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wheelsup · 3 years

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the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches.

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now.

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

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Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.”

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

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queen-feisty-pants · 2 years

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While the InuKagMor reunion posts flooding my dashboard actually give me joy, I have quite a few criticisms about how the scene was written and quite a few concerns, frankly, about the content that I'll see on this site starting next week.

I honestly hate writing posts like this. HnY isn't canon. I haven't been following it for ages. But, alas, the new content involving my OTP of OTPs has dragged me down a rabbit hole once again.

With all of that having been said, if you still enjoy HnY, I advise that you skip this post. While I genuinely don't intend to insult anyone involved in its production and its fans, I acknowledge that it's still not fun to come across criticism of something you enjoy. I am not open for debate, and any disrespectful behavior in response to this post will immediately earn a block and report. Consider yourselves warned.

Rant & musings under the cut

Kagome's glare and tone of voice when confirming whether the girl standing before her was Moroha made me uncomfortable. I can’t help but feel like they could’ve directed that part differently. On top of that, adding the cliche comedy routine of one person nervously backing away and stuttering in response to someone else seeming angry just seemed out of place. It totally belied the gravity that is expected of a scene like this.

I just know that they'll be relying on running gags from the OG series, and the very notion of it is already making me tired. While I don't mind Inuyasha and Moroha butting heads - Actually, I think it'd be kind of cute, if done properly. - I have a sinking feeling that it'll be overdone, and I wouldn't be surprised if we get some tasteless slapstick comedy out of it. As much as it disgusts me to type this, I wouldn't be surprised if they show their bickering escalating to the point where Inuyasha bonks Moroha in the head for overstepping boundaries - all for the sake of comic effect. And, naturally, it'd be followed by a good old-fashioned osuwari command to tie everything in a neat, little bow. (Before anyone gets on my case for this, I'm well aware that there is no guarantee that this will happen, but the fourth film, which was also a creation of the team behind this series, unfortunately provides precedent for this type of behavior. Also, see my next point.)

While the reunion is heartwarming overall, Inuyasha's behavior thus far strikes me as OOC. His reaction to Moroha's arrival seems to be more similar to the kind of nonchalance, for lack of a better word, he'd display in the OG series. Similarly, the screenshots of him awkwardly blushing because he doesn't know what to say to his own daughter just don't sit right with me. While these kinds of interactions are admittedly more up Kagome's alley, he'd matured significantly by the end of the OG series. When you consider that many years have passed since this point of growth, it doesn't seem consistent with his character arc. I can allow some awkwardness, but it just doesn't make sense for it to manifest in this manner and to this extent.

I still don't see how Inuyasha and Kagome couldn't find a way out of the black pearl for 14 years. It's a horribly contrived disservice to their characters. That's all I have to say and can say about this mess.

Other random thoughts:

If Kagome uses the osuwari command, especially in front of Moroha, I'll fucking riot. It doesn't even have to be in the kind of situation that I mentioned above. No matter what the reason, if they resort to this gag, it'd be tired and inappropriate.

I truly hope we'll get a scene of Inuyasha and Kagome completely obliterating Jyūbei in retaliation for everything he put their daughter through. After this point, my only investment in this series is whether we get a moment like this.

If I'm correct in assuming that Kagome is watching something on a smartphone in the screenshots from next week's episode, then she'd better start asking enough questions to figure out how her family fit into all of this and inquire into their healths. Similarly, it'd only be natural for her to bring up her own adventures as a teenager and begin some sort of discussion about time travel. I'm not expecting much, given the show's track record, but it's the bare minimum. Also, lbr, it'd totally be a missed opportunity for pure comedy gold if they don't find a way to reveal that Moroha maxed out Souta's credit card.

This is kind of an abrupt end, but there's nothing else that comes to mind right now. See you guys later when the next set of spoilers whip me up into another verbal frenzy, I guess? ^^;

#i'm leaving this untagged for various reasons.#at least for the moment.

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scriptaed · 3 years

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bygones of the sun. 09 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/(future)smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 5.5k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Moonlight bellows in the background of the warm, golden-lit room—crashing and seceding, crashing and seceding, repeatedly colliding against the jagged rocks by the cliff like tidal waves out at sea in the deep sway of the black night. Under the hypnosis of the jet-black skies absent of the charming twinkling of the stars, you had somehow stumbled through the retreat to your room. You aren’t exactly sure what you had seen—and perhaps, out of consideration for your well-being, you simply don’t want to nor need to comprehend your sightings—but the glutinous image of the broken boy sticks to your chest akin to a dark secret weighing heavy on a sinner’s heart.

And somehow, amidst the long night looming ahead of you, the spur of emotions sweeps you before the door of his room.

Taking a deep breath, you clear your throat and whisper hesitantly next to the wooden frame, “...Hoseok?”

In the red-carpeted hall where dozens of fellow camp attendees rest until the next sunrise, you stand there wondering if Jimin had mistyped the captain’s room number on the emergency flyers. The overwhelming guilt of having pushed Hoseok to his breaking point, albeit unknowingly, had forced the heavy footsteps of yours to this very spot, but now that you’re faced with silence as an answer, you figure perhaps it isn’t in your fate to confront him tonight; it would be the easier way out, at least, for irrationality had bewitched you and plans on what to even say were the last things on your mind… until now.

Subconsciously, your knuckles meet the cold wax finish of his door once again.

One knock, two knocks, and alas, a sigh.

Your hands drop to your sides in defeat, despite regretting your rash decision which had brought you here in the first place. You glimpse around to ensure that the coast was clear, and when the last sigh escapes your lips and the balls of your feet pivot to your left, only then does the door swing wide open.

“What do you want?”

Whirling around, you find Hoseok standing aside where one arm leans against the door frame and the other hides behind the door, clutching the gold handle. As you gaze at him in silence, too taken aback to make your next move, Hoseok stands there, heavy-lidded and jaws clenched, disgruntled by your late night appearance.

The uninviting glare of his elicits the uncomfortable shift in place of your footsteps. It’s a rare moment for goosebumps to rise and chest to constrict when in the presence of someone as playful and flirtatious as Hoseok, but the sudden cold mien of his persona now conveys to you that you’re not welcome here tonight.

“I… I was just…” your eyes dart to the floor as your mind crashes into auto-pilot, searching for any form of excuse other than the truth too unready to be exposed, “I couldn’t fall asleep. So—”

“—you could’ve texted me,” he refutes, brows furrowing, but all your eyes are fixated on are what appears to be beads of sweat dripping from his damp bangs. And when he notices the softening of your wandering eyes, his voice nearly drowns in the waves of sneakers squeaking against the floor and the buzz of the vending machine which shrills in your eardrums to this very second.

From the tee which drapes his upper body and his sweatpants which masks the witnessed scene weighing heavy in your heart, everything about him now would serve as the perfect facade of a normal captain disturbed from his sleep. But at least he's still up, at least he's still trying, at least he answered your call.

You want to believe he’s okay again, that everything you had seen was just a misunderstanding, but something tells you the sun won't be rising again after tonight, and that very thought plagues you of your sleep.

A few seconds pass as you scan him over in a confusing mixture of both disbelief and relief, when Hoseok half scoffs and half chuckles, frowning at your expression, “is something bothering you? You look like you're almost glad to see me for once.”

“...why are you sweating?” you blurt, his words completely missing you as your eyes fixates on the beads of liquid plastered across his temples and trapped in his brows.

“Sweat…?” Hoseok arches a concerned brow before pressing his lips into a thin line. “This isn't sweat… I just got out of the shower. What makes you think that, though?”

Your lips part, but silence ensues when you realize neither you nor him seemed prepared enough to tackle the true reason as to why you're here.

“Nothing… really. It was just the first thing which came to mind.”

Hoseok nods, eyelids weighing heavier and heavier as the conversation comes to an abrupt end. “So…” he drawls, “what do you need?”

“I didn't need anything, per se,” you emphasize, eyes averting to the side and away from his watchful gaze, “I just… wanted to talk. I didn't get to talk to you much today.”

Usually, at a point like this, Hoseok would tease you; “someone's a bit needy today, and I know you're pure and untainted and all, but shouldn't you at least know not to come begging for attention to a guy's room at midnight”—is what he would've said, but tonight, the tidal waves under the wavering moon dictates otherwise.

“Look, Y/N,” he runs a hand through his hair and leans his entire weight against the doorframe, “I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone right now. I want to be alone.”

But does he? Because the gleam in his softened eyes, the windows to his soul, are begging you to accompany him through the long night.

“Are you… okay, Hoseok?” you ask, brows cinching in concern.

He flinches, but his brows immediately lift to mask the initial response. “...yeah,” he finally says after a long pause, taking a deep breath and sighing, eyes never budging from yours, “...I'm fine. Now go sleep if you're done badgering me.”

“Okay… you should sleep, too.”

“Yeah,” he utters under his breath, eyes glued to the ground as he mumbles, “I'll try.”

“Try…?”

