#i'm positively vibrating at that tiny glimpse of chest hair

[crowlixcx]

You're welcome to look all you want from there.

[yet-another-heathen]

Separation

1,483 words. Original Work: Liliholm & Page.

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Author's Note | This is the re-penned version of everyone's favorite Liliholm and Page chapter! Since originally writing this, Luca and Garcia have evolved so, so far into their own characters and their own story arcs, and I wanted to go back to have this chapter actually reflect that. I hope you enjoy getting your first glimpse at them, there's more to come soon!

Want to see the original version? You can still find it (and all the beloved comments and replies) here <3

Chapter Warning | interrogation, torture, stress position, suffocation, head trauma, loss of conciousness, dislocation, knives, blood, cursing

Tag List | @ink-and-salt @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpvp @redwingedwhump @lave-whump @castlehillwhump @sideblogformindtrash @burtlederp @fanastywhump

And special thanks to @whump-in-the-closet, who found this series the very day that the update was set to post <3 Hope you enjoy!

"I'm going to give you exactly one chance, Deimos," they said calmly, lifting his chin with the tip of their shoe. Wesley's entire body was trembling with strain and desperate agony, "What did you do with the files?"

He had been interrogated before. Tortured a handful of times, too—so came the risks of sticking his nose into places he knew he shouldn't. But this?

They tsked down at him.

This was brutal.

The ropes tightened again, and a groan of pain clawed its way out. It felt like every muscle in his chest was about to tear. It ended with an ugly, bitter laugh.

"You know, you'd be a lot more intimidating if you weren't all of five foot fucking nothing," he rasped, trying to relax into the oncoming waves of pain, "At least that brute is imposing, even if he's got all the brains of a meatloaf."

"Hm."

They let their shoe fall away, and Wes' head slumped. Out of the very corner of his eye he saw them nod to the other interrogator.

The mountain of a man who had been looming in the corner walked up behind him and pulled the restraints further up his arms, lifting them impossibly higher behind his back. He increased the pressure until his shoulders were on the verge of dislocating. His breaths came ragged and shallow through his nose, and he couldn't help but let out a gasp as he pressed his forehead against the ground.

And this time, the biting weight of a hard rubber sole pressed into the nape of his neck, tearing at the hairs. Luca's weight crushed his forehead down into the concrete as they ground their foot into the back of his skull.

Wes opened his mouth to gasp, but no air filled his lungs. Something about the angle had cut off his breathing, and the pressure just kept increasing and increasing—

"He thinks he's cute, doesn't he? Garcia, you think he's cute?"

Wes' diaphragm started seizing, stabbing pain jerking through his ribs when his lungs refused to expand.

"Maybe before you started making such a mess of him. Now? Not so much."

His consciousness slipped along the edges of their minds, searching for cracks, but it was like trying to hold onto a glass sphere covered in soap. All he could think about was his diaphragm, and the burning of air that wouldn’t come.

Darkness began encroaching on his vision. The figures above him exchanged something that he entirely missed, but the shoe and all Luca's weight still didn't move.

His body started jerking, fingers clawing into the empty air behind him as desperation finally took control of his movements.

He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe—

The shoe slid down his spine, catching agonizingly on his skin until it threatened to rip. And with one final, tiny push, his shoulder left its socket. A lurching POP rent the air.

Darkness became white, and everything fizzled out into agony.

When the room came swimming back into focus he realized his teeth were vibrating with bitten-back sobs of pain. He dragged in wet, rasping breaths through his teeth. The fine grit covering the floor was sharp against his cheek.

Luca was a few feet away from him with their back turned, the dull echo of voices shifting under the void of his thoughts. Pain rang up his arm, down his back, and so deep into his chest it felt like something was trying to crush his heart.

Wes curled one lip and spat a mass of blood and spit on the floor, trying in vain to lift his weight off his injured arm.

Voices came back in slowly, muffled and too loud all at once.

"—like this."

