#--their quirks + potential hazards to the mission

[beeapocalypse]

^ one route in FRANKS self improvement mini arc as well

[kurokoros]

appetence (part 1) | bakugou katsuki

Rated: M

Words: 4.8K

Pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

Summary: Appetence: longing or desire. A mission to track down a villain leaves you and Bakugou in a rather… compromising situation. It’s going to be a long twenty-four hours.

AN: I have zero explanations for this one either. I just felt like writing a smutty fic with Bakugou and the reader locked in a building for twenty four hours. Queue the kinky smut. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for future chapters! I’ll try to update once a week, but it depends on how long the chapters get! I’m aiming for 4-5 chapters, but again, we’ll see!

Warnings: smut, language, aphrodisiacs, marathon!sex (future chapters)

XXX

As a Pro Hero, you’re no stranger to potentially hazardous situations. Tracking an A rank criminal isn’t exactly a new experience. In fact, most of these missions go exactly the same way. Mind-numbingly boring stakeouts that can last for hours until you can verify the presence of your target. A sixty second window between verifying the presence of said target and all hell breaking loose. And, of course, the part where all hell breaks loose because no one can understand the concept of a stealth mission. Stakeouts you can handle, for the most part. While boring, at least you aren’t actively being punched, stabbed, or shot at, so you consider it a minor win most of the time. The conversation is never great, but you can deal with that. And, really, you can’t complain about having a six feet wall of solid muscle to back you up.

But why the hell did you have to get stuck with Ground Zero?

You cast a glance at the other Pro out of the corner of your eye, your mouth twisting into a frown when you see his agitated expression. He looks halfway to blowing a gasket already, and you’ve hardly been here for an hour. At this rate, the two of you aren’t going to last until the target slips up.

It’s not that you dislike Bakugou. That’s not it at all. Frankly, you usually enjoy working with the brash, temperamental man. He’s a good Hero: smart, strong, capable. He always watches your back when you need him to—and you can’t deny that he’s some pretty great eye-candy, considering your situation. But he’s also incredibly impatient. And watching him pace around like a caged animal isn’t exactly helping your own irritation at being stuck in a cramped, ram-shackled building, in the rain, waiting to catch a glimpse of a villain that might not even be here.

It’s going to be a very long night.

“Would you sit down?” you snap at him, tearing your eyes from the compound you’re supposed to be staking out once again. He shoots you an irritated look, and you sigh, shifting in your seat. “Please? You’re making me claustrophobic.” It’s like he’s trying to make you antsy. Usually, stakeouts aren’t this bad, but something about the shitty location and the shitty weather--and the fact that he’s close enough for you to feel the heat rolling off him--have you a little on edge.

Something in Bakugou’s eyes shifts, his glare losing it’s bite, but then he snorts. Shuffling back to where you’re sitting near the small window of the hideout, he does as you ask, though he doesn’t look happy about it. Whatever. You’re just glad he doesn’t seem to be in an arguing mood right now. 

“This is fucking stupid,” he grumbles under his breath. You probably wouldn’t have heard him if there wasn’t exactly two inches of space between you. His shoulder brushes against yours as he crosses his arms, firm muscle flexing beneath his costume.

You ignore your little flicker of disappointment over the fact that he’s wearing his winter costume.

Figuring he’s complaining about the waiting, you say, “Regardless, we can’t just go charging in there, Ground Zero.” This time, you keep your gaze locked on the building Cobra is supposed to be in, watching for any signs of movement at all. Nothing. Either Cobra’s being especially careful--something he’s never been before--or you were given faulty Intel. “We don’t even know if Cobra is inside,” you remind your partner. “Dammit, if Omen sent us on a bust mission…” You trail off with a heavy sigh.

Bakugou follows your gaze to the building, regarding it carefully. It’s not particularly large or heavily fortified, but that’s the point. It’s the perfect place for a group of villains to hide and lay low for a while. His jaw clenches and he turns back to you. “What do we know about him?”

You sigh, shooting him another look. “Did you seriously not do any briefing at all?” You shake your head. “Why they put you on this mission instead of Deku is beyond me.” Before he can start bickering, you continue. “Cobra’s quirk allows him to secrete and manipulate toxic fluids created from his body. Gasses too, according to a few sources.”

It’s not too different from Bakugou’s quirk, if you think about it, but you’d take the explosive sweat over toxins rivaling that of a Box Jellyfish any day.

He scoffs. “That all?”

“Reportedly, these toxins can be corrosive enough to burn straight through human tissue and bone in a matter of minutes.” Bakugou doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed by the new information, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. “If he manages a direct hit on either of us, we’ll have an hour tops to get help before the damage is irreversible. And we don’t have backup,” you remind him.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. Despite his blasé reaction, you’ve known him long enough to recognize the slight furrow of his brow. Clearly, he’s about as enthused as you are about dealing with Cobra. “Any idea how to take him down?”

Pursing your lips, you turn back to the building across the street, scanning the windows for any kind of movement as you contemplate your response. “We’ll have to be careful,” you tell him. He snorts at the obvious advice. “Cobra is fast, and we only have one shot at this. He tends to go underground for long periods of time after a spree like this week.” Two bank robberies and a successful museum heist. He’s getting bolder, smarter--running with a crew now. You need to take him out now or things are only going to continue to escalate. “If we time it right, we should be able to incapacitate him fairly easily if we stick together. He has a strong quirk, but he’s not much of a fighter.”

Bakugou hums in thought, his brows furrowing as he surveys the building as well. “Got a plan, babe?” he asks. There’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there just a moment ago, and you can tell he’s just itching for a fight. Clearly, you should have told him about the corrosive, flesh-dissolving poison earlier. 

Bakugou catches your gaze and smirks in a way that does dangerous things to your heart. And then--fuck--he actually licks his lips and a large part of your brain short-circuits for about half a second before you catch yourself. Shit, you need to confirm the target and get some sleep. Obviously, you aren’t thinking straight.

You swallow thickly, mouth a little dry. “Apparently, he’s a talker,” you say, opting not to comment on the pet-name. “If we time it right, I can keep him distracted long enough for you to blast his ass from behind.”

His expression goes from pleased to petulant in a second. “You wanna play bait?” he grinds out from between his teeth. The question comes out akin to a low growl, and you quirk a brow at his apprehension, bristling. A quip burns on your tongue, but any thought of snapping at him for doubting you disappears as soon as you glance at him. There’s a slight grimace on his face, like he’s uncomfortable with the thought of you playing distraction for an occasionally homicidal art thief with a quirk that can eat through flesh like paper. As soon as he realizes you’re watching him, Bakugou’s lips curl back in a sneering grin. “Sure you can handle that?”

“One of us has to,” you say, deciding to ignore whatever just happened. You can worry about that later. You glance at him again, grinning. “And I’m faster.” He still doesn’t look very reassured, so you try a different tactic. “Though, like I said, that’s only if he’s here.”

Of course, that’s when a small explosion goes off in the building across from you.

Bakugou swears under his breath, lunging to his feet. “That proof enough for ya, sweetheart?” he asks, straightening his gauntlets. He flexes his fingers before curling his hands into fists. His roguish grin is back.

“Dammit,” you hiss, scrambling up as well. The explosion might not be big, but it is noticeable. Criminals don’t draw attention to themselves like this unless they don’t plan on sticking around much longer. “Let’s go.”

You practically throw yourself out the window, Bakugou right on your heels as the two of you fall two stories to the ground. Hitting the ground, you roll to your feet. The impact jostles you, but it’s not the biggest fall you’ve had before, and Bakugou’s firm hand on your lower back urges you forward silently.

The two of you run silently across the street, smoke from the explosion offering you cover, so thick you almost can’t see. “Stay close and stick to the plan,” you call towards Bakugou, not waiting for a response as you dash towards the entrance on the side of the building, close to where the explosion came from. If you can cut Cobra off as he’s trying to run, you might be able to end this fight before it really starts. 

Things go wrong the moment you step into the building. 

The smoke is thick and noxious. The smell burns your nose and chokes your throat; your eyes water, stinging, your mask doing little to protect you. Something about it doesn’t feel right, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, goosebumps prickling across your bare arms and legs. The smoke and the smell are disorienting, and you know immediately that you need to get rid of it, but neither of your quirks are practical for this. Bakugou’s would only spread it around. Shit, this isn’t good at all.

Movement to your left draws your attention. Your gaze snaps to the hazy outline of a person racing past you and disappearing around a corner. Bakugou. Swearing under your breath, you take off after him. Of course he would ignore the plan--as vague and half-assed as it was--and run headlong into things like this. You should have expected as much coming from Ground Zero. Hopefully you can catch him before he runs into Cobra.

Careful not to make a sound, you race after him, throwing yourself around the same corner he did. The hallway is empty already, but you can hear faint footsteps coming from the other end. The smoke isn’t as thick here either. You round the corner at the other end of the hallway in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of Bakugou turning another corner. Huffing, you give chase again, picking up the pace now that you can see again.

It’s like a game of cat and mouse. Each time you think you’ve caught up, he manages to stay just out of your reach, much to your frustration. You don’t know what the hell he’s playing at, but when you catch him you’re going to throttle him. Damn stubborn bastard.

You round another corner.

A hand lashes out, purple gas bubbling against a calloused palm.

The reflexes you’ve gained from being a Pro are the only thing that saves you from having your face melted away. “Shit,” you hiss, throwing yourself back against the nearest wall as the blast blows past you. Some of that purple gas brushes the tips of your hair, dangerously close to your nose, and you watch the strands dissolve in front of you.

“Ooh, you’re fast,” the man in front of you compliments. His grin is wide, revealing dangerously sharp canines. He stares at you from behind spiky hair, impressed. “Not many people are able to dodge a point blank hit like that.” His head cocks to one side, his expression smug. “The commission really sent in the pros this time, huh? I’m so flattered.” The toxin he secretes with his quirk liquefies and drips down his fingers. The ground smokes where the droplets land.

“Cobra,” you respond, voice even. Shit. It definitely wasn’t Bakugou earlier. Cobra must have noticed you were there, somehow, and used the smoke to get you separated. Fuck, you’re going to kill Omen later. Tensing, you keep your eyes on Cobra as the man takes a step towards you, relaxed despite his escape being compromised.

Maybe this is what he was waiting for.

You clench your jaw, back straightening as you edge away from the wall--you can’t let him pin you down.

His smile widens. “I see my reputation precedes me.” He looks particularly pleased with himself at your recognition, violet eyes darkening as he looks you over. His fingers flex, purple smoke billowing around his palms. He doesn’t strike at you though, not yet.

If you can keep him distracted for a little longer, maybe Bakugou will be able to find you. You can still make this work. You can fend him off for that long. “How did you know we were here?” you ask, wetting your lips.

If he finds the conversation suspicious, he certainly doesn’t act like it. “Just a hunch,” he tells you, shrugging. “Things were a little too quiet. I figured the commission had to be sending someone.” The corner of his mouth quirks upwards. “Didn’t think it would be you and Ground Zero though. They must be getting desperate, huh?” His drawling tone makes your jaw clench in irritation. When you take too long to respond, Cobra sighs, his mouth curving down in a disappointed sneer. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay and chat, I really don’t feel like going to jail today. So why don’t you make this easy for me and step aside?”

Your hand curls into a fist that doesn’t go unnoticed by the villain in front of you. Channeling your quirk into your feet, you prepare yourself for his next strike.

“No?” Any lingering friendliness disappears in an instant at your silent refusal. “All right, sweetheart, we’ll do things your way.” He throws his arm forward, poisonous gas hurtling towards you.

You’re already moving, springing from your spot as pale blue electricity crackles around you. The impact of your feet against the opposite wall sends a shock-wave through your legs, and you whirl around, keeping your eyes on your target. There’s a hole in the wall where you were just standing, and a jolt of fear strikes you between your ribs.

The next blast comes just as suddenly as the first, and you dive out of the way again. It sets up another game of cat and mouse, but this time you’re the one running, and there’s nowhere for you to hide. You don’t know the building like he does, and Cobra is proving to be nearly as fast as you are, throwing poison gas at you just as quickly as you can dodge it.

He doesn’t let you get close enough to strike at him, and you silently curse your quirk for being ill-suited for long range combat. You’d need to land a direct hit, and in these cramped hallways you can’t surprise him from behind.

Where the hell is Bakugou?

Poison nearly scorches your arm, and you hiss as it burns your skin despite not touching you directly. With your jaw clenched, you throw yourself against the wall to your right. In the split second before he can aim his quirk at you, you change your angle and lunge for him. Cobra’s eyes widen in surprise. Caught off guard, he doesn’t have the time to deflect the electrically charged fist aimed towards his head.

