#im so stupid i keep saying chapter 5 but i just clicked on the ao3 of the fic and apparently im on CHAPTER 6???

[brad-bakshi-loves-bugs]

just opened the google doc for chapter 6 of wafwaf for the first time in like. 3 days whoops

[kareofbears]

plainly in truth, chapter 1/5

“Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs to his apartment after a lengthy run.

It’s hot for spring, mild for summer, and now that it’s late June, it’s finally starting to teeter into real heat. He escalated slowly, gripping the guard rail like an old man to make sure his legs don’t give out, in no rush to head back to an empty apartment. His mom’s been doing back to back shifts, businesses booming like it does during this time of the year.

Normally, that would make him miserable. Nothing worse than hopping back from a day of fun shit only to come back to an empty living space with laundry piled to the nines and the TV left running. He doesn’t blame his mom because he’s not an asshole, but he never dealt well with being alone. But nowadays, he’s actually starting to like it. Crave it. Maybe a little too much.

It’s easier to deal with being alone than getting that sinking feeling he gets whenever he talks to his friends.

Shoving his hand in his basketball shorts, he pulls out his keys when something makes him pause. The plastic plant beside the entrance had been moved. Ryuji squints. Quietly, he grabs the knob and turns. It’s unlocked.

“Hey.”

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, tension leaving his shoulders as he kicks the door closed. “Fucking hell. How’d you get in here?”

Seeing Ann sit primly with her legs crossed in a dining table that’s barely big enough to put two plates down evokes a feeling of nostalgia in him. She holds a key between her fingers idly. “Spare key hasn’t changed since we were thirteen.”

He walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk and drinks it straight, ignoring her grimace. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he offers it to her.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, putting it back in the fridge. “I’m gonna shower. I think we might have some chips in the cupboards if you want some. Might be stale though.”

When Ann speaks again, her tone is flat. “You haven’t been hanging out with us. Or even talking to us.”

He tries not to let the annoyance show in his face too much. “Yeah, well, what part of ‘I need some alone time’ was confusing to you?”

Wood creaks, and he can feel her presence right behind him. “Cut the crap, Sakamoto. Something happened, I know it did. It’s not like you for your big mouth to be shut like this.”

Shaking his head, he strides to his room, praying that Ann will take the hint.

She doesn’t. “Okay, so I’ll just keep talking until something happens.” She leans against his door frame as he rummages for a change of clothes, listing off with her fingers. “It’s summer vacation, so it’s not a school thing. Phantom Thief stuff has been done for a while, so it’s not that either. I saw your mom last week, and she’s doing great. Congratulate her on the promotion for me, by the way. And the only other thing in your life that’s important is—” he hears her pause suddenly. “Are you and Akira doing okay?”

The sudden sharpness in her voice is enough to make his irritation ebb away for a second. “We’re fine,” he answers, pulling a probably clean shirt from the bottom of his drawer. He knows just how much she’s invested in their relationship. She’s pretty much a third member given how desperate she is to make them work. “I would’ve told you if we weren’t.”

“Thank god,” she breathes. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes. “A big fat load of nothing with nothing sprinkled on top. You want me to say it again?”

“If it’s nothing, then why aren’t you over the moon that Akira’s finally visiting tomorrow?”

His stomach does a weird flop inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s a good flop or a bad one. “I’m over the moon,” he defends. “I’m crazy excited.”

“Then show it!”

“Okay! Damn, sorry I wasn’t happy enough for you.” Giving up on finding clean shorts, he picks one up from the floor and hopes it isn’t too gross. “I’m headed to the shower.” He rounds on her, giving her a glare. “And do not tell Akira that anything’s going on with me, ‘cause there isn’t anything going on. You’re just gonna make him worry for no reason and he’s gonna be all—” he frowns, overexaggerated. “—About this, so cool it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He won’t hear about it from me.” Ann gives him a long stare, and he refuses to look away. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time.

“Never been better. Now scram.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late!” she calls as she marches through his apartment, foot out the door. “Noon! Leblanc!”

“I got it!” he yells back.

When the lock clicks back into place, Ryuji leans his back against the wall, letting his eyes slide shut. Is he that obvious that Ann would notice? He rubs his eyes with palms, frustrated. If Ann noticed, Akira’s definitely going to notice, and that isn’t allowed. He’ll just have to do better.

Going into the bathroom, flicking on the shower, he realizes he forgot his towel in his bedroom. Stupid Ann, distracting him.

Padding back to his room, he nabs it from the side of his bed, refusing to look at the letter collecting dust on his desk as he flicks the light off once more.

—

Akira came home to a face-full of streamers, two pots of curry, and six arms tackling him. Smiles and hugs were passed like a bottle of wine after a war has been won, and Akira shrugs it all off like he isn’t soaking up each and every exclamation of how much they miss him for a rainy day. Morgana gets his fair amount of head scratches, Akira gets enough noogies to warrant a concussion, and even Ryuji somehow manages to forget his problems for approximately three minutes.

It’s evening now, and while everyone had already left (not after slamming down two plates each and Yusuke brazenly asking for tupperware after the fact), Ryuji decided to linger.

“So,” he starts, sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes while Akira dries. It might not look like it, but he doesn’t mind doing his chores; especially not with the way they both purposefully knock their knuckles against each other whenever they pass a plate between themselves.

“So,” Akira repeats. “I’m home. That’s cool, huh?” Even with eighteen layers of nonchalance layered on top of each other, there’s no hiding the lilt in his voice.

“Pretty damn cool,” he rinses a mug and hands it to him. Ryuji pauses as he watches Akira dry, lip quirked up. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Cleaning?”

“No, you bastard.” He reaches forward, unable to help himself as he pinches his cheek. “Smiley.”

Akira slaps his hand away. “I’m always happy,” he says, voice fond.

“I didn’t say happy, now did I? I said—” Ryuji wipes both hands on his jeans before pinching his cheek with both hands. “Smiley!”

He doesn’t fight back this time; instead, he lets Ryuji knead his face. “Your hands are wet,” he complains, slightly slurred.

“Suck it up.” His skin is mesmerizingly soft. Probably softer than even a girl’s. He would hold him like this all night if he’d let him. “This saves you from washing your face tonight, so you’re welcome.”

With one last tug, he reluctantly sets him free. Akira’s face is red and blotchy from the assault, but somehow he pulls it off because of course he does. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. You know I got you,” he laughs, and for a second, he feels good. Light. Being with Akira does that to him, a pendant that wards off all evil. The pendant must’ve had some fine print in the contract though, because his stomach drops again when he remembers again. Ryuji turns around and starts scrubbing the pan harder than he needs to. Chill out, chill out, chill out.

Arms encircle his waist. “Sojiro’s gonna smite us if we don’t finish these before he opens tomorrow,” Ryuji says.

“I know.” A chin hooks around his shoulder blade, sliding in place. A perfect fit. “We’ll get to it.”

Ryuji leans back, far enough to smell the shampoo in his hair. He breathes in deep. It’s not what he’s used to, probably different brands in his hometown, but it still smells nice.

With the water still running, a group of businessmen’s laughter booming from just outside the cafe, Ryuji nearly says it. To take that weight off of his weakened knees and share some of the burden with someone who’s never complained about carrying some of his baggage. It would be embarrassing, humiliating, fucking mortifying, but it would be better than this, right?

He opens his mouth. “Missed you,” is what comes out instead.

“Missed you more, I think.” A beat passes, and then Akira continues, quietly: “You don’t know how good it feels to be back.”

That was all it took. The final piece, the last lock. The words he needed to convince him that this was the right thing to do. If he was on the fence of whether or not to tell Akira, this was the tug that took him over the edge. Because Akira came here for one reason: to have fun. To feel good again. To feel like Akira again. Is Ryuji really going to be the one to shit all over that? To fuck up his summer vacation with his problems again?

Yeah. Fuck that.

He wishes he can pull Akira impossibly closer. “Welcome home.”

It can wait until he leaves. After that, the world will just have to explode, taking him with it.

—

Ryuji’s in bed that night, tossing and turning, blanket tangled in his legs and head underneath his pillow, when he finally caves.

Smacking around for his phone, he pulls it to his face, squinting against the bright light.

SR: futaba

The response was immediate.

SF: what SR: that was fast. whatre you doing up SF: im always up. why are YOU up SR: just wanted to talk SF: ok

He waits a few moments to see if she’d continue the conversation. She doesn’t.

SR: hows school? SF: ?????? who cares, its three am SR: i care SF: ugh, go to sleep. we’re meeting tomorrow anyway SR: yeah but you dont talk about school during group meetings much SF: alright weirdo SF: schools cool. people mostly leave me alone, and i think akira must’ve tipped off kawakami cause she is wayyyy too nice to me even after bullying her in front of the class SR: what did you do lmfao SF: she said that whoever could recite pi to ten decimal points can get a bonus ten percent in the final SF: and i kept going until the bell rang SR: damn! SF: its mostly okay though. better than i thought it’d be for sure SR: and how about actual school stuff SR: like classes. Math, science, english, all that shit. SF: sheesh, easiest part no doubt. could do all that stuff in my sleep SR: really? even though youre a year behind? SF: uh yeah? i could be eight years behind and still dunk on these clowns with one hand tied behind my back and watching a live stream

Ah, right. Futaba’s a literal genius. As in ‘Make A Documentary Of Her In Twenty Years In A Movie He’d Never Watch But Makoto Would Love’ kind of genius. He forgot.

SR: nice SR: thanks, im gonna sleep now SF: kk see you SF: (¯﹃¯)

—

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Ryuji says when he opens the door to his apartment.

Ann is sitting in his dining chair once again, this time donned in hot pink shades and a comically big sun hat. He tries not to let annoyance and panic flare inside him. He loves her, because of course he does, but he was banking on stocking up some energy and alone time before they hit the road. Maybe even shed a couple of frustrated tears, who knows? As long as he’s alone, it’s fair game.

“Hey, don’t give me any of that,” Ann says. “You and packing your luggage is like mayonnaise and my flawless complexion—it’s not good, buster. Remember Hawaii?”

He feels his skin heat up, and slams the door harder than he should. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get randomly checked? ‘Sides, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“A backpack filled with condoms and a toothbrush might as well have been illegal.” Ann reaches into her pocket, whipping out a wrinkled piece of paper. “You can’t pull that kinda crap now, and if I know him as well as I do, I’m sure Akira’s already packing for that.” She laughs at her own joke and raises her hand enthusiastically. He can’t help but grin as he high fives her. Hey, even if his life is falling apart, at least he’s still getting some, right?

“So I’m here to help,” she continues, shaking the sting from her palms. “I finished packing a day early and everything, so I better get some thanks after this.” Before he can complain, she holds up a finger, expression stern. “I know you don’t need help. Yes, I’m still worried about you. Yes, I’m doing this because I’m worried about you. Let me do this stupid little thing, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

His stomach churns, more intense than usual. “You’re still worried about me?” he asks, breath hitching. What? No. Did he fail at that too? Does she know? That must mean Akira knows, right? And if Akira knows, then—

“Whoa, hold on!” A hand grips his shoulders. “Deep breaths, Sakamoto. Don’t spiral on me now.” Gently, he’s led to a chair. He sits gratefully and waits for his heart rate to drop. The entire time, Ann stays quiet.

Eventually, when the room stops closing in on him, he sighs and leans back against his chair. “Sorry,” he says, feeling really stupid. Damn, what happened to him keeping this on the down low?

She slaps his knee. “Shut up, don’t apologize for that,” she scolds, and he almost smiles. It’s easy to forget how good Ann is at this sort of thing. For better or for worse, she’s had plenty of practice while talking to Shiho. The grip on his knee tightens. “Ryuji…”

He shakes his head. “No.”

And, for better or for worse, she absolutely does not let things go.

“Look, buddy.” The grip is starting to hurt, and it means business if her red acrylics are anything to go by. “I just saw you have a teensy little panic attack two damn minutes ago, and you’re expecting me to just leave you to it? Are you a clown? Are you a clown in a circus, Sakamoto? Is that what you are?”

“I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.” He shoves her hand off his knee, and before he knows it, his voice is raised. “Christ, can’t you just leave me alone? All you do is get up in my business when I clearly didn’t ask you to. Just cause we did this whole Phantom Thief crap together doesn’t mean it gives you the right to everything going on in my life.”

He loathes the ringing in his ears from his own voice. He hates it when he yells in the apartment, but hates the silence that follows more. Too much like his dad, too much like his exhausted mom.

Ann is staring up at him, hard and unwavering. “You’re such a piece of shit sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me off your tail, you’re gonna have to work harder than that.” She gets on her feet, glaring at him. “‘Piss me off and make me leave in tears’ was your tactic, right? Boring. Overdone. Try again.”

The way she’s standing, shoulders pushed back and chin jutted out like she’s ready for a shoot in some kind of army magazine, means she’s dead serious.

“Ann, just get the fuck out of my house. You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Ooo, classic 'angry and make me storm off’, right? Better, but not good enough.”

“What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could say whatever pops into your bleached head—” she flicks his forehead, viciously sharp nails digging into his skin. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere. You could call me names, or threaten me, or try to hurt me, but I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are bright blue, but he can still feel the heat of it like Carmen was inches in front of him. His throat quivers when he swallows. She’s really not going to give in.

“My knee’s been real bad lately,” he relents, making a fist and lightly knocking it against his thigh. “Normally it acts up during bad weather, but the sun hasn’t left in weeks and it still sucks. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ‘cause I hate talking about…” he trails off, but she doesn’t need him to continue. They both know damn well who he’s referencing.

Ann’s face crumbles. “That’s horrible,” she says, absently rubbing the red mark on his forehead. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He waves it off, the same way he does whenever his mom asks him if he’s getting enough sleep. “Don’t sweat it. I know how crazy you get.”

It’s a real testament to how worried she must’ve been when she didn't take the olive branch. “I know you probably don’t want to worry the group, but you should tell Akira.”

“Ann—” he starts wearily.

“You know I’m right about this. Now that the Metaverse is back and we’re going to be running around more, he can’t not know about this. Your boyfriend aside, he’s our leader. Something really nasty can happen if we’re not thinking straight.”

“...Sure.”

Ann gives him a weird look. “That was surprisingly easy. I thought you’d complain more.”

She’s getting way too sharp. “What, you wanted me to be a dick about it?”

“I guess not.” Leaning against his kitchen counter, she chews her lip like it’s bubble gum. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji stands to stretch, ready for this conversation to be over. “You can keep this between us—”

“—Except for Akira,” they say in unison, Ryuji exasperated and Ann insistent.

“Fine. I’ll back off if you think you have it under control.”

“Hallelujah, she’s finally giving me space.”

“But,” her gaze is harder than steel. “Never, ever keep secrets from me again, got it?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Gotcha. Can we get started now? I’m over talking about my horrible past so that we can finally have a straight-out-of-an-anime summer vacation.”

Her eyes brighten up. “Yes! Okay, I made this huge list and I know for a fact we’re gonna have to go for a quick shopping trip—”

“Quick? So, like, three hours going by your standards?”

