putting her pencil down. “What is it.”

“Chaengie, you’re so good at what you do. Has anyone ever told you that?” Sana bent over as she complimented the tiny artist, her breath warm against Chaeyoung’s ear.

“Yes. A lot in fact. Especially when they want something from me.”

Sana giggled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Come to Nayeon’s party with me.”

Chaeyoung frowned and finally turned to her. “Did you hit your head when you broke your wrist?”

Sana kneeled and Chaeyoung panicked, looking around. There were three other students in the studio and they all seemed to stare at them at that moment, which didn’t exactly do wonders for Chaeyoung’s social anxiety. “Get up, what are you doing?” She half-whispered, half-yelled.

“Son Chaeyoung. You’re my best friend. My partner in crime. My one and only.” Sana held her hand as she said that and Chaeyoung wanted to die.

“First of all, bullshit. Momo and Mina are your best friends,” She retreated her hand, blushing nervously. “Second, get up you absolute loser, you’re embarrassing me!”

“Not until you agree to come party with me.”

"I don’t do parties, Sana.” She turned her back on her dumb friend, focusing again on her project. “You know that.”

Sana got up and hugged her from behind, earning a grunt from Chaeyoung. It was really hard being around her sometimes, but what could she do? Sana was pretty much the heart of their group; her energy was enviable, and no one could hate her even if they tried. “Just this once, please, Chaengie! It’s going to be full of artists, just like you!”

“The Drama Club is full of actors, not artists. There is a big difference.”

“But—”

“This is about Dahyun, isn’t it?” Sana froze and Chaeyoung rolled her eyes. Jackpot. “I swear, you’re hopeless.”

“It’s not like that…” Sana tried to laugh it off, but she knew it wasn’t going to cut it. Besides Mina and Momo, there were two more people who knew about her… convoluted feelings for Dahyun, Chaeyoung being one of them. She’d always had a good intuition for her age.

“She’s going to be there and you don’t want to be at this party alone with her,” Chaeyoung continued. “And you already asked Momo, but she refused. So now you came to me. Is that it?”

“Have you been stalking me, missy?”

“You’re just too easy to read,” Chaeyoung giggled, Sana’s arms now loose around her. “And Dahyun is incredibly dense, that’s the only reason you’ve been missing each other for so long. It’s like you two live in a bad drama, or something.”

The older girl moaned, letting her go. “I don’t want to talk about that. Will you really not come?”

The way she pleaded was so pitiful, and Chaeyoung really wanted to help her out, but she was physically incapable of attending a party full of strangers. She hated crowds, and she knew that Sana was going to make friends fairly quickly in there. “I’m sorry. You know I can’t.”

They stared at each other for a while, then Sana smiled sweetly at her. “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to force you.” She reached out and ruffled Chaeyoung’s hair. “Guess I’ll have to try Plan C.”

“Good luck.” Chaeyoung smiled back. She really loved Sana despite everything.

“I meant it, by the way.” Sana said, already walking away. “You’re a really great artist. Proud of you!”

She left then and Chaeyoung felt happy and warm. Her friends were hopeless when it came to their crushes.

Not like she was any different. Maybe she should call that person.

--

Entering the basketball court was always intimidating for some reason. Probably because the place was filled with tall, buffy athletes of all genders who were pretty much the campus’ rock stars. Everyone wanted to date an athlete in college. That was just a fact, even in art school. Sports might not be the strongest point of that particular university, but it was appreciated nonetheless.

The distinct sounds of sneakers sliding through the well-polished floor hit Sana’s ears as she walked into the gym, and she smiled at the smell of sweat and rubber balls. It brought back funny memories, like the one and only time she tried being athletic and, well, broke her wrist again. It was always her wrist for some reason; that was becoming a habit.

Sana immediately spotted the person she was looking for and waved at her. “Jeongyeon!”

The short-haired girl paused her hoops and waved back. “Yo, Sana-ya! Be there in a sec.”

Sana nodded and sat down at the bleachers, waiting for her training to be over. It didn’t take long, and soon Jeongyeon was making her way to her with a towel around her shoulders and a bottle of water in one hand.

“If I wasn’t painfully aware of your personality I’d probably faint right now,” Sana teased as Jeongyeon sat next to her. “Yoo Jeongyeon, all sweaty and messy, making her way towards me in slow motion like a dream…”

“Oh my God, shut up.” Jeongyeon pushed her with her shoulder and Sana laughed loudly. “You say that as if people didn’t want your naked body all the time, too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sana crossed her legs, grabbing the bottle from Jeongyeon’s hand.

“Right. How many people did you kiss and never texted back last semester, again?”

“You make me sound like a slut.”

“We accept the titles we think we deserve.” Jeongyeon might be an athlete at heart, but her soul still belonged to the Fine Arts. Sana didn’t know a single person who had watched more movies than her, and their friends always asked her for recommendations based on their moods. Jeongyeon had the most sacred pen-drive in the whole campus, too, making her known not only for her basketball skills, but also for the pirated movie library she carried around in her pocket.

Really, everyone wanted a piece of Jeongyeon for lots of different reasons.

“So, what’s up?”

“Well…” Sana paused for a second, thinking about the best way to go about this. “As you know, our talented friend Im Nayeon has been having a few problems lately.”

“She has?” Jeongyeon’s features became serious, the playful aura vanishing into thin air. It was always like this when it came to Nayeon.

“Oh, she didn’t tell you?” Sana placed her bandaged hand on her friend’s thigh. “She probably didn’t want to worry you…”

“What happened?”

“Well, you see…” Sana looked down, bangs falling on her eyes. “She’s feeling isolated lately. It’s like the people from the Drama Club found a new toy to play with, and discarded her.”

Jeongyeon raised an eyebrow, skeptically. “That doesn’t sound like something they would do.”

“Oh, but they did! Nayeon told me off-handedly in a conversation yesterday.” She forced her eyes to become watery. “She made it seem like it was a joke, but I could feel the call for help in her voice.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, then I remembered!” Sana shifted closer to her. “There is a party going on tonight. A Drama Club party. And Nayeon is going to be there, of course.”

“Hm.”

“And can you imagine leaving her all alone with a bunch of people who are surely going to ignore her and make her feel terrible about herself? So, as her faithful friends, I thought that we should attend—”

“You want to drag me to the Drama Club party.”

“Oh, I’m so glad Nayeon can count on you!” Sana threw her arms around Jeongyeon’s shoulders and the athlete just sighed, pushing her away.

“Not happening.”

“What!” Sana moved back, in shock. “Why not??”

“I actually have a test tomorrow that I have to study for,” Jeongyeon smirked, getting up. “And it’s not even an excuse. I’d tell you if it was because I hate those drama kids anyway.”

“Oh, come on, not you too.” She got up as well, latching herself to Jeongyeon’s arm. “Your roommate brainwashed you!”

“Momo didn’t brainwash anyone, I hated them way before she did.”

“So it was you who brainwashed her! How dare you, you know how easily influenceable she is.”

The two girls made their way out of the gym slowly, Jeongyeon shooting toothy grins and waves to some of her female fans on her way out, and Sana was still talking her ear off and trying to convince her. The athlete pretended to listen, but her mind was made about the issue.

The reason she didn’t get along with the theater students was pretty much the same as Momo’s – they had stolen Nayeon from the group. And it was fine, Nayeon was her own person anyway, it’s not like she belonged to anyone in the first place, but Jeongyeon had every right to not want to get near them for as long as she could manage. There was no way in hell she was going to attend a party filled with drama rats.

“Sana, can’t you ask someone else?” Jeongyeon interrupted her friend’s monologue when they reached the locker room, wriggling her arm away from her grasp. “You have a lot of friends who are probably going, don’t you?”

“I do, but… I want to go with you guys.” They both knew what she meant by that – the original nine. “And Momo is not going, neither is Chaeyoung, Tzuyu is sick…”

“Mina?”

Sana bit her lip, crossing her arms. “She’s going, but… it’s complicated.”

Jeongyeon hummed at this. “Interesting.”

“What does that mean?”

“Mina doesn’t like to party much, that’s all.” She then frowned. “Wait, are you guys fighting?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that Mina is going and Momo isn’t. And you clearly wanting to avoid Mina at that party.”

She wasn’t exactly wrong, but there was no way Sana could explain what was going on. It was too tiring and too complex; she didn’t even understand it that well herself. “We’re not fighting, it’s just… a temporary setback.”

