#on the board are practically random scribbles)

[shy-forceghost]

My plasma physics professor wants me to have a stroke with this notation and I to be honest, I am almost there

[gh0stsp1d3r]

I love your idea of Nerdy!Rafe! Could I pretty please ask for a request? Kind of makes me think of Andrew Garfield as Peter. Kind of that vibe of ‘’first love’’ cuteness and wholesomeness you experience, Rafe’s had a crush on her from a distance. Maybe Reader is not the most outgoing and introverted, maybe she does photography for the school sport teams. They get paired up for a project, and there is lingering tension and he is super nervous, and she catches him staring in awe at her several times. Perhaps as the class wraps up, they walk out together. Sarah is outside to give him her keys or something, and she sells him out by spilling ‘’Oh this is the girl you are always looking at, at your computer 😉 ’’ leaving them and he gets super embarrassed/shy

- PAIRS OF TWO

a/n: I adore this sm

warnings: he’s nervous ash, and lowkey a bit of a stalker but it’s okay..

Rafe Cameron had always felt like he’d never find love.

His whole life, he’s had girlfriends come and go, his self esteem getting crushed each time it happened. Not even Ward, his own father, seemed to like him. He favored Sarah over him each time, no matter how good his grades were or how prestigious the college he went to was.

Now, Rafe felt even more pathetic as he stared at you from afar, almost stuck in a dream-like trance. The words the professor spoke went in to one ear and out the other, it’s not like he didn’t already know this.

He was snapped out of his daze when his professor unexpectedly called on him, everyone turning to him.

Right… the worst part about being the professors top student, was that she knew his name off the top of her head. Your eyes were on him, catching him just as he looked away from you. His cheeks turned a shade of pink, looking at the board and thinking of an answer in his head.

Fucking Econ. It’s not like he wanted to even be working for a business degree, but whatever his father wanted, he got.

“Uhm…” he began to explain the answer, his voice rather quiet. He adjusted his glasses when he was done answering, looking up at the teacher.

She nodded with a smile, “Correct. Thank you, Rafe.”

He looked back to you, to find you looking at the teacher again, a distant look in your eyes while you scribbled down some notes.

He found himself looking at the camera that was hung around your neck. He found himself wondering what you would be doing after this, knowing you, probably taking pictures for their football team at the game later. Or maybe even-

He found himself drifting off in his thoughts again, that he didn’t even notice the way you glanced back at him, noticing his staring, before turning around.

“Now, for the project, I’ve already assigned you guys into random pairs of two,”

This got his attention now. He turned to the teacher now, intrigued. He looked at the long list of names on the teachers screen, narrowing his eyes.

No way.

Group 6, Y/N L/N and Rafe Cameron.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

He looked at you and you looked back at him, you offering him a small smile.

“I don’t wanna hear shit about how you don’t like your partners or whatever- deal with it. And I suggest that you get to know them over the weekend, because you’ll be working with them a lot on this project. Class dismissed.” She spoke, everyone gathering their things, him practically rushing to.

He shoved everything into his backpack, glancing up at you to see you already walking away.

His hopes diminished, a small part of him hoping that he would get to talk to you. It’s okay, he thought, you’d get to talk to her next week.

Wait, the game. You always were at them, taking photos for the team.

Meanwhile, you were walking to your dorm, a small smile on your face, looking down at the camera you had around your neck.

Rafe didn’t know a single thing about football. If anyone asked him for the name of a single player, he would not be able to come up with an answer.

Sports was never his thing, he did baseball when he was young, sure, wrestling was always his dad’s favorite sport, but he could not seem to get into it at all.

His roommate couldn’t even believe it when he heard it.

“No fucking way! Rafe Cameron is going to a football game?”

“Yeah…” he mumbled, rolling his eyes when he chuckled in his face out of disbelief.

“Wait, I bet this is about that one girl.” He said in a sing-song voice, teasing the boy. Rafe shoved him, his cheeks turning beet red out of embarrassment. He couldn’t be more right.

“It is!” He laughed. “I knew it. Hey, don’t worry, I’ll go with you.”

That was not what he wanted, but it seemed like he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

You were on the field when he got there, his roommate sitting next to him.

He looked entirely out of place, his light blue shirt, his khakis and his glasses sticking out in the crowd like a sore thumb. Maybe he should have worn school color.

His eyes were not set on the game like everyone’s else’s were, no, his eyes were set on you. The entire time, he watched you snap photos of the team, as well as some of the crowd. When you turned around to look into the crowd, he found the corners of his lips subconsciously curling up into a smile.

On Monday, the professor gave directions for you all to sit with your partners.

He had been working himself up for this exact moment for what felt like months, as well as giving himself a little pep talk in the mirror that his roommate unfortunately heard.

You sat next to him, turning to him with a small smile before facing forward again, listening to the teacher ramble on.

Finally, after minutes of explaining where to find everything, she stopped talking. Rafe pulled open his computer, you opening yours up as well.

“I’m Rafe, by the way.” He spoke, turning to look at you, his hands nervously fidgeting in his lap. Really? That’s the best I could do? He thought to himself.

He was cute, you thought.

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Rafe.” You gave him that sweet smile, him returning a smile.

His name sounded heavenly coming from your mouth, and he thinks he’d remember it for the rest of his life.

“So, uhm… what’s your major?” You asked him, just for small conversation.

“Business. What about- what about you?” He replied.

“Marketing and design. But… I really wanna become a photographer. Marketing and designs supposed to be a good major for that.” You nodded.

“That’s- that’s really nice… I just- you know, I’m probably gonna have to take over my dad’s company one day, so… not as interesting.” He said with a nervous chuckle, his hands grabbing the nape of his neck now.

“No, no, that’s nice. That’s… cool. What does-what does he do?”

“He’s uhm- you know, like- like real estate development… kinda boring, but..” He shrugged his shoulders, you smiling.

“I think it’s cool.”

“Uhm- yeah- yeah, thank you.” He laughed, oh god, his palms were so sweaty, his cheeks were so warm and his leg was nervously bouncing up and down. Fuck, he was a mess.

You turned back to you computer, clicking on the app. “Uhm… so I was thinking-“

You were so smart too, he realized when you both started the project. It was like you couldn’t get more perfect.

After an hour, it was time to leave, much to his annoyance. You stood up, and he expected you to leave for a moment, but instead, you did something he’s only dreamed of.

You waited for him. Holy shit. He packed his stuff up quicker, standing next to you, the both of you beginning to walk out the door.

“You’re uhm…” he began, you turning to him now with your head tilted to the side. “You’re really smart.”

You laughed, “Thanks.”

“No- I- I mean it.”

“You are too. More smart than me.” You told him, and he was going to reply when he spotted a familiar face.

“Hey, Rafe.” Sarah stopped him, holding out a key for him. You stopped in your tracks as well, standing next to him.

“Hi.” He murmured, you looking between the two with confusion in your eyes.

“Dad told me to drop this off to you. Said something about coming home this weekend.”

He sighed, taking the keys from her hands. He expected her to leave, but instead, she looked to you.

“Oh! Is this the girl you’re always looking at on your computer?” She held out her hand for you to shake, which you did, with a rather confused look on your face.

“W-Sarah!” He groaned in annoyance. You quirked an eyebrow, she raised her hands in self defense.

“See you.” She spoke, walking away, leaving the two of you.

He couldn’t even look at you, glancing down at his feet, you looking at him with pure confusion on your face.

“You know- I- I dont even know what she’s talking about. She’s like- yeah, no, she’s... crazy. You know..? I’m just gonna… go-“

“Wait, Rafe-“ you grabbed his wrist when he began to walk away, your touch almost causing his soul to fly out of his skin. He looked back with wide eyes, you pulling out your phone.

“Uhm… can I get your number? Just so we can, like, make plans and stuff…” you quickly explained, “You know… finish the project.”

He had to be dreaming.

He nodded, grabbing your phone and putting his number in. “Course. I’ll uh… I’ll… see you around?”

“See you, Rafe.” You gave him a small smile and wave, walking the opposite way.

Taglist:

@moonssyrup @koibleufish @anamiad00msday @wearemadeofstardust0

[kokoa-la]

Prompt from @help-i-need-a-cool-username

Jason has once again snuck into Gotham University. Now, before any assumptions are made onto why the crime lord would break into a college, the reason is because he likes the library. That's it. The public library is trashed and small, barely taken care of, but Gotham U's? It's beautiful. Multiple floors, organized and in sections, taken care of, alphabetical order, it's magnificent. The chairs were a reason alone to sneak in, but the students here added an extra charm. 

He had gone to the very back of the library on the second floor. This area was  pretty well hidden and enclosed. He would come here to read without anyone questioning him, even hiding the books he wasn’t finished with yet to continue on later. Jason wasn’t expecting someone to be so close to his spot though. A few tables across stood a student, thin, tall, with pitch black hair, baggy cargo jeans, and a white t-shirt. The other hadn’t noticed him yet, so he remained quiet and just watched. He was in front of a large white board on wheels, seemingly taken from the rooms he saw down the hall. 

“That doesn’t work, goddammit.”

On the white board was lines upon lines of equations- at least he thought they were equations, with most of them being letters and symbols rather than numbers. It made the vigilante’s brain hurt. The student - assumed STEM major - just kept mumbling to himself.

“Stupid physics, won’t allow interdimensional travel”

What? Jason may have been out of school since 15, but he knew no courses were asking for the answer to traveling between dimensions. It seemed the student had a habit of talking to himself when worked up or focused, possibly why he isolated himself from the rest of the library. 

“If your parents could do it, why can’t you? Think Danny, think!”

That sentence wasn’t concerning at all, but at least Jason learned the boy’s name. Danny seemed to have a strange background, what did he mean by ‘if your parents could do it’? Had his parents managed to travel between dimensions? The other was chewing on the cap of the white board marker, his other hand resting on his hip as he swayed back and forth.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! That! The thing! That thingy!”

Jason could practically see the lightbulb go on above Danny’s head. Just then the other erased a solid portion of the whiteboard and dropped to his knees, ouch. He started frantically scribbling, fast and messy, barely cohesive. Though, Jason was sure that if it was Tim sitting where he was instead, the boy could probably understand everything on that board. He’d stick to English literature, thank you very much. 

“That’s it! Oh my ancients! I got it!”

Danny practically jumped in the air, punching the air in triumph. Jason almost felt proud of him, this complete stranger he’s been watching, wow he was being creepy, huh? Danny shot both of his arms straight up, the marker gripped tightly in his right hand fist. 

“I did it!”

He looked so happy, so excited. He began to buzz, even spinning, before stopping mid loop and turning around slowly. Shit, Jason had been caught. To be fair, Danny hadn’t exactly turned around the whole time, meaning Jason was just watching his back the whole time as he worked through his… problem? It’s such a shame, Jason was thoroughly entertained by this random kid. 

“Uhhh, hi? How long have you been there?”

Oh shit, Jason had to talk now, didn’t he?

“Not very long, but long enough to know you were trying to solve interdimensional travel before apparently succeeding.” 

The color drained from Danny’s face. Whoops?

“Uhm, no I didn’t.”

Now that he got a closer look, the student looked like someone Bruce would adopt. Black hair, clear blue eyes, tan skin, sharp features, the whole nine yards. He was actually fairly attractive, maybe even cute. 

“Really? I could have sworn that you said ‘stupid physics won’t allow interdimensional travel’”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah sure, and I’m a student here.”

“Wait, you’re not a student here?”

“That’d only be true if you were lying.”

“Well I’m not so-”

“Uh huh, sure you’re not.”

“Look dude-”

“Jason.”

“Look Jason, there’s no way that I could solve interdimensional travel, the multiverse doesn’t exist.”

“Look Danny-”

“How do you know my name?”

“I won’t tell a single soul if you explain how you did it to me”

Curiosity won his gambit. Would he regret what he was about to say? Perhaps.

“Maybe over a coffee?”

He knew it was worth it when the marker hit the floor and Danny moved his hand to cover his red face. Well, it wasn’t the first time he’s done something he regrets, maybe this time it’d be a cute STEM major who knows the secrets to the multiverse. 

[bumblesimagines]

The Deal

Request: Yes or No

Summary: When Pope needs some extra cash, he takes up the opportunity of helping others with their studies. However, things take a turn when he decides to help out a known troublemaker.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical OBX warnings, teasing over virginity, (Y/N)'s kinda an asshole, mentions/implied JJPope (should've been canon), implied bisexual JJ, Pope is bisexual and possibly ooc,

