coffeedrinkee

[coffeedrinkee]

Birthdays are, historically, just any other day for Sakura.

He doesn’t go out and buy a sweet treat, he doesn’t make a wish while blowing out a candle, and he doesn’t feel any older or wiser or whatever the hell they say you’re supposed to feel.

As a kid, his only celebration consisted of whispering happy birthday to himself in the relative safety of his room. Sakura never did figure out if his guardians genuinely forgot or if they felt acknowledging the occasion was dangerously close to acting like they cared.

Even Nirei—who, to Sakura’s recollection, was the first person in his life who asked for his birthday—initially wanted information for data collection, not out of true interest. (Sakura had initially answered all those inane questions in the hopes Nirei would go away, **but the subsequent celebrations more than made up for fifteen years without.)

Until, of course, Sakura met you.

He still remembers the way you’d asked, eyes bright and curious. Like some damn date on the calendar mattered.

Two years into dating and you haven’t done anything with that information beyond baking him a cake and gifting him a small present. Quiet. Understated. Just how he prefers it. (Nothing like those rowdy Bofurin celebrations that, deep in his heart, he cherishes deeply.)

So this year, he has no qualms about following you to Café Pothos for a relaxed dinner. Changing up a routine every now and again is a good thing, and he knows you won’t go blabbing to everyone within earshot the reason for this little outing.

You’re more energetic than usual on the walk there, practically vibrating. Sakura frowns. “What’s wrong with you?”

The casual shrug you offer is betrayed by the unconscious way you squeeze his hand. “Just excited, I guess. We’ve never had a dinner date celebrating you!”

He huffs in reply. Your effortless positivity is boundless, and not for the first time, he thinks he’s so incredibly lucky he hasn’t scared you away.

“I still don’t see why birthdays are such a big deal.”

“Because!” You halt, rounding on him with an expression filled with so much conviction it makes his chest ache. “It means you’ve been alive for another year. You’ve made memories and met new people and ate good food. And, it’s another year I’ve gotten to love you.”

Well. That’s. Damn.

Flustered, he tucks his chin into the collar of his jacket. You bump your shoulder into his in silent apology. He huffs again, but returns the gesture.

He's quiet the rest of the walk, and you don't try to fill it. Nerves tingle just below your skin; your palms begin to feel clammy once you turn the familiar corner leading to Pothos. Subtly, you wipe your free hand on your pants and hope he doesn’t comment on the one he’s holding.

"Why're the lights off?" Sakura wonders aloud, head tilted as he considers the dim building.

Indeed, no warm glow emanates from the windows. The sign on the door is flipped to Closed. Momentary guilt feels your stomach; you are taking advantage of his gullible streak, however briefly.

"I dunno," you hum, fighting to keep your voice steady. If Sakura notices the off pitch, you hope he attributes it to your earlier excitement. "Think Kotoha-chan's alright?"

He tries the door, startled when it swings open with a welcoming chime of the bell. You slip inside first, catching a flash of someone's smile--Nirei's, you think--before the lights flick on.

"Surprise!!!"

The shout is deafening; people are squeezed into every available spot in the dining room. Nearly all of his former classmates are in attendance. You spot Nakamura-san and a few other members of Roppo Ichiza crammed into a corner.

Sakura makes a noise, torn between surprise and outrage at being caught off guard. He staggers back a step and raises his fists as if to ward off an oncoming blow. Anzai, unafraid of any potential lashing out from his friend, peels away from the crowd, a party hat held in his hands. A matching one sits crookedly atop his disheveled hair.

You’re almost positive Sakura will punch the poor guy if he tries anything. Spinning on your heel so your back is between the two men, you gently place your hands atop your boyfriend’s fists. “Happy birthday, Sakura.”

Bewildered, he looks between you and the assembled gathering, like he’s convincing himself it’s not a dream. Pink tinges his cheeks.

"W-w-w-what the hell is this?"

"A surprise party!" You supply helpfully. "Everyone deserves to have a surprise party once in their life."

Shit. He wants to be mad, and he is, but you're looking at him with such open love and compassion, he finds the anger doesn't last long. He lowers his fists. "They do?"

Later, once Sakura's calmed down and the chocolate cake has been distributed, you pull him aside with a gentle tug on his jacket sleeve. He dutifully follows you to a relatively unoccupied corner of the dining room.

A fork presumably full of dessert sticks out of his mouth, and a party hat sits atop his head. Looks like Anzai wrangled him into it after all; a miracle Sakura’s still wearing it.

"Hey. Having fun?"

He nods. Slowly removes the fork, setting atop the paper plate in his other hand. His throat works as he swallows. A smear of cake mars one corner of his mouth.

"I know I should have discussed this with you. I am sorry."

"Nirei said you two are the ones to blame for puttin' this together."

You smile at that, relieved. There's no anger in his voice. He sounds a little awed. "Yeah, well. We figured you'd be willing to forgive us for shocking you."

He's quiet a moment, tapping the fork against the plate like he's contemplating what to say. "I'm used to these assholes shockin' me. Didn’t think they’d get you involved, too.”

Laughing softly, you reach up, thumbing away the remnants of cake. Sakura watches you, eyes unreadable in the dim light. Subtly, he leans into your touch. You leave your thumb where it is once the crumbs are gone. “You love it. Us.”

The light shifts. His expression is stripped bare, no mask of anger hiding his innermost thoughts. Such open honesty makes you breath hitch in your chest. No words are needed; you know his answer.

He still doesn’t feel taller, or wiser, but he does feel a deep seated sense of belonging, so long as he’s by your side. “Tch, not so loud!”

[coffeedrinkee]

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

tags: TW: mentions of bullying and verbal abuse!, hurt/comfort, angst with fluffy ending, my precious bby boy sakura needs a hug!

thinking about comforting sakura haruka after a nightmare! my poor baby (੭ ;´ - `;)੭ ♡

the dreams always start out the same in his mind. voices drift into his ears from nowhere, but their unavoidable. the volumes and toxicity vary, but each one is another knife twist and gun shot. he can feel presences, like ghosts, lingering around him and behind him. their eyes bore into his skull as he watches the abyss grow in front of him. his only mode of transportation? a tightrope.

"again? this is the fifth time he's beaten someone up this week!"

"call the school nurse! god dammit, that fucking punk . . ."

"hey, come over here, get away from him. if he catches you looking at him like that . . ."

sakura takes a deep breath before finally, he takes a step out. one foot and then the next. the rope sways beneath him, and his arms instinctively go out to try and steady himself.

"you got in trouble at school again?! sakura what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"stay away from the other kids! i don't want your influence rubbing off on them!"

"as if his appearance wasn't off putting enough . . ."

by the time Sakura reaches the middle of the rope, he's feeling light enough to let the insults roll off of him. occasionally, he feels thrown enough to almost fall, but the teetering is momentary - he finds his footing.

however, a soft voice breaks through the muddy mess of everyone else.

"i wish i'd never dated you . . ."

it's hardly a whisper, but he knows that voice. he knows the cadence, the gentle lilt. it'd just put him to sleep a couple hours ago. his head on your chest, your hands mussing his hair, you. you, you, you-

"goodbye, sakura."

"NO WAIT!"

he whirls on the tightrope and immediately dips into the abyss. wind whips past him, tangling his two-toned hair and sending his tears up and away, as if they're chasing you.

he tries to call out, "don't leave," but it gets lost in the roar of the voices, of the wind, of the pounding of his heart in his ear.

a quiet gasp escapes sakura as he shoots up from his futon. a hand clenches against his chest, as if checking that his organs are still there. his eyes take a moment to adjust to the room, the sparse items littering the floor and the sink countertops. a duffle bag of your things rests next to his futon and his eyes finally fall to your sleeping frame.

a strand of hair falls onto your face, and your lashes cast shadows on your cheek. your lips are slightly parted as you take soft breaths. finally, you mutter something and you stir.

"haruka?" your eyes flutter open and you look up at him. in the moon, his golden eye glows like honey and you can't help but give him a sleep smile. "what's wrong?"

you push yourself up and cup his face. "Haru . . .?"

sakura whips his head from your touch and shakes his head. he rests his head in his hands and mutters, " 'ts nothing, go back to sleep."

"haru . . ." you whisper, like if you speak too loudly, you'll scare him off entirely. "c'mon . . . look at me."

after a few heavy breaths, sakura turns to look at you. he looks like he's on the verge of tears, his body shakes and he keeps blinking. he goes pliant in your hold as you pull him towards you, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders. he can pull away at any time.

but he doesn't. his hands go to your waist, and he digs his fingers into the flesh, trying to hold you there permanently. his face goes to the crook of your neck and he inhales, his tremors subsiding every so slightly.

"bad dream?" you ask after a moment of silence. he's silent for a long time, before grunting in assent. you giggle softly and rub his arm and shoulder. you turn your head and kiss his temple. "i'm here," you whisper into his hair.

there're so many words that linger on the tip of his tongue. they claw their way up his throat and beg to be spoken, to be heard, but his lips remain stubbornly shut. his body slowly relaxes, the tremors subsiding. his fingers no longer dig dimples into your waist, and his touch is more reverent as his thumb brushes your skin through your clothes. eventually, he manages to pull back and look you in your eyes. his golden one shines brightly with passion.

your smile grows and you brush your thumb under his eyes. you nuzzle your nose with his and whisper, "there you are~"

" . . . shut up," he grumbles as he press his mouth against yours in a kiss.

a/n: genuinely adore him. my entire fyp on here has been chibi sakura and suo drawings and I'm legit losing my mind everytime i open tumblr!!

[coffeedrinkee]

and that’s how it works; that’s how you get the girl

ft; haruka sakura, hayate suo, umemiya hajime

synopsis ; how did they get the girl?

cw ; violence (idek if this is needed since it's wbk but ykw screw it), fem!reader, swearing, use of (y/n), first time writing for wbk so tell me if this is shit

now playing ; how you get the girl - taylor swift

haruka sakura

haruka sakura got the girl by standing outside of your apartment in the rain for an entire hour because you got mad at him.

actually, he had gotten mad at you first. you doted on him and took care of him excessively while he was injured after a fight, and you refused to go home despite the fact that it was getting late and dark out. sakura knew that your apartment was only a few hours away, but he didn't see why you would be wasting your time on taking care of him when he could do it perfectly fine himself.

