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ninjatrashpanda · 9 hours

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Home (Home is wherever I'm with You)

Written for @bucktommypositivityweek Round Two. Day Seven: "Predict the Future." Read on AO3 here.

“Oh yeah,” Buck exclaimed, handing another freshly washed plate to Tommy to dry. Evenings like this one were becoming more and more common. Buck and Tommy would meet up at Tommy’s house or Buck’s loft after their shifts, cook and eat dinner together, do the dishes together, and then settle down on the couch for a movie Tommy wanted to see, or a documentary to fuel Buck’s latest hyperfixation before heading to bed, either for a round of ‘Was I a good boy, Daddy?’ or to just sleep, depending on how tired they were after work. “My lease runs out in three months. Remind me that I have to talk to my landlord about a new one.”

Tommy nodded, putting the now dry plate on top of the stack next to him. “I can remind you, but have you thought about maybe… I don’t know… not renewing it?” His tone was casual, as it usually was, but Buck could tell that he was nervous from the way the blue of his eyes seemed to waver. For all that Tommy knew how to mask his facial expressions, Buck had quickly learned that his eyes had the tendency to betray him as long as you knew what to look for.

Buck let out a small chuckle, reaching for another plate, one of his eyebrows rising in confusion. “Not renewing?” he echoed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what? Move into the station full time?”

Tommy laughed, shaking his head. “Not quite what I had in mind. I was thinking more… you know, here. At my place.”

An odd sense of quiet spread through the room for a moment, despite the soft clinking of silverware and the gentle hum of the dishwasher running behind them. It wasn’t an out-of-the-blue proposal, not really. In fact, Buck figured, they’d been tiptoeing around it for weeks, maybe months. Their evenings together were less about convenience and more about the deep comfort they’d found in each other’s company, the quiet routines they’d built together. On nights when their shifts kept them apart, Buck deeply missed and outright craved Tommy, and not just in the sexual sense either. He’d realized a while ago that he really didn’t want to be apart from his boyfriend for any extended amount of time.

“You… You want me to move in with you?”

Tommy stopped drying for a second, focusing on folding the towel in his hands to avoid meeting Buck’s eyes. “Yeah, I do. I mean, we’re here all the time anyway, right? You’ve got a drawer, you’ve got space in the closet, half your stuff’s already in the bathroom. It just makes sense. Plus…" He finally looked up, his expression softening. “I like having you around, Evan. It feels… good. Natural.”

Buck didn’t respond immediately. He reached for the next dish, but instead of handing it over, he stared at the water droplets sliding down the ceramic, his mind working through the unspoken implications. He wasn’t scared, exactly. Living with Tommy had an appeal, a strong one, but it also carried weight. The last time he moved in with a partner had been an absolute disaster (and Buck was mature enough to acknowledge that it wasn’t fully or even mostly on Taylor either) and he really, really didn’t want his relationship with Tommy to go down the same path.

He finally spoke, voice steady but thoughtful. “I like being here with you too, Tommy, of course I do, I love you. It’s just… moving in, it’s a big step. You sure we’re ready for that?”

Tommy’s lips pressed together as he kept playing with his towel, his lower lip caught between his teeth. He didn’t want to push, and Buck knew and appreciated that. This wasn’t about trying to goad Buck into doing something he wasn’t ready for; it was about opening a door that, deep down, he already knew they both wanted to walk through.

“I get that it’s a big step,” Tommy finally said, his voice a touch softer, though still carrying that cadance of sincerity that Buck had become so familiar with. “I’m not trying to pressure you or make you feel like we have to do this now. But I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and… honestly, I’m ready if you are.” His eyes met Buck’s, unwavering, calm but warm, and full of love. “No rush, no pressure. Just… think about it.”

Buck let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, running a hand through his damp curls. There was a knot in his chest that he hadn’t quite figured out how to untangle, a mix of excitement, anxiety, and an old, familiar fear of things falling apart when they seemed to be going too well.

“I do love being here,” Buck admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might somehow jinx what they had. “And you’re right. Half my stuff’s already here. I just…” He paused, words getting caught somewhere between his heart and his throat. “I guess I’m scared, you know? Last time I moved in with someone, I made a whole bunch of mistakes. It was a bad idea, and we rushed into things and it got… messy.”

Tommy nodded, leaning against the counter, his fingers still absently twisting the towel. “I know what happened with Taylor wasn’t easy, Evan. But that was different. You were different. And I’m not her.” He took a step closer, closing the space between them, his hand finding Buck’s in the soapy sink. The warmth of Tommy’s touch grounded him, and for a second, the room felt smaller, quieter. More intimate.

“You’re not,” Buck agreed, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of Tommy’s hand. “And I don’t want to compare what we have to that. I just… I want to make sure we’re doing this for the right reasons. Not because it’s convenient or comfortable, but because it’s what we both really want.”

Tommy tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching Buck’s face as if trying to read the thoughts that Buck was too afraid to say out loud. “If you need to think about it, that’s okay. You know I’m not gonna hold it against you, right?”

Buck let out a small sigh, feeling the weight of Tommy’s words settle over him. He knew Tommy meant every word. There was no hidden agenda, no underlying expectation. He was simply being honest about what he wanted, but ready to let it go if Buck didn’t. And Buck knew that should he say no, Tommy would be disappointed, but nothing would change between them. Tommy would know that Buck declining now wasn’t a never, just a not at this point. And that was what made this relationship so different from all the others. It wasn’t built on fleeting passion or some burning need to be wanted. It was steady, patient, and real.

“I know,” Buck said, his voice a little more solid this time. He turned to look at Tommy, really look at him. The man who had somehow woven himself into the fabric of Buck’s everyday life without either of them really noticing it happening. Tommy was everything Buck never thought he needed. Calm where Buck was impulsive, thoughtful where Buck was driven by instinct. It made Buck feel safer than he had in a long time.

Tommy smiled, a soft, understanding curve of his lips. “There’s no rush, baby,” he said again, letting his hand squeeze Buck’s gently before releasing it and taking the next dish. “We can talk about it whenever you’re ready. Or not talk about it. Whatever works.”

“So, what’s bugging you?” Bobby asked as he threw Buck’s apron over to him. They’d just gotten back to the station after a minor fender bender (three mild injuries, no deaths) and after sending everyone off to do their chores, he had quickly roped Buck into making dinner with him. Buck should have known it was a set-up.

“Wow, okay,” he said, grabbing an onion to dice for the bolognese recipe Tommy had gotten from his Nonna, a recipe both Bobby and Buck had gotten obsessed with mastering. “Not even gonna try to butter me up first, huh?”

Bobby chuckled as he started chopping the garlic, his hands moving with the kind of ease that came from years of cooking for the station. “We both know I’m not great at subtlety,” he said, glancing up at Buck with a pointed look. “Besides, I can tell something’s been on your mind. Figured I’d cut to the chase.”

Buck sighed, shaking his head slightly as he focused on the onion in front of him. The sharp smell of it hit him as soon as he sliced into it, and the familiar sting of onion-tears started piecing his eyes. He really should’ve known Bobby would catch on. If not him, who?

“I don’t know, Cap,” Buck said, his voice softer than usual. “It’s kinda dumb, really. I’ve just been... thinking. A lot.”

Bobby didn’t respond right away, just kept working at the garlic, letting Buck find his way to whatever he needed to say. Buck appreciated it. He hated being pushed to answer, and it always made him feel like he had to justify himself for feeling things. Bobby leaving him air to breathe and sort his thoughts, even if he was a little embarrassed that Bobby could read him so readily.

Buck did appreciate it. But it did also make him squirm.

“You know you’re allowed to think about things,” Bobby said after a moment, keeping his tone light. “But sometimes you get stuck in your head, Buck. And I’m not sure that’s where you want to be right now.”

Buck dropped the knife on the cutting board with a sigh, the rhythmic chop-chop of onions halting as he wiped his hands on his apron. “It’s not that,” he muttered, staring down at the half-diced onion, almost willing it to give him answers.

“So what is it?”

Buck looked up, meeting Bobby’s eyes for the first time since the conversation had started. He could feel the weight of Bobby’s concern, genuine and steady, like the man was always a step ahead, trying to make sure everyone around him was okay.

He swallowed hard, trying to find the words. “Tommy asked me to move in with him, and I’m scared.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, pausing his garlic chopping for a second before setting the knife down. “Scared?” His tone was gentle, but Buck could sense the surprise there. “Of moving in with Tommy, or… something else?”

Buck let out a long breath, the air thick with the smell of onions and garlic now, the comforting scents of a familiar meal that should have helped ease his tension but only seemed to magnify the knot twisting in his stomach. He looked down at the onion, pushing it around the board with the edge of his knife. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but it was like they didn’t want to come out. Talking about feelings was never easy for him, especially not the deep, vulnerable ones. But this… this was Bobby. The man who had been there through the worst and somehow still saw him, still believed in him.

“I don’t know,” Buck finally said, the words coming out in a rush, like if he didn’t say them now, they’d never come. “I’m not really scared of moving in, I’m scared of messing it all up like I did with Taylor.”

Bobby gave a small nod and a hum, his expression one of calm realization. He turned and resumed chopping the garlic, the steady sound of the knife hitting the cutting board filling the silence between them. Buck appreciated the way Bobby let the quiet hang, giving him the space to work through his tangled thoughts.

“I know I shouldn’t compare the two,” Buck said, frustration creeping into his voice. He resumed dicing the onion, his movements a little too quick, the sharp knife clattering against the board. “Tommy’s not Taylor and I’m not the same Buck that I was back then, but it’s like I can’t help it. Every time I think about taking the next step with him, my mind goes back to everything I did wrong with Taylor. How I thought I could make it work, despite everything, and then… well, you know how that went.”

Bobby set down his knife again, wiping his hands on a towel as he turned to fully face Buck. His gaze was steady, not judgmental, just patient. “Buck, you can’t beat yourself up over past mistakes forever. You’ve learned from them. That’s what matters.”

Buck frowned, his hands stilling for a moment as he considered Bobby’s words. “Yeah, but what if I haven’t learned enough? What if I mess this up too? Tommy… he’s important to me. Like, really important. I think he could be it, you know? And the last thing I want to do is hurt him or make things awkward between us.”

Bobby gave a small nod, leaning back against the counter as he crossed his arms. “I get that, Buck. Believe me, I do. But relationships aren’t about never making mistakes. They’re about being willing to learn and grow together. From what I’ve seen, you and Tommy are already doing that.”

Buck stared at the sloppy onion dices in front of him, the smell still sharp, mixing with the garlic Bobby had finished. “What if I can’t handle the pressure? I mean, living together is a big deal. I’m just not sure I’m ready.”

Bobby smiled faintly, a hint of warmth in his eyes as he watched Buck. “Do you want to be ready, though?”

Buck blinked. The question caught him off guard. It wasn’t something he had considered, at least not in those terms. Did he want to be ready? Of course he did, didn’t he? But then again, that was part of the problem. He wanted to be perfect, to have it all figured out before he took the leap. The thought of messing up, of failing, of somehow destroying what he and Tommy had, gnawed at him.

“I do,” Buck sighed, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “I just don’t want to screw this up, Bobby. I’ve done that too many times already. What if I’m just not meant for this? What if...”

Bobby held up a hand, stopping him gently but firmly. “Buck, stop.” He shook his head slightly, his tone soft but unwavering. “You’re not broken. You’ve been through a lot, and yeah, you’ve made mistakes. We all have. But that doesn’t mean you’re destined to keep repeating them.”

Buck felt a lump form in his throat. He hated how accurate Bobby’s assessment of him was. How often had he thought like that about himself? That he was somehow defective, doomed to fail at every relationship he tried to make work? It was like a heavy weight tied around his neck, one that seemed to make it harder and harder to keep his head up.

Bobby’s eyes softened as he kept speaking, his voice filled with that steady, reassuring calm Buck had come to rely on. “You’re allowed to be scared, Buck. It means this matters to you. But don’t let that fear keep you from something good. You and Tommy… you’ve got something worth fighting for. And from what I’ve seen, you’re both willing to put in the work.”

Buck swallowed, his eyes burning a little, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the onion or the sudden rush of emotions coursing through his body. He wiped his hands on his apron again, more out of habit than necessity. “I guess I’m just scared I’ll let him down,” he admitted quietly. Bobby had done it once again. He had peeled back every single one of Buck’s worries and doubts and had nailed exactly what the source of his issues was. “He deserves someone who’s... not a mess.”

Bobby shook his head, stepping closer and resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck, you’re not a mess. You’re human. And Tommy knows that. You two are building something together, and that’s not something that happens overnight. It takes time, effort, and yeah, sometimes it takes stumbling a little along the way. But that doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of it.”

Buck looked up at Bobby, his throat tight, the knot in his stomach loosening just a little as he heard the words. He knew Bobby meant them. He could see it in his eyes, could hear it in his voice.

“Do you think I can do this?” Buck asked, his voice almost a whisper now.

Bobby’s smile was small but full of warmth. “I think you already are. You’re asking the right questions, thinking about it the way you should. You care enough to want to get it right. That’s what matters.”