Super short but felt like doing something with sweet ole Pope

~~~

(Y/N) watched with a lazy grin as Mrs. Heyward shuffled into the room with a charcuterie board in hand, her smile big and warm and utterly welcoming as she carefully set the food down on an empty part of Pope's desk. Her son rolled his lips into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut at her presence, his fingers rubbing into his forehead in pure embarrassment that only made (Y/N) snort quietly. Mrs. Heyward leaned back and clasped her hands together, her eyes crinkling when she faced them.

"There you go, sweetie. Eat as much as you want. You boys let me know if you need anything, 'kay?"

"Okay, Mom, thank you." Pope practically groaned, giving Mrs. Heyward a tight-lipped smile and watching her leave his bedroom while (Y/N) quietly snickered under his breath, his knuckles pressing into his lips to muffle the noise before it could reach the kind older woman's ears. Pope exhaled heavily and stood up to fully shut his door, ensuring to lock it before he returned to his bed and softly cleared his throat. "Sorry 'bout that." He muttered, swallowing down the mortification that'd filled him when his mother had strolled into the room.

"That was cute, Heyward." (Y/N) laughed, picking up a juicy apple slice and taking a bite from it, a bit of juice dripping off his bottom lip. Slowly chewing on the crunchy apple slice, he watched Pope retrieve some notebooks and flip through them until he reached his desired pages full of biology notes and some poorly drawn scribbles. He popped open the cap of his highlighter and took a peek through the pages of (Y/N)'s science notebook, unsurprisingly finding them mostly blank.

"Okay, so, uhm," Pope cleared his throat. "You know what monomers and polymers are, right?"

And right on cue, (Y/N) promptly zoned out and fully allowed his attention to shift onto the surprisingly semi-cluttered room of Pope 'Golden Boy' Heyward. He eyed the posters and drawings on the wall, some movies he recognized whilst others were characters from anime series with bulky muscled men and petite women.

(Y/N) shoved the rest of the slice into his mouth and squinted as he looked at the Polaroid pictures pinned to the wooden wall near him, recognizing a younger Pope with his parents in a few but JJ, Kiara, and John B were the subject of half of the pictures stuck around the walls of the room. 

Scooting his chair closer to the wall, he felt the corners of his lips curl up into gleeful mischief when he took note of the way Pope looked at Kiara in most pictures; softened adoring eyes, a gentle smile, the look of knowing written all over JJ's smirking face in each photo. Pope liked Kiara, (Y/N) realized, and spun the swivel chair around to look at him. He'd never seen Pope flirt properly before, only ever spewing random weird facts that had chicks furrowing their brows and walking away when they got the chance. 

"-dehydration synthesis is actually pretty cool if you think about it. Basically what happens is-"

"Heyward." (Y/N) purred, slowly rising from his chair and plucking another apple slice from the board. Pope's eyes darted away from his notebook to look at him questioningly, his body perking up and shoulders squaring as if awaiting (Y/N)'s question about whatever he'd spent the last few minutes blabbering about. (Y/N) popped the apple slice into his mouth and nudged the notebooks off the bed, letting them slip and fall onto the floor with soft thuds. "You're a total virgin, right?" 

Pope blinked at him, his mouth flying open and then slamming shut. He visibly gulped, his adams apple bobbing and eyes flickering away to bounce around different objects in his room. "N-No, I've... I've- I've-" Pope stuttered roughly, his grip on the notebook in hand tightening and crinkling the paper. "I'm- I-"

"Wow," (Y/N) snickered, snatching the notebook from his hand and dropping it onto the floor with a soft thud. Pope's hands were forced to rest over his thighs, fingers flexing and curling into fists. "Never even kissed anyone, have you, Heyward?" 

"Okay, what if I am? Virginty- Virginty is a construct."

"Sure, if it helps you sleep at night knowing even Routledge of all people has gotten laid before, it's totally a construct." (Y/N) laughed again, albeit more cruelly, and plopped down on the bed beside Pope's crossed legs with his head cocked to the side. "You can't leave high school a virgin with a face like that, Heyward. Besides, girls like guys who know what they're doing, trust me; I'm kind of an expert on this shit."

Pope grimaced. "Yeah, I've heard." He'd seen the pouty, sullen looks on the classmates he'd snatched up and then dropped once he bored of them. He'd even seen the occasional fight with a Kook when he slept with a taken rich girl. "It's- It's fine, I don't care. Peer pressuring someone to lose their virginity is something straight from an early 2000s movie."

"I'm not peer pressuring you, Heyward. I'm making fun of you." The shit-eating grin on (Y/N)'s face reminded him all too much of JJ. "But, because I am such a nice guy-"

"That's debatable."

"-I'm going to help you, Heyward." The grin grew at the bewildered look on Pope's face, his brows knitting tightly together and lips pulling into a line. Pope stared at him, his fingers rubbing into the fabric of his jeans, the contemplation clear in his eyes. "You think Kiara has time to teach someone how to please her?" 

"W-What? I-I don't like Kie! She's like- I-"

"I can teach you how to kiss someone properly. I've had plenty of practice since middle school." (Y/N) pressed the bottom of his sneaker into the heel of the other, pushing until the shoe fell onto the floor before ridding himself of the other one. He dragged himself further onto the bed and arched an expectant brow at the stammering boy until Pope shut his mouth and swallowed again. 

"I..." He trailed off, his eyes jumping toward the picture wall, his lips pressing together. 

"Come on, you wouldn't be the first of Routledge's minions I've made out with." (Y/N) revealed and Pope's considering gaze turned into surprise as his wide eyes darted back to him. "J and I make out drunk all the time. You should try it sometime when you're wasted and bored."

Pope would've been lying if he claimed he'd never thought of kissing the chaotic Maybank. Hell, sometimes he wondered what it'd be like to kiss John B; especially on lazy days when they lounged on the boat after a swim and the setting sun warmed John B's skin, making it glitter from the droplets of water while he stared off into the distance. With JJ, the thoughts emerged more often. JJ cared little for personal space, his hand or arm somehow managing to always press against one of the Pogues, and Pope often found his space invaded by the blond. He assumed it to be natural thoughts, but he wondered if his curiosity expanded past innocence. 

His skin simmered with heat, his hands curling into fists and his back straightening with determination. If JJ trusted him, so would Pope. He gave (Y/N) a firm nod and braced himself, his eyes squeezing shut and cheeks flaring with heat when (Y/N) giggled.

The bed shifted and creaked with movement, his eyes parting immediately when he felt hands grasping at his crossed legs and pulling them apart. (Y/N) hardly gave him time to question before pressing their lips together, his hand slipping toward Pope's hip and squeezing lightly; the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to (Y/N)'s clothes filling Pope's nose.

"Relax." He murmured into Pope's mouth, half-lidded eyes finally shutting and lips pressing harder against Pope. 

Slowly, Pope forced himself to relax, his body slumping back against the pillow that began pressing into his back when (Y/N) pushed him into lying back. His lips felt soft, if not a bit chapped and sticky from the apple slices, and Pope felt a surge of insecurity bubble in his stomach at his blatant inexperience. His hands awkwardly fumbled around until he pressed them against (Y/N)'s sides, finding himself fully unsure of what else to do besides pressing back into his lips. 

"There you go," (Y/N) cooed and the way his heart skipped a beat at the praise made Pope want to bury his face into his pillows. The top of (Y/N)'s thighs pressed into the bottom of Pope's, his knees sinking into the mattress as he began adjusting his position. He moved fully on top of him, propping his upper half up by bracing himself against his elbow. His fingers took Pope's chin and lightly squeezed. "Open."

With a face set ablaze, Pope meekly parted his lips and shut his eyes again. (Y/N) kissed him again, his lips wrapping around Pope's bottom one and teeth digging lightly into him, an action that shot heat down his spine before he mushed their lips further together. Their teeth almost clacked together as Pope weakly began mimicking (Y/N)'s movements, a muffled noise leaving him when their tongues collided and he tasted the apple juice on his tongue. 

(Y/N) pulled back after a minute or two, a short string of saliva connecting them and quiet panting leaving them both. Pope's fingers dipped under the hem of (Y/N)'s shirt, carefully massaging his flesh as he attempted to ground his spinning, light-headed brain. He stared up at the ceiling of his room, chest heaving with pants and lips slick with salvia. 

"Did- Did you know-" He paused to catch his breath again. "-that kissing releases a multitude of chemicals in your brain-"

"Oh, Jesus, Pope." (Y/N) dropped his head down onto the soft pillow beside Pope, his breath fanning against Pope's ear and making goosebumps rise along his arms. "If you want to nerd out, use it as a segway into kissing."

"I'm surprised you know what segway means."

"Fuck you." (Y/N) laughed, light and breathless. "I'm not dumb; school is just boring."

Pope traced the lines in the slanted wooden ceiling over them, his hands squeezing (Y/N)'s sides when an idea struck him. "Yeah? What if... what if it wasn't boring?" Pope tilted his head to look at him, their noses brushing against each other and a smile spreading across his lips. "I can teach you something about biology and in return, you can teach me something I can do to- to... to my future girlfriend, or something." 

"Mm," (Y/N) grinned, a quiet chuckle leaving him. "You've got a deal, then."

[quitesins]

Prince!Shouto x Writer/Artist!Reader

Masterlist

Sfw, Female!Reader, Fantasy Au, random thought that I just wanted out of my head, mind the typos! Dialogue under the cut!

You’re a writer/artist, gaining quick popularity across the kingdom due to the satirical works you put out, particularly the ones where you satirise The King.

Your pieces are doing numbers. Sung in pubs, tacked to every board in town, even shoved into the arms of royal guards who can’t do anything but stand at their post and take it.

And you’re beaming, practically swimming in money and praise. You let a bit of it get to your head, suddenly dismissive of any consequences that come with mocking the royal family. Especially with your foreign pen name, feeling safe signing the end of each work while cozied up in your little house hidden away in the forest… that is until you get a knock on the door and… it’s The Prince.

[Or Shouto, crown prince, can barely hold in his laugh every time his father calls a meeting to discuss the crudely drawn pictures of him being pasted around the city. And god the first time he heard one of your poems? Being read aloud in the formal voice of one of the guards? It wasn’t just Shouto who had to excuse himself from the table, but his mother too, trailing behind him with a soft smile on her face.

He makes sure the guards keep any of the flyers that make their way into the castle, citing it as “evidence,” crucial to the investigations. Really he just takes them to his room, gleefully pinning them up. Even taking comfort in them on particularly cruel training nights.

He’s never been malicious, but when it comes to his father, he can be quite testy. Petulant for good reason. Your drawings of his father, the harsh scribbles accompanied by wretched songs, somehow he feels seen. Like the awful hate in his heart is warm and somewhere appreciated.

Shouto also thinks the way you draw his father as just a massive rectangle with two deeply furrowed brows is really funny.]

“You know…” Shouto speaks, unintentionally solemn. You prepare to be scolded on instinct. “You’ve coloured my hair on the wrong side.”

In his hand he raises the crumpled remains of one of your works. Even with the paper having seen better days, it’s undeniably yours— with it’s infamous juts of ink, harsh lines and messy splashes of colour thrown across the page. In your handwriting, there’s a vulgar poem captioning the drawing. Implying the prince to be a bastard, with a women killing smile and a surprisingly impish attitude.

Your signature printed in bright red ink probably doesn’t help your case either.

“The scar is accurate howe—”

“Give me that.” You snatch the flyer from him, crumpling it into your hand and tightening around it.

Shouto doesn’t protest, seemingly entertained by your sudden shyness. The words of [Pen Name] have been always been so crass, he had never expected you to hold such embarrassment. He doesn’t want you to, but he finds it amusing all the same.

“Look.” You don’t like his smile, it’s too soft, earnest. “If you’re here to execute me just do it!” There’s a wobble in your voice when you speak. Not from genuine fear of death, instead you sound like a sulking child. “I can’t imagine the king would send his son for any other reason..”

“Shouto,” He prompts. “I’d like it if you called me Shouto.” In the blink of an eye, in front of you is another flyer. “See.” He points to the picture of him, his name written in massive letters underneath.

“How many do you have,” You groan, snatching the paper from him again. His little disappointed pout feels like a win, it must have been his last. “Then why are you here?”

Shouto stares as if he doesn’t quite know himself. His eyes glaze over you, your cluttered room and to where you fists have finally softened in their grip. Then, like a spark alights behind his eyes, he smiles, responding with blunt determination.

“To be your friend.”

I wishhh I had the brain power to write full fics coz this au is so fun to think about… maybe if the fantasising gets too big to stay in my head I’ll write drabbles of random nonchronological scenarios, or not!

[fairlyang]

Question 🕷️

asking miguel if you could have a dildo shaped like his dick

w/c: 764

pairing: bf!miguel x f!reader

tags: 18+. teasing, fooling around, grinding.

You were catching your breath as you laid your head against Miguel's chest. You had just been going at it for two hours and after a good three orgasms each, both of you were spent.

This was the first time in two weeks that Miguel was able to play with you and you were growing tired of having to take care of your own needs. You always craved him and it was getting harder and harder not having him be with you so often anymore.

And you had a brilliant idea a few days ago that you were shocked didn't come across your mind before.

"Are you awake love?" You whisper quietly trying not to move and only hear him give you a quiet hum.

"Mig I have a question..." you whisper and he softly hums.

"I was thinking with so much time apart lately..." you tilt your head up to look at him, with his eyes already closed, "what would you say if we get one of those kits to make a dildo shaped like your dick?"

His eyes immediately shoot open and he bursts out laughing, "w-what-"

"It's not that crazy!! I just get lonely and you're always going to be busy! and it's not like I asked you for permission to open our relationship-"

He stops laughing and gives you a stern look making you bite your lip to stop talking. "I just want a dildo that's the exact replica of my boyfriend's dick!" You whine and playfully shake his shoulders.

He chuckles and brings a hand down to your cheek, lightly caressing the skin and shrugs. "Maybe... how badly do you want it?" He teases and you grin.

"So badly." You say and give him a pout.

"It'll help me memorize every inch..." you whisper and lean down to kiss his chest.

"It'll let me practice being able to take you in my throat..." you murmur against his skin and slowly kiss your way up to his collarbone.

"I can practice how to ride you better..." you whisper and start kissing up his neck slowly.

You shifted up and properly sit on his lap while you sucked marks onto his skin since the others were already fading. And he needed a reminder that he was yours just as much as you were his.

You pulled away from his neck and moved up to his face. Kissing his cheek then kissing the edges of his lips. You then slightly pulled back and leaned in, your forehead against his, "All so I can be such a good girl for you the next time we get a moment like this.."

He moans and you start grinding against him, well his already hard cock. "And wouldn't you just love to see me use it?" You ask making him bite his lip and take a deep breath in.

"Maybe I could record some videos for you... send them when you have your lunch break..." you say sweetly and he breathes out, you could feel his hands snake down to your hips wanting you to move.

"Or when you least expect it." You murmur and he lets out a groan.

You move your hips a bit faster now feeling yourself growing more and more wet, you really should've thought of this ages ago....

"So what do you think baby?" You ask and bring your hands down to his chest, tracing random scribbles on his skin.

"I- I think you got me on board baby girl." He breathes out making you squeal.

He shakes his head and smiles, he really would do anything to make you happy.

"But first..." he whispers and quickly flips you over so you were now underneath him.

"I think we have some business to attend to.." he whispers and leans down to your neck, immediately sucking to give you a matching mark.

"Sounds good to me." You sigh and snake your fingers into his hair.

"We'll order the kit tomorrow morning." He murmurs and you feel his hand trail down your stomach.

"O-okay-" you stutter and nod vigorously.

"Gonna be my perfect girl after all the practice you're gonna put in aren't you baby?" He teases and you moan, spreading your legs as you felt his hand slowly make its way down.

"So now I have a question for you doll..." he murmurs and you hum, feeling your eyes fluttering.

"Does that mean we should also get those kits for fleshlights?" He asks and you felt immediate butterflies all over your skin as your cheeks turned a very bright red.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Monty, Charles, and Edwin (College AU)

And just adding to the stew of strange emotions sloshing about in Charles’ heart is the fact that he hasn’t spoken to Monty in weeks.

It’s not that Monty’s missing- he’s been in class, after all- but he doesn’t talk to Charles anymore. He doesn’t show up at the library to hang out with Edwin and Charles, a practice kept long after the group project that he and Monty worked on in the spring (and bonded over how annoying the slackers in their group were). 

Monty’s gone, and there is an ache where he used to be. No more debates with Edwin. No more bantering and trading snacks with Charles. No more casual open mic night offers. No more random flowers, the ones that others would call weeds, brought in and casually given to either Charles or Edwin because Monty works with the maintenance department on campus to earn free room-and-board and he often has extra clippings to give to friends.

It’s put Edwin off for the past few weeks, Charles can tell. He’s gotten used to having someone to casually debate with, someone to tease him in a different way than Charles does, someone to hand him something to twirl between his fingers when his pen isn’t quite doing it anymore.

And yeah, Charles will admit that he’s missed Monty a bit, too, even if the swirl of feelings in his chest is still utterly confused when he looks at him, scribbling away in his notebook at the other end of the room.

(Maybe more than ‘a bit.’ Maybe a lotta bit.)

-aletterinthenameofsanity, sorry, but i fell in love tonight (is there somewhere you can meet me)

Sharp as a tack, but in the sense that I'm not smart, just a prick

In the fingers and the toes of all of those who show interest in me

Can we act like we never broke each other's hearts?

At least mine, I don't know how you felt from the start

Oh, that's vile, oh, I'm cruel, oh it's goddamn mean

I sure as hell know one thing

You sure ain't dead to me

-Modern Baseball, The Old Gospel Choir

@idliketobeatree @tragedy-machine @nix-nihili @tumblerislovetumblerislife

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @every-moment-a-different-sound @pinklemonslices

@jaysbraindump @spacegirlsgang

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee Chapter 4

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

After receiving a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your best friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

Chapter 4: Close call

Summary:

You get to have a moment of honesty with Izuku, go out with your new 'friends', help a sad baddie, and clean Kayama's desk without bawling your eyes out!   Before getting caught by banana man.

Songs for this chapter:

Stressed out by 21 pilots It's always a good time - C. Rae Jetson Wish you were here - Avril Lavigne <---- This one really hits hard

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~

“Psst, new girl.”

At first, you ignored the voice, keeping your eyes fixed on the board. But the whisper persisted, tugging at your attention like an annoying fly. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, determined to stay focused. Finally, you relented, glancing out of the corner of your eye to see who was trying to get your attention.

It was Shinso, his violet eyes narrowed in a mixture of boredom and mischief. He tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to catch your gaze again, but you refused to give in. You could feel his stare practically burning a hole in the side of your head, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he knew he was getting under your skin.