“If you say so,” Then a pause. “She’s okay, though, right? Mina, I mean.”

Jeongyeon’s concern for Mina was something that dated back from their high school years, and Sana thought it was the sweetest thing. She almost sighed at the whole scenario – poor Jeongyeon had no idea that she was involved in the mess as well. She’d rather not tell her right now, though; it would only make more questions pop up.

“Yeah, she’s alright.” Sana smiled sincerely, and it was all Jeongyeon needed to believe her. Minatozaki Sana might be a vixen and mess with people a lot to get what she wants, but it was easy to know when she was being truthful. It was rare for her to be a manipulative ass to their group of friends, too.

“That’s good.” Jeongyeon turned around to get into the locker room. “I’ll see you later, okay? Good luck with the party.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sana slapped her butt playfully. “Go shower, you stink.”

“And, uh…” Jeongyeon scratched the back of her neck. “If you or Mina need some help, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?”

Sana looked at her sympathetically – she didn’t need to add the ‘you’ at the sentence, Sana knew exactly who she was worried about.

It’s always been like this ever since she could remember: Jeongyeon looked after Mina all the time, and when she wasn’t with her, she was asking about her. She did this to the whole group, like a silent protector, but with Mina things were different. She was more tender, spoke softly, looked at her gently. Sana was the first to notice, but didn’t say anything.

“Will do, Romeo.” She replied teasingly, earning an eye roll from her friend. Jeongyeon finally bid her goodbye and they parted ways. Sana couldn’t help but to sigh at the whole tragedy.

“You need to stop being so caring, Jeong.” She whispered to herself, then moved to her next target. She wasn’t giving up just yet.

--

The first thing Momo wanted to do once she got back to her room was shower, then eat a protein bar. Her stomach was pretty much gnawing at itself, all thanks to that stupid diet she decided to start at the beginning of the year. The results were apparent once she looked at her abs in the mirror, but that didn’t mean she got used to eating like a rodent once every three hours.

She had just left her last class for the day and was making her way towards the building’s exit when she bumped into someone.

“Sorr—” Then she smelled the perfume. “Nabongs?”

“Momoring!” Nayeon’s expression lit up and she side-hugged her friend despite carrying a huge book in her arms. “I was going to call you later.”

“Oh, well. I’m here now,” She looked at the way Nayeon seemed to be having trouble carrying whatever that book was and immediately reached out. “Let me carry that.”

“Huh? Oh no, it’s okay!” But of course, Momo wouldn’t take a no for an answer, and she gave her the book with a sigh. “I swear, you’re turning into Jeongyeon with this whole ‘knight in shining armor’ act you two have going on.”

“A hotter version of Jeongyeon, right?” Momo couldn’t help but to tease despite her beating heart. She didn’t want to behave differently around Nayeon, it didn’t matter what her stupid feelings told her, and she wasn’t going to. She treasured their friendship too much for that.

Nayeon’s eyes slid from her face to her apparent muscles and smirked. “Perhaps. I’ll let you know.”

Momo pushed her gently with her shoulder and the two started walking. “Where to?”

“The Drama Club faculty office. This thing you’re carrying is the list of all the party guests for tonight,” Nayeon stared back at Momo. “Which is what I was going to ask you later. Are you coming?”

Momo opened her mouth to answer but spotted someone in the distance. It wasn’t hard to recognize Sana, even in the middle of a crowd, and Momo didn’t want to go through that whole trouble again. She knew that if Sana saw them together, she would use some very convincing arguments that would make Nayeon turn against her and force her to go to the stupid party.

“Shit, come here,” Momo pulled Nayeon by the sleeve to the opposite direction and walked faster with her until she was sure they were out of sight. Sana never ran, anyway.

“Who are you running from?” Nayeon asked in between chuckles.

“No one. Never mind that,” Momo sighed and resumed their path – she unfortunately knew exactly where the Drama Club faculty office was thanks to months of keeping an eye on Nayeon’s endeavors. “About the party, I don’t think I’m going.”

“Aw, really?” It was a lot harder to remain stoic when it was Nayeon whining at her general direction. “I was hoping you’d go. Mina and Dahyun are the only ones going from what I know. Haven’t talked to the others yet, but I doubt they would.” Then she thought a bit more. “I mean, Sana’s going, but she’s at every party, so.”

“That’s true,” Momo giggled, turning right at a corridor. “I’m just not really in the mood, I guess. Jeongyeon is gonna study for an exam so I think I’ll stay with her this time. Watch a movie from her holy pen-drive, eat something healthy.”

“You’re still dieting?” Nayeon looked upset. “Momo, you’re going to vanish if you don’t eat more.”

“Just for a few more months.” She smiled, despite the harsh tone. She appreciated when Nayeon showed her concerned side; it was a rare sight. “I promise I’ll eat more starting this Fall.”

Nayeon, seemingly unconvinced, stepped in front of her, making the brunette halt. “Look at me in the eyes and promise me you’ll stop obsessing over a perfect body and eat.”

And it shouldn’t be hard to do something so simple like that, but Nayeon became incredibly attractive when she was mad and demanding, and Momo could feel her cheeks heating up. She hated that feeling in the pit of her stomach that resurfaced every time Nayeon was close to her, paying attention to her, worrying about her, because hell, isn’t this what friends are supposed to do for each other? Worry and make sure they are okay? It drove Momo insane, sometimes.

After a nervous laugh and an eye roll, Momo finally stared into Nayeon’s eyes.

God.

She’s so beautiful it hurts.

“I promise.” She was glad her voice didn’t waver as much as her heart.

Nayeon squinted, but eventually smiled, teeth and all, and Momo wanted to tell her how much she loved her smile.

“Good.” She turned around and bounced up and down the rest of the way, with Momo’s eyes following her every move.

It was hard, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but to smile dumbly at the girl in front of her. Everything about Nayeon felt alive; she had this aura that spread to others and made them absolutely infatuated with her. Sure, she was self-centered and could be extremely annoying if you didn’t know how to deal with her flamboyant personality, but Momo had been by her side long enough to admire even the ugliest parts of her.

And she loved every bit of it.

Thinking about how easily she’d fallen for this girl made something gnaw at Momo’s stomach, and it wasn’t hunger this time. She had this sudden urge to do something stupid that would end up hurting her, but—

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself.

“Actually,” She was going to regret this. “I think I might go.”

Nayeon nearly tripped and Momo was by her side in seconds, checking if she was okay. “You will?” Her gummy grin was back, and close, and beautiful.

Momo’s eyes flickered towards her lips for a split second. “Yeah,” And then, “Can’t let the drama nerds steal you from me all the time.”

Nayeon’s expression was unreadable, but Momo was okay with it; she wanted to be with her, so she was going to.

Then the actress simply grabbed the book from Momo’s hand and dropped it on the floor, giving her a pen out of nowhere. “Then sign your name, Hirai.”

The way she said that was exhilarating for some reason. It felt like signing a death sentence.

She was suddenly excited for the party.

--

Sana was tired.

None of her most important friends wanted to accompany her to a simple party, her feet hurt from running around campus the whole day (her pals should really learn how to use a damn cellphone), and her broken wrist was hurting for some obnoxious reason.

After walking into the main building, Sana sat down with her back touching the nearest wall and sighed, burying her head on her arms. She knew no one would bother asking if she was okay, students in that same position in the middle of the hallway were a common sight, especially near finals. Maybe one or two professors might wonder, but they would probably just walk by as if nothing was wrong, and Sana appreciated that.

The evening classes were about to begin, but at that time the place was almost empty – like a limbo in between shifts. Janitors cleaned the bathrooms and courtyard, students walked back to their dorms (mostly getting ready for the party), and the setting sun glowed orange against the white walls.

Sana lifted her head, pressing her cheek against her good arm and watched as the birds flied outside.

Then she felt someone sitting down next do her. The warmth was familiar and she smiled, closing her eyes.

“Hard day?” The voice was so tender and relieving. Sana felt all of her worries floating away.

“Yeah,” She mumbled in reply. “I ran around campus all day. Almost tripped again, saw some people who recognized me, but I didn’t recognize them.”

“And then?”

“Argued with my friends. None of them wanted to help me, can you believe it?”

“Oh no.”

“Then I got tired. Decided to think about my life a little bit,” Sana opened her eyes, looking forward. “Lots of people call me easy, did you know that? Fake, a show off, that girl who slept with the whole Arts Department.”

The girl next to Sana shifted closer, touching shoulders with her.

