#tysm🥺

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

I'm Speechless...Ty Ty Ty Sean!!! 🥺You're an actual angel 😍 💕💕💕💕

[zestyaahbutler]

🫡 thank u willow for reading my chapter 2

[jayparked]

heyy live ur writing style smmm😭

can we get 106 with Jay?🫶🏻

warnings: s2l, diner owner!jay x customer! f.reader, semi public sex in a closed restaurant, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex, slight dirty talk

wc: 1.4k

"i'm not on the menu."

"w-what?" you stare at the diner owner with wide eyes. he's smiling while continuing to wipe down the counter you're sitting at.

"i gave you that menu ten minutes ago but you haven't looked away from me for a second. i'm starting to think i missed a spot shaving or something."

he's so nonchalant about what he's saying to you. as if his words didn't send chills down your spine or bring a bright flush to your cheeks.

"i-...i'm sorry, jay. i must have been zoning out..."

he flashes you a playful smirk, one that screams 'yeah, sure, whatever you say'. you're grateful he drops the subject, continuing to clean as the last few customers start to leave the diner before closing time.

"you know..." jay starts slowly, "you've been coming here every week for months..."

"...yeah?" you question cautiously, eyes peering over the menu to take in his casual stance: one elbow on the counter so his head can be pillowed by his palm, the other hand still holding the washcloth.

"why do you still ask for a menu? you and i both know you don't need it. i've got your weekly cravings down to a science now. "

you chuckle and set the menu down, opting to take a sip of water just after saying, "a science, huh?"

jay shrugs one shoulder, his gaze intensifying, "rainy days it's the soup of the day. when it's sunny you want the roast beef provolone sandwich with crinkle cut fries, a diet coke, and a pickle on the side. when you have a stressful day at school you want the pancakes with extra syrup. and when it's-"

"enough!" you hold up a hand and laugh. "i get it! i like my routine, i'm predictable, blah blah blah."

"not as predictable as i'd like you to be," jay deadpans in a husked tone. your thoughts mentally trip inside your brain and you gulp a little too loudly. seconds go by without either of you saying anything or looking away from one another. you know you should say something, anything at this point, but the words just won't come out.

"why do you still ask for a menu, y/n?"

your heart is pounding in your chest so hard it physically hurts. but now that the new year has started, you remember your goal: to be more bold, more brave, and to try not to shy away from what you want.

instead of taking the leap, you opt to answer his question...with a question.

"why do you let me order way past closing?"

jay nods his head, lips jutting out playfully, clearly not expecting the tables to turn on him so quickly.

"it's the only time you can come in. you're in lectures all day. and someone's gotta make sure you're eating after all that studying." jay gets himself upright, tossing the washcloth over his shoulder and giving you another smile before turning his back to you. he walks towards the soda machine, scooping a generous amount of ice into a glass and pressing his finger against the diet coke option.

"so you're saying...that i'm not like the other customers?" you try to come off as funny, playful, maybe even a little bit flirty, wiggling your eyebrow at his back for an extra quirky effect. but he doesn't laugh.

jay turns to you once the glass is full. slowly, he leans back down again, his face inching closer and closer to yours as he moves the glass towards you. his eye contact is hypnotizing; the way you can't break away no matter how badly you want to. you look up at him with curious, searching eyes, hoping to find any hint that what you're feeling for him isn't as crazy as you think it is.

"do you want to be like the other customers?" he murmurs so softly you almost don't hear it. he's close enough that you could reach out and touch him, close enough to pull him closer, just...close enough.

"no," you sigh dreamily, "i really don't."

finally, jay's eyes flick down towards your lips, his own lips parting slightly, a soft exhale escaping them.

his gaze meets yours again, something softer, pleading, now displayed in those deep brown eyes. "may i?"

"please," you whisper, your own eyes flicking to his lips now.

both of jay's hands come forward and softly cusp your cheeks, pulling you closer until your lips collide. after a few seconds, jay smiles widely, his teeth showing while his lips still hover over yours.

"say that again," jay murmurs, his eyes fluttering as they remain closed, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones.

you can't help but smile with him, your hands shaking as you reach out to grasp his wrists and squeezing them reassuringly. "please."

