#present mic brushing away a tear like "they grow up so fast....'

[hey-hamlet]

lets kill Sensei Au

How does aizawa find out ? Does anyone suspect anything ?

Aizawa doesn't really ever find out! He realises something's weird when 1C's new homeroom teacher quits in the second half of the year and he gets 3 new students enrolled in his class if he wants them there or not. Uraraka and Shinsou are incredibly competent, if trained more like underground heroes than he'd expect.

Midoriya is terrifying. Whip smart, genius manipulator and the scariest quirk Aizawa's ever seen.

How did a kid with the ability to give and take quirks end up in gen ed??

Where did all his quirks come from?

[smileyoongle]

Falling for a lounge singer (Yandere!Mafia! BTS)// Kim Taehyung

Requested anonymously.

Summary: Working as a part time singer, you never thought you'd find yourself becoming the centre of attention of a man's life, especially one who you can't run from.

Word Count: 2.5K

The city was laid out brightly before you, cool wind making your hair stick to your glossy lips as you rested your elbows on the railing of the rooftop. Working for hours amidst people who were rich and liked to show off was stressful, especially when you knew you didn't fit in between them. If it wasn't for your voice, no one would even give you a second glance but there you were, attracting loud applauds every time you held the mic. It made you feel almost cocky but your conscience didn't allow it, reminding you of your place in this world time and time again.

With a soft sigh, you stared at the pretty sky, the stars scattered across it twinkling to grab your attention yet failing to do so. Because even though you loved the peace and quiet, your mind was restlessly loud tonight. Loud with thoughts about a man you had seen too many times, but never had the pleasure of meeting. A man who had sent you a single white freesia every night before disappearing without a word.

But tonight was different. Because he wasn't here. In fact, he hadn't been here for the last three days and if you were being honest, you missed him.

You missed his dark eyes that gazed at you with so much fervour that it made you dizzy. You missed how his attention made you feel like it was just the two of you in the room. You missed how he was so mysterious that you had convinced yourself to approach him. Yet, he managed to really slip away this time.

Glancing at the dried freesia in your hand, you traced it's dead petals, barely hanging on as the rest of it began to fall apart. This was the last one you had found near your vanity, not having seen another since he disappeared.

"Where did you go?" You mumbled, twirling the stem between your fingers, being as gentle as you could. There was no way for you to know if you'd ever see him again because every time you asked the staff about him, they just brushed you off by saying how some things were better left unknown. It made you wonder what was so bad about him that no one was willing to say a word.

"I'm right here, petal."

A deep voice stated from behind you, your heels quickly making you turn around to see who it was but the darkness and the distance between you two made it hard for you to tell. You frowned, watching the man's silhouette move closer to you, your fingers tightly holding onto your flower. And as soon as your eyes took in his face, your lips fell apart in a silent gasp.

There he was, looking at you with the same passion that his eyes held every time you saw him. You could feel your heart lose its rhythm, pounding erratically in your chest making you almost breathless. He was a lot more beautiful up close, your mind not having prepared you for seeing him here at all. Upon seeing you so speechless, he let out a low chuckle, one of his hands curled behind his back as his fitted black shirt hugged his biceps perfectly.

"Is this my punishment for having left you alone? You refuse to talk to me?" He asked, tilting his head to study your expression better. You remained silent, still processing the fact that the man you were so desperately looking for, was now standing so close to you. A part of you wanted to tell him that you could never be mad at him when he looked like an angel but your tongue stayed tied.

He hummed at your silence, taking another step towards, his eyes glancing at the dead flower that stayed intact between your fingers. Slowly, you felt his hand hold your wrist, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. Bringing it up, he took away the flower, throwing it somewhere to the side only to present another freesia before you, this one a striking red that made your heart skip a beat. You held onto its stalk as your mystery man placed it between your fingers, your cheeks growing warm at the way his eyes stayed fixated on your face.

“Red?” You asked, returning his gaze with an equally feverish one, his lips morphing into a smile upon hearing your voice.

“And she speaks.” He laughed lowly, his deep melody echoing in the silence of the night. Taking yet another step towards you, he placed his hands on the railing behind you, trapping you in close proximity. Your back rested firmly against the bars, your chest almost touching his.

“Yes, petal. Red. Do you know what it means?” He murmured, only loud enough for you to hear. Lost in his eyes, you didn’t notice the hand that was now tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips being the sole focus of the man’s attention. Resting his palm against your cheek, you found yourself leaning into his warmth, sighing at the butterflies you felt in your stomach.

“No,” you answered, closing your eyes when you saw him lean down until his lips grazed the shell of your ear. His long fingers brushed your hair away from your neck, your own hand clutching the flower tightly to calm your heart that was about to jump out of your chest.

“It symbolizes passion,” he whispered, his hands moving down to hold your waist and pull you flush against him. Speechless, you rested your hands on his chest, biting your lip as your forehead fell against his shoulder.

“Who are you?” You inquired, finally asking the question that had been gnawing at you ever since you saw him. A dead silence fell over the both of you all of a sudden, a frown etching onto your forehead as you were made to pull away from him a little. You found yourself missing his embrace, feeling as though you had known him for a long long time.

“You don’t know me,” he said, more like telling himself again rather than asking you. Gently shaking your head, you placed your gaze on his chest, a peek of white bandages catching your eye from beneath the few buttons that were left open at the top of his shirt. Without a thought, you moved it a little to the side, your eyes widening at the small red patch that stained the centre of the dressing, your lips parting in shock at the realisation that it was, indeed, blood.

“What happened?” You asked, worry and concern lacing your voice. He pursed his lips, his jaw clenching ever so lightly along with his hold on your waist which grew tighter. Wincing in pain, you looked at him in confusion, wondering if you had said something to upset him. And before you could ask him, he said something that perished all the warm feelings that had been brewing in your chest lately.

“My name is Kim Taehyung, Y/N. And I’ll be really mad if you decide to run away now.”

With eyes as wide as they could be, you stood frozen in his arms, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. Fear consumed your entire being, your throat running dry at the very thought of being here with Kim Taehyung, the man who was responsible for the rise of one of the biggest cartels in the world. His hands were stained with the blood of god knows how many people, the wound on his chest suddenly making a lot of sense. Losing your grip on his shirt, you let your arms fall to your sides, unmoving and unable to process the situation anymore.