“I know that I don’t own people anything. But sometimes I wonder if they’re right.” Then Sana finally turned her head to the girl. “Pathetic, right?”

“A little bit, yes.” The girl answered and smiled. Sana smiled back and they just stared at each other for a long time, Sana’s expression softening. She straightened her back and sighed, leaning her head on the girl’s shoulder.

“Come to the party with me?”

Jihyo leaned her head on top of hers. “Will that make you stop spitting bullshit about your perfect, talented, beautiful self?”

Sana giggled, hiding her face on Jihyo’s neck. She absolutely loved her friend. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ll come.”

And just like that, she found some company, and felt less alone. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned from all of this.

Maybe she should stop chasing people and wait for them to come to her.

--

Chaeyoung knocked on her bedroom’s door three times, then walked in silently. The lights were on, so that meant her patient was awake. She felt a bit concerned about this; she wanted Tzuyu to get as much rest as possible – it was never easy to miss three days of classes in a row. Sure, Chaeyoung brought back her homework and notes every day, but she wasn’t exactly the best teacher around.

“Tzuyu?” Chaeyoung approached the girl carefully. She was lying in bed, a bowl of soup next to her nightstand and the TV remote on her hand.

“Hey,” Tzuyu greeted her with a weak voice. She’d been getting better from her cold, but her throat was still hurting, so she tried to speak the least she could. “Dahyun brought dinner.”

Turning around to face the bathroom, Chaeyoung now realized that their other roommate was the reason Tzuyu wasn’t sleeping right now. “Well, it’s the least she could do after waking you up.”

“I live here too, you ass!” Dahyun yelled from the bathroom, which made the two younger girls laugh a little. Their room was usually messy because there were three of them, but today it was especially so – all thanks to Dahyun getting ready for this crazy party.

“It feels like a hurricane passed through here.” Chaeyoung walked into the bathroom to wash her paint-stained hands and nearly choked at the sight.

“A girl needs to be pretty, and being pretty is messy.” Dahyun’s makeup was literally half finished; she had this bizarre habit of completing one eye first and leaving the other completely clean. She said that it gave her a perspective, but it honestly made Chaeyoung laugh every time. “What?”

“Your stupid makeup.”

“It’s art, Son Chaeyoung. Art takes time.” Kim Dahyun was already extremely expressive, but with one small eye and one big one, she became the pinnacle of comedy. “Stop laughing! Go take care of Tzuyu, this bathroom is too small for two people.”

“Oh, man…” Chaeyoung wiped a tear from laughing too hard, but obliged.

“How is she?” Tzuyu asked, genuinely curious.

“I’ll sketch her later, I won’t be able to take that image off my head,” Chaeyoung replied, regaining her breath. Tzuyu laughed too, but started coughing. That made every protective instinct on Chaeyoung’s body act, and she sat down by her bed, grabbing the cup of water near the shelf.

“Here, drink.”

“Thank you,” Tzuyu swallowed the liquid and sighed, relieved. “I hate this stupid cold.”

“It’ll pass soon enough.” Chaeyoung’s features softened and she reached out to pat Tzuyu’s hair gently. Then she grabbed the bowl of soup. “Eat.” It was just natural to feed her at this point, and Tzuyu wasn’t complaining.

They chatted for a while, Chaeyoung told her about her day, and Tzuyu kept worrying about her photography project not being finished on time because she was sick. The painter assured her that she’d help her out once she was feeling better, and Tzuyu thanked her.

There was an element of softness between the youngest members of their group of friends – except for Dahyun, but that was another story completely. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu had always worked well together and gotten along better than most people. They’ve never had a real, bad fight before, because there was no reason to; they’ve always dialogued honestly and openly about their issues, so nothing had ever felt off with them.

They didn’t hide secrets from each other.

(Except that Chaeyoung was hiding one.

She just couldn’t tell anyone.)

After a while, the soup was finished, the TV program was fairly decent, and Dahyun was out of the bathroom – now with makeup on both sides of her face. “How do I look?”

“Like Dahyun.” Both girls answered at the same time and high-fived.

“Real helpful.”

“You look good.” Tzuyu said, honestly.

“Don’t forget to take your keys with you. You know we’ll be sleeping by the time you come back,” Chaeyoung warned her, getting up to put on her pajamas.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Dahyun searched for her wallet and keys and put them all inside her purse. Looking around one more time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, she nodded to herself. “Well, I’m going. Behave, don’t break stuff, sleep early, don’t watch porn on my Pay-per-view account.”

“As if.” Chaeyoung rolled her eyes. “Don’t get too drunk, I’m not taking care of you when you come back.”

Despite the hostile way they spitted words at each other, Chaeyoung and Dahyun hugged, and Tzuyu watched them fondly. They were still close friends, after all. “Rest well, Tzuyu.” Dahyun planted a kiss on top of her head, then jumped back, opening the door. “Goodbye, toddlers!”

It was incredible how quiet the atmosphere became once Dahyun was gone.

“She gives me a headache.” Chaeyoung complained taking off her shirt.

“She’s a lot to handle, yes.” Tzuyu agreed. “But our group wouldn’t be the same without her.”

“That’s the worst part,” There was a smile in her voice. “She’s as dense as she’s annoying.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” Chaeyoung forgot that Tzuyu didn’t know about the whole drama with Sana and Dahyun, and bit her tongue. Once she was done changing, she grabbed the pillow from her own bed and climbed back on Tzuyu’s, getting comfortable under the sheets. The youngest girl giggled.

“You’re gonna get sick if you stay near me.”

“Don’t care,” She answered sitting against the headboard. “I want to be with you.”

Tzuyu looked down shyly, but didn’t complain.

“Besides, the TV is right in front of your bed.” Chaeyoung added later, receiving lots of slaps in return. She laughed and grabbed Tzuyu’s hand. “Okay, okay, I’m kidding!”

“You also give me a headache, sometimes.” Tzuyu teased, but leaned her head on Chaeyoung’s shoulder. They stood in silence after this, enjoying each other’s company and watching a cooking show together. They were still holding hands, and Tzuyu intertwined their fingers at some point, which made Chaeyoung’s heart skip a beat. She didn’t move them, however, and pretended not to notice.

Tzuyu’s medicine was making her sleepy, and it didn’t take long for her to nod off on Chaeyoung’s shoulder. Her little snores were really cute, and that was how you knew she was deep asleep.

Carefully, Chaeyoung got up and turned off the lights. She was about to head to her own bed when she heard Tzuyu mumbling something in her sleep.

“Stay here…”

Chaeyoung’s heart constricted inside her chest and she bit her lip, sighing. Moving back to Tzuyu’s bed, she grabbed a few cushions from their sofa and tucked them under the girl’s chin. Apparently convinced that there was now a warm body next to her, Tzuyu dozed off again. Chaeyoung let out a relieved breath and climbed on her own bed.

She turned off the TV and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the pain inside her chest.

Chaeyoung had a secret that she couldn’t tell anyone.

And she wouldn’t allow herself to indulge in it, either.

--

“I’ll see you tomorrow, professor.” Jeongyeon bid her Literature teacher goodbye and finally let out a yawn she’d been holding for the sake of her reputation. She loved Miss Sunmi to bits, but her class was dense and filled with too much information. She wanted to do well on tomorrow’s test, so she had asked for an extra lesson in the evening. Now that it was done, she could finally go back to her room and relax.

But there was still something tugging at her heart, and she wanted to make this weird feeling go away before going to bed. She grabbed her phone and dialed. It rang twice, then the person picked up.

“Minari?”

“Jeongyeon,” Her voice seemed cheerful, which was good. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Jeongyeon replied, smiling softly. “A little tired, honestly. Training was hard, and I just left an extra Lit class.”

“Look at you, studying hard.”

“Someone’s gotta do it. You can’t be the only smart one in the group.”

Mina giggled softly like she always did and Jeongyeon felt lighter. “I’m glad you’re committed to stealing my title.”

“Yeah…” She ruffled her hair a little bit. “Listen, Sana told me you’re going to the party tonight.”

Mina stood in silence for a couple of seconds. “I am. I thought I’d try this whole ‘socializing’ thing before graduating.” She cleared her throat. “Besides, Nayeon will be there. If everything goes wrong I can always stick to her like glue.”

Jeongyeon turned left and started walking downstairs, imagining the scene. “You do know that this is the Drama Club party, right?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I doubt she’ll be left alone for a second,” She let out a breathless laugh. “Those theater kids worship her like some kind of goddess. Which is understandable, honestly.”