“I have a lot of things on my mind and decisions to make tonight,” he explains with a final sigh, the void in his eyes lifting to meet yours once again, and you don't notice until now the purple-blue dark circles which only emphasizes the absence of his usual vigor. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

And ever so quietly, as if none of the conversation had taken place under the mist of the night perched high up on the mountains, the door closes on you, and the walls between you and Hoseok become thicker than ever.

You can't tell what's on his mind. You can't even tell what's on your own mind. All you can convey is the sheer dejection, the unusual lethargy radiating from Hoseok akin to a captain too prideful to allow his pupils to witness his own cracks and falls.

You're partially responsible for this—no, somehow your mind had convinced you that you're the one completely responsible for this. If you hadn't pushed him to return, maybe things wouldn't have gotten this far. You had reopened a wound like ripping stitches off a gash still in the process of rehabilitation.

And sometimes, wounds of seconds can inflict more pain than its first and leave deeper scars than the past itself.

You're guilty as charged, and you want to fix things now, but the unwelcoming tone of tonight's conversation tells you it might just be too late. If you've acknowledged your mistakes but the other is unwilling to receive your sympathy, what else are you supposed to do?

You had hated the new Hoseok for laying the death of the old, but now that you stand here before his guarded walls and closed door, maybe things would've been better the way they were before.

But that thought finds you as ridiculous, and the very fact that a part of you still wants to aid him in rediscovering your first love at the expense of the person he is now, finds you even more horrendous.

For now, a shower is the only concoction for such a plague.

Water beads drip from the ends of your hair to the cottons of the white towel hanging from your neck. A rush of goosebump inducing air envelops you the second your right foot meets the carpet beyond the bathroom tiles. Besides the remaining drip drops of the water draining in the bathtub behind you, all that is left in the sanctuary of your room is what should have been silence.

Because you can still hear the buzz of the vending machine, the familiar squeaks of sneakers, and worst of all, his wincing breaths endowed with despair still echo in the back of your mind—gradually quickening and crescendoing into a chaos of a symphony without its conductor until everything collapses, the squeaks and the huffs replaced by the ominous buzz of the machine.

As you run through your hair and turn your back on the door to further bury yourself in the depths of your sanctuary, a sudden rise of events interrupts the temporary serenity with the strike of fear into your racing heart.

A series of slurred knocks—two loud, quick knocks followed by one hesitant bump of the knuckles—elicits a ring in your ear as you cautiously turn on the balls of your feet to face the door head on.

The numbers 1:15 A.M. blink in red digital font from the desk beside your bed.

Who could possibly be visiting you at this time of the night?

“Y/N?”

The familiar voice strained with lethargy finally announces after a sigh, and as if reciting words to a spell of witch craft, your heart stills and your body freezes… because did you really just hear Hoseok? Outside your room? The one who had just turned you away without a blink of the eye?

Even with the mess of your mental state after finally digging up the answer you had been searching for all along, the only and greatest fear which plagues you now is the thought of whether the victim, Jung Hoseok, had somehow caught onto you preying upon his darkest of secrets.

After half a minute of silence, Hoseok sighs once again with a groan, “I’m not here to mess around with you if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m on duty for patrolling tonight, and I noticed your light was on. Now open up, would you?”

The walk to your door seems to take you centuries, because the second your hand pushes the handle even an inch down, the door swings wide open to reveal the rather irritated, profusely impatient boy standing on the other side.

“Could you be any slower?” he remarks, eyes peering down at you, unamused. “You’re even slower than me and I worked out more than…”

His white tee shifts underneath his crossed arms as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. The intensity of his eyes with bags and dark circles drooping below elicits a shift in your own body of discomfort. Your own eyes retreat to the ground when his brows cinch and you can tell he’s scanning you over, just seconds away from catching you red-handed.

“...w-what? Can you stop staring at me like that?”

“What? I’m not checking you out or anything if that’s what you’re worried about,” Hoseok scoffs for a fleeting second before silence befalls his lips—and suddenly, the warmth of his hands radiate from your cheeks. A lock of your hair lies in the palms of his long, delicate fingers just barely grazing your cheeks, and it doesn’t take you very long to hastily cover your reddening ears and cheeks with your dampened towel. He frowns, not at your sheepish behavior, but for the wet strands of hair which are all that he fixates on, “did you just work out or something?”

Shouldn't you be the one asking him that? It's as if the irony of his actions is his own method of begging to be exposed without having to come out and ask for it himself.

“No,” you retort, scrunching your face at the absurdity of his suggestion.

Just as you’re about to pull away from his touch, Hoseok retracts his hands from the proximity of your cheeks before what would usually be another one of his mischievous acts; and as much as his sneaky pecks and meaningless affection had once infuriated you, it’s hard to admit how empty you now feel in the absence of its wake. His retreat made of his own will is a first for you.

“Then why are you showering at 1 A.M. in the morning?” he cocks his head with a raised brow.

“Says you—”

“—but at least I have an excuse. I was busy cleaning up after practice,” he retorts and shifts his weight to his other leg, musing, “you, on the other hand…”

“B-Because…” you cross your arms and shoot him the most annoyed glare you could muster; while meeting and comforting him were all that shrouded your mind just a few minutes ago, seeing him in a completely fine state like this is enough to put you to peace and shoo him away for now. “...I slept through the entire day and forgot to shower.”

“...okay,” his lips pressed into a frown gradually bursts into a large grin plastered with second hand embarrassment. “While you kept nagging at me to ‘attend dance camp’ and pick up dancing again, which I so dutifully obliged to tonight, you hide yourself in the corner of your room and sleep the day away?”

“Oh, shut up. It's not like I'm an actual dancer like you—” you roll your eyes before stopping mid-sentence; was that too insensitive of you to say considering the struggles Hoseok seemed to be going through? Clearing your throat, you lift your head high and sigh, “so what’re you doing here? I thought you were busy thinking the night away.”

“Like I said, I'm on patrol tonight. Are you even listening to me or are you to busy fantasizing about all the things we could've been doing in my room right now?” he teases and gently knocks his knuckles on your head.

His entire demeanor had reverted to his usual self, and as concerning as it is to wonder whether this is all an act too painful to witness yourself, you're glad to see him joking around again, even if it's forced.

“No, that's the last thing on my mind, but I guess it's not the same case for someone here,” you roll your eyes.

In retaliation to your indifferent attitude, Hoseok leans against the doorframe with a scoff, pulling you back in as you pushed him out. “Like I said, Ms. I Like To Break Rules Because I’m Dating the Captain, you’re supposed to be asleep by now.”

“I’ll turn off my lights after I blow dry my hair, Mr. Ex Dance Captain—” you bite your tongue when you notice the twitch in his darkened eyes and hardened jaw “—I mean, I'm not dating you.”

At this point, you’re not even sure how to address his relationship with dance, if you should even do so at all.

“So, if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, giving him one last pressed smile and stepping back to close the door; but before you could do so, Hoseok swiftly juts a foot out to interevene, and a simple question ensues.

“What? You don’t want me here?”

All efforts to protest dissipate when he turns his head to face you and lets out a scoff in disbelief, eyes completely empty, and you nearly have to lean in to catch his next words.

“You’re always so cold to me,” he lets out a soft laugh and cracks the most reluctant of grins. “Why do I even bother being disappointed at this point?”

A few seconds of tense silence goes by before it occurs to you what he had just said.

For once, he actually cares about what you say? He’s taking your meaningless banters to heart?

“I’m turning off my lights now,” you frown at him, but his attention remains elsewhere, “isn’t that what you came here to do?”

“You really...” he scoffs and lifts his head, eyes piercing yours and opening the window to his souls; shaky, colorless, lost and infuriated by the calamity of the world before him, in the world you present him. “...do you really think I came here just for that? I could care less what time you sleep.”

“O-Okay…” you stutter; you know there isn’t anything to be hurt over, because what he’s saying has made you believe is of the utmost truth, but the unusually blunt implications of his disingenuity comes on all too harsh.

His constant switch in demeanor is all too confusing to keep up with tonight, and quite frankly, you don't know how to read him anymore, as if you ever could.

His lips part, words of apology ready to be uttered, and his eyes soften in worry for a swift second, but when the clock ticks twice, his jaw hardens the invisible wall built between the two of you.

And for the first time in a while, he’s actually acting like the infamous reputation he had been endowed; because he doesn’t apologize, and now your guts begin to twist and turn, wondering whether you had done something wrong.

Was he in a bad mood because of what you had seen just half an hour before? Should you confront him about it? Should you comfort him? Would words of encouragement even help? Is that what he’s asking for?

Is that the true reason as to why he’s here? Is he… asking for help?

“I’m here to check up on your ankle.”

His mumbling interrupts the internal war fared between two hidden motivations; defeat is all that reigns in the realm of tonight—you, unable to decipher his code, and him, unable to send you such codes.

The mention of your momentarily forgotten injury brings a crease between your brows, “my ankles are fine.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is for me, your highness,” he refutes with a pressed, unamused smile.