Suddenly, you were aware of his burning touch all over you, your mind screaming at you to get away from him. Yet you didn’t make a move, because you knew very well that you were almost nothing in front of a trained killer who could snap your neck in the blink of an eye. Parting your lips, you willed yourself to scream as loud as you could, failing yet again with his icy glare staring you down.

Gone were all the emotions you had witnessed in his eyes a few minutes ago, making you feel as if this was a whole new man that you had never met before. A tear ran down your cheek, your brain slowly hitting you with the mixed amount of emotions that were driving you insane. You were hurt, scared, disappointed in yourself and a lot more you couldn’t yet place a finger on.

“Y/N,” his voice brought you back to him, wary of the hand that was now wiping away your tears. Eyeing him cautiously, you tried to think fast, escaping him being the only agenda on your mind right now.

Taehyung knew what you were thinking, it didn't take a genius to know that all you wanted was to run away from him before things became a mess. But it was too late now, your innocence having left Taehyung mesmerized a long time ago. And now that you were so close to him, he was ready to do anything to make you stay.

"I don't wanna die," you said, your voice wavering with the dying confidence that burnt in you like a flickering flame. Being in his arms felt good, but knowing that those hands could also push you off the roof without anyone finding out was a thought that overcame everything else.

"And you won't, petal. Just because I'm a dangerous man, doesn't mean I would lay a finger on you," he answered, quickly catching onto the fact that you thought of him as a killer. It hurt him to know that you so easily forgot every other feeling you had been sheltering all this time, his identity crumbling down to nothing in your mind. But he would fix it.

He would fix you.

His words were enough to let you know that he wasn't planning on letting you leave, convincing you seemingly the only thing on his mind. At this point, violence seemed your only answer, your eyes once more taking in the sight of the bandaging on his chest.

"I'm sorry," you apologized beforehand, inhaling nervously at his confused expression before digging your nails into his chest. A growl left his mouth immediately, his hands letting go of your waist as you pushed him to the side with all your strength and bolted towards the door.

Taehyung fell to the floor behind you, his hand covering his shirt right where the wound was, the wetness of the blood seeping through his bandages. He hissed in pain, closing his eyes as he rested his head against the wall. The sound of your cries felt like music to his ears, your small fists banging on the door which had been locked the second Taehyung stepped onto the rooftop. It was funny of you to think that you could overpower Kim Taehyung so easily, your obliviousness once again showing through your stupid attempt to escape him.

Tears ran down your cheeks upon the realisation that you were stuck here with him, your heart pounding in your chest just like your hands against the door. You were a fool to think Taehyung wasn't fully prepared. Of course he had expected this from you. Of course he was one step ahead of you.

"Please, someone open the door!" You begged, sobbing with your forehead against the cold metal, slowly sinking to your knees. Just then, you heard his laugh, deeply resonating around you as you frowned in silence. It was endless, not the kind of laughter you'd hear after a joke but the kind you'd hear only with the intention of being mocked. He was laughing at you and your silly attempt of running away from him, knowing very well that Kim Taehyung did not let go of things that he so desperately craved. You being one of them.

"Did you think it was that easy, Y/N?" He asked, his voice dripping with amusement. Turning around to face him, you stared at him with teary eyes, watching his painful state with a heart full of regret. You weren't one to hurt people at all, let alone intentionally and yet you had taken such a drastic leap tonight. To save yourself. That was truly justified, wasn't it?

"Petal, even if you had managed to leave this place, I'll have you know that I'll always find you." He grinned maliciously, making you truly scared of him. Gritting his teeth, he stood up, your back pressing against the door as he slowly proceeded to stalk towards you, his gaze pinning you down and rendering you unable to move. You felt like a prey before him, his angry eyes telling you just how much you had pissed him off.

"I just wanna go home," you stated, frowning at him with wet cheeks and quivering lips. Halting right before you, Taehyung kneeled down, his hand coming to rest against your cheek.

"And we'll go, Y/N. We'll go to our home," he mumbled almost lovingly, his eyes glistening with so much affection that if you didn't know any better, you'd think he loved you. The truth of the situation though, was that Kim Taehyung was obsessed with you and there was no way you were going to let him take you.

"N-no, I wanna go to my home," you dared, Taehyung's jaw clenching upon hearing your words. Within a second, his fingers dug into both your cheeks, your lips pouting at the force with which he was holding your jaw in place. Leaning closer to you, Taehyung's nose brushed against yours, your own hand taking hold of his wrist to make him let go.

"What a shame it'd be to know that your little sister had to die because you couldn't make the right decisions."

Eyes widening, you let out a whimper at his threat, your breath having been knocked out for a second. It was as if the world had stopped around you, your heart wishing that this was all just a bad dream. The thought of anything happening to your sister was enough to break your will, especially since you were the only one she had. If she were to get hurt because of the one person who was supposed to protect her, then you couldn't even begin to imagine how meaningless your own life would become.

Taehyung loosened his grip on your jaw, watching you cry harder because of what he had said. It hurt him to know that you were crying because of him but he had to say it. Sure, you were hurt right now, maybe you even hated him but he knew that once you became his, you'd never have to see a bad day in your life. He would love you so hard that you'd never think about anyone else ever again. It was going to be just you and him. Forever.

"I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt her." You cried, sealing your fate with the devil with no chance of going back. Smiling fondly at you, Taehyung wiped your tears, the stench of blood hitting your nose only for you to see his crimson tainted hand grazing your cheek.

"I'll take very good care of you, petal. Don't you worry your little head," he cooed, your eyes staring at him with horror. You could feel the blood now staining your cheek, Taehyung's eyes adoring it with a hint of madness. His blood on your skin was like his name on a trophy, a sign of who it belonged to. And it gave Taehyung an immense amount of pleasure to see your innocence tainted with his filthy gore. The colour red was yours and Taehyung couldn't wait to paint you in it.

"We'll be drowning in love soon, just wait and watch."

A/N: Hiiii, see I am back again! I don't have much to say today cause I am really sad for some reason. You know, the kind of sad that makes you wanna just sit and cry all night? Yeah, it's THAT!