“Don’t interrupt me. We need to pack some swim trunks, toiletries, and I know you’re worried about your mom so we’ll go grocery shopping for her before we leave in the morning.” Feet tapping excitedly, “This is gonna be so fun. You start packing, I’ll go shopping. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Before he even gets a chance to put a word in, she’s already out the door.

—

Later that night, when everything is messily thrown into one oversized backpack and a rucksack and the fridge is chock full of groceries for his overworked mother, he gets a text.

TA: i know you said not to bring it up but i dont care TA: i searched it up and apparently cold and hot compresses can help with the pain on your knee TA: also getting shoes with really good support would help too. i modeled for some shoe brands, i can def get you some discounts!!! TA: like, i know this is all base level stuff and you know this already, but i bet you we can ask sophia for more help. maybe she can access top secret doctor stuff for knee injuries?? :O

Ryuji stares at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it under his pillow.

Great. Add ‘guilt’ and ‘keeping up with a lie’ to the list of shit he has to worry about.

—

“A lake!” Yusuke cries, kneeling in front of the body of water like a man discovering a desert oasis. Gently, he cups the clean water and cradles it against his cheek. “You are nothing like the garbage-infested sewers in Tokyo. You are crystal clear. You are divine. You are salvation. You are—”

“Akira, Inari’s being a weirdo again,” Futaba points an accusing finger at Yusuke, who’s shirt is slowly absorbing more and more of the water. “At this rate, he’s gonna have to change.”

Makoto grunts as she lugs out the grill singlehandedly, a loud clang ringing out when she nonchalantly sets down a family-sized piece of machinery. “Alright, here it is.” She catches the look of awe that Ryuji’s giving her. “Does it still shock you that I can probably bench press you twice over?”

“I’m just trying to figure out where you’re hiding all that muscle, prez,” he snorts, and it’s the truth. Her and Akira must be the same breed, considering they’re both way too lithe to be this strong. He’s seen the way they throw a punch in the Metaverse—they could probably disintegrate a dude in real life if they really wanted to. Like yeah they workout, but not that much. Maybe they’re dieting too? He’s tried dieting, but ramen is just way too good, even at the expense of muscles.

“Ryuji, when you’re done spacing out, can you grab the ingredients?” Akira calls out.

“Ugh, cut the mind reading dude, it scares the hell out of me.”

He shoots him a signature Kurusu Akira smile; small yet disarming all the same, and it never fails to get Ryuji’s heart to do weird flips. “It’s not mind reading once you realize that I’m just obsessed with you.”

Instead of answering, Ryuji grumbles as he stalks off into the RV. Damn him and his genuine words and compliments.

He pulls out their luggage from underneath the table. Akira doesn’t need to say what ingredients he needs to grab—he’s helped out enough times during Leblanc’s afterhours to know the curry spices by heart. Ryuji might be a failure, but hey, he can do this no problem.

Grabbing bottles and shakers and balancing them on top of his arms like an overworked waiter, he glances left and feels his heart dropped. The envelope from his room—dust-free from rubbing against the rest of his luggage—is sticking out of his backpack. After a quick adjustment, he uses his free hand to shove it deep in his bag, hearing the paper crinkle in on itself.

It was a spur of the moment decision to bring it along with him, one that he’s still half-regretting. Why’d he do it? Maybe he was worried that he might enjoy this trip a little too much? Maybe he was some kind of masochist that likes having his problems and anxiety follow him literally everywhere he goes? Maybe he was scared to hell and back that his mom would find it before he had a chance to tell her himself? Fuck if he knows.

Poking his head out of the door, he yells, “Heads up!”

Throwing a bottle of black pepper, Akira catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Too late, I already sweat a little bit.”

Ryuji squints. “It’s sweated. Right, Ann?”

“Don’t look at me. I went to America for modelling, not a spelling bee.”

“I won all my spelling bees in middle school,” Makoto says, chest puffed out in pride.

“Were you the only one who joined?”

“That’s not important.”

Akira’s phone beeps enthusiastically, and Sophia’s voice rings out. “Got it! According to the internet, ‘sweat’ and ‘sweated’ are both grammatically valid. Technically, both Ryuji and Ann are correct.”

“Can we all just shut up for a second about sweating, for the love of god,” Futaba fans her face weakly. “It’s already sooooo hot. I feel like my skin is melting. Yusuke, is my skin melting?”

He looks at her for a moment, peering closely. “Yes.”

“How about we go in for a quick dip in the lake?” Haru offers, and Ryuji suspects that she can feel the same energy that he’s feeling when the group gets like this. “We were all talking about how beautiful it was, and it would cool down Futaba-chan no problem.”

She leans down, swirling her hand in the water. “It’s a little chilly, but it’ll definitely take care of the heat.”

“Good idea!” Futaba jumps up and throws off her shoes, ready to march in. “This is gonna feel so good.”

“Socks!” Akira reminds her.

“I know that!”

Haru and Yusuke follow suit, eager to get away from the heat, Makoto going in to change to shorts. Ryuji guesses it’s probably not an easy feat to roll up leather pants. Probably makes it either to ride motorcycles, or whatever people with leather pants do.

He feels a poke in his side. “You hopping in with them?” Akira asks.

No. The answer is already at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out. Given how cramped the RV is, keeping up the trademark Sakamoto energy while lugging more baggage than an airport employee is brutal. It’s barely been a day since they started the trip, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Already his chest feels heavy with something, and whenever all the windows are rolled up, it gets weirdly hard to breathe. But if he says no, Akira would definitely know something was up.

“Uh—”

“Actually, I think we’ll take over the curry for you,” Ann cuts in.

Ryuji turns to her, startled and wide eyed.

“Why?” Akira asks, just as confused as he is. They both know how much Ann loves being in the middle of things, especially in group hangouts.

“Because you look like you could use a break. I know for a fact that you had to pack Yusuke’s stuff for him, or else the van would’ve had fifteen canvases and an easel, and you had to grocery shop for everyone, and talk Haru out of a guilty spiral because she wasn’t confident enough in her driving. And all this before—” Ann looks down at her wrist to peer at a non-existent watch. “Five o’clock.

He frowns. “Sure, but I’ve done twice as much during our prime. This,” he gestures at the pot. “Is a walk in the park. Thank you, though.”

Ann sighs, heavy and contemplative. “I didn’t want to say it out right, but since you’re being difficult…” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should hang out with Futaba more. Being gone from her for that long has been rough, and yes, we took care of her while you weren’t there, but you’re different.” Her hand tightens. “You know, Wild Card and all that.”

“That’s not what that means, but I appreciate the effort,” Akira says. Despite his words, it’s clear that what she said bothered him. Eyes flickering to Futaba, enthusiastically kicking the water to see how far the droplets would go, he directs his gaze to Ryuji. “Is it okay if…?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, pretending like relief isn’t crashing through his body. “Go.”

Akira kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” When he pulls away, he gives Ann a hesitant look.

She grimaces. “Thanks, but no. Go hangout with the gremlin.”

He gives her a salute and saunters off, rolling up his jeans to wade through the water, making sure to splash Futaba on the way there.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll say it. Your acting classes are actually doing you some good.”

“Ha!” she points at him triumphantly. “And you said it’d be a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryuji slouches into a nearby camping chair, the one that Sojiro forced them to lug along, hoping that some of his fatigue would seep away. “We both know that Futaba’s never been better, so what’s up? Why’d you throw out Akira like that?”

“It’s not for me, stupid,” she scoffs, but he can’t help but feel the weight in his chest get even heavier. He sinks even deeper into his chair. “The water was cold, right? That would make your knee even worse.”

“Yeah,” he blinks, having already forgotten the whole fucked-up knee story. “Thanks.”

“I won’t chew you out for not telling Akira, even though I should. But like I said,” she ruffles his hair. “I got your back. I know it must be hard, but you’re still acting all normal. We’re lucky that it’s only affecting you in the real world, too.” She had come up with that one herself, and thank god she did, cause he wouldn’t have known what to say if she had confronted him on how he could easily do flips and sprints in the Metaverse. “That just takes a lot of guts, and even though I know for a fact this would make you feel so much better once you tell him, I trust that you know what you need better than me.”

“Quit trying to look all cool,” he says, and prays to fucking god that the red on his face comes off as embarrassed gratitude rather than earth-shattering guilt. “And aren’t you supposed to be cooking, curry master?”

“Hey, he asked you to do it, not me. I’ll help you get the ingredients, but no way I’m doing the whole cooking shebang.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, as if he doesn’t secretly love the idea of getting to cook for Akira this time instead of the other way around. Pushing himself up, Ann reaches out to help him. “You don’t gotta baby me, Takamaki.”

“I’ll baby you for as long as I need to, and then eventually Akira will be the one babying you. We come in shifts.”

“I hope you’re unionized.”

Makoto pokes her head out of the RV, wearing a showercap. “Did someone say unionized?”

“What the hell?” Ryuji staggers back in shock. Crap. “How long have you been there?”

“And why are you wearing that?” Ann gasps.

“Not long, and I don’t want my hair getting wet in case I fall in. We have no idea what’s been in here.”

“Were you going to fall in a bathtub?”

“Did you want me to push you in?”

“No, ma’am.”

—

There wasn’t a problem initially. Well, not one in Palaces, anyway. Wait, they’re called Jails now, which is really confusing. Ryuji’s just gonna have to avoid using those words so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot.

Back in Shibuya, it had been...fine. Attacks landed, punches were dodged, Batons passed like his life depended on it (and it did). Like clockwork, instinct came to him and the weird nostalgic normalcy of fighting Shadows made it bearable.

Ryuji was off his game, and he could tell.

But he was barely off his game. If anything, he still had a foot on his game. Maybe even an entire leg on the game if he was being generous. He was still enough on the game that even Akira doesn’t notice.

But the weird part was, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s off his game. In an even weirder way, he’s never been more on his game in his entire life.

“There!” Futaba’s voice crackles through the comms. “Uncle is open wide!”

“Her name is Ante, Oracle,” Makoto responds, brass knuckles jammed into the throat of some poor Shadow. “It’s open, but it’s vicious.”

Ryuji calls for Kidd just as she pulls away, wiping out the rest of the weaker ones with ease. “This thing’s like a goddamn mousetrap.” Ante’s serpent body slithering on the cool tiles so fluidly that it gives him the creeps. Her tail has tiny spikes etched into it, like mini knives hot glued onto a tetherball. The minute any of them even come close, she strikes outwards. “How vicious is vicious?”

“Depends on how fast you are.”

Akira’s head jerks up, and when their eyes meet, cracks a smile. “Fast, you say?”

Ryuji grins wider than he has in days. Joker relying on him? How can someone not feel a little giddy at that? “Say no more, leader.”

He stretches quickly, and feels eyes piercing the back of his head. Ann, probably. Shrugging it off, he sprints low towards Ante. As long as Ann doesn’t say a word, there won’t be a problem.

She’s taken hits from where Akira’s been concentrating on her. A mixture of bullet holes in its scales mixed in with cross slashes from where his bless attacks hit had left her delirious and pissed off. When he’s close, she bares her fangs and strikes, only for him to skid on the smooth tiles, rugged hands touching his mask.

“Come on out, Captain!”

His blond hair ruffled from Kidd’s attack, a crack of lightning came down from his Persona’s mangled hand, and a split second later her tail had been sliced clean through. And another crack comes, her neck landing on the tiles with a muffled thud. An attack that should’ve just been enough to incapacitate Ante had instead completely decapitated her.

A beat of silence passed as everyone processed what had happened. Ryuji’s mouth drops open, but he can’t muster any surprise.

He doesn’t know how, or why, but for some reason his attacks have been at least five times as strong as they had been back before the Metaverse was still intact. Moves that he didn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue, as if he had practiced them all his life. Normally this would only happen after rigorous training for months, adding up in tiny increments.

Now it happens every day.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the gym today,” Futaba laughs awkwardly.

“What on earth was that, Skull?” Haru asks, eyes wide. “I had never seen you do something like that.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “She makes a good point. When’d you learn that one?”

“I don’t know.” He calls back Captain Kidd, eyeing the drop that Ante had left behind, but doesn’t move forward to snatch it up. “But whatever the reason is, it’s awesome as hell. I mean, did you see that? Sliced that thing open like a stuffed bear.”

“Let’s not bring stuffed animals into this, please,” Makoto frowns.

Akira’s giving him a look again, and it leaves Ryuji unsettled. “What is it, dude? I got something on my face?”

“No,” he steps closer, and his voice drops. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I’ve never been better, man.” He flashes him a grin, hoping that it’s bright enough to distract Akira’s ever-searching eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. Natsume’s heart isn’t gonna change itself.”

After one last glance, he nods, and Ryuji can see the minute Calculating Joker comes back. “You heard him. Let’s get moving, everyone.”

They all follow him up the stairs, eager to get moving past the eternally bleary and uncreatively written setting of Natsume’s Jail.

“Psst!” Ryuji hisses at Ann, who turns to him with a question in her eyes. “Panther! Get your ass over here!”

“What?” she whispers back.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I fucked up my knee when I rushed her, and I still haven’t told Joker, so do you mind…?”

An expected look of disapproval emerges from her expression, and Ryuji hurries to beat her to the punch. “I know, I know! But I can’t tell him in the middle of all this, now can I?”

“Fine,” she grumbles before calling Carmen. “I’ll cover you for now, but only ‘cause I’m a good friend and I’m super cute.”

“Yeah, the cutest, prettiest, whatever.” He glances over to Akira, swooping down to grab Ante’s drops before heading up. “Quick, before he looks back.”

Diarama washes over him, and even though relief floods through his body, he can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not sure if it’s from her inherent heat or from the stress of lying to her again.

“Better?” Ann asks.

“Way better. Thanks.” He catches Sophia looking at them curiously. “The kid’s watching us. You better move ahead before she starts analyzing our personality types or something.”

Her eyes light up. “You think she’d do it if I asked? I really wanna know.”

“Just go!”

Ann hurries to catch up to Sophia, and while she’s distracted, Ryuji gently rolls up sleeves—he had gotten nicked by Ante as he slid. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he had gotten thrown through walls, been hit by mini hurricanes, been blown up by a boat, and walked away from all that still swinging.

Yet lately, any tiny, fractional, miniscule injury is enough to shoot unbearable pain throughout his entire body. It’s as if he was back in Kamoshida’s Palace, where every punch thrown at him had been life or death.

Glancing down at his forearm, he sighs. The cut was gone, but he can’t keep asking Ann to heal him in secret every time.

“Skull?”

Hurriedly pulling down his sleeve, he glances up to see Akira standing in front of him.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says casually, as if those words don’t mean the entire goddamn world to Ryuji. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “My bad. Let’s go.”

They clambered up the staircase, and Ryuji decides that all of that stuff—getting injured and having it hurt like hell—just isn’t too important.

That just means that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn't get hit, and he’s had plenty of experience dodging punches that were thrown at him before.