Buck nodded slowly, feeling a little of the tension start to melt away. Bobby’s words had a way of doing that, of making things seem less impossible, less overwhelming. Maybe he didn’t have it all figured out yet, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe just wanting to do better, wanting to be there for Tommy, was enough for now.

“Thanks, Cap,” Buck said, his voice steadier now. “I guess I just needed to hear that.”

Bobby gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back to the cutting board, picking up his knife and getting back to the garlic. “Anytime, Buck. And hey, when you move in with Tommy, don’t forget to keep practicing this bolognese. I’m counting on you to help me perfect it.”

Buck laughed, a real, genuine laugh that he hadn’t realized he needed. He picked up his knife again, the rhythm of chopping the onion coming more easily now, less frantic. “Deal. But only if you let me make the garlic bread.”

“Done,” Bobby said with a grin. “Now, let’s finish this before everyone starts complaining about being hungry.”

“This is the last one,” Tommy called, carrying a box down the stairs to Buck’s former bedroom. Buck, waiting at the base with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and his suitcase by his side. “You had a lot less stuff than I expected, baby.”

Buck smiled, though it didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, it’s… I never really needed much, you know?”

It was true. Buck had, for all intents and purposes, been kind of a minimalist with the loft. He lived at the station half the time anyway, so he had never really tried to accessorize or anything. A few pictures of himself and his family, from Maddie and Bobby to Christopher and Jee-Yun were about the only things that he figured mattered. He loved his family, and being surrounded by them, even if it was only through photographs, always made him feel better.

“You okay?” Tommy asked, putting the box to the ground. And that… was a loaded question. Yes, Buck was okay, technically. He wanted this. He wanted to move in with Tommy, was okay with letting the loft go.

But this had still been his home for the last six years of his life. It was still the end of an era.

“Just… feeling a little nostalgic is all.”

Tommy nodded, an understanding smile making its way to his face. “Makes sense,” he said quietly, running his hand through his messy curls as he leaned against the doorframe. “You’ve been through a lot in this place.”

Buck sighed, his eyes drifting around the room, taking in the bare walls, the empty bookshelves, the absence of the things that had once made this place feel like his. There was a time when this loft had been a refuge, a place to heal after he had hit rock bottom more than once. He’d been here after the ladder truck had crushed his leg, after the tsunami, after the lightning strike. His relationships with Ali and Taylor and Natalia had ended here. He had spent weeks in here all alone when he had filed the lawsuit that had almost destroyed his relationships with the people that mattered most to him.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice soft. “A lot happened here.”

And yet, it had also been a sanctuary, a place of endless laughter, and some of the best parts of his life. Getting this place had made him feel like an adult for the first time in his life. He had felt independent in a way not even traveling across the country on his own had made him feel. He and Eddie had made up after the lawsuit in here, he and Christopher had spent countless hours pummeling each other in fighting games, he’d first seen Jee-Yun crawl in here when she had made her way from the door to the couch. He had even delivered his Conner and Kameron’s child in here.

Tommy and him had shared their first kiss here.

Tommy watched him carefully, his eyes twinkling with fondness. “You don’t have to let it all go, you know,” he said, voice gentle. “You can take the memories with you.”

Buck smiled at that, the kind of smile that cracked through the melancholy even though it still didn’t quite fill out his face. “I know. It’s just… this place has seen every part of me, you know? The mess, the mistakes, the times I got back up again. It’s hard to leave that behind.”

“I get it,” Tommy murmured, stepping closer, his hand brushing lightly against Buck’s arm. “And it’s normal. Leaving your old home for a new one is always hard.”

Buck’s gaze softened as he looked at Tommy, grateful for the way he understood, the way he just… got it. That was one of the things that had made Buck fall for him in the first place. Tommy knew how to be present, how to listen without forcing an answer or solution.

“Moving in with you,” Buck said, looking down at the duffel bag and then back at the empty space around him, “it feels right. I just didn’t expect it to feel this… complicated too.”

Tommy chuckled softly and leaned in to kiss Buck’s temple, his arm moving around Buck’s shoulders. “Change always is. Even the good ones. But look, we don’t have to rush anything. If you need more time, I—”

“No,” Buck interrupted, though his tone was gentle. “I’m ready. I really am. I want this—us.” He turned to pull Tommy into a slow, soft kiss, resting his forehead against Tommy’s. “I think I just need a second to say goodbye to this place, you know?”

Tommy squeezed his hand, a warm smile lighting up his face. “Take all the time you need.”

Buck turned back toward the loft, his heart heavy but steady, while Tommy went to grab the box and stand in the doorway. Buck walked slowly around the room, letting his fingers graze the walls, each touch bringing back fragments of the life he’d lived here. The first time he’d stood in the kitchen, fresh from a shift, feeling like he was finally becoming the man he wanted to be. The nights he’d stayed awake, trying not to let his loneliness get to him, wondering if he’d ever be enough for anyone. The day Maddie had come home after getting treated for her PPD. The moment Eddie had told him that Chris thought of him as a hero, a title Buck never felt like he deserved but wore like armor anyway.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the Los Angeles skyline glowing with the soft hues of the setting sun. The view had always been one of his favorite parts of this place. It reminded him that, no matter how chaotic life got, the world kept turning, kept moving. And so did he.

With a deep breath, Buck finally allowed t’he tears that had built behind his lids to flow free, feeling the weight of six years lift from his shoulders. This place had been his sanctuary, his shelter. But now, he realized, it had also been his cocoon. It had kept him safe while he grew, while he healed. But he wasn’t the same man who had first walked through that door all those years ago. He was ready to spread his wings and step into something new.

Something with Tommy.

He stepped back in, his heart full but at peace, and caught Tommy’s eye. “I think I’m good now,” he said softly, smiling—a real, genuine smile this time.

Tommy grinned, his eyes twinkling with that infectious warmth that had always made Buck feel grounded. “Good. Because I was starting to think I’d have to carry all your boxes back up.”

Buck laughed, the sound light and free, cutting through the bittersweet air. “You’re hilarious. But no, I won’t strain your back like that, old man.”

“Oh, okay. I see how it is!” Tommy shot back, his expression playful as Buck picked up his suitcase and duffel bag. “Come on, let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”

Tommy grabbed the last box, and together, they headed for the door. Just before stepping through, Buck paused one last time, looking back over his shoulder at the loft. He let the memories settle in his mind, like pictures into a photo album.

“Goodbye,” he whispered, not to the loft itself, but to the man he used to be inside it. Then, he turned to join Tommy in the hallway. “Let’s go home.”

#911 abc #bucktommy #tevan #evan buckley #tommy kinard #bucktommy fanfic #bucktommypositivityweek #fanfic #i actually got emotional writing that last scene at the loft

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minjoonapio · 2 days

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🎐 Wind Breaker CH.155: Oath

💭 Thoughts & Analysis

⚠️ SPOILERS ⚠️

Note: Sorry for the late post. I posted way ahead on twitter on the same day the chapter dropped.

Yeah I am…ecstatic about this chapter. It’s like the anime was playing in my head and for some reason Yuki Hayashi’s MHA OST was playing at the background during the turning point of the chapter lol. So yes this is added to my fave chap list 🙂‍↕️

We finally got a POV of Chika Takiishi! I am not sure if this means that Chika has Face Blindnesss. A condition where you struggle to recognize faces or can’t interpret facial expressions and cues. It can explain the push for him not to connect with people. Or it’s just solely, like he said, he has no interest in people.

But then people like Ume and Endo came along and kept shoving themselves in Chika’s path. Ume was seen as a nobody at first, a common boulder in his path. But with how they constantly insisting being in their path, Umemiya eventually became a goal to reach; a challenge to overcome. And Chika found enjoyment in that.

The fact Chika says “these THINGS called HUMANS” He completely disassociates himself as that. It also explains why he held this stoic face for most of his pages, not a single different emotion until he faces Ume. I guess he really does see himself as what Endo does—A god.

But I think it's not only because he chooses to be this way. If he really has a condition, he is sort of forced to choose not to care, and not to give so much effort in connecting with people.

Chika looks sad that the fight is over. Before all this started, he was walking around with Endo in search of enjoyment for the past 2 years. His world has shifted ever since he met Umemiya…or since Ume kept bothering him.

Now the leader is down. What now?

You don't even need to understand Endo's reaction alone. As someone who chose to disconnect from any human interaction, Chika finally said Umemiya’s name!

Callback to what Kotoha said: "Calling someone’s name is looking at someone properly and accepting them" Chika acknowledges Ume; thankful even that he had this much fun after a long time. He even surely respects him.

This was an unexpected reaction from Sakura. When we thought he had retracted from Ume, he actually held onto the hope of the leader he knew & the words he embedded in him. Ume didn’t do anything horrific yet that makes Sakura completely lose trust. He continues to believe, not taking Endo’s previous words of past Umemiya completely to heart (last chapter).

Perhaps Sakura and Umemiya will have a chat about that after all of this is over.

Sakura echoed the words Umemiya told him that day at the Ori rooftop (what is it with Wind Breaker and rooftops?). The words that Umemiya swore by.

The same words that snapped Sakura back into shape when fighting Endo. The same thing that’ll happen back to Umemiya.

AND HERE'S THE FREAKIN' CALLBACK!! FULL CIRCLE MOMENT!!! I’M SCREAMING.

We got our Umemiya back!

The facial expressions say a lot of things. Sakura's face is saying it's about time Umemiya is in his senses. He knew their leader wouldn't be defeated that easily. While Umemiya's face is saying how could he forget the words he swore by in front of his kouhai? And now, he is throwing those words back to him in the face. At the same time, he's glad Sakura is there and believes in him.

Imagine though Sakura said all that and Ume didn’t move. That’ll be funny. I actually thought Sakura would be mad when he said those words. I expected anger because he would have Endo's chitchat of Umemiya to his head, and would be internally conflicted. So he would want Umemiya to prove him wrong; that he's not like that.

But I guess calm was chosen to show how much faith Sakura has for the leader. That he was not easily swayed by Endo's words.

Y’all…Umemiya really freakin prettified the heck out of Chika. He first cutiefied Choji and now this? Look at how Chika's eyes are lit up. He looks more HUMAN. Less stoic. We’re getting more emotions out of him. It’s like he’s been set free.

(Not gonna lie, Umemiya looks pretty good despite all the blood, cuts, dirt and sweat.)

Umemiya admitted Chika truly got to him; he triggered his rage and blinded him, which led to his initial downfall. Since there never was a clear winner in their fights, Umemiya reminds himself that Chika was doing this just so he can finally be defeated.

I think Umemiya is not only saying this to clarify with Chika, but also to himself. He won't be blinded by his emotional impulses again.

If Ume and Chika were left alone on the rooftop, Ume would lose.

As a leader, Ume has always carried on his own this weight of protecting his beloved town and found family. He makes sure everyone is happy. Because of that, he would suffer under that weight and lose his strength.

With Sakura there in that rooftop, at the top, Umemiya is reminded that he’s not alone in carrying this weight.

It doesn’t surprise me that Umemiya would ask that of Chika. It’s so him. He’s all about connecting through conversations. Whether through fights or sitting down & eating together. I believe for the longest time Ume wanted to get to know Chika more, other than have him join them in the first place.

Chika finally accepting a deal with Umemiya is huge. He never took any interest in the so called “humans”. With the way Chika LOOKS at Ume, he has already acknowledged, respects, and is thankful to Ume. And I’m sure he wants to have fun fighting him again.

Oh the way Umemiya says those words so confidently. We’re gonna have one hell of an amazing fight in the next chapters. This last page I believe has already told us who’ll win.

I believe we will have that talk of Chika and Ume; Chika will talk more about himself. And Ume and Sakura will have a chat as well later on when it's all over; more details of how Bofurin came to be.

Someone in twitter hopes the BBQ party is still on. And I imagine that Chika and Endo will be there. Wouldn't that be a spectacle? 😆 I don't think it's impossible, given how the manga is so far.

#ウィンブレ #wind breaker #umemiya hajime #sakura haruka #suo hayato #chika takiishi #endo yamato #wind breaker chapter 155

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wannabehockeygf · 2 days

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plastic palm trees - william nylander

part of the think later fic series

"Thought that it was real, thought that it was worth it, Out the window everything was looking perfect, Caught in a dream, it's not what it seems."

*** request: "hey girl saw you wanted more maple leafs players and don’t you worry I would love some willy nylander for plastic palm trees"

summary: a whirlwind romance was only serious consideration for one of you. word count: 6.8k pairing: william nylander x fem!reader warnings: insinuation of sex (in a fade-to-black, time lapse thing), alcohol notes:

MY FIRST WILLY FIC

^ we've been getting fed such good pics of him lately

heartbreak because if i can't be happy NO ONE CAN.

i had to do hella research on the city of Toronto for this

It was one of those suffocatingly warm nights at the end of April that always managed to catch you off guard. Since moving to Tampa, you'd gotten used to the random bursts of heat and humidity, but tonight, it seemed more oppressive than usual. Maybe it was the setting—an after-party for the Toronto Maple Leafs on top of a fancy skyscraper, with a rooftop bar and pool. It was after their last regular season game against the Bolts, the one that got them to clinch the playoffs, and it was as far out of your element as you could get, especially with your best friend nowhere to be found. Typical.