They turned around, and Wes tilted his head back to see what they were holding in their hand.

A kitchen knife. A really fucking big one, glinting as it caught the harsh light from above.

...of course.

They handled it so casually, twirling it loosely by the hilt. "I've always appreciated the simplicity of household implements," they said to their coworker over his head.

"Almost poetic, in't it?" Garcia's deep, gravely voice replied, "After all, it's still all just gristle and meat."

Wes felt his heart pick up, pounding in his ears and throat. They knelt down beside him, looking him over with a hollow smirk.

"Make sure you hold his head up. I want to watch his face."

A huge, thick hand tangled in his hair and wrenched his head upward, exposing the bare curve of his throat. But it wasn't his neck they went for, they were leaning over him and—

His eyes went wide, only moments before the tip of the blade stabbed downward through his skin. He jerked and hissed, trying to lean away.

The knife dug slowly, so so so slowly, into the bent mass of his shoulder where the joint had been separated from its socket.

It took every single ounce of his resolve not to scream. The horrible, horrible pressure of the blade digging in between cartilage and bone made his face pale, nausea rising in his mouth.

He felt the grating echo through his entire body as the knife scraped along bone, inside him, like an ice pick wedging between his teeth.

The sound that left him was inhuman. Low and bitten back and so deep with agony that it scarcely counted as breathing.

"Hm. Tough crowd," the big one teased.

And it finally ripped a frantic cry out of him as the flat side of the blade tilted downward, prying the bones apart.

Nausea rose to an unbearable limit, and blackness overcame his mind.

When he came to he was slumped with almost all of his weight in Garcia's hand, neck bent backwards at a painful angle. Sticky heat was pouring down his chest and dripping to his thighs. It took him a long moment to realize that it was blood. A lot of blood.

His body was jolting with hiccupping little half-sobs, breaths coming so shallow that he wasn't truly breathing at all. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back against the unbearable pain that sent little floating wells of black across his vision.

Luca wiped the blade clean on Wes' trembling arm, squatting so close to him that it made him sick.

"Reconsidering your position yet?"

Wes recoiled, surprising himself when a little surge of anger split through the fog of pain. He gathered himself to spit a mouthful of blood at them. He stopped short only when the tip of the knife pressed against his lips.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," they said quietly.

Wes glared at the blur of them, entire body trembling with exhaustion and strain. The unspoken threat made his blood boil.

"Go fuck yourself," he snarled, ignoring the way the cutting edge tugged at his lower lip.

He reached for his powers, and threw everything he had at them. They almost dropped the knife when the sound hit, eyes flying wide with shock and pain as they gasped and covered their ears against the raging scream of noise only they could hear.

"Garcia!"

And Wesley's head was slammed into the concrete floor. His attack was immediately cut off, gold blooming behind his eyes from the ferocity of the blow. He felt his hair ripped upward, ready to slam him down again—

Luca barely stopped Garcia from simply cracking his skull open on the concrete. This time when they seized Wes by the chin, their nails dug in. Every ounce of amusement was gone from their eyes.

"You little shit," their voice was scathing, "The next time you pull that stunt, I'm going to peel off your face, piece by pitiful little piece, and feed it to you."

Wes wanted to snarl something clever at them, but his brain was having a difficult time staying any form of coherent. His ears rang. Everything was swimming, the walls seeming to zoom out around the edges of their silhouette.

That wasn't good. That really wasn't good.

It didn't stop him from spitting that dark spray of blood directly into their face. Red and clotted black splattered across pale skin.

No matter what they did to him for it, Wes decided then and there that the look of shock and disgust on their face was worth it.

They slowly wiped a hand down their cheek, a cold mask slipping over their expression. Then they sighed.

"Well, I did warn him."

They leaned forward again, knife breaking the skin just above Wes' other shoulder, only to stop at the sound of approaching footsteps and muffled words from the other side of the door.

"Ah, now the show's starting."