Anywayyyy! I'll probably be posting each member in a break of 4-5 days because I want each member to get their fill. Soooo, the next one comes in a while! Till then, have fun, guys. Ily<3

[vividlybnha]

Heartbeat

Warnings: Violence, blood, and angst/comfort

Word count: 2,517

Relationship: Momo Yaoyorozu x Kyoka Jirou

Summary: 

The building was grimy, the houses bordering it almost as dirty as it but that building, the one with the dimly lit windows was it. It had to be. She didn’t need to use her quirk to tell. Momo was there. She felt the churn of her stomach and her heartbeat in her chest harder and harder. She knew she shouldn’t even be here. “Leave it to the pro-heroes,” they told her but this was Momo. She wasn’t going to sit back and wait for her friend, her everything to be saved by some hero that barely even knew her. That didn’t know how she feels when she is scared, how she analytical she is, they wouldn’t know her as she did. So this was her job. She pushed her hand to her chest, gripping her shirt. She was going to save her.

Jirou knew Momo could handle herself. It was Momo, after all, her quirk was spectacular and as smart as she was she could get out, but Jirou’s heart still didn’t stop as she approached the building. Her shoes slapped against the pavement as she ran. Momo . Jirou feels her heart pulse, she can feel it beat through her whole body. Momo doesn’t even know she will be saved.

The building was larger, larger than she wanted. If anything she wished it wasn’t there and Momo was just there and safe and sound and everything would be alright. But it wasn’t and no matter how much Jirou wished it just wasn’t going to happen and she knew that. But God, did she wish that at this one moment she had all the luck in the world because she wasn’t going to let Momo go.

Jirou slowly made her way to the door, watching the street for any civilians or thugs, it was dark and quiet. It made Jirou feel cold, almost slimy with fear but she just wrapped her arms around herself and trudged forward. As soon as she approached the door she softly pressing herself against the wall, headphone jack swiftly plugging into the wall.

There were 10 people on the first floor, none making to many movements, they were alert, they knew someone would be on their way. The second floor held 14 more, a few of them were talking, none seem too serious but they were quiet enough to hear if there would be any commotion.  And on the third floor, the last one held two people. She heard the soft breathing, so soft it had to be Momo and then the other held a deep seeded evil. His laughter chilled her more than the air. That evil laugh is what was holding Momo, Jirou clutches her chest, she can feel her heartbeat through her skin. That evil will soon be vanquished.

She looks in the window, close to the floor. The lights are dim but she can still see, there are many with weapons, others with their appearance smudged by their quirk and at the ready. But none know it's her that's coming. God, she wants Momo to know she'll save her, Jirou's grip on the edge of the window tightens. She’ll know, they’ll all know.  

She pushes the door open knowing that maybe a sneak attack will be better, maybe even warning Momo to create headphone but her quirk isn’t that strong yet . Jirou faintly questions if the people near the building will wake up, but she couldn’t care less. Momo is what matters.

As soon as the door creaks, a quarter open, they see her and their smiling their dirty smiles, weapons and first raised to the battle. Jirou can feel her heart beating, bursting against her ribs. She is scared, she is so fucking scared but she needs to get Momo out alive. She needs Momo out alive and unharmed.

The moment she connects her headphone jack into her speakers she feels herself reeling. Her heartbeat is bursting from her, and she knows this is the loudest its ever been. She tries to ignore how fast it's beating, its better against the villains anyway. She instead focuses on if Momo can hear it. She has to. But she wonders as she watches the villains drop, a few falling back from the impact, ears covered as they faint, does Momo know it's hers? Her quirk isn’t similar to anyone else's (besides Present Mic) but she can’t help but wonder if Momo knows it's hers. If she knows her heart is beating so fast for Momo. If she knows she is safe and that there is no need to be scared. She hopes.

She takes out her jack as soon as the last thug is down. She ignores the blood dripping from their ears and rushed to the stairs, immediately she feels her body shake and her headache pulse with her heart. She overdid it, God did she overdo it but she can’t stop. Momo is still in here. The rush up the stairs feel like an eternity.

She sets her hands on her knees and almost begs that this floor will be easier. Then she notices that the thugs on the second floor are all down to, blood dripping from their ears. Damn. She wants to smile and cheer but her heart and head are still pulsing and she knows that Momo isn’t there. She has one more floor

It doesn’t take long before she reaches the door, legs burning and lungs heaving for air. What happened to her training? She doesn’t bother taking a breath before opening the door. When she enters she hopes shes dreaming. Her heart starts to beat faster if that even possible at this point.

The villains there, dead center of the room, sprouting small steam from his smile, petting Momo’s head. She can feel the tears sprouting to the edge of her eyes, she knows Momo can see them but this villain, this thug in expensive clothing won’t be seeing shit. She wipes her eyes and steps forward, it's only then that she notices his headphones and Momo’s position. The knife that’s pulled up against her throat, the tears in her eyes, the large welts, the gag thats forces her mouth open, she can hear the faint cries and the faint blood that drips from her ears.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Let her go!”

She sounds pathetic, voice cracking as she feels her heart pound. No, she can’t let this happen. The tears are still there and she can feel more bubbling up.

She doesn't remember this fear when they were at the USJ or at training camp in the woods. That fear was soft and she had her friends and her teachers. Now it was her, her and this thug and Momo. Her heart pulsed. This feeling of fear, the levels it traveled through her skin were catastrophic. She felt herself shaking, from the overexertion of her quirk or the overwhelming of emotions was anyone's guess.

The villain sees it too. He must of with how he laughs.

“You're so pitiful.”

He takes a step away from Momo, steam growing from his mouth and Jirou can feel herself relax. Yes, come closer. She is already drawing up the plan in her head, a really stupid plan. Looking at Momo she confirms it, but the fear in her eyes are still there. Jirou lets out a groan as he moves closer, watching carefully if he will take the bait.

“Maybe so, but I’ll still defeat you!”

He laughs and its deep seeded and it makes her head hurt even more.  

“Your both just little children, it's cute to see you try but her quirk is magnificent! My profit will increase tenfold with her here. All you can do is be a high-quality speaker."

He might as well be the biggest idiot out there.

He drops his hand onto the edge of Momo’s chair exchanging the knife to his other and brushes his hand against her cheek. He shrugs, his hand with the knife rising to his shoulder, it dangles between his fingers.