Everyone here was either already wasted or riding some other high, and despite the fact that you were wearing a bikini that made you look like you fit right in with the army of models around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you didn't belong. Not that anyone cared or noticed, but the nagging insecurity in your gut was loud enough to drown out the music blaring from the DJ booth.

You needed out. Immediately.

With your head down, you started pushing your way through the crowd, dodging guys in swim trunks and girls in bikinis more expensive than your rent, when suddenly it hit you—the pool deck was indeed wet. Slippery, in fact. You tried to stop yourself, but gravity had other plans. Your feet slid out from under you in slow-motion horror, and for one terrifying second, you were convinced you were about to make a grand entrance into the pool.

Except… you didn’t. Instead of a splash, you collided with something warm and solid behind you. Not too solid, though—just the perfect amount of solid that made you immediately wish you could stay there a little longer. A squeak escaped your lips, and you twisted your head around to apologize, but as if playing the role of clumsy, awkward girl to perfection, your eyes locked onto his.

Oh. Oh wow.

His eyes were beautiful—crystal blue, sharp and hypnotic. You were so caught up in them that you almost forgot how to breathe. Your jaw hung open, just a little, and his laughter was the first thing to break through the spell. God, even his laugh was attractive. Deep, yet boyish. The kind of sound that makes you feel all kinds of flustered for no good reason.

He brought his hand up to scratch at his patchy blond beard, which was—against all odds—also unfairly good-looking. And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he pulled you back onto your feet in one smooth motion, his arm still firmly around your waist. You didn’t miss how strong he was. Okay, cool, play it cool. Definitely don’t acknowledge the fact that you just fell into a guy with abs for days.

"Whoa, you alright?" he asked, voice warm and tinged with amusement. You could practically hear the smile in it, which only made your heart flip-flop even more.

You nodded quickly, trying to steady yourself. “Yeah, I’m good! I just… forgot the ground was wet.” Great. That sounded totally sane.

“Easy to miss,” he grinned, his arm still lingering a little longer than necessary before he finally let go, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Not your fault. Happens to the best of us.”

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out more like an awkward cough. Smooth. Very smooth. “Thanks for, uh… catching me. I probably would've done a full backflip into the pool otherwise.”

He chuckled again, that sound making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t prepared for. “Glad I could help save the day.” He paused, and then as if he was actually interested in you beyond just saving you from a catastrophic splash, he asked, “I’m Will, by the way.”

Will. Of course, his name is William. Because of course, I’d fall into a guy who looks like a freaking Nordic god with a name like William. You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Nice to meet you, Will. I’m… well, I’m just trying not to die of embarrassment, so you can call me a mess.”

He laughed again, this time a little softer, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nah, you’re doing fine. No more slipping, though, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” you said with a weak grin, still fighting the urge to just melt into the ground.

He took a small step closer, glancing around at the chaos of the party before turning his attention back to you. “You look like you could use a drink. Can I buy you one?”

You blinked, the words Can I buy you one? still bouncing around in your head like a ping-pong ball that refused to settle. Your heart did a quick stutter step, trying to catch up with the situation as you stared at the walking Norse god who had—somehow—deemed you worthy of his time.

A drink. He was offering you a drink. You should say something. Anything, really.

“Uh, sure,” you croaked out, before clearing your throat and attempting to sound like a fully functioning human. “I mean, yeah. That sounds great.”

His smile widened, like he found your awkwardness adorable, and you cursed internally at the fact that even his smile had to be perfect. Because, of course, it did. Of course, he had to be the kind of guy who looked like he stepped off a movie set, made you feel like a complete idiot, and was still nice enough to offer you a drink instead of just leaving you to fumble your way to the poolside bar alone.

William motioned for you to follow him, leading you through the crowd with surprising ease—probably because people just naturally got out of the way for someone who looked like that. Meanwhile, you were fighting to keep your cool, your feet somehow both heavy and light as you trailed behind, staring at his broad back and the muscles that shifted with each movement. Was it hot in here, or was that just you?

Yeah, it was definitely just you.

You arrived at the bar, and William leaned against it, catching the bartender’s attention in a way only someone with that level of effortless confidence could. “What’s your drink?” he asked, eyes locking onto yours again, and for a split second, you forgot how to form words.

“Uh…” You glanced up at the chalkboard menu, your brain desperately trying to pick something that didn’t scream I’m lost, help me. “A margarita?”

He grinned, giving a little nod like you’d passed some secret test. “Good choice. I’ll have the same,” he said to the bartender, who had the audacity to wink at Will before disappearing to make the drinks. You stood there, doing your best not to fidget, but Will’s attention was back on you, and you suddenly felt like you were under a spotlight. He leaned in slightly, the smell of expensive cologne wafting in your direction. Why does he have to smell so good?

“So,” he started, his voice smooth and casual, “what brings you to a party like this? You don’t exactly look like the type to hang around a Leafs hockey crowd.”

You nearly choked. “I—uh—I could say the same about you.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Really? You don’t think I could pass for a hockey player?”

“You’re a hockey player?” you blurted out, louder than you meant to. Then you immediately wanted to slap yourself. Of course, he’s a hockey player, you idiot. He just said this was a Leafs party, and the man looked like he could bench-press you without breaking a sweat. Smooth. So smooth.

William’s grin spread wider, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Yep. William Nylander, right wing for the Toronto Maple Leafs.” He paused, leaning in a little closer as he lowered his voice. “Not gonna lie, though… I’m a bit more interested in you than hockey right now.”

Your brain short-circuited. William Nylander. Oh my god. You were talking to that William Nylander. You’d somehow managed to embarrass yourself in front of one of the most famous hockey players in the NHL. If there was a hole in the ground, you’d gladly crawl into it.

“Oh,” you said weakly. Because what else could you say?

He didn’t miss a beat. “You seem a little surprised,” he teased, his hand brushing against your arm in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “Didn’t expect to meet a guy like me tonight, huh?”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep up with the situation. “No, not exactly. I mean, I didn’t even know this was a Maple Leafs party. My friend invited me, but she’s—well, she’s disappeared.”

He chuckled, clearly amused by your rambling. “Lucky for me, then. I get you all to myself.”

The bartender handed over your drinks, and you gladly took a sip, hoping the alcohol would somehow calm your racing heart. William watched you, eyes twinkling with mischief, like he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

You could feel the warmth from the margarita sliding down your throat, but it did absolutely nothing to temper the heat already coursing through your veins. The ice-cold drink clashed with the fire igniting inside you, fueled by the fact that William freaking Nylander was standing right in front of you, smiling like he knew every secret thought you were desperately trying to keep hidden.

Oh god. He was looking at you again—those impossibly blue eyes scanning your face with a level of intensity that made your breath catch. It wasn’t fair. Not when he had that stupidly perfect jawline, the kind you only ever saw in glossy magazine spreads. Or, you know, when you accidentally fell into the arms of a guy who looked like he could bench press you for fun. The thought of it made your stomach do another one of those unwelcome flip-flops.

“So,” William began, leaning in just a little closer, his voice soft yet dripping with that effortless charm. “What else don’t I know about you, aside from the fact that you’re stunningly beautiful and apparently terrible at walking on wet surfaces?”

You blinked. Stunningly beautiful? Did he just say that? You knew it was a line. It had to be a line. But the way his voice wrapped around the words made it feel like more than that, like he actually meant it. Your brain scrambled to respond, and you barely managed to avoid a full-on choke this time. “I—uh, well, I’m usually not this clumsy, I swear.”

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening, that teasing sparkle still alive in his eyes. “Mm, I don’t know. You seem like you might need a little more… steadying. You know, just to be safe.” His gaze flickered to your waist, where his hand had been earlier, and you swore you could feel the phantom weight of it still lingering. “I could always lend a hand. Maybe two, if you need ‘em.”

Your laugh came out too loud—awkward, but you couldn’t help it. “I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” you stammered, taking another sip of your margarita like it was a lifeline. His flirtation wasn’t corny, but it was relentless in a way that left you completely unprepared. It was as though he was gently laying down brick after brick, building up the tension, each little compliment stacking on top of the last. And you? You were just trying to keep from crumbling under the weight of it all.

“You know,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, leaning into that sweet spot where a whisper might live, “you really do stand out here. I’m not just saying that.” His eyes locked onto yours again, and suddenly, the noise of the party seemed to melt into the background. “Everyone else is… well, they’re either trying too hard or not trying at all. But you…” He paused, letting his eyes roam over you in a way that felt both appreciative and entirely too intimate for the middle of a party. “You look effortlessly gorgeous. Like you’re not even trying. It’s… refreshing.”

You could feel your face heating up, and it wasn’t just from the humidity. There was no way he could really mean that, right? You felt like a fish out of water, surrounded by people who seemed to thrive in this kind of environment—women with legs for days and hair that didn’t frizz up at the slightest hint of moisture, unlike your own. But here was William, saying things that made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely out of place.

You took another long sip of your margarita, hoping the liquid courage would do its job, but your nerves were still very much in charge. Every time you looked at him, you were acutely aware of how out of your depth you were. The man had an aura about him, an energy that came effortlessly, like he was born knowing he could make women weak at the knees with just one well-placed glance. And tonight, all that effortless energy was directed squarely at you.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” William teased, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to that low, dangerous level again, the kind that made your toes curl. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

Pretty. There it was again, another compliment dropped into conversation like it was nothing, but this one landed differently. It felt personal, like he wasn’t just throwing out lines to get a reaction. His eyes stayed fixed on yours, curious, like he genuinely wanted to know what was going on in your brain, which was a dangerous place to be right now.

You forced a laugh, trying to act like your entire body wasn’t buzzing with a mix of nerves and attraction. “Oh, you know… just wondering how I managed to fall into the arms of the one guy at this party who’s apparently allergic to shirts,” you joked, gesturing to his open button-down that was doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that his abs were, indeed, carved by the gods themselves.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound so full and rich it almost made you forget how embarrassing your comment was. “Shirts are overrated,” he said with a playful shrug, glancing down at his chest like he was only now realizing he wasn’t wearing one. “Besides, you’re not exactly overdressed either, you know?”

Your cheeks flamed. “Touché.”

He smirked, the kind that made your heart do that stupid little flutter again. “But honestly? I’m not complaining. If I’d known falling into my arms would be part of your plan tonight, I would’ve ditched the shirt earlier.”

Okay, now you really were melting. He wasn’t just flirting; he was relentless. And worse, he knew exactly what he was doing, gauging your every reaction like he was running some kind of experiment on just how flustered he could make you. Spoiler alert: very.

You smiled, trying to play it cool, but it felt like every nerve in your body was hyperaware of how close he was standing. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin, the subtle scent of his cologne still teasing your senses. Focus, you reminded yourself. You didn’t want to come off as some starstruck fan who couldn’t handle a little flirting.

“Falling into your arms wasn’t exactly on my to-do list tonight,” you quipped, finally meeting his eyes again. “But, hey, accidents happen.”

William’s lips quirked into that smirk again, the one that was quickly becoming your undoing. “Some accidents aren’t so bad,” he said smoothly, his eyes flicking down for just a second before they locked back on yours, making your breath hitch.

There was something about the way he looked at you—like he was undressing you with his eyes, but not in a sleazy way. No, it was more like he was figuring you out, studying every little reaction, every shift in your body language, every flutter of your lashes. It was almost unnerving how much attention he was paying to you, like he had all the time in the world.

“Okay, now I know you’re trying to kill me,” you muttered under your breath, barely loud enough for him to hear. But of course, he did.

“What was that?” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Something you wanna say to me, sweetheart?”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest at the sudden proximity, the pet name slipping out of his mouth so casually, like it was something he’d said a hundred times before. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his voice sent heat pooling in your stomach. “Just that you’re not exactly subtle, are you?”

“Why would I be?” he asked, pulling back just enough to give you that devastating smile again. “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He was so goddamn confident. Not cocky, not arrogant, just… sure of himself, like he knew exactly what effect he had on you, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. And the worst part was, it was working. Every word, every glance, every laugh—he was pulling you in without even trying.

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. “Yeah, well… maybe I just like the view.”

His grin widened at that, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, you like the view, huh?”

You felt your face heat up instantly. “I meant of the party,” you corrected quickly, even though it was a blatant lie.

Willam raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Sure you did,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he leaned in just a little closer. “But I’m glad you like what you see.”

You felt the air between you shift—just a little, but enough to make your pulse race. His eyes darkened slightly, and for the first time tonight, the teasing edge in his voice softened, replaced by something more serious. More intense.

“Listen,” he said, his voice low, the flirtation still there but laced with something deeper now. “This party’s fun and all, but… I’d much rather spend the rest of the night with you. Somewhere quieter.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you stared at him for a moment, trying to process what he’d just said. He was asking if you wanted to leave with him—if you wanted to take this to the next level.