Despite so much blood, despite the arm loose from its socket, despite the fact that he was trembling from head to toe and very, very much in pain, Wes growled at them, "I'm not fucking scared of you."

He startled when both of his interrogators laughed. The door lock snapped in its casing, heavy hinges creaking as it was pushed open and the sallow light from the hallway poured in.

"Oh, I'm not the one you have to worry about."

They casually flicked the tip of their blade toward the thin, frail-looking old man that entered the doorway, wiping his hands clean.

"He is."

[michimichim]

in fall & bloom | doyeon

disclaimer: top!fem reader x bottom!doyeon, mention of blood.

your shouts of glee resonate through the bustling streets of the city, pedestrians barely catching glimpse of your zooming figures. the autumn breeze is welcoming against your face, the sunlight warm on your skin as you veer the wheels of your bike onto the next street. your eyes occasionally gaze up at the bleeding tangerine sky through the palm branches without crashing into cars, or worse, have you and your passenger tumbling down the descending street.

“wait!” the latter suddenly yelps into your ear. you press the bike to a stop, both feet coming down to graze the gravel, then to finally land firm on the ground.

“you okay?” you ask when the bike’s stabilized, craning your neck to give doyeon a curious gaze just to find her eyeing the small dip laying a few feet away down the street. there's a pretty blush dusting her cheeks, chestnut hair outlining her forehead and even, darker lashes when her eyes glide back to yours in a form of uncertainty. she's wearing green contacts today, further accentuating her piercing gaze along with the dipping sun highlighting streaks of orange and yellow on her features.

“no way we’re going down that path.” she answers, a tone of incredulity in her voice.

“what?” your brows shoot up as you slightly look back at the road – it is a bit steep, but not dangerously so. you turn back to doyeon. “why not?”

doyeon’s eyes squint back at you, fully glaring, face scrunched – most likely wondering how insane you must truly be. but the endearing and dopey smile you offer back is enough to melt her rigid posture.

“they’ll kill you if i die.” is what she ends up saying instead. the light wind sweeps lightly through her hair, conveying the lulling scent of cotton candy and peach perfume.

you laugh, playfully bumping back into her. “wimp.”

“i’m sorry, is my death a joke to you?” she whispers menacingly into your ear, hooking her index through the belt loops of your jeans.

“hilarious, even.” you tease, tilting your head back to pucker your lips. “kiss.”

“no.” she deadpans, encircling your waist. “first, get me down that road in one piece.” you snort at that, “we can just walk our way down, yeonnie. i was kidding.”

“no, i somehow trust you with this.” she gags out, reluctantly. “why do i trust you?” she mutters right after.

“that’s rich, coming from an arsonist.” you muse, sounding utterly contented, a sharp contradiction to doyeon's allegation.

“shut up,” she starts and you just know she’s about to read you. you furtively feign a roll of your eyes, yet, an infatuated smile stays on the edge of your lips. you'll never tell her, but there’s nothing more attractive than when she gets like this. “–told me you would come and pick me up for a walk, not a bike ride. and unless you have short-term mem–” she stops. “stop staring at my lips.”

you laugh, sheepish, then avert your gaze back to the road ahead. “i'm getting my kiss once i drop you off.”

“if i'm still alive.” she says, hooking her chin on your shoulder.

you whine about her being a pessimist bitch and she lightly, though discreetly presses her lips against your jaw. “kidding.” she singsongs, squeezing your mid.

so you kick off once again. aside from the air being squeezed out of you, you make it down safe and sound. you cycle the both of you through lush paths, to open green fields and watch butterflies fly above, occasionally slowing down the pace of the bike to take it all in. with the scintilla feeling of just the two of you on a bike — blissful with the speed, with the fresh wind in your faces – you’re at home.

doyeon leans the side of her head against your back, letting her eyes take in the beautiful scenery that nature brings. it was nice being able to hold onto you like so, not a care in the world whether she’ll wake up to her name trending on social platforms, or worse, being questioned about her affectionate nature. south korea still has its outdated ideologies, teaching her to enjoy the beauty of whatever it is you’ve started, drawing as much as she can from the light and secretive touches.