“you're pissing me off. i already said, i can just sleep this thing off. you're bothering me right now; go away. you're being annoying.” sakura cringed as the words replayed over and over again in his mind. when he first said it, he didn't think too much of it. but now? geez, if you had said those same things back to him, he would probably be having a way worse reaction than you.

you’ve been giving him the silent treatment for thirty-seven hours, twenty-six minutes, and thirteen seconds. not that he was counting. nope, he definitely wasn't counting. definitely not. he's probably checked his phone a thousand times today already, just waiting for a single text message from you; but none was found.

maybe he thought that this was a genuinely bright idea, because suo and nirei certainly didn't. maybe he really was just that desperate to see you again and for you to forgive him. maybe he's just plain stupid. yeah, probably the last one, but right after school ended, he stormed to your apartment complex as quickly as he could, ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door a multitude of times.

no response.

he knew you were in there; you always went straight back to your apartment right after school. “hey, i know you're in there. let me in.” he barely managed a slightly convincing calm voice, but he was panicking inside. he really didn't want you to ignore him forever. he really didn't want you to leave him. not when you meant so much to him.

it began to rain rather quickly. first, it was just a few droplets landing on his hair and gliding down his nose. but soon enough, his entire body was drenched in rain. he sneezed a few times, but his feet never once left it's location of standing in front of your apartment.

this was unlike him. he shouldn't be doing this. he would never do this for anyone else, so why you? his fists clenched as he heard the first clap of thunder; he should go back. but his legs refused to move, his heart refused to leave you. he glared down at his feet as if they were the reason for your anger at him.

“sakura?”

his eyes darted up, golden and gray-blue eyes meeting yours. “oh, hey,” he said dumbly, hands brushing the imaginary crumbs on his wet shirt. you both stood there awkwardly for a few moments, only the sound of rain hitting the concrete breaking the silence.

“how long have you been standing there?” you asked, a crease forming between your brows. sakura shrugged, as if he didn't spend the last hour contemplating his life and relationship with you.

“an hour.” i would've been willing to wait longer though, he thought. your eyes widened, mouth agape. you took his arm, attempting to take him inside, but sakura refused to budge.

“sorry, i was taking a nap! jeez, just come in already!” you exclaimed, trying to pull him inside with all of your body strength.

but sakura couldn't just come in. he knew himself well enough to he wouldn't feel the weight on his shoulders lift until he truly said what he needed to.

“i--i'm sorry.” his voice was slightly shaky. he probably didn't know how to properly apologize. “i didn't mean to make you upset or anything. i was just not used to it.” there. he should feel better now, right? but for some reason, the tension only weight down on him even harder. what more was there to say? he already apologized, he didn't need to--

“i love you.”

his tongue slipped before he could even control himself, and his entire face burned beet red as he practically jumped up. he didn't intend to say that, so why did his mind react faster than his body did? but you only laughed, hugging his rain-soaked torso with a blush yourself.

“i love you too.”

suo hayato

suo hayato got the girl by never judging you or being mean to you whenever you were being a clumsy idiot.

you were never particularly gifted when it came to reflexes; your hip always bumped into desk corners which left bruises, you almost stubbed your toes which had you crying out in pain, and you almost always trip or have some pretty damn close calls to tripping whenever there was some sort of object in front of you.

because of this, ever since childhood, your classmates quickly learned to avoid you. who knew if you would trip over them and break a bone and then claim that it was their fault? they didn't want to risk it.

and you did everything just to get better. you took classes, you learned online. you really were willing to do anything and everything just to stop being so damn clumsy. but it would never help; you continued to fall flat on your face multiple times.

people made fun of you. they mocked you. they made rumors about you. all because you were uncoordinated.

you've admired suo for a while. when he first came to furin and was out on patrol, you noticed how calm he was. how graceful he was even when it came to something as trivial as walking or talking. he never seemed to get too emotional, he never even got mad. not even when you slipped and fell on him.

he didn't fall down with you, but you practically slammed head first into his chest. you didn't think you could be any more embarrassed in your entire life; your face was on fire and crimson red. suo managed to grasp both of your shoulders so he wouldn't collapse with you, but you face was still in his chest. god, this was so fucking embarrassing.

“i'msosorryididn'tmeantoi'msososososososososorry--”

“it's fine. are you okay?”

did time just stop turning?

wait. he wasn't judging you, he wasn't brushing off his clothes in disgust, he wasn't looking at you with an awkward and embarrassed smile, he wasn't shoving you off, he wasn't doing anything nasty at all.

with two small sentences and one small action, your simple admiration of suo turned began to fall. you both literally and metaphorically fell for him; for this guy who you knew next to nothing about other than his personality, name, and age.

even after the incident, whenever he was out on patrol, suo always greeted you with a smile and wave. sometimes, he would even come over and talk to you for a bit. god, he was literally perfect. he moved on from the incident this quickly?

one day, one fateful day, one beautiful day, you asked suo for his number, and the best part? he gave it to you. he doesn't use his phone in front of other people, so he typed his number and name into your phone, and even gave himself a cute and funny contact photo.

he. touched. your. phone. what did you ever do to get so lucky? you must've been a saint in your past life to have so much happiness in your life.

“i literally love you,” you blabbered the moment he handed your phone back. you clasped a hand over your mouth right after, shocked at what you just say. “uh, platonically! platonically!” you exclaimed, waving your hand back and forth and front and back like a mantra.

but suo only laughed. “it's okay. the feeling's mutual. just not platonically.”

you were falling for him all over again.

hajime umemiya

hajime umemiya got the girl by being an absolute, yearning, pining, whipped, down bad, stupidly in love simp.

the funniest part to everyone was the fact that he didn't even try to hide it. everyone could tell that he was absolutely in love with you. you were an employee at cafe pothos with kotoha, and you were always helping kotoha out, especially when she was new there a few years ago.

teaching her all of the recipes--including your secret ones--, cleaning up messes that she was supposed to clean, cleaning her up and helping her with injuries whenever she got hurt…umemiya saw it all. he saw it so much that he didn't even have to interact with you or talk to you a single time to fall in love with you before even officially meeting you.

when he did officially meet you for the first time, he was so starry eyed and smiley that it seemed to the bypassers that umemiya was about to propose to you or ask you out on a date or something.

“hi! i'm umemiya, furin first year and kotoha's older brother!” he exclaimed, taking your hand and shaking it feverishly, grinning like a child on his first day of school. “it's so great to finally meet you!”

“yeah, you too.” you replied, smiling at him. “i've heard a lot about you from kotoha, umemiya. it's nice to meet you.”

it really spiraled from there. your apartment always had some sort of snack on your doorstep, along with a handwritten note to you from umemiya. whenever his vegetables bloomed, you were always the first person to receive them.

carrying things for you, calling you all night, talking to you whenever he sees you--no matter how inconvenient the time--, carrying you bridal style all the time; everyone was convinced that you were both secretly dating but were just refusing to tell them.

of course, you were aware of umemiya's feelings for you, and you returned his feelings. you really did adore him. you just didn't want to start dating in high school, so you held your feelings back and relished in his affection while trying to drop hints that you liked him back.

if you could make this last forever, you would. just you and him. no one else. no one asking when you were going to get married or how many kids you were going to have or what your plan for the future was going to be. you couldn't stop time or slow it down, of course. you would if you could though.

“umemiya! guess what, guess what?!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing to the rooftop of furin. you didn't even go to school there, but it was practically your second home because of how often you came here. your phone held high in your hand, you sat down in front of umemiya, who was planting tomatoes.

“what happened? is it good? are you happy?” umemiya asked, his gleaming like a puppy's. you held your phone in front of him, a beam paving into your face.

“i got into the university of tokyo! can you belive it? it's the most prestigious university in japan! i studied for so long for this, oh my gosh, i can't believe it, i really got in!” you were practically glowing with happiness, and your energy radiated to umemiya, who seemed just as elated as you were.

“i'm so proud of you! all of those late night study sessions really paid off!” umemiya obviously didn't do much other than emotional support during the late night calls. he was in furin for more reasons other than the fact that he was a great fighter and charismatic leader.

he suddenly froze, coming to a quick realization. “so then…you'll be leaving makochi then? you're going to go to tokyo soon, right?” he still smiled, although the glimmer in his eye was a bit dimmer now. umemiya wasn't going to college, but you were. so he won't see you for four years?

“yeah. but i'll always visit for holidays and breaks and all! and i'll make sure to text you and call you as much as i can.” you remarked, quickly sensing the slight change in atmosphere. “and i'll leave a bunch of my stuff here for you and kotoha to keep. plus, i'm leaving in a few months, so we still have time.”

umemiya nodded, though you could still sense his drop in mood. sighing and shaking your head with a smile, you cupped his face. “here,” you leaned in, and umemiya's eyes widened as his entire face flushed bright tomato red.

you just kissed him.

you pulled away just as quickly though, grinning. “that should be enough for you to hold onto, right?”

that was enough for umemiya to cling onto for an entire lifetime.

[coffeedrinkee]

a quiet place to land

ren kaji x hiragi!sister reader, wc: 3k, req? yes! find it here.

You know it’s a bad day when Ren Kaji shows up at your front door. 

It’s not like you don’t like him. You’ve known him since middle school, back when his hair was still dark and your friends warned you to stay away from that Kaji boy because his temper was unleashed and uncontrolled. You ignored them, stopped hanging around those who refused to see how hard Kaji tried to keep himself sane, and watched the changes happen in him from start to finish. 

It’s bad, because Ren Kaji is standing in front of you, and your brother won’t be home for hours.

“Toma isn’t here,” You say upon opening the door. He’s standing on your front stoop, hair a little disheveled and something that looks suspiciously like a fresh set of bruises littering the skin of his cheeks and jaw. Sure enough, one glance at his hands clenched in fists at his sides, you see the skin torn from a fight. 

It doesn’t scare you. You’ve been watching your brother get in fights since elementary school. What you are wary of is the fact that something went down, something bad enough to bring Kaji to your door, and Toma isn’t there to help fix it. 

“I’m not here for your brother.” Kaji’s voice is harsh, but that’s his normal. You twist your lips to the side, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you study him carefully. His headphones are resting around his neck and he has a lollipop sticking from his mouth, which is nothing of note. You’re more concerned about the way he’s clenching his jaw and how his gaze seems hidden, ducked to the side and refusing to meet your evaluative stare. It’s almost protected. Like he’s worried about you seeing what he’s feeling, despite the fact that he showed up at your house. 