Part of you knew you should probably play it cool, act like this wasn’t sending your mind into overdrive. But the other part of you—the part that had been riding the high of his relentless attention all night—was screaming at you to say yes.

William waited, his eyes never leaving yours, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He wasn’t rushing you, but there was a heat in his gaze that made it clear he was hoping for the answer he wanted.

And honestly? So were you.

“I—uh—yeah,” you finally managed, your voice shaky but steady enough. “I’d like that.”

William’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up with that same mischievous glint as he straightened up, offering you his hand. “Then let’s get out of here.”

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the unfamiliar room. You blinked against the brightness, disoriented for a moment until you felt the weight of the arm draped across your waist. Right. William. Last night. Your mind replayed flashes of the night before—the teasing, the drinks, his relentless flirting, and then… everything else.

You shifted slightly, the cool sheets brushing against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the man beside you. William’s breathing was slow and steady, and you could hear the faint rustle of him stirring next to you, his presence impossibly close and yet suddenly foreign in the daylight. What the hell just happened?

You glanced over at him, your heart doing that annoying flutter thing again. Even half-asleep, he looked annoyingly perfect. His blond hair was tousled from sleep, his face relaxed, and those damn long lashes—seriously, what kind of guy has lashes like that?—cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. He shifted slightly, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before loosening, as though even in sleep he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

It was kind of surreal, being here. In bed. With William freaking Nylander.

You closed your eyes for a second, trying to piece together your thoughts, but before you could drift too far into overthinking mode, you felt him stir next to you. His arm moved away, and the bed shifted as he sat up, the sheet slipping down to his waist. You kept your eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep as you listened to him move quietly around the room. The rustle of fabric, the sound of a zipper, a soft curse under his breath as he searched for something. You could practically picture him getting ready to leave, and part of you wondered if this was the part where he would just disappear without a word.

But then you felt the bed dip again, and his hand brushed lightly against your shoulder. “Hey,” his voice was soft, huskier than it had been last night, laced with that morning grogginess that somehow made him even more attractive. “I’ve gotta head out soon. Got a flight back to Toronto in a few hours.”

You opened your eyes, blinking up at him as he sat on the edge of the bed, half-dressed in a plain black T-shirt and jeans that somehow still managed to look designer on him. His hair was still messy, but it only added to the effortless charm he seemed to carry like it was second nature. You sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to your chest, suddenly hyperaware of your own disheveled state in comparison to him looking like he just walked off a runway.

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, your voice a little scratchy from sleep. “Back to the glamorous life of hockey stardom.”

He chuckled softly, his blue eyes catching the morning light as he glanced back at you. “Yeah, something like that.” There was a pause, a moment where neither of you seemed to know what to say next. You weren’t exactly prepared for the morning-after small talk with someone like him, and part of you wasn’t sure if he’d want to stick around for it either.

But then he reached into his back pocket, pulling out his phone and turning it over in his hand before offering it to you. “Here,” he said casually, but there was a sincerity in his voice that caught you off guard. “Put your number in.”

You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “My number?”

He nodded, a small, almost boyish smile playing on his lips as he looked at you. “Yeah, unless you’d rather I just disappear into the night, never to be seen again.” His tone was teasing, but there was something genuine behind his eyes, like he was offering more than just a casual exchange of digits.

You hesitated for a second, staring at the phone in his hand. Part of you wondered if this was just something he did—collecting numbers like souvenirs from his nights out—but the way he was looking at you, waiting, made it feel different. Like he actually wanted to stay connected.

You reached for the phone, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment before you started typing in your number. “Alright,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the nervous flutter in your chest. “But only if you promise not to spam me with shirtless selfies.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, making your stomach do another one of those stupid flips. “No promises,” he grinned, taking the phone back once you’d handed it over. He glanced at the screen, then back at you, his smile softening just a little. “But I’ll definitely text you.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you just nodded, feeling a little out of your depth again. This whole thing felt like it existed in some kind of surreal bubble—like you’d stepped out of your normal life and into some alternate universe where William Nylander was asking for your number and promising to text you like this wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.

He stood up then, pulling on his jacket and giving you one last look before heading toward the door. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You smiled, though it felt more like a question than a statement. “Yeah. See you around.”

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet room, the scent of his cologne still lingering in the air, clinging to your skin. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, staring at the door for a moment as you tried to process everything. The night, the morning, the fact that he had just given you his number.

What. Just. Happened?

You flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as a small, incredulous laugh bubbled up in your chest. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. But as your phone buzzed on the nightstand, you glanced over and saw his name light up the screen.

“Talk soon :)”

Yeah. This was definitely real. And you were in so much trouble.

The days that followed that surreal morning were a blur of disbelief, excitement, and an overwhelming sense of What the hell just happened?. You spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at his name in your contacts, debating whether to text him first or wait for him to follow up on his promise. But, true to his word, he didn’t leave you in suspense for long. That very same day, your phone lit up with a simple, casual message: “So, did I pass the ‘won’t disappear’ test?”

From there, it was like a dam broke. Texts became more frequent, each conversation flowing more easily than the last. The banter came naturally, with him teasing you about your corny responses at the party, and you firing back with just enough wit to keep him on his toes. But it wasn’t just flirting anymore—it was something deeper, more meaningful. Soon, those texts evolved into long FaceTime calls that stretched late into the night, your screen lighting up with his face as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Except it wasn’t. Nothing about this was normal.

The first few calls were awkward in the way new things always are—filled with small talk about your day, what you were doing, and how many hours he’d spent training. He’d call you from all sorts of places—his car, the gym, even in between meetings with his agent—giving you glimpses into the world of a professional hockey player that still felt so far removed from your own life. Yet, the more you talked, the more he let you into those private, quieter moments. It wasn’t all glamorous; there were days he was exhausted, barely able to string sentences together, his hair mussed from pulling off his helmet, wearing nothing but his gold chain and boxers. He’d laugh at himself, apologizing for being a “boring, dense hockey guy,” but those moments, when his guard was down, were the ones that pulled you in deeper.

You found yourself opening up too. You’d show him little snippets of your life, whether it was cooking dinner in your tiny apartment or walking on your favourite beach. He seemed genuinely interested, asking questions about the things you never thought anyone would care about—your job, your friends, even your ridiculous obsession with late-night baking shows. He'd make comments like, "You bake? That’s cute. Maybe you can make me something when you're in Toronto," as if the idea of you being there wasn’t absurdly impractical.

Yet, every time he said it, that spark of curiosity flared to life. What if you did go?

There was no denying the pull. With every passing day, every call, every conversation, Toronto became more and more tempting. You could picture it so vividly—flying out, seeing him in person, experiencing this thing between you without a screen separating you. It was ridiculous, though, wasn’t it? You barely knew him. You had sex with him once. This was all supposed to be some fun, flirty thing, not a long-distance… whatever this was turning into. But when he mentioned it—“When are you coming to visit me?”—your heart would skip a beat, and the idea suddenly didn’t feel so far-fetched.

It was around the two-week mark when he FaceTimed you from his apartment. The view behind him was incredible, a sprawling cityscape with the CN Tower looming in the background. He was dressed in sweats, hair still damp from the shower, lounging on his couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. You, on the other hand, were curled up in bed, trying to keep your excitement from showing too much as he asked about your day. It was a mundane conversation, really, but there was a comfort in it, a growing familiarity that felt… nice. More than nice.

“You should be here,” William said suddenly, his eyes locking onto yours through the screen. There was a seriousness in his voice that wasn’t there before. “I keep telling you, you should come to Toronto.”

You laughed it off, like you always did, trying to mask the way your stomach flipped at the suggestion. “Yeah, because hopping on a plane to Canada is totally practical. I’ll just drop everything and come running, right?”

But William didn’t smile this time. His expression was soft, almost vulnerable. “Why not? I’m serious. You keep saying no, but you’re not really giving me a reason. I told you I’d pay.”

You blinked at the screen, momentarily thrown off by the change in his tone. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t flirting—he was asking, really asking, and for the first time, you didn’t have a quick comeback ready. You stared at him, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

“Willy,” you started, your voice softer now, unsure of how to explain the million thoughts racing through your head. “It’s just… complicated. I have a life here, a job. And we’ve only known each other for, what, two weeks?”

“So?” His response was immediate, like he didn’t see the issue at all. “It’s not like I’m asking you to move here. Just… come for a visit. Spend a weekend. See what happens.”

Your mind spun with the possibilities. A weekend. It sounded so simple when he said it, but to you, it felt like opening Pandora’s box. What if you went, and things weren’t as easy in person like it was the first time? What if this whole thing fell apart? But another part of you, the part that had been growing more attached to him with each passing day, screamed at you to say yes. To stop overthinking and just take the leap.

“I want to,” you admitted quietly, almost afraid to say it out loud.

William’s face lit up at that, the corners of his lips tugging into that boyish grin that always made your heart skip. “Then do it. You’re way too in your head about this. Just come. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst that could happen? Oh, you could think of a few things. But staring at him, his expression so open and genuine, you found yourself nodding slowly, your own grin starting to form.

“Okay,” you said before you could talk yourself out of it. “I’ll come.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, both of you processing what they meant. William’s grin widened into a full-on smile, his excitement palpable through the screen. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, his voice full of certainty. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll buy your tickets, too.”

And just like that, the decision was made. You were going to Toronto.

For the next week, your anticipation grew, along with your nerves. Every time Will mentioned it—“You’re going to love the city. I can’t wait to show you around,”—you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. It wasn’t just the trip; it was the what ifs that came with it. What if things between you were different in person? What if this whole thing fizzled out? But the pull was too strong, the connection you’d built too real to ignore.

By the time you were at the airport, suitcase in hand, your nerves were a tangled mess. Yet, somewhere beneath the anxiety, there was a sense of thrill, a quiet voice telling you that this might just be one of those moments in life where you take a risk and it pays off. After all, how often do you get the chance to fall headfirst into something this unexpected?

The flight to Toronto felt like the longest of your life. As the plane descended, you stared out the window, watching the sprawling city beneath you slowly come into focus. The CN Tower stood tall, piercing the sky, and the shimmering waters of Lake Ontario stretched out like an endless mirror. You clutched your phone in one hand, the other drumming nervously against your knee. This was it. You were about to step into something that could either be a dream or a disaster, and the weight of that realization hadn’t fully hit until now.

When the plane touched down, you were hit with a rush of nerves. What if things were awkward in person? What if the chemistry that felt so electric over FaceTime fizzled out the second you were face-to-face? You had no idea what to expect.

But then you saw him, waiting just outside of baggage claim, and all the doubts melted away.

He stood there in a hoodie and sweats, casual yet effortlessly cool, his blond hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed—but somehow, on him, it worked. The moment his blue eyes met yours, his face lit up in that same grin you’d seen a hundred times through a screen, and it felt like everything around you faded.

Your heart did a little flip as you approached, suitcase dragging behind you. “Hey,” you breathed, trying to sound normal, but your voice came out a little shaky.

William stepped forward, closing the distance between you in a few strides. “Hey,” he replied, his voice soft, his grin never wavering. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a hug. And just like that, everything felt right. His arms around you were warm and solid, his body familiar in a way that surprised you. He smelled like cologne and clean laundry, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it, into him, letting the reality of the moment wash over you.

“You’re actually here,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms. His eyes were bright, amused. “You weren’t just messing with me, huh?”

You laughed, feeling a little more grounded now that the ice had been broken. “What, did you think I’d back out last minute?”

“I don’t know,” he teased, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “You seem like you scare easy.”

Before you could come up with a witty response, he grabbed your suitcase and motioned toward the exit. “Come on, I’m starving. Let’s get out of here.”

The first few hours were a blur of excitement. He took you to a cozy café not far from the airport, somewhere tucked away and intimate, where you could sit by the window and watch the city move outside. Over coffee and a shared plate of pastries, the conversation flowed as easily as it had over the phone—only now, there was something more. He wasn’t just a face on a screen anymore; he was real, sitting across from you, his smile lighting up his entire face whenever you made him laugh.

And he did laugh. A lot. More than you expected. You’d forgotten how much your weird sense of humor had slipped out in those earlier texts, but now, sitting across from him, you felt freer. The walls you’d built, the ones you’d used to guard yourself from being too vulnerable too fast, were crumbling faster than you could stop them.

After coffee, he drove you around, showing you the city like it was his personal playground. You marveled at the historic brick buildings of the Distillery District, snapping photos as he teased you for acting like a tourist. You walked along the waterfront, where the breeze off the lake was cool and refreshing, and he bought you ice cream from a little stand by the pier. At the mention of grabbing lunch at St. Lawrence Market, you could only laugh—he was a whirlwind, jumping from one idea to the next, his excitement palpable.

Later that day, you met his brother, Alex, who welcomed you with a warm smile and a handshake that quickly turned into a hug. “So you’re the mystery girl,” he said, glancing between you and William with an amused grin. “He hasn’t shut up about you for weeks.”