You tightened your grip on your pen, determined to ignore him. But he wasn’t about to give up so easily. With a sly grin, Shinso leaned forward slightly, as if daring you to react. You let out a silent huff, shifting in your seat and then, with calculated precision, you kicked the leg of his desk with your heel.

The sound was soft but sharp enough to make him stop in his tracks. His eyes widened in surprise for a split second before he smirked, a glint of amusement flashing in his gaze. You shot him a look that clearly said, "Knock it off," and he gave a slight nod, leaning back in his chair.

Just as you thought the exchange was over, something small and rectangular landed on your desk with a light thud. You blinked, looking down to see a neatly folded piece of paper. Opening it, you found a list of phone numbers scribbled inside—Mina, Denki, Kirishima, Ochako, Tsu, Jirou, Momo, and even Iida. A small note at the bottom read, 

"In case you need anything. Welcome to 2-A!"  

‘Fuck they’re so sweet.’

Your heart warmed at the gesture, but a pang of guilt tugged at you for how you’d reacted to Shinso earlier.

Without drawing any attention, you reached into your purse and pulled out a cookie wrapped in a napkin, courtesy of Taishi. Glancing around to make sure Aizawa wasn’t watching, you discreetly dropped the cookie onto Shinso’s foot under his desk. He looked down, his eyes narrowing in confusion, before his lips quirked into a half-smirk as he realized what you’d done. With a quick, subtle motion, he swiped the cookie before anyone else could notice.

You propped open your compact from your purse, using the mirror to catch a glimpse of his expression. Shinso took a quiet bite of the cookie, his smirk softening into something almost resembling appreciation. You couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing you’d made amends in your own way.

Returning to your “schoolwork,” you flipped open your sparkly spiral notebook, its pages already decorated with doodles and random notes. You pretended to jot down whatever Aizawa was teaching, though in reality, your pen sketched out small, intricate designs along the margins. 

Aizawa’s voice was a steady, almost soothing drone in the background. Despite his gruff appearance and no-nonsense attitude, there was something comforting about the way he spoke, even if he sounded like he was always on the verge of falling asleep.

Feeling a bit more settled now, you continued to sketch and pretend to take notes, you thought back to what you knew about Aizawa from Mimi. He wasn’t that much different from what she’d described—gruff, strict, but deeply caring in his own, quiet way. You’d never formally met him before now, having been back home for your licensing, and there was a good chance she hadn’t mentioned you to him either. 

Considering all the trouble you used to get into, she probably didn’t want to say until you were ready. 

You glanced up from your doodles, taking the opportunity to observe the rest of the class. Mina was doodling little hearts in the margins of her own notes, her golden eyes darting occasionally toward the front of the room to make sure Aizawa wasn’t looking her way. 

Denki was trying to discreetly charge his phone under the desk, the faint crackle of electricity barely noticeable. Kirishima was scribbling notes furiously, his brow furrowed in concentration as if every word Aizawa spoke was pure gold.

Ochako and Tsu were sharing a textbook, whispering quietly to each other while Jirou tapped her pencil against her desk in time with the soft music still playing from her earphone. Momo was perfectly poised, her notes meticulously organized and her attention fully on Aizawa, while Iida sat ramrod straight, his eyes fixed on the board with unwavering focus.

‘Let’s take a closer look.’

You allowed your aura to gently brush against the energy wavelengths in the room, surveying what everyone was going through and feeling. 

The calm you had spread earlier was still lingering, but there were traces of nervousness, excitement, and the usual teenage uncertainty. 

Izuku’s energy was a mix of curiosity and concern, his thoughts likely still on the note that had been intercepted. He glanced at you from time to time, as if trying to gauge your mood.

Sero, Denki, and Aoyama were visibly struggling to stay awake. Sero’s head kept nodding forward before he jolted himself awake, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. 

Denki’s eyes were half-closed, his body slumped over his desk as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. ‘Probably should just wait to charge your phone dude.’ Aoyama, ever the dramatic, had his hand elegantly draped over his forehead, his other arm supporting his head as he fought a losing battle against sleep. 

‘At least he looks elegant?’

Kirishima was still valiantly trying to take notes, but Bakugou, sitting next to him, kept pinching his arm to keep him awake. Every time Kirishima started to drift off, Bakugou would give him a sharp pinch, and Kirishima would jolt upright, rubbing his arm and muttering a tired “thanks, bro.” Despite Bakugou’s brooding aura and seemingly calm exterior, you could sense a storm of emotions churning beneath the surface. He exuded a mix of frustration and protectiveness, his energy crackling with intensity.

‘Awe, grumpy and sunshine.’

Mina was nervously shaking her leg, her vibrant pink aura soured with gray anxiety. She kept glancing around the room, her hands trembling slightly as if she had pins and needles. Next to her, Kaminari was trying to both stay awake and comfort her by covering her hands with his own, his warmer touch helping to steady her shaking. His aura radiated a gentle warmth, something like candle light, a vibrant contrast to the flickers of nervous energy you could see in Mina’s.

Momo and Sato both seemed hungry but with no appetite. Momo’s stomach growled softly, but she ignored it, her face set in a determined but slightly pained expression. Sato, similarly, rubbed his belly absentmindedly, his eyes distant and unfocused. You could feel the low energy levels in their auras, a sign of their body’s need for sustenance clashing with their lack of desire to eat.

Todoroki sat behind Izuku stoically, his expression calm and composed, but his aura told a different story. Internally, he was distressed, his energy a swirling mix of cold and hot, reflecting his dual quirk. He maintained a serene exterior, but you could sense the turmoil brewing inside him, like a volcano waiting to erupt. 

You had to give it to the kid for not being irritable but if he snapped right now– you couldn’t say you didn’t see it coming. 

Behind you, Shinso’s aura was a mix of exhaustion and something darker. His complexion was pale, and the way his eyes blinked when the lights flickered hinted at sensitivity or perhaps reliving a traumatic memory. He radiated a quiet strength, but you could tell he hadn’t slept well in a long time, his energy levels perpetually low. You wanted to clock him for insomnia but you didn’t know him that well, yet. 

Iida was sitting rigidly, taking deep breaths to steady himself. His aura was a mix of longing and determination, his eyes focused but distant, as if he were trying to hold onto something just out of reach. You could sense the deep sense of responsibility weighing heavily on his shoulders, his energy tinged with a subtle sadness.

Asui now had an obvious headache, her hand pressed to her temple as she tried to concentrate. Her usually calm and collected aura was disrupted by waves of discomfort, her energy levels dipping as she struggled to keep up with the lesson. Ochako, seated next to her, was holding her stomach, her aura flickering with unease and mild pain. You could tell she was trying to tough it out, but her discomfort was palpable. 

‘Is it Shark week or is the lunch fighting back?’

Shifting over, Hagakure’s stress levels were alarming. Even though she was invisible, you could almost see her clutching her chest, her tie loosened in a rare display of dishevelment. Her aura was a chaotic swirl of anxiety and tension, her energy erratic and unsettled. You wanted to hug her right there and then but that would be weird without context and you had to remember you were still an adult. 

Next to her, Ojiro was flexing his numb tail after being still for so long, his aura steady but tinged with mild discomfort. His energy was calm, but the numbness in his tail was clearly bothering him, making him shift in his seat every few minutes.

Jirou also looked to be in pain, her head gently slumping against her desk. Her aura was a steady rhythm of discomfort, her earphones doing little to block out whatever was causing her pain. Momo, always prepared, quickly slid her and the other girls something, likely a painkiller, which Jirou accepted with a grateful nod before trying to discreetly pass it along.

Next to you Shoji’s aura was heavy with something weighing on his chest. He was slowly flexing each of his limbs, his energy methodically moving through his body as if trying to work out the tension. Behind him, Koda, on the other hand, was trembling, his aura a mix of anxiety and cold. But he was seated right under the AC unit, and you couldn’t tell if his shivers were from the cold air or the anxiety radiating off him in waves. He was staring longly out of the window and you could relate to wanting to jump out (responsibly) and just be free for the rest of the school day. 

You turned your attention back to Izuku, noting how his hands were on his shoulders, trying to politely roll them without being a distraction. His aura was still a jumble of emotions, but there was a steady pulse of determination running through it, he had a very indomitable spirit. He was also staring at his hands as if they weren’t really his– which they technically weren’t– and you wanted to hug him too. 

You decided to throw them another bone and disbursed some calming energy from your own aura, hoping to bring a bit of peace to your classmates. You may need to take a fat nap in Rumi’s apartment and inhale Taishiro’s dinner spread but you don't mind. The kids were strong but they were still that– kids. And they were worth it. 

As the calming waves spread through the room, you noticed the immediate effects. 

Sero, Denki, and Aoyama stopped struggling against sleep, their breathing evening out as they finally succumbed to a peaceful nap. Kirishima looked more focused, no longer needing Bakugou’s pinches to stay awake. Mina’s shaking subsided, and Kaminari gave in to placing his head on the desk.

Even Bakugou’s brooding aura seemed to lighten slightly, though he still exuded an intensity that made you wary. Todoroki’s internal distress eased a bit, his aura settling into a more balanced state. Shinso’s tired eyes softened, a hint of gratitude flickering in his gaze. Iida’s breaths became more even, the longing in his aura less pronounced. Asui’s headache seemed to lessen, and Ochako’s discomfort faded into the background.

Hagakure’s stress levels dropped, her aura becoming more stable and less chaotic. Ojiro stopped flexing his tail as frequently, and Jirou’s pain seemed to ease thanks to Momo’s quick assistance. Shoji’s heavy aura lightened, and Koda’s trembling subsided. 

With their energies relaxed, you try to focus on Aizawa’s lecture, but your thoughts keep drifting.  You weren’t fully licensed to practice yet, but the urge to help was strong. Maybe if you used some of the methods you’d learned, you could bring them out of their shells. 

If some of them struggled with outward expression, perhaps being a safe space or creating one would help. But what if they weren't struggling with expressing themselves but felt as if they were dropping hints that no one noticed? That could be the case for someone like Hagakure or Todoroki. 

You shake your head, feeling a wave of doubt. ‘Jeez, why did Nemarui think you could do this?’ The thought nags at you, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind. You glance down at your notebook, and before you realize it, you're sketching her—Nemarui, as you first met her. She’s not in her hero uniform, just normal clothing, her blue eyes warm and gentle.

The image changes with each stroke of your pen. Now, she’s there, bailing you out of jail, her expression firm yet kind. Another memory—she’s in formal attire, defending you in court, her voice strong and unwavering. The last image is from a simpler time, in her kitchen, making pancakes while Rumi playfully bickered with you over who got the first stack. “Focus on your homework,” Nemarui had said, a soft smile on her lips.

You hadn’t thought about that in a while. The nostalgia wraps around you, offering a brief comfort, but then you look up, and the weight of the room returns. Some of the kids look teary-eyed now, the emotions in the room rising like a tide threatening to overwhelm.

‘Ah shit!’

With a deep breath, you quickly shift your aura, flooding the room with calming, positive vibes. The atmosphere gradually changes, the tension easing as your energy spreads out. You can almost see the relief in their faces, a few of them blinking back their tears.

This was why you were here. Maybe you weren’t fully licensed yet, and maybe you had doubts, but you could still help. Even if it was just by being a calming presence, a safe space in a chaotic world.

As the bell rings, the room fills with the sound of shuffling papers and stretching limbs. Those who had dozed off—Sero, Denki, and Aoyama—are gently nudged awake by their desk partners. Sero groans, rubbing his eyes, while Denki stretches his arms above his head, yawning loudly. Kirishima, who had been pinched awake by Bakugou earlier, stands and cracks his neck, looking more energized than before. The atmosphere in the room feels lighter, more relaxed.

Mina is the first to move, practically leaping from her seat to give you a tight hug. Her energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile as you return the embrace. “The others and I want to chat outside for a bit before you head home. Is that cool?” her voice was bubbly.

You nod, grateful for her warmth. “Totally, and thanks for being so kind today, Mina. I really appreciate it.”

She grins, a little sheepish. “Ah, it’s nothing. We’re all just glad you’re okay.” As you both pull away, Momo steps up, her demeanor calm and composed as always. “I could walk you to Principal Nezu’s office if you’d like,” she offers, adjusting her school bag over her shoulder. “Just to see if you’ll be dorming with us.”

You smile at her thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Momo, but I’ll figure that out with my mentor, Mirko-san. I appreciate the note earlier.” Momo nods, understanding. “Of course. If you need anything, we’re all here.”

Before you leave, you turn to Shinso, who is lazily gathering his things. “Sorry about kicking your desk earlier,” you say, feeling a bit guilty. He shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips. “No harm done. Thanks for the cookie, by the way.”

You return the smirk with a nod, then turn to Izuku, who’s busy organizing his notes. You slip him a small piece of paper, your fingers brushing against his. He looks up at you with curiosity in his eyes, and opens it, “Meet me on the roof after everyone’s gone. Don’t get followed.”

Izuku’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods, tucking the note into his pocket. You give him a reassuring smile before stepping back to your desk. You hadn’t taken out much, just a few things that now find their way back into your multicolored butterfly bookbag. You grab your Juicy Couture purse, feeling its familiar weight in your hand.

As you head toward the front of the room, Denki calls out, “Don’t get eaten!” His tone is playful, but before he can say anything else, Jirou grabs him by the ear and starts dragging him out of the classroom, muttering something about not getting detention.

You chuckle to yourself as you watch them leave, the last of the students filtering out of the room. Now, it’s just you and Aizawa.

The door closes behind you, leaving the room in a comfortable silence. Aizawa, who had been sipping from his mug of coffee, sets it down and looks at you with those tired, yet perceptive eyes. The atmosphere shifts, the lightness from moments before replaced with something more serious, more focused. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for the conversation ahead.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, and you find yourself shifting slightly under the weight of his scrutiny. That dark blue aura washing over him in lumpy waves. 

You wouldn’t take anything too seriously– yes, you were a grown woman pretending to be a student at your best friend's work and you can see how weird it was. But everyone else could fuck off because you didn’t see any other adult getting on these kids level to comfort them. 

You’re not sure what to expect from this conversation. He’s a man of few words, and despite what you’ve heard from others you don’t know him well enough to predict his reaction. You’ve always been good at reading people, but Aizawa is almost an enigma, a blank canvas that offers no clues. 

You nod, understanding. “I wasn’t trying to disrupt anything, sir. I just… I thought it might help with—” You pause, searching for the right words. “—with morale, maybe.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Morale? You think passing notes during class is going to boost morale?”

You resist the urge to fidget, keeping your gaze steady. “Not the note itself, but the connection it represents.”

Aizawa leans back in his chair, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re not wrong. But there are better ways to show that without undermining classroom discipline.”

You nod again, this time with more confidence. “I understand. I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

He studies you for another long moment, then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re new here, and you’re still finding your footing. I get that. But this isn’t an ordinary school, and your classmates aren’t ordinary students. What they’re going through, what they’ve already been through… it’s not something you can fix with a few kind words or gestures.”

His words sink in, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You’ve always wanted to help, to be a source of support for others. But this is different. This is more complicated, more dangerous than anything you’ve ever dealt with.

‘Teenagers.’

“I know,” you say quietly. “But I still want to try. Even if it’s just in small ways.” You shift and your bracelets make soft clinks against each other. 

Aizawa’s gaze softens further, and for the first time, you see a hint of understanding in his eyes. “Just remember that this isn’t a one-person job. You’re here to learn, just like they are. Don’t take on more than you can handle.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling on your shoulders. “I won’t.”

He leans forward, crossing his arms on the desk. “You’ve got potential, but you need to be careful. These kids are dealing with a lot, and the last thing they need is someone adding to their stress.”

You swallow hard, the responsibility of your role sinking in even deeper. “I’ll do my best to help, not to hinder.” He doesn’t know why you're saying this more for yourself than for him. But you don’t care, you never really liked authority figures, ironically. 

Aizawa watches you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Now, about this note business—let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again, at least not during class.”

“Understood,” you reply, your tone sincere.

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand, and you turn to leave, but not before pausing at the door. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei. I appreciate the advice.”

He doesn’t respond, but you catch the slightest nod from him as you step out into the hallway.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The hallway is empty, the sounds of students heading to their next classes fading into the distance. You glance at the clock on the wall. You still have a few minutes before you’re supposed to meet Izuku on the roof and the others at their lockers. 

As you make your way toward the stairs, your thoughts drift back to the conversation you just had. Aizawa’s words echo in your mind, a reminder of the delicate balance you’ll need to maintain here. You’ve been given a chance to make a difference, but you’ll need to be careful, thoughtful, and above all, patient.

You reach the stairs and begin to climb, each step bringing you closer to the roof, and to whatever comes next.

As you climb the stairs, your mind replays the conversation you just had with Aizawa. The weight of his words still lingers, but so does something else—something subtle yet significant. The conversation gave you more than just advice; it gave you insight.

During your time in the classroom, you couldn’t help but analyze everything about him. His energy, his aura, even the state of his desk—all of it painted a picture of who Aizawa is beneath the surface. 

The scattered papers, the files meticulously organized but clearly well-used, the open email on his phone—it all told a story. You noticed the way his eyes flickered with a mix of weariness and determination, the way his shoulders tensed slightly when he mentioned the students’ struggles, the way his hands rested heavily on his desk as if carrying an unseen burden.

You piece it all together, forming a clearer understanding of the man who just sat across from you. ‘ He probably feels like he failed them,’ you think to yourself. ‘ They’re alive, so that’s good, but a lot of them are still really injured—some inwardly, some outwardly, mostly both.’ You begin to grasp why he’s so tired, why he seems so worn down despite his firm exterior. The battles these students have faced didn’t just leave scars on them; they’ve left marks on him too.