And he’s not there for Toma.

You sigh, pushing open your front door wider and leaving him to enter on his own. He’s been over enough times to know the rules of the house, to know how to navigate himself to the living room. You’re suddenly way too conscious of the fact that you’re only wearing a random hoodie you quote unquote borrowed from Toma and athletic shorts you’ve had for far too long. 

Not that it should matter. Because under no circumstances can you entertain the idea of anything with Kaji. Nope. Absolutely not.

And it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever come over without intending to see your brother, either. There have been a handful of occasions, like the one you’re currently in, where something happened, where life got too loud, and Ren Kaji found himself on your doorstep wanting to see you. 

It’s really no wonder you fell in love with him along the way, honestly. 

“Sit,” You throw the order over your shoulder carelessly as you retreat further into the house than the living room, gesturing vaguely towards the couch as you go. Kaji follows your command without fuss, which is just another sign on the long list of red flags he’s already flown that something is wrong. Usually, he’ll grumble out a ‘don’t tell me what to do’ before complying regardless. But now he’s silent, and you’re struggling to put the pieces of the puzzle together. 

The first aid kit is well stocked and kept within arms reach in your household. It takes less than a minute to collect it, but by the time you return to the living room, Kaji’s already retreated into the sanctuary of his headphones blaring rock music to drown out whatever was bothering him. 

You don’t think anything of it. You’ve known Kaji for years, and you’ve come to understand how to exist in the same space as him without overstepping. Which is why you know enough to grab your own headphones on your way back into the living room, and you busy yourself with connecting them while you settle atop the coffee table directly in front of Kaji’s position on the couch. It’s cramped, but you make it work with your knees slotted between his casually spread legs and a blush burning the tips of your ears. 

As soon as your own music starts playing, you set your phone to the side and look to your patient for the time being. He’s staring at you, but you know he’s not really seeing, so you nudge his foot with yours and stick out your hand, palm up and fingers splayed. With the music playing in both your ears, words are useless. 

Kaji knows to set his own hand in yours, because he’s been through the routine too many times, too. You’ve lost count of how many nights you patched up Toma and his gang, Kaji included. You’re pretty sure even Sako still knows the drill, and he hasn’t shown his face to you since junior high graduation. 

The alcohol wipe stings, but Kaji is already tensing his jaw so tight that he doesn’t show a visible wince. Regardless, you know it doesn’t feel good, so you make quick work of cleaning the torn skin on his knuckles. He watches you work carefully, obediently switching hands without you even needing to tell him to. 

The scratches on his face aren’t anything serious, either, so you finish disinfecting in a matter of moments and apply necessary bandages to smooth skin. He’s still watching you carefully, but you know he’s finally seeing, and the recognition that he’s coming back to himself makes you let loose the tension you had been unknowingly holding in your shoulders. 

Your mind inevitably drifts while doting on him, and you find yourself studying his face too closely for just simply looking for injuries. Especially when you’re looking at his lips more than his bruises. 

He’s still wearing his headphones when you finish packing up the first aid kit, so you know he needs more time until you can bother him about what happened. He’s not running off, which is an improvement from middle school, when he would tug his hoodie over the top of his head to block out the world. Now, he’s drowning out sound while scrolling through his phone on your couch. 

The thought makes your cheek twitch with a smile. You know better than to comment on his growth. 

Instead, you stand from your seat on the coffee table and return the first aid kit to its rightful home. When you make your way back to the living room, you choose a spot on the couch with a comfortable distance between yourself and Kaji. In place of badgering him, you pull out your own phone and begin to scroll. 

There’s no message from Toma about a big fight happening in town, which makes your face twist in silent confusion. Your brother has always been good about warning you about Bofurin’s actions in a bid to keep you away from the trouble. The lack of a text makes you glance at Kaji, trying to piece together how he could’ve gotten so injured without a noteworthy Furin fight having gone down.  

But the blond seated beside you offers no answers without you having to dig for them, so you fire off a message to Toma and shut down your phone, tucking it between your leg and the couch cushion. You twist in your seat until you’re leaning back against the arm rest, feet pulled up on the couch to give you something to wrap your arms around and rest your chin on. 

You study Kaji’s profile for as long as it takes for him to notice you’re waiting for him. Or maybe, for as long as it takes for him to work up the resolve to take off his headphones. He sets them on the coffee table, and you know that means he’s ready to talk. 

“Thanks,” He mumbles out to break the silence. You’ve never known Kaji to be an overly talkative person, so you take the opportunity he’s given you with both hands and ask the question that’s been bugging at you since he arrived. 

“So, who’d you fight this time?” You keep your voice light, non-accusatory. You’ve never loved all the fighting, but you know they’re doing it for a good cause. And you also know Kaji is too good of a guy to get in fights for no reason. 

“Dunno their names.”

Kaji shrugs, attention fixed on his abandoned headphones on the coffee table. Now you’re confused, because there’s something far worse than a regular fight wrong with him. He can handle scraps with random troublemakers on his own, without needing to see you. Something about this fight in particular is bothering him. 

“Kaji,” You try again, a bit more forcefully. He finally looks at you, but he’s just as quick to glance away. You frown, and shift further down the couch until you’re directly next to him, your sock clad feet only a few inches away from his leg. Part of you thinks you see the tips of his ears start to turn bright red, but part of you knows that would be ridiculous. “What happened?” 

There’s a telltale crack as Kaji’s jaw clenches over the lollipop he’s been savoring since before he arrived. His face is stony, completely giving away the fact that whatever did go down before he arrived at your door was bad. 

“I really don’t know their names. But they were wearing the uniforms from your school.” He explains, though it sounds like it’s taking a lot for him to get the words out. Like each one has the same feeling as poking at an unhealed bruise. Your face twists in confusion, but you stay quiet, hoping that encourages him to keep talking. “They had some stupid shit to say.” 

“About you?”

“About you.”

“Oh,” You’re not sure where to take the conversation from there. Toma has always told you that you’re too headstrong for your own good, which you never thought was a bad thing. You’re not oblivious to the fact that some of your classmates don’t like you, but you never thought that they would talk so poorly about you that Kaji would fight them. 

It makes a heavy weight settle in your chest, and you look away from Kaji with a frown anchoring the corners of your lips downwards. You wonder what they said, if the boys he’s talking about actually knew you. 

There’s a few unsavory thoughts running through your mind, but you’re abruptly dragged back to reality when Kaji nudges your shin. You know you’re still frowning when you glance at him, but it all melts away to surprise when you see what he’s offering you. 

It’s one of his lollipops. The peach kind, too, and distantly you think that he said one time that those were his favorite. It makes your throat tighten and your sinuses clog with emotion you really hadn’t expected to feel when you opened the door twenty minutes earlier. 

“Thanks,” You sigh as you take the candy. The shake to your voice is hard to ignore, but Kaji is good enough to not comment on it. You’d almost think he doesn’t notice the way your eyes are a bit shinier than usual, but the candy he’s offering is proof otherwise. “You didn’t have to do it, though.”

“Huh?” He’s turned fully towards you, now, and it’s hard not to burn up under the total weight of his attention. Most days, you’d love to revel in his focus, but now it feels too hot, too close to something you’ve never been brave enough to address. 

“You didn’t have to fight those boys just ‘cause I’m Toma’s sister,” You clarify, voice quiet and close to shattering. It’s the only reason you can think of that explains why Kaji would bother dealing with some random assholes. You busy yourself by popping the gifted lollipop in your mouth, savoring the taste of peach on your tongue, folding the wrapper into a neat triangle, then half it again. 

Under different circumstances, it would be almost amusing to watch him process what you’re saying. It’s almost like his brain stutters, then stalls, before needing to reboot and start over. You watch as flashes of confusion shine in his eyes, then disbelief, before finally settling on annoyance. 

“You stupid or something?” He asks, and you snap out of your self-pitying to glare at him, mouth already open to retort with your own insult by the time he barrels on. “I didn’t do it ‘cause of your brother. I did it because I like you, a lot, and those assholes don’t get to talk about you like that.”

You’re still a little pissed off at the stupid comment, so it takes you longer than it typically would to realize he just confessed to having feelings for you. 

In the stretch of silence you foolishly let build after his admission, Kaji groans and reaches for his headphones to hide from the world again. His blush is crawling up his neck, and all you can think about is how adorable you find it as you hand shoots out to grab his sleeve. 

His focus snapes to you the moment your touch finds his sleeve. He’s frozen, half leaning forward to grab his headphones off the coffee table. You’re convinced that one wrong move will send him flying out the front door and avoiding you forever. 

“You’re really shit at this kind of stuff.” You find yourself saying before you can think about it. It falls under the category of a wrong move that will send him flying out the front door, but you’re holding the sleeve of his sweatshirt so tightly he can’t go anywhere without dragging you with him. 

“Just forget it.” He grumbles, a glare he doesn’t mean fixed on something over your shoulder. You can’t help the way your grin finally breaks free, but he misses it by avoiding your gaze. 

“Now you’re the one being stupid.” You tease. “The guy I like just beat up bullies I didn't know I had and confessed his feelings for me. I’m not just going to forget it.” 

You’re leaning closer towards him now, hoping he’ll get the hint that you want him to kiss you. The lollipop is plucked from your mouth, held by the stick in your hand that isn’t currently bunched in the fabric of his sweatshirt. You think you’re inching closer towards your goal when you spot his gaze tracking the way your tongue darts out to wet your peach flavored lips. 

“Your brother—” He starts, but you’re quick to interrupt. 

“Now it’s finally about Toma.” You tease with a playful roll of your eyes. “My brother loves you. And he trusts you, too. He’s not going to be bothered by us.” 

Kaji’s ears burn impossibly brighter at the mention of an us, which makes you grin and lean even further into his space. This is so not the direction you thought your afternoon would go, but you’ll take it. 

He’s quiet for a moment longer, so you decide to give him another nudge, another tease that will hopefully push him over the edge towards action. 

“If you really want, we can call Toma and ask—”

You’re interrupted by his hand suddenly cradling your jaw, angling your face just right in the seconds before his lips crash against yours. It’s a little sloppy, a little inexperienced, but it makes your head feel dizzy all the same. You press towards him the moment you get your bearings, desperate to show him how much you care for him. 