That was it.

He wasn’t going to touch her again.

Jirou makes the eye contact with Momo and she nods. Head fitted with large headphones, larger than any she’s seen. Jirou smirks. God, Momo was just the greatest. The thug opens his mouth, almost as if he is unhinging his jaw, the bout of hot boiling water comes barreling at her.

She can feel the water splatter on her skin, hot and scolding. She knows she’s screaming but she can’t hear it over her own quirk. Her ears are bleeding, she can feel the liquid drip down the sides of her face. She watches as Momo’s chair tips over and so does the villain. She takes her headphone jack out of the speakers, her ears are ringing and she inquires to herself if this is what it would sound like if she was near a grenade. She isn’t sure if he is passed out or just down from the loss of balance but she races over, body still quaking (its even worse now but she's to far into the rescue to notice). Her headphone jack shoots out to him. One tied around his neck and the other waiting to strike. As she makes it over she realizes that he is unconscious and there is a massive amount of blood surrounding his head, the headphones reside a few feet away. The jerk deserves it.

She can barely hear it but she turns. Momo is struggling from her chair and trying to make noises around her gag. Jirou quickly unties her and then uses the same rope to tie the villain.

She doesn’t realize she is crying until the rope is tied tightly around the him. She drops against the floor. It hurts, God it hurts. She feels like that Gorilla game at the arcade where you hold the handle and it vibrates until you have to let go, she always had the faint need to throwing up after those. It's like that but increased by 100. But Momo is there and she needs to be safe.

Jirou pushes herself up, one-handed and still shaking, earlobes still tied around the thug's throat but she won’t let go, not until the police are here. She feels Momo’s hand curl around her torso, she is saying something. It could be anything but she just wanted to hear her, know she is okay but her damned ears won’t stop ringing. Jirou grasps at the air, searching for a hand, or a shoulder, for Momo. When Momo’s hand intertwines in hers she smiles. It’s weak and wobbly like the rest of her but she couldn’t care less. Momo is safe and she is here.

Jirou’s heart isn’t beating that fast anymore but Momo’s is.

It's warm and full and alive. Most of all Jirou loves that its Momo’s.

They stay there for a while, Jirou can’t tell if its a minute or an hour but sometime through it the ringing considerably lessen and her skin fades in and out of pain. It doesn’t matter though because Momo is humming as she holds Jirou against herself. It's a song she doesn’t recognize but she knows it, it's soft and gentle, pulling her attention to how it vibrates through Momo’s body. Jirou knows it and it's right on the tip of her tongue. She’s heard it at the school, while her and Momo going through homework, she’s heard it in her bed, lying down as she describes a new song to Momo. Her head hurts as she is trying to go through the catalogs of songs she has placed deep in her brain. Eventually, Jirou gives up, Momo is now rocking her back and forth and rubbing her head softly.

“So what song is it?” Her voice is croaking, she must not have realized how loud she was screaming but she feels Momo smile against her hair and the rocking stops.

“It's not one.” Her voice is wobbly, almost like she is relieved to hear her. Jirou can’t help but smile.

“Hey now, I call bull on that. I’ve heard you hum it before!” Jirou softly wraps herself tighter around Momo, she wished the ringing would stop and that it would be just Momo.

“Well, it's not yet!”

“What do you mean?” Jirou lifts her head and meets eyes with Momo. It’s so obvious they’ve both been crying.

“It's…” She looks hesitant, her eyes slip to the ground.

Jirou rubs her back, smiling and leaning closer to her warmth. It's gotten considerably colder and now she can hear the faint sirens in the distance over the small ringing.

“Remember what I said about you hesitating?”

Momo smiles back at Jirou, its bright and lively and Jirou can’t help but feel herself sinking in this lovely feeling.

“Its uh, Its a song I wrote for you and I know I won’t be as good as yours but I just, I wanted-”

Jirou can barely hear her and she wonders if the ringing is coming back worse.

Momo wrote a song for... her .

She almost wants to get up and scream, flailing his arms around and curl up into a ball at the same time. She wants to grab Momo’s soft face and kiss it all over.

For her.

She doesn’t though, kiss her, she just looks at Momo speechless, smile growing and face red. Momo laughs, but she’s blushing too but Jirou doesn’t want to mention it, instead, she just pushes into Momo, even more, hands gripping her suit tightly.

There is a silence, the sirens are here. They are probably breaking into the building as they speak. Jirou looks at Momo’s lips, they are plump and so so so kissable. If she would want to do anything now would be the time, before the police find them and start their questioning.

The silence last longer. The police are probably on the second floor now.

“No hesitation, right?”

There's a smile faint on Momo’s lips, her eyes won’t leave Jirou’s. Jirou finds herself leaning closer, she winces at the pain that flourishes from her movement.

“Yeah.”

Momo pressed her hands against Jirou’s cheeks, pulling her a bit higher and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

They break for a second. Jirou knows she’s crying again, she feels so stupid for it but the tears are also in Momo’s eyes and she can’t help but let out a little laugh.

“God, Yaoyorozu. You are just, your amazing. You know that?” Jirou slowly, as if that will fend off the pain reaches her arms up as she kisses Momo again. She wishes the extreme pain wouldn’t take this experience away from her but the ringing has gone away so she’ll take what she can get.

“You're even better.” She nuzzles against her cheeks.

They kiss again, and again and Jirou still feels her tears pour because she is safe, Momo is safe, the evil has been vanquished and they are here. Not how she thought it would end but she’s here, sitting on Yaoyorozu’s lap and kissing her through their tears.

Jirou can hear the police making their way up the stairs yet neither of them bothers to stop kissing.  This moment, as painful and hopeless as her body feels she wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.

She closes her eyes and tries to wish her tears away, she hasn’t cried this much in years. She squeezes Momo tight. Jirou can feel her heartbeat and she almost breaks into sobs from that. She looks at Momo again, happy and content.

They are alive.

They are happy.

Jirou knows as heroes it is likely that moments like this will happen again and again and again. Maybe next time it’ll be her that's kidnapped. It doesn’t matter though because right now…

Right now she can feel their heartbeat together.

And that's all they really need.