unlike her, you no longer seem to focus on the picturesque surroundings. doyeon's hands start having a mind of their own, palms flat on your abdomen, they brush with each movement of your legs on the pedals – and she wastes no time noticing. it's a position she very much enjoys. her eager hands begin to venture areas they’ve never had before. she skims her way up and down your stomach, smiling to herself when she senses you tense. they map their way lower, to the button of your jeans, and without warning, slide up under your sweater. your heart nearly burst from your chest.

the noise that escapes from your throat is a mix of a choke and guttural sound. “christ, doyeon!” you breathe, scandalized. “we’ll fucking crash!”

the frigid feel of her fingers on your skin almost swerves you off the damn bike.

she only laughs, kissing the back of your neck in an apologetic gesture. she resists the urge to tease for the remainder of the ride, only cooing and every so often – she can’t help herself. she’d caress the area over your ribcage, feeling your heart jump beneath the dainty sweater. you can always excuse it as the intensive exercise you have so willingly put yourself through.

you park the bicycle in front of doyeon’s building and lean slightly forward so your elbows rest onto the handlebar. except doyeon doesn’t budge, she stays put, only shifting to press herself further against you.

“you need to keep your hands to yourself, ma’am.” you reproach with a shake of your head, glancing around to make sure no one, especially from her company, is sighting you. “we really could’ve died, and it would’ve been your fault.”

needless to say, that’s no news to you; doyeon has always been quite blasé towards prudence and authority matters. she has a flair for rebellion, not so much that she wants to go against the grain, but she sustains an innate drive towards doing so, and that includes the blatant flirting she would put on at random times.

“but i can’t keep my hands to myself,” she titters and you feel the vibration all throughout your body. you look back at her with narrowed eyes, and she leans her head comfortably against your shoulder, freely gazing at you through long lashes, a smoldering smile on her pouty lips. “plus, i believe i owe you a kiss.”

there's a shout down the street as kids chase after each other, loaded backpacks swinging and feet banging against the gravel.

“i believe you do, yes.” you concur, squeezing her arms that are still wrapped around your mid. “too much people, though.”

and that’s how she ends up dragging you up to her dorms, barely leaving you time to shut the door close behind you – her lips are on yours. thankfully, no one’s home, or at least in the living room because there’s no scientific reason you could come up with to explain why you’re lip locking with one of korea’s favorite girls.

by some miracle, she manages to maneuver you down the hall and into her room, all the while remaining busy giggling and kissing on each other. you throw yourself on her bed, and she ensues, settling down beside you. your feet dangle off the bed as you both lay horizontally – it’s a comical sight that she makes sure to point out.

you're getting progressively mindful of the warmth in your lower belly, the tingling feeling somewhere in your stomach when you engage her into another kiss. the kiss is wet and slow, experimentally tasting the apricot balm coating her plump lips as you leave the sweetest of promises on them. you tentatively stroke her thighs and in turn, her hands resume its trail under your sweater, across your abdomen in a series of affectionate caresses.

you make certain to be slow and considerate as always. after all, this is the farthest you’ve gone. there's only been kissing so far, nothing more, not even touching. you figured if doyeon is ready, she’ll initiate it. which is exactly what’s happening when she leans slightly over you to unbutton your jeans.