It’s more than just physical exhaustion. It’s the weight of responsibility, the strain of knowing that despite all his efforts, his students are still suffering. You see now that he’s not just tired—he’s carrying the weight of every injury, every emotional scar, every sleepless night his students have endured. And in his mind, no matter how hard he fights for them, it’s never quite enough.

You also caught the subtle ways he was trying to assess you, not just as the student you’re posing as, but judging from that open email on his phone– as the hero you’re supposed to be teaching next week. It’s a careful dance of figuring out how the dust is going to settle once you get everything you need but you don’t feel too bad about it right now. 

Your loyalty lies with Kayama not Banana man. 

Lost in these thoughts, you almost don’t notice that you’ve reached the top of the stairs. The cool breeze hits your face as you push on the door and step out onto the roof, pulling you from your reverie. Your eyes immediately land on a familiar mop of green hair, Izuku standing near the edge, waiting for you.

He turns as he hears the door close behind you, his expression shifting from anxious to relieved when he sees you. You take a moment to observe him, not just his posture or his expression, but the way his energy feels—still slightly jittery, like he’s carrying too much on his shoulders, but with a resolve that’s hard to miss.

You approach him, a soft smile on your face as you try to push away the heaviness that’s been lingering in your mind. “Hey,” you greet him, your voice calm and steady.

Izuku smiles back, though it’s tinged with nervousness. “Hey… I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“Of course I did,” you reply, stepping closer. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation, after all.”

Izuku glances around, making sure no one else is nearby before turning his full attention to you. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

You shake your head, dismissing his concern. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. Besides, it gave me a chance to come up here.” You look out to the vast greenery surrounding the school and sigh to yourself before looking at the sun and back to a confused cinnamon roll. 

Izuku stands there, his green eyes filled with curiosity and uncertainty as he waits for you to speak. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, then finally ask, "So, why did you show me your notebook earlier?"

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well… there was this incident at the mall a while back. A villain attacked, and there was this off-duty hero who took care of him. She looked… really similar to you, and I wanted to know if maybe she was your mom."

You huff, the idea striking you as so absurd that you can’t help but giggle. The giggle turns into a laugh—one that grows louder, almost uncontrollable, until it takes on an almost manic edge. The sound echoes across the empty rooftop, causing Izuku to take a nervous step back. His eyes widen in alarm, and for a moment, he’s at a loss for what to do.

You eventually manage to pull yourself together, wiping away the tears that formed from your fit of laughter. “Sorry,” you say, still chuckling a bit as you catch your breath. “No, there’s no way that could’ve been my mom.”

He looks at you awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. “Oh… is that because she’s back in your home country?”

You shake your head, the smile still lingering on your face. “No, not at all. I’m really sorry for startling you like that. I just found it really funny.” You pause, giving him a sheepish grin. 

You always had a bad habit of laughing at ‘inappropriate’ times. Like when someone gets hurt, that time you got kidnapped, or when you met with your parole officer.

Izuku’s eyes widen at your outburst, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he furrows his brows, clearly trying to make sense of your reaction. “So… if it’s not that, then what?”

You lean in slightly, your gaze challenging. “You’re smarter than this, Izuku. Come on, try again.”

He studies you more intently, his eyes scanning your features as if trying to piece together a puzzle. Then, out of nowhere, he grabs a pencil from his pocket and throws it at you. Instinctively, you flick your finger, sending a small blast of energy that deflects the pencil mid-air. It clatters to the ground, and Izuku’s eyes widen in recognition as he sees the familiar light up close.

“Wait… were you the girl from the mall?” he asks, his voice filled with shock. “I’m so sorry for thinking you were older!”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer to him as he continues his rambling. His freckled cheeks flush as you reach out and cup them with your hands, gently pinching and squeezing them like he’s made out of rubber. The unexpected gesture causes him to freak out, his face growing even redder as he tries to process what’s happening. 

“No, silly,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Come on now, I’m not usually this open. One last try. I’ll even give you a hint.” You hold your hands up in the shape of a heart over your chest like your hero suit. 

Izuku’s mind races, his cheeks still warm from your touch. He stares at you, searching for the answer, when suddenly it clicks. “You… you weren’t just the hero, were you? You’re Chargebomb !? ”

You smile, finally seeing the realization dawn on him. “Ding! Ding! Ding! There you go! I knew you’d figure it out.” You take your hands from his face and place them back on your hips. 

Izuku looks at you with wide, curious eyes as the weight of your confession hangs in the air. You take a deep breath, realizing the gravity of what you’re about to reveal, and ask him, “Izuku, how much do you value honesty?”

He blinks at the question, a bit surprised. “I value it a lot. It’s important to be honest, especially with people you trust.” He’s so mature about it, how earnest he looks at you with those large green eyes. So clear you can see the reflection of his hands in them. 

You sigh, still managing a small smile as you reach into your Juicy Couture purse, pulling out a large black cloak and a matching jumpsuit. Izuku’s eyes widen in recognition as he sees them. 

You hold them out to him, and he takes them gingerly, running his fingers over the fabric. He looks up at you, shocked, the realization dawning on him as he recognizes the cloak and suit from the Chargebomb figure that sits on his desk. But then, caution fills his eyes, and he asks one simple question: 

“Why?”

You pause, biting your tongue so hard that you taste the metallic tang of blood. Every second you don’t answer, his alarm grows, the tension between you both thickening. Finally, you reach out and take his metallic hand in both of yours, feeling the cool metal against your warm skin.

“I’m friends with your teacher, Midnight,” you begin, your voice steady but soft. “She requested that I take over her classes for a while. I wanted to get to know you all before stepping into that role because… well, I've never taught before and I sometimes suck at large social settings.”

Izuku nods gently, his expression a mixture of understanding and curiosity. He looks down at the mask in his hands, then back up at your face. “What?” you ask, noticing his contemplative gaze.

“How old are you?” he finally asks, his voice tentative.

“Twenty-six,” you reply honestly.

“Why do you look so young?” he asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“I take care of myself,” you answer with a smirk. “And next time we go outside, put some sunscreen on.”

Izuku nods, processing the information. “Are you really Chargebomb?”

Instead of answering verbally, you raise your free hand, jingling the bracelets on your wrist as you do. A burst of colorful energy releases from your palm, shooting into the open sky. Down below, you hear the faint sounds of awe from the students on the ground who catch sight of the display. It looks like a fireworks display was just set off that could make 'Merica proud. You pull your hand away and watch as the sky fades to its normal blueness and greet the sun once more. Turning away from the star in the sky, you find yourself meeting squishy broccoli once more. 

“Okay,” he says, still wide-eyed but more accepting now.

“Anything else?” you ask, sensing there’s more he wants to know.

“Why do you wear all black?” he inquires, his tone genuinely curious.

“I like my privacy,” you reply simply, not giving too much away.

“Do you have any family in Japan?” he asks, his voice a bit softer now, as if treading carefully.

“Only Nemuri, Rumi, and Taishiro,” you say, your tone light but genuine. He nods heavily at this, absorbing the information.

“Does Aizawa know?” he asks, his voice a bit more serious now.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘P’ and flashing him a smile. The casualness of your response seems to catch him off guard, but he smiles back, a little more relaxed now that the initial shock has worn off.

Izuku looks at you with a new kind of respect in his eyes, mixed with the awe that only someone who’s learned something profound about someone they admire can feel. The rooftop feels quieter now, the breeze carrying away the tension that had built up between you.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says quietly, his voice filled with sincerity.

“Thank you for understanding,” you reply, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

As you both stand there, the last rays of the setting sun casting a warm glow over the rooftop, you feel a sense of peace. You’ve shared something deeply personal, something that could change how he sees you, but you know you’ve made the right choice.

“I should probably get going,” Izuku says after a moment, glancing towards the stairs.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, taking one last look at the sky before turning to follow him. “But hey, remember what I said about sunscreen.”

He chuckles, a sound that makes you smile, and with that, he heads down the stairs, leaving you to stand alone on the rooftop, the breeze tugging at your hair.

As you watch him go, you feel a sense of accomplishment. You’ve made a connection, one that you hope will grow stronger in time. With a final glance at the setting sun, you turn and make your way down the stairs, ready to face whatever comes next.

Running to the lockers, you spot Denki and Mina standing outside the entrance, their gazes fixed on the sky. They’re animatedly discussing something when you accidentally bump into someone.

“Oh, sorry!” you say, steadying yourself as you look up to see Kirishima grinning down at you.

“No worries,” he says, his hand gently supporting your shoulder. He waves the others over, and Mina and Denki quickly join you, curiosity evident in their expressions.

“We just saw some crazy fireworks in the sky,” Kirishima says, excitement in his voice. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” His eyes sparkle with mischief, though his tone is light.

“Hope Aizawa didn’t lay into you too much.”

You smile, feeling a bit of warmth from their concern. “No, nothing too bad,” you reply, brushing off the encounter. “Aizawa’s just… well, you know how he is.”

By now, Izuku is already standing with Todoroki and Bakugou, who seem to be in the middle of a conversation. Mina and Denki make their way over to them, joined by the other girls and a few of the guys. They’re all chatting animatedly, but as they see you approach, they turn their attention to you.

“So, do you have any plans for the evening?” Mina asks, her eyes bright with interest. “We were thinking of maybe doing something fun before heading back.”

Denki nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, we could all hang out! Maybe grab something to eat or just chill somewhere.”

You feel the warmth of their camaraderie wrapping around you, and for a moment, the weight of everything you’ve been through today lifts slightly. You look at the eager faces around you, considering the offer.

Just as you're about to respond to the group’s suggestion, you hear a familiar voice call out your name. Turning around, you spot Rumi and Taishiro waving at you from a short distance away. You shrug sheepishly, giving the group a quick, apologetic smile.

"Give me one second," you tell them before jogging over to meet the two heroes.

"Hey, you coming home?" Rumi asks, a smirk playing on her lips. Taishiro stands beside her, his usual easygoing grin in place.

"Yeah, we’ve got some news to talk about," Taishiro adds, his tone light but with a hint of seriousness underneath.

You pause, a little torn. “Can it wait about two hours? I was planning to hang with the kiddos for a bit.”

Rumi raises an eyebrow, and Taishiro exchanges a look with her before smiling. “Sure, but you gotta be home in two hours, and be careful,” he agrees, his tone almost fatherly.

You smile in relief. “Thanks, I’ll meet you guys back in the teacher lounge. I won’t leave the kids until they’re all back at the dorms safely.”

Taishiro's smile deepens, a touch of pride evident. “I really like seeing you take stride with these kids. I can tell it’s making a difference. Kirishima looks more rested—thank you for that.” 

You glance over at Kirishima, who’s laughing with Denki and Mina, his usual energy a bit more vibrant than earlier. "Just doing what I can," you reply, feeling a sense of fulfillment.

Rumi, meanwhile, is scanning the appearance of some of the other students, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in their conditions. It’s then that you notice Mic and Aizawa walking out of the front doors of the school. Aizawa’s gaze lands on you, and after a moment, he turns to Rumi, asking her for a word.

Kirishima, noticing Taishiro, starts walking over with you. As the students recognize the large, familiar hero, they greet him with excitement, asking how he’s doing. Some of them, particularly Mina and Denki, reach out for hugs or candy, which Taishiro gladly offers, laughing at what he calls the "sugar shake down."

You watch the scene with a soft smile, but your attention is drawn to Rumi and Aizawa. They’re talking quietly, and though you can’t hear everything, you catch bits and pieces of their conversation. Aizawa looks a little more tense than usual, his brows furrowed as Rumi responds with a mix of concern and frustration.

Just then, you catch Mic's gaze. He’s standing off to the side, watching you with a curious expression. When you meet his eyes, you press a finger to your lips, signaling for silence. He chuckles quietly through his nose, a playful grin spreading across his face as he gives you a subtle nod.

Rumi’s conversation with Aizawa seems to wrap up, and she glances back at you, her expression softening slightly. You can tell something serious was discussed, but for now, it’s pushed aside as she makes her way back over to you and Taishiro.

"Alright, don’t keep us waiting too long," Rumi says, her tone a bit lighter now. "And make sure these kids get back safely."

You nod, giving her a reassuring smile before turning back to the group, who are now eagerly waiting for you to join them. 

You turn back to your ‘Classmates’ , but something catches your eye. The class, which was casually chatting moments ago, is now surrounded by a crowd of excited freshmen.

Bakugou, in particular, is at the center of the chaos. A gaggle of new freshman girls has cornered him, their eyes wide with admiration and awe. They’re practically vibrating with excitement as they bombard him with questions and compliments. Bakugou’s face is twisted in a mix of annoyance and sheer panic as he waves his arms in a futile attempt to ward them off.

“Get the hell away from me!” he barks, his voice rough with irritation. The girls, however, don’t seem to be deterred, their admiration only growing in intensity.

Midoriya and Kirishima, noticing Bakugou’s distress, rush over to help. Midoriya is trying to talk to the girls gently, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Um, maybe you should give Kacchan some space...?” he suggests, his voice kind but a bit nervous.

Kirishima, meanwhile, is using his own body to create a barrier between Bakugou and the girls. “Hey, come on now, let’s give him some room!” he says with a grin, trying to diffuse the situation with his usual friendly energy.

Despite their efforts, the girls are relentless, their attention solely focused on the explosive blonde. Bakugou’s eyes are practically bulging out of his head as he snaps at them, “I said, FUCK OFF!”

Not far away, Todoroki is in a similar predicament, though his reaction is much more subdued. He’s surrounded by another group of freshmen, his face calm but his eyes betraying a sense of quiet desperation. The girls are fawning over him, their voices a flurry of compliments about his "coolness" and "handsome" appearance.

Todoroki’s usual stoic demeanor is crumbling slightly, his gaze darting around as if searching for an escape. However, unlike Bakugou, he’s too polite to yell at the girls, so he simply stands there, frozen in place.

Sero and Tokoyami, noticing Todoroki’s silent plea for help, exchange a glance before moving in. Sero tries to use his tape to gently guide the girls away, while Tokoyami, with his deep, calm voice, politely asks them to step back. “Please, allow him some space,” Tokoyami says, his tone firm yet respectful.

But even as they try to help, Iida steps in, attempting to take control of the situation. His hand chopping through the air in his usual authoritative manner, he declares, “Young ladies, this behavior is unbecoming! I must insist that you cease this at once!”

Unfortunately for Iida, his stern lecture backfires. The moment the girls turn their attention to him, they begin to oogle him, their eyes wide with fascination. Iida’s face turns ashen as they start bombarding him with questions about his hero costume and how he manages to be so "cool and disciplined."

For a moment, Iida looks utterly terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. His usually confident stance falters, and he stumbles over his words, completely flustered by the sudden attention. “Uh, w-well, you see, it’s important to maintain d-discipline—” he stammers, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tries to back away.

Ochako and Tsuyu quickly come to his rescue, slipping through the crowd and positioning themselves between Iida and the freshmen. “Okay, girls, let’s not,” Ochako says with a bright smile, while Tsuyu nods, adding, “It’s not fair to overwhelm him like this.”

The moment of relative calm after the freshmen invasion is abruptly interrupted when Jirou sighs in relief, crossing her arms. "Well, at least no one was moving in on the girls," she comments, clearly glad that the situation hadn’t spiraled completely out of control.

But just as she finishes speaking, a voice rings out from the crowd. "Hey, ponytail!" A random guy calls out, waving enthusiastically at Momo.

Jirou’s eyes widen, and she groans in frustration, muttering under her breath, "I jinxed it." Without missing a beat, she spins around, her expression hardening as she steps forward to defend Momo, who is visibly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. The remaining girls huddle closer together, with Jirou now standing in front of them, ready to fend off any unwanted advances. 

As the chaos reignites, the class instinctively forms a protective circle, each student looking out for one another. Kirishima, Bakugou, and Sero are doing their best to keep the overly excited freshmen at bay, while Todoroki, though still a bit dazed, positions himself near the edge of the group, using his presence as a deterrent.

In the midst of the turmoil, Mineta, who had been trying to navigate through the crowd unnoticed, is almost trampled by the stampede of students. Thankfully, Shinso and Shoji swoop in just in time, lifting him out of harm’s way. Shinso’s expression is neutral, but there’s a flicker of sympathy in his eyes, while Shoji’s multiple arms provide the much-needed support to get Mineta back on his feet.

Ojiro, on the other hand, is busy holding up Toru, who, despite being invisible, is shocked to receive any attention at all. She giggles nervously, still not quite used to the idea of people noticing her despite her quirk. "I guess they really noticed me, huh?" she muses, her voice tinged with surprise.

Nearby, Aoyama has found his way over to you, his usual flamboyance slightly subdued by the commotion. He backs up to your side, offering a polite smile. "Pardonne Moi, but do you think you could do something to help calm things down?" he asks, his voice calm but hopeful.

You nod, your mind already working on a solution. Concentrating, you begin to release small, subtle bursts of your energy into the crowd. The effect is almost immediate. The once rowdy students start to slow down, their frantic movements becoming more languid. Taishiro, noticing what you’re doing, joins in, though his method is a bit more... traditional. He starts tossing the remaining candy from his pockets into the air, hoping to distract the students.

Unfortunately, the candy doesn’t have the desired effect—these kids are more interested in the heroes than in sweets. Taishiro scratches his head, chuckling to himself. "Guess kids these days don’t want no candy, huh?" he mutters.

Your energy, however, works wonders. The students around you begin to calm down, their excitement fading into a more passive, trance-like state. You seize the opportunity, speaking softly but firmly, “It’s time for all of the Freshmen to head back to their dorms.”

The idea settles into their minds, and soon, the crowd starts to disperse, moving almost like a herd of sheep, following your subtle guidance.

The class, still somewhat bewildered by the sudden change in atmosphere, exchanges confused glances before shrugging it off. Mina is the first to recover, spotting you and grabbing your arm with a grin. "Come on! We’re heading to a little bowling alley we hang out at sometimes!"