—

“Cheers!”

All of them raise their red plastic cups, clinking it against each other in a way that they see adults do all the time on TV. Apple juice and iced tea slosh as they gulp it down eagerly, excitement so prevalent that they can hardly taste the cheap, convenience store-esque quality of their drink.

“This isn’t too bad,” Makoto muses, leaning against the faux-leather seats of the RV. “Though it would probably taste better if it wasn’t room temperature.”

“Does it look like this place has a mini fridge?” Futaba says, legs swinging down from her top bunk. “That’s a good idea though. I should’ve bought mine from home. Can you imagine we’re halfway through a six hour road trip and you want iced coffee and boom! Two feet behind you is Futaba’s Ice Cold Cafe, one hundred yen per use.”

“I hope you’d be ready to sleep on it, because this place is cramped enough as is,” Akira slaps the wall a few times, the way a rancher would a sturdy horse. “We’re lucky with what we have.”

“I know that! Without this thing we never would have been able to conquer Natsume’s Jail.” She reaches down to muss Yusuke’s hair. “I’m sure Inari feels good about that.”

He smiles, hair sticking up in all directions. “Of course I feel satisfied. Though I understand his struggle, being able to stop a fellow artist into becoming a true monster is always something that will bring me joy. Justice will never stop feeling good.”

“Cheers to that!” Ann raises her drink. “And you know what? This wouldn’t have been possible had Ryuji not kicked some major ass in that Jail.”

The group whoops and hoots loudly, and Ryuji can’t help but scoff when Ann winks at him. “Aw guys, you’re making me blush. I’m fucking awesome, sure, but we’re all pretty amazing.”

Haru shakes her head. “She’s right, Ryuji-kun. WIthout you, defeating dragon Natsume would’ve been much more difficult.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve gotten much stronger, Skull.” Morgana leaps onto the table, licking up the bowl of apple juice that Haru had left him. It feels wrong to let an animal drink that, but he’d never say anything about it. “Have you been training?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Ooo, look at Mr. Humble all of a sudden,” Futaba jeers.

“I’m always humble!”

Ann grimaces. “I don’t think so. Remember when you finally got Akira to go on a date with you—”

“How dare you. He was begging me to go on a date with him—”

“And you wouldn’t stop telling us about how you had nabbed the coolest guy in Tokyo—”

Ryuji nearly jumps over the booth to put a hand on her mouth. “Quit yammering, Takamaki, I’m begging you.” He feels something slimy on his hand, and pulls back quickly. “Ew, did you lick me?! That’s so effing gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, warm and familiar. “I don’t think you’re gross, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I think you’re very clean.”

A harmonic beep rings through the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia’s clear voice cuts in. “But Akira, you got an email.”

“Thanks Sophie.” He points to where his phone is perched on the windowsill, propped up so she can see them celebrate their victory. “Can you…?”

Ryuji wordlessly passes it to him as everyone breaks off into smaller conversations, chatter blending into each other until it sounds like the kind of white noise he would queue up when he’s desperate to get some studying done. Immediately, Akira begins scanning through his phone, gray eyes focused.

He props his head against his shoulder to read alongside him and makes a noise of interest. “You signed up for cram school?” he asks, surprised.

“I did,” he replies, thumbing through the details of his admission.

Ryuji stares at him. “But you’re so fucking smart. Why are you paying who knows what to learn shit you already know?”

“Because Tokyo U barely cracks a 30% admission rate, and chemistry is hell incarnate.” With one last few clicks, he sets his phone down with a wince. “Sure is expensive though. We might have to reform the heart of someone in the education committee.” When he continues to stare at him wordlessly, Akira turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m still leeching off of the Thieves' money from last year, so it’s not too bad when you take into account my part-time back home.”

“No, that’s not—I’m just—” he shakes his head and forces himself to start over. “Since when did you decide on Tokyo University?”

It’s Akira's turn to look taken aback. “What do you mean? You’d never leave Tokyo, especially if it meant leaving your mom.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m making you choose between me and your hometown!” he exclaims, but he already knows in his heart what Akira’s choice is going to be. It’s stupidly obvious. For some reason, the longer this conversation goes on, the tighter his chest feels.

The feeling doubles when Akira’s eyes, always focused and always sharp, subdued at his words. “Are you really comparing yourself to that place? You know I’d choose you over anything.” He reaches forward and combs through Ryuji’s hair, hushed and gentle in a way that only Akira can manage. “I’m so excited to live life with you again.”

The white noise, so comfortable before, abruptly turns overwhelmingly loud—grating and unbearable and painful to be around. Ryuji stands abruptly, barely reacting to Futaba’s yelp when he backs into her.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I…” his eyes dart around, flinching when he accidentally makes eye contact with Akira, and again when he locks eyes with Ann.

The sudden silence from the group is somehow worse than the noise from before, and if the tightness in his chest gets any more painful, his lungs are gonna burst into a million pieces and he’s not gonna be able to pick it all up from the ground if everyone’s watching.

“Trash,” he blurts out.

“What?” Makoto blinks, glancing up from her map.

“This place is disgusting and it’s way too cluttered and it’s bad to leave such a big mess so I’m gonna—” Ryuji grabs the plastic bag filled with garbage, haphazardly tossing empty cans and plastic cups into it. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

Before they can question him, he’s already out of the RV, towing trash and leaving his friends behind him.

—

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryuji screams into the sky.

He was far enough from the trailer that he knew they couldn’t hear him even if they had strained their ears, and it was late enough into the night that even the tourists weren’t poking around to look at the shrines or the Great Masamune himself.

“Keep it a secret’, my ass! That was the second dumbest thing—no, the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Do you know how high that threshold is, Sakamoto? High! Higher than you can see with your own two eyes! Higher than Yaldabaoth’s goddamn crane-sized spine!”

Swooping down, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws it as hard as he can. “You are so selfish! What happened to keeping ‘Kira happy, you effing asshole?” Relishing in how far it went, he takes another two more. “You are so annoying. You are—” he throws, the rocks landing with a little plink. “Insufferable. Stupid. Selfish. A fucking—” this time, he doesn’t even know where it lands. “Gah!”

Turning on his heel, he glares up at the statue and grits his teeth when he sees Masamune’s stoic expression. “Don’t give me that look—you’re dead. You ain’t got nothing to complain about. Everyone’s remembering you as the guy who saved Japan, or whatever. But guess what? You’re probably a loser. A dumb, stupid loser who convinced everyone that you’re good for something when you’re worth jack shit!”

Before he can stop himself, he takes the garbage bag full of cans, glass bottles, and crumpled chip bags and hurls it at Masamune. It hits the base of the statue, far below damaging the One-Eyed Dragon himself, but the glass cracks under the force of being thrown, tearing through the plastic and causing trash and shards to explode all over the steps. Ryuji’s chest is heaving as he stares down at what he’s done.

“Impressive.”

He whirls around at the voice behind him, stomach lurching straight to the ground when he sees who it was. “In his years of war, I doubt that anyone’s ever tried throwing waste in his direction in order to defeat him.”

“Yusuke,” he breathes, feeling his frustration draining away to make room for even more guilt, if that was even possible. Ryuji cannot possibly look any more of an asshole than he does right now—tearing his throat raw in a public space, surrounded by the garbage he had thrown at a national monument in front of a guy who clearly worships and respects art that’s old as hell. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I was just…” he hesitates. “Talking to myself.”

Yusuke hums, unconvinced, and carefully approaches the mess in front of him. Ryuji waves him off. “No, don’t. Broken glass is a bitch, especially the little pieces. If that gets in your skin, it’s game over. You’d have to go into the hospital for sure.” He grimaces. “Trust me. My dad used to throw beer bottles at our place like he was in a ball game, and that ain’t fun, I promise you that.”

“I see.” Turning around, Ryuji hoped that he was magically going to head back to the group and not mention this to anyone there, but instead Yusuke stopped in front of a water fountain. “You’re right. If you’re not careful, it could be very easy to hurt yourself when dealing with broken glass.” Pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket in a way that only Yusuke can, he soaks it in water before crouching down at the shards glimmering under moonlight. “But if you use wet fabric to dab it on the shards itself—” he pats the concrete and flips the fabric over, revealing the moist and glistening pieces stuck on its side. “You can clean up the pieces with little to no danger.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he realizes that he’s making Yusuke do the dirty work for him. “Pass me that. Thanks for the tip, but I can take it from here. I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s totally my fault that the glass is here anyway.”

He doesn’t look up from his task, eyes focused and movement meticulous. “No need. If you’d like to help, you can start picking up the non-dangerous litter around us.”

Ryuji does as he’s told, wincing as he has to pick up sticky, pop-soaked wrappers with his bare hands but he doesn’t complain. Karmic retribution has never held back against him. “The glass thing,” he starts, squatting down and picking up empty cans and plastic utensils with curry remnants still stuck to them. “They teach you that in Kosei?”

“No, from one of Madarame’s past pupils actually.” Yusuke shifts over to dab at another glass-covered section, concrete looking clearer with every pat. “Sensei had a rather violent habit of hurling canvases at the wall if they do not meet his standards, and his actions had led to many of our more fragile belongings being shattered when he did.” His tone doesn’t change, but Ryuji can see his shoulders tighten. “At least it allowed me to move away from that house very quickly, considering I had very little to pack away.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself speaking in a low tone. “Glad that bastard is rotting in jail,” he resists the urge to spit on the ground. “Then afterwards, I hope he rots in hell, just to really cover all of our bases.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Yusuke. “Thank you,” he smiles, and all Ryuji can do is nod. There isn’t much you can say after that without making it weird. But how weirder can it possibly get when the two of you are off towing around someone’s perception of the world on a daily basis?

They continue to work in silence; the wind is gentle, but it’s enough to rustle the leaves and allow Ryuji to feel some relief from the summer heat. He’s picking up wet paper tissues, and it’s gross, but it’s nice to be doing something with his hands.

He’s just about done his part of the clean-up when he can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“No,” Yusuke answers without looking up. That’s another thing that Ryuji really appreciates about him—playing dumb has never been something that he’s done to get out of an awkward situation. To be fair though, Yusuke himself is an awkward situation.

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to?”

That question makes him pause, and Yusuke doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve always been the most vocal in the group, and while many a time it has been our downfall in terms of secrecy, I have always considered it one of your strong points. And if you, Sakamoto Ryuji, are indeed struggling with using your words,” Yusuke’s eyes turn to him. “Then it must be very difficult to talk about.”

A beat passes. “No,” Ryuji mutters. “I don’t want you to ask.”

“Then I won’t,” he says easily. “But I do have a question.”

“Lay it on me.”

Yusuke shuffles to crouch down next to him, and it’s kinda weird seeing someone as elegant as him pose like some kind of hoodlum. “Does Akira know about your struggle?”

His mind flashes back to the confused look back in the RV and he scratches his neck roughly. “I bet he does now.”

Yusuke leans back, shocked. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m getting there! Don’t pressure me, man. You said it yourself, I’m fucking struggling.”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but it’s Akira,” he says the name almost reverently. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t sense that something is askew.”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Goddamn, you and Ann are just two of the same peas in the same freaking pond, aren’t you?”

“It’s ‘pod’, Ryuji,” he corrects. “Ann is aware?”

“She—” Ugh, how does he explain that she thinks she knows, but really he had lied about what he told her? “She basically knows.” And because his fat mouth just keeps getting fatter, “She’s sort of part of the problem.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen and Ryuji hurries to cover up for his mistake. “She’s not a problem, it’s just that I didn’t explain…It’s really my fault, and how I deal with internal shit, you know what I’m saying? And Ann’s just kind of in the crossfire, so what ended up happening is when I talk to her about what I’m feeling, I end up just feeling worse.” He winces. First he lies to her and now he’s shit-talking her? “I did not say that. What I really mean is that, uh, feelings...and actions...are complicated,” he finishes weakly.

“I see,” he says finally.

It seems that even Yusuke has a threshold for uncomfortable moments, because he rises to his feet. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Thanks for the glass trick.”

“No need to mention it. It’s much easier to clean up a mess when you have someone helping you.” He points vaguely behind himself, “Would you like to head back together? I’m sure by now the festivities are winding down, and the trash you were so keen on disposing of has definitely been thrown away.”

Ryuji blanches. It grossed him out that he forgot he was holding an armful of garbage in his hand. “You go ahead. I just need to,” he rocks his arms, almost cradling the wet garbage. “Throw this out.”

“Very well. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He waves at him, and Ryuji wiggles in response (unless he wants it all hitting the ground and restarting that whole process again, which, no thanks.) After dumping it all into a nearby trash can, the process of which lasts several minutes since he still had to sort out the recycling, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

KA: come back when you can KA: i miss you

He takes a shaky breath.

SR: on my way

[ninaahelvar]

The Stakeout (4/5)

Summary: In order to get all the information they can, the detective duo, Bakugou and Uraraka, must go on a stakeout. But close proximity may force some underlying feelings to come to the surface. Also known as “Bakugou had a really bad date and it gives him perspective”

AO3

A/N: please thank @doesitsaysassonmyuniform for all her hard work on this chapter. it wouldn’t be out without her. all the funny stuff was her. i will not take credit for her genius.

There was a heavy buzzing under his head, like a hive of angry bees had infested his pillow. He groaned, rolling over as his head throbbed. He’d drunk way too much last night.

Buzz buzz

Was it his alarm? What time was it anyway? It couldn’t have been that late in the day, not with how his room was barely lit when he’d managed to pry open his eyes. It was a small blessing - if he’d been late for work on top of everything else, he might just kill someone.

Buzz buzz

He didn’t hear his alarm, so it must be his phone. He had vague recollections of the night before, passing out on his bed before he could even get undressed. Had he put his phone on silent?

With another groan, he wrenched his head up out of the cradle of his arms, and fumbled for his phone.  He squinted in the morning light - it was low, but not enough to avoid hurting his eyes - and finally flipped his blankets in frustration. It flew out onto the floor with a thud and he stretched out to get it, his stomach rising into his throat as he moved.

Extremely hungover - noted.

By the time he picked up his phone, it had finally stopped buzzing, leaving a faint ringing in his ears at the sudden silence. Bakugou frowned as he turned on the screen, the blur of notifications clearing as his eyes focused.

Shitty Hair (9 Missed Calls)

Shitty Hair: Holy shit I can’t believe u did it!

Shitty Hair: (10 Messages)

Did what? Why was that fucking bastard calling him at - he checked the top of his phone - six in the morning anyway?  He unlocked his phone and opened his texting app, and was met with a wall of grey message bubbles.

Shitty Hair: Uraraka just txted me!!

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: Seriously dude pick up

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: if ur fkn asleep rn I stg

(missed call)

Shitty Hair:  I can’t believe u did it!

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: It better not be a joke or ill kill u

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: ok I don’t care if ur asleep ill make u answer

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: Dude she’s super freaked rn cause u wont respond

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: look im porud u finally did it but u cant send that and then go silent

(missed call)

Shitty Hair: *proud

Shitty Hair: HOLY SHIT I CANT BELIEVE U DID IT!