“Hmm, I suppose.” Mina sounded down all of a sudden, but it might’ve been Jeongyeon’s imagination. “Well, Dahyun will be there too, regardless. Who knows, I might make some friends.”

“Yeah, who knows.” The conversation trailed off and they stood in silence for a bit. It wasn’t uncomfortable, however; Mina and Jeongyeon could stay on the phone for hours without really talking about anything and it still felt nice. They had this kind of relationship.

“Is that all you wanted to ask me?” Mina spoke up suddenly, snapping Jeongyeon out of whatever trance she was in.

“Oh, um… Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay.”

“As usual.” She could hear the gentle smile in Mina’s voice.

“As usual.” Jeongyeon replied. More silence followed and soon she was at the dorms. “Well… I gotta go. Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

“I mean that. You can call me at four in the morning—”

“And you’ll pick up. I know.”

“Yeah. Okay,” She laughed awkwardly and climbed the last set of stairs before coming face to face with her door. “Have fun.”

“I will.” Then a few moments later. “…Thank you for calling.”

“No problem.” Jeongyeon stood in front of her door with a dumb grin plastered on her face. “See you.”

They finally hung up and the athlete sighed, looking at her phone. Despite having made sure that Mina was alright, she was still antsy for some reason. Jeongyeon shook her head pushing the thoughts away, and finally opened her door. She was going to have a study session and couldn’t be bothered by a senseless anxiety.

She took one step into the room and was greeted by a mess of clothes on Momo’s bed, with said girl applying lipstick on the mirror next to the bathroom. That was unexpected.

“Uh… Sana told me you weren’t going?” It was more of a question.

“Change of plans,” Momo answered, shrugging. Then she turned around. “Should I go with a top or a shirt?”

“Do you want people to see your abs?”

“Yes.”

“Top.”

Momo smirked and walked back into the bathroom to finish her makeup. Jeongyeon threw her bag on her chair and jumped into her bed, staring at the ceiling for a bit, then back at the clothes. Seeing Momo getting ready for the party made something snap inside of her and she frowned, closing her eyes. Then she opened them again, rolled on her stomach and scratched her head.

Ah, fuck it.

Once Momo was done, she walked out of the bathroom and halted at the scene. “What are you doing?”

“Being dragged to this damn party.”

“…By whom?”

Jeongyeon sighed, grabbing her best outfit. “By my stupidity, apparently.”

Momo raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “That makes both of us, then.”

This was either going to be great, or suck in astronomical levels.

Honestly, Momo couldn’t wait to find out which.

[virginiamccarty]

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How To Get Taller At 19

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[babygirl06301]

Spike Analysis - “Lover’s Walk”

“Lover’s Walk,” bitches! Of the Spike-centric episodes we’ve had in the past, I wouldn’t say that this episode is the absolute, hands-down, best…but it’s pretty fucking good. Let’s start this by acknowledging that Spike is hella cute throughout this entire thing. Did you do that? Good.

So, we’ve got Spike. We’ve got Buffy. We’ve got Angel. We’ve got marshmallows and holy water grenades. I’m gonna be honest here, I don’t really know where to start with Spike’s development in this episode. I’m not going to go through it scene by scene necessarily, but I’ll try and keep you up to date with what scene I’m thinking of when I’m talking about one thing or the other.

Alright. Last we heard, Spike and Dru had left town after the whole Angelus thing. Spike said he’d never come back. Well, that didn’t fucking happen, did it? Please notice that in this episode, he said again that he wouldn’t come back to Sunnydale. Spike’s always been a shit liar, ya know? Dru’s broken up with him because he’s too soft (which…did she see him when she sired him? Sensitive as fuck, that one. Cute as hell, but still). Therefore, Spike’s back in Sunnydale. He knocks over the sign, which seems to become a recurring theme for him, and he’s drunk as shit. Of course, later in Angel, he mentions that it isn’t so easy for vampires to get drunk, so he must have been smashed. Which is, apparently, the only kind of “smashed” he’s been able to get since Dru left him.

I mentioned in the “Becoming: Part 2” analysis, and will continue to mention it numerous more times, but seeing Spike not be William the Bloody is always great. I much prefer Spike the Sensitive over Spike: Guy Who Killed Two Slayers. But this episode is like…bad. You know what I mean? Like, he’s very distraught over Dru and it’s kind of strange. Not in a bad way because I’d rather him weep and throw dolls than brood (sorry, Angelcakes).

Sidebar: that scene were Spike passes out in the outdoor area at Angel’s mansion and his hand catches on fire in the morning? Did you guys know that James did that stunt himself, but like, you’re supposed to put it out within two seconds because the protective layer (that keeps your hand from actually catching fire) will wear off? But James thought it’d be funny to let it go a bit longer, so he burnt the literal shit out of his hand, but he hid it from everyone because it was his last shot and he was afraid that, if they ever asked him back again, they wouldn’t let him do his own stunts anymore?

Anyway. So then Spike kills the shopkeeper and kidnaps Willow and Xander so Willow can do the love spell for him. That scene in the factory where Spike sort of confides in Willow is the best shit ever. Jumping a little forward here, one of the key components of Spike’s character development in this episode is that he’s interacting (again) with Buffy, but also with Willow and Angel. And by interacting, I mean that he’s not trying to kill them. Spike hadn’t really interacted with Angel in a semi-positive way before this episode. It was typically with Angelus, and otherwise, his contact with Angel was violent. I know he did threaten to kill Willow a few times, but I think his focus was more on Dru than anything else at that point. Although, I don’t think he didn’t kill anyone because “I want Dru back,” I think he didn’t kill anyone because “…nah.”

Back to Willow. Spike talking to her about Dru and how much she hurt him is ***super cute!!!*** But beyond that, Spike basically said that he’d rather die than not be with Dru. Die. Again, like I said in the previous post, Spike’s character is drenched in paradox, but a vampire’s whole goal (on a basic level) is to survive. So? But all that makes sense within the realm of his character because Dru was his first relationship. Isn’t that strange to think about? Not his first love, but his first requited love. I’m sure we all have some semblance of an idea of how people usually react when their first relationships end. Let’s keep going because, aside from being adorable, that scene doesn’t speak a whole lot to his development.

I have conflicting feelings about the situation with Joyce in the kitchen. Like, on the one hand, I don’t think Spike would kill her, but on the other, he’s still evil. I mentioned in the last post that Spike has a certain respect for mother’s (based on his past), but I’m not sure that that would affect his animalistic instinct to kill. Maybe in this episode, though, it would. Because he came back to Sunnydale to kill Angel, seemingly, but he didn’t do anything to anybody the entire time besides knocking Xander out. I think the explanation with the kitchen scene is just that Spike needed a mom. He needed someone to be on his side for a little while.

Okay, Spuffy flag on the field. Is that a good sports thing to say? I don’t care enough about athletics to try for a better one. So, we remember Buffy locking Angelus out of her house in season 2, right? Because he’s evil, blah blah. And we remember her inviting Spike into her house so they could discuss taking Angelus down. “Lover’s Walk” is the first episode in which Angel returns to Buffy’s home since he came back from whatever hell dimension he was in. And, as soon as Buffy saw him there, she invited him back in. Because the circumstances had changed. Well, excuse me, but I think after the brief truce her and Spike had, the circumstances were well fucking changed, so why didn’t she disinvite him from her house? She could’ve thought he wouldn’t come back? No. She’s never trusted Spike, why in God’s name would she think the vampire notorious for killing two Slayers would stay out of her life? She knew she could take him/he wasn’t dangerous? Bullshit. To his face, yeah, but we’ve got substantial evidence (even into seasons 6 and 7) that Buffy is afraid of William the Bloody on some level. And if nothing else, shouldn’t she have locked him out just to protect her mother?

It’s just fishy to me, that’s all I’m saying. Not that it’s inherently Spuffy, maybe she’s just lazy, but that’s all I’m saying. Let’s move onto what will come to be known as the Magic Box. We get that awesome shot of Buffy, Angel, and Spike ready to fight like hell. Including “Tabula Rasa,” this is the first of two times that Spike has been trapped in the magic shop because he pissed off a big bad (The Mayor/loan shark) and his vampire minions.

So, these three fighting together lends itself really nicely to including Spike into the Sunnydale scene. He never really did become a Scooby (minus, maybe, the months after Buffy’s death), but those few moments were sort of like an “I could get used to this” thing for the audience.