You felt your cheeks burn, but William brushed off the comment with a smirk. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous.”

That evening, as the city lights began to twinkle against the darkening sky, William took you to a quiet rooftop bar, a stark contrast to the one you met at. The view of the Toronto skyline was breathtaking, and the mood between you shifted. You weren’t just two people exploring a city anymore—there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something you both felt but didn’t quite put into words.

You ended up at his place that night, the air thick with anticipation. His apartment was modern, sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the city. But you barely noticed it. Your focus was on him, the way he looked at you, the way his hands felt on your skin, gentle yet insistent.

The nights that followed were electric, filled with quiet murmurs and heated kisses, bodies intertwined in the dark. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the two of you, giving in to the pull that had been building since you fell into his arms. It was intense, thrilling, and everything you hadn’t realized you were waiting for.

You stayed for the full week. You explored more of the city together, visited Kensington Market, strolled through the Royal Ontario Museum, and even caught a Leafs game where he introduced you to his teammates. They were charming and funny, ribbing William for finally bringing a girl around. “This one must be special,” Mitch joked, and while you laughed it off, part of you wondered if it was true.

But as the days went on, something shifted.

You’ve been here longer than planned, each day blurring into the next in a way that feels easy, natural. But there’s something different about William tonight. He’s quieter, more distant, the usual spark missing from his eyes. You’re curled up on his couch, his arm thrown around you, the Toronto skyline glittering through the window–-but there’s an unease hanging between you.

“I’ve been thinking,” William starts, his voice low, as if he’s trying to find the right words. He’s sitting right beside you, although he doesn’t dare meet your gaze, fingers tapping restlessly against your shoulder. “About us. About this.”

Your heart stutters. “What do you mean?”

He finally looks at you, eyes soft, but there’s an underlying tension there. “I just… I didn’t think it’d get this serious this fast. I mean, I like you. I really do. But…” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t expect it to be this… much.”

The weight of his words sinks in slowly, a cold pit forming in your stomach. You don’t say anything at first, waiting for him to continue, to explain what exactly he’s trying to say.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I need to keep things casual. For now. It’s a lot, you being here, and I’m just… I don’t know if I can handle more with everything going on.”

There it is. The words you didn’t want to hear. The same ones you’d feared might come, lingering in the back of your mind ever since you landed in Toronto.He’s exactly like the rest of them. And believing that he was worth it?

Well, that was just gullible of you.

#toronto maple leafs #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #hockey fanfiction #william nylander #william nylander imagine #william nylander x reader #william nylander x you #wn88 #wn88 x you #wn88 x reader #william nylander fic #wn88 fic #Spotify

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poprocksmbabie · 1 year

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hmm. was buddy daddies Technically queerbaiting. no. but does it still feel like it. yeah.

#spoilers #like ur gonna tell me they raised a child together for what eleven years opened a diner together #committed the rest of their lives to raising this child together but theyre not gay #like it’s the fact that they didn’t even ACKNOWLEDGE it at all #like ok #I have my quips with bl genre #but does it take the bl genre for y’all to even ACKNOWLEDGE that two men raising a child together at least Implies that they’re a gay couple #tell me how that works #again like I kinda like that it wasn’t a bl #but at the same time #really #ur just gonna ignore it completely #whatever ig #was cute #but whatever #rambles

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poppyseed799 · 1 year

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I feel like life series fanon jimmy is kind of mischaracterized and there’s an easy way to make sure you’re doing it right: he has a lot of unearned confidence

#the tags is where I’m going to ACTUALLY say stuff LOL!!!#but like I love life series Jimmy mkay. he’s got that curse of dying first and all. which is what I mean by fanon cuz curses aren’t real #but a lot of fans make it like Jimmy accepts the curse? or even acknowledges that it’s real. which bugs me a bit cuz No He Does Not #(side note tho. I’m not mad about it. I know ppl wanna explore the concept of someone cursed to die first and that’s what they’re doing)#but like Jimmy would just be so in denial about it okay. even if you managed to convince him he would be like ‘..BUT SURELY THIS TIME’#and this relates to ranchers too. I love ranchers ok. mostly cuz my sister does tbh LMAOO she loves them. but ranchers fan content isn’t #what I’m looking for cuz it’s so often stuff like.. Jimmy being like ‘I’m sorry I’m cursed’ and Tango being like ‘it’s ok love u anyway’#but it’s really more like ‘CURSED?? NO! WE WILL WIN!’ which I think is MORE fun for the aftermath of their death. meeting in the afterlife.#I NEED to see ranchers content where they keep denying that the curse is real then Jimmy dies and they’re ghosts or whatever and Jimmy’s #like ‘oh no. we didn’t break the curse. tango probably hates me now. he only liked me cuz we thought the curse wasn’t real.’ and tango to be #like upset at first as anyone would be when they die. but then he like notices the way Jimmy is acting and he’s like ‘no.. ranchers 4 life’#???? what am I saying. hire me for writing fanfic I totally know what I’m doing.#anyways what I’m saying is Jimmy is the canary but he’s the canary that’s like ‘SURELY I can sing for the miners the whole way THIS time’#he is NOT the canary who says ‘WELL time to eventually stop singing in this cave’#HOWEVER I do think that although he has loads of unearned confidence and is in a constant state of denial. he does also have that crumble #sometimes. so it’s not totally ooc imo for him to act like that. but it would be rare moments and also mostly post death #ANOTHER SIDE NOTE I WANNA SAY. I HATE the way I’m saying this as if it’s fact. it’s my personal analysis and just because I think it’s right #doesn’t mean I want to present it as undeniable fact. I could be misinterpreting. if you want to interpret life!Jimmy’s character different #then go on ahead. I don’t hate fanon Jimmy I just wish I saw more like how I see him. that is all.#ok I lied I also wanna add that I’m bad at explaining things ESPECIALLY personalities so it’s possible that I didn’t convey what I wanted to #say properly too. sorry. OKAY NOW THAT IS ALL.

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sassmill · 7 months

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Feeling kind of hollow today

#it was my birthday #which as an adult has generally not gone well so I’ve become very neutral about it #and everyone at work was so lovely #which put how my family was in contrast #so I had a lovely lunch at work with a card from all my coworkers and a cake and crumbl cookies #but in the afternoon at my desk it sunk in AGAIN that I feel more cared for at work than I do at home #not that I care about an actual celebration just being kind and acknowledging it #but when I heard ‘happy birthday’ from each colleague today it felt so genuine #everyone asked how my day was going how old I was turning #and I didn’t expect or ask for anything #didn’t expect or ask for anything at home #but it’s the fact that my mom only decided last minute to get a cake because my brother asked her if we were having cake #I would’ve been fine if she hadn’t gotten a cake I don’t even like cake that much #it’s the fact that it was an afterthought #if she had like actually asked me ‘do you want a birthday cake’ it would’ve been one thing #but she called me and said ‘your brother asked me if we were having cake so I guess I’ll see what they have at the grocery store’#when she does something nice for me on purpose she uses it for a guilt trip #and when she does something nice spontaneously it’s always in a way that makes me feel like an inconvenience #and I need to move out of this fucking house

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container-of-apple-juice · 6 months

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Holy shit I'm looking up reviews for chapter 697-698 of Naruto and some of these are destroying me

“Soo gay T_T” too true bestie

“Fanfic vibes” I’m cryin just say gay

REAL

We all know their hands were touching symbolically through their blood, so I guess that cinches it /hj

BROKE-ARM MOUNTAIN

I’m fucking wheezing

#homophobia aside I also just whole heartedly disagree with the first guys opinions tbh #I think it’s incredibly gripping narrative storytelling to have the final fight between the two main characters echo their previous fights #especially when the two characters (Sasuke especially) do a lot of their emotional processing through physical combat #it’s basically like they’re having that same conversation again about how much they care for one another and mirroring their past fights is #basically like reminding each other that they’ve been there before. they’ve said these things before. and ultimately nothing has changed #they still love each other and will go to the most extreme lengths to communicate that to one another #even if Sasuke’s response to his love for naruto was to snuff it out to essentially kill his own emotionality through killing naruto #he’s expressed time and time again that naruto was the one and only person left in the world that he cared about #their feelings for each other were equally real and intense and they didn’t hide that fact from each other at ALL #the only difference was how they responded to their respective childhood traumas. naruto wanted to save them both by nurturing their bond #because they found strength in one another and if they were together there wasn't anything they couldnt handle- physically and mentally.#the first time sasuke cried of happiness- for anything other than complete and utter devastation- was when he accepted his loss to naruto #because for sasuke all he could see through the blinding pain of his clans genocide was naruto. so to get his revenge he had to feel nothin #he could only afford to feel pain and rage and naruto threatened to bring goodness back to his life so he had to kill him #goodness wasnt FOR sasuke. and he didn't want to acknowledge his pain or get better- he just wanted to burn everything down. but not naruto #But sasuke couldnt ever kill naruto. not in the battle of the end when naruto lied unconscious at his feet and not in their final battle #he lost. he lost the fight physically and he finally lost against his own stubborn will to steep his heart in hatred. he lost to naruto #because naruto understood his heart and he understood narutos. understood that naruto would sooner die than let sasuke be alone #he lost to naruto and it saved his life.#so uh. yeah I got carried away there but the homophobic guy was so wrong on so many levels lol #also I cannot get over broke-arm mountain #9 years ago user Vivace dropped a comedic bomb that still wracks the city #naruto

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kamitv · 1 month

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▷ First Time?

Synopsis . When you get paired with the campus asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin. Nor did you expect to be the one to change that. / Pairing . virgin!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, oral sex (m!receiving), premature ejac, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, porn w plot, teasing, taunting, filth, etc. / wc . 6k

A/N: ty to the nonnie on my main who asked if I’d ever write virgin!jjk men :3 [MDNI]

Who would’ve thought?

Of all people, Sukuna, a virgin? It just didn’t make sense.

He was this stand-offish asshole who most people respected out of pure fear. He didn’t exactly do parties and yet you could always find him at one. He’d always have some chick on his arm or even in his lap so, in what world would anyone with a brain assume he’s actually never been inside a woman before?

And to make his lack of game all the more unbelievable, he’s even rumored to have a big dick— it’s like some overly well-known campus fact about the guy.

So, again, what reason would anyone have to think the guy was a virgin?

Certainly not you, of course. And you don’t expect to be the only person to find out such information either.

The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything but you weren’t much of the party type other.

You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.

As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.

——

The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.

“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get his knocked out in like a day if you just-“

“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his— he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”

You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”

As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever— mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.

Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me ‘nd yet you want nothing to do with me already.”

“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”

He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”

You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.

You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.

“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.

To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”

“Seeing as I’ve asked you to, at the very least, type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”

The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.

After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”

You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“

“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.

He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”

“Unfortunately,” He grumps.

You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time— it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.

Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you then so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.

Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Dark ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you— you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.

——

Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.

Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweets of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.

And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours— his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.

“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”

You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-

Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“

“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”

Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.

The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-

“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.

Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”

“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”

He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours— he’s heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him.

“I’m not.” He says plainly.

“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.

Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.

That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.

“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”

You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.

And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.

——

Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on.

Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.

It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.

He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.

It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.

He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”

Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”

You scoff, “Were you?”

“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.

Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.

“Talk,” Sukuna says.

That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.

Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?

The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”

You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”

He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off.

“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”

Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”

The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”

He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.

You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”

Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”

You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you— of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.

Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”

His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.

“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-

“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.

So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.

You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”

Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”

His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.

“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.

You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”

He blinks, “Show you my cock?”

You shrug, “Yeah.”

The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.

“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret.

It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even— but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.

He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.

His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.

“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”

He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”

“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”

Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”

Your eyes go wide, “What?”

Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.

Your breath hitches a bit, “I-I-“

You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.

“What?” You whisper.

You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.

Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.

Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.

You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.

“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.

“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.

His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.

You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.

Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.

You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.

And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”

All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you— a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?

Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-

Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares?

“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.

He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly— hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.

Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”

You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“

“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.

You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”

The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.

He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.

Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip.

“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.

You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.

His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.

Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him— Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.

He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long— your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.

You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum.

The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was.

Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up.

He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you?

You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”

He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.

His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.

Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.

“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”

Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.

You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.

When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“

“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.

You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.

He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.

He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down— twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.

They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.

Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.

Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.

Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.

He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.

Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”

His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that— it’s cute.”

Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.

“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.

You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.

Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.

And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.

Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.

“Vixen,” Sukuna growls.

You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”

Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this ‘nd I’ll-“

“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”

He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.

Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”

You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”

And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.

The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?

Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.

Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.

Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”

“Don’t.” He huffs.

“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.

He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”

Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”

“No.” He replies.

Part two.

3K notes · View notes

sunniques · 3 months

Text

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

➺ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x female reader

➺ GENRE: boyfriend’s dad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: your boyfriend’s manipulative father helps you get revenge in the nastiest way possible.

➺ CW/TW: yandere themes, slight obsession, age gap, cheating, manipulation, baby trapping, dry humping, panty stealing, mentions of masturbation, wonwoo is a depraved perv, dilf!wonwoo, nipple play, spitting, fingering, some cum play, unprotected sex, squirting, creampies

➺ WC: 4k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. @wonustars hope you like it <3

Wonwoo is a sick man.