Bakugou was starting to have a bad feeling, one entirely outside of his hangover. It felt like something was squeezing his chest, and it was getting tighter and tighter the more he read. He looked at the icon, and winced at the little number telling him he had more unread messages.

From Uraraka.

Shit.

He clicked on the thread, and scrolled all the way up to his last message.

@ 1:37am

You: heyyyy want som fuk??

You: shit no i mean

You: ur hot

You: it pisses me off

You: we should fuck tho

You: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

No. No no no no no no. No! Fuck! No! The universe was fucking playing with him, right? This couldn’t be real. Fuck! It was, it was staring him in the fucking face! FUCK! He was going to explode his entire apartment.

Round Face: ...what?

Round Face: Bakugou wtf?

Round Face: Do you mean that??

Round Face: How drunk are you rn??

Round Face (2 missed calls)

Round Face: I’m gonna murder you

In the midst of Bakugou’s midlife - soon to be end of life - crisis, his phone started to ring, Kirishima’s face beaming as his name appeared. Bakugou immediately answered, pressing his phone to his ear as he hung his head between his legs.

“What did you do?” he asked, and Bakugou did the only thing he could think of.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“You fucking idiot,” Kirishima laughed and Bakugou threw himself backwards on his bed, hand pressed to his forehead.

“I WAS DRUNK! I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER!”

“Well lucky for you phones don’t exist and neither does she - oh wait.” Bakugou could hear that smug voice of his radiating through the fucking phone and he wanted to burn it in his hand.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” Bakugou whined, feeling completely beside himself - unaware of how ridiculous he was sounding. He was just having the worst day of his life, and it was showing.

“Hey, at least it’s out there now, right? She didn’t say no.”

“I wanna die. I’m jumping out the window.”

“You are the biggest drama queen I know,” Kirishima laughed, and Bakugou put his head between his legs, a sickening feeling rising in his throat and the overwhelming urge to projectile vomit across his apartment was becoming an almost welcoming idea.

“I will kill you later,” Bakugou groaned, shaking his hand through his hair, over and over again until he felt like he was at ease. He didn’t stop for a while.

“Oh, so you’re actually coming into work?” Kirishima sounded surprised, and it dawned on Bakugou...this day was going to be his last - he was deciding it before it was even over, his last day alive would be that day.

“I don’t fucking know, give me an hour to die first,” Bakugou said, knowing this would be the first time that he was late - and having no other excuse than being a fucking drunken moron.

Bakugou stumbled into work, his clothes a mess, hair barely done, and collar sticking up to hide his face. With every step, it felt like eyes were on him, watching his every move, and it made every hair on his body stand on end - he needed to fight something soon otherwise he’d go stir crazy.

Before interacting with anyone else, a bounding bubble of joy crashed alongside him, knocking him off balance. Bakugou stared back at his partner who smiled like a child - and his heart was racing like an idiot.

Her expression fell, clicking her tongue as she took him in. Why the fuck was he feeling so hot? He felt like he was a rising thermometer, about to burst at the fuckng end. He was a walking infomercial, some fucked up idiot that can’t keep it down.  

“Wow you look wrecked. Sleep well, Blasty?” she asked, a slight pout as she stepped closer to him.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

“Not as wrecked as your face.” The two of them frowned at the words. Why did he speak at all? “Anyway, Case!”

FUCKKKKKKKK STOP TALKING!

If a villain could come in through the window and suplex him out of existence right now, he’d be grateful. So. Fucking. Grateful.

Now, Bakugou wasn’t a religious man. He didn’t believe in a higher power. That felt like a mistake - because God was punishing him for his abject atheism. This was a goddamn joke, and God was clearly laughing.

If he got down on his knees and started praying, would it stop?

Uraraka quirked an eyebrow at him, before answering. “Yeah, we had a new lead come in this morning and most teams are on it, you missed Aizawa’s speech.”  

Fuck.  Aizawa knew he was late.

Praying wouldn’t save him now.

Uraraka guided them both to their desks, rattling on about the case -  something about a guy getting into some dark shit with trafficking young kids. In the end, Bakugou found concentrating hard. He would normally listen and make sure to take notes when it came to figuring out who the guy was - but he just couldn’t stop watching her. He watched and wondered why the hell she wasn’t saying anything. Uraraka replied to the messages, she even called - and now it was radio silence.

Normally, Bakugou would yell about it - but it felt wrong to bring it up, it could embarrass them both, and although he didn’t embarrass easy, this was completely new for him. Embarrassment came easier with all that romantic shit. It was stupid and frustrating and Bakugou hated the fact that he fell for it all, after years of denying himself.

Bakugou wasn’t built for this shit, and it definitely showed.

As Uraraka went to talk to eye witnesses - a task that Bakugou was strictly not allowed to do anymore - he went to the kitchen, making himself a coffee and praying it woke him up enough to stop the nagging sensation in his heart and the throbbing in his head.

A whisper then came into his ear.

“Hey, want some fuck with that coffee?”

Bakugou spat out his coffee and it sprayed across the kitchen bench. Kirishima laughed behind him, moving away to grab a donut - the fucking prick.  Bakugou was meant to be safe here, away from her and this fucker had to come and ruin it.  

Bakugou coughed, thumping his chest before turning to glare at the other man. “Could you keep your fucking voice down, Shitty Hair?”

“I don’t know - can you look Uraraka in the eye?” Kirishima quirked his eyebrow and Bakugou stepped towards the pointy haired bastard.

“Want me to rip yours out?”

“Tetchy tetchy. Don’t lash out at me cause you’re not getting any.” Kirishima stuffed the donut into his grinning teeth, and Bakugou tried to burn holes into the fucker’s skull.

“Murder. Expect murder.”

Kirishima only laughed, waving at Bakugou as he went back to his desk. In the back of his mind, Bakugou could only think the asshole was talking about him - gossiping about Bakugou’s idiotic love life and how ridiculous this all was.

Bakugou wanted to fucking die.

The window looked so inviting, calling to him like a siren’s song.

As he sat in the kitchen, looking over notes on the case he hadn’t paid attention to, a loud blaring noise came over the speakers of the precinct. It was unusual for an alarm to go off - on rare occasions when fire alarm detected smoke (which may have been Bakugou - no on proved it was) or emergencies. With the chaos that was soon surrounding him, Bakugou guessed the latter.

“What the fuck is going on?” Bakugou asked as Kirishima ran back towards the equipment room.

“Genzo’s been spotted. We’ve gotta go,” he panted as he ran. He didn’t even stop.

Aizawa burst from his office, his scarf that was rarely off was primed at the ready. “He’s on the move! Everyone get going!” he demanded, stopping short of the door to look back at Bakugou, glaring. “That includes you, Bakugou!” he snapped, and Bakugou sighed, throwing aside his paperwork to head into the equipment room.

Kirishima handed him all his guards and gauntlets, the two rushing out as Uraraka was fixing her earpieces in, rolling her shoulders to prep herself. Bakugou smirked, watching as she worked her magic as she got ready for a fight. Regardless of how much of an ass he made of himself, he still couldn’t get over Uraraka being a goddamn badass at her job.

They got to the site of Genzo’s attack. He had completely wrecked a transport vehicle, exploded it like an atomic bomb and was causing a fucking disaster zone by the sheer amount of electric power around him.

“Any casualties?” Bakugou asked, tightening his gauntlets and making sure they were ready to go when he needed them.

“Two police officers that we know of,” Aizawa said, going over the short notes he was given by officers on the scene.

“Any officers we know?” Uraraka asked, her voice a little strained as she asked. Bakugou looked over to her.

“None,” Aizawa replied. Bakugou watched as Uraraka sighed. Deku. He knew who she was thinking of, and it made a spot in between his shoulder blades ache. He bound his fists and kept his attention on the chaos. This guy was burning every fuse within his view, drawing all of it to him and sending it back at people.

“Our main priority is to protect civilians, and keep him away from the generators. He probably saw he was close to the power plant - we have to keep him away and out of reach of that power. We have no idea what he’ll do with it.”

And with that, the teams were divided - one person on civilians, the other on containment. Both Uraraka and Bakugou knew their place without even a glance. Bakugou set off an explosion as Uraraka moved a group of worried people out of the way. She was great, when another eruption came through, she’s catch them in time and float them to safety - barely even registering that she’d activated her quirk.

When Bakugou set off an explosion that ripped up the entire road - something he knew he’d get in deep shit over later - he watched as the other agents got into position, preparing for their next move and knowing the reach of Bakugou’s quirk. The ground ripped up and threw Genzo around, knocking him against a building and an audible yell of pain rumbled through the area. It gave them time to evacuate. It’s all they needed right now.

Uraraka went to Bakugou’s side, panting a little as she pointed. “Group, ten o’clock. You got this?” she asking, pointing to the group of huddled people just across from Genzo. Bakugou scoffed at Uraraka’s words.

“Tch, who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Yeah, yeah, just wait for my signal,” she laughed, moving off, touching pieces of rubble that were easy to float. Bakugou smirked, watching as they floated skyward and eventually just guiding her hands on all the rubble she passed with her quirk activated. It wasn’t long before Uraraka found the stuck bystanders and pointed them to a safe route out of the danger zone. But Genzo was quicker than either of them had anticipated, rising from his injured state, rolling his shoulders with a tight grimace on his face.

Genzo roared, sapping the power from a nearby building, the electricity crackling over his skin and bared for a quick release. He wanted to inflict damage and make it count - Bakugou could see it in his eyes. Genzo looked for anything that was moving. The civilians. Uraraka saw it too, and she did something stupid.

She knew it too.

“Get back!” Uraraka called to the civilians, and Bakugou watched in horror as Genzo reacted first - her voice drawing too much attention. Her warning, was an attraction. The fucker moved quick - faster than any of them could have expected, and Bakugou redirected his explosions, trying to counter as best he could to the new position. He set off an explosion behind him, sending him to their location as fast as he could.

He wasn’t gonna make it.

“Uraraka, move!”

She turned her head, eyes widening and arms coming out to block far too late as the energy surge hit her full force. Uraraka was knocked so far back, she’s skidding across pavement like it’s slick. When she stops, she’s flinching, over and over again - her body reacting to the electric current running over her body.

He saw her hands come together, letting the meteor shower rain down, catching Genzo off guard and trying to evade the oncoming onslaught. He wasn’t expecting Bakugou though.

He was only a split second behind.

“DIE YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”  

Bakugou came bounding in, hands directed at the target and firing off two of the most explosive blasts he had ever mustered. It knocked Genzo to the ground, and Bakugou landed over him, his fits binding tight as he repeatedly punched - throwing him about as the bastard laughed. Once Bakugou finally cracked one of Genzo’s teeth, his face a bloody mess of what it once was - Bakugou regained his sense and tossed Genzo off to the side.

In the aftermath, there was silence - waiting for the next thing to fall or the next blast to knock over a bunch of people. But it was just simply silence. In the ash and smoke, Bakugou waded through it, leaving Genzo to whatever fate he had left him in, finding his partner curled  up and in pain.

Bakugou dropped to her side, hands fluttering around her useless as he took her in. This was bad. This was fucking bad. Her clothes were a disaster, the giant hole in her vest giving way to blistered and blackened skin. Some of it had fused to the fabric, and it made bile rise up in his throat just to see it.  He didn’t even know if he could touch her but one look at her glassy eyes made it impossible not to move.  

The ozone in the air made his skin stand on end - and that was the only reason - as he pulled her into his lap as gently as he could. “Hey Round face,” he lightly tapped her cheeks and she turned to look at him. Her brown eyes were so unfocused. “Stay with me, fucker.”

Her face was so pale and her mouth moved wordlessly for a moment before she was able to speak. “You called me Uraraka.”

His throat was tight. “Yeah well you’d kill me if I called you Round face in public, Round face.”

Her lips quirked ever so slightly, eyes looking somewhere over his shoulder. “You just did…ugly.”

“Yeah I guess I did.”

Kirishima landed heavily at their side, and his breath hitched when he saw her chest. “Dude..”

“Genzo?”

Kirishima shook himself. “Right. He’s out - you did a number on him. The police have got it covered. EMT’s should be here any second.”

Bakugou brushed some hair out of her face - it was just getting all tangled and sweaty anyway.  She didn’t even notice. “You with me Round Face?”

“Yeah - but- but my chest feels -” She tried to get up and he had to force her back down.

“Fuck don’t move okay - you’re gonna be fine.” He scanned the street, and couldn’t push down the relief as the familiar jackets of the EMT’s came into view. “Hey! We need some help over here!”

People ran over, moving Bakugou against his will. But in the end, when he watched Uraraka flinch in pain, he knew he wasn’t needed anymore. Regardless of how desperately he wanted to stay. They were fragile with her, placing her gently into the stretcher, and finally into the ambulance. Driving away, Bakugou felt his heart lurch.

Nakamura Genzo was captured easily, given more restraints and heavier security around him. They treated him for his injuries - third degree burns, his entire right side was a mess of broken ribs and bruises, and the left was a little less severe. Bakugou needed to work on his left hook apparently. Genzo had a punctured lung from one of his ribs, and his front teeth were busted, but it didn’t matter to Bakugou. He was taken in - he was completely taken care of. Bakugou just cared about one thing.

~*~*~

Hospitals were always a place of pain - mostly for Bakugou on certain missions, yet now it was different. The fluorescent lights were straining his eyes as he walked through the halls - the constant wailing and crying was enough to keep him away too. Yet, she was there. His partner was laid up in a hospital bed in whatever fucking condition Genzo left her in. Bakugou was told the room number and he walked to it with bound fists at his side.

Flowers were already placed in her room, cards lining the benches with well wishes. Uraraka was already propped up - though there had been a day between her injuries and his visit. The rest of the team had already gone to see her. Bakugou was questioned a fuck tonne in order to explain Genzo’s injuries. He didn’t have much else to say other than “what would you rather me do? Beat him within an inch of his life, or let him kill everyone in the area?”

After that, he was allowed home, where he stared at his phone waiting for an update.

Kirishima texted late saying Uraraka was asking after him.

Bakugou knew he had to go see her after that.

He hung back by the door as Uraraka stopped playing with her phone, smiling down to whoever was contacting her. She looked up and her smile dropped, like seeing him was more of a shock than a surprise. Bakugou’s jaw set tight and his heart felt like it was trapped in between two ribs - unable to beat without causing him pain.

“Bakugou, hey, I was wondering when you’d -”

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his chest a mess of emotions he would never allow himself to process.

Uraraka sighed, scratching lightly at her brow. “I know I was a little -”

“You were reckless and put yourself in danger for that shitty mission,” he snarled, moving to the foot of her bed. Her once soft expression turned to that of defiance, her brow crinkling in frustration.

“Hey! I’m not as fragile as you -”

“I don’t think you’re fragile, moron! You were putting your life in danger for nothing,” he said, hands gripped tight to the edge of her bed.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she spat back, folding her arms over her chest.