Cobra smirks.

Panic wells in your chest, and you pull your fist back just as Cobra dissolves in front of you. Your knuckles brush against the cloud of violet dust before it disappears. Fire races through your veins.

“Too slow,” a teasing voice calls from behind you. You whirl around on your heel, prepared to strike again, but Cobra is faster. As soon as you catch a glimpse of him, his hand lashes out. Coral colored dust explodes in front of your face, blinding you. The powder sticks to your skin and chokes you, rushing down your nose and throat until you feel like you can’t breathe.

It knocks the breath out of you, throwing off your balance, and suddenly you’re falling to your knees and coughing. Panic swells in your chest, but you’re quick to shove it down. It’ll only make the poison spread faster. You can already feel it burning through your veins, an uncomfortable heat tingling from your fingertips to your abdomen. 

As if he can hear your thoughts, Cobra smirks, all teeth. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, it’s not poison,” he coos, crouching down in front of you. “I couldn’t do that to a face this pretty.” He grasps your chin between his fingers, tilting your head so that you’re forced to look at him. The desire to lash out rushes through you, but your limbs are heavy and you still can’t breathe. Cobra wets his lips. “Though, you might wish I did.”

A hiss escapes through your teeth as you double over, the heat intensifying. “What the hell did you--” You cut off abruptly, crying out as a full-body shiver wracks your frame.

“Such a strong reaction already,” he muses, squeezing your chin a little tighter. “You’d be a fun one to play with. Damn shame I can’t stay to watch the results.” There must be a puzzled expression on your face, because Cobra leans in a little closer, lips hovering an inch away from yours. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, sweetheart. I like to mix a little pleasure with my pain.”

It clicks. “An aphrodisiac,” you gasp. 

He taps your cheek with one finger, and the feather-like touch makes your breath hitch. “Smart girl. Poison works fast, but sometimes it’s fun to watch people squirm a little--until they’re just begging to get fucked.” Cobra’s head cocks to the side. “Bet you can feel it now, right? Heard it’s a bit like liquid fire. And let me tell ya, that itch isn’t just gonna go away by itself.” He chuckles. “I’d give you a hand, but I don’t think your partner would like that very much.”

Cobra releases your chin and lunges to his feet, swinging his arm just in time to send a fistful of that pink powder directly into Bakugou’s face.

“Ground Zero!” you cry out, voice shrill.

A small explosion bursts in front of Bakugou, dissipating most of Cobra’s quirk before it can hit him. He winces as the dust burns his throat.

“Perfect timing,” Cobra murmurs, throwing himself backwards as Bakugou drives his fist into the ground in front of you. 

The floor explodes. You throw your arms up to cover your face, and when you lower them again, Bakugou is standing in front of you, one arm thrown out defensively as he glares at Cobra, sneering. His shoulders are tense beneath his jacket, and in your dazed state you can’t help but appreciate how broad they are.

“Stay the fuck away from her!” Bakugou growls, his fingers sparking. You can feel the tension rolling from him, the hallway sweltering with the heat from his quirk and the drug burning through your veins.

Cobra glances between the two of you, a slow smirk overtaking him. “As you wish,” he says, taking a step back. “You two have fun.” And then he turns around and runs.

Instead of giving chase, Bakugou whirls around and drops to his knees in front of you. His gloved hands cradle your jaw carefully, and you whimper as he touches you. Heat bursts across your skin. Fuck, he needs to stop touching you. “Ground Zero,” you gasp, “you have to--”

“Shut up,” he snaps at you, tilting your chin to the side. His ruby eyes look over you carefully. “That bastard hurt you?” he demands, jaw clenched. The pad of his thumb brushes against your bottom lip.

“I’m fine,” you hiss through your teeth. “He said it wasn’t poison.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s so close that you can smell the caramel scent of his quirk. It curls around you, making you press your thighs together tightly. You shiver as he moves your head to the side again, and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop another soft noise from slipping from your mouth.

Bakugou’s eyes narrow. “And you think he was telling the truth?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes. Now you need to go after him, I’ll be fine.”

He continues to stare at you, then makes a displeased sound in the back of his throat. “You better be right fucking here when I get back,” he snaps, lurching to his feet and taking off after Cobra.

XXX

Outside of the building, a hooded figure glances up as Cobra comes strolling out of the building, his arms crossed behind his head lazily. “You took too long, Cobra,” he says, voice eerily blank. Blue eyes narrow behind his hood, glowing in the darkness. 

“What can I say?” Cobra grins, winking at his partner. “Good things take time, Diamondback.”

Diamondback's gaze slides to the building curiously. “Did you finish them off?”

Cobra’s smile widens. “Not quite,” he says, waving off the other man’s concern, “but they won’t be following us anytime soon.” 

“You sure about that, bastard?” someone snarls behind them. 

Both men look up, Cobra glancing over his shoulder to see Ground Zero racing towards them, small explosions lighting up the darkness. Cobra’s expression sours, his smile waning. “Seal the exits,” he demands. 

Diamondback is quick to comply. Clear fluid springs from his hands and snakes across the ground to the open doorway. The substance covers the door and hardens just before Ground Zero can reach it, and the Hero slams into the shield feet first. Bakugou grunts at the impact, the glass like structure holding firm beneath his weight. His eyes narrow on the men on the other side, a feral grin spreading across his face as his feet slide back to the floor. “Think that’ll stop me?” he taunts, pressing his palm to the clear wall between them. An explosion rips from his palm, bright light and smoke clouding the room.

When the smoke clears, Bakugou’s eyes widen. 

There isn’t a scratch on the shield.

“Nice try,” Cobra commends him. “Unfortunately, even your power won’t be enough to get you out of there. Diamondback’s shield is stronger than any other substance on this planet.” He steps towards the building and raps his knuckles against the glassy surface. “And I wouldn’t try blasting your way through the walls either. Enhanced, quirk resistant steel walls, and such. All you’re going to do is make that pretty friend of yours inhale more smoke.” When Bakugou bares his teeth, Cobra laughs. “Really, you should be thanking me,” he tells the Hero. “Enjoy the next twenty four hours!” Still laughing, he walks backward, offering Bakugou a salute as Diamondback starts to follow.

Bakugou throws his fist against the surface. “Dammit!”

XXX

Honestly, you didn’t think tonight could get much worse, but seeing Bakugou stomp back into the hallway with Cobra nowhere in sight proved you very wrong.

“Shit,” you groan, head lolling back against the wall as Bakugou inspects your injured knuckles. They don’t hurt much anymore, just sting in a slow, irritating way, but he insisted on looking them over as he explained what happened with Cobra. “Diamondback wasn’t supposed to be here. We aren’t going to be able to bust through.”

Bakugou’s eyes rise to meet yours. “So what the fuck are we supposed to do?”

“Well, the good news is that Diamondback’s shields can only maintain their solidified form for a maximum of twenty four hours. After that, they’ll return to a liquid state and disappear.” He nods in understanding, finally releasing you in favor of helping you to your feet. His hand is hot against your waist, and you swallow down a pleased sound as his touch lingers. Cobra must not have gotten a good shot on him. Or maybe the aphrodisiac isn’t as strong because he’s so much bigger than you are. You quiver at the thought. “Until then, I guess we just… make ourselves at home.” You shrug, glancing around the empty hallway. “They were camped out here for a while, so there should be some place to sleep.”

Sleep would be good. The heat that consumed you before has only spread in the short time Bakugou was gone, and with him so close the feeling has only doubled in intensity. It spreads like water beneath your suit, which suddenly feels almost too tight.

Bakugou nods, but doesn’t say anything as he helps you back to the main room where you came in. The silence would be comfortable, if you couldn’t feel the way your face flushes, your nipples stiff beneath your bra and suit. Each step makes you wince as the fabric scraps across your skin.

“You good?” he asks as you drop down on the couch situated in the main room. A quick glance around the room tells you that your suspicions were correct. There is indeed a bedroom. Singular. Fuck, Cobra was right, you definitely would have preferred flesh melting poison over the steady pulse of heat growing between your legs.

There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep in the same bed as Bakugou tonight--not without doing something you might regret. Already, the urge to reach down and touch yourself is almost unbearable, and it’s hardly been more than twenty minutes since Cobra hit you with his quirk. You can’t imagine that having Bakugou’s tall, muscular frame pressed up against your back would do you any good. Especially when it would be so easy for him to pin you down and rip off your--

“I’m fine,” you lie, struggling to keep your breathing even. If you sound breathier than usual, he doesn’t notice. “You should get some rest. Aren’t you usually asleep by now?” you try teasing him, grinning. Your thighs rub together subtly, arousal pooling low in your belly as you reach into the secret pocket in your thigh-high boots.

He doesn’t take the bait. “What about you?” he asks, crossing his arms skeptically. His eyes rake down your body slowly, and you feel it like a physical touch.

Your mouth is painfully dry.. “I’m going to stay out here for a while,” you tell him, holding up your phone with a hand that trembles just the slightest. “Someone has to report back to Deku and Red Riot and let them know that Cobra got away. And that Diamondback is with him.” You can see the argument in his eyes before he even opens his mouth, and you hurry to continue. “I can’t sleep in strange places anyway.” You really fucking hope your smile is reassuring and not something closer to a needy wince.

Bakugou stares for a little longer before shrugging. “Your loss,” he says, tossing off his gauntlets and gloves. They land on the other end of the couch. Your fingers dig into your palms as you look at them. “See ya in the mornin’, sweetheart.” Your head snaps up just in time for you to see him strip off his shirt and toss it onto the couch as well. The dark fabric peels from his sweat-slicked skin, and your pussy clenches as you get an eyeful of lean muscle and a soft trail of blond hair that disappears beneath his low slung pants. “Fuck, it’s hot in here,” he grumbles, shaking his head as he strolls toward the bedroom.

The door shuts behind him with a loud click.

Phone forgotten on the table, you aren’t sure how long you sit there in silence before your hand moves down between your thighs without your permission, pressing against the seam of your suit. The fabric is thin, and you have to swallow down a moan as your fingers brush over your clit. The light touch has your legs quivering, and your free hand clamps over your mouth. Fuck, you shouldn’t do this.

Your eyes close, exhaling slowly, and tip your head back against the couch cushions. This is enough. You’re definitely not going to start thinking about the man in the bedroom less than a dozen feet away from you. You will not slip the crotch of your suit to the side, letting your fingers drag through the slick already dripping from your slit.

A shudder rips through you as your hips buck against your hand, two of your fingers slipping inside of you easily.

Cobra’s voice echoes in your head. That itch isn’t just gonna go away by itself.

Fuck, it’s going to be a long twenty-four hours.

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

The Haunted Stone Castle of Woodhearst

Wild day today. We destroyed an old haunted castle - took it down brick by brick and watched it collapse. It was a bit...weird...for lack of a better word. Not exactly how I'd want to spend a day but it had to be done.

Pepper and Rain are an interesting duo. I don't know them too well as they're Jamie's friends - Pepper's a friend, Rain's more of an acquaintance - so it was kinda nice to have a solo adventure with them. I'm still not sure what to think of Rain though while Pepper is always a delight to hang out with.

Basically their relationship consists of the sunny, bubbly, and kinda naive one with the cynical, overly dramatic, and seemingly edgy one. You'd think they wouldn't get along well but they surprisingly do.

Rain is sorta like a phantom/elemental hybrid who was an ex-villain turned chaotic neutral. In other words, she's not easily defined as a good guy or a bad guy, she just does whatever the fuck she wants and as long as you're on her good side, you're fine. I don't necessarily trust her - no one really does other than Pepper - at least we know her actions are genuine, even if they only serve to benefit her. Meaning she won't take the time to talk to you unless she can make use of you, which can be a good or bad thing - usually a combo of both.

Believe it or not, Pepper is actually more of a mystery than Rain. She's not a magical being, though she obviously has expertise in the supernatural thanks to present company. No one's really sure how she and Rain came together as she literally remembers nothing about her life before that.

Pepper describes the beginning of her escapades with Rain like a dream. All she recalls is being lost in a giant mansion, trying to find her way out only to end up going in circles. It was like she was stuck in an unsettling dream and had no idea how to wake up. Then at some point she was trying to navigate a steep incline when she fell and hit her head. Next thing she knew, she opened her eyes and Rain was staring at her.

Although they had known each other for a while, they didn't really become friends until a couple years ago while working for F.I.E.N.D.S. They were assigned partners because no one else wanted to work with Rain and she was the only member Pepper knew at the time.