He knows this, he acknowledges it, and most importantly, he hides it.

When people thought of Jeon Wonwoo, they thought of a respectable lawyer, widower, loving father of two. And they were right. He had never done anything to indicate otherwise. Not publicly, anyway. For years he’s hidden his most depraved side without letting anyone know it existed.

His facade all starts to crumble when his son comes home from college with a lovely girl who he’s apparently head over heels for. Wonwoo recognizes the starry eyed look in his son’s eyes, and instead of being happy for him, all Wonwoo can feel is faint disgust and disdain. It’s pathetic and vile, but it’s a feeling that he can’t get rid of no matter what he does.

It gets worse when you start coming around more often, prancing around in your little shorts and skirts like Wonwoo doesn’t get hard just seeing your exposed skin. He’s sick for stealing your dirty panties when you come over and using them to jerk off, but again, he can’t stop his despicable actions. His obsession with you only grows as time goes on, and eventually he decides that he’s going to have you no matter what.

The first step in Wonwoo’s sick plan is showing you just how lavish life is with a man who can provide. He ruthlessly cuts his son off, insisting that getting out in the real world and being independent is necessary. It’s easy to ignore his son’s protests and clamors about how unfair it is that his sister doesn’t get the same treatment, mostly because he sees how fast this strategy works.

When he overhears his son tell you he actually can’t buy you the bag you’ve been wanting he can see the disappointment in your face. Wonwoo is smart enough to know it’s less about the bag and more about the seemingly empty promise. It makes sense since his son can no longer pay for your food or makeup or any clothes you like. His son can’t even get you lavish gifts you’d grown accustom to.

That’s why when your birthday rolls around, you don’t expect much. It’s perfect because you don’t expect to be spoiled which makes your reaction that much sweeter.

“Mr. Jeon!” You cry out in shock when you open the bag your boyfriend’s dad gave you. “I-I don’t know what to say! This is– I mean—Thank you!”

Not only did he gift you an expensive bag that his son had failed to give you, he also got you the biggest bottle of your favorite perfume, some clothes, and a very expensive necklace. Wonwoo smirked smugly when you hugged him, loving how you pressed your entire body against his. His son couldn’t have known, but he saw the way you started to look at him with less appreciation. Of course, it was only natural. After all, all women loved a man who could provide.

The next step was something Wonwoo couldn’t really be blamed for. All he did was have his coworker and her pretty daughter over for dinner when you were away visiting your family. He can’t be to blame for the fact that his son is a weak man who hasn’t truly accepted monogamy. Sure, he did push it along by leaving two college kids alone in a house full of liquor. And yes, he was responsible for them often meeting up whenever you weren’t around, but again, it wasn’t entirely his fault.

The final step to this long winded plan was making sure you found out.

Wonwoo is lucky his daughter has more of a moral compass than he and his son combined. The second she realized what was going on, she didn’t hesitate to tell you. Admittedly, he was saddened to know how heartbroken you initially felt. However, when he saw you again, you seemed void of that. All he could see was your thirst for revenge.

Luckily for you, he was more than willing to help you make that happen.

You still haven’t broken up with Wonwoo’s son, much to his annoyance. In fact, you’re acting like nothing’s wrong even when you come along to their vacation home during the summer. His son is hardly paying you any attention and his daughter has gone off with her friends somewhere, leaving you to your own devices.

“Hey, babe. I’m running to the store real quick. Need anything?” Your boyfriend asks without looking up from his phone.

Before, he would’ve insisted you go with him. Things change, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

“No thanks. Be safe.”

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye, and you’re glad.

Your eyes drift over to Wonwoo, appreciating how good he looks. The perfect idea for revenge had occurred to you a while ago, and with the older man quietly sipping on some liquor on the couch, you know there’s no better time than the present to set your plan in motion.

Boldly, you get up from where you’re sitting and slide onto Wonwoo’s lap. Your panties are already slick with your arousal as you sit directly on his crotch. Dark eyes look at you in surprise when you gently start to grind your panty-clad pussy down without any qualms. All you do is smirk seductively before you go to kiss and suck on Wonwoo’s neck.

“Sweetheart.” Wonwoo groans, cock already hardening because of the wet heat that’s pushing down on him. “What about—?”

“Your son’s an asshole.” You say bluntly. “And I want him to feel as shitty as I do.”

You pull back, expecting Wonwoo to push you off of him or tell you what you’re doing is wrong. Instead he only laughs and goes to kiss you. A quiet squeal escapes you when he starts to lick into your mouth. You’re quick to melt into the kiss, moaning into his mouth when Wonwoo starts to guide your hips down onto his covered cock.

The sound of a car door slamming has you pulling away. You smirk when Wonwoo groans in disapproval. The wet spot you’ve left on his pants only turns you on even more, and all you do is wink at him before running upstairs to the guest room he provided for you.

The rest of the evening goes by without incident, well except for the fact that your boyfriend got a little too drunk on wine and was now passed out on the couch. His sister only looks at him with disgust and announces that she’s going to bed. You know the truth. Earlier, she confessed that she was going to sneak out to go clubbing with her friends. This was perfect since you were going to need her gone to execute your plan.

“Goodnight, Mr. Jeon.” You purr as you stretch your arms over your head, noticing his eyes drift down you where your skirt had ridden up.

You don’t bother to hide your smirk as you go upstairs. As soon as you get to the room, you leave the door open, slipping out of your clothes and putting on a tiny night shirt that came just above your belly button. You get on the bed and settle on your side, cunt still thrumming with arousal. All you can think about is getting fucked raw by your boyfriend’s dad, and you hope he hurries up and gives you what you want.

Slowly, you slide your hand into your panties, teasing your fingers across your swollen clit. It’s easy to lose yourself to the pleasure. Especially since your mind can’t stop replaying what happened earlier in the day. God, was Mr. Jeon a good kisser. Way better than his pathetic son. You mewl quietly, wishing the ache between your legs was being soothed by someone else.

Wonwoo almost cums in his pants when he sees you on the bed. You’re only wearing a small shirt and panties, which makes it easy to see what you’re doing. He smirks, slowly undressing himself as he approaches you. It’s funny how you don’t notice him until he slides in right behind you.

“Need some help?”

You pussy throbs in excitement, and before you can answer him, you feel his hand slip down your body to cover the one you have in your panties. The mewl you let out makes his cock twitch and throb. Wonwoo holds back a groan, ready to have you in the way he’s dreamed of for months.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart.” His breath fans against your ears. “I can’t have my kids walking in on us when we’re just getting started.”

You almost tell him his sweet little daughter is out partying with her friends so there’s no real reason to keep quiet, but you resist. After all, no one would be able stop you from fucking the insanely hot man playing with your pussy.

“So fucking wet.” Wonwoo whispers hotly. “What were you thinking about?”

“You.” It’s easy to admit, especially because you can tell how much he likes it. “And how fucking wrong this all is.”

Wonwoo hums, and it somehow seems like he’s gloating. His fingers circle your throbbing clit over and over until you’re squirming against him. “Maybe, but you like it. That’s why you’re dripping all over my hand. You like your boyfriend’s dad playing with your pussy that much, huh, baby?”

“Fuck yeah.” You hiss, eyes falling closed when he pinches your wet clit. “You’re so fucking hot, Mr. Jeon. Way better than your pussy ass son.”

Wonwoo’s dick presses against your ass as he rolls his hips to grind against you. Juices gush from your cunt as he groans into your neck. “I fucking knew it—I’ve always known it. Even before you were grinding your wet pussy on me.”

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed that he knew you were attracted to him this entire time. It’s not like you can be blamed. He’s one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen, and obviously he felt some bit of attraction for you as well.

“Roll over and show me those pretty tits, baby.” Wonwoo rasps in your ear.

His words has more of your arousal coating his long fingers. You’re feeling hot all over, and you don’t hesitate to comply. You twist your body before you pull your shirt up to let your tits free. Immediately, your nipples harden under his dark gaze

“That’s it.” Wonwoo groans deeply as he rubs your pussy harder. “Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen. Fuck. Makes me want to suck on them until you’re creaming all over my fingers.”

You moan and arch your back into him. Wonwoo licks his lips and stops rubbing your pussy to pull off your panties. He grabs his cock and rubs it along your pussy. You cry out quietly when you feel his hot cock skip between your wet folds and drag against your clit and dripping hole. By now you’re panting, hips writhing from the stimulation. Wonwoo drags wet fingers up to pinch your taut nipples.

“You’ll let me suck on your sweet tits, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You agree immediately, feeling an arousing thrill when Wonwoo lets out a deep groan.

He twists your upper body some more until your back is against the mattress. Your hips are still twisted at an angle so his cock can keep rubbing against your pussy. The position isn’t uncomfortable, and you watch with anticipation as Wonwoo ducks his head to drag his mouth across the swell of your breasts. His eyes never leave yours when his mouth dips down to suck on one of your sensitive nipples. As you feel the hot wet suction, your eyes slip close with a whine.

You grind your cunt down on Wonwoo’s cock, dripping slick all over him. He moans against you nipple as he slowly drags his dick back and forth to stimulate you. The head of his cock leaks precum making your pussy messier and stickier. You drag your hand through Wonwoo’s hair, sighing and mewling as his hot mouth suckles on your hard bud.

“Fuck, just like that!” You mewl, arching your back to shove more of your tit into his mouth.

The next time he catches your gaze, you can see his pupils blown wide and a light blush spread across his face. It’s so attractive that more of your arousal drips onto his cock. Wonwoo then sucks a bruise on the curve of your breast, teeth gently digging into the soft skin. You gasp at the dull ache, pussy clenching around nothing.

“So fucking sweet.” His voice is low and raspy, tongue lapping at the bruise he left behind.

You whine and arch up into him more. “S-Shit, Mr. Jeon. This is so fucking dirty.”

He just grins at you wickedly, hips swirling against you so his cock brushes against your throbbing clit. Wonwoo starts to press wet kisses on your tits tenderly, dark eyes never leaving yours. “It is, and yet you still like it. That’s why you’re not trying to be quiet. You want my son to know your little pussy is aching for my cock.”

You moan loudly when he starts to roughly suck on your other nipple. He’s not bothering to keep his own moans quiet as he swaps back and forth between your nipples until they’re both puffy and sore. As he works his teeth and tongue on your hard buds, he grinds his cock up against your slick hole making you part your legs further.

“I know you want it, baby.” Wonwoo says after he’s satisfied with the marks he’s left on your tits. He rubs his leaking tip against your clit to hear you moan again. “Want me to split you open on my fat cock, hm? I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

“Fuck—please.” You whimper desperately. “Need you to fuck me, Mr. Jeon.”

“Call me Wonwoo, sweetheart.” He groans as he gets up and positions you so you’re fully on your back.

You mewl when Wonwoo rests his dick on your stomach. The sight is dizzying in the best way—an arousing image of how deep he’ll reach inside you once he slides into your pretty pussy. His leaking tip is almost to your belly button, and he wishes badly that he could take a picture. Wonwoo licks his lips as slowly rubs his cock through your slippery folds, covering it with your juices. His fat tip brushes against your clit and makes you whine.

You moan when he eases his cockhead past your slick folds. The squeeze of your hot cunt is tight, and it makes Wonwoo roll his hips into yours, fucking himself deeper into your clenching pussy.

“Wonwoo!” You mewl, already feeling so full even though he’s not even all the way inside.

Just hearing you moan his name has him thrusting forward and burying his cock balls deep inside your wet pussy with a deep growl. You cry out loudly, tits bouncing at his roughness. Wonwoo’s large palm immediately covers your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Shh, baby. You don’t want us to get caught do you? What would my son say is he walked in and saw his dad fucking his girlfriend’s tight little cunt?”

You moan against his hand, pussy clamping down on his dick tighter than before. Wonwoo clicks his tongue, slowly grinding deeper into you. The thought turns him on too, more than he would ever admit.

“Oh? You like that?” He hums as you buck your hips up to meet his slow thrusts. “What a dirty little slut.”

Wonwoo keeps your mouth covered as he slowly fucks your cunt. All you can focus on is how stretched open your pussy feels. You keep whining and moaning as he bullies his cock into your fluttering hole. Even though they’re muffled, the cute little noises you’re making are driving Wonwoo closer to the edge.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.” Wonwoo groans. “Feels like you’ve never had a cock this big stuffing your little pussy.”

Wanting to hear you, he removes his hand.

You shake your head before you moan out an answer. “You’re the biggest—fuck—I’ve ever had.”

Wonwoo’s cock twitches inside you as he goes to cover your mouth with his. You two share a series of wet kisses between your filthy moans. His thick cock keeps rutting into your squelching pussy and slamming into the spongy spot inside your cunt that makes you keep tightening around him. At this point your mind has gone fuzzy. All you can think about is the man on top of you and the orgasm coiling in the pit of your stomach thanks to him.