“hey,” you whisper against luscious lips, now swollen and tender, while tenderly cradling her jaw into your palm. “no pressure, okay?”

doyeon stills under your earnest look and runs a hand through her locks, pearly teeth toying with her bottom lip. “i know. i just – i need this.” there isn't so much as a slight hint of uncertainty when the reply escapes her lips. more of an emphatic assertion.

you gently push her back down to hover her body, slowly peppering her neck with kisses and tiny licks. doyeon pushes the rear of your head forward, urging for more, however, you take as much time as necessary. your kisses become unbearably slow, irritating her while also lighting up every nerve and muscle within her body. each wet path your tongue leaves further drenches her panties.

you rise back to her mouth, gradually driving her insane with the laid-back, sluggish brush of your tongue on her lips all without fully pressing them. you tease, altering the angle of your head each time she'd drive forward to capture your lips. without much warning, doyeon’s teeth are sinking into your lip, biting harder when you take her sensitive nipple between the spaces of your fingers.

a dainty spill of blood streams down your lip, further startling you when she soothes over the texture with her tongue, gaze darkening as she stares directly into your hooded eyes. “stop fucking with me.” she hisses.

“and since when are you so fucking demanding?” you moan, there’s no denying how turned on and heated the little backtalk makes you. she grinds her hips against yours as your lips crash into hers in a searing fiery kiss. your hands cup her face, both of your tongues rolling, playing and sliding against each other. she’s sucking and biting at your bottom lip, tongue thrusting forward. you close your lips around it and suck with an appreciative moan. god, you could eat her right then.

in the midst, your hands roam over her breasts, fingers pulling her nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt. she breaks the kiss to throw her head back and gasps as you pinch and pull harder at them.

“oh fuck.” with that, she’s once again snaking her hands up your shirt, feeling over your warm skin and bunching the fabric up for you to take off. you grab the hem and slide it off you while the rest slowly comes off in the middle of feverish kisses and explorative touches.

you take to straddle her hips, admiring the pale skin of her tight abdomen with a rapacious curiosity. you gently fondle her pert breasts into your hands, pondering whether to tear the bra keeping you from making skin-to-skin contact. compelling, but an attempt at it will cost you your head – so you contempt yourself by sneaking them underneath the band, relishing in the pretty little sounds rippling out through her lips.

“you like that, don’t you?” you purr out quietly, rubbing your thumbs over the aching, hard peak against your hand.

“harder.” she mewls, torso arching and pushing just to feel more of that pain mixing in with pleasure.

you lean down, a dark glint in your eyes as you bite and tug at her bra’s fabric, she grows wetter at the sight and feel of your warm breath ghosting on her nipples. she wraps her legs around your mid to cage you in, her hand tangling into your hair when you bite down onto her nub. she's letting out a soft cry when your tongue pokes at the tip before sucking the nub into your mouth, pulling on the flesh and grazing the surface, just enough to leave reddened markings on the flesh.

“ooh–” she gasps, breath labored, gripping tightly into your hair as you give the same treatment to the other pair, rolling the tender flesh between your fingers. you're positioned much lower so you rise slightly back up her body so your cores are touching and snap your hips down against hers. it turns her world upside down; everything tingles from her head to her toes as you repeat the motion over and over again.

you lean up to peck her lips, setting an accommodating pace for you both that has doyeon rising up to meet each grind.

she watches you with unfiltered lust; hands coasting down your face, to your shoulders and arms for a few moments, then cupping around the back of your neck and back down to squeeze your breast. she truly cannot keep her hands off of you. “i want it from behind.” there’s always been something impressive, fervent, in the classic simplicity and directness that is doyeon. it still catches you off guard, agape and sputtering. you stop.

with the majority of your thoughts gone, head clouded with wanton pleasure, you’re unsure of what you exactly heard; you ask again, throat closing around the words. “from behind?”

doyeon's brow quirk in a form of amusement, seeming lucid enough to poke fun at you, but still far from collected. the column of her neck is flushed red, eyes low and glazed – she’s beyond gorgeous. “i don’t have a strap, but your fingers will do,” she shoots you a coy look. “so, fuck me from behind.”

you blink slowly. “alright.” you say, heart clenching in what could only be a mix of amazement, lust, anticipation and anything that can match up a synonym in the dictionary. "roll over for me.”

and she does just that, not before unclasping her bra. it falls down her shapely shoulders, exposing her tiny breasts that your mouth begs to take back in. she gets on all fours, back arching and head craning back to stare you down, challenge in her gaze. “better do your best.”

goose bumps break all over her body as you seize her by the shape of her waist, almost taking her up on the challenge. unfortunately, there was only so much you can leave on doyeon’s body. as much as you want to taint her body red with unique markings, she has an image to maintain so it’ll simply have to wait.

you pull her panties down the gracious curve of her ass, leaving it to slip softly down her thighs then off her legs. your hands caress the silky, supple skin appreciatively, tracing over the dip of her waist to the back of her thighs. you give each of her ass cheeks a hard slap, heart pounding with each moan of hers – you’d think she’s used to this.