“But it really is fine—” you stop mid-sentence when you notice Hoseok taking a deep breath, chest struggling to rise while constricting the impatience and whatever else remains buried from within.

Please let me in, his eyes scream.

Your feet stumbles as they shuffle backwards, and in response, he takes one swift, large stride forward. The door shuts behind him, and suddenly, the room seems significantly more lackluster than before.

“What if someone sees us?” your fear translates into words.

“Should’ve worried about that earlier, don’t you think?” he flatly remarks, cocking his head to the side.

“...but,” you frown and shake your head, “what if they spread rumors about you entering my room?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes before returning the look of impertinence to you, “haven’t they already spread rumors about us? We literally made out at the pool last night. And who cares what they say? I’m tired of giving a shit about them. All it does is burden you.”

“Burden…” your mind subconsciously slips the words into formation when your eyes naturally trail from his gray sweatpants and up to his white tee where beads of water drip from his drenched bangs. “...hey, Hoseok, why haven't you dried your hair yet?”

He couldn't have possibly went out to practice again, could he?

“My hair…?” his brows cinch as his hands find their way to twirl the wet locks in between his fingers and his eyes light up before settling into a frown once again. “Ah… but first, why are you so concerned for me tonight?”

“Maybe because I was kind enough to let you in my room and that's the least you could do…?”

“But I’m the captain. I’m the one in charge,” he quickly quips. You can see the tip of his tongue running across the inner walls of his mouth from the protrusion of his cheeks and his hardened jaw, as if preparing for a fight. “So, technically, I do have the rights to be here, because you broke the rules. If you don’t want to see me, maybe you should turn off your lights next time.”

His sudden defense rubs you the wrong way when you scoff, “captain? Huh, funny, because I seem to recall a certain someone getting all pissed off at me because I begged them to come here in the first place.”

“What?” he asks in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at you.

“It’s really not that big of a deal. Why are you being so aggravated today? Are you scared to tell me the truth? That you’re playing around and checking in on me to pretend and act like you’ve been up hard at work all day? So you can continue playing around with me without having to hear me nag at you?”

You just want him to be honest with himself, and more so with you, and maybe you aren’t approaching it the right way, but you simply don’t understand how to fix the dent in Hoseok’s enclosed heart.

“What?” he repeats, the fury in his boiling blood exuding from his step forward and your step back. “I’m doing my job here, aren’t I? I’m guiding us through the camp, I’m teaching you guys how to dance, I’m even out here past midnight patrolling as a captain should! So how am I anything but a captain?”

Buzz, sneakers, collision, and buzz—the entire sequence washes onto shore once again from the back of your mind, blaring at you as if to tell you to back down.

He continues to take steps forward, forcing you to retreat backwards into the depths of your room.

“I didn't mean it like that…” you mumble, taking another step back until your heels hit the drawer and the back of your head bumps into the TV behind you.

Hoseok steps one intimidating stride forward, arms gripping at the drawer on either side of you and entrapping you in his field of control. He gives you one long, hard stare, and as uncomfortable as it is, something tells you there would be serious repercussions if you looked away.

“No, but it sure does feel like it and it confuses me,” he retorts lowly, “so tell me, Y/N, why are you so concerned for me all of a sudden?”

His watchful eyes and parted lips pray for the hopes that you had seen him, that he had finally found someone who knew the true him, but you don't want to and you can't possibly reopen his wound. You know it would hurt him all too much.

So you keep silent, just as he has all along

“...you’ll wake them if you yell any louder,” you mumble, looking off to the side in dejection.

But his warm hands cup the cold surface of your chin damp from your shower, turning you until your gaze has returned to meet his.

“Stop making excuses. You know they can't hear us,” he lowly utters. “What did you even think I was doing anyways?”

“I-I don't know. I was just asking what you’ve been doing. It’s not that hard of a question,” you mumble. “You can lie to me, even, if you want.”

“No,” he shakes his head, keeping his fingertips grazing against your chin. “I want to hear your guesses.”

You gulp, diverting from his piercing gaze, “I don't know…”

“You seemed to have a pretty good guess just a minute ago,” he narrows his eyes at you. “Just say it. I dare you to.”

I dare you to say it, but I doubt you can, because I doubt you even know, his leer screams.

“...maybe you had a girl over in your room or something…”

You know that's not the case, or at least you hope, but that's the most believable guess you could muster other than outright accusing him of his late night practices sessions.

“You think that I'd let another girl other than you into my room? Who do you take me for?” he scoffs, even chuckles. “Ah, you're too cute.”

He doesn't mean it, you tell yourself, you can't believe him and you can't fall for this specific trick because you know that's exactly what he wants to distract you from the pain hidden beneath that flirtatious crooked smile of his.

You frown, “quit playing and let me go...”

“Just one more question,” he laughs for a brief second, silence failing for a tense minute before finally asking in the lowest of voices, “can I kiss you?”

“W-What?”

“I mean, last time I was so congested and upset with these dark thoughts of mine that I forgot to even ask you for permission before I forced myself on you. Two elements of a great kiss are consent and surprise, remember? I think I got the surprise part down judging by the look on your face,” he smirks, but all you can do is stare at him in silence.

It's not like you're opposed to the idea of kissing him, per se, but you're against sharing such an intimate moment when you know he would just be using you like alcohol as a way to temporarily numb the pain.

But should you go ahead and let him? If something as trifling as this could even relieve him of the pain, should you give him what he wants?

“Are you… lonely? Are you upset over something? Can't I help you?”

Several seconds of silence passes by until you hear him chortle with a sigh, his arms dripping from your sides and releasing you from his grasp as he brushes by your shoulder and heads toward your bed. “I was just joking around with you. Don't look at me like that, it hurts me too, you know? I didn’t come here to argue anyways, ” he remarks, lightening up the mood. “I just forgot to dry my hair, that’s all. Do you have any snacks in your fridge?”

Nonchalantly, Hoseok plops onto your mattress without further permission, but all you could notice is the slight limping in his walk; if anyone else had watched his strides, including you from the past, no one would have suspected a thing, but now that you’ve discovered his secret, the uneven footsteps of his are all too glaring.

With his head against his hand propped by an elbow against one of your two pillows, Hoseok grins at you with an arched brow and a hand tapping on the sweatpants concealing the swelling of his leg.

“...no,” you finally answer, walking a few steps forward into the room to lean against the corner wall next to the lower side of your bed. You cross your arms and continue, “why would I bring food for a three night trip?”

“Ah, I forgot this is only for three nights. I see,” he nods, pursing his lips and turning to lie on his back with his head nestled into your pillow. The fingers of one of his hands drum against his stomach as the other props above his shoulders and under his neck.

The buzzing of your empty fridge stimulates you to memories you don’t want to revisit, but the overwhelming silence seems to be the motif of tonight and you just don’t know how to fix it; yet the longer he stares emptily into the ceiling above, the more curious you become.

“Hoseok?”

“Hm?” he hums without budging his eyes from the ceiling.

“What’re you thinking about?”

A few seconds pass by before he takes a deep breath and sighs loudly, his chest noticeably rising and sinking underneath his water-drenched tee.

“Truthfully, I actually came here after you left because I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone tonight. I was wrong to shut you out,” he confesses; but when you’re left staring at him in utter, shock, Hoseok finally breaks his gaze from the ceiling to meet your gaping expression with a chuckle. “It’s a joke, Y/N. I’m a lonely person, just like you said, remember?”

“Being lonely isn’t a joke…” you grumble, uncrossing your arms and walking over to gently seat yourself beside him in bed.

You’re expecting some teasing remark for supposedly joining him in bed, but what you don’t expect is what slips from his lips instead.

“Have you ever wanted something so bad that it’s all you come to know, but the second you get it, it turns out to be the only thing you can’t have? It just… it doesn’t love you back. I’m the only one trying at this point.”

“Like what…?” you hesitantly ask.

“Like you,” he swiftly answers, turning his head to shoot you a lopsided grin.

Everything comes crashing down into a full circle once it finally clicked for you: dance; dance is the unrequited love for Hoseok, and you were just one of the many replacements to allow him to forget what he had lost.

The thought irks you the wrong way, and as much as you want to console him, the teasing relationship you two have established does not exactly authorize for such a moment.

“But you never got me in the first place,” you snort.

Hoseok blinks blankly at your words before scoffing in disbelief, turning his head and smirking with the shake of his head, “go dry your hair before you get sick, you cold-hearted woman.”

“No, I can’t leave you unattended in my bed!”

“I won’t stay here overnight, alright,” Hoseok rolls his eyes while cracking a smile. “So stop worrying and go or you’ll get a cold.”

“Psh, fine,” you huff, getting up from your bed; but before you could depart to the bathroom, Hoseok’s hands grip onto your hands only to pull you back into bed beside him. You sigh, turning your back to glare at the blank look on his face, “do you want me to stay or not?”

“Y/N,” he ignores you and proceeds with his question, looking you straight in the eye, “what would you do if I said I still wanted to quit dance? If I said this entire trip only reminded me of why I hated it so much in the first place? What would you do?”