It’s nearly embarrassing how breathless you are after the kiss ends. But Kaji’s panting too, so you know you’ll be alright. Your smile is a little dazed, but there’s no way for you to miss the determined look in his eyes. 

“I owe your brother so much, but it’s never about him for me. It’s always you.” There’s a weight to his confession that you’re not quite sure how to unpack. Kaji has idolized Toma for years. But to think that as deep as that devotion goes, Kaji’s commitment to you goes deeper—

You’re not sure what else to do but kiss him again. 

It’s shorter than the first kiss, but no less meaningful. You see the way he’s blushing under your touch, your attention, and you wonder how you went so long without drawing that reaction from him. He’s too adorable, and it makes you decide that you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him blushing, always. You’re smiling, and it’ll take a lot to keep you from doing so.

“We still have to tell my brother, you know.”

“Don’t remind me.”

+ bonus

“Have you heard from Kaji lately? Word is he got into a brawl in town and no one’s seen him since.”

Toma Hiragi groans at his vice captain, reaching into his jacket for both his phone and stomach medicine. It’s one thing for Kaji to get into a fight while on patrol, but it’s another to disappear after. 

He pops a gaskun-10 pill into his mouth while opening his phone. There’s no texts from his underclassman, but he has one from you, his younger sister. 

Kaji showed up at the house. I patched him up but he seems off. I’ll talk to him and figure it out. Oh, and get me that bread Ume was talking about before you come home. 

Toma huffs at your text before turning off his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. He doesn’t actually remember what bread Umemiya recommended to you, so he’ll have to ask and endure a ten minute lecture on bean sprouts. 

But you’re cleaning up Kaji for him, so it’s the least he can do. 

“Kaji’s fine.” Toma explains to the small crowd of Bofurin that had gathered while waiting to hear about their teammate’s whereabouts. “He’s with my sister. She’s taking care of him.”

And maybe you’ll put him out of his misery and finally admit you’re in love with each other.

[coffeedrinkee]

get you a man who can do both

[coffeedrinkee]

rainy rooftops

pre-established!hajime umemiya x reader, wc: 1.9k, req? no.

It’s raining when Hajime Umemiya realizes he’s in love with you. 

There’d been a minor brawl in town, involving none other than his most promising group of first years. They’d gotten a bit banged up, nothing too terrible, and yet you still forced them to sit in the first year Tamon team’s homeroom while you asked Hiragi to grab you the medkit from the roof. 

Umemiya, of course, offers to go in his right hand’s stead, and when he comes back after darting out into the rain, he’s a little damp and entirely soft-hearted. 

It’s your arguing with Sakura that really does him in. 

“I will put my foot up your ass if you don’t put it in that chair, Sakura!” You hiss, one pointed finger perfectly painted—by Tsubakino, he knows, ‘cause you told him yesterday, and he remembers everything you tell him—extended threateningly in his junior’s face. Umemiya isn’t sure if he should intervene before Sakura tests the limits of your patience to the breaking point, but then he catches Hiragi’s eye and sees the twitch in his cheek as his best friend tries to hide his laughter. 

Umemiya decides to hang back and watch, a soft smile on his face despite the shouting. 

“Oh yeah?” Sakura pushes back, arms crossed over his chest and face flushed so brightly it might be cause for medical concern. The younger boy knows you’re just looking out for him, but he’s still adjusting to letting people do that. It’s not helping that you’re threatening him, but Umemiya knows Sakura adores you like a big sister. The thought makes his chest flutter. He’s always wanted a partner like you, and he can’t believe he ever got so lucky as to have you. “I’d like to see you try.”

Sakura’s taller than you, and a hell of a lot better fighter, but you don’t stand down. In fact, you step closer, chin lifting, and brows raising even higher, just tempting him to try and disobey you again. 

“Chair. Now.” You order. Umemiya bites the inside of his cheek as the room goes silent—save for Hiragi losing his battle against his giggles. Everyone is waiting to see what will happen, if Sakura will fold. You hold his stare, unrelenting, and Sakura is the first to look away. 

“Tch.” The first year scoffs, dropping his gaze as he sits in the chair, rather stiffly. His bruises are the worst of the bunch, having thrown himself headfirst into the thickest of the fighting, which was your reasoning for demanding to patch him up first. “Only ‘cause it’s lame to fight girls.”

Everyone knows that’s not the reason Sakura won’t fight you, but they let him have it. 

“Thank you,” Your demanding tone has disappeared with the arrival of a compliant Sakura, and in its place is the sweet voice everyone is accustomed to. Umemiya feels his heart sing when you glance over your shoulder and see him lingering by the door, the requested medkit in hand. The feeling swells when you smile at him, as if you hadn’t just threatened to beat up his junior. “Haji, can I have—”

“If you’re going to flirt, then I’m leaving—!” Sakura reacts at your use of his leader’s nickname, still unused to it leaving your lips so sweetly. He tries to jump up from the chair he had only just begrudgingly sat in, but a smiling Suo sets a hand on his shoulder and shoves him back down. 

“Relax, Sakura.” Umemiya finally steps in, a grin wide on his face as he watches you whip back around to fix Sakura with a glare. He sets the medkit on the desk beside you and retreats to the edge of the room to watch you work. Thankfully, Hiragi seems to have gotten ahold of himself. “Let her patch you up, and then you can go.” 

“Your sensitivity to romance never ceases to astound me.” Suo taunts his friend, which only serves to agitate Sakura more. This time, you pin your glare on Suo, though it’s far less effective on him. Still, the one-eyed boy gets your message, and mines zipping his mouth shut. 

“If you keep trying to flinch away from me,” You threaten Sakura once you get the alcohol wipes out to clean the cuts on his face. There’s a dangerous glint in your eyes that Umemiya is certain only he can see, and part of him swears there’s no better feeling than being the only one able to read you so clearly. “I’ll even go so far as to kiss Hajime in front of you.” 

Sakura freezes—then flushes so brightly the room erupts in laughter. You have to finish cleaning and bandaging Sakura up through his grumbling complaints and false threats about kicking your ass, but Umemiya knows you think it’s worth it to see the smiles on everyone’s faces. 

He watches as you patch up the first years one by one without complaint and only mild threats to stay still. It feels like a dream to him, to be able to sit on the sidelines and observe you doting over the boys he’s all but adopted as his younger brothers. 

“I’ll make sure the morons get home without incident.” Hiragi tells him after you apply the final bandage to Sugishita. The long haired boy is listening to your every word about how you tried a new shampoo you think he might like with wide eyes and his head nodding every few seconds. It makes sense that Sugishita is so reverent to you, considering how much you mean to Umemiya. 

“Thanks, man.” Umemiya hears the words leave his lips, but he’s not entirely certain he remembers thinking about saying them. He’s too busy watching how you care for his brothers, even going so far as digging out a snack from your bag and handing it to Sakura as a peace offering for all the teasing. 

It hits him square in the chest, then, that he’s absolutely head-over-heels in love with you. 

The boys are barely out of the room before Umemiya is crossing the small space between the two of you, heart hammering in his chest and grin so broad it might crack his face in two. 

“Haji—?” The nickname is barely out of your mouth before Umemiya slots his lips over yours in an unexpected kiss. His teeth knock against yours with the force of his smile, and you let out a breathless giggle when he pulls back as fast as he came in. You’ve been dating for months, and he still gets giddy each time he kisses you. “What’s gotten into you, then?” 

“I wanna do something romantic,” He tells you, and it’s all the warning you get before he yanks you up from the chair you’d claimed while you worked and hauls you over his shoulder, fireman style. 

The shriek you let out is tailed by laughter, and it’s music to Umumiya’s ears as he races out of the room and towards the stairs. You yell at him to be careful, to not drop you, as he takes the stairs up two at a time. It’s a pointless demand, because he’s never not had your safety in mind at all times, but he lets you chide him anyways because he loves the sound of your voice, he loves the way your hands grip the back of his jacket, and he loves you. 

He shoves open the door to the roof dramatically and strides out with you still over his shoulder. Your squeals only intensify as you feel the drops of rain splattering against your skin, but you’re laughing, too, so he knows you’re enjoying yourself and his spontaneity. 

“It’s raining,” You complain through a smile as he finally sets you on your feet. You’re so disorientated from being lifted and carried, half-upside down, that you brace your hands against his chest to keep yourself upright. He’s pretty sure you’re able to feel the slam of his heart against his ribcage, and it serves to make him even more excited for what he’s about to say. 

“It’s romantic,” He counters, holding your face between both of his large, warm palms and kissing you soundly. The rain is sticking your hair to your skin, dripping down the bridge of your nose, and he can only assume the same is happening to him as well. But you’re kissing him back with so much fervour that he can’t help but not care at all, and he knows without even hearing it that you reciprocate the devotion he only just realized he carries for you.

“Haji, what’s gotten into you?” You’re decidedly not complaining this time, because your hands wrap around his wrists and you step closer to him, chin tilted up to damn near stun him with your blindingly bright smile. Even through the rain, you’re devastatingly beautiful to him. 

“You taking care of the first years made me realize something,” He kisses you again when he pauses, and you reciprocate without thinking, despite your confusion. “It means so much to me that you care for them like that. So earnestly. It made me realize that I love you. That I’m in love with you.”

His confession stuns you momentarily, but he doesn’t stop smiling down at you, doesn’t stop cradling your face so gently between his hands despite the smattering of rain soaking you. There are several things he knows without a shadow of a doubt, and one of those is that you’re going to meet him, turn for turn. 

It takes a few beats of rain-filled silence for your mind to connect with your body. But once it does, your arms are flung around his shoulders and your lips pressing kiss after sloppy kiss to his cheek in your excitement. He hugs you close, tight enough to lift you off your feet, and revels in the way his chest rumbles with chuckles while you make exaggerated ‘mwah, mwah’ kissing noises while gracing him with your affection. 

“Does this mean you feel the same?” Umemiya knows he’s teasing, but he can’t help it, can’t help but dig his fingers into your sides to hear you squeal and bring your attention back to him. 