Pepper was the white sheep of F.I.E.N.D.S. - she never really fit in and really only joined because she didn't have anything else better to do. Likewise, Rain joined partly because she had a (justified) vendetta against someone F.I.E.N.D.S. was going after but mainly just to get access to various magical artifacts that require special clearance. When F.I.E.N.D.S. went too far and eventually fell, Rain and Pepper easily cut their losses and moved on.

The two finally bonded over an assignment by F.I.E.N.D.S. that went totally wrong. Apparently it was supposed to be "easy" but not only they failed to retrieve the mask, but they also caused a lot of property damage - the latter which was why they're rarely sent out on missions. They ended up learning a lot about each other during that mission, but that was only after Pepper accidentally revealed what the other agents really thought about Rain. Then in the chaos while attempting to retreat, Rain chose to save Pepper from being crushed to death instead of attempting to get the mask back.

Pepper defines that as the turning point of their friendship as Rain finally declared them "chaos buds", which was the name Pepper originally came up with. I can't think of any other name more fitting than that.

So today we traveled to the Haunted Stone Castle of Woodhearst. I still don't quite understand how transportation works in these areas - to be honest, I'm not sure if anyone really does. Something about random warp wormhole things that pop up randomly - you just gotta roll with it. As usual, Pepper's talking about a million words per second in an attempt to explain what's going on while Rain's doing magical stuff.

Pepper's so pure, even though I don't understand over half the stuff she says, I can listen to her go on and on because of her enthusiasm. Rain may act like she's disinterested but she does listen to Pepper's ramblings and sometimes tries to make sense of them for us.

I think since jumping ship with F.I.E.N.D.S. they have been more carefree and open, free to dilly dally and banter all they want without an agent breathing down their neck. That was what Pepper wasn't too crazy about - all the red tape and restrictions that comes from being an agent, or a henchman as she puts it.

Literally, all we had to do was to bulldoze the castle - except we only had a bunch of sledgehammers. It was falling apart anyway so that made things a little easier. Since the stones are enchanted with some sort of druid magic, we had to use enhanced tools so we don't accidentally awaken an old curse or something. There's also a specific way of disposing the bricks, which involved putting them into a special type of bag and then printing out a label - basically there's guidelines and rules for destroying cursed castle ruins.

As for why we're taking the castle down, I'm not exactly clear on that. Part of it's because of potential safety hazards since the walls are crumbling - another's due to complicated druid stuff that may lead to disaster if left unchecked. Anyway, whatever the reason, we get a pretty hefty reward for the task so it was worth the effort - at least for Pepper and Rain.

It was Pepper who insisted on getting help for the mission as it would take forever for just the two of them to do it. Jamie was obviously their first choice, but she's pretty much booked for a long while so she suggested me and the campers. Like I said, not the type of adventure I'd go for, but I'm open to trying something new and different.

Tearing down castle walls was kinda therapeutic to my surprise. It's a lot of heavy work, but it also feels kinda satisfying. Why use a stress ball when you can just destroy a bunch of old ruins? It was a bit scary at first with the falling debris but as long as you keep your distance, it's actually kinda fun - like one of those oddly satisfying videos. Watching the walls crumble and fall like a bunch of dominoes is something I'd never thought I would find interesting.

As usual, Pepper was a delight to listen to, her stories and ramblings helped to pass the time. Through the rubble, Rain would find an old artifact and the two would get excited over it - seeing them act like little kids discovering something for the first time was fun as well. Though I'm kinda concerned as to what happens if they managed to get one of those artifacts to work.

Believe it or not, no magical shenanigans happened. In a way, it feels way too good to be true. I feel like there's a catch somewhere - probably something to do with whatever artifacts Rain recovered. If chaos did happen after we left, I'm kinda glad that I'm not in the middle of it. Besides, for Pepper and Rain, magical shenanigans are just another day for them.

I don't mind getting caught up in shenanigans once in a while, but in the case of Pepper and Rain, it's best to let them do their own thing. As much as I find Pepper fun with her quirks and bubbly personality, she can be a bit much to deal with. As for Rain, if it wasn't for Pepper, I can't see myself interacting with her much. Maybe that'll change later on but for now I just can't seem to find a connection with her outside of Pepper.

While those two were hunting for artifacts, I was looking for anything that might tell me a bit about the castle. I didn't find much, which was to be expected.

One interesting thing I found looks like what I think is a travel log or something. It's in pretty bad condition as the writing's mostly faded and the pages are tattered. From what I can make out, a lot of the entries have to do with various travels in a place called Marva Harbor. It looks like a record of what the person did like activating an old shrine, fishing at the dock, fighting off a ruin guard, and running errands at the market.

Now that leads to many more questions about the castle. Who once resided in these halls? What caused the castle to become haunted? And what about Marva Harbor? Does it still exist today? So many questions, so little answers - if any.

Standing in the middle of what remains of the stone castle, it's an unsettling feeling. Destroying something that once stood and watching it crumble to oblivion - it really makes you feel aware of the passage of time.

I wonder what will happen to the camp long after I'm gone. Will it still be there? Will nature reclaim it? What will people think of it when they pass by?

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

for a kiribaku prompt idea: bakugo cooking a meal for kirishima as an apology after a fight?

Sorry for the long wait! This was so much fun to write (partially because it was a fun excuse to curse so much)! Also on ao3!

This is such fucking bullshit, Bakugo cursed to himself, flinging his headphones aside in favor of flopping down on his bed with an exaggerated huff. Grunting, he folded his arms over his chest and glared up at the ceiling, refusing to feel bad.

Why the hell should he? It wasn't his fucking fault other people were so obsessed with their stupid fucking feelings. They needed to pull their heads out of their asses and join the real world. Right?

He and Kirishima had gotten into a fight. While that wouldn't typically be any cause for concern — they were sparring partners, after all — this time their fight hadn't been physical. It hadn't been part of a training exercise or their extracurricular battle practice, hadn't been for their new internships.

No, it had been a purely verbal fight. A full-blown, knock-down drag-out between two boyfriends. And it had fucking sucked.

They had just been hanging out with each other after class as per the new tradition they had established once they had started dating, sprawled out on Bakugo's floor together with their backs propped up against his bed. They had long since finished their homework at Bakugo's insistence and had moved on to watching old reruns of All Might movies; the ones with cheesy dialogue and horrible CGI.

During a lull in the action on screen, in which the actor playing All Might was flirting with the movie's love interest, Kirishima had reached over to lay his hand Bakugo's. Bakugo had glanced at Kirishima out of the corner of his eye, wondering what the hell he was up to.

As the action picked back up, Bakugo had continued watching the movie, not bothering to waste his breath on Kirishima's weird desire to be so tactile all the fucking time. That is, until Kirishima had tried intertwining their fingers while resting his head on Bakugo's shoulder.

Bakugo had immediately snapped at him, yanking his hand out of reach for good measure. Kirishima had been taken aback, gaping at Bakugo and demanding to know what the hell his problem was.

Rather than explain himself, Bakugo had resorted to his usual reaction upon being questioned. He had launched into a tirade full of profanity and expletive-loaded insults, telling Kirishima to stop being so fucking clingy and just fuck off for once.

Okay, admittedly, he may have overreacted. But he wasn't good with touch, he never had been.

His mom had never been very physically affectionate, even when he was a little kid. Her preferred method of expressing affection was slugging him on the arm or pinching his cheeks.

His dad, on the other hand, was more like Kirishima. He was a toucher. He was a fan of big bear hugs and cuddling and random little touches like ruffling Bakugo's hair or holding his wife's hand as they watched their soap operas.

But even with his dad's tendency towards physical affection, Bakugo had never been able to receive much of it. With their Quirks capable of interacting in potentially hazardous ways, Bakugo's dad had always been wary of too much contact.

Somehow that had managed to result in a grumpy sixteen year old who was constantly toeing the line between being staunchly averse to touch and absolutely craving it. So when Kirishima touched him so casually, like it was so natural, his confused reactions resulted in a time bomb of frustration and irritability.

A time bomb that honed in on Kirishima as its victim.

Usually ridiculously patient with Bakugo's foul moods, Kirishima had stood and stormed out of the room to return to own right next door. The resounding slam of both doors in quick succession had echoed throughout the floor with an air of finality that left Bakugo even more frustrated.

But Bakugo refused to feel bad about it. Even if Kirishima had looked like a kicked puppy the moment Bakugo had pulled his hand away. Even if he had been the one to put that horrible look on his face.

Alright, so maybe Bakugo felt a little bad about it. Just a little bit.

After all, it wasn't like Kirishima had done anything wrong. All he had done was try to hold Bakugo's hand; it wasn't his fault Bakugo was a touch-averse garbage fire.

Bouncing between feeling totally justified in his reaction and feeling like a complete and utter piece of shit, Bakugo had spent the following three hours trying to keep himself distracted. He had gone from finishing the All Might movie to playing his favorite violent video games to doing some pushups to listening to the loudest, angriest music he could find on Spotify.

But without fail, his thoughts kept wandering back to Kirishima and dejected look on his face when Bakugo had snapped at him. He was probably in his own room right now, replaying everything in his head and finding new ways to blame himself for Bakugo's shitty attitude.

Shit, Bakugo had really fucked up, hadn't he? Why the hell couldn't he be a normal fucking boyfriend? One who didn't get upset over the dumbest shit and go off on diatribes at the drop of a hat?

"Fuck," Bakugo breathed, abruptly sitting up. He really needed to make this better.

But he wasn't good at this kind of stuff. He didn't know how to resolve arguments, he only knew how to start them. And he'd never bothered to actually make up with anyone after a fight. He had no idea how.

Yet Bakugo was nothing if not determined to a fault. He was going to figure out how to make this better even if it killed him.

Leaving his room, he made a beeline to the elevator, jabbing the ground floor button with more force than strictly necessary. The elevator ride seemed longer than usual without Kirishima chattering away in his ear the way he did when they were on their way to class or were returning from training.

Bakugo was relieved to find the common room almost entirely deserted. Only Headphones and Bird Brain were downstairs, sitting on one of the couches together with their faces buried in their phones, doing their weekly exchange of music recommendations.

While any other day, Bakugo might have joined them (their taste in music wasn't totally awful), tonight he was a man on a mission. He would have preferred it if the common room was completely empty but at least those two extras were somewhat bearable. And they were both quiet, another point in their favor.

Not bothering to acknowledge the others in the room, he headed straight to the kitchen where he started amassing the necessary ingredients and cooking utensils. He quickly set to work with single-minded focus, trying to tamp down the niggling hint of embarrassment that haunted his every move.

He dutifully made a pot of dashi stock before chopping carrots, onions, and potatoes. Setting the vegetables aside, he thinly sliced some beef and rinsed some shirataki noodles.

While boiling the noodles, he sautéed the onions and the sliced beef and mixed mirin, soy sauce, sake, and sugar in a bowl set off to the side. Once the meat was browned, he added the carrots, noodles, and potatoes to the pot along with the dashi stock and mixed seasonings.

After skimming the scum and fat off the top of the stew, he placed the otoshibuta on top and took a deep breath. With nothing else for him to do, he hoisted himself up on the counter to wait for it to stew.

He really hoped Kirishima liked this. He didn't know what else he could possibly do if he didn't. Cooking was one of the only constructive things he could actually do without making a mess of things.

His dad always cooked for his mom after a fight, even if the fights were almost never his fault, and his mom always seemed to appreciate it. Bakugo hoped that the same would be true for Kirishima. Otherwise, he was out of luck.

Playing around on his phone, he kept an eye on the time, not wanting to overcook their dinner. He couldn't afford to fuck this up.

Fifteen minutes later, he was in the middle of spooning the nikujaga into two bowls, planning to take them upstairs to Kirishima's room, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He paused, turning to look over his shoulder in time to see Kirishima walk into the kitchen.

"Oh. Hey," Kirishima greeted awkwardly, briefly meeting Bakugo's eyes before looking down at his bare feet. He was in the same clothes as earlier; a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and an oversized Fat Gum hoodie.

Hands buried in his pockets, he started shuffling over to the pantry, actively avoiding looking at Bakugo. But before he could reach for his stash of specially imported protein bars, Bakugo softly called, "Oi, Kirishima."

Kirishima turned to him, eyes big and questioning and so cautious they made Bakugo's heart break all over again. Clearing his throat while lifting a steaming bowl and a pair of chopsticks, Bakugo lamely explained, "I made dinner."

Kirishima accepted the bowl and chopsticks with a silent nod, carrying both over to the breakfast bar where he sat down and began eating. Setting the pots and pans he had cooked with in the sink to soak overnight, Bakugo grabbed his own bowl and joined Kirishima at the breakfast bar.