Be kind rewind here for a second: the speech. You know the one I mean. The “you’ll never be friends” speech. One of my all-time favorite things about Spike is that he’s literally always right (if it doesn’t involve himself). Here’s the thing: Spike seems to feel very comfortable in the fact that he’s a hopeless romantic. Old habits die hard, I guess, but that’s really strange. Because we can see, especially in the following season, that he hates feeling as though he’s less than a man or that he isn’t “bad” or isn’t dangerous. Anything that makes him seem weak, he hates. Now, being a romantic doesn’t imply weakness, but Buffy sure fucking thinks so. She said he was pathetic, he was a loser, whatever. I’m sure some of that was to piss him off, but I’m also sure some of that was meant to act as irony within the writing because what the fuck does she think she’s been doing with Captain Forehead over here?

Moving on from that, it’s honestly such a good bit on love. I’ve heard literally so many people say that it’s the best quote on love they’ve ever heard. For someone who’s known for being shit at poetry…

I have one last quick thing to say about The Speech, and then we’ll wrap up. I kind of love the theme the show took with Spike and the symbolism of blood (I’m referring to the “Love isn’t brains, children. It’s blood” line). I can think of at least three times within the space of the show that Spike has reiterated the importance or the purpose of blood for one reason or the other. It makes sense because he’s a vampire, but it’s more than that. It’s like it’s some holy thing that holds a lot meaning and weight, like it’s sacred to him. I guess Spike has a bit of a history of exaggerating his feelings with things, but it’s interesting.

We’ve only got a bit left here. So, we can tell that the fighting made Spike feel a lot more confident in himself. Probably Drusilla implying that he’d gone soft and then leaving him made him feel emasculated and staking a few vamps was the antidote. One thing I want to quickly point out there: it’s almost like a bit of foreshadowing for his arc with the chip, right? Like, it’s pretty obvious that as long as Spike can kill something, he’s a happy camper. Then he says that thing about torturing Dru until she likes him again. And then he says what is probably my favorite quote from this episode, other than his speech on love: “Love’s a funny thing.” The reason I love it so much is because that’s pretty much Spike’s character in a nutshell. I mean, all the things he’s done or been put through for love is pretty fucking astounding. Not to mention, this sums up basically all the Scoobies’ lives at the moment of this episode. Yeah, love’s pretty damn quirky when you catch your significant other making out with a friend’s significant other and then you fall through some stairs and get impaled with rebar.

Last thing I want to point out in this episode: Buffy breaks up with Angel (for a time, anyway). She says she can fool everyone but not herself…or Spike. All I’m sayin’ is: some things never change.

So, that’s it! A little bit longer than “Becoming: Part 2,” and I got off track a lot, but hey. I’m not exactly sure which episode I’m going to analyze next. Season 4 is very fractured when it comes to Spike. He’s got a lot of really important revelations: the chip, being attracted to Buffy (when Faith was in her body), realizing he could hurt a demon, adjusting to working with the Scoobies for money. But all that shit is in separate episodes. And I don’t think I’ll be able to talk about some of the better Spike episodes like “Something Blue” because there wasn’t really development, just some really cringy kissing noises. So, I think what I’m going to end up doing is maybe a post or two where I combine a couple episodes and talk about them and, if there’s still something left over to talk about, I’ll tack it onto whatever the last season 4 post is. Or make a bulk, season 4 post. I dunno, but I’ll figure that out later. Hope you enjoyed my rambles!          

[saruteku]

Taken from @sendmesomenumbers and done with CHAZ!!!

1: What’s your OCs favorite color? Blue is his favorite color but he represents himself with Orange

2: Where does your OC work? The Bear Den. A really run down Bar as Security.

3: What’s your OCs favorite food? Fish of any kind. He is often seen with a bag of dried fish as a snack

4: Does your OC prefer paper or plastic? He really doesn’t care.

5: How old is your OC? Sadly I have so many stories that interchange I don’t really have official starting ages for any of my characters, but I do know due to events in his life he will never pass his Prime so I’ll put 35

6: Does your OC have any supernatural powers? Supernatural by Trinity’s standards would be a Happiness Aura and the ability to sense it, (People usually can’t be too sad around him and he can tell when something is wrong), Spirit Shielding, Corruption Control, and Shade Attachment

7: Is your OC in a relationship? He has multiple crushes but does not pursue them due to lack of confidence.

8: What are some of your OCs strengths? Dispite not seeing it he’s a natural leader, he is a very good friend to those he opens up, and he is extremely strong being able to fight fully grown adults while he was in High School.

9: What are some of your OCs weaknesses?  He suffers from Chronic Depression preventing him from seeing good in himself, he is prone to feeling intense embarassment and anger, he gets extremely sleepy in winter months.

10: What is your OCs favorite outfit? A blue hoody with a black and orange shirt and jeans as well as a pair of headphones.

11: What animal does your OC relate to? His spirit animal is a Grizzly Bear named Akuma. It’s an animal called to him by his mom’s spirit animal Tigress during pregnancy.

12: Is your OC sexually active? He wants to be but he’s so shy and awkward even if somehow he was in a situation he’d probably blow it.

13: What is your OCs earliest memory? Watching an episode of The Dark Owl, a cartoon based off of a comic book from his now favorite artist.

14: Does your OC have a cell phone? If so, what kind? Trinity uses “Communication Cores” which are usually orbs that go in their house. Due to Chaz’s mom having an interest in Cores Chaz and his sisters do have rectangular slab ones, but they are still constantly being worked on so they are not as relyable as real life cell phones yet.

15: What makes your OC angry? Lots of things. Akuma is a spirit of anger and Chaz hates a lot of things, though the things that he hates more than anything, being compared to his dad, being called Chazzy Bear by anyone other than his crush and mom, and any form of harming someone weaker.

16: When is your OCs favorite time of year? Fall. Dispute being an Earth Element User and being weakened by Water he loves the rain and other forms of “bad” weather. He also liked when things start cooling off.

17: How long can your OC hold their breath? He’s never had to be in a situation where he needed to hold his breath that long so he doesn’t know.

18: What kind of underwear does your OC wear? Boxers. He doesn’t like anything tight around his junk, though he also has to wear jockstraps for sports.

19: Does your OC prefer plaid or polka dots? Plaid

20: What’s your OCs favorite kind of pizza? Anchovy, onion, mushroom and jalapenos

21: Who is your OCs best friend? His cousin Teper Mankato. Chaz has a hard time making people he’d call friend. 22: Has your OC ever killed someone? Yep

23: Whats your OCs biggest secret? He’s a Vigilante that goes by the name Jax or The Hunter

24: What does your OC smell like? Depends on the time and day. Sweat, fish, honey, grass, he doesn’t maintain a scent.

25: What time of year does your OC prefer? Kinda goes with his favorite Season. Harvest months. Everything is cooling down, lots of food, cooler weather.

26: Is your OC a human or an animal? (or something else idk)  Human.

27: What languages does your OC speak? Timber taught him the Mountain Language (Based off of German) and he knows a little bit of the Lake Language (Based off of French) and he has a passing interest in knowing the Savannan language (Based off of Arabic) But Trinity does have a base language just about everyone knows (Mountain Language is used by the Military so non-military can’t understand them, Lake Language was discovered and is used as to preserve the culture of the land, Savannan Language is used mostly bu the high class so that pathetic peasants can not understand)

28: Does your OC like anime? If Trinity had anime Chaz would have probably hated it. Most of it in a language he doesn’t know, with too much fan service with no point and a goofy unrealistic style. Chaz is more into Superhero and graphic novels, I mean, if you didn’t catch it “The Dark Owl” is Trinity Batman.

29: Can your OC swim? Yes he can.

30: What does your OC choose to do about the, er, hair down there? Let it grow. He doesn’t care about it.

31: Does your OC believe in fairies? Unfortunatly for him one of the kids he has to babysit sometimes is a Fairy Child. Kinda hard not to believe in something that is pulling pranks in the house.  

32: Did your OC go to college? What did they major in? He does not go to college. He sees it as a waste of time.

33: Are your OCs parents dead?  Well. They die before him, but they both end up at a good old age.

34: Is your OC religious? He can’t believe in gods because of he did he would see them as evil beings.

35: How flexible is your OC? Not. He’s a big guy with a big belly, with an element that is based off of Sturdyness, flexability will probably never be a strong point.