Todoroki, who has been quietly observing the situation, nods in agreement. "I’ll use my dad’s credit card to cover it," he mentions casually, earning a few chuckles from the group.

As you all start walking together, Izuku catches your eye. There’s a knowing smile on his face as he mouths a quick, heartfelt, "thank you." You return the smile, feeling a sense of warmth as the group begins to relax, the earlier tension melting away.

With Mina leading the way, the class chatters excitedly about the upcoming bowling match, their earlier encounters with the freshmen already fading into the background. As you walk alongside them, you can’t help but chuckle at the scene.

Bakugou is still grumbling under his breath, trying to shake off the lingering attention. Midoriya looks relieved that the situation didn’t escalate further, while Kirishima is still trying to keep things light, patting Bakugou on the back with a grin.

Todoroki, now free from the crowd, stands off to the side, quietly adjusting his tie, his expression returning to its usual calm. Sero and Tokoyami share a relieved glance, clearly glad they managed to help.

And Iida, poor Iida, is wiping sweat from his brow as Ochako and Tsuyu offer him reassuring smiles. “Thanks, you two,” he mutters, still looking a bit pale.

All around, the students are stretching and shaking off the remnants of the impromptu ambush, their movements a mix of relief and exhaustion. The air is filled with the sound of laughter and chatter as they regroup, the chaos of the moment slowly dissipating.

The sky above is tinged with the warm hues of late afternoon, the air crisp and filled with the promise of a relaxed evening. As you walk alongside the students, the excitement in the group is palpable, everyone chatting animatedly about the plans for the evening. It’s refreshing, seeing them so carefree after school.

The bowling alley comes into view, and you find yourself pleasantly surprised by how inviting it looks. The exterior has a charming, retro vibe with neon signs and a large marquee that flashes "Strike Zone & More!" The windows reveal a cozy interior bathed in warm light, and you can already hear the faint sounds of pins crashing and the hum of arcade machines.

As you all step inside, the first thing you notice is the decor. The carpet is surprisingly clean, not sticky as you’d half-expected, with a vibrant pattern of swirling colors that almost makes it feel like walking through a kaleidoscope. The walls are adorned with vintage posters of past bowling tournaments and neon-lit signs pointing to different sections: an off-room for pool, a row of older arcade games, a picture booth, and party rooms. 

There’s even a karaoke bar tucked into the corner, the soft glow from its lights spilling out into the main area. The space feels larger than you anticipated, likely due to the joint roller rink next door, which gives everything a more spacious, airy feel.

The bowling alley itself is relatively empty, save for three employees who immediately catch your eye. One of them, a guy with elf-like ears and a brooding expression, has his face resting on the register, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

His dark hair, styled in a way that oddly reminds you of Sasuke Uchiha, falls into his eyes. Another employee, with a head of spiky blonde hair and small, bright blue eyes, is energetically greeting everyone who walks in. His enthusiasm is infectious, but you notice Izuku visibly tensing up as he approaches. 

Lastly, there’s a bubbly girl with space buns and the rest of her hair curling around her shoulders in soft purple waves. She’s the most calm and welcoming of the trio, her smile bright and genuine as she waves to the group.

“HEY GUYS!”

“Huh?”

There’s an instant buzz among the class as Mina, always quick with the information, explains to you who they are.

“That’s Tamaki Amajiki,” she points to the guy at the register, who seems content to stay slumped over the counter, “and over there is Mirio Togata. He’s the one with the blond hair.” Mina then gestures to the bubbly girl. “And that’s Nejire Hado. They were third-year students, and they’re amazing heroes now!” She smiles as she jingles your bracelets, “They decided to be part time mentors at UA, so we still see them in school sometimes.”

As the students begin to flock toward the trio, Kirishima’s expression turns concerned. He walks up to Tamaki, gently encouraging him to lift his face from the counter. “Hey, man, you alright? It’s not great to keep your face down like that.” 

Tamaki slowly lifts his head, his expression still gloomy, but he gives Kirishima a nod of acknowledgment. “I’m okay… just… tired,” he mutters, trying to muster a small smile. 

‘DAMN, his energy is so fucking heavy!’

Iida and Bakugou, surprisingly united in their stance, both shake their heads in disapproval. “It’s bad business practice,” Iida says, adjusting his glasses.

Bakugou grunts in agreement, crossing his arms. “Can’t have people thinking you’re shit on the job, idiot.”

Mirio, meanwhile, is completely unfazed by the exchange, his grin as wide as ever. “Welcome, welcome! Let’s get you all set up with some shoes!” He’s already grabbing pairs left and right, guessing sizes with impressive accuracy. His aura was a spicy mix of calm and underlying nerves. 

Nejire, equally welcoming, has taken on the task of collecting food orders from the students, chatting with them as if they were old friends. Her presence is calming, and you can see the tension easing from Izuku’s shoulders as she reassures him with a friendly pat on the back. Her energy levels were consistent with her aura on high alert for some reason, weird. 

As you observe all this, you realize just how dry your throat is after using your quirk so much throughout the day. You consider getting some food but decide against it, remembering your plans for dinner with Rumi and Taishiro.

Instead, you opt for a couple of water bottles from a nearby vending machine. Mina lets you go for the moment and you slam your coins into the slot to get that good kwenchy liquid.

‘Hehehe Cactus juice.’

Grabbing the bottles, you waste no time downing the first one in record time, the cool liquid refreshing your parched throat. You quickly follow it up with the second bottle, finishing it just as fast. A few of the students nearby notice and exchange concerned glances, but you just wave them off with a smile, feeling much better now that you’re hydrated.

Mina, ever the social butterfly, finds you again and links her arm with yours. “Come on, let’s get our lane! I can’t wait to see you bowl!” She’s practically bouncing with excitement as she pulls you along toward the lane that’s been set aside for your group.

The evening at the bowling alley was turning into a fierce competition, much to the amusement of everyone involved. It quickly became apparent that you were no novice when it came to bowling.

Your form was perfect, and each roll of the ball seemed to effortlessly find its way to a strike. The others had started to notice too, especially Bakugou, whose competitive streak had kicked into overdrive. The game had come down to just the two of you duking it out for the number one spot, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Mineta, on the other hand, had not fared well. He was dead last, pouting in the corner as he watched the scoreboard with dismay. His frustrations were compounded when Iida, ever the picture of grace and discipline, had slipped on the floor during his turn, much to the shock of everyone. He had tried to recover with dignity, but the red flush on his cheeks was hard to miss.

Denki, in typical fashion, had managed to break one of the lanes, though how he did it remained a mystery. Jirou had promptly put him in "time out," her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently as she kept an eye on him. Denki slouched in his chair, looking thoroughly chastised but also a little amused at his own misfortune.

Kirishima had his own mishap when he accidentally cracked his bowling ball in half, much to his dismay. "I just put a little too much strength into it," he’d said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as the others chuckled.

Todoroki, who had been more of an observer than a participant, needed encouragement from Izuku to even take a turn. It turned out that he just wanted to hang out with everyone and wasn’t too interested in bowling, but he eventually joined in, albeit with a quiet, reluctant smile.

Izuku, despite his own initial hesitation, wasn’t doing too badly. He had a steady game going, his concentration evident in the way he carefully lined up each shot. Sero, however, was giving everyone a run for their money, firmly holding onto third place. Each time he hit a strike, he would break out into a little salsa dance, much to the chagrin of Bakugou, who glared daggers at him every time.

The rest of the students were scattered around, either munching on snacks or trying their luck at the arcade games. Mina and Ochako were busy playing an old-school pinball machine, while Tsuyu and Momo were sharing a plate of nachos, chatting quietly between bites. Shoji and Shinso were deep in conversation near the pool tables, and Ojiro was helping Toru with one of the claw machines, though it was a bit challenging to tell with her being invisible.

As the final frame approached, it was neck-and-neck between you and Bakugou. The pressure was on, but you remained cool and focused. With one last swing of your arm, you sent the ball rolling down the lane, watching with satisfaction as it struck dead center, sending the pins flying. Another strike. You flashed Bakugou a triumphant grin before stepping aside to let him take his turn.

“Beat that,” you teased as you headed toward the restroom, giving Bakugou a little wave.

As you entered the bathroom, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter, the sounds of the bowling alley muffled by the thick walls. The energy was dark and heavy with tints of You were just about to step into a stall when you heard a faint sniffling sound. You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle.

"Hello? Is someone there?" you called out gently, trying not to startle whoever it was.

There was no response at first, just the soft sound of someone trying to stifle their tears. You waited for a moment before deciding to close the door behind you. Flicking the lights on and off a couple of times, you hoped it might encourage the person to respond.

Finally, you heard a small, familiar voice coming from one of the stalls. "It's me… Toru."

Your heart sank a little as you realized it was Toru, usually so cheerful and upbeat. You approached the stall, your voice soft and concerned.

"Toru, what's going on? Are you okay?"

There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice trembling.

"I'm sorry… I didn’t mean to cry. I just… I feel so invisible sometimes!”

You could hear her sobbing pick up and your heart clenched at the sound of her voice. Toru, who seemed so bubbly and cheerful, sounded so vulnerable now. You approached the stall where she was hiding, your voice gentle and full of concern. "Toru, what’s wrong? What’s got you so upset?"

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought she might not answer. But then, through her sniffles, she spoke. "I just… I feel like people forget about me so easily. Just because I’m invisible, it’s like… it’s like I don’t matter as much, you know? And after everything that happened during the war, I keep thinking… what if I got hurt? What if I died? No one would even find me. I could just… disappear."

Her voice cracked, and you could hear the depth of her fear and pain. It was something she’d probably been carrying for a long time, something that had festered and grown until it overwhelmed her. You could understand why she’d feel that way—Toru’s quirk made her physically invisible, but it was clear that the emotional toll of feeling unseen was even more painful.

You knew you needed to do something to comfort her. Reaching into the stall next to hers, you grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper and slid them under the door to her stall. Then, you squatted down outside her door, leaning your back against it to give her some privacy, while still making it clear that you were there for her.

“Toru,” you began, your voice calm and reassuring, “I want you to know that what you’re feeling is completely valid. It’s okay to be scared and to have these thoughts. But you’re not alone, and you don’t have to carry this by yourself.” 

You heard her sniffling again, but she didn’t speak. So, you continued, hoping your words could reach her.

“Just because you’re invisible doesn’t mean you’re forgotten or unimportant. You’re real, Toru. You’re here, and you matter to all of us. You’ve got a place in this class, in this world, that no one else can fill. And if something ever happened to you, we’d notice. We’d miss you. We wouldn’t stop searching for you. You’re part of our team, our family. We care about you so much.”

You could hear her breathing, steady but still shaky. She was listening, absorbing your words, and that encouraged you to keep going.

“I know it’s scary to think about what could have happened during the war, but you’re here now. You made it through, and that’s because you’re strong, Toru. You’ve got so much to offer, and we’d be hard-pressed to find someone in class who doesn’t think highly of you. And you’re more than just your quirk. You’re funny, you’re kind, and you’ve got this incredible spirit that lights up the room—even if we can’t see you, we can feel it.” You fussed with the smudged marker on your converse and decided to scrub them and start over after dinner. 

There was a small, hesitant chuckle from the other side of the door, and it brought a soft smile to your face. You decided to keep pushing, to lighten the mood a little more. 

“And besides,” you added with a teasing tone, “I’m pretty sure Ojiro would be the first one to notice if you weren’t around. Have you seen how he looks at you? He’s always got your back. Literally.”

Toru let out a small, watery laugh, the sound a mix of relief and lingering emotion. “You think so?” she asked, her voice still a little shaky, but there was a note of hope in it.

“I know so,” you replied confidently. “And you know what? You should give yourself more credit too. You’re more visible than you think, Toru. You’re the real deal, and you’re important to all of us.” Stop stood up from the floor and dusted your hands off. 

There was a moment of silence, and then you heard the soft sound of the stall door unlocking. Toru stepped out, her form still invisible, but you could feel her weight as she hesitated before falling into your arms. You wrapped her in a comforting hug, holding her close as she finally let out all the emotions she’d been bottling up.

As you held her, you spoke softly. “See? You’re talking to me, I can feel your weight in my arms, and I know you’re here. You’re very much real, Toru. And we’re going to make sure you never forget that.”

She sniffled against your shoulder, her arms tightening around you as she took in your words. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice full of gratitude and relief. “I needed this.”

“Anytime,” you murmured back, rubbing her back soothingly. “Now, how about we splash some water on your face, and then we can head back out there? The others are probably wondering where we are.”

Toru nodded against your shoulder, and after a moment, she pulled back. Though you couldn’t see her face, you could feel the shift in her energy—she felt lighter, more at ease.

“Okay,” she said softly, heading over to the sink to wash her face. You could hear the water running and the faint sound of her taking deep breaths, grounding herself again.

As you waited for her to finish, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. It wasn’t easy being a teacher, but moments like these made it all worth it. Knowing that you could be there for your students, that you could help them through their darkest moments, made every challenge worthwhile.

When Toru was ready, the two of you left the bathroom together. As you walked back toward the bowling lanes, side by side, you hoped that she’d come out of this more confident in who she was. And you’d be there to support her every step of the way in case she needed it. 

The moment you walked out of the bathroom holding hands with Toru, a sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you had completely forgotten to pee. With an awkward, apologetic smile, you quickly excused yourself and made a mad dash back to the restroom, leaving Toru to take your place in the bowling game.

When you emerged, feeling much more relieved, you were greeted by the sight of your students and some of the girls from Class 1-A gathered around the bowling lane, cheering enthusiastically. Toru was at the center of it all, standing confidently as she prepared to bowl.

With a smooth and graceful motion, she sent the ball down the lane, and you watched in amazement as it rolled straight into the pins, knocking them all down in one perfect strike. The cheers erupted even louder, and you couldn’t help but grin as you saw Ojiro rush over, lift her up, and twirl her around in celebration.

Toru’s presence was palpable in the room, despite her invisibility. You could practically feel her eyes on you as she beamed with pride, and you waved back at her, your heart swelling with joy at seeing her so happy and confident. It was a nice contrast to the tearful moment you’d just shared in the bathroom, and it made you realize just how strong she truly was.

As you glanced around the room, your eyes caught Izuku’s. He gave you a knowing smile, his expression full of warmth and understanding. You returned the smile and shrugged, as if to say, "Hey, Toru did all the work." It was a moment of unspoken camaraderie between you two, a shared pride in the progress your students were making.

Meanwhile, Bakugou was breathing deeply, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. Despite his best efforts, Toru had managed to clinch the victory from him, and you could see Kirishima patting him on the back, congratulating him for taking second place. Sero and Denki, on the other hand, were dancing around like they’d just won the lottery, doing their little salsa moves in celebration.

The entire scene was so full of life and energy that you couldn’t help but laugh. The Big Three—Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire—were cheering along with the students, their enthusiasm infectious. Mirio’s booming voice echoed through the bowling alley as he clapped his hands together, while Nejire bounced on her toes, her excitement bubbling over.

Finally, Mirio called out, "Alright, everyone! Finish up your games because we’re closing in ten minutes!"

There was a collective groan from the students, but it was good-natured. They’d had their fun, and now it was time to wrap things up. You joined the group as they began to put away the bowling shoes and gather their belongings, the atmosphere filled with the warmth of shared experiences and laughter.

Toru, still beaming from her victory, gave you a quick hug as she passed by, and you returned it with a squeeze. "You did amazing, Toru," you whispered to her, and she giggled, her voice filled with happiness.

"Thanks! I couldn’t have done it without you," she replied, her invisible hand giving yours a quick squeeze before she joined the others.

As you all started gathering your things to leave, Mina suddenly grabbed your hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Wait, we have to take some pictures to commemorate the evening!" she exclaimed, pulling you toward the photo booth in the corner of the bowling alley.

Laughing, you let her drag you over, and the two of you squeezed into the small booth. The screen blinked to life, and you both threw up peace signs, making finger hearts and goofy faces as the camera clicked away. The energy between you and Mina was infectious, and soon, more of the girls joined in, piling into the booth with giggles and smiles.

You made sure to sit Toru in the middle, wrapping an arm around her invisible shoulders as Mina leaned in from the other side. On cue, you and Mina both kissed her cheeks just as the camera snapped another shot. Toru’s delighted laughter filled the booth, and you could feel the positive energy radiating from her, so much brighter than it had been earlier.

Before you knew it, Jirou and Momo were climbing in over you both, their laughter filling the tiny space. The booth became a chaotic jumble of limbs and laughter as you all tried to fit in, just as Denki, never one to miss out on the fun, threw himself into the booth with a dramatic flair, making everyone laugh even harder.

Realizing that everyone wanted to get in on the action, you kept feeding the machine more money, letting it take multiple photos of the entire class. Each new set of pictures captured a different group of students—everyone getting their turn to make silly faces and pose with their friends.

When it was all over, you paid for the copies, handing them out to each student as they gathered around. Mina protested, insisting she could pay her share, but before she could argue further, Todoroki and Momo both held up their cash, ready to contribute as well.

You just shrugged gently, waving them off with a smile. "Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me."

The mood was even more upbeat than before as everyone clutched their photo strips, grinning from ear to ear. The positive energy in the air was almost tangible, swirling around you like a comforting blanket. It was moments like this that reminded you of why you cared so much for these kids—why you would do anything to see them smile.

As the last of the photos were distributed, you noticed the Big Three near the entrance, their jackets on and ready to leave. You glanced at the clock—6 p.m. already. Time had flown by so quickly. Concerned, you called out to them, "Do you guys have a ride home?" 