They ate in silence for several long, awkward minutes before Bakugo abruptly sighed and set his chopsticks aside. He turned to Kirishima, taking a deep breath to steel himself before he chickened out like some fucking nerd.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He blurted, feeling like an even bigger jackass than he already had before. Kirishima turned to him in surprise, a few noodles still poking out of his mouth.

"Fuck, that's not what I meant," Bakugo swore, running a hand over his face. Why were words so difficult to fucking use? What the fuck, they were just words. "I mean, I am sorry. I just... I'm not good at this but I don't wanna use that as an excuse because you deserve an explanation."

Kirishima nodded patiently, slurping up his noodles and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. With Kirishima silently encouraging him to go on, Bakugo paused to catch his breath, trying to formulate his thoughts into something at least somewhat coherent.

"I was being an asshole," he confessed, shakily meeting Kirishima's eyes. "I overreacted and I took it out on you and you didn't — you don't — deserve that. I'm sorry. I-I wanna get better at this communicating thing, I do. I'll get better, I swear."

Kirishima nodded again, waiting a few moments in case Bakugo had more to say. He didn't.

"Thank you," Kirishima said softly, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "For apologizing. Oh, and for making dinner. I totally forgot to eat earlier."

Bakugo let himself smile a bit at that, eyes riveted to Kirishima's own small grin. Licking his lips, Kirishima went on, "I know you have trouble with words and stuff, I get it. But you can't keep shutting me out, okay? If something's bothering you, you need to tell me. Even if it's just you saying 'hey, this thing is pissing me off'."

"I will," Bakugo eagerly answered, nodding vigorously. Impulsively reaching out to hold Kirishima's hand, he squeezed his boyfriend's fingers, like he could convey everything through touch, and swore, "I'll get better, I promise."

"You don't have to promise me that, Bakugo," Kirishima assured him, lips curling up in a fond smile. He squeezed Bakugo's fingers right back, tacking on, "I just need you to try."

"Alright, I'll try," Bakugo agreed, nodding again. Running his thumb over Kirishima's knuckle, he quietly asked, "We're okay, right?"

"Yeah, man," Kirishima confirmed, leaning in to peck Bakugo on the lips. Smiling broadly, he reiterated, "We're okay."

Cheeks filling with heat over the simple display of affection, Bakugo swiftly turned back to dinner, mumbling, "You should eat before it gets cold."

"Sure thing, dude," Kirishima laughed, digging back into his own serving of nikujaga. It was a bit awkward since they were still holding hands but neither one of them minded.

Behind them, watching things unfold from their place on the couch, Jiro and Tokoyami shared a soft smile of their own. Tucking their phones into their pockets, they quietly slipped out of the room to give their friends some well-deserved privacy.

[pontmercyingtil]

RebelCap Prompt Fill!

So, I tried to answer using ALL three prompts for your request, because it was fun. Enjoy trying to spot them! (and thank you for being such an awesome fic friend, @cassandor)

----------** All Things New and Bright **---------

“Do you ever have nightmares?” Jyn asks, her head pillowed on his chest. Outside of this cot, the chill of Hoth awaits them, and she sees no reason at all to move.

“No,” Cassian replies, his voice soft, just like the snow that must be falling outside. It’s hs nighttime voice, as she thinks of it. Private, intimate, a part of him he keeps away from the rest of the universe.

“None at all?” She shifts a little to look up at him, which accidentally sends her elbow straight into his gut. There’s the tiniest exhale from him, a faint wince. “Sorry.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “It’s the occupational hazard of sleeping with you.”

“Hey, kriff off.” Her lips narrow, but only for a second, because he’s leaning in to kiss her forehead. The forehead kiss, Jyn thinks, is a decidedly unfair tactic, one that completely negates whatever glare she was delivering.

“Kriff off? As in, go somewhere else? And leave you all cold in this cot?”

“Do it. I dare you.”

He just answers by tugging the three layers of blankets around her a little tighter. Two of them are their standard issue ones, a faded green-brown like so much else in the Rebellion. Another is bright, bright blue, and nearly brand-new. She’d seen it on a mission that for once, hadn’t required stealth or speed, and bought it with her new officer’s salary, a concept that still baffles her. Jyn knows Cassian surrenders his pay, that it goes to those more in need, but she can’t bring herself to do the same. Not yet. Not when, for the first time in years, she can buy things that are bright, soft, new.

“You know I won’t leave,” Cassian whispers. Ah. To him the joke hadn’t been funny, not like it had been to her. Because Jyn knows that, by now. He’s stuck by her side for two years, seen her at her worst and helped her be her best. Why the hell would he leave her now when she’s just started being a bright, new, type of person?

“Unless you asked,” he adds. Something sharper than a shard of glass, sharper than a razor-edged vibroblade twists in between her ribs. Her hand fumbles for his under the blankets, their callused fingers tangling. Jyn has never held a hand that doesn’t have the calluses from a blaster’s grip, and she doesn’t think she ever will.

“Well, I won’t. Unless you start hogging blankets, and we know you don’t do that.” Jyn keeps the mood light, has to. She can’t surrender to the pain inside of her, the ache of knowing that as much as she is new and bright and focused now, Cassian is still worn and tired and broken. She’s tried to mend him as best she can. But it’s hard when she doesn’t know how to fix, only to destroy, and harder yet when it is the very thing he loves, his Rebellion, that keeps shattering him, tearing him apart at all the ragged seams Jyn has welded back together with kisses and promises.

“Maybe I’ll hog blankets on another base. You never know.” He says her slang word with carefulness, as if it’s a new language to him. Cassian, she’s learned speaks seven languages fluently, and can converse in four more.

“Oh yeah? What kind of a planet would make you, Captain Cold, want a blanket?”

There. A flash of humor sparks in his eyes, the way she’s seen Skywalker’s lightsaber ignite. Both lightsaber and Cassian’s smile, she thinks, are the light of hope.

But the light fades as he ponders the question, finally admits, “Rain.”

If she hadn’t been looking at him, she might have teased him about that. Might have asked if Fest called particularly wet snow their rainy season. Might have asked if he disliked rain because it might mess up his hair.

But her gaze has been locked on his, so she knows not to. Because even the thought of rain on his hair, of rain at all, takes her back to a planet she tries to forget, a moment she can never forget. And given the coldness like a wall of ice in his eyes, Cassian is thinking the same thing.

“You know what we should do?” she asks, her voice casual still, but so light. Her own bedroom voice, one she is just learning. “Next leave? Let’s go somewhere it rains.”

“What?”

Her free hand slides up to brush the hair from his eyes, to stroke the little crease between his brows. To touch him in all the intimate, soft, new ways she’s learning. “I mean it.”

“Trust me, I have learned many times you do not say things you do not mean.”

That quirk of his lips, neither smile nor frown, she soothes with a kiss. “Good. So. Rainy planet. Or moon. Whatever. Let’s go, yeah? Let’s go and make some new memories.” It’s a wild, bold idea, one that she can’t even believe she’s suggestion. It might be the most luxurious thing she’s ever suggested to him, beyond the time she tried to convince him they had time to take a bubblebath in the mansion they’d snuck into for a recon mission. Because even then, that had been spur of the moment, a joke, admittedly laced with desire, but an impulsive joke.

This? To make plans for the future in the middle of the war? To plan for good memories when all of their best so far have been snatched out of darkness and shadows, moments of joy as much as survival. It’s an impossible thing, she’s asking for, she thinks, but one she wants to give him. “I want to kiss you in the rain,” she admits. “I want… I want to catch raindrops in my hands, and smell the wet mud. It’s got… there’s a smell to good mud, you know? It’s bright and warm and full of potential.”

“Mud-smelling is not exactly something I’ve had much experience with.” Cassian replies. But he’s talking. That’s good. Even better is when he admits, “we did… we had a greenhouse though, and my sisters and I… we’d, you know, try to build with it. Made a mess.”

“I’d make mud houses and try to chase down a Tur-Toad to stick in it. Always collapsed by the time I got one.”

The corner of his eyes crinkle. “You should build with snow. Much more stable.”

“And where am I gonna find a Tur-Toad in the snow, huh?” Really, where would she find one anywhere but Lah'mu, anywhere but a planet she didn’t want to go back to. Which meant, perhaps, one day, she should.

“Are Tur-Toads really that important to this diorama?”

“Absolutely.” she shifts in the blanket nest again, her cold feet brushing over his calf. She has a bad habit of kicking her socks off.

“Shavit!” he curses, one of the words he’s picked up from her. “Those are like ice, Jyn. You didn’t tell me you’re cold.”

“I’m not,” she promises. Smiling, because he is too. Because they managed to get past the pain of the past, to even find some small joy in stories of their long-ago past. It would baffle the others, people like Leia, who asked what Jyn and Cassian talk about. No one would believe the two so-called heroes spend a good deal of time arguing over Tur-Toads and cold feet.

“Mm.” he fusses more with the blankets, holds her closer. “So, a rainy planet. Full of mud and tur-toads.”

“One with a spring,”Jyn insists. If they're going to build this dream that may never come true, then she wants it to be the best possible of all options. “I like spring.” Likes its potential, the light, the longer days.

“I do, too.” This time, it’s Cassian who leans forward, who kisses her, shy at first, like he always is (except when they’re kissing after an argument), warming to her the way snow melts, slow, then all in a rush. She tucks her head in the crook of his shoulder after. They should both sleep. Soon. Tomorrow will come and there will be no spring, not on Hoth, and they will have work to do.

It’s just…

She sighs. “I still have nightmares.” There. The topic that had woke her, the topic that she’d hoped he would share.

“You do?” his voice is a low rumble now, protective. “You haven’t… you never told me.”

Because he sleeps so rarely. Because once he falls asleep she’s terrified to wake him. Because oftentimes, reaching out and feeling he still has a pulse is enough to send the nightmare away. Because… she doesn’t want to admit this. Hates admitting anything. He won’t leave her, he’d said, but a lifetime of being left points to the opposite, and she’s scared to trust in a future that might be different. “They’re worse when you’re gone.”

He’s silent. Thinking. There’s nothing to be thought of, though. He can’t comm her, not when he’s allowed no communication back to base. Can’t send her flirty holomessages the way Solo does to Commander Organa, because even if he was permitted to, both of them would die of mutual embarrassment before finishing a recording. And he absolutely can’t start skipping missions. Not for her.

Sleep tugs at her. She yawns. “It’s fine, Cass.”

“No, I…” he starts, but is cut off by another yawn. This time, one of his. He kisses the top of her head now, since it’s all he can reach with her clinging to him like a mynock. “Boordii has nice rain,” he says. “Spent a few months there as Aach a few years ago. No Imps, no bases. Just a bunch of smugglers and some cigara greenhouses.”

“That where Aach got his bad habit?”

“Maybe.” He lets out a deep breath. “Nice planet. Lots of places to play Sabaac, so that’ll keep you happy. Good food. You’ll have to let me know about the mud.”

“Boordii, huh?” her eyes slide closed again. “Tell me more.” She falls asleep listening to him describe the remote planet, and then, what they might do on leave there.

Four nights later, he wakes her with that same gentle nighttime voice, but this time, it’s to tell her he’s headed out. They never say goodbye. Not to each other. But he does let her know when he leaves, and she does command the Force to be with him, making the well-wish sound more like a one-woman threat against the greatest power in the universe.

When she wakes, she finds three things on the stack of crates that serve as their dresser. An old, handwoven blue blanket, with a note on top of it. It’s his handwriting, because no one else has writing that looks as if each letter is personally attacking the next one after it. “Stay warm.” her fingers skim the blanket, feel the soft wool. There’s what looks like a burn singe in the top corner. The lines of color are sharp peaked stripes, and suddenly, she remembers Fest used to be famous for such weavings.

Under the blanket is, impossibly, delightfully, a stuffed toy, small, with little bits of scrap duraplast for eyes, and the exact same faded green-brown as the Alliance fatigues it must have been sewn from. The same green-brown of all Tur-Toads.

When she lifts it, she sees there’s something attached, a tiny datachip. Toad and blanket in hand, she pads back to the cot, and plugs in the datachip to the pad that she’s claimed as half-hers, since the ALliance is short on new ones. It has multiple files. Leave paperwork. Fake IDs for both Aach and a lady smuggler named Raine Tur. The name makes her smile, though she does wish he hadn’t used that picture of her mid-sneeze from that day he’d made stuffed hot peppers. Kay had taken the holo, though, and it’s a good enough memory to forgive the depiction... which is probably why he picked it in the damn first place. Clearance for them to head to Boordi.

It has, she realizes, all she needs to hope for the spring that will come someday, making everything soft and bright and new.