36: What turns your OC on? He’s both a sadist and a masochist. As a vigilante he does get quite aroused when his adrenaline is high and he hears people beg, but when it comes to girls he is a complete sucker for strong confident girls and would probably be some dominatrex’s dream boy. Of course he would deny all of that, afterall, because he’s so closed off and never lets anyone touch him any touch would probably turn him on.

37: What was your OCs first word? Timber. Much to his mom and dad’s unamusment. *Proud Uncle Timber with the biggest smile*

38: Does your OC have any pets? Buddy, a rather big Malamute/Rottweiler Mix puppy, one of the sons of Chaz’s dad’s Rottweiler Crank

39: Who is your OCs biggest enemy? Chaz is the son of one of the strongest warriors on Trinity and is part Mountaineer living in a region that is also half Mountaineer. Mountaineer Culture respects strength more than anything and as a result people tend to “Test” if Chaz is worthy of being a son of a warrior. That and many people too weak or scared to face his dad will tend to target him giving him plenty of enemies when Chaz breaks something. But for a nemesis or main villan my hints will be a Spider, a General, a Bat, and a Group of Shadows.

40: What is the craziest thing your OC has done? Besides going out at night trying to beat criminals whithin an inch of their lives? He and his cousin once snuck out at night and stile his dad’s truck to go to a partyfull of people older than them (Highschoolers going to College Parties) If the drinking and barfing wasn’t bad enough having his dad walk in with his horns out (His dad has a Bull Spirit) and threatening to crush the partystarter’s spine if he touches him one more time is

41: What is your OCs motto about life? It get’s better is such a lie, I just tolerate it better.

42: Does your OC drink coffee or tea? Tea  

43: Who is your OCs biggest hero? Triny Calaway , the creator of The Dark Owl, Ultraman, Rabid, Deadrise, Dream Woman, Nitrous, and Archer. Because of Trini Chaz wants to be a Comic Book Artist which lead to the creation of Jax the Hunter

44: What color eyes does your OC have? Pale Orange

45: Does your OC like reading? As long as comics count.

46: Is your OC loyal? I don’t think people would consider him loyal.

47: Does your OC tolerate violence? As long as it’s a fair battle or they are deserving. Violence against weaker foes or children is the fastest way to go to the hospital.

48: What social class is your OC from? High Class. He is related to The Mountain’s Fist and Shadow (His Great Uncle and Grandpa Timber and Kuro Mankato) The Lake’s Light (His Grandma Maria Clearsea), The Legionaire Tech Mankato (His Uncle) and the Warrior of Order/Winner of the Gran Desierto Tornement/”Strongest Man Alive” Max Mankato. Though none of them really have jobs that would make them millionaires the respect (Or infamy in a few cases) makes them practically royalty in a few regions. Dispite living a middle class life they honestly shouldn’t want for much.

49: What country was your OC born in? He was probably born in Midland (A region created in the treaty of the Lake and Mountain) but since I don’t know the timeline well they could have still been living in the Forest.

50: Does your OC cry easily? He almost never cries. He feels a lot of sadness, hopelessness, and misery, but he doesn’t cry unless it’s intense pain.

51: What is your OCs favorite genre of music? Alternative. Honestly if you look up “Songs every Emo knows from Highschool” on youtube, that’s his music. I made his main songs Nightmare from Set It Off and Bullet from Hollywood Undead

52: How does your OC feel about insects? “Stupid bug”

53: What is your OCs sexual orientation? Straight. Despite someone trying almost nonstop he has no attraction at all to guys. (Though if he’s desperate enough and you have a blindfold. Just don’t talk, shave your facial or body hair and wear some pretty perfume, and don’t let the balls touch ;p )

54: Does your OC smoke? He’s kinda a chain smoker.....And a drinker......and a few other things.

55: What gender is your OC? Male

56: What kind of clothes does your OC wear? Comfy or athletic gear.

57: Would you call your OC adventurous?  Yes

58: Is your OC introverted or extroverted? Neither. Ambivert

59: What is the first thing that someone would notice about your OC? Most people notice his hair first, especally when he gets older and the tips start turning orange. He is nicknamed Flamehead by a few people that don’t value their wellbeing and firecrotch by someone he wishes he could put in a hospital.

60: Does your OC enjoy nature?  He always takes Buddy to the park and he tends to be outside at night. More than once he got in trouble for sleeping somewhere he shouldn’t be.

[pitviperofdoom]

BNHA: Yesterday Upon The Stair, 16/?

Title: Yesterday Upon The Stair

Summary: Midoriya Izuku has always been written off as weird. As if it’s not bad enough to be the quirkless weakling, he has to be the weird quirkless weakling on top of it.

But truthfully, the “weird” part is the only part that’s accurate. He’s determined not to be a weakling, and in spite of what it says on paper, he’s not actually quirkless. Even before meeting All-Might and taking on the power of One For All, Izuku isn’t quirkless.

Not that anyone would believe it if he told them.

(Sixth Sense AU)

AO3

He makes it just in time to see Iida face off against Todoroki. His classmates greet him. He’s treated to jokes and gentle teasing, careful back-slaps that avoid his injuries. Mineta asks him loudly if Todoroki literally punched his eye out, until Tsuyu shoves him under his seat. If any of them notice how quiet he is, they don’t say anything.

Uraraka sets Mika back in his lap. “Rotten luck,” she says softly. Down below, the match is a quick one. Iida comes close to winning, but Todoroki freezes his engines and snatches the victory—without fire, Izuku can’t help but notice.

He’s only half listening. “Huh?”

“We could’ve lasted longer, you and me,” she says. “But we got paired up with the two strongest right at the start.”

“Guess so.” Izuku pets Mika absentmindedly. “Not a good enough excuse, though. It’s not like villains would throw the weak ones at us first just so we can level up.”

Uraraka laughs. “That’s a nerdy way of putting it. I like it.” She’s sitting on his uninjured side, and gently shoulder-checks him. “We’ll just have to get stronger.”

“Yup.”

Iida rejoins them to a chorus of goodnatured congratulations. He’s red-faced with embarrassment, but still smiles as he greets everyone. As far as Izuku can tell, he isn’t near tears the way Uraraka was, but Izuku still lifts Mika carefully with one arm and offers her. Iida doesn’t take her, but his grin widens as he gives her ears a scratch.

“I’m a bit sheepish,” he admits. “I tried to learn from your match against him, but I guess it still wasn’t enough. You probably got more out of his match with Sero than I got from his match with you.”

“You sure look better than I do right now, though,” Izuku answers.

“I suppose so—and really, Midoriya, you ought to have exercised more caution.” And now Izuku knows for sure that his friend is feeling all right, because nothing screams “high spirits” in Iida quite like an officious tirade about proper safety, complete with vigorous hand gestures. “You know, everyone saw that you gave your best and put up a good fight, and there would have been no shame—absolutely no shame—in forfeiting when you were no longer able to continue!”

Sitting back, Izuku grins and shakes his head. “You still got pretty close, Iida,” he says.

“I suppose so.” Iida’s smile turns sheepish again. “I wish my brother could have seen this, but he couldn’t make it.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yes, unfortunately, he’s been busy with hero work lately.” Iida frowns. “There’s some villain on the loose, making trouble, and everyone’s on the alert.”

“I’ve heard,” Izuku says with a nod. “Somebody called Stain?” What a name, Stain. The reports that Izuku has seen make him sound pretty dangerous, though.

“Yeah, he’s come up on the news, hasn’t he?” Kirishima says. “Sounds like a real piece of work. Some people call him the Hero Killer.”

“He’ll be brought down soon enough,” Iida says with a shrug. “If nothing else, All-Might himself won’t allow him to continue much longer.”

The next match draws their attention once more. The Sports Festival is drawing closer to its end, and the contestants have dwindled down to three.

Izuku isn’t surprised when Bakugou beats Tokoyami. He’s kind of glad Tokoyami made it that far, though. He deserves it; he’s pretty much the only reason Izuku’s team pulled into the running at the end of the cavalry battle.

The final round is Bakugou against Todoroki. Izuku already knows who he’s rooting for.

Bakugou’s explosions make him jump nearly every time they detonate. His ears ring, his fingers are nearly numb from gripping his seat, and he’s clenching his teeth together so hard that his jaw aches. It’s a close fight—closer than his match against Todoroki, as close as what the others are saying about Kirishima’s fight against Tetsutetsu.