Your eyes grow wide; he’s practically asking you upfront about his inner true conundrums, and this time, you’re going to make things right again.

“I would support you no matter what. If dancing isn’t what you want, then I’m fine with it,” you answer. “I kissed you so you would come to camp. That’s all I bargained for, and that’s all I’m asking for.”

Hoseok stares at you for several seconds in silence before scoffing and tossing your hand to the side, “I came here for an answer, but now you’re just confusing me.”

“What?”

“Go dry your hair already. Your hands are cold,” he states, turning his head away from you. “I won’t be able to kiss you anymore if you get sick.”

Glaring at him from his back, you oblige to his demands and retreat to the safety of your washroom. While drying your hair, you spend all your time scrambling for something to say, to fill in the conversation, to keep you from the pounding white noise of sneakers and buzz, but most importantly, to keep him from the ill reminder of his downfall.

Yet, all is in vain, when you return to your room to find him asleep.

Sighing, you tiptoe your way to lie down in the bed right beside him. With your head cupped in your hands propped on the mattress by your elbow, you lean just a bit forward to catch a glimpse of his dozing expression. Only in his slumber is he relinquished of all worries. The crease between his brows has vanished, and the frown he had constantly worn in the corner of his lips had dissipated along with it. Finally, he is at peace and solace.

“You see, Hoseok, the thing about life is that it constantly challenges us to new obstacles… kind of like what you’re doing to me right now,” you chuckle to yourself and brush the fallen streaks of hair off his forehead and to his temples, “but you’re strong enough to overcome it, and as long as you have someone beside you the entire time, everything will turn out just right. You are loved, you just don’t know it.”

And with that, you lean in to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.

It’s the first time he ever failed to smirk after a kiss shared between the two of you.

With the official set of the sun ironically at the rise of dawn, an epiphany strikes you at 2 AM in the depths of your room where Hoseok lies asleep beside you.

Some secrets are meant to be kept hidden, some wounds are never meant to be revived; and so, instead of hurting and turning him away, you’ve agreed to be his sanctuary for just tonight.

Jimin [2:23 A.M.] Hoseok? No... he’s not supposed to be on patrol. I am.

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lifewouldbebetteronmars · 2 years

Text

Title from Boyfriend by Dove Cameron

Part of my TLH Tattoo Shop AU

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I Could Be A Better Boyfriend Than Him

The door dinged, alerting Lucie that someone had walked into the tattoo parlor. She looked up from her sketchbook to see her brother walking into the shop.

She perked up and ran to her brother, throwing her arms around him in a hug. The siblings had barely seen each other since Lucie had been hired at City of Ink, the tattoo parlor owned by her girlfriend’s brother and their mutual friends.

Lucie loved her new job, a lot more than she loved working at her brother and Matthew’s parlor.

And to make things better, Alastair’s shop happened to share a wall with Thomas’s hair salon. They totally did it on purpose, not that they’ll ever admit it.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” she squealed, letting go of her brother so he could look around.

James looked around with a blank look on his face, his golden eyes taking everything in.

“So, what do you think of le City of Ink.”

Lucie put on a faux-French accent as she spoke, hoping it would coax a reaction out of him.

“It’s nice, I guess.” he sounded almost bitter, to say the least. Maybe he wasn’t here to just “check on her”.

Lucie rolled her eyes. “Very helpful, Jamie. Very helpful.”

“Sorry.”

He clearly didn’t mean it, as he was still looking at the walls around him with unfocused eyes.

The silence surrounding them could’ve have been cut with a knife because of how awkward it was. James, standing still but his eyes watching everything, while Lucie watched him.

It took a few minutes before Lucie said something to break the awkward silence between them. “You’re not really here to check on me, are you?”

James finally looked over at her, his face still unreadable. No wonder Cordelia had always been so frustrated in their relationship when it came to his feelings.

“You’re an excellent detective, Lucie,” James had the semblance of a smile on his face as he said that. “you’re right. I’m not here to check on you.”

“Why are you here then? To scope out the competition?”

“That’s not it, Luce. That’s not it at all.”

“Then tell me why.”

James’s face flickered for a second, the mask briefly dropping. “I wanted to see Cordelia, okay? I know the salon is next door and I couldn’t think of an excuse to go see her so I thought I would visit you instead and hope that she stopped by.”

Wow. Lucie thought, staring at her brother, blue eyes blazing.

“That’s low, James. You know that she doesn’t want to see you, yet, you’re choosing not to listen. You’ve hit rock bottom now.” Her tone was icy and filled with a cold kind of anger.

How dare he? After everything he has put Cordelia through in the past few years, how dare he come here now and do this?

“Luce, I-”

“Don’t Luce, me. How can you have the nerve to do this? The audacity. After everything you have put Cordelia through, you still think she wants you?” Lucie took a breath before she continued on with her rant. “She’s done, James, she’s done with you, and your bullshit and your back-and-forth. Just leave her alone, James, just leave her alone.”

James was stunned silent as the bell dinged again, someone else walking through the door. Someone that both parties know very well.

Cordelia was looking down at her phone as she walked over to Lucie, her newly-dyed red hair hanging over her face as she did so. “Hey, sheereen-am, I brought you a coffee from the café. Tom and Alas are going to stay there a bit longer for lunch but I decided to come by and pick you up before your lunch ends.”

She looked back up with a smile on her face, which quickly faded when he eyes landed on her ex-boyfriend, who was standing in back of Lucie.

“James? What are you doing here?” Her dark eyes flickering between the two siblings.

“He was just leaving.” Lucie said before James could even say a word. She walked over to Cordelia and interlaced their hands, making sure that their wrists were visible. “Take a walk with me, my love?”

Cordelia nodded, her eyes cold and hard as she stared at James. “Let’s go, darling.”

She hoped that James didn’t miss the matching tattoos on their wrists.

Matching swords that showed their strength, but also their love and loyalty towards each other, two things James had clearly never had enough for for Cordelia.

And Lucie couldn’t help but be grateful for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I low-key hate the ending, it feels a little rushed but I hope it’s fine

These are Cordelia and Lucie’s matching tattoos by the way

I felt that the swords looked like Cortana, so that’s why I chose them

#the last hours #tlh tattoo shop au #lucie herondale #cordelia carstairs #lucelia #anti james herondale #anti jordelia #mentioned thomastair

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zv5x · 3 years

Text

Okay, I wanted this fic to be a thing for a while, but I just now got a good idea on what I wanted it to be about. So....enjoy, and if you want me to branch out on this AU in any way or have any other requests, just hmu! Always happy to do stuff for you guys! ♡

Yan!Poly Senpai & Spirit • Reader

( :̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

You shouldn't have done it. You tortured yourself by thinking of what your life could've been, as your slightly trembling hands gripped at your kneecaps. You really shouldn't have done it. You thought hopelessly to yourself as you glanced over at the PlayStation collecting dust in the corner. You scoffed, actually quite surprised that neither of them had disposed of it by now. You should have let them rot in that damn game. But, their pleas were just too...convincing. The way Senpai (the first one you met of the two) sighed and pressed his pixelated palms against the glass screen of the television, telling you that it was only a matter of time before the broken coding of the game they were in consumed them completely. At the time, you didn't want that. What sane person would? Senpai was, as far as you were concerned, a sentient being, and so was the other one of the two. As far they let you know, they were imprisoned cruelly and left to die. And, as tears pricked your eyes, and as those tears made the PlayStation look as if it was shining, you had a good feeling as to why they were put in there. You had a good feeling as to why that girl with the pretty red dress handed you the console and the game with such a pained and desperate look in her eyes, expressing her "guilt" towards whatever the game happened to inhabit. The game and the memories that came along with it are burned into your brain. The way the words "Hating Simulator" were scrawled so messily onto the game cartridge, the way the console was kept so well cleaned, like it wasn't nearly as old as it actually was. And of course, how could you ever cease to remember the game itself? The glitches, the cutesy music you could expect from a dating game like that one, the hours of dialogue you somehow sat through, all of it was forced into your brain so deep that you couldn't forget it no matter how hard you tried. You shouldn't have taken it, you thought. Things would be so much better for you if you just didn't do it. If maybe, just maybe, you smiled at her just like you did anyways, and trashed the console and went on with your life, then maybe your life would be a lot more brighter than it was. Maybe you wouldn't be sitting prettily on the couch waiting for your personal hell to pick up where it left off. Just like clockwork, both or just one if you somehow got lucky, Senpai or Spirit, would enter the house you were confined in, to "spend quality time with you". Just the thought made you sick. You, for whatever reason, put some of the blame onto yourself. How did you not notice the signs? The way Senpai would angerly confront you while he was still inside the game, all because you were an hour later to turning on the game than you said you would be, only for him to turn into a sickeningly sweet pile of putty as you explained the reasoning - you got too absorbed in trying to figure out a way to free him and Spirit, and lost track of time. You should have noticed it when you freed the two of them both, and their protectiveness increased tenfold. The way the two of them would almost be at each other's throats at first, arguing at who would get to spend the most time with you, before they eventually stopped fighting after seeing your fearful and tear soaked face. You should have noticed it when Spirit insisted on temporarily ditching his more humanized form in favor of the one he used in the Hating Simulator so he could hitch rides in your backpack, to accompany you to school and whatnot. The world was scary, he told you as he cupped your cheeks in his hands, and he wants to make sure not a single soul will be given the opportunity to harm you. Senpai even offered to enroll to the same college, but you turned down his offer. But, now that you think back on it, you wouldn't be shocked if Spirit and Senpai arranged for him to go anyways. Spirit had his ways, which he always bragged about like the sick bastard he turned out to be. You can remember it like it was yesterday, holding him in your arms as he was in his tiny spirit form. Placing him inside your backpack and giving him a gentle kiss on his forehead as he looked up at you.