"come onnn," she whines, pressing back against you.

"relax." you hum, stroking your hand up and down the long of her back, relishing in the way it freely glides. you gently nudge her knees apart and kneel down behind her. the slight bit of slickness trickling down her lips prompts you to give her a few long strokes of your index, doyeon moans and arches her back further down as the same finger gives hot pleasure within her.

“you’re so pretty.” you compliment, fully admiring all esoteric aspects of her body like a tulip about to bloom – the ones who shimmer in the afternoon and reaches to glow of sunshine- as you start licking between her folds, taking your sweet time to lap every drop of her slick melting down her center. you mouth along her swollen clit through the poetic pleasure rolling into every part of her body, spiking in every nerve ending.

you bury your face farther amid the girl’s puffy folds, licking with passion in your movement, your hands gripping her thighs as you lap away at her hole, occasionally reaching up to flicker across her clit and fling her whole body in a mass of spasm.

your sleeked fingertips gradually begin prodding her entrance, easily sliding between the folds, remaining slow and cautious as to not hurt her. doyeon's nails dig into the comforter, unfamiliar pain lightly shooting up her core and spine.

“you alright?” you ask; there is a tiny waver in your voice, concern and apologetic.

“i-” she sucks air through her teeth, “yeah. keep going.”

reluctant, but complying, you extract your index to replace with your thumb. you hope this helps to start small and later on, prep her to take more. she pants softly, eyes teary and unfocused as her body attempts to choose whether she wants to rock back into your hand, stay rooted at the feeling of being stretched or flee from the unfamiliar pain that’s snaking down her thighs.

you thumb through her opening with consoling words along soothing circles of your hand on her lower back. it diverts her from the pain and creeping pleasure probing inside of her. you extend the process, her gradual whines climbing in octaves when she’d try jerking away from a certain spot being brushed by your inquisitive finger. you'd have to grab her by the elegant curve of the waist, pull her back and keep her in place.

it's just a matter of time before she’s past dripping, pleading and moaning for more. hips inclined back, accentuating the fluid lines of her back; she's crying in nothing but divine ecstasy as you switch back to your index. you draw it out until just the tip is in, then plunge it back in her wet tightness. needless to say, she doesn’t simply see the stars but the cosmos in all its entirety before her eyes.

reiteration of strangled sounds and gasps spill from her lips when you start steadily pumping in and out. she tries stifling them by shoving her head down in the covers, not because she wants to be discreet but rather her embarrassment in hearing those sounds coming from herself – they're melodic, symphonic even, to your ears.

it's something doyeon finds herself loving – the feeling of being handled and taken care of. the knowledge that she can easily be reduced to a messy state if you so desired (as one would expect, you’d have to work for it). doyeon's thighs shake with more thrusts of your fingers reaching deep – and she takes it all, with great difficulty, but it’s a start. her eyes flutter closed as the thick stretch that your fingers amply provide, turn into blissful pleasure to bring her closer to her release.

"how about another?" you ask over the high pitched whines. "can you do that?"

"i don–" you swipe your thumb over her clit and her breath catches in her throat before going back to ball the sheets into her hand. you encourage her with a squeeze on her thigh. "yes, yes."

you add your middle finger, cursing at how tight she is, her spasmic muscles start clenching around you. that's all it takes.

in less than a second, your digits are coated in juices and sleek is sliding down her legs as you easily coax her into a slow, staggering orgasm. she bucks her hips up with one last startled moan and you look on, smug, gently twisting your fingers through the slight burn of her orgasm until she slumps down on her stomach with a silent scream.