“What?” His brow knit, watching as she stared back at him, anger etched into her features.

“You’re being an asshole, saying you think I can take it, but then say I can’t because I’m weak. I can fucking take it!”

“I know you can fucking take it, but I can’t! Not like this!” The rage let slip the words that were held back - anger and frustration finally touching at the parts of himself he wanted to hide away. His hands bound together, tight fists by his side as his jaw set. If he couldn’t unbind his teeth, he wouldn’t need to answer her obvious question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

There it was.

“Don’t do it again, idiot,” he replied, voice breaking and pushing himself off the bed, moving out of the hospital room and going home. He had the day off anyway.

It was just mistake after mistake.

Words said.

Actions not taken.

Secrets let slip.

Everything was a goddamn mistake.

With his head in his hands, Bakugou could feel regret gripping him, like a force that bound him to the feelings that made him scared of himself. She made him scared. No one could make him fear the unknown - pain, injuries, death - it was all he ever craved. But she went down, and everything came flooding over him, like a fucking tidalwave, saturating his being until he was as desperate as any other fucker on the planet.

It wasn’t Bakugou.

And it all made him scared. Of Uraraka. For Uraraka.

What did it all mean when everything else was a fucking mess? He hated that he couldn’t piece himself together, unravelling like a perfectly tied up coil coming apart by one tight pull.

Word went around that Uraraka was released from the hospital after two days, and given a week’s bed rest. She deserved more for all the work she did, but Bakugou knew she’d bounce back sooner or later.

Bakugou was midway through writing a report for Aizawa when a booming voice called out through the precinct. “Hey! Asshole!” The whole room turned, seeing Kirishima storming through. He wasn’t the type of dude that got pissed off easily, so it was a surprise. Then, he pointed directly at Bakugou. “Yeah you!”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Bakugou said, standing and standing face to face with the bastard.

“You haven’t gone to see Uraraka, I get to call you what I like!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes, stepping back from Kirishima and going back to his desk. “I don’t have to do shit all,” he replied, only for Kirishima to haul him back, fists in each other’s clothes - the two like gasoline and fire, ready to erupt at any moment.

“She’s fucking expecting you, so go!” Kirishima replied, his features hardening, expecting the fight.

“Who are you to demand -”

“I’m your best friend, so listen to me and go see Uraraka. Tonight!” he yelled. The precinct was silent, and Bakugou suddenly felt seen - that there was something telling everyone about he and Uraraka other than being partners. He didn’t want to be seen. Bakugou shoved Kirishima back, straightening out his clothes as he looked back at the spikey haired bastard.

“Fine! Fuck,” he swore, murmuring curses under his breath as he went back to his work, holding back on his anger.

It wasn’t as though he didn’t care about Uraraka. She’d had injuries worse than this. Fuck, Bakugou had stayed at her house while she had a broken leg and a few broken ribs before - cooking, cleaning, doing her laundry. This was different. She didn’t seem to need him like before.

Maybe he was just…

Scared wasn’t the right word.

He wasn’t ready.

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t ready for her to see him and maybe understand what he said.

But he did have to see her. Check in.

It was only right.

~*~*~

It was weird, holding a bag of things for her as he stood outside her door. It was a crumbly old apartment building with like no space other than the essentials. With most of Uraraka’s money going to her parents, Bakugou understood why she stayed there, but for once he’d wish she’d think about herself.

Huffing, he knocked on the door. It was harder than he anticipated, but it didn’t matter. With barely a second to straighten out his shoulders when Uraraka opened the door. He felt a lump in the back of his throat when he saw her. It had been four days since she left the hospital, and four days since they’d seen each other. She had a few tiny cuts and bruises on her arms and on her cheek, but other than that - she was just Uraraka.

She was in grey tracksuit pants and an oversized hoodie she’s gotten at their time with the agency. It was far too big, slipping off her shoulder as she took Bakugou in.

“Bakugou,” she said, voice a little shaken. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

He gave a vague shrug. “Kirishima.”

“Oh, okay.” Uraraka cleared her throat before she opened the door a little wider. “Come in,” she said, gesturing for him to enter. He followed and went inside, handing her the bag as she walked past him.

“Here,” he grumbled, focusing his attention to the floor. She peered inside the bag before gasping.

“Mochi donuts?! Thank you,” she smiled, tucking hair behind her ear.

“It’s better than the nothing I was going to get you,” he replied.

“But Kirishima talked you into it?” Bakugou returned a vague ‘tch’ sound before he stood back in her hallway and Uraraka was wandering into her kitchen.

“How’s the burn?” he asked, clearing his throat as his arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t sure what the fuck to do with himself. He felt cornered, that the walls might swallow him and he may never be allowed to leave - in a constant state of waiting for her to ask about the texts and what happened at the hospital.

“It’s fine. I barely feel it. Recovery girl really helped the process along so I’m ready to get back to work.” There was a voice she put on - a raise in her chin as she acted tough. A show for him to not think any less of her. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Good. That’s good,” he said, clearing his throat again and pushing off from the wall. “I only came ‘cause shitty hair made me. I’m gonna leave,” he said, going towards the door, ready to open it.

“What did you mean in the hospital?” she asked, voice quiet compared to earlier. She was scared. His hand was at the handle, inches from turning the knob, but he turned, looking back at Uraraka as she fiddled with the ends of her hoodie.

“What?”

She raised her chin, fingers still at the ends of her sleeves, nervously pulling at them. “I’m not repeating myself.”

He huffed. “I didn’t mean -”

“I’m tired of your shit Bakugou!” She yelled, and he stared across at her in shock. When he didn’t reply, she continued. Uraraka almost charged him as she spoke, getting right into his space and not backing away for a second. “If you lie to me, I swear to god, I’m going to fling you out the window, now tell me!”

She stared at him, a rage that only Bakugou could bring out of her. And in the midst of it, the scared teenager that couldn’t get over a crush was hammering away and begging for his chance. In the end, the man won out, and acted in the only way he knew how to.

Bakugou wasn’t a guy of many words.

So he didn’t use them.

He surged forward.

He didn’t dare to touch her, only kissing her as swiftly as body could allow, towering over her and making her stagger backwards. She gripped into his shoulders, responding with the most beautiful lips he had ever tasted. Then, she pulled back, staring back - no anger, just confusion, written into her features.

“W-what? Does this -”

“Stop fucking talking, round face,” he growled back, forehead resting against hers. He tried to dive right back in, only managing to steal a small kiss before she pulled away. Bakugou froze, watching as a smile grew on her lips right before she stole another. He smirked, knowing the game she was playing.

She tempted and teased, pulling back the moment Bakugou was about to latch his lips to hers, to never part them for as long as his lust would hold out. Whatever she she was doing, she knew the exact way to have Bakugou fall for it - she was going to have Bakugou everyway she wanted him, and he fucking knew it. All the while, it wound him up, like he was a jack-in-the-box, and god, was he ready to spring out and surprise her.

In one swift guide of his arm, he pulled her in by her waist, snaring her lips with his own and kissing her as sharply as he needed. He wanted her, and he wanted her the moment he stepped foot into her apartment. Pressing her up against the wall, she let out a soft gasp against his mouth, but he wanted to surprise her - do everything that every ounce of lust within him wanted to do. Her sweats were still midway down her thigh but they weren’t off, which gave Bakugou every excuse. Turning Uraraka around, her hands pressed against the wall - he bent and took down the remaining parts of her pants, bending down and watching the way her body swayed with each move he made.

Bakugou couldn’t help himself, hand squeezing into her ass, the bounce and shake of it making everything in him rise - adrenaline and lust surging across him. He teeth scraped across one cheek before he bit into it a little harder. Uraraka mewled, hands clawing at the wall - hard enough for Bakugou to hear - and as Bakugou kissed at the spot he not-so-delicately bit into, her hands released, reaching behind her to gently stroke at his hair. She looked over her shoulder as Bakugou took her underwear down swiftly, he wasn’t going to waste any more fucking time.

Gripping in once more, he pushed his face in the crevasse of her cheeks, tongue stroking at her tender lips and immediately making Uraraka rise on her toes. She fell back down, pushing her hips into his face, and holy fuck did he enjoy it. Bakugou held onto her thighs, widening her stance as he lapped up all that she was feeling. Uraraka whined, panting as he kept his mouth on her entrance, delivering his tongue in just to hear her moaning gasps.

“Oh, Bak -” she whined, and his hand snaked from her thigh to taking his tongue’s place, fingers circling her folds before entering her slowly. He slowly rose to his feet, her hand slipping from his hair back to the wall, and he kissed up the back of her neck to have her shiver against him. “Baku -”

“Katsuki,” he whispered in her ear.

“Fuck, Katsuki!” she said, pushing her hips against his hand, forcing it directly into his hips. She may not have known she was doing so, but she rocked perfectly onto his crotch, his cock aching inside his jeans. “Right there, right there! Right there!” she cried, her voice soft and desperate. She spurred him on, fingers working overtime just to hear what it would sound like when she finally came.

Her hips pushed back hard against him, her panting becoming a little harder to control and Bakugou could feel her around his fingers - Uraraka was at the end of her tether. She reached behind herself once more, hand on his wrist as she breathed in heavy gasps. He didn’t know if she was trying to stop him, or was telling him to keep going - either way, she crashed against the wall, crying out a little moan and pushing her ass straight up against his hips.

“Fuck,” he groaned, feeling the strain in his pants. “I’m not going to last if you keep pushing your ass into me,” he said into her ear. Uraraka looked over her shoulder, brushing hair from her face.

“I didn’t say you had to,” she said. Tempt and tease.

“Fuck,” he groaned, tugging on her arm to turn around, “you asked for it,” he warned her before bending down and picking her up into his arms.

Uraraka held onto his face, kissing him as he staggered around her cramped apartment. He fell into walls, struggled past the doorway, and had them falling into the bed. Uraraka giggled, kissing Bakugou before he rolled his hips against her, making her moan a little more. He just needed one more thing before he parted from her. He stood up from the bed, stripping himself of his shirt and kicking off his shoes. Uraraka took the cue and shrugged out of her hoodie and shirt, leaving her only in her bra. As Bakugou snapped off his belt and pushed his pants down, Uraraka unclasped her bra and tossed it aside.

Remembering where he’d seen them the last time - an awkward conversation was had when Bakugou was putting away laundry - he went to Uraraka’s dresser drawer, finding the condoms and tearing at the edge of one. He started to place it on when he saw Uraraka adjust herself slightly. Sitting up, Uraraka moved over to him, her hand gracing over down from his chest to his stomach, fingers tempting to down his length. He caught her wrist loosely, pushing it aside to her confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked, leaning over her, forehead pressed to her own.

“I wanted to make you feel good,” she said with a flutter of her eyelashes. Bakugou smirked.

“Nah, this is all about you, lie back down.” She did as she was told, crawling her way up the bed and waiting for him to follow after.

Bakugou wasted no time - he could have savoured the beauty of her in all her glory, gaze at her wonder, but he wanted to touch her more than anything. He crawled up the bed, sucking at her skin, nipping underneath her breast and sucking at the edge of her collarbone. All the while she hummed her approval, nipping into his shoulder briefly as they came face to face once more.

Moving his hand down between them, grazing against her most sensitive bundle of nerves, her body arching into his touch. He smirked, the briefest of touches could have her responding, he wondered what more could do for her. When he guided his length inside her, Uraraka’s hands went to his shoulders, pulling their bodies together.

There was only the sound of Uraraka’s panting in the room, but it couldn’t last - Bakugou knew himself too well, he wouldn’t be able to stay still for much longer. He moved his hips slow at first, gaining speed and arching into every thrust to get the best noises out of Uraraka. She obviously hated that she was getting louder and louder. But his ego sure as fuck loved it.

“Katsuki,” she mewled, nails clamped down into his back, raking up as his thrusts came in quicker succession. “Yes! Yes!” she cried, her hand on the back of his neck.

She pulled him down, kissing him roughly, and he enjoyed every fucking second of it. She bit into his bottom lip when she got excited. Bakugou couldn’t help himself, he rocked in harder, taking up the back of her knee. Uraraka arched her back, panting a little harder than even before.

In her movements, he was finally able to look at her without the overwhelming urge to take her. There were scars that littered her skin, some old, some new, following the curves of her waist and hips. Her breasts were round, much like the rest of her, and tempting as everything else - Bakugou kissed down her neck to take one of her nipples between teeth, just to have her push into him again. It worked to perfection, her breast rising beautifully into his mouth, and her hips bucking into his own when he gave a harder thrust. She was perfect to understand, to love and hold in a single moment.

“Ah!” Uraraka said suddenly, her body recoiling in a single beat. Bakugou’s eyes snapped to hers, watching her face contort in discomfort. He pulled away slightly, letting her body fall to where she needed, but never leaving the warm depths between her thighs. Uraraka sighed, laying back into the sheets and looking up at Bakugou with pinker cheeks than usual. He wanted to smile, but he with the sudden halt on everything, he wasn’t sure if the passion had fallen to its wake.

“Shit, are you okay?” he asked, hand ghosting over her side. Uraraka’s hand went to the side of Bakugou’s face, palm to his cheek and guiding him to look back at her.

“I’m fine,” she nodded, “just take it a little slower right now,” she said, a little nervous with a soft laugh to ease her discomfort of their eyes meeting.

“You sure?” he asked once more.

“Yeah,” she replied, Bakugou once again moving his hips, a slow roll to gauge her reaction. Uraraka’s head fell back into the pillow, hand tight in his bicep. “Yes, like that,” she approved, and he smirked.

Bakugou bent onto his elbows, arms snaking behind her back and propping her up into his arms. Uraraka squeaked, the sighing as she sunk down onto his length.

“What are you doing?” she asked, all the while, rocking herself back and forth. Bakugou grit his teeth, breathing out a moan into her chest before looking up at her with a satisfied grin.

“I can’t do all the work, round face,” he said. She leaned down, hands either side of his face, kissing him in a slow, deliberate manner - making them both savour it.

Everything was slow, Uraraka’s pace, soft strides to ease her into it - or perhaps it was the way he hissed everytime she moved, liking the way he sounded, much like he had done to her. Then, she gained confidence and speed, hips jerking in a quicker pace, before she just tried to gain satisfaction by any means possible. She was glorious.

He could feel her unwinding, with every move, and every bounce back onto his cock, he could feel her walls clamping down around him. Whenever she moved down upon him, he’d trust him, making her jump a little in his lap. Before either of them knew it, Uraraka cried out, clutching Bakugou to her chest, hands winding into his hair as she panted out moan after moan.

She sounded like a symphony - gorgeous at her ecstasy. Bakugou watched her move on top of him, her hands stroking through his hair as her eyes looked into his own. He’d never had sex like it - something that made him feel understood, that every movement, all the pace, it was perfect to know who they were between them. Bakugou never wanted to watch anyone else on top of his cock ever again, not unless they looked as beautiful as she did.