“Of course, I love you.” You’re still kissing all over his face, but he can’t let you have all the fun, so with one hand that’s not holding you close he grabs your jaw to keep you still long enough to press his lips to yours. This kiss is deeper than the others, longer. It’s an attempt to transfer all the emotions you both feel for the other in one moment, and when you pull back first, you don’t go far. “How could I not? You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

Umemiya can’t find the words to tell you how much you mean to him over the uncomfortable tightening in his throat he thinks might be tears. All he can do is hold you, and kiss you again, and hope you know that you mean just as much to him, that he thinks just as highly of you. 

He prays he makes you feel as loved as you deserve, and decides he’d be fine spending the rest of his life doing so. 

“But, Hajime,” You speak up after a few moments of peaceful silence. He leans into your touch when you brush some of the damp hair off of his forehead, and finds the teasing grin on your lips just as endearing as your bright grin or chastising frown. “Did you have to drag me out into the rain to tell me?”

“What’s more romantic than kissing in the rain!”

“You’re such a dork. I love you.”

[coffeedrinkee]

the hoodie

ren kaji x reader, wc: 1.8k, req? no.

He’s not expecting for it to affect him as much as it does. 

Your question was innocent enough, a quiet ‘can I borrow a hoodie, Ren?’ murmured in your sweet voice that he never could seem to say no too. Besides, he’s a protector of the town, right? And you’re part of the town.

What kind of Bofurin grade captain would he be if he let you freeze?

He thinks he’ll be fine, that he’ll be able to handle the sight of you in his clothes as normally as if you were wearing your own. His heart always does a little flip when he sees you, but he’s wholly unprepared for the way it stops in his chest when he finally rips his attention from his phone and up to you. 

It’s not fair, really, that you’re oblivious to the effect you have on him. You’re not doing anything special, just hanging out at his house before the two of you are set to leave and meet Enomoto and Kusumi for dinner, and yet Kaji thinks he might combust. 

The sleeves are just a few inches too long on you, and he knows that the hoodie smells like his cologne. He feels a little territorial, honestly, and entirely too smug that you’re about to leave his house wearing his clothes. 

“Does it look alright?” You ask him, voice distracted as you turn left to right and back again in the mirror. You’re inspecting the hoodie like you’re trying to make some grand fashion statement, and Kaji feels the tips of his ears start to burn as he rivets his attention back to his phone. 

“S’alright.” He hums, non-committedly, because there’s really no good way to explain to his best friend that he thinks you should probably only wear his clothes for the rest of your life. That’s a bit much, especially since he hasn’t been able to muster enough bravery to ask you out. 

He can fight off a rival gang, outnumbered, no problem. But he feels like his lungs might collapse if he even thinks about holding your hand. 

Despite the way he keeps his attention focused solely on his phone, he still manages to catch a glimpse of the way you roll your pretty eyes at his half-assed response. He can’t help the way his lips curve up into the subtlest grin at your slight annoyance. Antagonizing you is almost as fun as watching you wearing his clothes. 

“Whatever,” You huff, turning away from the mirror to face him lounging on the bed. You’d been at his side until a few moments earlier when you hopped up and asked for a hoodie, laying on the pillow beside him and scrolling through your own phone while listening to the music blasting through his headphones set around his neck. “Are you ready? Enomoto gave us so much shit last time we were late.” 

The lollipop in his mouth is strawberry, and Kaji swirls it around his tongue as he gets one last shameless glance at you in his clothes. He can’t actually believe his luck—you’re about to go out wearing his hoodie, smelling like him. It’s practically a declaration of who you belong too. 

You’d probably flick him in the forehead if you knew what territorial thoughts were swirling through his mind, but that would mean admitting just why he gets so much satisfaction from you being seen as his, so he keeps his mouth shut and climbs off the bed. 

He keeps his headphones wrapped around his neck instead of over his ears as he follows you out of his house and onto the street. The restaurant Kusumi picked is only a short walk from where he lives, but Kaji still keeps his head on a swivel while at your side—between yourself and the curb, obviously. 

“—and then we went home.” You’re retelling the day before, when you went shopping with a few of your friends from school, but Kaji is only half-listening. He knows you’re used to his attention being split, what with his headphones usually covering one or both ears, but he’s been better about paying attention to you. 

You’re just too distracting, wearing his clothes. 

“Ren, did you even hear me?” You huff, hooking an arm around his and stepping closer to him despite the annoyance in your voice. Kaji bites down on his lollipop—not hard enough to crack it—and your attention snaps to the movement. He really needs you to stop looking at his mouth, because his blush is starting to become uncontrollable and he thinks he might do something stupid. “Earth to Ren?”

“‘M fine.” He grumbles, wishing he had told you no about borrowing his hoodie and knowing that he would give you the world if you had asked for it. 

He knows he’s screwed when you pull him to a stop by the arm you’re still holding. He relents, but shuffles the two of you to the side of the walkway to stay out of traffic. The street is relatively empty, but the action gives him something to do other than face your concerned pout. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him. He knows the question was inevitable and yet he can’t help the way his stomach twists at your words. He can’t tell you what’s wrong, because that would mean admitting that he’s been fighting affection for you for months. 

“Nothing.” He lies. You know he's lying because he can’t look you in the eyes, and he feels some of his untempered anger bubble up in his chest. It’s not directed at you, never, but at the fact that he just lied to you. That he’s the reason for the pout on your face. 

“Ren Kaji. Look at me.” He winces at the sound of his full name falling past your lips, and he forces himself to meet your eye. He can do that much, because that means he’s only seeing the top of his hoodie in the corner of his vision— “Do you want to skip dinner?”

And miss the chance to show you off in his clothes?

“No.” He’s quick to answer and he’s glad it’s the truth, because it has some of the harshest edges of your pout melting. 

But then you do the worst possible thing. 

You tuck your chin in, digging it below the neckline of his hoodie, while no doubt trying to think of what’s causing his sudden mood. The material comes up above your lips, stopping just below your nose, and he knows you’re just breathing in his scent, no matter if it’s intentional or not. 

He feels a little bit like an untamed animal, going fuzzy at the edges of his mind at the knowledge that you’re wrapped up in something that smells of him. 

He jerks his head to the side and bites on the lollipop between his teeth again. His face is completely flushed, he can feel it burning, and he knows he’s found out when you perk up and tug on his arm to try and get his attention. 

“Is it the hoodie?” You ask, though he knows you’re confident in your guess when you don’t slow down for him to answer. “You should’ve told me I couldn’t wear it, I wouldn’t have minded. We’re not far from your house, we can go bring it back—”

And that’s just not an option for him, so he needs to find the courage. 

“It’s not ‘cause I don’t want you wearin’ it.” He admits, trying to ignore the spike of panic in his chest when you freeze up. It’s almost worst, trying to talk, when his short declaration seemed to get the words to dry up on your tongue. “I think you look… good… wearin’ my shit.” 

He’s never been the best with words, but he knows his point gets across when your pout melts away completely and leaves a wide grin in its place. Kaji thinks it might be worse for his heart to see you so giddy while wearing his hoodie, especially when you lean forward close enough to him to smell your shampoo. 

It’s then that he realizes that when—if—he gets his hoodie back, it’ll smell like you, too. He thinks his brain turns to mush. 

He’s malfunctioning, surely, because there’s no other explanation than total brain destruction and utter hallucination for him to watch as you reach the hand up that’s not holding his arm and grasp the short stick of his lollipop poking out from between his lips.

He opens his mouth on instinct when you pull on the stick, and he watches in complete devastation as you put the candy in your own mouth. Your smirk up at him, stick poking from the corner of your own devilishly curved lips, and he knows the sight will be forever seared into the brightest corners of his mind. 

He can’t think too long about the fact that you’re doing it all while wearing his fucking hoodie or else he’ll combust. 

“After dinner, you and I can get dessert without the others.” You tell him casually, leaning back half a step. Kaji loathes the distance, but he’s too struck dumb by your bold actions to do anything about it. If you weren’t still grinning at him with his lollipop on his tongue with his hoodie on your body, the distance might’ve been enough to help clear some of the fog from his mind. “You can tell me how good I look in your clothes then.” 

Kaji watches as you turn around like it’s nothing, and he swears he’s never felt his brain stall for as long as it does in that moment. But you glance over your shoulder at him just once, and it’s enough to get his ass in gear and take quick steps to catch up to your side. 

He’s openly staring at you, because he thinks he might be able to do that now, and hates how much he loves the smirk you’re nearly knocking him on his ass with. 

“I might need to borrow more of your clothes if this is how you react,” You tease, slipping your hand into his and efficiently suffocating all arguments on his tongue. 

And really, he’s never been able to say no to you.

+ bonus

“What?” Enomoto glances up from his phone when he feels Kusumi poking him in the side. They’re running late for dinner with Kaji and you, and he really doesn’t have time to clean up some lowlife’s mess if he can help it. 

Except, when Kusumi points across the street, Enomoto follows his friend’s direction and finds the opposite of some creep picking a fight in his town. 

It’s you and Kaji, stopped on the edge of the sidewalk and talking about something that has you grinning and him frowning. Enomoto is about to call out to the two of you, but then he watches as you pull the lollipop from Kaji’s mouth and pop it into your own.

“Grrross,” Enomoto huffs, though he’s smiling. He’s reached his limit of dealing with your’s and Kaji’s endless pining after the other. He watches a moment longer as you and Kaji take off down the street once more, your hand finding his friend's easily. “I’m cancelling dinnerrr. I’m not sufferrring thrrrough them.” 

Kusumi nods, agreeing. He has a feeling you and Kaji won't mind the time alone together.

[coffeedrinkee]

it was never ending (pt. 2)

notes: heheheheheh i wrote this all over the last 5 hours and i am offering this to you with both hands bloodied and tears streaming down my face.

wc: 6k (pt 2 only), tags (whole series): bakugou x reader, oc character death (not reader), grief, healing, found family, getting together, slow (medium?) burn, child rearing, descriptions of pregnancy, morning sickness, friends to lovers, confessions, eventual smut

(read part one here)

Katsuki hasn’t worked in six months. 

He knows this, keeps track of this—and yet, that’s where it stops. 

10 years ago, he would’ve been chomping at the bit to punch someone into the ground. To get out, to get himself into the thick of it—that's where he thrives. But right now, as has been true for the better half of the last year, none of that matters. 

What matters is the little girl that now sleeps in a proper crib in a room that Katsuki has designated as hers. What matters is the food he cooks to nourish her body, the way she absolutely does not like carrots but will tolerate sweet potato with (no small amount of) coaxing from him. What matters is her mother, whom he believes he would burn the entire world down for at the slightest inclination that she needed it done. 