[iguanasarecute]

(2) THE NEW STUDENT OF CLASS 1-A:

🔸Damnly falling inlove with Katsuki Bakugo (BNHA)

ORIGINS 1. CLICK HERE.

Origins 2: This Damned beautiful newbie

summary: A new student was with Bakugo the whole day while he was on house-arrest. Giving them a moment to talk the whole day without the class being around. When everyone finished the class, they caught the new-student and Bakugo in a strange position which gave everyone a bewildering expression.

[start]

Bakugou slouched on the couch, his adviser's venomous words lingering on his goddamn mind. What could possibly bring him down? He peered at the female that's a fucking candidate of future's Top 1 hero; the damsel who might liberate his fucking rank. Can she be possibly be doing any shenanigans that might ameliorate her quirk right now? He gawked at the female... who was eating macaroni and cheese.

"Dude with the messy hair," the soft voice of her called, eyes still darted on her ambrosial meal.

The ash-blond raised his brows, "What the fuck? Me?"

"Uhh, who else would I be talking too?" Her eyes gazed at him, "I don't talk to myself, unlike you who's mumbling to yourself the whole time,"

"I'm not fucking talking to myself!" He growled while a blush crept on his cheeks.

She scoffed, "Yeah. Sure," she rolled her eyes, tilting her head, "Why are you looking at me?"

"You're fucking talking to me," Bakugou growled, turning his back while his arms crossed on his muscular chest.

She cackled, "No, no, before that. You were glimpsing at me," she munched on the last spoon of her cheesed pasta, hopping on the couch beside the feral boy, "Why are you here Bakugou?"

He scowled at her nosy attitude; she even already learnt his fucking name, and has the audacity to mock him with 'names', "Shut up dumbass," He ogled at her. Bakugou did admit that she's sorta, kinda, has a charismatic appearance.

Her head leaned closer to her, "Ooooooh, I'm guessing you're here because of loser duties?" (Y/N) smirked.

His eyes rolled, "I'm not a fucking loser!"

Her smirk grew wider, "Oh really, really, really?"

"I'm fucking top of the class!" His husky voice growled.

"Ohhh I feel so threatened," her voice sarcastically muttered.

"I'm on fuckung housearrest because I fucking blasted the hallway when dipshit's were taking a fucking long time to walk!" Bakugou scowled.

She blinked at his jaw clenching, "Geez, can you like don't cuss every minute?"

"GAGHHHH!" He roared, earning a giggle from Aiya, "Fuck you,"

The damsel patted his Ash-blonde hair, "So you do really have anger phases like everybody said,"

"It's not a fucking phase!" The feral guy growled. He usually blows off any obnoxious conversations; but he's frankly ecstatic about their exchange of insults.

"Hey so what do you do here? All aloneeee," she playfully gagged.

Bakugou rolled his eyes with her pesky talkativeness, "I killed germs,"

"You haven't thought about the germs' families? What a horror," her face etched on a bombshell expression.

"HAHHH?!" He grabbed a pillow ready to smack her face.

Aiya shielded with her arms, "Chill Bakugou," she rolled her eyes, "You know I haven't really organized my rooom yet," the new girl beamed at the scowling male.

"The fuck are you implying?"

Her face twinkled, "Why don't you come and give me a hand,"

Bakugou clicked his tongue, "I'd rather keep my hands to blast you off,"

(Y/N) groaned as she hopped out the couch, making her way to the stairs, "Come on now Bakugou!"

"Tch," The Ash-blonde growled.

"Don't make me force you," Aiya's eyes rolled.

His eyes squinted at the eccentric behaviour, "As if you fucking can!" He roared; moments later, the muscled body of his glowed yellow, "What the fu—"

Bakugou floated, gleaming yellow, while he was placed beside the young lady. Aiya smirked, "Told you don't force me,"

The ash-blonde coughed, "So you control things?"