[ficsrus]

fic recs: bnha pt. 2

read part one here

i am cold, can you hear?: WIP, rated T, 60k

As Todoroki learned from a tender age, growing up with your dad as the #2 hero in all of Japan has a few hazards--especially when you’re his designated prodigy and are constantly being goaded to do more, to be better.

Said hazards include: getting dragged to literally every villainous scene to observe from the sidelines, rigorous (and sometimes illegal) training sessions, and family issues out the whazoo.

But hey, at least his dad’s rival's kid is kind of cute.

Class 1-A group chats!: WIP, rated M, 28k

Uraraka Ochako loved being a part of class 1-A at UA. Her classmates were really cool, the classes were great, and the experience has been more than she ever hoped. Now that they were living in dorms, she got to see everyone all the time, and that lead to a lot of great memories. Which lead her to think that creating a group chat between the entire class was a good idea.

It wasn’t.

alternatively; a year at UA told through a group chat

*pax: Complete, rated T, 50k

Midoriya Izuku and his classmates put their adolescence on hold to save the world. Now, in peace time, it's a world that doesn't need them anymore. Heroes are becoming former.

But when a young Yuuei alumni falls prey to a grisly copycat murder, the case winds its way from professional to personal, and forces on them all the growing up they'd been too busy to do before.

relationships for dumbasses: Complete, rated M, 36k

It wasn’t until Todoroki fell in love that Bakugou discovered two things about his roommate he hadn’t known before: 1) Todoroki was a fruitcake. 2) He was awkward as hell when it came to love. The latter was more of a surprise than the former; anyone who dyed his hair like that couldn’t not be gay. “His name’s Midoriya,” Todoroki said, probably sighing with lovesickness and disgustingness under his resting bitch face. “And he's amazing.”

Or,

That college AU in which Bakugou suffers as an unwilling love guru, is surrounded by dumbasses, and falls in love himself.

Blame it on the Rain: Complete, rated G, 6k

The first time Katsuki doesn’t bring an umbrella is an accident. The next couple of times are on purpose.

☆ A fic where Katsuki is weak against downpours, emotions, and Shouto.

Tweet it out: Complete, rated E, 4k

Uraraka watched her tweet. “Guys. Guys! I just thought up the most brilliant idea. Let’s start a 1-A Hero Academy twitter account! Like Ashido said, we’re famous now, and we have to let people know what’s happening in our lives!”

Jirou and Ashido paused. That… was actually not a bad idea.

Or. Fan girls are fucking crazy, and oh god they're so doomed if any of the boys find out about the twitter acc

what is right and what is easy: Complete, rated T, 3k

Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.

Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.

Couldn’t Heal Myself with Time: Complete, rated T, 2k

"Never mind. You two are perfect for each other."

Laugh Track: Complete, rated T, 7k

The progress of Shouto's embarrassment in front of Bakugou and his descent into loving this sadist.

playing with fire: WIP, rated M, 144k

How things unfold and overlap, hurt and please between two people who do not see any potential in each other beside rivalry and occasional partnership.

Or that one story about growth, risky careers, intricacies of intimacy, and pain of adulting.

There’s a fine line between stakeouts and makeouts: Complete, rated E, 11k

After ending up at the same hero agency, a simple undercover mission should be an easy job for the two Pro Heroes, right?

don’t count on me to let you know when: Complete, rated E, 16k

[He can still feel Kirishima’s gaze on him when he finishes eating, so he shoots him a sideways glare and says, “Stop being fucking coy.”

“Huh?” Kirishima asks, blinking and looking away like that’d convince Bakugou he hadn’t just been staring.

“Man up,” Bakugou hisses at him. “If there’s something you want, then fucking say it.”

Kirishima goes quiet, again, and Bakugou can practically hear the gears turning in his head. If he keeps this up, he’s going to burn out whatever brain he still has. Just as Bakugou’s about to scoff and tell him so, Kirishima leans in so that their faces are too close together.

“What,” Bakugou says, every one of his muscles locking up as he fights conflicting urges to lean closer and edge away from Kirishima’s proximity.

“You stopped me, last time,” Kirishima tells him, lips curled into a pout. “Are you going to let me say it, now?”]

Kirishima has always made things easy for Bakugou. But that doesn't mean that Bakugou's gotten any better at these things, even after all of these years.

Detonate: Complete, rated T, 1k

Bakugou, Kirishima thinks, looks like starlight. And then he wants to punch himself, because what a thing to think about a boy who is built to combust.

let it go: Complete, rated M, 3k

He’s got him this time. This time for real.

the bonds that hold us together: Complete, rated T, 9k

After an unlucky run-in with a Quirk, Class 1-A is left to balance school life and dorm life in their struggle to take care of two five-year-olds.

[sciencespies]

A giant piece of space junk is hurtling towards Earth right now. Should you worry?

https://sciencespies.com/space/a-giant-piece-of-space-junk-is-hurtling-towards-earth-right-now-should-you-worry/

A giant piece of space junk is hurtling towards Earth right now. Should you worry?

A large piece of space debris, possibly weighing several tonnes, is currently on an uncontrolled reentry phase (that’s space speak for “out of control”), and parts of it are expected to crash down to Earth over the next few weeks.

If that isn’t worrying enough, it is impossible to predict exactly where the pieces that don’t burn up in the atmosphere might land.

Given the object’s orbit, the possible landing points are anywhere in a band of latitudes “a little farther north than New York, Madrid and Beijing and as far south as southern Chile and Wellington, New Zealand”.

Changing altitude of the Long March 5B rocket. (orbit.ing-now.com)

The debris is part of the Long March 5B rocket that recently successfully launched China’s first module for its proposed space station. The incident comes roughly a year after another similar Chinese rocket fell to Earth, landing in the Atlantic Ocean but not before it reportedly left a trail of debris in the African nation of Cote D’Ivoire.

At the time, experts noted this was one of the largest pieces of human-made debris ever to fall to Earth. We cannot say with certainty what fate awaits this latest piece of space junk.

Litter from space

Australia already holds the record in the category of “who can be hit by the biggest piece of space junk”. In 1979, the 77-tonne US space station SkyLab disintegrated over Western Australia, peppering the area around the southern coastal town of Esperance with fragments.

At the time, the event was met with with excitement and a sense of lightheartedness, and many pieces were collected by space enthusiasts. Esperance shire council flippantly issued NASA with a fine for littering, and a US radio station later raised enough money to pay the debt.

Although there have been no recorded deaths or serious injuries from people being hit by space debris, that’s no reason to think it’s not dangerous. Just one year before SkyLab’s demise, a Soviet remote sensing (spy) satellite, Cosmos 954, plummeted into a barren region of Canada’s Northwest Territories, spreading radioactive debris over several hundred square kilometres.

With the Cold War at its height, the sensitivity of the nuclear technology on board Cosmos 954 led to an unfortunate delay in locating and cleaning up the wreckage, because of the distrust between the Soviet Union and the Canadian/US recovery effort.

The clean-up operation took months but located only a portion of the debris. Canada billed the Soviet Union more than C$6 million, having spent millions more, but was ultimately paid only C$3 million.

Since the late 1970s, pieces of space debris have fallen to Earth regularly and are viewed with increasing concern. Of course, more than 70 percent of Earth is covered by oceans, and only a minuscule fraction of the remaining 30 percent is covered by your house. But for anyone falling foul of the extremely long odds, the consequences would be truly disastrous.

It was just a quirk of fate that Cosmos 954 did not land on Toronto or Quebec City, where the radioactive fallout would have necessitated a large-scale evacuation. In 2007, pieces of debris from a Russian satellite narrowly missed a Chilean passenger plane flying between Santiago and Auckland.

As we send more objects into space, the chances of a calamitous crash-landing will only increase.

Who pays to clean up the mess, anyway?

International law sets out a compensation regime that would apply in many circumstances of damage on Earth, as well as when satellites collide in space. The 1972 Liability Convention, a UN treaty, imposes liability on “launching states” for damage caused by their space objects, which includes an absolute liability regime when they crash to Earth as debris.

In the case of the Long March 5B, this would impose potential liability on China. The treaty has only been invoked once before (for the Cosmos 954 incident) and therefore may not be regarded as a powerful disincentive.

However, it is likely to come into play in the future in a more crowded space environment, and with more uncontrolled reentries. Of course, this legal framework applies only after the damage occurs.

Other international guidelines regarding debris mitigation and long-term sustainability of space activities set out voluntary standards intended to limit the probability of collisions in space, and minimize the breakup of satellites either during or after their missions.

Some satellites can be moved into a graveyard orbit at the end of their operational life. While this works well for certain specific orbits at a relatively high altitude, it is impractical and hazardous to start moving the vast majority of satellites around between orbital planes.

Most of the millions of pieces of space junk are destined either to orbit in an uncontrollable manner for many years or, if they are in low Earth orbit, to gradually descend towards the Earth, hopefully burning up in the atmosphere before contact with terra firma.

A globally coordinated space traffic management system will be vital to avoid collisions that would result in loss of control of satellites, leaving them to tumble helplessly in orbit or fall back to Earth.

Comprehensively tracking every satellite’s movement and functionality is even harder than it sounds, because it would inevitably require countries to be willing to share information they often currently regard as confidential matters of national security.

But, ultimately, global cooperation is essential if we are to avoid an unsustainable future for our space activities. In the meantime, don’t forget to gaze upwards every now and then — you might spot some of the most spectacular litter on the planet.

Steven Freeland, Professorial Fellow, Bond University / Emeritus Professor of International Law, Western Sydney University, Western Sydney University.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

#Space

[assweetassuga]