Jesus Christ. 

He knows that your relationship is—different. You are his best friend, and yet he knows—has known—that friends don’t feel like this, like his heart might well and truly punch its way out of his chest to get closer to you when you’re not around. But by the time he developed the critical thinking skillset necessary to unpack any of that, you were pregnant. 

And now…

Now he’s—whatever it is that he’s doing, he’s doing it. The sense of responsibility that struck him so deeply on the day of Takeshi’s death has not waned even a fraction. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, or what any of this means to him—but he wants to keep you safe. Both of you. He wants you to be here, with him, where you’re protected and taken care of. So, whatever you need, he’ll do. 

It’s not a hard promise to keep.

_

Just wondering if you’re retired now. A text from Aizawa, seven months into his self-prescribed hiatus. I’ll buy you a coffee.

It takes 35 minutes of constant assurance that you will be fine (“Katsuki please get the hell out of the house, we’re fine”) to get him out of the door, and another 10 spent self-soothing, convincing himself that you are, in fact, fine. He lingers outside of the coffee shop for another five before going in. 

“Well,” Aizawa regards him lazily, like he’d just woken up from a nap in the utility closet, “never thought I’d see you again, stranger.”

Katsuki huffs, rolling his eyes petulantly. “Been around.”

“Not really, kid. Not like you were.”

“Of fuckin’ course not.” 

Aizawa looks at him with thinly veiled mirth, and it grates at Katsuki’s nerves. “Say what you want to say.”

“Just wondering who’s running your agency while you’re playing house.”

“Ei’s got it,” he says. It’s another beat before the full weight of the comment hits him. “I’m not fuckin’ playing house you old chucklefu—”

Aizawa raises both hands in mock surrender, the smirk evident on his face. “It’s not a bad thing, Bakugou.”

Katsuki sits back in his seat, hackles raised. He glares at a spot on the floor where the linoleum has peeled up, kicks it with his shoe. He gets his blood pressure back down below critical levels, and then—

“Just let me know if you need a witness when you adopt that baby.”

_

Eight months after her father dies, Kaede has her first birthday.

It’s a big deal, for several, obvious reasons. Kirishima, Denki, and Mina handle the party planning, and Katsuki wants no part of it. He does, however, take it upon himself to bake the cake. Baking is not necessarily his forte, but he’s never been a quitter and some little runt's birthday isn’t going to change that. 

It’s small, and minimally decorated—he fully anticipates Kaede to rip through it like an animal. He puts it in the fridge for safe keeping, and he realizes that he must’ve blacked out while making the damn thing, because when he turns around, his house is a nightmare.

There’s pink, frilly shit everywhere, hanging from the ceilings and wrapped around curtain rods and all over the fucking floor—his mind cannot catch up enough to what he’s seeing to make a comment, so he just stares, wide eyed and slack jawed at nothing in particular.

“Oh god,” Mina breathes, pausing in the middle of hanging up yet another streamer, “I think Blasty’s having a stroke.”

Katsuki opens mouth—to say what, even he’s not sure—but then he stops. This isn’t about him, he thinks—and if it makes you and your brat even a little happy, then he supposes he can deal with it. 

His jaw shuts with a faintly audible clack of teeth, and he just shakes his head, deciding he’ll check on Kaede instead of blowing all of his friends’ faces off.

He leaves the three of them there, gaping at each other.

“Dude,” Denki says finally, a grin splitting his face, “Kacchan is so whipped.”

_

He can tell it’s hard on you. 

You’re all smiles, of course, but when you follow him into the kitchen after the cake and lean your weight into the backside of his body, he feels your fatigue. Your arms wrap around his middle and he reaches back, wanting to anchor himself to any part of you he can. He just catches the hem of your (his, actually) sweatshirt, but it’s something. He holds on to it like it’s everything.

“Y’want to lay down?”

You shake your head, digging your forehead into the muscle that covers his shoulder blade. He picks up a dish to wash to distract himself from the feeling. 

“It’s my daughter’s birthday,” you sigh, squeezing him a little tighter, “I need to be here.”

“Been here all day,” he reminds you, not nearly as delicately as he intended, “Y’need to take care of yourself.”

You sag against him, and he feels some relief that he hasn’t hurt your feelings. You sigh again, controlled and warm into the fabric of his T-shirt. His skin prickles with the sensation—a conduit that flares when you open your mouth to speak. 

“Come with me?”

He pauses, searching the corners of his mind for even a shred of rationality, knowing he will not find any. Not when it comes to you. 

He follows you down the hall, and to his surprise, he hears no comments from the assholes behind him—oddly, no one seems to notice the two of you slip away at all.

You’re down already when he moves through the doorway, pulling the covers up to your chin. This part is easy to him—to lay next to you and pull you to him feels like breathing. You lay your head on his chest, and not for the first time does he think that you are the most precious thing in this world. 

“Thank you,” you murmur after a few silent moments.

He only grunts, trusting that you understand there’s nothing you have to thank him for. 

“Really, Kat,” you tilt your head up to look at him, and he feels your breath brush against his jaw. He’s never relied on hero training more than he does in this moment. “She won’t remember this, but I will. Thank you for taking care of us.”

You have no idea, he thinks. You have no idea just how badly he wants to shake you, to tell you that you deserve more than he could ever give to you and yet he will never stop trying, not ever—

Takeshi wasn’t a bad guy. Katsuki didn’t mind him, really—it’s just that he would lie awake at night and think about it too hard and make himself sick over it (it was only after this happened on three separate occasions that Katsuki finally realized that his feelings toward you were neither normal nor platonic). Truthfully, he was grateful that Takeshi was as patient as he was, as willing to have Katsuki in your life as you wanted him to be. He was a better man than Katsuki could ever hope to be, just by that metric alone.

But he’s gone, now. And Katsuki has spent the last eight months treading water around that void, careful not to get too close to the edges. He has no intention of replacing Takeshi. He just wants to be what you need. If it is only this—if he is only afforded these small, quiet moments with you, then that would be just fine. There is some guilt, of course—some fear that he’s taking advantage of you in your grief—and that keeps him in check. But he would always, always come if you called. An Achilles heel.

He lets you rest—fingers raking through the fine hairs at your temple while he counts your breaths. Each inhale that expands against his own chest—one—and the exhale that triggers his own breath—two—if only to chase the feeling of your heart beating against his ribs. He hopes you sleep, but knows you won’t— instead he lets the moment be still. He hopes that, if nothing else, to be silent in the dark of his room with him is enough of a reprieve to make the rest of the day feel manageable. 

In the quiet, he thinks, and thinks, and thinks—about you mostly, and about how the hell he even got here, with this you-shaped hole in his heart and his own grief and so much shame and someone else’s baby celebrating her first birthday in his house. He thinks about what his shitty old teacher had said—all the heckling, sure, but that wasn’t what really stuck, if he was to be honest with himself. 

It’s not a bad thing, Bakugou.

Wasn’t it, though? He has no idea where the line is for this sort of thing, but he’s nearly certain he crossed it months ago. He forces himself to engage in a sort of perspective reversal—often, just to remind himself of the reality he’s living in right now—and after a few minutes he has to stop because it makes him feel so fucking sick—to imagine himself torn from you and yet forced to float around and watch as another man takes his spot with relative ease. It makes him feel like a neanderthal, and it makes him feel something like awe for Takeshi, who he knows loved you enough to come to terms with this exact reality. Katsuki wonders if it crossed his mind, at the end—if he worried about you and Kaede, or if he knew that you’d be taken care of. 

Katsuki spent the entirety of your relationship with Takeshi braced for a confrontation that never came. Every birthday, every holiday, every family dinner—Takeshi welcomed him into your home with a warmth that Katsuki could never get himself to reciprocate fully. It wasn’t his fault—Katsuki would’ve had a hard time with anyone else, and he knows that he should count himself lucky that it never was anyone else, because at no point did he feel any animosity from the father of your child. Not even when his child was born, and you asked for Katsuki first. 

…

“Bakugou,” he’d tapped his shoulder, jarring him out of a sort of twilight sleep he’d achieved in the middle of the hospital waiting room, “she wants to see you.”

And maybe Katsuki’s guard was down, between restless dozing and worrying himself sick about you for the last several hours, because all he could think to say was “are you sure?”.

Takeshi had only smiled, sinking down into the chair next to him with a sigh. “She’s given me a gift that I will never be able to repay her for. She can have whatever she wants. Right now, that’s you.”

The walk down the hallway, back to your room in the birthing wing, was the longest of his life. It was the first time he’d ever really considered whether he was doing something irreparable—whether his own selfishness would come at a cost to you, someday. The thought almost made him pause—and he would have, maybe, if he’d had any control over the bottom half of his body—his legs making it very clear to him that they would carry him to you whether he wanted them to or not. 

He’d paid no mind to the orderlies that whispered barely-concealed observations of him being very clearly not the father—didn’t even register their presence as he shouldered past them into the room, only concerned if you were alright—

You’d fallen asleep, and he stopped himself before he got through the door, sagging against the frame with an emotion he’d no idea how to name or where it came from. 

He was suddenly angry at Takeshi, for putting you through this—felt his palms heat up at the knowledge that some rat bastard got his rocks off once and made the next nine months agony for you, resulting in this—you bruised and battered and connected to far too many wires and tubes for Katsuki’s liking. He’d hear the beeps of the heart monitor for the rest of his life. A mix of gratitude for the sound and something else he didn’t know how to name.

You’d shifted in your sleep, and it snapped him out of whatever spiral he’d been headed down. He was at your side immediately, reaching out to brush the sweaty strands of hair back from your forehead. 

"You look like shit," he'd said, immediately regretting it, wanting to take it back. But you’d only smiled at him.

"Yeah, well, you push a watermelon out of the smallest orifice in your body and let me know how you feel."

He'd gagged, knowing it would make you laugh. Needing any indication that you were still whole under that sheet. Nearly coming out of his skin when the sound he loved more than any other was cut off with a sharp gasp.

"Oh, don't do that," you exhaled, long and controlled, "Everything hurts."

He could only watch as you tried to get comfortable around the IV and the leads and everything else that he knew, rationally, was meant to help you, but that the insane part of him only wanted out of his fucking sight.

"Y'r okay?"