She nervously laughed, "Uhh, I don't know, yes?" Her hands blasted the wall, revealing a portal... to her dorm room. The ash-blonde raised an eyebrow at her, "I'm really lazy to get up, you know," she grinned, as the two of them entered the generated portal.

The arrangement of her room consisted of them standing on the door; while the young lady mumbled about random stuff with her controlling everything with her mind as the floating furnitures slumped on its allotted whereabouts. Bakugou snarled at every single thing she blurted about; low-key lending his ears with all the shit she's grabbling.

~~~

The ash-blonde abruptly gave his brimful attention to her. Their afternoon was filled with Aiya talking about her piquant entity. Though Bakugou doesn't seem paying attention; an indicator that he is fully lending his ears, is when he keeps his feral mouth shut.

"Yeah, actually we are really close friends. The break-up had me crying for weeks; but it was a mutual decision," she glared at the Ash-blonde who gazed back at her while they were slumped on her bed with them on both opposite sides.

He raised an eyebrow, "What's the dipshit's name again?"

"Yo Shindo, a second year," the damsel grinned, "Dark brown hair; Has the same body frame as you, kinda,"

Bakugou clicked his tongue, "Don't know him. I don't go around memorizing people's hair colors,"

"I think you fought with him during Provisional License Exam," she yawned, "With the green costume and Vibration Quirk,"

The Ash-blonde growled, "Probably a fucking dumbass that didn't caught my attention," he coughed, "Aren't you on Provisional License Exam?"

The young teenager shook her head, "Got mine earlier. Weren't really that much involved on my class because I was always trained individually, they said I was too much ahead of my own class; I might just bring their confidence down,"

"That's shit," he shrugged.

Aiya nodded, "I was just mostly the face of the class; as I'm well-known in the entire school," she giggled, "I was beyond pleased when we moved around here. Then they transferred me here," her face lit up, "I mean come-on! U.A.! The prestigious academy,"

*** Height Alliance's front door unbolted, "Aiya? Bakugou?" Iida's voice boomed as they entranced.

"(Y/N)-chan?" Yaoyorozu yelled, as the familiar faces roamed their eyes in-search for them on the common room. On the other hand, the two teenagers weren't aware that their fellow classmates were home from class. ***

Bakugou nodded, "I still don't have a fucking clue about your quirk. Telekinesis and making portals?" He scoffed, gawking at the female.

"There's more than that, and you'll soon find out," a grin stamped on her face, while (Y/N)'s eyes leered on a tiny black hole on the ceiling. Her feet stepped on the ladder to repair the obnoxious thing on it.

*** Midoriya mumbled, "Maybe they're in their room?"

"Aizawa-sensei announced that her room's beside me. Let's check her out!" The pink female, Ashido speaked.

Denki gasped, "What could they possibly doing?"

"Oh my goooooood," Mineta kneeled, being dramatic.

Kirishima cackled, "Calm your shits dudes,"

The amphibian, Tsuyu, gaped at something on the wall, "Ribbit. A portal from the fourth floor is here," she notified them, as the students sprinted to have a look. ***

(Y/N) sighed, scrutinizing at the minor repaired hole; convinced, she was approaching down at the ladder. Then her foot slipped. Bakugou's reflexes was seen as he jolted to grab the teenage female, before hitting the floor. Both of their eyes went round, the insides of them burning, as their nose touched lying on the floor.

The squeaky door slammed open, "HELLO AIYA-CHAN!" The class exclaimed, blissfuly. Their reactions shifted from enthusiastic to bewildered as soon as they eyed the two teenagers, nose-touched.

"BAKUGOU?!" Kaminari boomed.

Mineta went drowsy, "Bakugou— I never knew— A hot female— Bakug—" his little temples fainted. Leaving the class 1-A, in a baffled state.

—

END OF CHAPTER 2

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