Prompt 15: Late Night Confessions

Prompt: "do you have ANY idea what time it is-” “Shhhh-" “AND YOU’RE OUT HERE ON THE STREETS IN YOUR PAJAMAS” “Not so loud" “no, you PUT me down right this instant-” AU: Roommate Genre: fluff Ship: Reader x Min Yoongi/ Suga Third person POV with reader referred to as 'Y/N', 'she', 'her',... Note: Yoongi isn't 'famous' or part of BTS here. He's only an aspiring music producer who is somewhat well known. Warning: this is pretty long and not proofread or edited. ___________________________________ It wasn't Y/N's fault. It really wasn't. She tried her hardest to avoid failing her exams but she let one subject slip away and earn her an F. But it wasn't her fault, the professor hated her and made it her mission to fail Y/N- only because she wouldn't talk much during class. What kind of dumb reason was that? And what did the professor benefit from having her repeat the class and seeing her again?- Y/N could never figure it out. Anyway, despite it only being ten in the morning, Y/N's day was already ruined. Having received her grades for the previous semester with many disappointments, she cancelled her plans to meet up with her friends and headed back to the apartment she shared with the self-proclaimed world renowned music producer, Min Yoongi, who was actually only a locally known but brilliant producer who worked behind the scenes for some very well known groups and artists. Although his work can be done from the comfort of his own room/ office, his company forces him to work from their official building, so she was sure she wouldn't find him when she reached their shared space. Despite this, she made sure to knock on his door once she got home and was actually surprised to hear a response. Suddenly concerned, Y/N entered his room and almost immediately tripped on a shoe placed haphazardly in front of the door. "Yah Min Yoongi clean your room up it's a safety hazard," Yoongi, who was somewhat concealed by the back of his huge desk chair, swiveled around in said chair while posing like The Godfather and and eyed her silently, quirking an eyebrow. "It's an organized mess. It reflects my genius," Y/N rolled her eyes at his typical response and walked over closer to him, seating herself on the small couch next to his desk. "Whatever. Why are you here?" "What? Can't I be in my room?" "You know what I mean. Aren't you supposed to be at work?" "I am at work," "Yoong," "Y/N (nickname)," "I'm waiting for a valid response," "I gave you one," Y/N usually loved their routine banter, but on that specific day she couldn't even handle looking at him, let alone talking to him. She was feeling especially guilty that day, because he was expecting her to inform him of her grades and he knew she was stalling. The only reason she felt guilty about her less-than-satisfactory results was because he'd actually taken time out of his busy schedule to help her study some topics he was good at, and she didn't want to seem like she was taking his help for granted by displaying such ugly marks. Since she wasn't getting anywhere with her attempt at stalling, she decided to just leave and avoid talking about the topic. With that, she got off the couch, gave him one last eye roll, and headed towards the door that would lead her to her freedom and her cosy bed. "Not so fast, Y/N," Y/N couldn't hide her groan and rested her hand on the door knob. She closed her eyes and composed herself, trying to look as innocent as possible before she turned around to face him. "Yes, Yoongi?" "Your grades please," and he held out his arm for the folder that she held that contained the shameful truth. "Uuuhh... I didn't get them," "Bullshit. Hand it over," "Please no," "Y/N," "Please," she begged, using the well known puppy dog eyes technique she knew would usually work on him. "Your cuteness won't work this time. Come on, Y/N, show me your grades. I know they're not as bad as you're making them seem," "They are, I swear they are. You'll be disappointed and you'll realize you wasted your time. And I'm sorry about that. I really am. Just please don't look at them," "Y/N, it's okay. I promise you I won't be mad. And you're not a waste of time, I actually enjoyed those study sessions, even if you think they didn't pay off," Y/N jutted her bottom lip out, pouting, as she tried one last attempt at the puppy dog plead. Realizing it really didn't work this time, she visibly deflated and huffed. "Fine. I'll give you the folder, but don't open it before I leave the room. Let me leave first then look at them. Please," "Whatever you want, Y/N," "Promise me," "I promise," "Pinkie swear?" Yoongi chuckled at that but held up his little finger. "Pinkie swear," he said as they hooked their fingers. As soon as the oath was bound, Y/N all but ran out of his room and over to hers after throwing the folder on his bed. Without even bothering to take her clothes off, she dove onto her own bed and rolled herself up in her bedcovers like a burrito. Within half an hour, unexpected sleep overtook her, leaving a confused Yoongi standing at the foot of her bed with her grades in his hands. "She falls asleep even faster than I do. What a weirdo," he mumbled as he placed the grades folder on her desk and wrote her a sticky note- which he then stuck on the folder. He decided against waking her up and let her rest after weeks of stressing over finals and the results afterwards, promising himself he'd check on her around dinner time after he ordered something for them to eat. Fourteen hours later, Y/N woke up with a pounding headache. Confused about the year and the planet she lived on, she groped around for her phone to check those details before she checked herself into a mental hospital. She found her phone dug under her back bra strap; how it got there was a mystery to her and the universe. As soon as she saw the time and the darkness outside her open windows, she yelped and her phone slid out of her hands. She'd never been able to sleep for fourteen continuous hours; she must've been really upset in order for her to take a depression nap like that. With a throbbing head and numb limbs, she got off her bed and tiptoed to the shared bathroom, trying not to make any sound and thus avoid any unnecessary encounters with her roommate. She still didn't know how to face him after those shameful grades. When she passed the kitchen she saw a bag of food from the usual place she and Yoongi would order from when they wanted to treat themselves- but there was no Yoongi and no indication of him having eaten. She immediately felt bad, she was usually the one who nagged/ reminded him to eat, while he was the one who reminded her to do everything she forgot to do... which is everything needed to function as a human being. She decided to check up on him after relieving her sad, distended bladder and then brushing her teeth. Yoongi wasn't in his room when she slowly opened his door. He wasn't in the living room either. He was no where to be found, and she was starting to worry. At this time he'd usually be asleep, eating or working away at his laptop, finishing what he couldn't during the day, but he wasn't doing that right now, and breaking a habit was near impossible for him. She called his phone too many times for rationality before she discovered it buried underneath his bedsheets. The fact that he didn't have his phone on him worried her even more. She paced the apartment endlessly, thinking of a logical course of action, before she threw caution to the wind and put on her shoes and coat and head out to look for him in the few places he went to when he left home or work. An hour later found a furious Y/N and an out-of-character Yoongi. "do you have ANY idea what time it is-” she started, seething with anger and worry. “SHHHH-” “AND YOU’RE OUT HERE ON THE STREETS IN YOUR PAJAMAS," “Not so loud, Y/N,” “no, you PUT me down right this instant-” "Y/N, stop fidgeting," he whined, holding her bridal style and swinging her left and right as if to halt her movements. "Yoongi I'm dead serious put me down right now," Y/N's heart was pounding with fear of falling- perhaps both ways of that sense. "What if I don't want to," he deadpanned, posing it as a phrase instead of a sentence. "You'll regret it. If you let me fall I'll have your head. I'm pretty sure you're drunk and I don't need a head injury right now," He suddenly stopped the swinging but he kept her in his arms. "I'm not drunk," he said, sounding as sober as ever. "Then what are you doing?" Y/N was convinced he wasn't drunk- despite the fact that he can hold his liquor, Yoongi was a way-too-obvious drunk, his face would be flushed and his eyes would be unfocused and watery. He would also be unstable on his feet and he sure as hell wouldn't be able to lift and carry her like this. Right now, his eyes were watery, but that was probably because of lack of sleep- also evidenced by the black under-eye bags. "I'm carrying you back home," he replied, tilting his face to where hers was, smiling his rare wide smile that made Y/N want to frame it and keep it with her for when she was feeling down... which was generally all the time. "Can I ask why?" She inquired after she recovered from the effect his smile had on her. "No," he smiled again, sarcastically this time, but still a smile she loved seeing. For someone who was as attractive looking while straight-faced as Yoongi, his smile always left an unexpected aftertaste in Y/N's heart that was different from the usual appreciation she had for his looks. I mean, come on. She knew being attracted to her roommate was a bad idea, but it's not like it was interfering with anything... maybe. Whenever she was confronted with her potential feelings for him she'd always shut them out and ignore them; she was convinced they were useless and more than likely only one sided. Besides, she was fine with her relationship with him as it was; she was too terrified of alienating him by talking about such useless things as emotions. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts and think of a response for his statement, she narrowed her eyes at him as her gave her a (cute) shit eating grin and shuffled her in his arms, shifting her weight to distribute it evenly so it wouldn't interfere with their walk back home. "Yoongi seriously I'm too heavy for this just put me down," "Don't wanna," he said and held her tighter. Y/N's heart squeezed at that- before she shut it up, that is. "Yooooooongiiiiiiii," she whined, then she realized there was no getting anywhere with him. "Fine, then at least tell me where you were," "Hmm," he feigned being deep in thought, "I was just out and about, walking to clear my head," "You and I both know you don't do that," "Indeed?" "Indeed," "Maybe indeed will be our always," "Shut up doofus," They both erupted in hardly muted fits of giggles, Y/N's left arm went around Yoongi's waist and clutched the back of his shirt while he subconsciously brought her closer to his chest. They were aware of how silly the exchange was but they both were smitten by each other's presence that they couldn't see the signs staring them right in the eyes. "Yoongi aren't you exhausted?" She asked as she saw him unsuccessfully hide his yawn. Both of them were unconscious of her right arm slowly inching up to reach his face until it touched the side of his cheekbone. He shook his head in denial but his drooping eyelids and watery eyes betrayed him. Her thumb stroked his cheek languidly, neither of them minding the contact. In fact, they were both enjoying the minimal skinship- not that either of them would admit it even if it saved their lives. "We'll be home soon," he whispered, subconsciously angling his face towards her touch. She nodded, maintaining the eye contact as she consciously caressed his cheek, enjoying the way her heart reacted to a gesture as small as him smiling faintly in response. His smile grew as she cupped his cheek with her entire hand while she still caressed his cheekbone with her thumb. She nodded in acknowledgement of his statement as their faces drew closer and their emotions ran deeper. They've been dancing around each other for the past three years, so this advancement in their relationship was logical- at least that's what Yoongi thought. Y/N held her breath and stilled as she watched him draw even closer, letting him take this interaction in the direction he wanted. She thought her heart would burst out of her chest as he rested his forehead on hers and closed his eyes as he sighed slowly. Her hand was still on his face but it was inching closer to his neck and then his hair. She'd always wanted to stroke his hair and feel its softness- despite his claims of it being rough and damaged because of over-dying, it was actually silky smooth and fluffy she was almost jealous. "Y/N," he started, his voice rougher than usual despite the fact that he was whispering. "Hmm?" She couldn't bring herself to say anything besides a hum in fear of ruining the moment. "If you keep doing that I might fall asleep while walking," he whispered, his eyes still closed, causing her to smirk triumphantly and angle her face up so both their foreheads and noses were touching. Still stroking his hair, she inched her face away from his, causing his eyes to fly open at the sudden loss of contact. Before he can question it, she quickly pecked his nose and just as quickly moved back, almost falling in Yoongi's suddenly less stable arms, then hiding her face in his chest. She didn't want to over think and go over what she just did and what it could mean to him but it was hard to avoid the thoughts... until he stopped walking and slowly set her back to her feet, her face still buried in his chest. Both hearts pounding and minds racing, each one of the two individuals was thinking of a way to take this moment in the direction he and she wanted. The directions were the same, unbeknownst to the other party. Suddenly decisive, Yoongi placed his arms around her waist, silently asking her to look at him. Once she did, he took his chance. With their eyes staring into the others' and both of his hands cupping her small face, he gently brushed their lips together in an almost-but-not-exactly kiss. They both sighed at the teasing contact but stayed where they were, collecting their wits and attempting to calm their racing hearts. Y/N's arms circled his waist, prompting him closer. He took the gesture as encouragement and pressed their lips together as he kissed her over and over in small, innocent kisses that conveyed both their feelings for each other. Y/N kissed back, and after countless tiny kisses that made her head spin into euphoria, she held his face in place and deepened the kiss, starting slowly at first and then exploding and letting rip the fire of emotions she felt for him. After his initial shock he reciprocated, and all too soon they were both coming up for air. "Damn, Y/N," he sighed, eyes wide and pupils blown wider than she's ever seen them, "if I'd known that would be your response I would've kissed you sooner. Much, much sooner," Suddenly shy, Y/N kissed his cheek in response and buried her face in his chest. He drew her in closer and held her tightly, smiling faintly at the precious girl in his arms. Even without verbal confession, he knew he finally had her. Years and years of pining were worth it for just this moment of complete satisfaction and tranquility- he wondered if this is what happiness truly felt like. They remained standing in the same spot, in each others' arms, for what felt like a happy lifetime. They weren't sure who moved first, but at some point they resumed their walk home, still wrapped in each other with small smiles and secretive glances. Anyone could tell they were smitten- it was as if they were in their own heart-shaped bubble with small heart-shaped bubbles floating around them. In short, it was super cheesy and they both knew it. Once they got home, the atmosphere shifted and became somewhat heavier. Yoongi- whose stomach rumbled loudly at some point during the walk- headed straight for the kitchen, while Y/N went to her room to change into her pajamas before joining Yoongi for a late night snack. "What're we having?" She asked as she entered the kitchen wearing one of her better pajamas. Yoongi, whose back was turned to her, lifted the bag of food that he'd ordered almost a lifetime ago, but it was empty as he'd removed the containers and was heating up the food. "It'll be ready in around five minutes," "'Kay," she replied, walking slowly toward him and hugging him from behind, resting her head on the back of his shoulder. He stiffened slightly at the unexpected contact but relaxed almost immediately, letting out a soothing sigh as he got back to the mugs of hot chocolate he was preparing. Y/N's head was placed strategically to hear his heartbeat, and she was strangely satisfied to hear it beating as rapidly as hers was. The disbelief as to what had happened earlier was starting to sink in- had they really kissed? Did they really have such a cute moment just around an hour ago? She was baffled- she never expected one of her greatest wishes would come true this easily. "Yoongi," she murmured slowly, mind still foggy. "Yes love?" He replied, throwing in the endearment almost mindlessly and causing Y/N to melt and spike her heartbeat up a few notches. "I- we- that is, um... what-" Yoongi cut her off by turning around and holding her arms tightly but not painfully while looking directly into her eyes as if trying to convey a message merely by eye contact. "Y/N," "Yes?" She squeaked uncharacteristically then cringed at how she was acting. Why was Yoongi turning her into a pile of mush like this? He blinked slowly once, twice, three times, the action mesmerizing Y/N and causing her to reflexively mirror him. "I'm going to say this once because honest to god I haven't had much time to prepare and I want to do it now so please pay attention. Y/N, you mean the world to me. I mean it, you're more important to me than anything or anyone else. You make me want to say and do cheesy things like in those movies you watch when you're PMSing. You make me want to laugh and cry and love and hate and I just- you make me feel. Ever since I met you five years ago and especially three years ago when you let me move in- you slowly wore down my walls and let yourself into my entire being and helped me learn how to feel again- and I love you for that. I don't know if mere words can describe this... thing that I'm feeling but, Y/N I don't think I can ever just remain 'friends' or 'roommates' simply. I've been in love with you for so long and I've had many opportunities to tell you and hopefully make you mine but I've always chickened out- until tonight when my cousin called me crying about losing his wife and asking me to come over and help with arrangements. His situation terrified me and I realized I would never want to lose you like he lost his wife- his other half. Yes, I realize I'm being super cheesy and we're not married or anything but you bring out this side in me and I'm not sure if I should hate you or love you for it- although I'm inclined to choose the latter. I'm not sure why I'm telling you all this and I'm probably scaring you off but it's been building inside for so long it was bound to come out at some point. Y/N, I love you so much and I can't see myself without you in any way. Will you accept my feelings and make me yours?" Throughout his speech, Y/N got more and more teary eyed until the tears started flowing rapidly when he mentioned his cousin's loss. Once he noticed the tears streaming down her face, he panicked and tried to backtrack and rectify what he said, until she interrupted him with a kiss she didn't realize she was capable of giving. She kissed him with all the passion she had and a handful more, conveying all the love and tenderness she felt for him, answering all his questions and giving him more answers than he'd asked. Her kiss made his head spin so fast he almost forgot his own name, which he was reminded of when she sighed it heavily after they broke apart for air. Tears still streaming down her face, she held his in both hands and tried to word exactly what she was trying to say with her kiss. "The feelings you induce in me when you're around, when you look at me and talk to me and touch me, even the innocent and mindless touches, cannot be explained by the simple word 'love'. Yoongi, the way I feel for you transcends any emotion articulated by our limited human vocabulary, but for the lack of better wording, I love you. I love love love you so much I never thought I'd be able to tell you. Yes, I accept your feelings. I am yours and you are mine and I don't want this to ever change. I love you Yoongi, so much that it terrifies me," she ended her smaller speech with a sigh and a shake of her head. "You've even made me cry because I couldn't handle my emotions. I hope you can take responsibility for that. Oh, and," she added as an afterthought, "after this I will be clinging to you like a damn koala so much so you'll regret this," she giggled, silently praying that he'd never regret this; them. At this he laughed loudly, his lips stretching over his teeth and gums in a genuine laugh at her ridiculousness- not that she minded, she loved his smile and even more so his laugh; both so rare but so beautiful. She voiced her thoughts, ceasing his laugh but causing him to grin stupidly at her statement. "That smile and laugh, they're yours and yours only," he proclaimed, pecking her forehead and holding her close. "That's so damn cheesy though," she groaned, her voice muffled because her face was pressed to his chest, "but I love this side of yours," "Well I love you, so I guess it's a fair trade," "You, sir, are the king of cheese," "You love it though," "Damn right I do," she admitted, kissing his cheek and begrudgingly removing herself from his warm embrace after both their stomachs rumbled embarrassingly loudly causing them both to burst into laughter. "So the food's ready. Let's eat quickly, Y/N, I want to sleep next to you tonight," Y/N blinked at the unexpected statement and blushed when the words sunk in. She squeaked a quick 'okay' and took the plates of food and mugs of hot chocolate from him and placed them on the table. He joined her soon after, displaying a self-satisfied smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Halfway through their meal, Yoongi seemed to remember something. "Oh, before I forget. Y/N, about your grades-" "Aaaaaaagh Yoongs no don't bring this up when I'm in the best mood," whined Y/N, pouting. "I'm not disappointed in you, baby," he rolled his eyes, Y/N's heart skipping a beat at the pet name, "however," Y/N could see a dangerous glint in his eyes before he finished his sentence, "I will have to punish you later for that D-," and he winked, pulverizing Y/N's intestines into mush and coloring her cheeks a warm red. She felt her whole body heating up in a blush at his comment, but she soon recovered and swatted at his arm, looking him straight in the eye and trying to mess with him too. "I can't wait, sweetheart," smirking, she stroked his hand as it lay on the table close to her then linked their fingers together, before looking up through her eyelashes at a violently blushing Min Yoongi. "I really can't wait,"