Your adult is showing!!~

Mirio grinned, throwing an arm around Tamaki’s shoulders. "Yep! It’s Tamaki’s turn to drive us home tonight." Tamaki, still looking a bit shy but determined, nodded. "Yeah, I’ve got it."

They offered to walk you all to the dorms, but you gently declined, knowing it was better for everyone to head out in different directions. As you and your friends filed out of the bowling alley, Mina and Toru took hold of your hands, their fingers warm and comforting in yours.

As the group slowly made their way out of the doors, the night air hit you, cool and refreshing after the excitement inside. You walked alongside your students, feeling a deep sense of contentment. They had all grown so much, and moments like this reminded you just how much you cared for them—and how much they cared for each other.

With the Big Three waving goodbye as they closed up the bowling alley, you smiled at all the memories you’d made tonight.

You looked up, the sky painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun began to set. The walk back to the dorms was filled with chatter and laughter, everyone still riding the high from the evening’s fun.

As you walked, you felt Toru’s hand squeeze yours a little tighter. You glanced over and saw her looking at you, her eyes—though invisible—clearly filled with gratitude and happiness. You smiled back at her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze in return.

You continued walking with Mina and Toru at your sides, and couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. 

Today was a good day.

The walk back to the dorms was almost quiet, the group more subdued after the excitement of the evening. Laughter had faded into a comfortable silence, with only the occasional murmur of conversation breaking the stillness. As you neared the entrance to the dorms, you felt the familiar sense of responsibility settle over you. It was time to say goodbye.

You stopped at the gates, turning to face the class. "Alright, guys, this is where we part ways."

A few of the students looked confused, and Momo was the first to ask, "You're not staying with us?"

You shook your head with a small smile. "Nah, I’ve got to take the subway home."

Immediately, concern washed over their faces. Momo's eyes narrowed in thought, and she placed a hand on her chin. "I could make you a taser. It would only take a few minutes."

Kirishima nodded in agreement. "Or I could walk you to the subway at least. Just to make sure you're safe, y’know? It’s no trouble at all."

You couldn’t help but smile at their protectiveness. "I appreciate it, really, but I'll be fine." Gently, you reached out with your quirk, sensing the restless energy radiating off them. Though they were trying to be brave, you could feel the lingering excitement and concern making it hard for them to wind down.

Tapping into your power, you sent a calming pulse through the air. Their energy spiked briefly as if awakened by a fresh burst of energy, and then, almost instantly, it began to ebb away. You could feel it working, see it in the way their shoulders relaxed, how their eyelids grew heavier.

Denki yawned, eyes fluttering as he blinked up at you. "Man, I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly so tired," he muttered, swaying on his feet.

Shinsou, standing next to him, wasn’t faring much better. His head bobbed slightly as he fought to stay awake. Before anyone could even react, both of them slumped onto the sofa in the common room, fast asleep before they could even make it to their beds.

Sero, ever the laid-back type, lazily stretched out on two chairs, somehow finding a comfortable position despite the awkward setup. "I’m just gonna... rest here for a minute," he mumbled, eyes closing as he dozed off.

You chuckled softly, watching as the others began to shuffle off toward their rooms. Mina waved sleepily, her steps dragging as she wished you goodnight. Even Bakugou, though still grumbling, couldn’t hide his exhaustion. He scowled, muttering something about it being past 8:30 as he made his way upstairs.

Kirishima shot you one last concerned glance, his fatigue evident in the way he rubbed at his eyes. "You sure you're okay? I could walk you—"

You waved him off with a gentle smile. "I’m sure. You all need your rest. I’ll be fine, I promise."

Reluctantly, he nodded, finally heading inside with the others. As the dorm doors closed behind them, you took a deep breath, feeling the night settle in around you. The city skyline glowed in the distance, and the air was crisp and cool against your skin.

You sighed, both tired and content as you began walking toward the doors. The evening had been more eventful than you anticipated, but seeing the kids so happy—and knowing you had helped ease their restlessness—made it all worth it.

With each step, the echoes of the night’s laughter and joy accompanied you, and though you walked alone now, the warmth of their care stayed with you long after.

As you wave one last time to the last sleepy students disappearing into the dorms, you turn to leave—only to almost trip over Aoyama, who had somehow sprawled out on the ground near the door.

"Oops, sorry!" you whisper, stepping over him carefully as he lets out a dramatic sigh, his sparkling face shining even in the dim light.

With a soft chuckle, you manage to navigate your way past the dorms, out of the back security gate, and into the cool night air. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you dial Rumi, ready to drop your location.

She answers immediately, her voice loud and enthusiastic. "Yo! Where you at? Me and Taishi are chilling in the teacher's lounge. Come up when you're done babysitting!"

A small smile tugs at your lips as you nod, even though she can’t see you. "On my way now. Be there soon."

Hanging up, you start walking through the quiet grounds, eventually slipping into the main building. But as you make your way deeper into the hallways, you can’t help but feel the creeping eeriness of the place. The school at night feels vastly different than it does during the day. The corridors seem to stretch on forever, with each corner you turn feeling like another maze to solve. Every creak and soft shuffle echoes unnaturally, the emptiness making it all the more unsettling.

Your pace quickens slightly as you notice the pools of light spilling in through random windows, leaving sharp patches of brightness on the floor. You instinctively avoid them, staying close to the walls and shadows, a habit from your quirk training that kicks in without thinking.

A cold shiver runs down your spine as the flickering fluorescent lights above buzz louder, the hum blending with the deep silence around you. You shake your head, smiling to yourself. ‘ It’s just a school,’ you remind yourself. 

‘No big deal.’

Deciding to shake off the discomfort, you square your shoulders, lifting your chin and walking straight through the dim patches of darkness. You could feel your pulse steadying as you moved forward confidently, determined not to let a few creepy hallways get to you.

It takes you a good fifteen minutes to navigate the winding halls before you finally arrive at the teacher's lounge. The door is slightly ajar, and as you approach, you can hear a deep, mournful wail coming from inside.

‘What on earth...?’

With a sigh of relief, you push open the door, stepping into the warm, comfortable light and inside to a strange scene. Rumi is sitting casually on the edge of a desk, her sharp ruby eyes already locked onto you as she flashes you a quick grin. Beside her, Taishiro is hunched over in an attempt to comfort a large, muscular man with shaggy blond hair—who, to your surprise, is wearing what looks like a muzzle.

The man, now identified by the loud, heart-wrenching sobs he's emitting, is slumped over at his desk. His head is buried in his arms, his body shaking with each cry. Taishiro’s massive hand is patting his back in a gentle, but somewhat awkward rhythm.

Rumi’s grin widens as she waves you over, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you approach. She leans down, her voice a low whisper in your ear, "That's Hound Dog. Fitting, right?" She snickers softly before pulling back.

"He's the school’s guidance counselor," she continues, keeping her voice low as she gestures toward the distressed man. "Poor guy's going through it."

Hound Dog lifts his head briefly, revealing watery, red eyes. “It’s driving me crazy!” he howls, his voice raw with emotion, before burying his face back into his desk.

“He’s been like this for the past hour,” Taishiro says softly, his tone heavy with sympathy as he glances at you and Rumi. “Really cares about the kids.”

Rumi rolls her eyes slightly, but her smile is warm as she leans against the desk. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. But seriously, he’s worried that the students aren’t getting enough help. Wants more people to come in to support ‘em, but he’s stuck with all the red tape. Hiring processes and training and whatnot.” She waves her hand dismissively. Hound Dog lets out another anguished cry.

“I love them! I really do!”

He bangs his fists on the desk, rattling everything on it. “I’ve known some of these students since they were freshmen! I’ve watched them grow!” His voice cracks with the weight of his emotions. “But damn it, I can’t help them if they won’t open up! And they need more help, more attention, more people to make sure they’re getting what they deserve!”

Taishiro, ever the patient one, tries again to soothe him. “You’re doing your best, man. We all see how hard you’re working. And you’re right, they do need more support, but you can’t carry that weight all on your own.”

Hound Dog growls in frustration, slamming his hands down again, the sound resonating through the room. “It’s not enough! I’m just one person! And the process to bring in a team? It’s so slow, so frustrating! The students are the ones suffering for it!”

Rumi squeezes your shoulder lightly, her breath tickling your ear as she murmurs, “He’s not wrong, y’know. The kids have been through hell, and he’s barely keeping it together trying to be there for all of them.”

You nod in understanding, taking in the sheer weight of Hound Dog’s frustrations. His dedication is undeniable, but the system is slow, and the students need more immediate help than it can currently offer. You can see how much this is tearing him apart.

Rumi tilts her head back and sighs, clearly empathizing but also not entirely sure how to help at the moment. "This job isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, huh?" she says quietly, her usual cocky tone tempered with genuine concern. You think back to your own interactions with the students earlier today, their struggles still fresh in your mind. You’ve been around them for only a short time, and you can already sense how deep their trauma runs. What Hound Dog’s dealing with? It must be crushing.

“Hey,” you speak up gently, your voice soft but firm, “You’re right—this is tough, and it’s not fair for you to bear all of this on your own. The students do need more help. But for now, even just you being there for them, even if they don’t always open up right away, it matters. They notice.”

Hound Dog sniffles, his red eyes meeting yours through the muzzle. “But... it’s not enough,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion.

“No, it’s not,” you admit, kneeling beside his desk to meet his gaze more closely. “But you’re doing what you can, and they know that. And when they’re ready, they’ll come to you. You can’t force them to open up, but you can keep showing them that you’re there. That means something. A lot, actually.”

There’s a brief pause as your words settle in, and Hound Dog nods in agreement, the corners of his eyes crinkling in what you assume is a smile from the support.

“You’re very bright young lady! Have you ever considered becoming a lifestyle guidance counselor?” 

You all burst out laughing as he gives you a firm pat on the shoulder that almost knocks you off balance before Taishi grabs your bag to steady you. In return, Rumi hops down and pats Hound Dog’s back a bit harder, her playful nature returning. “See, you’re doing good, mutt! Keep it up, and we’ll get those reinforcements soon enough.” She winks at you, then adds, “And maybe we can steal this one to help out, too, huh?”

You chuckle softly, not missing the subtle suggestion, though you’re not sure if it’s just Rumi being Rumi or a genuine thought. Either way, the mood in the room feels just a little lighter.

As Hound Dog’s sobs finally began to subside, he sniffled a few times before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He glanced over at you, seeming to register your presence for the first time, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Wait… why is there a student here after hours?” he barked, his gruff voice now more composed, though still heavy with lingering emotion. His eyes darted between you and Rumi.

'Shiiiiit.'

Without missing a beat, Rumi tightened her arm around your shoulders, her casual demeanor making the sudden cover-up seem like second nature. “Oh, don’t worry about that. She’s not just any student,” she said, her grin sly but her tone firm. “She’s my mentee. I’ll be taking her home after this.”

Hound Dog, still slightly suspicious but clearly too exhausted to press the matter, blinked and then nodded. “Alright… well, just make sure she gets home safe,” he said with a resigned sigh. His massive hand rubbed his muzzle as he stood up from the desk, towering over all of you. His gaze softened as he looked at you again, his voice much gentler now. “I’ll see if I can speed up the paperwork to get you into the dorms. It’s safer there.”

You nodded back at him, offering a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Taishiro gave you a look, shaking his head in silent amusement as if to say ‘ What are you getting yourself into now?’ You could only shrug back in return. You wanted to play along as long as you could and besides, now you knew a staff member that could help in your plan. 

With that, Hound Dog took a deep breath and trudged toward the door, his large boots thudding against the floor. “Goodnight all,” he muttered, his voice still weary.

“Goodnight, Hound Dog,” Taishiro said warmly, watching him go.

You all stood in silence for a moment, listening to the fading sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall until the door finally clicked shut.

The room suddenly felt quieter, as if the air had become stiller in his absence. You let out a long breath, tension you hadn’t realized you were holding finally releasing from your chest. 

The teacher’s lounge seemed… different now. The once cozy warmth of the room had shifted, and you couldn’t ignore the subtle chill creeping in through the dark windows. A thin layer of condensation had gathered on the glass, distorting the view outside, and making the room feel even more closed off from the world.

Rumi stretched her arms above her head, her casual demeanor returning. “So… did you spoil your dinner, or what?” she asked, her sharp ruby eyes glinting mischievously as she leaned back against the desk again.

You shook your head, your lips curving into a slight smile despite the weight still pressing on your chest. “No, I’m fine.”

You stepped away from them, your eyes catching the familiar sight of a desk on the far side of the room—Nemuri's desk. It stood there, untouched, like a ghost in the corner of your vision. The sight of it was enough to pull you across the room without another thought.

Your fingertips grazed the surface of the desk as you approached, running lightly along the smooth edge. There was a subtle warmth to the wood, but it felt different now, colder than you remembered. The chair tucked beneath it was slightly pushed out, as if Nemuri had only stepped away for a moment and could come back any second. 

But you knew she wouldn’t.

The urge to sit down overwhelmed you for a moment, a fleeting desire to feel closer to her, to feel her presence and pretend she was still here. But you couldn’t. 

You just… couldn’t. 

It wasn’t right. Instead, you stood there, fingers lightly tapping against the back of her chair. The leather was cool beneath your touch, the faint scent of her perfume still lingering in the air around you—soft, familiar, intoxicating in a way that was distinctly her. 

It made your chest ache.

She wasn’t just your mentor. She wasn’t just your colleague. Kayama was someone to you. And you couldn’t quite put a label on it. She was like a mother, an aunt, a sister—none of those roles really fit, but at the same time, she was all of them wrapped into one.

Nemuri Kayama was family. Blood didn’t matter. She saved you, in ways that no one else had, or maybe even could. She had been a constant in your life, someone you leaned on, someone you loved deeply.

And now she was lying in a hospital bed, her life hanging in the balance.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as your hand drifted over the desk, pausing at the drawer handles. They’d been replaced with little bars shaped like handcuffs—of course. You couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped you, though it was tinged with sadness.

Typical Mimi, always leaving her personal touch on everything, even the most mundane things. It made you smile, but at the same time, it felt like someone had taken a knife and twisted it in your chest.

The reality of her absence hit you harder than ever in that moment. Seeing her desk, the place where she’d spent so much time, the place she’d talked about so often, now cold and empty—it killed you inside. 

You missed her. God, you missed her so much it hurt.

Your fingers drummed lightly against the chair, your eyes misting over as you stood there in silence, feeling her presence even though she wasn’t there. She was everywhere and nowhere, and that was the hardest part. Rumi’s voice cut through the silence, softer than before.

“You good?”

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes still locked on the desk, but you nodded. “Yeah,” you murmured, though your voice felt distant. “Just… thinking.” Rumi let out a slow breath beside you. She didn’t say anything else, but you felt her presence at your side, solid and unwavering.

She knew. She didn’t need to ask more.

The room had grown colder, the night pressing in from outside. The windows, now fogged with condensation, reflected your blurred image back at you. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound, each second a reminder of time passing, of moments slipping away.

You took one last look at Nemuri’s desk, your heart heavy but full of love for the woman who had meant so much to you. Then, with a deep breath, you stepped away, forcing a smile as you turned back to Rumi and Taishiro.

"She’s still with us, you know," Rumi said, her voice low but firm.

"Nemuri. She’ll pull through."

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince her, or yourself. But it didn’t matter. For now, you just had to hold on to the hope that Rumi was right.

You could feel that same ache in your chest, the one that always surfaced when you thought about how close Nemuri had come to dying. But in that moment, you realized something important—no matter what happened, she would always be family to you. That wasn’t going to change.

For now, that's enough to keep you moving forward.

You shake your head, trying to push away the heaviness in your chest. There’s no point in dwelling on it right now—you’ve still got work to do. Opening your bag, you pull out a packet of disinfectant wipes. The familiar scent of lemon fills the air as you get to work, your hands moving automatically, as if cleaning could somehow clear your mind as well.

You start with Nemuri’s desk, running the wipe across the surface, the candles, and the essential oil bottles she kept arranged so neatly. Each object feels so personal, so distinctly her. You dust off the surface, your fingers grazing the edges of her history books, brushing away weeks of settled neglect. The quiet shuffle of pages makes the room feel less empty, like she’s still here, guiding you with every motion.

Her magazines are next. You reorganize them, stacking them neatly on the corner of her desk, though it’s hard to resist flipping through the pages to see if she’d left any more of her colorful sticky notes inside. The plush purple velvet armchair sits to the side, a favorite of hers. You give it a firm whack, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. It catches the dim light, tiny particles swirling before they settle again.

As you work, your fingers linger over the smaller details of her desk—her glasses case, the one you’d seen her pull from countless times. You gingerly open it, revealing the familiar red frames inside. A sad smile tugs at your lips as you pull them out, wiping the lenses with the proper cloth. The action feels intimate, like you’re caring for a piece of her. When you settle them back in the case, the click of the lid closing echoes softly in the quiet room. You place them back in their spot,

exactly how she left them.

“Gonna go grab my bag from the gym,” Taishiro says, breaking the silence as he stretches his arms over his head. “Left it there by accident. I’ll be right back.”

Rumi pushes herself off the desk, her eyes darting toward the door. “Yeah, I’ll be back in a sec. Gotta take a waz before we head out.” Her voice is casual, like it’s any other night, but you know she can feel it too—the heaviness hanging in the air.

You nod to both of them, giving a weak smile as they exit the room. The door swings closed behind them, leaving you alone. The silence feels thicker now, heavier. You avoid looking at Aizawa’s desk on the opposite side of the room. His presence feels like a looming shadow you’re not ready to face just yet.