In a moment, between his utter wonder and the growing need to come completely undone, Uraraka pulled hard into Bakugou’s hair. He hissed and Uraraka moaned, arching into his new position wonderfully well and he wanted to just take everything he had left in him and please her to every extent he could.

Two could play at that game. He may not have been able to move as fast as he could have liked, but he knew she’d not protest to it. With his hand moving up her back, he took a fistful of her hair and pulled, her neck exposed to him, and fuck he felt hungry for it. His mouth descended upon it, sucking and kissing at her throat, feeling the vibrations of every moam against his tongue. He loved it, and Uraraka knew he enjoyed it too much - especially with every thrust he added to make her close to her next orgasm.

“No fair,” she hissed. Bakugou thrust into her again, and she moaned, pulling at his hair once more, but it was much lighter than it once had been.

“All’s fucking fair game,” he smirked, feeling Uraraka’s hand on his thigh. He thought she may need to lay back down when her finger suddenly bound into his leg, making him jerk upwards into her. She moaned, biting her lip and smiling down at him. “Fuck!” Bakugou groaned, looking back at her.

“All’s fucking fair game,” she repeated his words. Bakugou bit his lip, thrusting into her again, watching as she circled her hips down onto him again.

“If you weren’t injured, I’d -”

“You’d what?” she replied with a smirk, and between his heart bounding like a drum, and his head screaming, he knew he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fuck it,” Bakugou muttered, pushing his weight onto Uraraka’s and onto her back once more, thrusting in one long and hard motion. It wasn’t until after that he thought of his mistake - his lust getting the best of him. Uraraka’s hand went to his ass, gripping in hard with her nails enough to make him hiss. He looked at her face, lip between teeth and chest heaving for more.

“I’ll tell you if it hurts, just keep going,” she begged, forcing his hips closer. When he moved inside her again, she guided him in with a hard pull on his ass. It was harder than he would have, but she enjoyed it all the same - eyes closed and body calling to his like they were magnets that hated to be separated.

His mind told him to go slow, to make sure it all lasted how he needed it to - but he’d be damned if he didn’t chase the sound of her desperate moans to get his own satisfaction. Her next orgasm came over her quickly, her teeth went into his shoulder to suppress the sound, but it did little to help, other than to spur Bakugou on. Her legs went over his hips, heels at the base of his thigh and urging his ass forward with every move he made.

Intimacy was lost on Bakugou, he never liked how he felt being within it, but Uraraka made it all different somehow. When her hand snaked down his arm from his shoulder blade, her caught her wrist, holding it down onto the bed. And he found himself wanting. Like he’d never wanted something so badly in his life. His pressure on her slim wrist went slack, and his fingers slid into her palm, binding into the gaps of her fingers. Uraraka held on tight, their joined hands going over her head as Bakugou continued to stride within her.

She made sure they kissed every few seconds, whining until she could kiss him again, becoming louder and louder to get him to silence her with one of his bruising kisses. Uraraka was using him like a puppet, but he didn’t care - she was heaven to be inside, her body a wonderful combination of sweat and silk and his body was to blame for half of it.

“Oh god,” Uraraka cried, her free hand back in his hair, body moving against his again. He could feel her hardened nipples against his chest with every movement, and he wanted to put his mouth all over her body again. Taste every inch of her. Uraraka whined, hand on his cheek, nails piercing skin behind his ear and on his jaw. “I’m gonna -”

She didn’t even get to finish her sentence, her release rocking through her in waves that made her hips jerk over and over again until Bakugou was following her. He held tight to her hand, the other was gripping tight into her thigh - unable to bring himself to move as he could his release come and go.

“Fuck,” he panted into her chest, trying hard to let her go, but it was no use, he’d drown in her skin before he’d let her move an inch.

Eventually, he had to - lying beside her as she moved to be on his chest. She was practically asleep by the time he’d shifted into his spot next to her.

“You good?” he asked her.

“Hm?” she replied, “Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”

Bakugou shifted, aiming to leave. “Do you need me to -”

“If you move, I’ll kill you,” she warned, hands tight on his body as she held him close.

“Fucking fine, round face,” he said, letting her rest back onto his chest. He smiled, his own exhaustion following hers.

~*~*~

When he woke up, there was hair in his mouth. He threw his head back, spitting it out with a scowl and wincing when it flopped wetly onto his neck. A heavy weight lay on his side, numbing his arm under the pressure. His eyes struggled to open fully, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hazlenut hair he was very much used to.

Uraraka.

Holy fucking shit.

Bakugou groaned and slowly pulled his arms back only to stop dead still when she shifted. He waited, tense and holding his breath until she settled back down, soft snores puffing out onto his arm.

He tried again, and after a very slow escape over the next several minutes, he was free. Slipping from the sheets he staggered into the bathroom, took one look in the mirror at his neck covered in hickies, his hair a fucking mess and cheeks flushed - and barely recognised himself. There was no way his eyes should look that bright, or lips that swollen.

He’d had sex with his partner.  

He splashed cold water on himself, and contemplated drowning himself in the sink. He could do this - it was just a moment of passion right? Happened all the time - or so he’d seen in all his mums shitty romcoms.  

He could still feel her breathe against his face, hear the way she’d whispered his name. Feel her nails down his chest and the soft whimpers of her release echoing in his ear.

How the fuck was he meant to work like this?  They were going to have to… to talk about this.

Holy fucking shit was right.  

~*~*~

Bakugou hated quiet, and even with the sound of his pacing footsteps, it was all too much. He had half a mind to wake Uraraka from her sleep, or possibly just sit in her room to hear the fucker snore. Instead, he waited until the pot of coffee had fully brewed and made himself a mug. The rest of it waited for Uraraka to crawl her ass out of bed. It had been nearly two hours since he left, and she was still sound asleep.

He always knew she was a heavy sleeper, but it was like trying to wake to goddamn dead. He had went through most of her things, trying to entertain himself before he had to leave for work, and no matter how much noise he unintentionally made - she stayed in bed. The light of morning was peeking through her curtains, drawing a veil over most of her apartment and casting a glow on Uraraka that was criminal. Gorgeous was not the right word to describe her.

On his way to the kitchen hours before, he picked up his trail of clothes, putting on some as he walked past Uraraka’s. He was unsure of what the fuck to do with hers - was he supposed to pick them up? They were partners and it had been a habit before, long nights and untidy people tend to amount of a clean up when nights were done. But this was different. A line was crossed. They were more than partners.

Regret was something that was new to Bakugou, but he knew this wasn’t it. He stood in her kitchen and came to the conclusion that this was not something he’d ever regret. As far as the sex went, it was fucking great. It might’ve been the best he’d ever had. Maybe it was because he knew her, understood what her reactions could be and learning all new things about someone that he cared for. He wanted her to feel as good as he did.

Yet, what else would come of this? Was there a relationship there? Was he even ready for something like that? It wasn’t like he had one before to gauge what the fuck this even meant. His personality and overall work ethic was a pretty hard thing to deal with for most people. Uraraka was one of the only people that knew him, and still stuck around after. There was a trust between them, a fit that neither of them expected.

What did she even want? Was this all just heat of the moment?

He was about two seconds from marching into her room and finally dragging her out of bed when his phone chimed.

Shitty Hair: U need to come into work. Boss wants to see u

Bakugou rolled his eyes, gripping tight to his phone as he contemplated his next step. He took the remnants of his coffee and poured it down the sink, washing the mug briefly before putting on the remainder of his clothes. When he fixed his jacket over his shoulders, he stopped and saw into Uraraka’s room. She was curled into her sheets peacefully, and Bakugou grit his teeth.

When Kirishima texted again, Bakugou didn’t have time.

He left her apartment and went straight into work.

They could talk later.

He just wasn’t ready yet.

[katecarteir]

LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING [SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF]

chapters: 3 of 5 pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier (reddie)   summary:  eddie kaspbrak runs an advice blog online, and he finds that maybe he’s starting to develop feelings for the cute, regular anon he gets gushing about their crush. meanwhile, richie tozier opens up his heart about falling in love to an anonymous advice blogger.

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purple heart: I TOOK YOUR ADVICE AND THEN IMPULSE KISSED HIM AND I THOUGHT ID FUCKED UP EVERYTHING BUT THEN HE SAID IT WAS OKAY AND HE KISSED ME BEFORE I LEFT AND WE’RE HANGING OUT TONIGHT OMG DO I HAVE A BF

purple heart: holy shit i think i might have the cutest little boyfriend in the whole world how did i end up being the luckiest guy alive thank you sm your a god send to my life

purple heart: hey. i know you haven’t really been answering my messages lately idk if they’ve been being eaten or if they’re being buried in your ask or whatever. but im probably going to keep sending you messages because its the best place i can talk about my bf without my room mate yelling at me

purple heart: i think i might be in love, but i dont know if im ready to say that outloud, but ill say it to you. it doesnt feel so scary to tell you.

Ever since he and Richie had made their relationship official, just a short two weeks earlier, Eddie had short of let his advice blog slip from his mind. He and Richie had been crashing at one another’s house more often that not through these two weeks, and though they hadn’t moved any further some heated making out, Eddie had gotten pretty used to having Richie wrapping around him every night.

Richie grunted, pressing angrily at the keys on his Xbox remote. Eddie shifted so he was laying on his side, staring up at his boyfriend. He sighed happily, he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of even just mentally referring to Richie Tozier as his boyfriend. He’d been waiting for this longer than he’d even known. He’d wanted to be with Richie long before he’d finally admitted it to himself.

“Richie...” Eddie hummed, sliding his hand out to brush across Richie’s stomach. “Did I tell you that Mike is moving in with Bill?”

Richie hummed, clicking frantically at the X button, holding the remote up higher as though it would help his game skill. Eddie pushed Richie’s T-shirt up, kissing lightly at his boyfriend’s stomach. He glanced up at Richie through his lashes, seeing Richie’s half smirk settle on his face.

“You’re way hornier than I ever imagined you would be, Eds.” Richie chuckled, lowering his controller. Eddie could tell he’d won over Richie’s attention when Richie’s fingers began to slow their actions. Eddie sucked a just below Richie’s belly button, and he grinned in victory when he felt Richie’s fingers running through his hair.

Eddie rested his head on Richie’s stomach, grinning cheekily up at him. “Hi.”

One of Richie’s hands came down from Eddie’s hair to stroke at his cheek lightly. “Hey. Are you upset that Mike is moving out?”

“Awe, he does listen!” Eddie crawled up Richie’s body and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Richie let out a small, happy hum against his lips and pulled Eddie more properly flush against his body. When Eddie pulled back, he noticed the genuine concern in his boyfriend’s eyes. He sighed and rested against him. “I’m not sad that Mike is moving out. I’m going to miss having him as a room mate- and I wished he hadn’t fallen in love with- but I’m still probably going to see him a hundred times a day. It’s not like he’ll be going half away across the country, he’s just moving two blocks. But I guess I’ll be a little lonely here by myself.”

Richie rubbed at the back of Eddie’s neck, something he’d always done that Eddie hadn’t realized until recently was so domestic. Eddie pressed three quick kisses just under Richie’s chin, making the other men squirm and stifle a giggle. “Well, I won’t be lonely here, Eds. You know I’m going to be over all the time.”

“Do you want to move in?” Eddie mumbled against Richie’s neck, still mouthing at the skin mindlessly, barely aware of what he’d asked until he noticed Richie go stiff underneath him. Eddie immediately felt himself begin to panic. He rolled off of Richie and stared up at the ceiling.

“Do you...” Richie cleared his throat. “Do you want to take that question back?”

Eddie thought on it. He and Richie hadn’t been dating very long at all, but they’d been friends for years. Eddie probably would’ve asked Richie to move in if Mike moved out, whether they were in a relationship or not. “I mean... You don’t have to move in as my boyfriend. You could just move in as Richie. I have two bedrooms, I don’t need an empty bedroom.”

Richie was quiet for so long that Eddie felt his mind begin to start spinning. “Though, I get if you don’t want to.  I mean... you have a house, and a room mate... I’d understand if you don’t want to leave Stan-”

Richie laughed. “I’m sure that Stan has been long waiting the day I tell him I’m moving out.”

Eddie made a little, sad noise, reaching out to rub at Richie’s arm. “Baby, that’s not true! Stan’s probably like.. platonically in love with you, or whatever.”

Richie chuckled, dragging an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pressing a kiss to his head. “I know, I know.” Richie took a piece of the fabric of Eddie’s shirt between his fingers and fiddled with it. “Okay but, question. Are you asking me to move in right now because you want me to, or because you accidentally blurted it out and now you’re trying to cover your ass?”

Eddie had never lied to Richie before, and he wasn't going to start now. “Maybe a little bit of both. I’d love for you to move in, but I’m also trying to cover my ass.”

Richie laughed, squeezing Eddie. “Let’s be responsible adults for one second and maybe come back to this idea.”

Eddie hummed, nuzzling into Richie’s chest. He took hold of the Xbox controller and moved it onto the bedside table. Richie laughed again, rolling Eddie onto his back and pressing down against him. “Is that what all this was? Just some huge scheme to get my attention?”

Eddie hummed with a crinkly nosed smile, cupping the back of Richie’s head and pulling him down to press their lips together. Richie responded immediately, deepening the kiss and pressing their bodies together. Richie kissed the way he did most things; full of passion and incredibly enthusiastically. It never took long for Eddie to be unable to feel his legs.

But again, like most things in Richie’s life, he was very easily distracted. After just a few minutes of heavy kissing and wandering hands, Richie was pulling back with a wet noise and an innocent expression. “Do you want some Lemon Berry? Because I don’t know about you, but I could really fucking go for a blue raspberry slushie right now.”

Eddie couldn’t be annoyed for even a second, because as soon as Richie had said it- a slushie did should amazing right then. “Yes. But I want a cherry one.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Richie bounced off the bed, grabbing his hoodie off the back of Eddie’s desk and double checking for his wallet. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back, and then we’re making purple.”

“Oh my God, you’re a child.” Eddie laughed.

“You love me!” Richie called over his shoulder. He dashed out the door too quickly to notice the way Eddie’s breath caught in his throat and his face turned bright red. He pressed himself further into the bed and felt his heart racing. Did he love Richie?

Well, that was a stupid question. Richie had been one of the closest people to Eddie for the last two years, of course he loved him. Which was obviously what Richie had meant by his comment just then. A simple love, not... in love, love. But was Eddie in love? He couldn’t help but recall the excitement he’d felt when he’d read Richie’s purple heart anonymous message on his blog, saying that he thought he was in love. He’d been half waiting for Richie to tell him, but he’d never truly thought about what he would say in return. Was he in love with Richie?

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting in his bed and dwelling, but soon Richie was skipping back into the room with a slushie in each hand. He had a cut on the side of his face from where he’d nicked himself shaving, and Eddie’s heart started tumbling inside his chest.

“I do.” Eddie said then, swallowing roughly and accepting the bright red drink from Richie’s hand.

“You do what?” Richie asked, crinkling his brow. Eddie flushed, because of course Richie hadn’t spent his entire trip to Lemon Berry dwelling on a passing joke he’d made. Eddie cleared his throat.