[to-star-lake]

blue [ pt. 2 ]

pairing | pcy x reader count | 3.5k

“Don’t worry, you’re gonna do great!” Beakhyun patted you on the back as you fidgeted with the mic that was clipped onto the top of your blouse. You took a deep breath, looking up at the groups of people in suits filing into the auditorium in front of you. 

You glanced at your manager sitting up front, smiling and giving you a thumbs up as you tapped your foot nervously from behind the podium. This presentation has to go well, you thought. Your future at this company, Baekhyun’s future at this company, your careers depended on this. 

The best case scenario is if your presentation goes well, your manager would report your success to the company’s president, and they would allow you to start your own firm under their umbrella given that you could find investors to fund your venture. You felt a small smile growing on your face at this prospect. 

But your mind quickly fell on the worst case scenario: your presentation is a flop, people would leave the auditorium in the middle of your pitch, the audience’s eyes would wander, bored, inattentive, you would stumble through your words, and afterwards your manager would fire you and Baekhyun on the spot. 

You quickly shook those thoughts from your head as the doors closed, and a silence began falling over the crowd. You looked up at your audience as you felt the light turn to focus on you on the stage at the front of the room. You turned and saw Baekhyun smile at you from behind the laptop as he began operating your presentation projected onto the large screen behind you. 

The MC walked out to the front of the stage to introduce you. “The recent booming success of CoreTech’s newest product line is actually the brainchild of two young ivy league graduates,” the announcer’s voice rang through the mic system in the auditorium and he turned to face you, holding a hand out towards you, “Please give a warm welcome to them and the radical and industrious ideas that changed the company.” 

You took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the podium, taking one last look at Baekhyun winking at you from behind his laptop screen on the table. You turned to face the audience, smiling, waiting for the welcome applause to fade. 

“As a company that has long had a strong presence and foothold in the industry, you probably think the idea to create our own market competition is insane,” you began. 

“Absolutely, I look forward to speaking with you soon,” you smiled, shaking the hand of an investor who approached you after your presentation. He smiled back, “My office will contact yours next week,” he said. 

“Holy shit!” you giggled under your breath, turning back to Beakhyun at the table the two of you stood at during the networking event after the morning presentations. 

“That’s like the tenth person that’s approached us about funding!” he screeched under his breath, shaking his hands like a child, unable to contain his excitement. 

Your presentation was a huge success. It went better than either of you could’ve imagined. A line of people had formed to approach you with questions and funding proposals as soon as your presentation ended, and now even more people approached you as the two of you hung out in the large networking hall. 

Looking up, you noticed your manager walking towards you, hanging up the phone. “I just spoke with the CEO,” he said, smiling. “You have a meeting with him next week when we get back.” 

You felt your eyes grow wide in excitement, “It’s happening?” you asked timidly. 

He nodded, “It’s happening.” 

“Gaaaaah!” Baekhyun screeched, pulling you into a hug, the two of you hopping around each other in circles, giggling like school children. 

“Ok, alright you two,” your manager put his hands on your shoulders, calming the two of you down. “Get it together, you have a meeting in five minutes with a big investor.” 

“But we already talked to a bunch of investors,” you said, confused with the sudden formality. 

“Well this one called for a meeting,” he said, looking down at the calendar app on his phone. “Go grab your things, I’ll meet you guys outside the hall in five.” 

You nodded, following behind Baekhyun over to the coat check to pick up your laptops and bag. The two of you walked over to your manager standing outside in the hall, eyes glued to his phone, and followed as he led the you to a conference room at the end of the hall. 

Walking through the large glass doors of the conference room, you froze in your steps, Baekhyun bumping into you when you came to a sudden stop. You looked up at the figure standing across the large conference table from you, looking out the row of windows in the back of the room. You felt the thumping of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears as he turned to face you. 

You stared at his face, a veritable wave of confusion and bewilderment crashing over you. You stared at his dark hair, brushed back neatly from his forehead. You stared at his tie, in a slick knot around a perfectly pressed white shirt, under an expensive-looking navy blue suit jacket, his long legs in a pair of matching navy blue slacks, over a pair of brown leather shoes. You saw a familiar smirk grow on his face as he saw the astonishment in your eyes. 

“Oh my god...isn’t he the stal-” you heard Baekhyun say from behind you as he looked over your shoulder at the familiar face. You closed your eyes, hoping that when you opened them and your sight returned to you, you’d find the man standing before you was not him, that your eyes simply played some kind of trick on you. You were wrong. 

“What?” your manager responded to Baekhyun’s comment, eyes wide in confusion. You nudged Baekhyun, “Uh..sorry, nothing, I had something in my throat,” Baekhyun fumbled through his words. 

You watched as he walked over to you, his legs making such long strides, the grin never leaving his face. 

“Y/N, this is Park Chanyeol,” your manager said, “He’s one of the stakeholders and board members of Park Capital. Park Capital is-” 

“One of the biggest investment firms currently backing many internet startups, I know,” you said. You watched the smile on his face grow wider. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he reached his hand out to you. You reluctantly held out yours, and he took it, shaking your hand with the kind of formality appropriate for a business meeting. 

“Hi, I’m-I’m Byun Baekhyun, I work with Y/N,” you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him as Baekhyun reached out timidly for a handshake. You felt your thoughts running at a hundred miles an hour. Is he really going to pretend like that exchange at the bar last night didn’t happen? What is he doing here? Park Chanyeol of Park Capital, that’s just a coincidence right? He’s here for the conference? No, it can’t be, he can’t be here for the conference. He can’t behave that way if he’s actually here on business. 

You looked up at him, and he grinned, and you could tell from the look on his face that he knew exactly the thoughts running through your mind and his only response was the arrogant smirk that refused to leave his face. 

“I was very impressed with your presentation,” he said, pulling out one of the chairs at the end of the table, unbuttoning his jacket, and sitting down. Impressed? Is he joking? “Tell me, how did you arrive at the idea to create your own market competition?” 

You heard yourself scoff audibly, “Are you serious?” 

“Y/N!” you heard your manager scold. “Mr. Park, I’m so sorry, she’s very young, they’re both recent graduates, they’re inexperienced with business, they’ve mostly been isolated within the company while they worked on this project-” you watched him hold a hand up, stopping your manager mid-sentence. 