Instead, you settle on the floor by Nemuri’s desk, pulling one of her textbooks into your lap. The pages are thick beneath your fingers, and you can’t help but take in the smell of the old paper—a mix of age, perfume, and the faintest trace of ink. Nemuri’s writing is everywhere, little scribbles in the margins, sticky notes marking important sections. Her handwriting is as familiar to you as your own, the quick loops of her letters reminding you of the notes she used to leave in your folder during those days when she’d taught you more than any class ever could.

'What would I give to have you here right now? I miss you.'

You blink hard, trying to push back the wave of emotion rising inside you. Tears prickle at the edges of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Suicide 'fore you let a tear fall down your eye. You have to focus, keep moving, keep.... reading. You lean in closer to the textbook, skimming the words, though they blur slightly from the exhaustion and emotions swirling inside you.

Still, you take in everything—the smell of the pages, the feel of Nemuri’s familiar notes under your fingers. You’re catching up on what you’ll be teaching the kids next week, but more than that, you’re clinging to this connection, this small piece of her that’s still here.

'I wish you were here.'

Your quirk leaves a faint buzz in your body from earlier, a soft hum of energy spent from soothing the students. It dulls your senses slightly, making the room feel distant, your mind slipping into the rhythm of turning pages, tracing her handwriting. You’re wrapped up in it all—emotion, exhaustion, memories. So much so that you don’t hear the shift in the atmosphere around you. You don’t hear the approaching footsteps, heavier than Rumi’s or Taishiro’s, echoing down the hallway. The soft thud of boots against the floor doesn’t register.

It’s not until the shadow falls over you, cutting through the dim light, that the hairs on the back of your neck prickle in warning. You freeze, fingers still pressed against the textbook’s spine. Slowly, you lift your gaze.

Standing above you, glaring down with a harsh intensity, his dark, messy hair framing his face, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’s silent, but his posture radiates disapproval. You feel a chill crawl down your spine.

“What are you doing?”

“AHHHHH!”

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @naladrawssss, @bakugouswaif, @ivydoesit23 @zennypiee Lemme know if you wanna be added!

Here is the first chapter! Just updated on my ao3 account.

The master list for this.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help motivate me. I have a Bakugou x Sugar Baby Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

[pomplalamoose]

Can we please have some luke fluff hc’s?🙏 from any era idc i just love your writing💗

Thank you so much, anon!!! <33

I'm so on board for more lighthearted Luke content to warm our hearts, it's what he deserves🤝🏻

Also I veered into kinda new territory for me; while many of these take place in the Star Wars universe as normal, I included some modern day AU ones too

• the Jedi are taught to take extra care of their clothing and appearance because whenever they're out and about they take on a mostly representative role, whether they want to or not

• this also includes learning how to correctly mend and take care of their belongings

• I don't think that this was at the very front of Luke's education though, Obi-Wan and Yoda really had more pressing conditions to work with

• however, as everyone can clearly see, nobody had to specifically tell Luke about this

• (just look at the man)

• not only did he grow up with maybe one (1) relatively good fitting outfit, I'm also sure that because of this he was taught how to fix holes and re do seams as well as sewing his buttons back on himself

• I'm even convinced he's able to make a simple pair of pants and a shirt from scratch should it be really necessary

• something about the picture of you and Luke sitting together on a warm summer evening or during a winter night and you watching him silently working away is just the peak of domesticity

• he enjoys fixing clothes, especially if by doing so he can do a favor to those he loves

• I think in a way it calms him too

• he'd definitely help out his Padawans with it as well

• I firmly believe he owns a small sewing kit, complete with a thimble

• (maybe two: one he's actually using and a second hand made one out of porcelain because he thinks it's really pretty)

• maybe, in addition and if he has the time, he'd try out similar activities like crocheting, knitting, stitching, etc.

• I don't think he'd be very good at it but everything he crafts is made with love and there is no one around who doesn't appreciate his efforts

• imagine him knitting little socks and hats and scarves for all of his students

• for some reason he really struggles with online tutorials though

• they're always going too fast, he can't see what exactly it is they're showing, and often times they're just overcomplicating really simple steps

• he finds this to be very frustrating

• he probably uses a very (very!) old fashioned book to learn instead

• its margins are full of scribbles of its previous owners and Luke adds his own

• he draws smiley faces next to the patterns he likes most

• Luke is a DIY king

• something that really comes in handy as a Jedi master

• at the very beginning, just at the start of his own academy, he definitely did most of the occurring tasks himself, also including preparing the meals for everyone

• he's a decent cook but I think he'd get really into baking

• baking bread is one of his favorite free time activities

• my sister insists upon the fact that he'd make the absolute best focaccia

• (or its Star Wars equivalent at least)

• he really likes trying out new recipes, especially those he never heard about before

• with varying degrees of success, as some of them are not meant to be made by humans

• but worry not, nothing is getting wasted

• Luke's collection of little fish friends is always happy to eat the remaining crumbs

• (for those that don't know what I'm talking about, check out my other random Luke headcanons if you'd like)

• he has special outfits for his training sessions, including many different shoes

• depending on what or where it is he's practicing, he chooses them carefully

• inside he's wearing soft slippers and soft slippers only, boots are a no go

• it's very much established that Luke is wonderfully emphathetic and always ready to stand by your side, may it be during your period or when you're struggling mentally

• he's still wonderfully emphathetic and caring when you're sick but like, only from very far away

• he'll refuse to come near you if you so much as mention you're not feeling well

• if you have to sneeze or cough even a little bit he's immediately asking whether you've fallen ill or are about to

• just say you feel like you're getting a cold and he's on retreat immediately

• he can't get sick as well!

• he's working with children!!!

• at least one of them is always sick anyways, he can't be contagious under any circumstances!

• he'd feel so bad if he were to be responsible for even more of them suffering

• he feels horrible for not being there for you too though

• so he still does his best

• he prepares warm meals and tea every day and let's R2 deliver them

• he always checks in on you when you're asleep

• he changes your bed sheets while you take a shower or a bath

• he'd totally make a doctor's appointment for you if you're too scared to make the phone call yourself

• he makes sure you're taking your medications

• he pats your back and strokes your hair using the Force

• Luke would absolutely hate quarantine

• at first he'd still be pretty optimistic, thinking it won't be that bad, maybe even fun?

• he'll just meditate a lot, right?

• after all he has mastered his temper now, his patience renowned among his friends and students

• this mindset works at the beginning and for a while he's happy to sleep in for as long as he wants to

• however he forgets about the concept of time quickly enough and soon has no idea what day it is

• when was the last time he had breakfast?

• since he's a very outdoorsy person, always on the move, always doing something, it wouldn't take long until he's getting kinda antsy too

• and while he does enjoy the calm and quiet, he's mostly used to being the center of bustling activities

• soon he takes desperate measures to pass the time, even trying out things he before swore to not be interested in in the slightest

• I see him taking lots and lots of Buzzfeed quizzes

• he texts you about every single result

• one of his first ones was about what kind of animal he'd be and he absolutely hated the outcome

• he eventually ended up making his own quiz because of it

• he likes watching you play video games more than playing them himself

• it's very relaxing to him, especially after a long day at work

• plus he gets to hold you extra close under the pretense of being very interested to see what's going on on screen

• he dozes off pretty quickly though

• while he's happy to let you play whatever you want, I think he has his favorites as well

• Animal Crossing being at the very front

• he loves when you show him your town or island, how you decorated your house and which villagers you're best friends with

• he too would have the newest game, simply because you were missing a few items and he was determined to get them for you

• it would totally escalate during quarantine though, and suddenly he'd have a fully decorated five star island

• (Luke Skywalker plays Animal Crossing with a passion and I'm ready to fight anyone about it)

• for some reason he gets really competitive during Mario Kart and Just Dance

• he unapologetically wins at every single Wii Sports mini game and no matter what you do and how much you practice, he's always better and not in the least bit sorry about it

• he is a Macher™ (please let there be some German fans who know what I'm talking about)

[narrators-journal]

thanks for confirming you're okay with it, I just like general fluff between Yusuke and Ryuji, maybe things about confessions. Smut wise, they both seem like they'd be switches and I enjoy frottage between them

This took a good amount of time to work out, but I hope it’s good and fluffy! I don’t write a lot of Yusuke or Ryuji, so forgive me if they aren’t very fitting. But, I hope you enjoyed regardless, it was a lot of fun to write <3

“Yuuuuuuusuuke!” Ryuji Sakamoto called as he burst out of the dreary grey and through the door of Le Blanc. Yet, his entrance was only met with the empty silence of the unoccupied cafe. The only sign of life within the warm-colored, coffee-scented walls a thick, paint-dotted book that had been left on one of the tables. “Yusuke? Are you around, dude? You better not have stood me up after I put this money away to get you lunch!” He called again as he approached the abandoned book and tried to somehow peer through the floorboards above his head.

Yet, no matter how he squinted and strained, he couldn’t see through the boards, even if Yusuke and Akira were hidden above him. So, with a heavy sigh, he looked back to the table he stood by. Where a sketchbook sat alone.

Decorated with specks of differently colored paints, scratches, and charcoal stains, Yusuke’s sketchbook was well loved and obviously precious to the lanky, blue-haired man. So, Ryuji plopped down at the table with a sigh. “Guess I just have to wait for you. What a girly thing to do.” The blonde joked to the richly scented air, a small smile on his face as he sat by the book in the quiet cafe. Left to sit and watch the cloudy sky close in on the streets outside with little else to do but watch time tick by around him.

Yusuke’s beloved sketchbook his only form of company in the homely cafe’s silence. His only form of potential entertainment, too… “I mean…” Ryuji hummed to himself, “I doubt he’d particularly care, right? He shows off his artwork at those competitions, so he’s surely okay if I take a peek.” With that, the blonde flicked open Yusuke’s sketchbook to stroll through the pages of artwork.

And, of course, there was plenty of life studies and thumbnail sketches and doodles. Some pages were nothing but careful studies of phones, or people on the subway, others were filled with scribbles, flowers, joke conversations between chibi versions of the phantom thieves. But, as Ryuji continued to turn pages, he began to come across more finished sketches of Akira, Futaba, or Ann, before he reached a similar, yet different section of the pages. And while the others had their fair share of pages of studies for their faces or expressions, after those, there was an extensive swatch of pages that. Only had Ryuji.

And, unlike Yusuke’s other friends, the sketches and drawings of these pages weren’t simple studies of practice, but entire drawings of just. Ryuji. Skull with captain kidd, Skull half out of the mona bus’ window, plenty of expressions, and just, drawings of the blonde doing random things. All drawn with care and great detail for Ryuji’s mannerisms and costume details. “Wow, this is-” As he spoke, the ambiance of the quiet coffee shop was broken with the soft jingle of the bell above the door that announced the return of the artist. Only a split second before his indignant squawk did. “Ryuji?! What the hell are you doing here so early?!” Yusuke yelled as he barreled over to the blonde to snatch his sketch book off of the table. “I was coming to get you for lunch, remember? We agreed to meet up here by noon.” “You’re too early though!” Yusuke declared, his grey eyes fixed on Ryuji angrily, only off-set by the healthy dust of crimson across his pale cheeks. Well, that answers that for me, huh? “Inari, it’s 1 pm.” Was the simple counter to that point, said with a smile that tried to fight its way onto the man’s face as he watched the blue-haired artist check his phone. “Oh. It is.” He said, the anger in his words gone for a bit of indignance and embarrassment.

And, with that shift came an awkward silence between them. As if Akira wasn’t off to the side, left to politely wait for the silence to break. “Anyways, you ready to go get some of that lunch? Or did you and Joker already do that?” Ryuji asked as he got to his feet, and just like that, the tension was broken. “O-oh, no. I’m sorry about that by the way, I-I was at the bath house,” Yusuke explained, the awkwardness that clung to his words the artist’s natural weirdness. “Great! Let’s go then!”

And, just like that, the snooped-through sketchbook had been forgotten in favor of lighter conversation as the pair made their way outside. Though, the gentle pitter patter of the drizzle on Ryuji’s umbrella didn’t wash the experience away entirely. The blonde may not have mentioned it, but those lovingly detailed drawings of him were on his mind. And, he couldread between those lines.

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Ice Rivers knew his students didn’t buy it. “Metaphysiction” was a word he had coined to describe his sprawling genre-blurring prose, but the class just thought it sounded pretentious. He could feel their skepticism radiating from the rows of desks, their raised eyebrows practically daring him to explain himself. So he decided to go a different route. If they wanted pulp, he’d give them pulp. But he’d weave his philosophy into it—make it art, make it meta.

“Alright, class,” he began, pacing in front of the whiteboard. “Let’s talk true crime. Gritty, grimy, blood-and-guts pulp fiction. The stuff people actually read when they’re trying to escape their lives. But… let’s not just write it. Let’s deconstruct it.” He turned to the board and wrote two words in bold, block letters: WHO DID IT?

The story started in a small, rain-soaked city where the alleys stank of despair and bad decisions. A woman’s body had been found in the woods just outside town—mutilated beyond recognition. Her head was bashed in, her fingers hacked off. No ID, no purse, no obvious signs of who she was. Just a Jane Doe left for the crows.

Detective Ford Malkin wasn’t thrilled about catching the case. “Nobody’s ever happy about these,” he muttered, taking a drag on a cigarette while staring at the crime scene. The rain had turned the ground into soup, washing away any clear footprints. The body, cold and soggy, lay sprawled in a grotesque pose that suggested whoever had done this wanted the discovery to sting.

Malkin’s partner, Diaz, frowned. “Looks… targeted. This wasn’t random rage.” She crouched near the body, careful not to touch anything. “Clean cuts on the fingers. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

“Yeah, well, they also knew how to make our jobs hell. You see any ID? Wallet? Anything?”

Diaz shook her head. “Just this.” She held up a soggy scrap of paper found near the body, the ink smeared but still legible: LEAVE IT ALONE.

Back in the classroom, Ice paused. He scanned the students for signs of engagement. A couple of them were leaning forward, scribbling notes. Others wore that guarded, skeptical expression that said, “Yeah, okay, but where’s this going?”

“So what’s this note mean?” Ice asked, arms spread wide. “Let’s break it down. Is it a warning? A threat? A decoy?” He didn’t wait for answers. “Let’s find out.”

Malkin and Diaz dug in. The victim’s autopsy revealed she’d been dead for less than 24 hours. The cuts were precise, suggesting the work of someone with surgical knowledge. The note? A plant, maybe. But who planted it, and why?

The investigation turned up a host of suspects, each grimier than the last. There was Bill “Rat” Connors, a local ex-con known for running with a bad crowd and settling debts in ways that left scars. Then there was Vanessa Shaw, the sharp-tongued socialite who’d been seen arguing with the victim at a bar two nights prior. And of course, there were the exes—a revolving door of bitter boyfriends and husbands who had plenty of reasons to hate the dead woman.

But Malkin couldn’t shake the feeling that something bigger was at play. The “leads” felt too convenient, too staged. And then there was the strange tip that came in anonymously: “Check the storage locker on 14th. You’ll find your answers.”

“Now here’s where we up the ante,” Ice said, pacing again. “You know how in pulp fiction, the hero always gets sucked into something they can’t control? It’s not just about solving the crime. It’s about what the crime does to them.”

The storage locker was a bust—at least at first glance. Rows of old furniture, dusty boxes, and broken appliances. But Malkin’s gut told him to keep digging. In the back corner, buried under a pile of rotting tarps, he found a blood-stained suitcase. Inside? Clothes matching the victim’s description and a knife… wiped clean, but unmistakably menacing.

Then the trap sprung.

Two goons jumped Malkin before he could call for backup. He fought like hell, landing a solid punch on one of their jaws, but the other cracked him over the head with a crowbar. When he came to, the suitcase was gone, and Diaz was on the line yelling at him for chasing a lead without backup.

“It wasn’t random,” Malkin growled, nursing his head. “Someone’s feeding us breadcrumbs, and they’re not just trying to throw us off. They’re screwing with us.”

Back in the classroom, Ice leaned against his desk. “So now we’ve got our personal angle,” he said. “The gumshoe isn’t just solving a murder. He’s in a game of chess with someone who’s always three moves ahead. And you know what that does? It makes every decision he makes matter.”

A hand shot up. “But how does this connect to metaphysiction? Isn’t this just… pulp?”

Ice grinned. “Ah, but that’s the beauty of it. We’re using the structure of pulp to explore something deeper. Who’s really pulling the strings? Why do people do the terrible things they do? And how does the investigator—or the reader—make sense of the chaos?”

The final act of the story unraveled fast. The real killer wasn’t one of the obvious suspects but a powerful figure—someone who ran the city’s underground like a puppeteer, pulling strings and cutting threads when it suited them. The dead woman had been a whistleblower, ready to expose the corruption. The suitcase? A decoy. The goons? Just another layer of misdirection.

When Malkin finally pieced it together, it was too late. The trial was a farce, the killer walked free, and the detective was left with nothing but his rage and a fresh scar to show for it. The story ended with another body—another mutilated woman—found in the woods, a chilling echo of the first murder.

“And there you have it,” Ice said, clapping his hands together. “A true crime story that’s as much about the system as it is about the murder. The pulp gets you in the door, but the metaphysics keeps you thinking after you’ve closed the book.”

The class was silent for a moment, then a smattering of applause broke out. A student in the back muttered, “Okay, that was actually kinda cool.”

Ice grinned. Metaphysiction might not win them all over, but he’d take the victories where he could get them.

[johannepetereric]

OMG IT’S ACTUALLY A LIST THAT’S NOT JUST SCRIBBLES OR RANDOM WORDS!!!

[Kenny is holding up a parallelogram-shaped board (not quite a square or rectangle) that has: “BEYBLADE” in the top left corner in small dark-blue script that’s kinda blurry; top-center title (though “BEYBLADE” on the Y-axis) is “PRACTICE ITEMS” in big red text, but the I and the T are squished together so it looks a lot like a H; under that is a box-shaped list of five items (the title is not included, for some reason), bordered by four turquoise-ish lines that don’t meet (a dotted line on each side, the one at the top is kinda-dotted but almost a straight line, and the one at the bottom is an actual straight line)”

“[Medium-sized denim-blue numbers and regular-sized Word document script black letters:

“[1 Straight Move

“[2 Left turn

“[3 Right turn

“[4 Slalom [?] “[5 Zigzag move]

[wanderersbell]

between the pages

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: modern!au, meet-cute, fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2206