“I love you.”

Richie blinked at him three times, then dropped his eyes down to Eddie’s drink. “Hurry up and drink that.”

Eddie frowned. “What? Richie, I said-”

“I heard you.” Richie said firmly, nodding and starting to grin. “I love you, too. Now drink that stupid drink because I really wanna have purple tongues and harass Stan with the pictures.”

Eddie laughed and then drank until he got a brain freeze.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Gray hasn’t seen Natsu in years - not since he moved away with his boyfriend Joel and Natsu stopped texting him. A chance run-in at a bar brings Natsu back into Gray’s life, but the encounter puts Gray in danger when Joel finds out. Natsu quickly realizes that Gray’s stuck in a cycle of violence, and wants to help him escape. But leaving isn’t that easy, and sometimes loving someone might not be enough. 

Chapter Summary:  Gray faces a truth that he doesn't want to deal with. Sting and Natsu both try to help.

Chapters (12/22):  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Gray Fullbuster/Original Male Character(s) Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Aftermath, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Natsu just wants to help, but Gray feels like he can’t leave, Non-Linear Narrative, Trans Character, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, ftlgbtpride2019, Coming Out, First Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise

**TW for discussion of abuse/emotional reactions to abuse, suicidal thoughts

-----

being good isn’t always easy

sus·pi·cion | \ sə-ˈspi-shən noun :  a state of mental uneasiness and uncertainty

.

xi july

.

“How many times do I have to block these goddamn assholes?”

Lucy tosses her phone down on the table in the break room, and Gray peeks over to see a toll-free number flashing across the screen. He frowns, taking another bite of his sandwich and pulling his legs up under him on the chair.

“Who is it?”

“One of those stupid scams,” Lucy grumbles, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, then grabbing her coffee from the counter. “You’ve won an all-expenses paid vacation, blah, blah.” She rolls her eyes, then picks up the phone and opens up her call history. “I’ve blocked like... eight different numbers, but they keep finding new ones.”

Gray watches as she taps the number, then scrolls down and clicks ‘block.’

His stomach twists, like the floor’s disappeared from beneath him and he’s in free-fall.

“Anyway,” Lucy says, tucking her phone back in her pocket. “Are you and Joel coming to the barbecue next week?”

The words are just background noise to the sudden jumbled mess in Gray’s mind. A hundred thoughts float through his brain, and he jumps so quickly from surprise to suspicion to disbelief that it’s almost dizzying. Eventually he settles on unease.

“Graaay.” Lucy waves a hand in front of his face and he blinks, shaking his head. “Dude, you’re so out of it lately. You okay?”

“Fine,” he says automatically. “Just tired.”

Would Joel seriously... no. That’s ridiculous.

“How’s your shoulder?” Lucy asks, and Gray forces himself to focus on their conversation.

Continue reading on AO3

“Better,” he says carefully. It seems like an innocent question, but Lucy is sharp. Gray knows that she suspects something, but they’re both good at pretending.

Some days, Gray can almost convince himself that everything is fine. Natsu’s gone – they haven’t talked since that day at the beach, and Gray’s spent the last few months shoving the hurt and longing deep down where he doesn’t have to feel it.

Gray is loyal to Joel. Joel loves him. Joel takes care of him.

“You get the car fixed?” Lucy asks, swirling the dregs of her coffee before draining the cup in one long gulp. The AC rumbles in the background as it kicks into high gear – the summer has been sweltering, and Gray’s already wishing it was September.

He blinks at Lucy’s question, and she frowns at him. “The car,” she repeats. “You got rear-ended? Joel said the bumper was cracked.”

Oh, Gray thinks.

“Yeah,” he lies. “Insurance got figured out.”

The car is just fine. Nobody rear-ended them. Joel had been driving and yelling, and had slammed on the brakes hard enough to lock the seatbelt and bruise Gray’s shoulder. He’d said later that it was because he saw a cat crossing the street.

Gray wants to believe him.

Eventually, Lucy’s break is up and she heads back to the front of the restaurant. As soon as she disappears, Gray pulls his phone from his pocket. The only notification is an e-mail from the grocery store savings program, and he numbly swipes it open and deletes it.

He clicks on his contacts, then scrolls down to Natsu’s name. It’s still there under his old number, and Gray hesitates for just a second before clicking on the three little dots next to it.

773-555-3556 Unblock number

Gray stares at the phone until the words start to blur, and he realizes his hands are shaking and he’s barely breathing.

“No,” he whispers, finger hovering over the message before clicking ‘unblock.’

He quickly goes back and scrolls to Erza’s name, and part of him isn’t surprised to find the same message. He unblocks her as well, then sets his phone down on the table and covers his mouth with both hands.

“He wouldn’t,” he says to nobody. Nothing feels real. He can’t stop shaking. “H-he… no, there’s another explanation.”

There isn’t, part of his mind whispers. He wanted to keep you apart, and it worked.

-----

Over the next few weeks, Gray bounces between so many emotions that he’s left worn out and dizzy. At first, he tries to convince himself that it’s a mistake, that maybe something’s wrong with his phone. Or maybe Natsu and Erza blocked him, and somehow that showed up on his end as well.

The angry part of him knows that none of that makes sense, and desperately wants to confront Joel, to ask him why, to make the accusation and deal with the consequences.

The rest of him is terrified, and as much as Gray tries to keep it hidden, he knows he's failing miserably. Lucy’s on his case almost every day, asking why he’s not eating, or why he looks so sick all the time. He feels bad for being so short with her, but he’s too tired to lie, and he can’t tell her the truth.

“You don’t look so great.”

It’s Tuesday afternoon, so Sting is at the restaurant again. He comes in two or three times a week now and orders the same thing every time – coffee and a slice of pie. Gray’s almost certain that Natsu asked Sting to watch out for him, but Sting’s so likeable and friendly that Gray can’t find it in himself to be upset.

“Gray? You okay?” Sting’s frowning at him and Gray blinks, shaking his head.

“Yeah, it’s... I’ve just been sick,” he says. “I’m fine.” He forces himself to smile as he hands Sting his receipt and fills up his coffee.

“Rogue came down with something last week, too,” Sting says. His police radio crackles and Gray jumps at the sound, quickly trying to play the reaction off as an awkward nod while he backs away from the table.

When he comes back later, Sting is gone, his receipt and a few bills tucked under his coffee mug. Gray grabs it all, frowning when he notices something written on the paper. He quickly finishes clearing off the table, then slips into the bathroom, taking the note out and unfolding it.

If you need help and you can’t tell someone, ask me if I want decaf coffee next time I'm here. I'll know what you mean and do what I can to help. People care about you. ~Sting

Gray sits down heavily on the seat of the toilet, reading and re-reading the note. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he’s sure he would feel something, but all he can do is stare numbly at the words.

Joel cares about me, he thinks, but the thought is fragile – if he tries too hard to believe it, it’ll shatter.

A knock on the door startles him, and he quickly balls up the note, shoving it into the garbage beneath wads of paper towel.

“Gray? You okay?” Lucy sounds concerned, and Gray sighs.

“I’ll be right out, I’m fine,” he says, standing up and staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looks like shit. His hair’s messy and his eyes are red, and he can just see the edge of the bruise on his shoulder with the collar of his shirt open. When he buttons the shirt back up, he notices that his nails are bitten down so far that one of them is bleeding.

“I’m fine,” he whispers again. Maybe if he says it enough times, it’ll eventually be true.

-----

Gray has Natsu’s new phone number memorized. He read it a hundred times before he’d burned Natsu’s note from the night at the bar. Now he types it slowly into his phone, feeling a sense of unease and guilt run through him as he opens up a message window.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He promised Joel, said he wouldn’t talk to Natsu, said he’d be good and listen and do the things that make Joel happy.

But Joel said he wouldn’t hit Gray again, so maybe both of their promises mean nothing.

Gray [16:45] Hey. It’s me.

A response comes less than two minutes later.

Natsu [16:46] hey! ive been thinking about you, im so happy you texted. you doing okay?

Gray curls up further into the corner of the couch and reaches down to pet Bella. He starts to type out a reply and then hesitates. Joel already has access to Gray’s phone – he occasionally flips through Gray’s texts or e-mails while they’re watching movies or while Gray is cooking. But if Gray deletes the messages, Joel will never know.

Gray [16:47] You were right. Your number was blocked in my phone. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.

Almost immediately after sending the message, his phone starts to ring, and Gray jumps at the sound, heart pounding as he hits the ‘decline’ button. If Natsu’s number shows up on the phone bill…

Gray [16:48] Can’t talk on the phone.

Gray [16:48] He’ll find out.

It hurts to type the words, and it’s even harder to press ‘send.’ Writing it is an admission that Gray’s terrified to make, because it means Natsu is right, and Joel is…

Gray shakes his head, setting his phone down in his lap and rubbing his face with both hands. Bella whines and tips her head back, panting at him until he scratches behind her ears.

Natsu [16:49] are you safe?

The words make Gray want to cry, because there’s no good answer. At the moment? Yes. In an hour, when Joel gets home? Who knows. The uncertainty always stretches Gray thin, anxiety spiraling into panic until the door opens and he can see what kind of day Joel’s had.

Gray groans, tipping his head back into the couch cushions and staring at the patterns on the stipple ceiling. He can see the bouquet Joel bought him last week from the corner of his eye, and he tries to bring back the way he felt when Joel came home with flowers and a bottle of wine, apologizing for being grumpy.

Gray’s phone buzzes again and he stares at the message for a while before responding.

Natsu [16:51] gray, im so glad you reached out, but im really scared for you

Gray [16:55] I'm okay right now. He's not home.

Natsu [16:55] would you tell me if you needed help?

Gray [16:58] I’m fine.

Natsu [16:58] but if you werent, you know im here right?

Gray [17:00] You’re three hours away.

Natsu [17:01] then id be there in 3 hours. if you need me, ill be there. i promise, no matter what.

Natsu [17:01] if you need someone sooner than 3 hours, this is sting’s phone # and he can help you before i get there

Natsu [17:01] Shared Contact: Sting Eucliffe (SE)

Gray clicks on the contact and a local phone number comes up, along with an email and an address. It’s not far from where Gray lives. His thumb hovers over the ‘add contact’ button, then he shakes his head and runs the numbers through his head over and over until he has them memorized.

Gray [17:06] Okay. I have to delete this. You can’t text me or call me. I'll text you when I can.

Natsu [17:06] take care of yourself. im always, always here.

Gray [17:07] I know.

Then Gray erases the conversation, and deletes the missed call from Natsu as well. Once the words are gone, he feels hollow. Unreal.

He sets his phone on the coffee table and nudges Bella off his legs, then moves over to the dining room table and stares at the flowers. They’re pink roses, soft and sweet in a way that Joel hasn’t been in years.

Pink like the scar that runs across the palm of Gray’s hand, from a broken plate that Joel had thrown.

A sudden, hot, electric shock of anger runs through Gray, and he slams his hands on the table, biting back a scream of frustration. Everything is tangled up inside him, and he lets out a shaky breath as he tries to figure out how to push it all back down again, where everything is separate and safe.

He wants so badly to blame Natsu. Before the night at the bar, none of it was complicated. When Gray was careful, Joel was happy. Most of the time.

It’s not Natsu’s fault, though. It’s Joel’s, and no matter how much Gray tries to ignore it, the quiet, angry part of him knows it’s true.

Everybody fights, he thinks desperately, digging his fingernails into his palms.

Sure, but they don’t have to lie to the ER about why they need stitches, the angry part of him argues. Or lie to their friends. Or themselves.

“Fuck!" Gray shouts, lashing out and knocking the vase off the table. It falls to the floor and shatters into tiny shards of glass and shredded rose petals.

Gray sinks down to his knees and reaches out slowly, picking up the largest broken piece and inspecting its sharp edges. The anger is gone as quickly as it came, and all that’s left behind is a dull detachment.

At least now he doesn’t have to worry about what kind of mood Joel will be in when he gets home.

[linguisticswithlester]

Let Me Memorize Your Eyes - Chapter 5: Empty Name Tag

Rating: Not Rated

Word Count: 2734

Warnings:  VERBAL/MENTAL ABUSE MENTIONED AND A BREIF MENTION OF HOMOPHOBIA

Note: So sorry for no upload on Thursday. I have so much stuff going on with school and work that uploading twice a week is not a good idea. So instead, ill be uploading every Monday (or I'll try too). I hope you all enjoy this chapter, its a little longer and I actually enjoy this one. Im going to try and speed things up from now on in the story so prepare for that because im ready for the dnp angst.

Summary: Phil is a struggling artist with bruised trust and Dan is a talented baker working in a coffee shop trying to forget his smoldering past. When their paths cross will Dan end up being Phil’s new muse? Or will he be the one thing keeping Phil from putting brush to canvas ever again?

[Read on AO3]

[Read from the beginning] 

    Phil was laying on top of his unmade bed trying to fall asleep in the heat of summer but, sleep wasn’t going to make its appearance tonight. Rolling over, Phil let out a sigh; today was rough. It started out with an email that may change his life, he actually drew something so that was a start; he saw a cute boy and didn’t completely make a fool of himself. So that was an upside. That café has been in his life for a while so it’s just about time something embarrassing happen. Phil’s just waiting for it to hit.

   Phil has been going to that café for just around two months. His coffee maker broke around that time and going to the shop to replace it wasn’t on Phil’s list of most important to-dos. He always passed by it on his way home from work throughout the week anyway. So he figured he’d give it a go after day three without coffee.

    He knew Becca and Will, well he knew their names but, that still counts. He would talk to them from time to time and they had his order down to a science. They were the only two employees that have worked there since Phil started going. The other employees always end up leaving after a few weeks for reasons Phil had no idea about.

    The café was cute and quaint. It had a homey feel to it; it looked as if a grandma decorated it and the owners never bothered to change it. It reminded him of home, with his parents, before he decided to move out and move in with Andrew all those years ago. That move was the spark of his creativity but, it also was the destruction. Everything that made Phil, stemmed from Andrew. The way Phil wore is hair, the clothes he wore, the shows he watched. Everything that Phil knew was because of him.

    They had met when Phil was right out of high school. Phil was naïve and still figuring stuff out but, Andrew swept him off his feet and never set him back down. He was a sweet talker and made Phil feel things that no one ever has. He made him feel safe and secure and when people would pick on Phil for his sexuality, he stood up for him and made him feel like nobody matter but him. Until, that trait made a turn for the worst. Everything Phil did had to revolve around Andrew. When Phil woke up, when he went to bed, how he did the laundry. Andrew wanted everything to be perfect, even Phil. He would scold Phil if anything was out of place.

    And that was the thing, Andrew would say the meanest, rudest things to Phil, yet he thought he deserved it. Andrew was Phil’s first love and Phil wanted to keep him as long as he could. After fights, Andrew would come back and apologize; making Phil feel special again. He would cry and say sweet things trying to make up for what was said previously.  Phil tried his best to be everything Andrew wanted but, being something you’re not is a lot of unnecessary work.