[rabbitwrite]

The Mission

「ｓｈｉｎ ｈｏｓｅｏｋ x ｒｅａｄｅｒ」

characters: reader (gender neutral), cyborg!wonho 

genre: futuristic cyborg au, angst

word count: 1814

warning: major character death

inspo: [x] [x] [x]

CYBORG-93 was a different kind of creation. With the purpose of caring for you in the absence of your mother, he was dubbed as "WONHO", a name that meant protector in a language that had been lost over the ages. The difference with WONHO, however, were the quirks in his coding. That, or being with you made him feel something. And cyborgs weren't supposed to feel anything.

Your mother had two creations she prided herself with.

First and foremost, there was you.

Her second was WONHO, a cyborg who was the sole succession in her short-lived life as an inventor.

A single mother struggling with the economy of the advancing, technology-filled "utopia" you would be born into, she had a feeling that she would not be capable of raising you as long and as well other mothers could with the little income she had.

They called her crazy for using that same income for the creation of Cyborg-93 instead of spending it on cribs and formulas like mothers typically would during their maternity stage. Rather than doing her research on parenting, she devoted herself to programming the artificial individual meant to care for you in her potential absence.

Naming him after a word defined as "protector" from one of the many languages that had been lost through the ages, your mother had finished WONHO's creation within her last month of pregnancy.

Admittedly, due to your mother's amateur programming, there were still quirks within his coding. Perhaps he was a little slow, maybe the way he executed tasks could have been more fulfilling, but she made sure WONHO had the qualities a mother would have. Strength and diligence were a major aspect, but although artificial beings weren't supposed to be capable of emotion, he was made to be kind and selfless.

These quirks were incapable of belittling his purpose, the mission he was assigned to the moment he was dubbed with his name.

Only during your entrance into life and your mother's departure did his mission truly begin, where the woman used her dying breath to whisper, "Take care of my child, WONHO. Your mission begins now."

Grasping his hand with an iron grip, your mother gave him one last hopeful look before she went limp in unison with the now-flat beeping of the monitor.

Maybe it was just an error in his coding, or maybe it was the fact that he could not bear to witness the life leave his creator's eyes. Either way, he carefully took you in his arms and cradled your tiny figure, a notion that was the start of his mission.

Your mother's death was enough for the government to grant WONHO pay that he managed in order to suit your living needs. He raised you in the house and lab your mother had once lived in, though by your toddler years it was less of a lab due to the removal of equipment and objects that the cyborg deemed hazardous for your safety.

Your toddler years were the simple times, where all he had to worry about was holding your hand, treating your "ouchies" by sealing your band-aids with a kiss, and the balanced meals he needed to create in order to keep you healthy.

When it was time for you to go to school, there were more things for WONHO to worry about. Though apparently he was not the only one.

"Other people think I'm odd," you would tell him when he would pick you up from school. "They ask me what it's like to be raised by a cyborg instead of parents."

But as you grew older, those words were replaced with tears as other children would ridicule you for that very reason.

"They tell me I'm a freak, that they feel sorry for me," you would sob as he clutched you close to his chest, embracing you tightly. "Because I have no family."

An artificial being was not supposed to get offended. They were not supposed to get upset. Maybe it was an error in his coding, or maybe he could not bear to see you cry like this.

The tears you shed at these times were unlike the tears you cried when you scraped your knees, broke a toy, or refused to eat the vegetables he tried to feed you.

Was it sadness he felt for you? Pity? Even in the depths of his being there seemed to be something that made his gears grind. Why couldn't he be considered as a family member?

The artificial intelligence within him managed to seal these notions away, at least long enough for you to enter your teenage years.

For that era, your tears were caused by the stress of education and the people you spent loving. WONHO spent ages updating his personal database in order to help guide you with your schoolwork and exams, and he listened to you vent if a significant other had fought with you or had even gone as far enough to break your heart.

You were more intelligent than you gave yourself credit for, and you were far more wonderful than your significant others thought you were. WONHO just struggled to express so verbally, and attempted to do so with awkward comfort.

There was something he felt towards the individuals you would get into relationships with, though technically he was not supposed to feel anything in the first place.

WONHO didn't realize it was jealousy until your teen years blossomed into adulthood, and you came home one day claiming to have found the one.

"Congratulations, I am happy for you." He lied with a straight face, monotone as all cyborgs would.

Knowing that, you grinned, deeming his words as something sarcastic. Sincere, yet insincere, because cyborgs like him weren't supposed to feel emotion. "Right," you responded.

Wrong.

That was all it felt like to WONHO when it came to your wedding day. If he was supposed to feel anything, he should have been feeling happy for you. Such a milestone in your life could have been something that would make him cry tears of joy, but he wanted to cry for other reasons.

 What he wouldn’t do to be up there instead of your fiancé, making those vows with you and kissing your lips. Instead, he remained in the very front as a witness to it all, nothing more than an “important individual” of your life. Clearly not important to be up there with you, because he was nothing more than a cyborg.

If only he weren’t. Maybe then he would’ve mustered up the courage to express how he felt about you; you were literally his entire world. He cherished you and cared for you above all, regardless if it was what his coding told him to do. Maybe it was just an error in his coding, or maybe it was the fact that he undeniably felt something for you, he felt love. WONHO loved you, but the feeling apparently wasn’t mutual.

So maybe it was time to distance himself from you at this stage of your life. 

At least, that was what your life partner told WONHO. They didn’t seem particularly fond of him, and practically stole you away from the cyborg as he was left in the dust.

You had eventually moved in with them, distancing yourself from the cyborg emotionally and physically. That left him alone in the house you once lived in together. He lost his purpose, he was lost in his thoughts. 

And what of his mission? The very mission your mother created him for. He didn’t know if it was completed - it didn’t seem like it - but WONHO sensed that it was not over. 

The cyborg could only confirm it when he saw you again, both the first time he had seen you and had gone outside in ages.

But the reunion was nothing joyful or relieving. In fact, the dreaded opposite.

It seemed like WONHO was not the only faulty work of technology in your society, for a hovering vehicle’s autodrive feature went awry on the road. If only he could have gotten to you sooner, perhaps he could have taken the blow instead. If only he had been able to call out to you, say something at the least, but his attempted scream was soundless.

All he could do at this point was rush towards your figure, scooping you up in his arms like he once did long ago, and take you to the nearby hospital.

He ran as if the entire world was collapsing around him, but no matter how fast he went his attempt was painfully futile.

“Stop,” you wheezed, almost inaudible. The impact left you with a fatal blow in your ribcage specifically, making almost impossible for you to speak. At this rate, it was increasingly more difficult for you to breathe. To function.

Maybe it was just an error in his coding, or maybe it was the sight of you in your dying moments that caused WONHO to stop, gently placing you on the surface of the cold ground with your head resting on his lap.

This was the moment he ultimately accepted the fact that he was unlike the average cyborg. This was the moment he wish he wasn’t.

He felt pain. Perhaps enough to compare to the pain you were currently experiencing, Wonho’s was an accumulation of everything he had felt in all the years of your life he had spent with you.

Was this it? This was the day you would meet your end? Would this be the moment he would finally speak what he needed to say?

The cyborg was about to lift you up once more, but you prevented him from doing so by seizing his wrist. Your hand trailed upwards, your fingers wove around his, and in that moment you squeezed his palm so tight it was as if it were your mother holding him instead.

Slowly, you tilted your head to meet the cyborg’s gaze. “This… is it,” you struggled to utter the words, yet you still managed.

It would have broken his heart if it had not been non-existent, to see his loved one near death. Something within him urged him to confess, to tell you how he felt and that he did in fact feel emotions. He felt them for you, towards you, and only now did he come to accept that. Even now his artificial intelligence was to no avail.

“I…” he began, though he stopped himself once he felt your grip faltering. “...was supposed to protect you.”

“I-it’s okay, WONHO… it’s…” the pain surging through your body was tremendous, almost unbearable. Still, you managed to complete your sentence. Your last. “It’s okay.”

And with that, you released your grip as you took one last breath.

It wasn’t okay. He couldn’t bare to see your lifeless figure, he couldn’t stand himself not being able to confess in the last chance he could. WONHO couldn’t believe he had left you, even if it wasn’t for long. He was supposed to protect you, that was his sole purpose, and he couldn’t.

Your mother had programmed him to take care of you, not to love you. With missions, cyborgs were supposed to succeed.

But WONHO was different. He had failed.

[ericfruits]

Canada plans a crazy quilt of cannabis retailing rules

“RELAX. Unwind. Centre. Enhance.” These hippy-dippy blandishments will appear in big bright letters on government-owned shops in Nova Scotia, a province in Canada’s north-east. They will add colour to outlets that otherwise resemble post offices. Business will begin on October 17th, when the sale of recreational cannabis will become legal across Canada. In the western province of Alberta, Tokyo Smoke, a private-sector firm, plans to open pot shops that are more like hipster cafés. In British Columbia illegal outlets have long masqueraded as “dispensaries”. Newly legal, some plan to kit themselves out like upmarket pharmacies.

Under Canada’s scheme for legalising cannabis, the federal government will regulate production and set minimum standards for safety. Consumers must be 18 or older and may possess no more than 30 grams. But each of the ten provinces and three territories will decide how to distribute the stuff to 12m potential consumers (the number of Canadians who say they have indulged at least once) plus visitors.