He didn’t understand how you could still smile at him like that. "I am. She's so beautiful, Kat. I can almost forgive her for totally wrecking me on the way out."

He’d completely forgotten the whole reason you were here until he heard the little grunt from the other side of the room—something in a little plastic cradle—swaddled in a pink blanket and a matching hat. He looked back at you, needing one last second to believe that you would still be who he knew you to be before he saw the thing that cemented this new reality in forever. He took an aching step toward the crib, and couldn’t get any closer. It was fear, it was grief, it was anger—all pointed toward this little alien looking thing that he knew didn’t deserve it.

You’d snorted, clearly entertained, clearly not understanding. "You can get closer, Katsuki. It's fine."

He forced himself forward again, really trying hard to not be an asshole about this, completely ready to fake it on your behalf—but then he saw her clearly. 

This time, looking over the plastic railing, her features became distinguishable under all of the fabric, and he knew they were yours. The realization was an abrupt one—so suddenly he’d known exactly then what the gift was. It punched him in the chest and took root there, this little nagging thing that told him that it didn’t matter who the hell fathered her; Katsuki would protect her for the rest of his life. 

He looked to you, watching him, and back to your daughter—this little thing that was in no way his, but that he knew he would care for as if she was. If you’d let him.

The emotion was so sudden and so overwhelming that he needed an out—because something was happening to him and he needed pulled from this moment—

“You shit the bed?”

He’d heard you groan, heard the clinking of plastic as you inevitably tried to stifle the embarrassment.  "I think I did."

…

He feels you shift, jarring him out of his thoughts. 

“Gonna go back out there,” you rasp, squeezing him a little tighter. 

“Go,” he has to fight not to hold you there with him, only if for another moment. “Be there in a minute.”

You roll to the other side of the bed—he hears your feet hit the floor as they carry you out the door and away from him. 

Katsuki feels the emotion well up inside his chest and burn behind his eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—and he thinks he needs to tell you, because he’s terrified and so guilty and every time you seek him out he feels something sick like hope curl around in his gut, and it’s. Unfair to you. 

He throws an arm over his face and drags in breath after breath into his lungs until it’s easier. He needs to get it together, and it’s a much easier task when he tells himself he needs to do it for you. 

He doesn’t open that door until he’s certain he looks like he always did—like nothing is tearing at his insides. When he does, he makes it back down the hallway to where you stand. You look over your shoulder at him like he's called for you, smiling at him like you do, and he’s tempted to turn around and never come out of that room again. 

But he stops beside you, and you fit yourself into his side—he pulls you closer like it’s muscle memory. He reminds himself that this is all it is, and that it’s fine how it is, and you’re okay, so he’s okay. 

But Kaede takes note of his entrance—smiling and gurgling out some string of incoherent mess that makes him grin back at her, despite himself. She gets stuck on the consonants, as she’s been doing the last few days—she squishes her fingers into the remnants of his carefully crafted birthday cake on the tray in front of her and carries on like that. It’s disarming, watching her figure things out—so he’s not expecting it at all when she grabs a handful of icing in her tiny fist, flings it halfway across the room in his general direction—when she points at him with her cake-covered fingers and shrieks “papa!”—

—

No one breathes. 

Katsuki’s brain short-circuits, and all he can do is stand there, shell-shocked and mouth agape like a fish. 

All the air leaves the room and in its place is something deeply uncomfortable. Never in his wildest dreams would have had anticipated this (because not even his dreams could be so bold, or so fucking cruel), so there was no way to brace for the impact, and it's just devastating—

He sees you shift out of the corner of his eye, feels your body tense up next to his, and his stomach drops. Surely this is the moment you pull away from him. He looks at you, and there’s nothing on your face that he can use to figure out what’s going on in your head. He sees the corner of your mouth twitch, and he prepares himself for the worst—

And you laugh. It leaves you in a rush, and then you’re doubled over with it, bracing yourself on his arm just to keep you upright—

Katsuki looks away from you for exactly enough time to lock eyes with Mina and try to communicate whatever it is he’s experiencing right now. Somehow, all of the color has drained from her face.

Kaede’s watching you, too—and whatever you’re laughing at spreads to her, because she cackles right along with you, legs kicking out under the tray like the hilarity of it all is too much for her little body to keep to itself. 

You and your daughter, cracking up over what feels like a funeral. 

Katsuki thinks, distantly, that it’s fitting. Thinks that, even if this is some sort of psychotic break, he will allow himself to feel these 30 seconds of unadulterated relief at hearing your laugh for the first time in eight months. 

“Oh, hell—” you use your grip on him to pull you back up, swiping the corners of your eyes with your sleeve and fighting a losing battle against another round of giggling.

“Honey,” Mina starts, rising to her feet and approaching you like you’re a wounded animal.

“Oh, stop,” you wave her off, shaking your head. “I’m fine. It was funny.”

Still, nobody moves. Katsuki looks around then, and he doesn’t think he’s seen Denki looking so uncomfortable in his life.

“Seriously,” you say to all of them, pulling it together a little bit to get your point across, “She’s been with Kat every day for the last 8 months. I’m not shocked, and also it’s really funny. Please breathe.”

Eijiro is the first to heed your instructions, letting out an audible breath. The rest of the group follows, thawed out by the knowledge that you’re…okay, apparently. Amid the resuming chatter, Katsuki looks at Mina again, who smiles at him—but there’s something like pity underneath it. You might not be shocked—but he feels like he’s going to be sick. 

You leave him to retrieve Kaede from her seat, and he feels his face twist along with the crack he feels bodily, deep in his chest. He’s frozen where he stands. And then he's being moved.

“C’mon Blasty,” Mina says softly, threading her arm through his and towing him out of the room, toward the front door, “let’s take a walk.”

It’s raining when he steps outside—just enough to make the air muggy and thick. He tries to suck it down anyway, fighting the lump in his throat and this god awful thing in his chest—

“What’s going on with you?” Mina asks, and he knows that she already knows—finds it unnecessarily cruel that she’d have him say it. She keeps her arm firmly wrapped through his, and he wants so badly to get away from here. Just for a moment, just to stick his head in the dirt and scream, or let off an explosion that makes him go deaf, or fucking something—

“Bakugou,” she tries again, pulling him to a stop, now that they’re out of sight of the house. “It’s okay. It doesn’t seem like it’s a big deal to her.”

What cracked inside him splinters again. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes as much air as he can into his lungs, and—

“It was. To me.”

He deflates. The truth feels so much heavier outside of his body. 

“Oh, honey,” she murmurs, pulling his arm tighter to her side, “I know it was.”

He can’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say. He’s so full of shame that he can taste it.

“That little girl loves you,” Mina offers, walking forward, pulling him farther away from the house, “so does her mother. You know that.”

He nods, and then shakes his head. Because he does know, but that’s not what this is. Or maybe it is, and that’s what has him nearly catatonic in his guilt right now. 

“You have been,” she pauses, considering her next words, “wrapped up in each other for years. I don’t think you’re the only one that feels this way.”

He shakes his head, already ramping up to protest, “But—she’s—”

“Grieving, Bakugou,” Mina cuts him off, gentler than she ever has. “And to some extent, she always will be, at least a little bit. But it won’t always be so hard. I mean, did you hear her laugh?”

Something bumps up against his heartbreak—something to soothe, maybe. He’d had no idea how badly he’d missed the sound of your laugh, or how long it’d been since he heard it, until today. 

“Get through the day. And then maybe talk to her.”

He pulls himself together enough that he feels at least a little able to rejoin the group. Both he and Mina are soaked by the time they make it back to his house. He hears your voice when he walks through the door, and his heart betrays him again, flopping in his chest like he’s some lovesick teenager. 

He supposes that’s where this started, after all. Being 19 and feeling so much bravado over the quirk he did nothing to earn, too much pride to properly process the trauma he’d just experienced as a child soldier—and in the beginning, far too eager to let everyone around him know that he was far above them. He was lucky the friends who’d followed him there knew him better, because he certainly didn’t make any new ones that year. 

But then he met you, the following year. Some class he didn’t want to take, because he thought he knew everything. And there, he heard what you’d done during the war—a short-range quirk, not really good for anything by his standards, but you’d done your best to use it anyway—heated compresses for injuries, hot water for sterilizing, temperature as a palliative measure for people who wouldn’t live to see the next morning. And something about that—knowing that you likely did more good than he ever could have—changed something in him. And he just sort of…attached himself to you, after that. For the first time in his life, he was made aware of this giant gap in his knowledge, and he wanted to learn. So he asked you questions—the same ones he’d always been too proud to ask. 

—

“Why do you care?” he’d asked, interrupting the quiet of your studying.

“About what?” you looked up from your textbook, shutting it with a pen between the pages to mark your place. You were the only person who’d ever given him your full attention to answer a question. 

He waved his hand in front of him, gesturing to nothing, trying to get his point across. “This. People. What you did in the war. Why would you work so hard when you knew they’d die?”

He didn’t feel shame around asking, because you’d never shamed him for wanting to know. This was no different.

“Hm,” you paused, sitting back in your chair to consider, “You know, I want to say something really admirable like I did it because I felt called to do it by some higher power, or because I always knew I’d be a hero somehow.”

You smirked, kicking at his foot underneath the table. “But I think it was mostly because I felt uncomfortable with the suffering. I felt badly about the death and destruction, and I knew I would be guilty for the rest of my life if I sat in that discomfort and did nothing with it, easy as it would’ve been to do it. I didn’t want to be a hero, but when it’s a choice of being a coward or being admired, it kind of makes itself.”

He could understand that. He appreciated that you didn’t give him some bullshit answer, nor were you worried about how he would receive the truth. In a world full of egotistical maniacs disguised as good guys, it felt refreshing. He thought, maybe, there was another perspective to be learned from you. 

“You could’ve died,” he muttered, and it was more of an observation than an accusation.

“Sure,” you said, shrugging. “And that terrified me. Still does.”

And that was that. Katsuki was wholly fascinated, though—by this school of thought that so differed from the self-sacrificing one he’d been brought up in. 

He told himself he just appreciated your insight until he had to admit that wasn’t all it was. For three years he lied to himself and it was enough, and then suddenly, you both were graduating, and the next thing was unknown. 

“Where do you think you’ll go?” you’d asked quietly, squeezed next to him on his ratty couch in his dorm. You’d joined him, Eijiro, and Denki for a movie, as you usually did every Saturday night.