"mmm, fuck. that's gonna be a problem for me later," he groans, his words rushing out of his mouth because damn, he just needs to kiss you again.

and kiss you again he does. his lips now moving feverishly with yours. his hands wander away from your face until they're on your shoulders, moving down even more until he's grabbing you under your arms and pulling you onto the countertop. now, standing between your legs, he can finally kiss you properly. one hand is back on your cheek, warm and soft while the other grips your hip tightly, bracing himself with the contact. your own hands reach out to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his dark black hair. a particular overly excited tug has him moaning against your lips, making you inhale as the sound sends ripples of pleasure down your body. he continues to kiss you feverishly, the pace of the kisses quickening and suddenly your body is not satisfied with the amount of distance between you. you need him closer. the only thing you can think of is to wrap your legs around his waist, tightening your grip and pulling him into you even more.

after a few more moments of kissing pass, you're both forced to separate from one another to catch your breaths. he's looking at you with blown out pupils, panting with his now swollen lips parted slightly. he's beyond hungry for you, and you love the feeling of knowing you look exactly the same in his eyes.

"let's take it back to my place." he finally manages to get the words out.

"is this not technically your place?"

"you're right. god, you're so smart." with a mischievous grin jay grabs your body and lays you on the countertop, hastily throwing your legs over his shoulders and grabbing your ass and burying his face in your clothed cunt while you squeal with laughter. any innocent passerby could see what the two of you are up to. jay hadn't gotten to the part of his closing checklist that includes pulling the shades down on all the windows. hell, all the lights are even still on, making a lovely spotlight for the two of you amongst the dark city streets.

but you've dreamt of this moment for so long that you don't even care.

jay has your pants off seconds later, too impatient to continue to play around. he just needs to taste you after all those nights waking up in a cold sweat, cock twitching spurts of cum into his boxers after dreaming of what you would look like sitting on his face, riding his cock, or how you'd look under him as he pounded you senseless. and now, he doesn't have to imagine it anymore. groaning as he continues to ravage you, hands groping anywhere he can reach, his tongue flicking skillfully against your swollen clit.

"j-jay. oh my god!" you cry out, gripping the counter until your knuckles turn white, unprepared to come this quickly.

"my god, that's what you sound like screaming my name?" jay's standing now, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before moving to undo his belt. "so much better than i imagined. you're not going anywhere tonight. you're going to scream my name until you can't speak anymore. i want that throat raw in every way possible. but for now..." he groans as he pushes the tip of his cock into your hole, stretching you in new ways you haven't felt before. your body adapts to him quickly, though, as he begins to slowly thrust into you.

for part of my 1k follower celebration send me a member and a number from this list and i'll write a short drabble about it ♡ masterlist

[gotchibam]

Lunala and Pikachu ko-fi doodle for Bunnygirl678!

[galaxysketches]

Wondering if I can humbly request an Emmet in these trying times. Your art and animations so adorable and well done it really makes me happy. Also thanks for getting me obsessed with submas and I hope you have an amazing day!

he believes in you !

[guildfordd]

And it feels good to be known so well

REBELCAPTAIN + "TRUE BLUE" BY BOYGENIUS

(in/sp) [for @jynersso ♡]

[figloom]

Lil Welcome back gift Because I noticed something Hehe 🤲💕

THEY ARE HOUSE RIBBON BUDDIES YOUR HONOR😭😭 god your artstyle is so fucking cute ai, I exploded when I saw that

[felassan]

🥺 thanku sm for these lovely mentions and comments, i'm

[terezicaptor]

these guys are so comfortable....... so sleepy.....

[sugarcandydoll]

here's how i imagine myself as deer!reader based on @princessbrunette 's fics hehe ♡🦌💕 feel like deer!reader would sew her own clothes sometimes hehehe! ♡🏹 n it'll always turn out sooo cute considering she just collected snippets of cloth n lace etc etc n sewed it into smth so cute!!

pics not mine ♡ n deer!reader belongs to @princessbrunette ♡🧸 n header by @dollywons ♡🧁

[guy-girlfriend]

my art? little old me's art? wow...

sometimes you gotta stare at @guy-girlfriend’s melshian art for a long time it’s energizing like caffeine

[brambeag]

i managed to pop out the three white haired guys at least☝️🤓!