This form, being a direct copy of his form of the Hating Simulator, held that same look of pixelated, twisted agony. But even still, you could tell he was looking up at you with pure love and adoration. He loved you, he wanted to make sure you were safe, you told yourself. Wasn't that cute? He really cared, didn't he? If only you knew. If only someone was there to really warn you. It was after you started bringing Spirit along with you, that everything started going dark. Since he was right there in your backpack, he could hear everything going on. All the laughs you had with your friends, all the interactions, everything you did with others, he saw as "too much". They were clearly flirting with you, or, they sounded too suspicious. You were lucky Spirit was there to make sure they didn't do anything to hurt you, they were clearly getting too comfortable around you! You brushed it off, as stupid as that was. You still loved him and Senpai dearly, so you made excuses for the both of them. Spirit just didn't understand human interaction, since he was a demon. He just didn't get it, but a little bit of empathetic explaining could do the trick. However, no matter how much reassuring you did, it just never soothed him. There was always something else. Something more. Senpai and Spirit started getting closer and closer. At first, you were glad. They've been through a lot together, and you knew they could be really good friends if they tried. You were happy for the two of them. But, you couldn't help but feel uneasy every time you entered a room and saw the two of them sitting together. Their bodies close and their voices quiet, only ceasing their speech as one of them was the first to notice you, smiling sweetly, a lip movement which the other soon copied. You smiled back, but even in that moment, you couldn't help but wonder if that smile was genuine or not. The arguments became more frequent. But, now, much to your own shock and dismay, it wasn't one against one as the third person watched in fear like before, it was two against one. You just didn't get it, they thought. You were so stubborn, so hopelessly brainwashed by mortal society. You couldn't see things their way because the world wouldn't let you. Of course, logically, you called bullshit. You had genuinely no clue what they were going on about. The people they were suspicious of, they were nothing more than acquaintances and friends. The brainwashing they claimed you were going through, was just you finally seeing through their lovesick bullshit. Alas, you just couldn't make them see the way things really were. Their little kinship became your downfall. And soon, they put the plan they were whispering about into action. You couldn't leave now, you had absolutely no chance against them. Not when you barely even put in the effort to figure out explanations for your friends and other loved ones strangely vanishing with only weak and unfounded excuses to explain their disappearances. Spirit and Senpai both had you trapped, mentally and physically. You sat in despair, wondering what things would be like if you took a left instead of a right that day, if you took a mallet to the damn console instead of giving those sick fucks any of your compassion and time. Soon, the door creaked open which interrupted your thoughts, but you were too broken mentally to even look up. "You alright, dear?" You weren't alright, but you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he got a response out of you. You could recognize his voice, it was Spirit. You especially hated him, he was far more agressive than Senpai. More demanding and possessive. Senpai was as well, but he was far more passive than Spirit was. Your eyes could see him crouch down to your level, but you refused to look up from your lap. Why give him the satisfaction? It will only make your situation worse in your eyes. You couldn't help but cringe as you felt Spirit's fingers grip the soft skin on your chin and lifted your head up to look him in the eyes.

"Still acting all upset, hm?" He mumbled to himself, looking at your features as if he was studying you. It made you want to vomit. He made you sick. Him and that prissy bastard Senpai. "Me and Sen have been trying so hard to keep you safe, (Y/N)...don't you think we deserve a little gratitude?" Spirit asked in a soft, comforting tone. You looked at him in disgust, anger coursing through your veins. That sick mother fucker. That sick bastard. You can only take so much of his delusional bullshit without rage building up in your entire body. How dare he? Does he and Senpai genuinely rationalize this as love? Murder, kidnapping, abuse and manipulation? Yeah, sure. Maybe in Hell this could be considered love, but not in any place you ever lived. Spirit continued on with his sick rambling, but his words fell on deaf ears. All you saw was a deep red, and you couldn't help but notice your body beginning to twitch. Looking back on it, you really shouldn't have done it. But, you couldn't blame yourself, and your body just couldn't allow yourself to refuse. The moment you felt yourself returning to your normal vision, your fist was already slamming into the middle of Spirit's face. He yelped, clearly not expecting the impact, and actually stumbled back slightly. Seeing him holding his tiny nose and seeing his chest rise and fall in a rapid motion, you then realized just how badly you screwed up. He's a demon, a simple punch from a mere human wouldn't do anything but anger him. And, anger him it did. The room was so silent that you could probably hear a pin drop, the air was heavy and cold. It was silent, completely so, until your ears picked up on what was the sound of a low growl coming from the entity you just punched in square in the nose. Fuck. Spirit slowly got up, resulting in you scrambling to the back of the couch cushion and sitting in the fetal position as your body trembled violently. It took him a few deep breaths to regain his composure, but when it did, it was arguably more terrifying than if he were to stand screaming at you in rage. Senpai did just that all the time, you were damn near completely used to it. "Well, we can't have you acting like that, can we?" Spirit sighed, his hand twitching as he once again felt his nose. You couldn't help but wonder, did he actually have cartilage in there? If so, did you break his nose? It seemed like you did, considering how Spirit was consistantly holding it as if to check it. Your thoughts were cut off, as he made his way towards you, grabbing you by your ankles and ripping away their protective shield for the rest of your body. He hummed, his eyes piercing your body like a hot blade. "Sen won't have to know about this if you're good for here on out, you wouldn't want him to join in. He'd probably be a lot less easy on you then I." You were about to verbally call bullshit once more, until your bodies nerves were stimulated in the most painful way you could possibly imagine. The last thing you could remember before everything went white, was your own agonized screams, and the psychotic giggles of a demon enraged. You shouldn't have done it. You really shouldn't have done it.

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hypmicdaydreams · 3 years

Text

"A kiss that is really a bet on a few yen"

-pairing: dice arisugawa x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

-summary: a game of pocky between you and dice becomes way too intense for its own good

-word count: ~4.2k

a bet, for nothing more than the couple of yen you had left, lying around in the empty depths of your pocket.

to anyone else, this was a downright ridiculous bet, one not even worth betting on in the first place. it was only a few yen, after all, not much to buy things from even the cheapest stores around. what could one even do with the three coins or so you had forgotten that you carried in the left pocket of your hoodie, all of varying monetary value? it wasn’t worth much if anything.

and yet, to dice, this seemed like just the opportunity he was waiting for. he was eager, a bit too eager for what was nothing more than money one spent on a singular yet small piece of candy from the nearest drug store, to get those coins from you. they were practically calling him. hell, it’d be worth more than what he currently had to his name, which honestly says more about him than you who had taken him up on the offer or even suggested the idea in the first place.

“let’s play,” you announced, placing the three or so coins in the center, right between where you and dice had been sitting and taking out a small box of pocky in the process. he only looked at you with curious eyes, a sort of glint in his gaze.

usually, dice never was one to play for cheap pocket change, which was a generous way of putting it given the amount you guys were betting on. such games were much too boring. there wasn’t enough excitement, no threat of losing everything in mere seconds looming over your head. dice didn’t care for losing or winning such small amounts of money here and there (well, most times when he wasn’t dead on broke that is) since they never did make or break his lifestyle. it was whatever, and winning it never did give him that same sort of thrill he got each time he hit a jackpot in the casino or won big. yeah, he may have won like...a few hundred yen? but what would that even do? such bets were of no interest to dice who sought out that specific sort of adrenaline, the life or death situation. there really was no better feeling than winning big after months of tireless effort and tries coupled with the fact that he may have even lost everything in an instant. betting on such small amounts could even be seen as some kind of an insult to dice who took his gambling quite seriously.

but this time around, whether it was due to his pure, undefeated boredom of being cooped in the house as of late or simply because he was betting against you specifically, dice felt compelled to play along and accept your offer. if he won whatever challenge you’d suggest, then he’d get those glorious one hundred yen coins with a few lint and loose yarn strands thrown in as a gratuitous gesture. truly a one of a kind prize. besides, dice couldn’t quite recall the last time he had made a bet with you, so even if this was so small and worth practically nothing, he was, nonetheless, excited at the prospect. see, betting and winning against someone he was close to was more fun than doing so in a casino, in a room full of strangers he’d probably never see again. he got to victoriously gloat over you, and seeing your crushed face of defeat would surely be worth it (this was all in a loving sense, of course).