In the haze of skin slapping together and the arousing scent of sex, Wonwoo feels like he’s found heaven. He’s absolutely thrilled to have you how he’s wanted since he first saw you. After months of planning, he finally has you trembling on his cock. Wonwoo groans lowly when you squeeze even tighter around him. You whine, moving your hips to meet his thrusts.

Wonwoo smirks when he sees your fucked out expression. He can’t care that his son is passed out downstairs while he’s quite literally fucking his sweet little girlfriend’s brains out. It’s what you deserved after all the hell his idiot spawn put you through.

“Looks like you’re already addicted to my cock, baby.” His laugh is so attractive that it makes your pussy flutter.

A deep pleasure shoots up your spine as Wonwoo fucks you hard and deep, plunging his cock into your sopping cunt. You cry out his name, feeling a pleasure you never have before. His hand moves between your bodies to flick and rub your sensitive clit.

“God, sweetheart. Fucking love how your sweet cunt squeezes my cock.” He groans in delight.

Wonwoo’s fingers keep rubbing your sensitive clit until your back arches off the bed. Wet slapping and loud squelching fills the room as the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps. Your legs clamp around his slim waist at the same time your cunt tightens around his dick, milking him for all he’s worth as your arousal gushes around his throbbing length.

“That’s it, baby. Milk this fucking cock.” Wonwoo growls as his hands spread you open even more. “Fuck. I’m gonna fill you with my cum and watch it spill out of your pretty pussy.”

You whine out, wanting nothing more. “Yes! Fill my pussy with your cum!”

Wonwoo growls into your skin, ramming his dick straight into your sweet spot until he reaches his own climax. With a loud moan of your name, he spills his hot cum inside your cunt. Thick ropes of his seed paint your walls as he keeps stuffing you full until it leaks out around his cock.

It feels like you’re stuck in a blissful haze, and it’s only until Wonwoo slowly pulls out of you that you come back to your senses. His eyes are dark as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. It’s an erotic sight, you’re sure, and you can’t help but want more.

“Wonwoo.” Your voice comes out in a sigh. “Think you can go again?”

The older man groans in his throat. You’re insatiable, and so is he. Fuck. He knew you were perfect for him.

“For you? Always.”

Your eyes roll back when the bulbous tip of his length nudges your tender pussy. Wonwoo smirks and presses forward. His aching cock penetrates you in one deep thrust. Large hands hold down your squirming hips as he sheathes his big cock to the hilt. Wonwoo groans when your juices spill around his girth. He leans back and lets a string of spit falls straight onto your pussy. The filthy action makes you moan wantonly.

“Your sweet little cunt is driving me crazy, sweetheart.” Wonwoo hisses as you clench around him.

Your hot cunt is pulsing and soaking his cock as if you’re claiming it as your own. It makes him smirk. Wonwoo keeps pounding into your creamy cunt until only lewd squelching and pornographic moans fill the room. He can’t even think about his son anymore. All he cares about is splitting you open and molding your tight pussy to fit the shape of his dick.

“You just love this cock, don’t you, baby?” Wonwoo moans.

“I do—Fuck. Feels so fucking good!” Your voice is loud, and you’re both beyond the point of caring. “I love your cock. Love how you fuck my little pussy.”

His fat cock is splitting you open deliciously, weeping tip reaching your cervix with every strong pound of his hips. You’re already close again, and you know this next orgasm is going to be more intense than the last. Wonwoo seems to feel it too because he keeps driving his cock into you savagely until your thighs are trembling around him. His cock is piercing directly into your g-spot then drawing out, letting you feel every vein before plowing back into your sopping mess. His rough thrusts never lose their strength or depth. Not when you scream and convulse around his cock.

“God, you’re such a nasty slut.” Wonwoo groans. “You don’t even care that your boyfriend can wake up any moment and find you dripping all over his dad’s cock.”

You manage to smirk at him. “He has no right to be angry. Not when you’re fucking me better than he ever did.”

Wonwoo smirks back at you, thrusting deeper if possible. Your depraved words make a sick thrill shoot straight to his cock. It turns him on more than it should. Dark eyes are glued to your sopping cunt. The sight of you stretching to take his cock is so hot that he almost cums right then.

“Oh my god!” You cry out as your pulsing walls constrict around the dick ramming into you.

You let out a loud cry when Wonwoo’s spit lands where you two are connected. A guttural groan escapes him when your pussy squeezes his throbbing cock and your juices spill all over him. You topple over the edge he’s been pushing you toward, squirting all over his cock and abdomen. Your release covers him, dripping down his cock and to his heavy balls.

“Cum in me!” You plead loudly. “Stuff me full again!”

Wonwoo’s fat cock keeps sliding along your convulsing walls. The tip of his cock slams into your spot unrelentlessly, making you see stars. You keep falling apart as the older man uses your body how he wants.

“Just look at your pretty little pussy, squirting all over this cock like you own it.” Wonwoo’s grin looks wolfish and unfairly attractive. “Now I have to fill your slutty pussy like I own it.”

Wonwoo groans your name deeply. His hips are flush between your thighs as he presses to the hilt, his fat cockhead rutting into your most sensitive spot. Your toes curl tightly as you scream out his name once again. All you can see, feel, and think about is your boyfriend’s dad. His hot cum fills you up, coating every inch of your wet walls, stuffing you to the brim.

The older man falls forward a bit and buries his face in your neck, biting your sweaty skin and fucking his cum deeper into you. In your aroused daze, you can’t recognize how intoxicated he is over the feeling of you and your tight cunt.

When Wonwoo finally he pulls out, his hand lands on your tingling core. He cranes his neck to watch his fingers enter your hole. Licking his lips, he gently fucks his cum back inside you and gently toys with your messy pussy. Growls rumble in his chest as his cum slips out of you and down to your smaller puckered hole. The sight makes his cock twitch and ache all over again.

“My cute little slut.” Wonwoo coos as you slowly start to drift off to sleep. “All nice and bred—just like I’ve always dreamed.”

You look precious while you sleep, and Wonwoo can’t help but feel completely satisfied that he came inside you while you were ovulating. His son was such an idiot for not cherishing you how you deserved, but it was for the best.

Now you were all his. Only his.

#wonwoo smut #svt smut #jeon wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo x you #svt x reader #svt x you

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fanaroff · 2 months

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Dp x DC Prompt: Space Like An Ocean

An alien had taken up residence outside of the Watchtower. Its first appearance immediately started a panic with most of the heroes that could survive in space converging on the station to see whether it was friend or foe. In the end, it did not seem either.

In fact, it seemed fine with just basking and napping wrapped around parts of the Watchtower that made up the outside. It wasn’t the size of the Watchtower, but off and on it was a very near thing.

Humanoid, yet distinctly inhuman. White whispy hair sat atop its head, pointed ears, and the only feature that could be made out of its face were two bright green glowing eyes. A color that sent Batman into a research frenzy. Its skin was void-dark. Almost looking as if a piece of space itself had separated from the cosmos and took and almost snake-like form. Or maybe an eel?

The most notable thing about the creature were its injuries. Multiple lacerations covered it, leaking a green that never touched the Watchtower and seemed to evaporate not long after leaving its body. Any silent attempts to collect it for study and to figure out what it was were met with emotionless green eyes and a bare hint of fang. They backed off quickly.

Flash liked to call it a mer-eel. “Cause it’s got an almost human torso, two arms, and the rest just kind of curls up!”

Wonder Woman was unimpressed with this. “That would suggest it is more like a naga.”

To which Green Lantern replied, “No, no, he’s right. There’s an almost white fin-like bit that goes down the tail like an eel’s does.”

Any more attempts to identify the creature led to nothing and soon the “eel” became a silent fixture of the Watchtower.

It was ages later when Zatanna entered the Watchtower to discuss a completely non-connected case when she stumbled immediately upon leaving the Zeta Tube and had to lean against a wall, breathing heavily.

“Something feels like Death.” Was all she could get out before her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she dropped to the ground. She wouldn’t wake up, dead asleep. Immediate worry all around lead to Justice League Dark being contacted in full.

Constantine with Deadman in tow were ultimately the ones to solve the mystery. It took but a moment for Deadman to be seen thanks to Constantine’s “magic” and awe was the first thing apparent on his face. Deadman didn’t even need to leave the Watchtower to know what it was.

“Oh,” he whispered like a prayer. “So that’s where he goes when he takes a break.”

Queue questioning.

“He” turned out to be Phantom, the Ghost King who had apparently decided the Watchtower was a perfect basking spot. Confusion was abound at this.

“No, see,” Deadman tried to explain. “He has two Obsessions and the Watchtower feeds into both. Heroes who protect, as he is a protector spirit himself and probably feels a kinship, and space.”

Constantine and Deadman explained as best as they could, but when the questions finally settled, the last was “Why isn’t Constantine affected like Zatanna? Why aren’t the rest of them affected like Zatanna?”

“That’s easy!” Deadman piped. “None of you are attuned to death magic! I’m a ghost, he’s my King. Zatanna is a magician with experience in most magics. And Constantine doesn’t own enough of his soul to feel the death!”

In the end, a request from Deadman was all it took for things to change. With barely a rumble, Phantom pulled himself from the Watchtower and drifted far enough away for his aura to no longer affect Zatanna. The heroes could only watch in awe as the eel-like god returned to the open ocean of space.

Addition:

There were a giant green eyes observing the conference room. Every hero inside was frozen in place, staring back at the eyes and trying their best not to move a muscle. Phantom had moved from atop the station. Phantom had acknowledged them. Phantom was staring at them from a window of the Watchtower.

No one knew why he was there. Just that suddenly he was. The bright green lighting the entire room with its shine was the only warning they got. They stared. He stared.

Slowly, he moved. A hand-shape pointed with a claw. They were confused. The hand made a pointing motion again.

The table?

Ah. Several shards of kryptonite sat on the table. The topic of the discussion as someone had somehow gotten ahold of the shards and used them against Superman. They needed to know who supplied them.

The hand pointed again.

Why did Phantom want the shards?

Apparently, it wasn’t up to them to question as the pointing hand phased into the room, palm up. Waiting. No one moved for a moment until a white narrowed slit formed in Phantom’s eyes.

Green Lantern was quick to grab the shards (Batman made a token protest, those were his damn it) and placed them in the palm. He shivered as his finger brushed the skin, ice cold washing up and down his spine.

The hand closed, retracted and approached the face. The eyes stared as a large mouth opened (fangs, sharp sharp fangs laid in green) and a tongue popped out. The shards were placed on the tongue and the mouth closed with a sharp crunch.

Phantom grinned almost smugly before he drifted away from the window and back to the top of the Watchtower.

“Did- Did Phantom just ask for a snack?”

#danny phantom #dp x dc #ghost king danny #danny phantom fic #fanfic #mer danny #eel danny #mer eel danny #kryptonite is catnip to ghosts #kryptonite ghost snack #I’m not good at titles

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gojoest · 7 months

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CRAZY ABOUT YOU — gojo satoru

tw: MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, pregnancy (reader is expecting), established relationship (you’re married), pregnancy freak!satoru, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby, love, sweetheart), very very brief mention of somno & oral f receiving, reader wears a dress, he’s a freak, not proofread, wc: 2.4k

synopsis: your husband fucks you during one of your prenatal visits

your husband is a freak, you know that. but what you didn’t know was how big of a one he could be, for you. you found out — when you became pregnant with his child.

when satoru found out that you’re carrying his child — because he did before you, saw it with his six eyes — he fucked you differently. with a primal urge unheard of, like a man that’s impregnated his wife and is now claiming her again, confirming the fact that you belong to him by slamming it deep inside you. after the fifth (?) orgasm he dragged out of you that night, you asked him through a weary chuckle — “huh, where did this come from?” — and his answer began with a motion of his fingers hugging his balls — “it came from here…”, followed by his other hand caressing your belly “…and went there”, while slowly leaning in to meet your lips, “and i might just lose my mind because, baby — you’re pregnant”

a rather unconventional way to find out you’re pregnant.

if he had any semblance of decency in him before (which is rather questionable) and could keep his hands to himself (to some extent) during certain times and in certain places, it is completely off the table now.

when he wants you, you will know; others around will know it, too. he doesn’t shy away from making it obvious, or more so he doesn’t care if other people notice. what’s there to be embarrassed about? after all, you’re a couple, you do things. it’s only natural. and that pretty baby bump is the perfect proof of it. in all honesty, it gets him off when others know that he’s about to fuck his beautiful pregnant wife once he takes her home.

he's a freak like that, it can’t be helped. even more so now with the way your skin glows differently, with the way you smell, the way you carry yourself and the way your body is undergoing the natural changes as the pregnancy progresses that he finds so beautiful. it all messes with his head. brings out the real freak in him that can no longer keep his urges at bay, not when knowing that he himself brought this upon you. it makes you so undeniably his, for everyone to see and acknowledge. his chest swells with pride…

…but sometimes pride also gives way to greed, to a freakish desire for more of you.

during the rare times you go about to shower without him, he slips into the bathroom. sits on the toilet seat and starts jerking off to you, watching your swollen belly and breasts, moaning loud and clear for you to come to his aid. sometimes you wake up to him holding your hand wrapped around his cock, rubbing himself into your palm, audible pants seeping from his lips as he slowly lifts the hem of your shirt (his shirt that you wear to sleep) — preparing to splatter his load on your pregnant belly; or alternatively, you open your eyes to his face buried between your legs, devouring you like a starved animal… other times, as you make dinner in the kitchen, tenderizing the meat with the mallet on the counter, he comes from behind and presses his hard-on against your ass, shamelessly asking “would you mind beating my meat, too, baby?”

and when you go about to scold him, call him a jerk, a perv, a freak, insufferable while hitting his chest — playfully, because you secretly like it when he can’t contain himself around you — he blames you for it. tells you that you’ve severed him so abysmally that he’s having a hard time now keeping it soft around you (he’s not lying). that you broke him and should take responsibility for it. chuckles fill the room and mix in between your kisses that later turn into breathy moans and pants mixed in between countless of i love you’s and you’re mine and mine only’s.

but sometimes, such as today, he takes things a bit too far…

like,

—you can’t simply fuck your wife during one of the prenatal visits just because the doctor left the examination room for a bit and your dick is rock-hard from seeing your wife’s belly out in the open.