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In typically Canadian fashion, every province’s legislation has its own “quirks”, says Michael Armstrong, a business professor at Brock University in Ontario. Five will make the sale of cannabis a provincial monopoly, as most provinces do for spirits. Government-run shops will take especially seriously their mission to safeguard public health and supplant the black market, says Rebecca Brown of Crowns Creative, an advertising agency that specialises in cannabis. Their design is thus likely to be “pleasant, but not too pleasant”.

In Ontario, the most populous province, cannabis shops will keep the product out of sight. Customers will fill out order forms, which employees will execute in back rooms. (The province’s new premier, Doug Ford, whose late brother was a crack-smoking mayor of Toronto, may have other ideas. He has mused about allowing sales in private shops.) New Brunswick, an eastern province, will require cannabis to be kept behind glass. In Nova Scotia it will be displayed behind a counter, except in one central store, where customers will be able to sniff the weed.

Things will be livelier in the other areas, including Alberta, British Columbia and Manitoba, where the private sector will be allowed. In some cases it will compete with government-owned online and bricks-and-mortar retailers. Private shops will be freer to “pursue a delightful retail experience”, says Ms Brown, though the delight will be curbed by a federal rule that cannabis be sold in plain packages bearing large, yellow labels and smaller red ones warning of health hazards. There will be room (just) for the logo of the producer.

Will Canadian tokers be able to get supplies from neighbouring provinces with glitzier emporiums? Maybe not. Most provinces limit how much people can transport across borders. They may do the same for cannabis, says Kirk Tousaw, a lawyer. British Columbia already has a “ridiculous and unenforceable” requirement that anyone bringing cannabis from outside report to provincial authorities. “It boggles the mind that in 2018 you can’t cross an imaginary line and buy 24 beers or 30 grams of cannabis without filling out a form or paying your own province,” Mr Tousaw fumes. Canadians waving goodbye to prohibition will be tangled up in red tape.

This article appeared in the The Americas section of the print edition under the headline "The high street"

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

season of giving

Please forgive the shitty title and the fact I’m posting Christmas fics in the middle of November. Also on ao3!

Yet another seemingly endless week of grueling Quirk training and intense practice rescue missions meant that when the long weekend before Christmas rolled around Kirishima felt totally justified in lounging on the common room couch all day with no intention of doing anything else.

Armed with a ten foot long charger cable courtesy of his bro Kaminari, his phone (with its new custom ordered Crimson Riot case), and a family size bag of barbecue potato chips, Kirishima was set for the day. He didn't plan on moving from his spot unless absolutely necessary.

Which translated into him only getting up to either use the bathroom or grab some more food from the kitchen, usually pizza rolls, cheese puffs, and cheddar popcorn. He totally had his priorities in order.

With Christmas only a few days away, Kirishima figured he was allowed to let himself relax for a day or two before launching headfirst back into training once winter break was over. Besides, with how their first year at UA had gone so far, they all deserved a tropical vacation.

For a month. At least. Complete with complimentary room service and free Wi-Fi.

But for now, lying on the couch while checking his social media and occasionally texting back and forth with Tetsutetsu would have to do. Even if Iida had scolded him for having his feet on the couch, vehemently claiming that it wasn't proper etiquette.

But it wasn't like it was bothering anyone. Kirishima was the only one in the common room, after all.

Most of the class had gone out for the day, taking the rare opportunity the long weekend provided to leave campus (with one of the teachers chaperoning, of course) for a day out.

It had mostly been Ashido's idea, encouraged by Uraraka and Hagakure. She had loudly bemoaned the lack of anything to do at breakfast, complaining about her boredom into her bowl of Fruity Pebbles.

Hagakure had enthusiastically agreed. Sighing into her morning cup of hibiscus tea, she had claimed they should all do something together as a class.

It was Uraraka who had taken the initiative to actually do something about it. Wheeling around to point at a startled Iida, still in his slippers and pajamas, Uraraka had cheerfully announced that if the class representative approved it, the teachers would have to let them.

A vigorous debate had erupted at that; people discussing where they should go and what they should do, how they would craft a convincing argument for the principal, how they could actually convince Iida to go along with it. It had taken most of the morning but eventually, everything had been sorted out.

Now, Kirishima was alone in the common room, almost the entire class opting to go on the little day trip to lunch and karaoke with Ectoplasm. According to rumor, their math teacher was amazing at singing both the main and backing vocals simultaneously.

Aside from Kirishima, only a small handful of students had turned down the invitation to go on the trip, remaining on campus.

Koda, shy as ever despite his many, valiant attempts to become more assertive and outspoken, had decided to hang back to avoid participating in any potentially embarrassing karaoke performances. Instead, he was studying in his room while spending some quality time with his pet bunny.

Kirishima could sympathize. He might be manly as hell but the thought of getting up on stage in front of a crowd, even one made up of his friends, and singing sent an all too familiar pulse of anxiety through him.

Shoji had opted to remain on campus to do his usual routine of jogging around campus for a few hours before meeting up with some guys from Class B and the General Studies class to work out in one of the private gyms. His work ethic was insane.

Kirishima couldn't help but respect it. It was totally manly.

Tokoyami, too, had decided to stay on campus rather than go out with the rest of class. Shrugging when invited, he had admitted that he was still rather tired and was going to spend the day catching up on his sleep.

Predictably, Bakugo had turned down the offer to go with the others. When they had asked him if he wanted to go with them, he had just sneered and told them all to piss off and leave him the hell alone.

Typical Bakugo. Leave it to him to still be his usual grumpy self even with Christmas looming on the horizon.

Kirishima was the only other one who had decided not to go with the others, shocking the entire class with his decision. But he had his reasons.

Because as fun as karaoke with his friends sounded, he just wanted to unwind and relax a little bit. As outgoing as he could be, sometimes he just needed some good old peace and quiet, some time to himself to recharge.

And that meant sprawling out on the couch on a nest of comfy throw pillows and cozy blankets that he had carefully arranged by hand while looking at memes and catching up on his Netflix 'to watch' list, his attention bouncing back and forth between the TV and his cell phone.

He was a master of multitasking. Even if that meant he missed a key plot point or two in favor of sending Kaminari any and all memes involving Pikachu.

He was on his second movie of the afternoon after rewatching an old All Might flick. It was some highly-acclaimed, five star rated teen comedy about the trials and tribulations of attending a typical high school and all the shenanigans involved in dating.

He was about halfway into the movie (the two leads had finally started dating) when he heard Bakugo come downstairs.

He didn't even have to look up to know who it was. He could tell just by the loud, heavy stomping down the staircase that it was the blond. Even his footsteps were angry.

It was beyond ridiculous (who the hell had angry footsteps?) but Kirishima couldn't help but smile. It was just so Bakugo.

"Hey, man!" Kirishima greeted automatically without bothering to sit up, too busy typing a message to Tetsutetsu on his phone, answering his friend's question about what he was doing.

Apparently, Class B had come up with the same idea as Class A and decided to go out for the day, too. According to Tetsutetsu, Vlad King was taking them out to an arcade and a movie.

Of course, that jerk Monoma had taken credit for coming up with the idea. Though Tetsutetsu was very adamant that Kendo was, in fact, the one who'd had the stroke of genius.

"The fuck are you still doing here?" Bakugo grunted in response as he made his way to the kitchen, socked feet loud against the tile floor. "Figured you'd be out with the rest of the extras."

"Hey!" Kirishima barked, sitting up sharply to look at Bakugo who had his head buried in the fridge. Kirishima pouted at the back of Bakugo's head, pointing out, "I'm not an extra! You know my name, even if you barely use it!"

When Bakugo just grumbled something unintelligible and vaguely insulting under his breath, Kirishima shrugged and laid back down in his little nest of pillows and blankets. Whatever.

It wasn't like he expected Bakugo to actually admit anything. That wasn't Bakugo's way.

Which put a bit of a downer on their burgeoning relationship since, as of a month ago, they were officially dating. Officially as in they occasionally had dinner alone together in Bakugo's dorm room and had kissed exactly four times.

That totally qualified as dating, right?

Admittedly, Kirishima wasn't totally sure but private dinners and kissing sure sounded like dating to him. Even if Bakugo refused to give a straight answer whenever he asked if they were in fact dating.

He would roll his eyes and snort, quickly changing the (usually to something else he knew Kirishima was passionate about) and talk in circles until Kirishima completely forgot what he had asked in the first place. Sometimes it really sucked to have such a smart maybe-boyfriend.

Kirishima was too lost in his thoughts about the potential existence of his romantic relationship with Bakugo that he didn't even notice said blond hurry back upstairs before returning a few minutes later, mouth set in a harsh line. Expression still stormy, he unceremoniously tossed something into Kirishima's lap.

Caught off guard, Kirishima immediately went on high alert, bracing himself for an attack. Sitting up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, his eyes quickly scanned the room, fruitlessly searching for any immediate threats to either himself or Bakugo.

Eventually, after making sure there was no villain about to attack, his eyes finally drifted to what Bakugo had thrown at him. To his immense shock, it was a present.

It was a relatively small box, only around five by six inches, wrapped in pristine white wrapping paper so pale it looked like a sheet of freshly fallen snow. A length of shiny red ribbon was curled around the middle of the box, ends tied together in an intricate bow.

It looked like something out of a sappy Christmas movie, bright and shiny and perfect. It was so flawless, attention paid to every detail of the wrapping, that it couldn't have possibly come from anyone other than Bakugo.

The same Bakugo who was standing by the side of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and a deep frown on his face. Still wary, Kirishima glanced between Bakugo and the present in his lap.

Embarrassingly slow, Kirishima carefully put it together in his head. Looking up at Bakugo, he smiled widely and hazarded, "You got me something?"

Bakugo just rolled his eyes and snapped, "Just open the damn present."

Kirishima didn't need to be told twice. Sitting up straighter, he eagerly untied the pretty bow Bakugo had made, feeling somewhat guilty about messing up what had clearly taken quite a bit of effort.

But his excitement outweighed his bit of guilt and he quickly discarded the red ribbon, setting it aside on his lap. The white wrapping paper was much easier to get through; all it took was a hardened fingertip dragged down one side of the wrapped box and the wrapping paper fell open like a book to a reader's favorite page.

Bakugo impatiently tapped his foot as he waited for Kirishima to continue opening the small cardboard box he had uncovered. Kirishima, never one to disappoint, immediately popped the lid off the box, reaching inside to sort through a sheet of tissue paper to find his gift.

Had anyone else been watching, the reveal would have been rather anticlimactic but not to Kirishima.

Eyes wide as saucers, Kirishima gaped down at the small, unassuming object in the box. It was a movie ticket.

Bright red with gold embossed lettering announcing the name of the movie theater, it was a movie ticket to the new Crimson Riot movie that had only just released its first trailer less than two weeks ago. The Crimson Riot movie that Kirishima had been waiting for his whole life.

"Dude!" Kirishima gasped, looking up at Bakugo with a mix of awe and disbelief. "You got tickets to the Crimson Riot movie?! How the hell did you manage that?! They don't even have a release date yet!"

Bakugo just shrugged. "My parents worked with the costume department for the movie."

"What?!" Kirishima yelped, eyes somehow widening even further. "That's so awesome! Why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't allowed to," Bakugo explained with a negligible shrug. "My parents had to sign some bullshit non-disclosure agreement thing. But the trailer's out now so it's whatever."

Kirishima just smiled, reaching back into the box again. He felt around the bottom for a moment, frowning to himself before looking back up at Bakugo. "Hey, where's your ticket?"

"What're you talking about?" Bakugo asked, looking and sounding genuinely confused.

Swinging his legs over the side of the couch to turn and face Bakugo fully, Kirishima smiled softly. "Yeah, dude, if I'm going, I wanna go with you!"

A faint pink blush blossomed over Bakugo's cheeks, dyeing the tips of his ears a light red. Ducking his head, he scratched the back of his neck and grumbled, "Alright. I'll see if they can get one for me."

Smiling, Kirishima placed the ticket back into the box and set it on the side table, shoving the ripped wrapping paper off his lap to stand up. Curling his arms around Bakugo's waist, he softly thanked him, "Thank you, man. It means a lot."

Bakugo just gave a short nod, face blushing a darker shade of pink. Kirishima's heart swelled in his chest, a fitting facsimile of the Grinch.

Maybe Bakugo really was his boyfriend, Kirishima thought as he leaned in to press his lips to Bakugo's. After all, they had kissed exactly four times.

Five times. Six times. Seven. Eight. Nine...