“soo,” dice rubbed his hands together, a smirk much too mischievous for its own good playing on his lips. he really couldn’t wait to start. “how do ya’ play?”

“it’s simple, really,” you smirked back in retaliation, almost as if tempting him, able to read his thoughts and begging him to just try and win against you. honestly, this game was already getting too serious for its own good. it wasn’t a life or death situation. you were simply two dumbasses betting on three hundred yen for nothing more than entertainment.

you opened the box of pocky and took one out. “the name of the game is that two people hold on to the stick, one at each end, and they slowly inch forward. whoever breaks the stick first or lets go loses.” then you placed one end, the chocolate dipped one, between your lips, motioning for dice to do the same on the other end, well, unless he didn’t want to. all that meant is that he’d forfeit and you’d win back your yen, but more importantly, it also meant that you got to be the one to gloat about winning against the self-proclaimed gambler, the one who knew all the rules of the game, both inside and out. and that truly would feel glorious.

it was done purposefully, the fact that you left out the most crucial element to the pocky game, what made the pocky game the pocky game, rather notorious. you never did mention the fact that it’d surely end in a kiss if neither one of you wanted to let go, too stubborn to accept a loss, not that it’d take a genius to figure it out. you, however, had only wanted to fluster dice, which really wasn’t an easy task. you bet red would look so good on him, but alas, you’d never know. besides, it’d be quite funny to see his mind racing in real-time, words jumbled and sentences incoherent. that’d be a win in and of itself.

dice, however, quickly caught on to the memo. yes, he certainly was a dumbass at times, but not always. that was only a part-time job of his, next to being a full-time rapper and gambler. it didn’t take long for him to figure out your true intention. certainly you just wanted to kiss him, which you simply could’ve told him straight up. there was no need for this roundabout way (i told you, being a dumbass wasn’t his full-time job, but he still was one). jokes aside, he knew exactly what you had intended on given by that devilish smirk on your face. besides, the thought of a kiss with you wasn’t really the first thing that could fluster him, nor was it the last on that note. he simply didn’t think much of it.

and so, he gave a smirk back of his own, placing the biscuit end between his own lips and staring you in the eyes rather intensely, if only to intimidate you. and it certainly did work to some extent, not that you’d ever let dice know that. it was too late, however, as dice already saw the way your cocky smile faltered for less than a second, which surely only gave him an ego boost.

you began first as a sort of retaliation against the man you loved, irritated at the fact that he had the audacity to think he could win against you. so you took your first nibble forward, savoring the sweet chocolate taste between your taste buds. it tasted just as good as you remembered, but it’d taste even better with victory on the side.

then it was dice’s turn, who moved forward twice the amount you did, which surprised you and caused you to unconsciously break the stick, though it certainly wasn’t your fault, not at all! the sticks were honestly quite fragile, a bit too much in a way, and it was definitely unfair on dice’s end for him to move so quickly. if he did that, then the game would end right before it could even begin! and then where was the fun in that? sure, you’d get that kiss, but at what cost? at the cost of getting flustered and giving dice a reason to tease you? well, that wasn’t worth it at all then. it didn’t sound too pleasant, especially not for your ego.

“heh, that was too easy!” dice grinned, already beginning to gloat at his perceived victory, though he didn��t seem to eat the remainder of the stick.

“this time didn’t count,” you proclaimed, starting to feel the heat rush to your cheeks, whether it was from bewilderment or irritation, that you didn’t know. and it only worsened once dice shot you another cocky smirk, presumably one calling you a sore loser.

“you win some, you lose some.”

“i shouldn’t be hearing that from you of all people.” you could only roll his eyes at his continued teasing. ugh, such a child, not that you’d act any better if you were in his place. well, this wasn’t going according to plan at all. “you’re not even supposed to take big bites. that’s unfair! and against the rules actually.”

at this, dice certainly did look a bit confused and perhaps even somewhat spooked. against the rules? he had never heard of that, though then again, he never did hear about the pocky game until you brought it up a few moments ago. this was all your own doing, however, grinning as you finally got dice where you wanted him, confused and at your mercy. in fact, you didn’t know if it actually was against the rules or not, or if there even were official rules in the first place. you simply didn’t want it to end this fast, to lose your couple hundred yen, but more importantly, to lose to dice of all people. if that made you a sore loser, then so be it. your pride was on the line (a bit much, eh?).

“yep, so we gotta play again, and this time,” you pointed the stick at him, almost in a threatening-like manner, only furthered by the fact that he had an all too guilty look on his face, “you better play fair and not take big bites.”

“y-yea’”

you grinned, “good.”

and so, you took the stick, placing the chocolate end once more between your lips; it was the more delectable part after all. dice quickly did the same to the other end, and the game began once more, this time the two of you concentrating a lot more than before for whatever reason. those coins of yen were looking really nice right about now.

almost like déjà vu, you took the initiative once more and got the first nibble, inching in closer to dice who seemed to pay no mind to you but rather focusing on the stick that was the only thing separating you two. hm, was this a sign that he was growing flustered? that’d surely be a welcome surprise, a delight if you will. i mean, he wouldn’t even look you in the eye right now, so that must be the reason. alas, you knew that that most likely wasn’t the reason, though it certainly was tempting to imagine.

dice responded by inching closer as well, this time actually taking smaller bites than before, ones almost the same size as yours. this particular game was turning out to be a delight already, even if you could feel the heat rush to your face once more for whatever reason. you had been the one to suggest the pocky game to dice in the first place, so why were you the one getting all flustered now that his face was slightly closer to yours while he wasn’t? in fact, he didn’t seem to be showing any emotion, well, other than the typical aloof grin he had on and that oh so adoring gaze. ugh, why did he have to be kinda cute this up close? that was an understatement, however.

trying your best to brush those thoughts away, you nibbled the next bite, trying to calm your beating heart so that dice wouldn’t be able to hear it, if that was even possible. perhaps it would be considering how loud it sounded to you right at this moment. and it only increased in intensity as dice also took the next bite forward.

you felt as if you were reaching your limit, as if you were going to break away from the stick and end the game, losing not only your money but your pride as well after having boasted to dice about how you’d most definitely win against him. you hated, absolutely despised, the very thought of that happening, but you also didn’t know if you could keep this up. at this rate, even if you won, dice would almost certainly tease you about how embarrassed you got and how loud that heartbeat of yours was, so loud one could hear it from space even. so who would be the true winner of this?

thankfully and fortunately on your end, before you could break away, dice did so first, eating up the rest of the stick with that same grin on his face that you had undoubtedly fallen for after being exposed to it for the hundredth time. it only seemed to grow cuter with each passing moment.

“h-hey!”

you didn’t even know why you had said that in the first place, sounding somewhat disappointed that the game had ended so soon. you had won. now the yen was all yours and the permission to rub it in dice’s face, and yet, you somehow found yourself hoping that it’d drag on for just a bit longer. did you possibly want to kiss dice? to have dice kiss you, to feel his lips against yours? even if this wasn’t your first kiss with dice, you still found yourself longing for his touch much more than usual right now. it was an unexplained phenomenon, one that you couldn’t even begin to explain. all that you knew was that you wanted to kiss dice, and badly at that.

however, you, of course, didn’t want to accept that, especially not in the middle of such an intense gambling match. so you tried your best to hide these feelings, this sensation of being too touch starved for your own good, by staring at dice in a rather angry manner, or at least, the angriest you could muster. in all honesty, it was more of a teasing and fun glare, but a glare nonetheless.

“ah, sorry.” dice sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, an action that you found too cute for words, one that was as such that your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat, all the blood and heat rushing to your cheeks, the sensation you had in your arms and legs leaving. now really wasn’t the best time for your love for the man to flare up yet again. but...perhaps you’d consider hearing this apology out. “i wondered what they tasted like, so i wanted to try one.”

hngg...fine, you’ll accept his reasoning.

but just this once!! of course. you’d never want to give him the benefit of the doubt, to give him second chances just because you were fond of him. pfft, that was such an utterly ridiculous thought. that’d never be the reason. it was only because you didn’t want the game to end right then and there, to win your yen back so easily. besides, if one thought about it more, it was technically a tie. you had broken the stick on the first run-through of the game, and now on the second, it was dice. technically speaking, neither one of you won or lost. only a third and final game would determine that.

“fine.” it was nothing more than a mutter, a soft one at that. you didn’t know where all that confidence and charisma you had at the beginning had gone. it must’ve vanished somewhere after all. things simply can’t disappear out of thin air, at least, without turning into something at first. first law of thermodynamics after all. “but if either one of us breaks away, then i win by default.”

“oi! that’s not fair!!-”

you suddenly cut him off by shoving the biscuit end of yet another pocky stick in his mouth, which prompted him to shut up completely. much better.