“You don’t have to explain,” he smiled amicably at your manager. “I’m sure she’s just shocked that such a young person could be a majority stakeholder at a venture capital firm,” he turned back to you, grinning. Young isn’t the adjective I’d use, your internal monologue ran.  “But I’m equally shocked by how such a young person could be the mastermind behind a business model that completely changed a company’s outlook.” 

“Well, we didn’t exactly have that idea at first,” you heard Baekhyun cut in hurriedly, trying to diffuse the situation. 

“Oh no?” he asked without looking away from you. 

“Well, the business model shift, that was all Y/N’s idea, but it evolved from a project we were given when we were recruited for the company,” Baekhyun continued. 

“So maybe Y/N would like to explain how it happened,” he said, smiling, leaning into the table, his arms propped up on the tabletop. 

“Mr. Park told me he’s willing to invest quite a lot of resources into your project, Y/N,” you heard your manager say in a pleading voice from beside you. “But he wanted to meet with you because he wanted to know what kind of person you were, if you’re capable, if you had a vision that aligned with his.” 

“There’s no need for formalities here,” he said, “just call me Chanyeol.” 

You took a deep breath, quelling your growing anger as you took a seat across the table from him. “CoreTech is an old company,” you said. “They’ve been successful, showing noticeable growth in the last ten years.”

“Yes, I’m aware of your company’s financial history,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Your company has seen slow and incremental growth since its inception.” 

“Slow and incremental yes, but steady growth nonetheless,” you responded. “But the sites that they were selling were fast becoming out of date. Ten years ago, these sites were great. And their service model made sense for an older generation of clients who were not used to the internet.” You saw his eyes focused intently on yours, listening carefully to your words. 

“But as our older clients are becoming replaced by a younger generation of internet-users, we realized the websites the company had been maintaining were very out of date and very out of touch with the current technological climate. They brought Baekhyun and I in to revamp their existing websites.” 

“So why did you invest the resources to rebuild the entire line of sites? You just completely ignored what management wanted you to do? I can’t imagine your CEO was pleased with your proposal to spend the time and resources re-doing something that already exists.”

“No, he was not pleased with it at all. He almost fired us on the spot,” you continued. You heard him let out a soft laugh. “But here’s the thing - these older webistes were built and maintained over ten years by different people on different teams. Its base platform is extremely outdated, and as more people worked on it, rather than spending the time to make sure its foundation code is stable, they just tacked functionality on top of functionality, creating an extremely unstable, buggy system. Ultimately it would take years for us to fix it, requiring more time and more resources than it would take for us to rebuild something from scratch.” 

He smiled, his eyes lighting up as you voiced your ideas. “But why create internal competition? Why not openly market it as another product line within your company?” 

“Because we didn’t want CoreTech’s name associated with our new sites, and the stigma surrounding an established company. We wanted there to be no preconceived notions about what this site would be like. We also approached this with an entirely different framework. Rather than building a large, overwhelming website that does everything, we focused on scalability. Starting small, with the basics, and allowing the option to add on anything a client could want. This way we were able to market the product as a full suite of websites and features, but also as its individual parts.” 

A few moments of silence passed as he considered your words. You watched as a smile grew wide on his face. He stood up, walking over to your manager. He held out his hand to shake his, “Thank you for setting this up, this was very informative,” he said, before turning and walking out of the room. 

You looked down at your hands as Baekhyun and your manager exchanged confused looks. 

“What the hell was that?” Baekhyun said. 

“Come on, forget about that meeting,” Baekhyun said from beside you. The two of you sat at the bar of the hotel restaurant. It was meant to be a celebration of the success of your presentation today, but you couldn’t forget about what happened earlier. You were angry. You felt played. 

After the meeting, you Googled his name, finding that he really was in fact one of the majority stakeholders of Park Capital, and that his father was the president and CEO of the company. He used his name to fool your manager into pulling you into a meeting with him, under the ruse of wanting to invest in your project, only to humiliate you. 

You tilted your head back, downing your fifth shot of the night. You felt someone pat you on the back, and turned to see your manager squeezing up to the crowded bar beside you. “He’s going to invest,” he yelled in your ear over the noisy crowds. 

“What?” You yelled back. 

“Park Chanyeol, I just got off the phone with his secretary, he said he’s going to invest,” he said. “His office is sending over the papers next week.”

“Holy shit, that’s awesome!” Baekhyun gushed from next to you. You fell silent, in shock. Baekhyun nudged you with his elbow, “See? I told you not to worry about it!” 

“I need to get some air,” you said quietly, standing up from the bar stool. 

“Don’t stay out too late! We need to leave for our flight at 7 tomorrow!” you heard your manager yell after you as you walked out of the restaurant in a daze. 

You made your way to the escalators in the hotel lobby, walking up to the upper deck of the resort. You walked past a row of tall, glass windows, looking at the open balcony outside, a rooftop pool, and a bar next to it. There was no one outside, and the lights were off. You pulled open the large glass door, walking out out to the edge of the balcony. 

“You know this bar isn’t open,” you jumped, hearing a voice say suddenly. You turned and in the darkness you could make out a figure sitting on one of the patio sofas next to the pool. You felt your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. You watched as he stood up and walked towards you. 

You looked up at him as he stepped into the light, moving closer to you. You noticed that his perfectly coiffed hair from earlier is now again a messy flop on his head, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. His tie was undone, hanging from the unbuttoned top of his white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You noticed that he had a tattoo on the inside of his forearm, but didn’t look closely enough to discern what it was. He moved close enough that you could see his eyes, glimmering in the moonlight, a little freckle on the tip of his nose, the same obnoxious grin that he’d had on his face since you met.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” you heard yourself snap. You retracted yourself, surprised at your own words. 

He laughed lightly. “Come on, tell me that wasn’t fun,” he chuckled. 

You scoffed, turning to look out at the resort grounds, leaning into the railing of the balcony. “Is that why you did this? For fun?”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face when you saw me in that room earlier,” he laughed. “Just that look alone is worth what I’m about to invest in your company.” 

You felt your anger growing. You turned, walking quickly back towards the doors to the resort. You heard his steps following behind you and felt his hand grasp onto your wrist. “Whoa whoa, hey, calm down,” he said as you swung around, ripping your arm from his grasp. 