“you have to be kidding me”, you raise your brows in absolute surprise as you watch your husband unbuckle his pants, “now? HERE?”

“please?”, he looks at you, cheeks flushed and eyes of a pleading puppy.

you knew he was up to something from the glint in his eyes as he kept staring at your exposed belly earlier, completely transfixed, only his eyes following the ultrasound probe as the doctor pressed it over your tummy.

“the doctor’s going to come any moment, you know right?”, you try to confirm he is aware that this can go very wrong.

“yes, but so am i — you don’t want me walking around in cum drenched pants, right?”, he purses his lips into a pout, one that’s obviously fake (but it works on you, even if you refuse to admit it).

“it’s not like you’ve never done it before”, you mock.

“that was only one time”, he pouts (this one’s not a fake), “okay, maybe two or three times, but it happens even to the best” (it was more than two or three times)

“aha”

“oi. whose fault do you think it was? you make a man go crazy. i mean, look at me right now, just look — i am standing here with my dick almost out for you, in the doctor’s office”

“so you realize this is absolutely crazy but still you won’t pack your dick away?”

“no, i will not. i’ll die if i don’t get to fuck you this instant. and i mean it, it hurts so much. and the authorities will suspect you did it, you know. because it’s always the wives anyway…..and they won’t be wrong about it”

“you’re hopeless, satoru”, you sigh, giving him a roll of your eyes.

but still, leaning on your elbows you slowly rise yourself from the examination table and sit at the edge of it, removing the towel covering your thighs. spreading your legs for him, you think that you really made the right choice to wear a dress today — less in the way for your husband and another one of his “if i don’t get to fuck my wife, i’ll die” episodes.

“i am”, he saunters over to you, biting his lower lip at the sight of your thighs and the beautiful belly hanging in between, “but i can’t help it when you’re so pretty for me like this, i go crazy”

and fuck, if it doesn’t make you wet the way he looks at you right now as he stops to stand between your open thighs, invading your space with such ease because that’s where he belongs to be. all the signs hint at that, too — the ring on your finger, the baby in your belly and the wetness dripping from your cunt, ready to welcome him in.

“yea, you really do”, you pull the front of his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, earning a low hiss from him upon your hand making contact with it.

“all because of you”, he places his hands under your ass and slightly pulls you to himself. you’re immediately met with where he’s hard, it’s poking and rubbing against your belly.

a moan crawls up his throat and breaks out into a satisfied groan. part of him wants to cum just like this — by rubbing himself against your belly. but god, you smell so good down there that it shifts his desire. now that he’s so close to you — standing right in front of your doors — he can smell it so much better. your scent wafts up from your heat and goes straight to his nostrils, letting his brain register in the most primal of ways that your body is ready for him.

you know he’s noticed the dampness of your panties by the way his smile’s faded into a grin, you can smell yourself in the air around you, too.

“fuck, baby…can cum from this alone, you know? rubbing myself on that pretty belly that i made on you”, satoru whispers as he leans forward to take your mouth into his. his lips are loaded with such intensity that they suck the air from your lungs, leave you moaning into his mouth. the grip he’s got on your ass tightening, his fingers digging into your flesh. “but that won’t do now, so hold on tight”

you comply in silence, wrapping your hands around his neck as he lifts you up just enough to peel your panties down to your thighs, then sits you up again and drags them down your legs and onto the floor.

“just so you know—if someone comes before i do, i’ll just keep fucking you”, he grins at you as he positions himself back between your legs. his words might sound like a joke, an exaggeration of some sort to make it clear how much he wants you right now, but you know better than anyone that he’s pretty serious about it.

“then hurry up, you freak”

his fingers swipe over your cunt — to confirm that you are indeed as ready as your scent gives away — and collect your arousal before rubbing it all over the length of his throbbing cock, mixing your wetness with his vigorously leaking pre.

“open them a little bit more for me, baby”, he coaxes, hands back on your thighs, tapping softly on your skin as a signal to spread them just a little bit more and give him way. you lean back on your hands and push your legs open as much as you can. the motion causing your belly to bump against his cock, squishing it between the two of you, pressing it against his stomach.

“s-shit, baby”, he hisses at the sensation, his body jerks a little and his hips buck forward, against your belly, to deepen the friction, “i can really cum from just rubbing it on you….fuck, that’s crazy”, he laughs.

but satoru stops himself.

his hand moves away from you to get a hold of his cock and help it against your entrance, pushing the head towards your folds before slowly sinking in the entirety of it, bottoming out in you from the very start. there’s no time to waste and he’s got no patience left in him, once he’s in — he’s going all the way.

“nghh, s-satoru”, you whimper at his needy intrusion, but swallow him so easily that your wetness starts to spurt out as he’s starting to dart in and out, trickling down the crack of your ass and dripping onto the examination table.

“fuck, love…look at the way you take me”, he breathily chuckles, head thrown back as he picks up the rhythm of his thrusts, “and you call me crazy, huh…haha, fuck, f-fuc-k” — if his voice was a tad bit louder just now and could keep a steady note, he would’ve sounded maniacal.

“s-shut up….don’t compare me to yourself”, you protest, trying to deny the fact you want him just as bad but the way your walls clench around him proves the other way around. you become who you surround yourself with. he’s crazy to do this to you here of all places. and you’re just as much crazy to let him have his way with you.

you suck him in so deep that his body, caught off guard, jerks and bucks forward. it makes him forget where he starts and where he ends. he wants to let go but also to never stop, he’s fighting so hard but it’s a battle he’s slowly losing. as his pace is growing faster his thrusts are getting sloppier. “shit”, he curses under his breath. his balls are sizzling and he wants to bust so bad but not before he makes you cum.

the tension, the pulsing of his cock and the ridges of his throbbing veins — you can feel them like a heartbeat inside of you, and each time he slams against that sweet spot your clit responds with a beat of its own.

you try to hold your voice back but pants leave through your parted lips as you gasp for air.

“nghh, ’toru…’m gonna cum”, you whimper incoherently as you throw your head back, eyes shut close.

“yea? go on, baby—cum for me. come on, sweetheart—i’ll help you out”, he breathes.

his hands grabbing onto the plush of your thighs with a deadly grip, pulling you closer to help fuck himself into you better. the bottom of your belly is flat against his rock-hard abdomen now and he keeps it that way while ramming himself inside you, rubbing his cock around your sensitive walls, without pulling out. over and over until you squirm and come undone. face grimacing in pleasure and hips jerking from the electrifying sensation as you keep chanting “fuck, fuck, fuck” under your breath as quietly as possible so your voice doesn’t make it past the walls of the examination room for others — doctors, nurses and patients — to hear.

you glance your eyes to him, all disheveled and sweaty as his hips live through the last few thrusts left in them before he implodes inside of you. you hear him grumble how he’s about to fill you up while peering at you with a desperate face.

“f-fuck”, he growls throatily, charging one last time into you before spurting his load inside you. his body shudders from the release he’s been holding back. and he’s pouring too much, his heat spilling and filling your insides. you can feel it all — he’s making a frothy mess of your cunt.

it takes a few seconds after he’s done pouring his seed that his body reigns back control and he stops shuddering. he then looks at you.

“if i pull out now it’ll all spill out, you know? so maybe we should stay—?”

“no.”, you dryly interrupt. “don’t force our luck. put that thing away before someone comes and help me put my panties on”

“but it’ll spill out”, he insists.

“i’ll hold it in, don’t worry”

“oh? you know just the thought alone is doing inhumane things to me all over again, right?”

“satoru. don’t you dare.”

#ઈઉ — ai writes #[ ♡ ] — satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #pregnancy freak!satoru

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staraxiaa · 3 months

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sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: childhood frenemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!”

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly.

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back.

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend.

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up.

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤”

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.”

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl.

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!”

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary.

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher.

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally.

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.”

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!”

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?”

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression: deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic. You sober up, frowning a little.

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.”

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust.

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school.

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.”

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?”

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?”

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.”

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.”

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue.

The sensei walks in.

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile.

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it.

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school.

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her.

“I’m always nice.”

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too.

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes.

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face.

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?”

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower.

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?”

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her.

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.”

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back.

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?”

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.”

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.”

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!”

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!”

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious.

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!”

“HAH? WHAT⏤”

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.”

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?”

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm.

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!”

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?”

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.”

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.”

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.”

By one point, but still.

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision. “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.”

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this.

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!”

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school.

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while.

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.”

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.”

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.”

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.”

“I will literally drop you.”

“I just healed you. I’m tired.”

“No one fucking asked you to.”

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“What, dumbass.”

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.”

“You will.” His certainty surprises you.

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?”

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.”

You shift to blink up at him in surprise.

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek.

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.”

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake.

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking.

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!”

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?”

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved.

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…”

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!”

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?”

“And what the hell would you know about that?”

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise.

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.”

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?”

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh.

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?”

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched.

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!”

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions.

Before your hands, the door slams open.

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.”

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning.

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed.

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.”

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?”

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them.

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck.

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?”

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face.

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.”

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you.

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.”

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face.

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?”

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners.

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick.

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away.

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone.

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.”

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤”

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair.

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.”

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.”

Your mother is watching you carefully.

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?”

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.”

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!”

She is watching you carefully.

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications.

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings.

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out.

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?”

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands.

You eye him a little strangely.

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤”

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?”

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?”

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook.

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?”

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?”

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits.

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.”

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!”

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you.

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.”

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.”

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again.

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath.

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case.

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing.

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!!

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?”

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.”

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight.

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.”

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning.

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready.

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but.

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine.

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm.

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then.

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins.

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel.

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!”

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already.

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you.

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?”

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do.

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are.

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him.

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,”

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.”

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die.

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.”

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!”

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls.

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts.

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways.

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table.

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own.

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her.

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,”

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly.

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!”

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.”

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!”

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical.

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well.

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom.

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?”

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!”

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either.

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!”

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways.

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness.

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!”

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t.

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something.

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.”

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment.

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath.

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running.

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright.

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤”

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past.

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed.

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen.

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.”

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side.

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused.

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground.

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.”

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?”

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal.

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!”

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple.

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it.

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head.

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.”

There is murmured assent from the class.

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you.

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.”

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says.

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.”

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning.

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it.

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back.

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.”

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?”

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.”

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin.

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?”

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.”

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!”

“I will communicate that to him, then.”

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him.

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear.

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify.

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder.

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!”

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.”

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm.

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past.

You choose none of the above.

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?”

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting.

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways.

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat.

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life.

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think.

You lunge.

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one.

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away.

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian.

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over.

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?”

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch.

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways.

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination.

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to.

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense.

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love.

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment.

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient.

You had been the one to heal him, after all.

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.”

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.”

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing.

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work.

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!”

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?”

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk.

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?”

You didn’t, but he only continues.

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?”

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all.

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you.

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.”

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down.

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off.

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does.

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.”

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.”

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between.

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back.

And finally, you find your voice.

“He does what he likes.”

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench.

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare.

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens.

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.”

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one.

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.”

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm.

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?”

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine.

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried.

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different.

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say.

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.”

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.”

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie.

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn.

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away.

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him.

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip.

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers.

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning.

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes.

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at.

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass.

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since.

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he.

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck?

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway.

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.”

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest.

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does.

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you.

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?”

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek.

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you.

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain.

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all.

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are.

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above.

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life.

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here.

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy.

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you.

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him.

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say.

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.”

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound.

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar.

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name?

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?”

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.”

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know.

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours.

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious.

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing.

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all.

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you.

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting.

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?”

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?”

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut.

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring.

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤”

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!”

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!”

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel.

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.”

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it.

And then, you crumple.

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest.

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.”

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer.

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week.

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you.

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile.

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

#bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #[✧] — writing!

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