    Towards the end of their eight-year relationship, Phil finally saw what Andrew was and everything he had done to Phil. Andrew would never lay a hand on Phil in a violent manner, but Andrew tried his best to ruin Phil’s brain. Phil wasn’t a puppet, where one could grab his strings. He wasn’t a science project that needed revision. He was Phil. He was imperfect and messy; he made stupid puns that no one laughs at and cries watching animal planet. But that is okay, because that is Phil. It took him such a long time to realize that but, once he did. He knew he had to leave.  

    A single tear fell from Phil’s eye landing on his pillow in princess fashion, wiping away the trail it left on his face, Phil dug himself out of the hole that he crawled himself back into. It was hard not dwelling on memories that took up so much of your life. It took Phil so long to realize to that he was worth fight for. He began seeing a therapist that helped him through some of his doubts after he left Andrew. Phil still sees her from time to time, when he thinks he needs to. Five months isn’t a long time to get over an abusive relationship, but it was a start and that’s all Phil needed; a start. Painting used to be his release because he could see the light at the end of the tunnel but now, the light is gone and all there is grey. He can still make out shapes and some memories but there is an overcast refusing to move. Picking up a paintbrush was hard but, letting the dark memories of his past control him was harder.

    Refusing to let another memory cloud his eyesight, he got out of bed. Leaving the covers ruffled and the pillows thrown about, Phil slipped into an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts he didn’t really care about and set out on a mission. Five months may not be a long time to get over an abusive ex but it sure was enough time to lose everything you once thought you could place. Checking under the bed, the bathroom closest, the lounge, and finally on the top shelf of the hallway closet, Phil found what he was looking for; his canvas.

    Grabbing one down from the shelf, he also grabbed his easel that was propped in the corner, and headed back into his room. Phil laid down an old sheet across the floor and set up the easel placing the canvas delicately on top. Rushing about, Phil, gathered up paintbrushes, paint, his color tray, and anything else that he thought he might need. Grabbing his apron that hung with his jackets that he hasn’t needed in months, Phil loosely tied it around the back.

    Staring at the blank canvas, with a paintbrush in hand is something Phil hasn’t done in months but, to back in this position felt right. It was like everything that he had been suppressing and hiding away was diminishing. Every swipe of the brush that touched the canvas erased another memory of Andrew yelling. Every changed color made every foul word that Phil ever thought about himself because of Andrew, vanish. Every time he blended and added dimension to the picture, his past blurred and a brighter future came forward to say Hi.

    Furiously brushing the paint back and forth; blending here and adding shadows there, Phil had finally finished his painting. Taking a step back to see what became of his sleepless night, Phil gasped. He didn’t really pay much attention to what he was painting, or more like who he was painting. His thoughts had taken over and his hands did the rest.

    The mystery boy with no name became what the canvas was showcasing. A chipped smile, unruly Hersey curls, and an outdated purple apron filled the once empty piece of fabric. It was beautiful for only having seen the man for a brief passing of time just that morning. Was Phil really staring at him? He could have sworn he only glanced up occasionally… right?

    Inspecting the portrait, the boy was looking down at his right shoulder, curls flowing over his eyebrows. On the right side of his chest was an empty name tag tugging on the strap of his apron that had been worn by many. The boy was sporting a smirk that showed his top teeth but, his eyes just weren’t right. There was something off about them. Phil tried remembering how the boy looked at him handing him his coffee that morning but, all Phil saw was a missing name.

     How could he have memorized that boys face so well but, not memorize his eyes?

                                                          ______

         Dan has been at the café for a little over a week now and it’s not as bad as it was in the beginning. He is getting along well with his coworkers; Becca still talks a lot but she’s running out of new information to gossip about and Will, well, Will’s still an idiot. Dan clocked out of his shift a few minutes after he was supposed to; they always have a rush right at four o’clock. He can’t seem to understand why April always has him leave at such an odd time. It gets a little chaotic trying to switch over current orders to the next person.

    Dan hung up his apron and walked to his locker. There wasn’t much he kept in there; just his phone, wallet and, keys. Grabbing his belongings, he headed for the door. Shouting goodbyes once again to other workers he could finally call acquaintances, he pushed open the old wooded door making the bell above it chime in goodbyes. Turning left out of the building, Dan clicked the home button on his phone, lighting up the screen. No new messages.

    He didn’t know what he was expecting but, something at least would have been nice. A text or phone call, just to let him know she was alright. Dan’s girlfriend had been on vacation for the last few weeks and he’s only heard from her a couple times. Her friends are better at letting him know she’s safe than she is. She can update Instagram just fine but, sending a text to her boyfriend was apparently too hard. Dan punched in her number on the dimming screen and raised it to his ear.

    Ring.

   We’re sorry but, the person you are trying to reach right now ca-

    Click.

    Wow, how surprising…Shoving his phone into his back pocket, Dan let out a breath. Relationships were hard but, they were even harder when one half of it forgets they’re in one. Thinking of all the things he was going to say to her when, if, she calls, Dan pulled down his long-sleeved shirt he had rolled up by his elbows and wrapped them around his hands. It may have been summer, and it may have been hot but, Dan was going to wear whatever the hell he felt like wearing.

    Scrunching his hands into fists to keep the sleeves in place, Dan picked up his speed. He didn’t live too far from his work place; just a few blocks down actually. He recently moved to the area after what had happened back home. The memory still burned but, he was healing, mentally and physically. Clinching his fists tighter, as his hidden scars started to sting as if on que, he looked up.

    Just when his eyes started to focus after his quick head lift, he spotted a fringe. It was black and looked smooth to the touch. Headphones around the owner’s ears with the cord running over the man’s chest, splitting in half the yellow star that took up most of his red shirt, created a ruffle in the otherwise tame hair. He wasn’t walking particularly fast, nor was he walking slow. He was walking with a sway of his hips and his hands twitching to what Dan assumed was with the rhythm of the music he was listening to through the headphones that canceled out the rest of the world.

    “Do I know him? Why does he look familiar? Those glasses look too big for his he-” Dan thought to himself as the man walked right past him without adverting his eyes anywhere but to right in front of him.  

“One L!” Dan said out loud, quickly reaching up and putting a hand over his mouth, thankful that the man was wearing headphones. It was the man from earlier in the week. Dan hadn’t seen him in the café since then. In all honesty, Dan was kind of disappointed. There was something about how focused and committed that man with one “L” was about what he was working on that inspired Dan. And he wouldn’t mind seeing his face again…

    Dan glanced back to get one more look at the man that put a trance on him for some reason. He has never seen someone that looks quite like that man. He has a unique face, one that Dan wanted to get to know. Before Dan started his in depth analysis of a stranger’s face, his phone started to vibrate. He took out his phone and looked at his screen.

Incoming Call: Carol  

Shit.

    Dan rolled his eyes, swiped right and, answered the call just as he was throwing open the door leading into the building leading to his flat. Stepping carefully up the stairs, Dan said, “Hey Carol! How’s your vacation going so far?”

“Oh my god! It’s been so much fun! The beach is amazing and I never want to leave.” Carol replied, although it was hard to hear with the loud music playing in the background. “Although, Kristen said you’ve been messaging her all week. Can’t you just let me enjoy my vacation without having to check in on me every second of everyday?” Dan heard a squawk of girls in the background all chanting in agreement to what Carol had just said, as she let out a giggle to make what she said not seem so spiteful. He could tell they have already started drinking.

    Dan’s eyes dropped and his head followed. Right outside of his flat’s door, dropping his keys from the now unlocked brass handle, Dan laid his forehead against the off-white door.

    “Yeah, Okay Carol. I just wanted to make sure you were all right and that you were having a good time. I care about you and wanted to make sure you were safe. But it seems as if you would rather talk to literally anybody else than your actual boyfriend. What’s up with that?”

    Dan had been having doubts about his relationship for a few months now. Carol never seemed to care what Dan was up to and never asked how he was anymore. Movies were painful to watch, dinner was always half eaten, and anything past a pat on the back was uncomfortable. They didn’t have a falling out; there was no mention of cheating. Carol changed though and their interests contradicted each other.  

    She became more herself and for that Dan was proud. He had been trying to get her to see her worth for years, even before they started dating. However, unfortunately for him, her new found self didn’t leave time for an outdated Daniel. Dan did his rediscovery, now it was her turn. If she wanted space, he would give it to her.

    Before Carol had a chance to get defensive and place the blame on Dan, he said, “Hey Listen, I know that you want to have fun and enjoy the beach. I understand that; I just want you to know I love you and I want you to be safe. I’m a phone call away if you need me. Love you and I’ll talk to you when you get back. Bye Carol.”

Click.

    He hung up before she had a chance to reply. Her new found self wanted to do all these new and adventurous things that Dan would never dream of doing. She held a little bit of resentment because of it. She wanted this fun life full of Instagram worthy pictures with Dan by her side but, Dan was okay playing Mario-Kart in the living room until 1am and talking walks through the same parks. He tried to be what she wanted but, his dreams kept him in Manchester. Everything he had ever worked for was there.

    Pushing his unlocked door open, a cool breeze coming from his flat brushed past him. He was one of the lucky ones to find a flat that had AC. He threw his keys on the breakfast bar in the kitchen and headed to his bedroom. Not bothering to take his shoes off, Dan fell face first into his bed, letting out a sigh. Dan’s eyes started closing and his head started to clear when –

Bzz-bzz-bzz

April: Hey Dan. Sorry to bother you after work but, I need to talk to you about your schedule. We have had somebody else quit and I need to move you to our evening shift.

Ugh.

[hajiiwa]

tagged by @aizawashoutah, @shitabukenjirou, and @foxyena !! thank u guys so much~

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

hajime = haji, iwaizumi = iwa, haji + iwa = hajiiwa~ i love my mans but not many people understand my username 

(the rest will go under the cut!)

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/subscriptions/hits/kudos)

huh, well

FMK technically has the most hits and kudos (something i am a little disgruntled about, seeing as it was not a fic i worked very hard on), only fools has the most comments, kaminari is a schemer has the most bookmarks, and of fountains and flowers has the most subscriptions so idk what to tell you. i wish ofaf had more recognition bcos i’ve worked hard on it rip

3. What is your AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

it’s kuroo!! and i just chose it bc i Love him and it was an icon i made that i sorta liked so

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

yes and i love them all!! seeing names that consistently pop up in my kudos/comments section really warms my heart <33 i’ve made good friends that way tbh

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

uhh there are many that i like to go back and read, mainly by my fav authors that i’m subscribed to

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

bookmarked: 53 subscribed: honestly, i... don’t really subscribe to works? i’m subscribed to 8 authors tho

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

oooh, probably... medieval aus or domestic magic aus? and slice of life

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

Subscriptions: 80 (rip, i didn’t know if u meant user subs or work subs so i combined and it’s still a tiny number) Bookmarked: 203

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

umm... i don’t think so? 

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

finishing current projects before taking on new ones, avoiding burnout, the usual

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

well i’ll go based on haikyuu since those works take up the majority-- iwaoi is set firmly in first place based on number of works followed by bokuroo, both of which are fairly popular so i’d say that i lean more toward the bigger ships but i also have works for kurooiwa, iwaaka, tengoshi, etc

12. How many stories have you posted on AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

22! that number fluctuates a ton because i’m very impulsive and if a fic doesn’t receive the recognition i feel it deserves/i no longer like it/etc i take it down

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

that i have yet to publish? too many.

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

i normally keep them in my head, unless i think they’ll turn into something bigger and then i’ll jot them down!

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

not yeeet~ @frenchibi have plans to tho. i have tried to co-author in the past but it mever worked out

16. How did you discover AO3?

when i graduated from using wattpad,, fun fact, there is so much smut on there that i legitimately thought ao3 was just used to write porn. i was both horrified and confused

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on AO3?

lol

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

no...? this question assumes that i would be Popular (honestly do fanfic writers even have “fandom names” for their readers?? im)

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

not really, no. i stated writing fanfics when i was really young on my own, unprompted, and i’ve met other authors through that medium that have helped me?

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

interact with other writers! i know it seems daunting, but leave comments, go to spaces where you will find other writers, participate in events-- there are few feelings more satisfying than seeing familiar names pop up, either in your notifications or in a group you’re in. most of the time, they’re all very kind and you won’t regret letting them into your life!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

i plot out almost always, though this sort of bites me in the ass. it bores me when i’m writing to already “know” what’s going to happen and that’s why i lose steam. it’s weird

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

sort of. i write a lot of angst and i’ve gotten quite a few “fuck you author” comments-- most of the time they’re paired with “for making me feel these feelings” or “for writing something so sad” or some shit but i don’t appreciate that bc, like, fuck you too? i’m sorry that you felt the need to cuss me out?? i tag pretty liberally and if you felt that you couldn’t handle the topic i was writing about then you shouldn’t have clicked

unless it’s, like-- a friend or regular going “fffuCK YOU AHHH” which HAS happened and makes me snicker lmao

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

huh. i’m trying to become more proficient in the Big Three (smut, angst, and fluff) and thus far i’ve got one of three down p good. but specific scenes i have trouble writing would have to be scenes in which i have zero experience and pretty much have to improvise-- it helps me grow as a writer, ig, but it’s just frustrating

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

the rest of the writers’ inktober prompts

a fic wars piece with @frenchibi

a post breakup iwaoi

of fountains and flowers final chapter

a handful of voltron fics, 4 of them sheith

alien!iwaizumi

maaaany half-abandoned drafts

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

YES AND IT IS TERRIBLE SOMEONE STOP ME

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

nah. motivation is fickle and i don’t want to make writing a chore. writer’s inktober was hard enough (it’s december and i am still not done :,)

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

considering i started on wattpad, yes lmao. i’d like to think that i have since i’ve been on ao3 but hahjajhjkh

28. What is your favorite story that you’ve written?

i reeeeally liked writing a bit of magic is key and three’s a crowd because they were both humorous domestic magic aus~ but i’ve liked most things i’ve written tbh. also, obviously, of fountains and flowers.

29. What is your least favorite story that you’ve written?

that i’ve posted? i honestly don’t know. maybe you can be so stupid sometimes because i was just starting to write iwaoi and i now hate the way i portrayed them, not to mention that this dumb little fic has more kudos than my recent stuff and i just *clenches fist* don’t think it deserves that

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

not sure. maybe i’ll have ofaf finished by then hahah,, but really i don’t know. writing is a tool but fanfic writing is just a hobby

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

i’m pretty good at writing emotionally charged situations. also dialogue, i find banter or long back-and-forth conversations fairly easy

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

transitions, justification of characters’ actions. the hardest thing writing-related would be fighting through envy and feelings of inadequacy but i experience the former plenty anyway rip

33. Why do you write?

i write because i enjoy it-- i love creating my own worlds, interacting with other writers, living vicariously through my characters

well, that was fun! i’ll tag @frenchibi, @astersandstuffs, @minyardxva, @josai