His vision is spotty from the bright flashing of Bakugou’s explosions, but that’s the only light he sees. Not a single spark of flame comes from Todoroki.

Izuku could hold his own against Todoroki without even using One For All. But Bakugou has a powerful quirk, and he’s a strong and vicious fighter even without it. Ice alone isn’t going to be enough, but Todoroki still doesn’t bring forth his fire the way he did against Izuku.

“Do you think something’s wrong with him?” He can barely hear Uraraka murmuring beside him; Bakugou’s quirk nearly drowns her out entirely. “I bet he’d do better if he used his fire, don’t you think?”

“He could still be injured,” Tsuyu spoke up, pitching her voice above the din. “Pretty sure there’s still a splint on his nose.”

Kirishima nudges Izuku lightly from behind. “Yeah, you guys really messed up each other’s faces. Your eye okay?”

“It’s fine,” Izuku replies. Down in the field, Todoroki takes a bad hit from Bakugou. It’s a vicious punch to the gut, with an extra kick from the explosion detonating in Bakugou’s palm, and it sends Todoroki flying back. When it makes contact, Izuku shuts his eyes and flinches. He’s felt that one before. It’s not fun.

Beside him, Rei growls softly.

“I think it might be over pretty soon,” Uraraka says softly. “Todoroki’s only on half power, and Bakugou…”

“Bakugou looks pissed,” Kirishima says.

“He always looks pissed,” Tsuyu points out.

“Yeah, but… I dunno, it seems different.”

Izuku can see what Kirishima means, but he’s trying not to think too hard about it. Bakugou’s anger is not something he’s eager to keep in mind. It’s bad enough that he has to see it, and remember all the times that he’s felt it before.

“He’s hardly used his fire, though,” Uraraka says. “Deku, you’re the only one who saw it up close. Do you think something’s the matter?”

The answer, of course, is no. He doesn’t think, he knows that something’s wrong. It would be harder to name something that’s right.

It’s depressingly simple, really. All this means is that it takes more than one conversation in the middle of a fistfight to fix what’s broken.

Izuku’s fingers tighten in Mika’s warm, silky fur, and he watches through one stinging eye as Bakugou roars and blasts his way to victory. When Midnight calls the match, his resolve finally cracks. He can’t watch any more. He can’t watch the medal ceremony, either.

“Deku?” Uraraka says when he gets up from his seat. “What’s the matter?”

He’s already walking to the nearest exit from the stands.

He takes refuge in a waiting room, far enough away from the stadium that the cheers and noise from the spectators is a dull roar in the distance, muffled by a separation of thick steel walls. All he has for company are a cat, a ghost, and the occasional drifting spirit that pays him no mind, and that suits him just fine. Settling into a chair, he curls around his cat and breathes in and out and in and out until he stops feeling phantom gut-punches in his memory.

It’s probably petty. It’s probably a little pathetic. But he really, really didn’t want Bakugou to win.

Of course, he’d started the whole Sports Festival with the burning desire to win. But in the (admittedly likely) event that he didn’t, he’d known that at least there were several classes full of kids who weren’t Bakugou and might win, and that would have been a consolation. But no. Bakugou wins, again. Like always. He won against Todoroki who was fighting with half his power, and Izuku could just barely keep up with Todoroki fighting with half his power.

He wonders, for a wild moment, if this is what Endeavor’s felt like, staring at All-Might’s back for years and years.

It can’t be, though. Izuku isn’t angry that he lost. He knows why he lost, and he knows he traded his chance to win for something just as worthwhile. This isn’t about him winning or losing. This isn’t just about Bakugou winning (again, again, over and over, might makes right, like winning erases all the things he’s done). This is an old sting, a hopeless loop rinsing and repeating in which Bakugou wins and wins and wins and because he wins, he never thinks he’s wrong. He never thinks that just because he wins, it doesn’t make him a great person or even a good one or even a decent one.

He just wins and wins, everyone sings his praises and turns a blind eye to his temper and his selfish mean streak, and Izuku is sick of watching it happen and sick of feeling like a petulant child for letting it hurt so much.

Izuku’s eyes burn, but this time he holds back the tears. This isn’t worth crying over. He’d feel that way even if he weren’t sick and tired of letting Bakugou make him cry.

Mika purrs against his belly, and Rei’s cold hug wraps around his uninjured arm. Izuku breathes in and out, slowly and steadily, until he feels better.

By the time he uncurls, ready to face the world again, it looks as if he’s missed the medal ceremony. There are voices and footsteps in the halls. Not many—Izuku picked a waiting room that was out of the way of the main paths of foot traffic. Quietly he slips out into the hallway again. Maybe his friends will be wondering where he is.

“Um, excuse me? I hate to bother you again…”

Izuku looks up to see Suzuki standing not far off, twiddling her pale thumbs.

“It’s just, I don’t know who else to ask,” she says. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Is Okumura bothering him again?” Izuku asks.

“No, it’s just…” Her voice trails off sheepishly. Her blank eyes implore him to understand.

And he does, a little.

“Where is he?” he asks.

She vanishes after giving him directions, and Izuku tucks his cat against his chest with one arm and strides off to see what he can do.

He finds Todoroki exactly where Suzuki said he would be. It’s another waiting room well out of the way of the main hallways, quiet and empty aside from the odd spectator who took a wrong turn, or spirits passing through disinterestedly. Izuku pauses at the doorway and peeks in, not wanting to be noticed quite yet. Todoroki’s in much the same state as Izuku’s been in for the past ten minutes. He’s hunched, almost curled in on himself, fingers tangled in his hair. He’s not too badly hurt, but he still looks wrecked.

The only difference between him and Izuku right now is that he doesn’t have anyone offering him comfort.

For the moment, Izuku pulls away from the doorway. He feels like he’s being pulled two ways. On the one hand, he wants to help. He’s started down this road of helping Todoroki, and it would be stupid of him to leave it hanging now. But on the other, he’s not sure if Todoroki would accept his help right now—or anyone’s for that matter.

Well. Maybe anyone except…

Izuku takes a deep breath, backs further away from the waiting room, and hoists his cat up until they’re almost eye to eye. It’s hard to do with one arm, but he manages, and Mika’s always been an agreeable cat.

“Alright, you,” he whispers. “I’ve got another job for you. I need your A-game, got it?”

Mika presses her paw to his chin.

“I don’t have any treats right now,” he says. “Treats when you’re done. Do your best, okay?” He plants a kiss between her ears. “Make me proud, Mika.”

“Oh hey,” he says as he steps back into the waiting room, as if he’s completely surprised to find Todoroki sitting there. Todoroki straightens up as if someone’s sent an electric shock up his spine, and Izuku pretends not to notice. “I hate to ask this but everybody’s leaving so could you watch my cat real quick please because I have to go do—” He isn’t really thinking about what he tells Todoroki he has to go do, and from the bewildered look on Todoroki’s face he’s probably not listening anyway, so he plops Mika into his classmate’s lap and hurries out again with a “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes and he’ll come back. Five minutes. Maybe ten.

He’s not two steps from the doorway when he looks up and catches Aizawa-sensei’s eye.

His homeroom teacher is in the hallway, out of sight from within the waiting room but well within hearing range. Narita still flanks him, patiently waiting as always.

Even with the bandages on his face, Izuku can see when Aizawa’s eyebrow rises gently.

He shrugs at his teacher and keeps walking. It’s really not something he can explain away with words.

---

There is a cat in Shouto’s lap and he’s not entirely certain how he ended up in this situation.

He hasn’t kept track of how long he’s sat by himself in this room, dreading hearing his father’s voice and feeling like the emotional equivalent of getting hit by a truck. He’s been punched halfway across the stadium and back twice in one day and been shouted at by several different people, all for different reasons.

He wonders if anyone is really happy with the results of the festival. He knows he isn’t. He’s willing to bet his worthless father isn’t. Aside from this sudden non sequitur outburst, Midoriya’s been acting like someone kicked a puppy in front of him, so he knows he isn’t.

Bakugou isn’t happy with how it turned out, and he’s the one who won.

And who’s fault is that? Maybe if you’d just used fire instead of fighting like a coward, you could have given him a decent fight instead of half-assing it and leaving everyone dissatisfied—

The press of paws on his thigh startles him out of his train of thought. Shouto holds still as Midoriya’s cat turns circles in his lap before shifting over and settling down.

On his left side.