“Jeanist,” matter-of-factly, because it was—the decision had been made long before then. 

You hummed, still looking at the screen. You all pointedly watched the most cutesy, animated movies you could find every week—there was no need or want to relive any sort of action from the past. Mind-numbing fluff was just fine. “I got an offer.”

His head turned on a swivel at that, trying to gauge what was going on in yours. “Korea,” you’d said, still not looking at him, “Data analytics. Something in PR.”

And he felt—so fucking indignant, at that. “Fucking—PR?”

“Oh my god, Bakugou,” Denki groaned, “I am trying to find out how Princess Tiana is going to break the spell, could you please—”

“Fuck you,” Katsuki snarled at him, not bothering to waste another second on a more elaborate insult because he could not believe what he was hearing—”Why would you take something like that?”

You’d just shrugged, not put off in the slightest by his outburst. “I don’t have other offers. The civilian track is famously unpopular.”

You in Korea? Doing publicity shit for some asshole in a costume? Over his dead fucking body. 

“No,” he bit out, shaking his head like it would dislodge the entire conversation from his memory, “Absolutely not. M’talkin’ to Jeanist tomorrow. Find you a real fuckin’ job there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he’d watched you turn to him, something like a shit-eating grin on your face. 

He blinked, and then it hit him like a truck. “Did you just fucking play me?”

You laughed at that—a cackling thing that lit up every nerve ending in his body. “No, I really did get an offer. But it’s nice to know that you want me to follow you.”

He groaned, shoving you away with some half-threat of blowing your fucking face off to sidestep the embarrassment he felt at being so horribly caught. 

But then you just…let him be. Batted his hands away and snuggled right up next to him, head on his shoulder, not another word about it. And he knew in that moment that you’d become something else to him entirely.

—

“Where’d you go?”

You follow him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind you. He strips off his wet shirt, using the last dry bit around the next to shake the water out of his hair. When he looks up, you already have a shirt held out to him. 

“Mina wanted to talk about some work shit,” he evades, hoping that you will do what you’ve always done, and just let him lick this wound privately. 

You decide not to do that. 

“Right after my daughter calls you papa?”

It feels like you’ve struck him, the way he reels from the word. He can only look to the ceiling and try to breathe. You sigh, pushing away from the door and moving behind him to flop down on the bed. 

He pulls the shirt over his head and moves through the same motions for the bottom half of his body, pulling on dry sweats before sitting down on the edge of the bed—fighting every urge to lay down next to you and stay there for good. 

“There are probably ways that we can discourage her from it,” you say quietly, reaching up to run your fingers down the grove of his spine, “It’s hard because she’s so small, but I’m sure she’ll grow out of it.” 

Katsuki fights the shiver at your touch and firmly shakes his head. And again, just for good measure, because he can’t rightly say a word right now, but he needs you to know that that’s not why he’s about to fall apart at your feet. 

“Are we okay?”

Behind him, your voice is timid, like you’re worried, and he can’t stand it— “Because I really do think it’s okay. It’s just a funny thing, and I don’t want you to feel like because she’s made that connection, that it’s something I’m asking of y—”

“Stop,” he reaches back and pulls you up off the bed in an instant, maneuvers you as close as he can possibly get you to the rapid, thrumming thing inside his chest, “Stop. Please.”

His forehead hits your shoulder and he tries to pinch off the emotion surging up his throat. He fights with himself like that, with you there on his lap, running your nails up and down his bicep because he’s acting fucking insane and for some reason you still try to comfort him.

His arm stays around your waist, keeping you there, and he wants to laugh because who is he fucking kidding? What friends do this?

“Please talk to me.”

He sucks in a breath, willing himself, one of the greatest heroes of all time—supposedly—to be brave enough to tell you the truth. Which is, for some reason, harder than all of the other shit combined and on fire. 

“Can’t take it back,” and he’s almost pleading with you—here’s an out, please take it— “once I say it.”

Your eyebrows furrow, but you never stop the brush of your fingertips down his arm. “That’s okay, Kat.”

And here it is—the emotion that he’s been pushing down, down, down, back with a vengeance. All of the shame, all of the guilt, and all of the love he’s been hiding weighs down on him like one huge anchor in such an embarrassingly physical display—his chest shudders underneath your own and his eyes burn and he has to take his hands off of you before you notice them trembling—

“Katsuki,” and he knows he’s scaring you—

“You are,” he fights to keep from gasping, begs his body to keep it together just this once, because this is humiliating, “everything. To me.”

You’re silent, then—your fingers stilled around his elbow, studying his face. He hopes to god it’s a permission to continue, because he has to. 

“And when you hurt, I just—want to fuckin’. Throw whatever it is off a cliff—” you snort, and it gives him whatever tiny bit of confidence he needs to go on, “but the hurt you’ve been carrying—I can’t take that from you. No matter how much I want to.”

He makes the mistake of looking at your face. He can’t look at your tears right now—he knows with a harrowing certainty that the sight will cut him in two.

“Honey, I—” he sighs, trying like hell to not ruin this entire thing with his next words, “if this thing between you and I is how it’s always gonna be, then that’s what it’ll be, and I’ll be one lucky asshole for all of it.”

He reaches for your fingers, and wraps them in his own—for what he prays is not the last time. 

“But I need ya to know that I heard her call me that and just for a—a fuckin’ second, it was real. The shit I’ve been dreaming about for years was right in front of me and it just. Hurt like hell to remember that it wasn't.”

You make a wounded, whimpering sort of sound and Katsuki has to squeeze his eyes shut and count to 10 before he’s able to speak again. 

“I can’t take his place,” he says quietly, straight to your heart, “Wouldn’t dream of it. But I need ya to know that there hasn’t been a moment since I met you that I haven’t loved y’so much it made my fuckin' teeth ache.”

Your tears hit the fabric of his sweats, and he hopes to god he’s not breaking your heart right now.

“When you had Kaede, I knew that I’d love her for the rest of my life. That I’d do whatever y’needed to keep you both safe and happy. And I would’ve been okay with doing that from the outside. But now you’re here and I—can’t breathe without you here and I—”

Sudden, strong compression cuts him off, and it takes him only a second to realize you’ve wrapped yourself around him like a vice. You couldn’t get any closer to him if you tried, and for one sickening second he’s so hopeful—

“I love you,” you tell him, every word branding itself into his chest, burrowing into his heart, “I love you.”

It’s a weight removed, then—that big ass anchor disintegrated into nothing as he holds you there. Knowing with some finality that he will never let you go. Hoping it’s real, hoping he’s not misunderstanding, hoping that this means something—

And then everything stops, because your fingers curl around his jaw to pull him up—and then you kiss him.

—

part 3 at some point in the near future <3 thanks for reading love u

[coffeedrinkee]

[coffeedrinkee]

For the record, I would never knowingly use or share AI generated art in anything I post, so if you ever catch me doing so, it was an accident, and I'd like you to let me know so I can delete it.

[coffeedrinkee]

[coffeedrinkee]

yo what about a sakura haruka x reader soulmate au where sakura just grows up believing his soulmate will treat him like everyone else and reject him. you'll take one look at him and think he's weird looking, that he's a good for nothing thug going nowhere in life.

so he grows up doing his best to ignore the yearning to meet you, ignore the subtle buzz of you at the edges of his consciousness.

after he moves and starts attending furin though, he starts to...hope. maybe you're as crazy as the people of this town and accept him for who he is. it's getting harder to ignore your presence. it feels like you're getting louder, closer each day.

one day, in his third year of high school, he meets you. it's quite the experience. you're so loud in his mind, almost screaming, when suddenly it's quiet. and you're standing in front of him, tears leaking down your cheeks.

before he can reel back and hit you with harsh words to protect himself because he was right, you take one look at him and start to cry of course you hate him--

"i'm so happy to finally meet you," you choke out, "can i hug you?"

and he breaks down, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, gripping you close so that he can keep you with him forever.

[coffeedrinkee]

the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object

[coffeedrinkee]

jjk 271 spoilers below

idk gojo's storyline and end makes me feel... uncomfortable? depressed? like, no hate to gege and i like the ending well enough (the gang being back together makes me sooo happy), but just knowing gojo's ultimate fate was to live and die as a weapon, barely thought of as a human man, is so tragic. there being no mention of or any kind of funeral for him in the final chapter is...ugh. sad.

[coffeedrinkee]

“My poor baby. My poor sweet little boy,” I lament out loud over a whole grown adult man who is not mine but is in fact a fictional character with fictional hurts. What matters is my feelings are real

[coffeedrinkee]

Don’t be demanding when asking for part 2’s!!

A brief post on why and how to be considerate in comment sections!

I finally understand why people are frustrated/sad when part 2 of a fanfiction doesn’t come out. I’m a little bit emotionally invested in this one Suguru fic right now. It’s 3 parts, but only 1 part is out, and the writer has been absent for months. I’m a wee bit emotionally devastated (but I’ll get over it).

SO I GET THE MORE DEMANDING COMMENTS NOW. I understand why people say “when is part two coming out” or “it’s been a year… is part two ever coming out??” — that being said, those kinds of comments are inherently rude.

When commenting something like that, you create a sort of pressure on the writers end, because there is an undertone of a demand. When people ask “when is it coming out” and say “it’s been x amount of time” - it’s implied that only your needs are important. That *you expect a part two* from the writer. Remember folks, writers on here are people too. Try rephrase how you ask about part two:

You can say, “Hey! I loved this fic so much! (Maybe even insert feedback on WHY you like it, as that means a lot to writers <3). I was wondering if you plan on making part two anytime soon? No worries if not, I’m just curious! Love your work, will gladly be on a tag list!”

This way, you’re not making a demand— you’re asking your question while being grateful, respectful, and considerate. It’s not easy work to be a writer for everyone (for some it is, for many it’s very time consuming, etc!)

Please don’t ever direct your frustrations towards writers. We aren’t paid for this, and have our own very busy lives!

I understand it sucks when a writer says they’re going to post something, but they don’t and haven’t. But please remember, they’re people too. Go ahead and ask for clarification and offer grace! You deserve to ask for clarification! But because this is a free service and platform, no writings are owed to you. We all should be considerate to one another 💗

[coffeedrinkee]

Wind Breaker Vol.4 BD/DVD Bonus Comic (ENG-Translation)