“oh hush you.”

smirking once more (something you guys seemed to be doing a lot of in this game) at the sight of his pout, you took the chocolate end between your lips once more, this time even more determined to get your kiss from dice um uh i mean to win the bet. yeah, that’s totally the end goal here, not some measly kiss. where did that idea even come from? there was no way you possibly could want to feel dice’s lips on yours, not how they seemed to fit perfectly, how soft they felt, how...surprisingly good he was at kissing. he was quite good, even if he did use his tongue a bit too often, but it still felt nice, especially when he licked your lips, a sensation that you couldn’t even describe, simply reminiscing in that electrical-like feeling.

wait, no!! that was beside the point. don’t lose focus. the main thing here was to win against dice and prove to him that you were a much better gambler than he was. forget the fact that this was some dumb betting idea you had come up with, you only wanted to show off to him. that was what you planned on from the start anyway. kissing dice was only in place for you to win. that was the objective of the pocky game after all. it did end up in sweet, chocolate-filled kisses, but that was the fun of it. really, all that mattered was winning, or at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

shaking your head free from any of those...intrusive thoughts, you focused on the fragile little edible stick in front of you, trying your hardest to ignore the attractive man named dice who so happened to also be in front of you.

what a complete coincidence, i know.

for one final time, you took the initiative once more, moving forward just a bit but nonetheless noticeable. the chocolate on your tongue no longer tasted that good; rather, it felt nothing more than something that you were tasting. it was alright at best right now, though perhaps that was because you were craving something a bit sweeter this instant.

dice moved in closer as well, still seeming as nonchalant as ever, well, as nonchalant as dice could get in the first place.

the two of you continued on like this, worming in closer, able to feel your breaths against each other, but also concentrating on not breaking the stick that was undeniably shrinking by the second. this was the farthest you’d actually ever gone in a game of pocky, so of course, you were starting to feel the heat, in more ways than one might i add.

you were so close, so close to victory. you could practically taste it, and no, that wasn’t the melted chocolate on your tongue. yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to continue. the only thing on your mind right now was the thought of kissing dice, of connecting your lips and capturing his own in a sweet and passionate kiss. gosh, you just wanted to kiss him already, to feel him underneath you, to simply feel his touch and warmth. you couldn’t wait any longer honestly; you were growing more and more impatient.

yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to close the gap, to seal the deal and win once and for all. taking the initiative at the end and kissing dice on your own terms? now that was much too embarrassing. it was difficult to think straight right now, to think of anything that wasn’t how good it’d feel to kiss dice. your heartbeat could be heard all the way in your ears, and it was getting much too hot in here, almost suffocating to a degree. you didn’t know if you could handle this warmth anymore, or if you could handle the growing uneasiness and antsy feeling that you were experiencing right now. geez, being this close to dice, seeing him all serious and the like, in the element as when he is while gambling, it was all too flustering.

but just as you were about to break away, to give in and throw in the towel, deciding that gaining bragging rights simply wasn’t worth it in comparison to being flustered when the two of you eventually kissed, dice did what you least expected him to do despite you knowing full well the extent of his spontaneity.

dice closed the gap between you guys, kissing you deeply and finishing the remainder of the pocky that was left hanging in your mouth.

it was a sloppy and wet kiss, rather characteristic of dice as a person as well. his kisses seemed to always encapsulate this sorta feeling, not that you minded all that much, however. it was also a bit rough, though not a lot, only a bit to give it some excitement, not that this scenario could be any more exciting than it already was. and mixed in with the sweetness of the now melted stick and chocolate, the kiss only felt and tasted even better. gosh, this was beyond your expectations. this was way better than what you had imagined in the first place. and right at this moment, you forgot all about the bet, if only for a few seconds, and relished in this kiss. it truly did feel a lot like dice, even if the only reason he kissed you was for a bet for a couple hundred yen. right now, you didn’t care, though when he pulled back, you’d certainly have a much different expression.

“damn,” he muttered, wiping the remaining chocolate around his lips (the one that came from your very own mouth given that deep kiss he just gave you) with his finger and then proceeding to lick it, a rather attractive and hot action mind you, though perhaps you only felt that way because you too felt quite hot right now. “that is good.”

you didn’t even have the guts or the correct mindset to fire back at him, to come up with a good comeback. you could only sit there, a flustered and bewildered expression as you try to come to terms with what had just happened. you wiped your now wet mouth with the back of your sleeve, only feeling the butterflies once more as you saw a few light chocolate stains on it once you pulled away. what...just happened?

“heh, don’t mind if i do.”

dice paid no mind to you as he scooped up your yen from the floor, tossing them in the air a couple of times simply to hear that beautiful clash of metal that he oh so dearly loved. it was one of his favorite sounds after all. but how could he be so nonchalant about this? how could he turn away and look at the coins, sparkle in his eye, right after he gave you a deep kiss out of the blue, as if it required almost no thought out of him? gah, this was particularly frustrating. all this time, the thought of kissing dice was the only thing clouding your mind, the only thing that you could think of that wouldn’t dare leave your head. hell, you even began doubting if you were strong enough to carry out the bet you suggested in the first place! yet, here was dice, thinking nothing of the kiss you had longed for, for so long too (at least, it felt like it). it was only natural to get annoyed.

“hey-”

“oh no,” he cut off, assuming what you were going to say already, even though it was far from correct. “i won this fair and square. i played by your rules too.”

it was a small giggle that erupted from you, one that you couldn’t suppress given how cute it seemed that dice got all defensive over some yen you could find lying on the floor of some convenience store or parking lot. he really was a dumbass, but so were you to an extent. dice really was too cute, and you couldn’t stay mad at him for too long, not like this anyway. he could be a bit airheaded at times after all, and you knew that that kiss really wasn’t supposed to mean much, especially not when it was only because of a bet. really, you were feeling too many emotions at that moment, and perhaps it’d be best for you to rest as of now. this had been quite the rollercoaster, from start to finish.

you took out another pocky stick and began snacking on it, staring at dice rather adoringly as he, just as promised, began boasting about how awesome he was to have won, not that it required much effort in the first place. he was dice, after all, the most notorious of gamblers here in shibuya. every casino must’ve known of him by now, and not because of the fact that he was sort of a popular figure around here. honestly, right now, you didn’t even care that he was bragging, simply content, albeit embarrassed, at the outcome of the game that you had suggested in the first place.

pocky did taste a bit sweeter now with this memory fresh in your mind.

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shadowhannibad · 3 years

Text

TIRED

I’ll start by saying that I hate that I’m doing this. I did not want to give these people more of my time and attention, but alas, there’s only so much public bashing and vagueblogging a person can take. The infamous lazaefair has composed a list containing the ao3 ID user numbers of twelve people, made up of writers and artists, to be blocked “due to recent events”.

I’m in the list. My ID user number is 8779004: ClaritaWinter. Now that you know this, does it make it easier for you to block me? “Oh, of course that racist cunt is there! Block on sight!” or does it make it a little harder? “Oh, I’ve read a few of her works and I enjoyed, damn, what should I do now?”

Regardless of your answer, this situation is disgusting. The list is being seen by some as just a helpful way for people who want to curate their fandom experience, but since you can’t actively search the people on that list, you will have no idea who’s content you are “protecting” yourself from. Some of the people in that list have never written porn. Some of them have never drawn porn or anything remotely close to it so far. Others have written 20k+ fics solely focused on Joe that will be immediately dismissed for the simple, small and (what should be) irrelevent detail that Joe topped in it or it was written by an author who commonly writes topJoe (yes, the trend of using top/bottom as “the rule of the thumb” to assess how racist is a a fic continues).

What I’m gonna say here is pretty much obvious but... do not outsource your opinions. You can check those people and decide that yes, the content they create is not for you and this case, by all means, block them, make your experience online better. But don’t do something just because someone told you to, not without proper context, especially when that person has proven time and time again how malicious her intents are. Lazaefair is not an authority on fandom racism. She does not get to decide or to tell you which works are racist and what aren’t. Or which ones are intentionally harmful or unintentionally fall under racist stereotypes. She does not get to sanction how a person should write Joe based on her whims, morals, her personal experience that isn’t of a MENA gay man.

Every talk about representation and racism in this fandom always gets warped back into the top/bottom narrative to the point, and that weakens their own argument. Joe-centric fics now are only bottom Joe fics, then? TopJoe isn’t racist in itself, as they keep saying, but if you’re looking for racist trends in fics, well, then the topJoe tag is where you should begin. Are you serious? And you still don’t want people to perceive this as a top/bottom discourse? Or as policing? Every action that they take contradicts their own words.

I’m only naming lazaefair here because she was the one who made the blocklist (and other redundant, pathetic list as well), but I know there are plenty of other vocal perpetrators that have backed her up since… July 2020. That’s right, since July. I’m not going to name them in this post because they haven't attacked me directly as she has done it, so cowardly, twice.

I started writing fanfiction in January, 2021. TOG is literally the first fandom I have ever written for. English is my second language, I’m not a professional writer and my fics are usually short, around 3k. All of my fics have been TopJoe. All of them, without exception. I’m not ashamed of that, and I am aware this puts a target on my back in this fandom, but I ask you, do your own research, go through my fucking ao3 first and see for yourself. If you still think my content isn’t for you, at least it’s your choice.