“I’ve worked hard to get to where I am,” you snapped. “Baekhyun and I have put everything into our work, into this project. We’ve worked too hard to be taken seriously to be used like some toy in whatever game you think you’re playing. We don’t need your money. Or sorry, should I say your daddy’s money.” 

You watched the smile disappear from his face. He stood upright, putting his hands in his pockets. “Is that what you think of me,” he said, the lightness had left his voice, dropping instead to a stern, low register. 

“Isn’t that what you think of me?” you retorted. “That my work, that all this, is just some joke to you?”

“And what about you?” he said, his voice low, his tone growing harsh. “You’d so easily condemn me as some rich, careless corporate son while you think yourself morally superior and put yourself on a pedestal because you’ve, what, worked hard? As though I’ve never had any hardships in my life? As though you’re the only one deserving of success you’ve gotten?” 

“Oh yes, I’m sure not being able to find a restaurant that serves alcohol at 9 in the morning is a very agonizing hardship, I feel for you,” you rolled your eyes, your words seeping with sarcasm. 

“I’m not playing games with you, Y/N,” he said. “As hard as it may be for you to believe, I have a lot of respect for you, for your work.” 

You scoffed, “Yes, I can see you have so much respect for your vodka and scotch girls. If I lived by your definition of respect, I would think so too, I thank you on behalf of my entire gender.” 

He took a step towards you, “You should stop right there.” 

“Or what, you’re going to pull your funding?” You scoffed, “Do it, we don’t need your money.” 

He took another step towards you, and you looked up to see the obvious anger growing in his eyes. You took a step back, hitting the glass door behind you. 

“And we don’t want your money,” you continued. “I don’t want the integrity of my work to be tainted by the likes of you,” 

“The likes of me?” he stepped in closer. 

“Yes the likes of you,” you looked at him, at his expensive suit and his expensive watch, the air around you reeking of his expensive cologne. You felt your animosity boiling over. “I can’t stand people like you. Born into privilege, you have no idea what it’s like for the rest of us. What it’s like to have to work to get what we have. How hard we have to continue working to hold onto what we have once we get it. Do you think because I’m not some rich, ditzy girl in a tiny dress that you can address me as though I’m inferior to you? I have an ivy league diploma just like you, only I didn’t get it because my father gave the chancellor a phone call.” 

You saw his fists clench on either side of him. “So this is your opinion of me,” he said, his voice barely audible. 

“It’s no opinion when it’s the truth.” 

“No, I think you’ve made your opinion quite clear, and it is an opinion,” you flinched as he slammed a hand into the glass next to your head. “But did you ever think for a second if you stopped looking at me through this prejudiced lens of yours, through your perceived notions of how easy it must’ve been for me my whole life because of the family I was born into, that maybe you’d see something different? Maybe you’d see me. Or maybe you’d just see your own reflection and realize that you and I are not so different. If you think I’m treating you as though your’e inferior, then you should realize you’re only looking in the mirror.” 

You fell silent. You felt your head growing dizzy as the ringing from his words continued to sting at you, at your ego. You felt his hand reaching up and grabbing onto your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. You looked up into his eyes, noticing them soften, noticing that his lips had been pressed into a tight line, holding back his anger. He gazed into your eyes, like he was looking for something. 

“And you’re wrong,” he said, letting go of you, turning and opening the door. “My father doesn’t know the chancellor. I earned my diploma, same as you.” You looked down at your feet as he walked back into the building. You let yourself slide down against the glass, crouching with your arms around your legs, knees to your chest. 

His words stung. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, you recognized they stung because perhaps they were true. 

[burntretinas]

like constellations, we’re joined (3/?)

They say that a red string binds us all, connects everyone to someone. It is around our little finger, tying us to our destined lover(s), regardless of time and place. As our lives go on, that string will stretch or become tangled, but will never tear nor break. Yagi Toshinori has led a life where his lover(s) cannot be known to the public lest they are placed in great danger, forcing the man to abandon any hope of love. His red string is stretched taut.

Maybe a man called Aizawa Shouta can change that.

link to chapter 2: https://burntretinas.tumblr.com/post/169919687607/like-constellations-were-joined-2

Loud shrieks accompany the pitter-patter of feet in the classroom. Chairs scrape the ground and tables are pulled apart as students circle around each other, hawking over one another, talking over each other, as their bright eyes and bright teeth flash, learning about one another and sizing each other up.

A bell rings clearly, silencing students and sending them running to their seats and reveals a tired Aizawa Shouta crawling out of his sleeping bag. He stands still at the helm of his desk, eyes sweeping over his students.

His face twitches as he exhales loudly, spying out of the corner of his eye, a lurking All Might. Two ridiculously tall sprouts of hair pace along the windows facing the corridor, shadowed eyes bopping up and down, glancing over at perceivably opportune moments.

His class are unaware, their eyes glued to Aizawa, afraid to peel away waiting for further instruction.

Not again, he thinks, what the fuck is he doing.

Aizawa has noticed a recent trend in All Might’s behaviour as the man tries to “secretly” spy on Izuku Midoriya. He doesn’t think he has noticed that in his larger form, he tends to stick out, especially those stupid bangs which can be clearly seen from any fucking window. Aizawa doesn’t particularly care or want to know how a grown man’s spatial awareness of his own body could be that fucking bad. Additionally, there is no goddamn way someone’s hair can stick up like that, it has to be fake. Aizawa refuses to believe anyone could just style hair like that, completely forgetting, perhaps ignoring how Hizashi achieves his certain parrot-like look.

“Sensei!” Tenya Iida’s sharp voice breaks Aizawa’s chain of thought. “Are you OK?”

Aizawa tears his thoughts away from the ridiculous spectacle outside and claps his hands, the edges of his mouth curving upwards.

“It was a logical ruse!” Aizawa’s grin triples in size as the class cower in confusion. “I was waiting for somebody to -

“Sensei, you can’t keep saying that when you forgot your lesson plan or changed your mind ya know,” Kirishima cuts him off bluntly, scratching his head.

Aizawa glares at the boy, whilst the rest of the class have turned to face him, stifling barely hidden laughter behind their hands.

Toshinori crumbles the paper in his hands, dropping it in the waste bin next to his desk. He carefully pulls a new sheet of paper and begins to rule out another lesson plan.

“All Might, have you tried making on the computer? It might be faster,” Cementoss says quietly, popping over All Might’s shoulder.