✧.* a/n: sorry i haven't posted in forever teehee i had to use all of my effort to squeeze this out of my brain ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

try as you might, it’s impossible not to notice the new customer perusing the bookshelves in the old, worn down shop you’ve taken a job at over the summer. compared to the aged shelves and creaky floors, it’s like seeing a shiny new car in the middle of a junkyard, pristine and vivid against the washed out backdrop. 

it’s pleasantly cool inside away from the sweltering july heat so for a moment you’re sure he only ducked in to cool off, but he actually appears to be looking for something as he approaches one of the towering displays. 

you watch discreetly from the counter as the boy slides a book out and opens to a random page, little specks of dust floating up from the pages and around him, visible only because of the sunlight from the window in the back that casts its glow right above him. 

you cringe a bit at the sight. no matter how often you dust, it never seems to go away, which you suppose is to be expected of such an old little shop. he doesn’t seem to mind though, hardly even seems to notice it as his violet eyes stay fixed on the words in front of him. 

he’s beautiful, so much so that you almost wonder if you’re hallucinating the first time he pushes through the door and takes in the towering shelves lined from wall to wall. he has an air of grace that shows through his calculated movements, almost like a robot that’s programmed to be perfect. 

but he’s very much real when he finally finds what he’s looking for and brings it up to checkout. 

“borrowing or purchasing?” you ask automatically, praying silently that your voice doesn’t sound weird. up close, you realize he can’t be much older than you, and that somehow makes him all the more intimidating. 

his eyes are sharp and cold as he meets yours, practically the textbook definition of unapproachable. 

“borrowing.” he replies. his voice is a bit softer and higher pitched than you were expecting, but there’s a hint of roughness to it that almost makes your skin prick with goosebumps in a way that you try to ignore. 

as you turn away to find the notepad for him to write his information down on, his eyes drift to the whiteboard next to the counter. ‘book of the week’ is written at the top in blue marker, with the title of a novel underneath. 

there’s a half written annotation on the board that you were in the middle of jotting down before he walked in. in your opinion it’s messy, unorganized, and impossible to understand. just a jumble of thoughts that you scribbled down as they came to you. 

you’re the only one who ever adds anything every week and most people coming in hardly spare it a glance, but when you find what you’re looking for and slide it over to the customer you notice his eyes flitting over your scribbles. 

it almost makes you feel self conscious of what you’ve written. it could be worded so much better, and your handwriting looks so much nicer when you slow down a bit, but you hadn’t anticipated anyone actually bothering to read it. 

he shifts his attention back to you as soon as he realizes you’re looking at him and he takes the notepad and pen from you without a word. 

you fidget with a stapler while he fills it out, suddenly becoming aware of how fast your heart is pounding behind your ribcage. when he’s done he hands it back to you, you hand him the book, and then he turns to leave without another word. 

your usual ‘have a good day’ gets caught in your throat for some reason so all you can manage is a small, awkward wave that he doesn’t even notice as the door swings shut behind him. 

when you glance down at the ‘borrow’ list, the first thing you notice is his handwriting, somehow equal parts neat and messy. the tops of his letters nearly loop together but blunt angles prevent it from being considered neat. the other thing, is his name. 

‘kuni.’

he seems to have chosen not to write his full name, which technically isn’t allowed but also isn’t really that big of a deal at the end of the day, because his phone number is still written where it should be and your boss never checks the list anyway. 

the entire thing was such a normal, boring interaction that had it been anybody else you probably would’ve forgotten about it by the next day—but this lingered on your mind throughout the rest of the week. 

the following week when he returns the book, he exchanges it for another one. there’s a new novel listed this week, and you don’t even process the fact that kuni pulls his phone out to write down the name of it because your eyes are glued to the red eyeliner lining his lower eyelashes. it’s stark against his pale skin, so perfectly drawn that you once again find yourself questioning whether or not he’s even real.

you almost choke on your spit when his gaze flicks up to meet yours and you quickly slide the ‘borrow’ list over to him, completely missing the way one of his eyebrows quirks up in mild amusement at your reaction. 

it takes him a bit longer than last time to write his information down because he pauses to skim over your annotation for this week's book, which is much more presentable this time around. 

if you weren’t awkwardly staring at your feet still caught on the fact that he looks like he walked straight out of a painting, you would’ve noticed the flash of an impressed expression on his face, but you keep your eyes pointed down until he sets the pen back into the tin cup to the side with a clink. 

when he grabs the book and silently turns to leave, you take a grounding breath. 

“have a good day.” you blurt out to his retreating form, internally thanking the heavens that the words come out even and not too quiet. 

kuni doesn’t stop walking towards the door, but he turns his head to the side and lifts his hand up in acknowledgement. 

“you too.”

you don’t work fridays and the shop is closed on the weekends, but when you return on monday, kuni’s book is already filled out as returned, meaning he must have stopped by on your day off. 

you feel a bit bummed out at the fact that you missed him when he came back, but he had replaced it with another so all you can do is hope he’d show up again sometime before friday. 

much to your surprise, when you turn around to erase last week's book and change it to another, there’s something new written on the whiteboard. 

just off to the side of your previous annotation are notes, scribbled in a slightly familiar somewhat elegant chicken scratch. it takes you a second, but when you realize it’s kuni’s handwriting your heart jumps into your throat. 

his notes branch out from what you have written in response, taking in your thoughts and then challenging them with a counter argument that has you thinking from a perspective you hadn’t been able to see before. 

after being frozen on the spot for a bit longer, you grab and uncap the marker and start scribbling a response to his response, trying to ignore the excitement thrumming in your limbs. 

to think that someone else would take an interest in the featured books, and even bother to pick apart your annotation and invite you to think harder about the story was almost hard to believe. 

especially because it’s him.

anyone else might feel a bit bothered having their opinions countered so bluntly, but you’re so stuck on the fact that you have someone to indulge you in this interest that it never even crosses your mind. 

when you finish and stand back, an entire half of the whiteboard is taken up by two people’s handwriting where it once would have been nearly empty. instead of erasing it to add the new one, you move to the other side of the board and add the new week’s novel, as well as your thoughts on it that you had organized over the weekend. 

still feeling elated by the unexpected happening, the rest of your shift goes by in a flash until an hour before the store closes when kuni finally shows up again, all intimidating sharp gracefulness.

it’s not until he walks up to the counter after wandering off to find something to check out that you finally realize it’s not the featured book he’s returning, and he had actually never even checked out the book that was listed on the whiteboard last week.

you had wanted to say something about the notes, but the way he doesn’t even acknowledge that they exist has you clamming up and doubting whether or not he was even the one who wrote them in the first place. out of the desperate desire to not embarrass yourself, you decide it’s best left unmentioned. 

“thanks,” you say almost hesitantly as you add the book to the return pile to put away later and pass him the clipboard so he can cross his previous entry off the list and add a new one. 

if only you had been paying attention instead of being lost in your own doubt, you would’ve seen how he eyed the whiteboard and the way a corner of his lips turned up a fraction at your messy reply, but his back is turned and he’s already leaving by the time you look up again. 

and you would never know it, but a while later across town a boy with the pretty red eyeliner walks into a library and checks out another book, one that had been hastily written down on an old whiteboard where a pretty person that made his hands sweat with nervousness works.

this continues for another two weeks and another two books before you finally muster the courage to mention it to him. one of the things he had written under your annotation didn’t make any sense to you, and you can’t help but ask the next time he comes in. 

he clearly wasn’t expecting you to know that it was him, because he looks absolutely taken aback when the words come out of your mouth. 

“what did you mean about the protagonist's actions mirroring the dialogue in the first half?” you try to say this as casually as possible, but your hands are wringing each other behind the counter as you speak. “i mean, i noticed that the emperor almost perfectly predicted what would happen, but it was still super vague.”

it takes kuni a few seconds to gather his bearings before he responds in stride. 

“it was in the story one of the elders told.” he explains. “the one that describes the man who had to pass three trials before he could figure out how to lift the curse.”

“oh!” you gasp, finally understanding what he had written. it was such a small section that you had completely overlooked it so you can’t help but feel a little amazed by his attention to detail. “i never caught that, good eye.”

“mn.” he responds stiffly. 

in the silence that follows afterwards, neither of you know what to say for a moment. the annoying fluttering is back in your stomach and even though you want to say a million things, not a single word forms on your lips. 

“did you know it was me the whole time?” kuni eventually asks, eyes burning holes into the counter. 

“yeah, pretty much.” you admit sheepishly. 

if you didn’t know any better you would think the tips of his ears looked a little red as you slid the clipboard in his direction, but you decide not to point it out and instead clear your throat and give a pathetic attempt at pushing the conversation forward. 

“so did you read the new one?” 

you don’t realize how stupid that question is until it’s already out of your mouth given the fact that it’s monday and you had just added the new one to the whiteboard about an hour ago, but he pretends not to notice that and glances behind you to see the title. 

“not yet.” kuni replies. “i’ll get around to it tomorrow.”

you can’t stop the smile that takes over your face at his words as a rush of warmth and anticipation fills your chest. 

as soon as you begin to internally debate whether or not to ask him where he’s been getting the weekly recommendations if he’s not borrowing them from here, it’s almost like he knows you’re waiting to bring that up because he’s already halfway to the door after he scribbles his information down on the list. 

“do you already own all of these books or-“

“see you next week.”

you can’t stop the tiny pfft that slips out as the door swings shut behind him. and just like that, the store is empty again. 

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Dick and Wally together are sports culture.

Different tennis shoes littering the hallway, worn out and held together by duct tape. Traded shoelaces, so they both have a piece of each other wherever they go. Different patterned leg warmers as Christmas gifts. Early morning stretching, just the two of them sitting on the floor of their apartment, Dick leading and Wally following, working the soreness out of their muscles. Random equipment for sports they don’t even play in the closet. Cold and refreshing showers. Eating so much food, both relatively healthy stuff and pure junk. A Flash water bottle with a Nightwing keychain. A Nightwing water bottle with a Flash keychain. Using the doorframe as a pull-ups bar. Washing the sheets every other day, not because of all the sex (though the sex is often) but because one of them will come home, all sweaty from a workout, and just collapse on the bed for a couple minutes before taking a shower. Daring each other to show off parkour skills in civvies. Jumping into a pickup basketball game with a bunch of strangers, ending the game with a group of new friends. Buying deodorant whenever the go to the store bc you can never have too much deodorant. Trailing off sentences and just staring because holy shit those are some nice back muscles and biceps. Actually decent sleep schedules. 

Jason and Roy together are peak casual academia.

Everyone knows Jason spends his free time reading literary classics. And everyone knows the grease on Roy’s fingers won’t ever wash out. Bookshelves crammed full of old paperbacks, everything from Wuthering Heights to The Optimist’s Daughter to The Importance of Being Earnest. Goggles shoved over green eyes and a freckled nose as an invention sparks to life in rough hands. The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy is a guilty pleasure of both of theirs. Thousands of pens littering an apartment for scribbling down notes whenever they strike. Jason poking plot holes and other criticisms faster than a bullet, character analyzations sharper than his jawline, a lecture about the problem with many contemporary and modern novels longer than his dick. Excited rambles way too early in the morning about some new polymer Roy can work into his arrows. Jason tutoring students in both Lit and Spanish at the public library. NPR playing on the radio. Being in a bent over position for so long they sigh in relief when the other offers them a back massage after smirking when they let out a pained groan. Never throwing anything away because you never know what could be useful. 

Tim and Kon together are skate culture.

Tim wraps his boards with tape because, even though he has to replace it every couple of weeks, he likes the designs. Kon sets some time aside every couple of nights to make sure his rollerblades are doing okay, unscrewing and rescrewing the wheels becoming a habit. Tim’s jeans are ripped to hell, but he still wears them over and over again, saying “I’ve got kneepads it’s fine.” Kon wears his round red sunglasses with increasing frequency; Tim says it makes him look like a dork but Kon knows he secretly likes it. Tim likes taking aesthetic photographs of Kon while skating, and since he’s a damn good photographer, the pictures turn out beautiful. Kon likes taking pictures of Tim, but he’s not as good and he uses a blurry iphone camera. Even so, they’re in-the-moment and raw and Tim loves them anyway. Kon loves practicing tricks: skating backwards on his in-lines has become a smooth, practiced motion for him, his misfits are vicious, his savannahs make spectators terrified he’s stumble and fall. He does them all, with a rakish grin, and comes to a stop with his head held high for applause. Tim, on the other hand, just skates. he’ll roam the streets and sidewalks of Gotham, mindlessly pushing his skateboard, going over pits and bumps with practiced ease. The constant, repetitive motion is a form of meditation for him, but still active enough to keep his mind alive. Every week Kon changes his nail polish color, and usually it’s Tim painting his nails for him. Tim’s wardrobe consists entirely of 6 or 7 oversized sweatshirts and sweaters, and when he’s not cycling through those same clothes over and over again, he wears Kon’s shirts. They hang loose on his frame, but that makes him love them even more. Kon rarely ever takes his fingerless gloves off. In contrast, Tim’s knuckles are constantly busted up to hell. Ton’s got a bold undercut that would look stupid and try-hard on anyone else, but somehow, it works really well for him. Tim’s hair is always just a little overdue for a haircut. The two of them have so many socks, like a huge drawer full of them. They’re patterned and textured, long and short, and they’re constantly in use. Tim collects stickers to overlay the bottom of his board with. Kon gets around the city as a pedestrian wearing roller blades more often than actual shoes. The kids frequenting the skate park are a second family.

Damian and Jon are art culture.

Charcoal and marker ink staining Damian’s hands. Callouses littering Jon’s fingertips, because he never pulls up his invulnerability when playing. Blank canvases that rarely get used in the closet. Screenshotted and printed out sheet music never in the folder they’re supposed to be in. Damian hiding spray paint cans from Bruce. Humming at all hours of the day. Homemade paper lanterns as decorations. Pencils in a leather pencil case. Pencils in a two dollar plastic case. Pencils on the sheets of the bed and in a cup near the sink and on top of the coffee table. A guitar pick collection that never gets used. Refusing to buy new sketchbooks, arguing in vain that they’re reusable. Jon bsentmindedly playing out a melody on the piano when he’s thinking. Paint splattered jeans. A painted denim jacket. Tuning a violin regularly but always forgetting to rosen until it becomes a necessity. Damian drawing all over Jon’s arms. Falling in love with the stranger ones of the old composers. Beautiful handmade cards for every required occasion. Drawings and paintings based off a piece Jon played. Sweeping and emotional music pieces based off something Damian created. Half finished sketches of Jon littering every sketchbook Damian ever gets. Days of playing the same chords over and over again before being struck by an idea for a song. “I made this for you.”

yes i am aware roy’s characterization in this is based off rhato which is a terrible characterization to begin with. no i do not care. look at how fucking long tim and kon’s is i’m not sorry

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @dangerduckjpeg 

[dangermousie]

CFC 184

1. XQC calls and calls and HY does not pick up - makes me think of when HY was trying to reach XQC before falling out of a window and XQC did not pick up. Different situation, different reasons (XQC was justifiably angry, HY is trying to protect XQC) but I love the symmetry of HY now being one with a secret he keeps hidden at any cost, of XQC having to be the one to pursue (even if not romantically), to be the one to exhibit care to one who seemingly rejects it.

2. The feeling of XQC’s bone-deep exhaustion comes through so well. He is swimming in an Olympic-sized trauma pool but also it occurs to me even if he had a happy life, he is just an introvert which is opposite from HY who feels to me as an extrovert who due to issues and conditions doesn’t have close friends but does enjoy and feeds off that energy.

3. The fact that HY scribbled “here lies the one whose name was writ on water” - XQC’s tattoo - in his various random papers, clearly without thinking even makes me think of how XQC has pervaded his life - how loving him and thinking of him is woven into the very fabric of He Yu so that it comes out in these uncaught ways like breathing. It also is much better than the last time XQC found scribbles by HY which were full of despair. Having a goal, even if a terrifying one, is better for HY than having none - he is such a driven person. (And yes, the fact that he knows XQC does not hate him plays a huge role, but it’s so interesting to me how HY is so single-minded towards reaching his objectives - once he’s XQC’s spouse and dedicates himself to making XQC happy, watch out!)

4. HY lying to XQC that company is above board and he knows nothing and XQC knowing it’s not true - KNIVESSSS. I do love that even presented with evidence that HY is neck deep, XQC is not angry, he’s just asking HY not to be involved (and he thinks HY wants to cure psych ebola, not being evil and money grubbing) and you can tell it’s tearing HY inside but he perfects his smile (he’s had so much practice with masks) and if XQC was not so exhausted, he should perhaps think why HY had no reaction to XQC telling him about LZS. To see heart on his sleeve with XQC He Yu be this perfect mannequin in front of him breaks my heart. 

5. I love XQC knowing that if HY doesn’t want to tell the truth, nobody can make him. They know each other so well in many ways but not in the most important sense - knowing the other loves them beyond anything and irrevocably (but that is tied to their issues so...) HY trying to ask for forgiveness and reassurance without explaining how and why and XQC being uncompromising in morals but begging HY not to do it because he, XQC, would oppose him - this is such a gentle knife, sliding in between your ribs quietly, because the lack of anger or heat or anything but XQC putting his cards on the table and HY not being able to meet him halfway is !!!!

6. LZS trying to lick He Yu’s boots is creepy as hell but confirms to me she is not his mother because it really is like two coworkers who hate each other. But yes, seeing HY thinks about Duan Wen, he’s working to take down the org from inside - what DID he learn during his month of hell?

7. Cops are gonna arrest He company people. Why do I think it’s gonna go sideways and HY will be caught in it?