[mobius-m-mobius]

Hey! Change of subject. I thought of an answer. To what? Your question.

Lokius + reflection for anon

[jayparked]

congrats & thanks for doing this event! can i req 75+84 with sunghoon? ty!

WARNINGS: semi public sex, slightly mean dom hoon, sunghoon makes y/n answer the phone while they fuck!, possessive hoon, language, bulge pushing, fingering, hoon's kind of a manhandler idk, creampie

WC: 761

"th-there are people outside this door-!" your words are quickly muffled by sunghoon's hand, his palm warm against your lips.

"well, this isn't about them, is it? they're out here shopping and it's just you and me in here. now stay quiet and take it."

your muffled moans only encourage sunghoon more, his fingers quickening against your clit while molding his body against yours. every twitch of your body has you unintentionally grinding against his growing erection. it's driving him crazy seeing how quickly you come undone in his grasp. but what he loves most is that no matter where or when, if sunghoon wanted you, you'd let him have you.

your phone that's resting on the dressing room seat lights up and your body stiffens at the displayed contact name.

"hm? i thought you cut him off? thought i was the only one you were messing with now?"

you don't answer right away, eliciting a harsh flick from sunghoon's fingers onto your clit.

"i did! you are!"

"i don't believe you." sunghoon grunts as his fingers easily enter your sopping hole. he doesn't even bother prepping you or trying to stretch you out properly, already inserting three fingers knuckle deep, scissoring as a relentlessly brutal pace.

"but you think about me when they're fucking you, don't you?"

"i...that's not true." who are you kidding? there's really no comparison between the two. in every category sunghoon wins; size, pacing, ex

"oh? you really think you can lie to me right now? with the position i have you in? i don't you need me to remind you who's cock you cry out for every night. if he really was a good fuck it would be him here with you, but no. you chose me. now pick up the phone and tell him you're done with him"

"n-now?"

"no, next tuesday- yes, fucking right now. answer the damn phone. i want him to hear this."

you quickly lean forward and grab your phone, sunghoon's hands never leaving your body. not even giving yourself a chance to back down, you answer the call.

"helLO?" you gasp, looking behind you to see the wide smirk on sunghoon's face as he pushes his cock past your folds, guiding your hips back until he's fully sheathed inside you.

"y/n? are you okay? i haven't heard from you in a while and i miss you-"

sunghoon presses his hand against your stomach as he thrusts deeply into you. barely catching the small scream bubbling in your throat, you clamp a hand over your mouth and breathe heavily through your nose, feeling the way sunghoon's large hand presses against his own bulge inside you.

guiding your hand away from your face, sunghoon quickly grabs the phone and presses the speaker button and places it back on the bench. he silently presses a hand between your shoulder blades and bends you down slightly before grabbing both of your wrists and moving them behind your back. satisfied with the position he has you in, sunghoon starts thrusting deep and vigorously. he loves the sound your bodies makes together, the slapping of skin on skin and the squelching of your arousal coating his cock. it's something he'll never get tired of and he's soaring with pride at the way the sounds echo in the small fitting room, surely being picked up on your phone for your previous toy to hear.

"uhhh...y/n do i need to call you back?"

"don't bother," sunghoon chuckles, "she doesn't need you anymore." sunghoon ruts his hips into you in a way that forces a moan from you, one you can't hold in any longer no matter how hard you try. three faint beeps sound from your phone as the other boy hangs up, leaving you completely at sunghoon's mercy.

even with the competition successfully removed from the picture, sunghoon does not let up. he releases your hands, letting you stumble forward until you're able to brace yourself against the mirror, his pace never faultering. sunghoon leans down and bites at the back of your shoulder, teeth sinking deep enough to bruise. meanwhile, his pace quickens, clearly chasing his release while still feeling the high of successfully claiming you in front of his opponent. without warning, sunghoon releases inside you, softly groaning your name as he slowly uses you to milk every last drop of his load out of him.

he stills in your for a moment, panting softly before placing a swift kiss to your shoulder as he removes himself from you. "that'll show him."

♡ for part of my 1k follower celebration ♡ masterlist

[willowser]

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

[lotus-pear]

TWELVE KAY LETS FUCKING GO we are back to an even number i’m so glad ‼️‼️‼️‼️