“Ah yes, but I’m afraid I’m having a hard time getting around the software, so I’ve decided to go a little old school for a while,” he gently laughs as he waves the ruler around.

Cementoss nods, satisfied with his response and walks away with a steaming mug of tea.

Is young Midoriya fit to be my successor, to inherit All For One, Toshinori scowls as he brushes away such thoughts. His thoughts were in a loop today, like a broken record, winding back to the same chords over and over. These jarring thoughts crept on him as he saw anything that reminded him of the youth. Boundless enthusiasm was everywhere he turned lately, as he worked in a school for upcoming heroes. Boundless enthusiasm was something Midoriya had plenty and all his thoughts turn to protecting and pushing him into his new role as upcoming hero. Eraserhead was an obstacle, the man renown for expelling an entire class for “no potential” was bound to clash with Midoriya, a boy who had only recently received his quirk.

Crack.

The pencil in his palm pulls him from his thoughts. It lay broken in two, split by the force he pressed on it, accidentally, unaware. Toshinori swallows. He peers at his lesson plan and his heart drops as he wonders the pitfalls of academic teaching. His palm curls around the broken pieces and he drops them into the bin.

As he stands from his chair to borrow a pencil from anyone, he bumps into a walking stack of paper.

“Offt,” it groans, as essays drift to the ground, landing in an awkward fashion, entrapping the two in irregular circles.

“Sorry, Eraserhead, I wasn’t looking,” Toshinori’s words sputter out ungracefully, his head bowing down to face the younger man, "Let me help you,” He drops to the ground, gathering up the papers in his arms, trying to find order in the messy stack.

“Thank you,” Aizawa said stiffly. Toshinori raises his head curiously, scanning his face for a way to interpret his words but finds himself at a loss, unable to read the other man. Aizawa wordlessly picks up the rest and pulls the stack from Toshinori’s arms, regarding him with a critical stare, before leaving to his desk. He sits down and begins to re-order the pile in alphabetical order.

Toshinori approaches him from behind and says softly, “Excuse me, but would you have a pencil I could borrow?”

Aizawa bristles, an almost imperceptive move that Toshinori nearly missed, and pulls a pencil from his drawer and, without turning, hands it to him. Toshinori purses his lips but holds his tongue. He sits back at his desk and slowly works. The two are alone in the staffroom as the hours tick by, silence the only accompaniment to the sounds of rapid pen marks and a pencil scratching on paper.

Toshinori slides his finished lesson plan away in his folder and tucks it in his drawer at the same time Aizawa decides to go home to finish marking. Toshinori stands first, his legs moving fast as he places the pencil on Aizawa’s desk with the quick utterance of thanks and he moves away from the younger hero who doesn’t quite seem to like him.

Aizawa’s phone beeps and he curses as he reads the text. Toshinori raises an eyebrow, tempted to ask for more, and cannot hold his tongue this time.

“Hizashi left without me so I don’t have a ride home, so I’ll probably have to catch the train,” Aizawa replies.

Toshinori blinks in surprise at the clear lack of formality between Eraserhead and Present Mic, a strange feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“I can give you a ride,” the words leave his mouth before he can stop them.

Aizawa blinks in response and slowly replies in confusion, “OK, you can drive?”

“I’m not made of glass, I can still do some things,” Toshinori snaps in reply, unable to stop himself as the mounting pressures of his body was made apparent again.

Aizawa holds up his hands defensively, instinctively taking a step back, “Sorry, it’s not that, it’s just that I assumed that you didn’t really drive anywhere and kind of just did those All Might hops everywhere, didn’t think you needed a car.”

Ten minutes later, Toshinori finds himself telling Aizawa to put his address into the GPS and honestly wishes his stupid hero senses had not kicked in with his offer to drive the one teacher who had not warmed up to him yet.

“Ah, you don’t live too far from me,” he says as a way to fill what he believed to be growing awkwardness.

Aizawa hums in reply.

The car ride is silent, the car engine providing the acoustics for what Toshinori believes to the death of avoiding Aizawa forever. His hands clench around the steering wheel a little too tightly as he imagines having to try and interact with the very man who turned down his getting-to-know-you present and very essence of heroic style.

He moves his mouth, filling the words on his tongue, testing them out and swallows them as they prove unfit or ill-advised. He settles on stilling his mouth, unable to find the words he is looking for to broach the silence.

He slams his foot on the brake sending both men to brace for the sudden stoppage. Toshinori looks up at the red light he nearly missed, sweating as he apologises to Aizawa who appears to have spread all his limbs across the car in an attempt to stay seated.

Aizawa chokes out a gasp, staring at Toshinori with wide eyes.

Ah fuck, Toshinori sighs, settling down in his seat as blood drips down his chin. He swallows the blood pooling in his mouth, ignoring the bitter copper tang. He pulls over at the first available spot and leans over Aizawa to pull out some tissues from the glove compartment.

He wipes his face and drops the tissues in the back seat, making a mental note to pick them up later. He licks his teeth of excess blood, systematically checking them in the mirror.

“You fine?” Aizawa asks, eyes glued to the oversized white shirt soaking up the blood on Toshinori, the fabric clinging to his chest and he can’t help but stare at the edges of a large scar. Tight skin draws over each other, lines, barely covering the flesh beneath, creating ripples in the skin of Toshinori’s side.

“I’m fine,” Toshinori replies, “let’s get you home.”

Aizawa remains silent for the rest of the ride. His eyes occasionally dart over to the white shirt hugging a tiny, thin, lanky frame. His eyes snap back to the road every time Toshinori so much as glances his way, refusing to be caught staring.

“We’re here,” Toshinori says with a gentle smile, snapping Aizawa out of his reprieve.

“Thanks for the ride, sorry for imposing on you like this.”

“No worries, it was no trouble.”

Aizawa gets out of the car and hesitates to invite him in as a way of thanks, opting to stand there awkwardly, his body half in and out of the car, arm resting on the top as his brain short circuits. Finally, he decides to walk away, slamming the car door behind him as he speed-walks into the building.

Oh god, Aizawa can’t help but think, he looks terrible.

link to chapter 4: https://burntretinas.tumblr.com/post/170495229332/like-constellations-were-joined-4