Shouto isn’t sure why he does it. He’s cautious, not sure if Midoriya’s cat is the scratching type, as he gently lifts the cat up and shifts it over so it’s lying more evenly in his lap. Its head turns, and—oh, it’s only got one eye. The left one is missing, the fur dinted with scars.

The cat lets out a soft, trilling meow, and shifts over again so it’s curled up on his left thigh. He tries it again a couple more times, just to be sure, and each time, the cat moves back to its preferred spot. When he leaves it alone long enough, it shifts further so that it’s pressed up against his stomach.

Cats like warm things—the thought comes to him unbidden. That’s why you always see pictures of them lying in sunlight, or on people’s laptops. Of course it likes his left side better than his right.

He checks the tag on the cat’s purple collar. It’s a she, and her name is Mika. When he lowers his hand again to pet her, she responds with a bone-deep purr. Maybe he’s imagining it, but it almost feels like the lingering aches in the spot where she’s sitting are starting to fade.

“Hello,” he says softly, as she pushes her head into his hand—the left one. She rolls over on her side and presses her paws to his stomach. “I’m wondering—what does he have to do that’s so important that he’d give you to me? Do you know?”

The cat doesn’t answer, of course, unless circling around so that she’s leaning against his stomach again can be considered an answer.

Sadly, it isn’t long before his father finds his hiding place. By the time he does, Shouto is dangling a shoelace for Mika to bat at. She isn’t trying very hard, because she’s more interested in draping herself bonelessly against his left side, but he dangles it low enough for her to catch between her paws.

“If you have time to be mucking around with stray cats, then you have time to come home and train,” Endeavor snaps. “After today’s showing, you clearly need it—especially if you’re finally giving your rebellious little temper tantrum a rest.”

“She isn’t a stray,” he says, ignoring the rest of what the old bastard tells him.

“What?”

“She’s my classmate’s cat,” he says, without looking up. Mika pulls the end of the shoelace down and chews at the plastic casing until he tugs it out of her grip again. “They asked me to watch her for them. So obviously, I can’t move from this spot.”

From across the room, he feels his father’s temper pulse.

“My hands are tied,” he says flatly. “You might as well go home without me. I’ll catch up.”

His father’s boots scrape on the floor as he steps closer. Startled, Mika shifts so that her paws are beneath her again, and she’s facing Endeavor.  His father’s voice is a growl, and Shouto focuses on the cat in his lap—as far as he’s concerned, the most worthwhile thing in the room right now. “I have had enough of your petty, worthless little tantrums—” He reaches for the cat, and Shouto tenses to pull away.

Thorn-sharp claws dig through his pant leg and prick at his skin. The fur on Mika’s back stands on end, and she lays back her ears and hisses loudly enough to make his father stop talking, which is frankly impressive. Her tail switches back and forth, and when Endeavor’s hand comes too close, the hiss becomes a bubbling yowl as she lashes out at it.

Endeavor yanks his hand back, at the same time as Shouto scoots his chair further away. Mika, apparently unaware of how closely she’s courting danger, keeps her ears flat against her head and spits. Her single eye is narrowed, and her mouth is open in what bears only a passing resemblance to a smile.

(He’s reminded, just for a moment, of her owner.)

“I think,” he says calmly, as he refrains from petting her again until her temper calms, “I should just. Wait for my classmate to get back.”

He doesn’t need to see his father’s glare to feel the force of it. But glaring is all Endeavor does. Apparently he doesn’t find the argument worth the trouble, or he’s not interested in possibly losing a finger, because he storms out without another word. Mika settles down again, though it takes quite a bit of petting to get her purring again.

Not that Shouto’s complaining.

---

Izuku does find a way to keep busy, while he gives his cat time to work her magic. He hates leaving things unfinished.

So, Rei helps him find Okumura again. Luckily, the poltergeist isn’t hanging close to Endeavor at the moment. He probably figures that Endeavor’s not likely to drop dead anytime soon here. So for now he’s just drifting and sulking and making all the nearby ghosts skittish.

Okumura notices him right off, and his steps waver when the ghost drifts closer. This is his cross to bear, with an ability like this. At the very least, he’s a novelty. At most, he’s—for lack of a better term—a lifeline. And as far as he knows, he’s the only one there is.

He doesn’t speak at first—he just leads Okumura off, to somewhere they can talk in private without anyone with a pulse walking in and finding Izuku arguing with a wall.

Just to be safe, he puts his special little trick to good use. He takes out an old earpiece—one of those Bluetooth devices that have fallen out of style. It’s old and useless and isn’t connected to anything, but at the very least it’ll make him look less strange if anyone finds him conversing with empty air.

“What do you want?” he asks, looking directly at the poltergeist’s face. Okumura looks vaguely like the person he used to be, just… off. His death wound is gruesomely visible—not that Izuku isn’t used to blood.

“Stop getting in my way,” Okumura snarls. Rei doesn’t like his tone, and Okumura recoils when she growls right back.

“What do you want with Endeavor?” Izuku asks. “Why are you following him? What do you intend to do?”

“I’m going to make him pay.”

“How?” Izuku presses. “What do you actually mean to do?” He checks his surroundings again. “And bothering Todoroki? What’s that supposed to accomplish?”

“You know nothing,” Okumura rumbles dangerously.

“You’re right,” Izuku tells him. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do.” His fists clench. “Do you think it will bring you back, if you tear his soul apart?”

“Shut up.”

“Do you think putting ugly thoughts in Todoroki’s head will will get all the ugly thoughts out of yours?” he asks. “Do you think it’ll stop hurting, then? It won’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It’s like scratching a bug bite,” Izuku says, ignoring him. “You think you’re making it better, but you’re only making it worse so you can’t stop.”

“I don’t care!” Okumura’s voice scrapes like knives in his ears. “He has to pay.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?

“He killed me!” Okumura roars. “I didn’t want to fight anymore… I didn’t want to die.” His form flickers back and forth, between the man he was and the nightmare he now is. “I didn’t have to die, he didn’t have to do that! Is it so wrong to just want him to know that?”

Izuku considers that for a moment. “Yes,” he answers.

Okumura’s eyes flash. “You—”

“It’s wrong for you,” Izuku tells him.

“You don’t know anything about me!” Okumura lashes out, and Izuku hops back out of reach as Rei shoves herself between them. Okumura rages on, heedless. “Don’t you understand? All I want—all I want is for him to know what he did. To know it was wrong.” He shrinks in on himself. “It was wrong. Wasn’t it? I didn’t have to die.”

“He’s the one who hurt you,” Izuku says softly.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“Then why are you trusting him to make you feel better?”

“I don’t trust him!”

“Then why’d you make it so the only way you’ll feel better is if he does something for you?” Izuku demands.

Okumura goes quiet at that. He seems to settle, and for the first time he looks more man than monster. “I didn’t… I didn’t make it this way.”

“Maybe,” Izuku says, trying to sound firm. “But you don’t have to keep it this way. You shouldn’t keep it this way.”

Okumura stares at him. His face keeps shifting, as if he can’t decide whether he wants to look angry or sad or frustrated or helpless.

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Okumura doesn’t move away. He’s quiet for long enough that Izuku isn’t sure he’ll answer at all, but finally he shifts, like he’s taking a deep breath that he doesn’t need. “I don’t want to wait forever,” he whispers.

Izuku touches his arm. It’s as cold as any ghost’s, and Okumura twitches but doesn’t pull away. “Then don’t. Move on by yourself. Leave him behind. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think you can do it,” Izuku tells him. “You don’t have to pass on. Not if you aren’t ready. But I think you can leave him behind. I think you can be happy again, without his help.”

Okumura stares at him like Izuku is the strangest thing he’s ever seen in his life—and death. “I’ll… I can try,” he says at length. “I think? I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Izuku says, and means it.

“I think…” Okumura’s form wavers, and finally settles. He looks younger like this, without all the rage twisting him into something monstrous. “I need to think about this.”

“That’s fine. You should.” Izuku tilts his head to the side. “Just leave Todoroki alone, okay? He didn’t do anything to you.”

“…All right.” Okumura slumps. “All right, fine. You win.” He vanishes before Izuku can get another word out.

Rei’s floating high enough off the ground that she can reach out and touch his face. Her fingertips are ice-cold as they brush his cheek, and Izuku notices, for the first time, the wet salty track down the right side of his face. There might have been an identical one down the other, if it weren’t for the bandages.

“It’s okay,” Izuku whispers. “I’m okay. Just crying again. You know me. Happens all the time.”

Rei hugs him tightly all the same.