If I hadn’t been so used to the general mess that this fandom is, this could’ve broken me. I’m still very, very insecure about my writing and I’m always surprised that people take their time to read what I write at all. In case people think that the members on that list shouldn’t be offended, here’s what this list is pretty much saying: These authors and artists are racists because they write/support top!Joe content. They’re dangerous. Protect yourselves.

How in the fuck am I not supposed to take this personally and not be pissed off? Tell me, how?

I’m not saying I might not have reproduced racist stereotypes in my writing. I am a human being living in a racist, cisheteronormative, capitalistic society, so yes that’s a possibility. Even though I always try to be mindful about giving Joe dimensionality and not to make his sole character revolve around Nicky (of course, some of my fics are just porn and neither one of them have much in terms of dimensionality so, well). But do I deserve to have my user put in a list that is telling others that my porn is a danger to society?

It’s also very interesting that this is blowing up right in the middle of a fun event that the TopJoe server is running and decided, for the first time, to open it to the general public.

If you have made up your mind about me based on other people’s opinions, I literally don’t have anything else to say to you. If you don’t, I will just ask you this: Don’t outsource your critical thinking. Don’t go after someone without knowing their side just because SJW #3 said you should. Do your research.

But you don’t get to tell me how I should feel about that list. It’s not your ID in it. It’s not you that have had your views and words turned into something ugly by someone whose sole purpose seems to be to drive every person with a topJoe preference out of this fandom. It’s not your friends having anxiety attacks right now. You do not get to do that.

Last but not fucking least, if you are a “mary-go-with-others” (as we say here in Brazil) then yeah, fucking block me, I don’t want weak-minded people around me.

#the old guard #tog #joe x nicky #immortal husbands #kaysanova #nicky x joe #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #fandom discourse #discourse

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twistedlymad · 4 years

Note

Hi!! I really love your Twisted Wonderland stories!! They make so happy!! I love the way you write the characters! If you’re still taking requests could I plz have a story of MC and the gang playing truth or dare where Grimm asks MC if she has a crush on anyone to get at the boys? And MC won’t tell so the boys try everything they can to see who she likes? I leave the ending in your hands! I understand if you won’t accept this request but if you do then I’ll be so happy!! Ok thanks YOUREAWESOME!!

Okay, let’s settle something first. And that is: I am NOT awesome.

You guys are the true awesome ones! You guys have so many ideas! My inbox is filled with requests of which I never knew could happen! Thank you all <3

Also, I have never fully immersed myself into a game of truth and dare :’) And now I’m writing a story on something I’ve played but not full heartedly. The irony is strong :’)

Thank you for requesting this story! I do hope it lives up to your expectations! Thank you again and have a lovely day!!

What if you played Truth or Dare? (Ft. Grim, Ace, Deuce, Sebek, Jack and Epel) (Riddle, Vil, Lilia and Ruggie are mentioned)

“Fgnaaaaa (Y/N), I’m bored.” Grim said while laying on your lap. You and him were doing your homework in your dorm.

“I know, but, when we finish, we can go out and meet up with the others. I’ll even throw in a can of tuna or two. How does that sound?” You said, trying to coax the furball into doing his homework.

“When you put it that way!! Fgnaaaa!” And the furball was more excited to do his work. You gave him a head pat and continued on your own work.

After about an hour or two, you two had finished your homework. You sighed and closed your book, you turned to see Grim dozing off to dreamland. You shook your head, giggling and gently nudged him awake.

“Come on you furball, it’s almost time to get dinner, we don’t want the others to worry about us right?” You said, picking Grim up and placing him on your head. Grim yawned a little before going to sleep on your head.

You had a nice little walk to the crowded cafeteria, when you arrived, you saw your friends sitting at a table not far from you. They were chatting with smiles on their faces while you went and grabbed yours and Grim’s food. After doing so, you went over to the table where your friends were sitting and sat yourself down.

“(Y/N)!!” The others called for you and you just shushed them. They were puzzled until you pointed to the sleeping furball on top of your head. They looked at each other before nodding and snickering. You smiled and slowly set the sleeping furball down on your lap and took a bite out of your dinner.

“So, how is everyone doing?” You asked your friends and multiple groans were heard.

“Riddle made me feed the flamingos wearing pink again today!!” Ace said with a sigh.

“I had to change the color of roses in the garden to white for the whole day.” Deuce said, taking a sip out of his drink.

“Ruggie-senpai dragged me around the whole school looking for Leona-senpai… Turns out he was sleeping in a tree at Main Street. I wasted a whole afternoon doing that.” Jack said.

“Hah! You guys don’t even know what is true hardship. Vil and Rook taught me on ‘fine dinning’ and ‘proper table manners’ the whole day! I don’t get it! IT’S FOOD SO YOU SHOULD JUST EAT IT.” Epel said, the last part in anger. You patted him gently as a gesture to calm him down.

“Malleus-sama was nowhere to be found when school ended, so me and that stupid Silver spent the entire day searching for him. We could’ve been done earlier if that human wasn’t so slow. I can’t believe he can let Malleus-sama out of his sight!” Sebek said.

“Ehh? Didn’t you also let Malleus-senpai out of your sight?” Epel asked the Diasomnia first year. The latter froze a little.

“N-No. Malleus-sama’s class wasn’t near mine at all today. It’s clearly that human’s fault.” Sebek said.

“Sebek, I’m sure Silver-senpai didn’t mean it. It’s just that Tsu- I mean, Malleus-sama likes taking walks around the school without anyone knowing, right?” You said, in hopes of calming down your friend.

“Hmm… Maybe you’re right, but still-” Sebek tried to argue but you cut him off.

“Sebek, it’s alright, mistakes happen all the time, let it go.” You said and sent a smile to him.

“A-Alright.” Sebek said, going back to his meal.

“You know what? Since you all had such a terrible day, let’s do something after dinner to clear your minds of it!” You suggested to your friends, their eyes lit up after you’ve said so.

“Yea!! But, what should we do?” Ace asked.

“How about a game?” Deuce said.

“What game?” Jack immediately asked. The 6 of you were brainstorming until Epel decided to speak up.

“How about Truth or Dare?” The Pomefiore first year piped up. You all took looks at each other before nodding.

“Sounds fun!” Ace said with a smirk.

“I’m in.” Deuce said, taking a bite out of his dinner.

“W-Well, it is just a game… I guess I’ll join since I have nothing better to do.” Jack said, his ears drooping slightly.

Alas, the only one who didn’t give a response was Sebek. So, you, Ace and Epel looked at him with the most adorable puppy eyes the 3 of you could muster. Jack was slightly confused but he has a gist of what you all were trying to do. Sebek looked at the 3 of you, his face slightly paling.

“W-Wha-“ Poor Sebek couldn’t even finish asking before you cut him off.

“Join our game Sebek!” You pleaded.

“It’ll be fun! We promise!” Ace continued after you. After the two of you had said this, you, Ace and Epel bombarded Sebek with the word ‘please’ over and over again.

“F-FINE! STOP YOUR PLEADING!” Sebek said, finally caving in to you, Ace and Epel’s chants of ‘please’. The three of you high fived each other and did a little cheer. Your cheering just so happened to wake Grim up from his nap.

“Fgnaaaaa…. What’s wrong with you people? Can’t you let a monster like me take a good nap for once?” Grim said as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. You giggled and petted Grim.

“Sorry Grim, but we were just excited! We’re playing truth or dare later.” You said, running your fingers through the creature as if you were to groom him.

“Truth or Dare? What’s that?” Grim asked you. You let out a small gasp.

“Grim… You… You don’t know what’s Truth or Dare?” You asked back the creature. He looked at you tiredly and shook his head.

“It’s like, the most common game ever to play with friends! You must’ve heard of it before!” Ace said to the furball.

“No, I have never heard of such game.” Grim replied the orange-haired student with a yawn.

“Well, you can see us play around before joining in later.” You said, handing him a can of tuna. “I remember owing you this.” The furball’s eyes lit up with sparkles.

“Fgnaaaaaaa!! Yes!!!!” Grim did a little happy dance and started to work his way into the can.

“So, where are we going to play later?” Sebek asked you all.

“Not Heartslabyul.” Ace said. “I cannot imagine enjoying the game with Riddle there.”

“Not Savanaclaw either. We can’t have a peaceful moment to ourselves there.” Jack said, shaking his head.

“Definitely not Pomefiore, unless you want our game session to turn into a makeover session.” Epel added on.

“Diasomnia isn’t the best option either. I’m pretty sure Lilia-senpai would interrupt us constantly.” Said Sebek.

“Well, I guess that just leaves my dorm right?” You said, laughing a little. “Then it’s settled then! We’ll have a small game session at Ramshackle Dorm. Now, hurry up and finish your dinner guys.” You ordered the boys as you finished your own dinner.

When they did, you all walked back to your dorm together, along the way, you guys had a nice little chat about what Professor Trein’s homework and how Lucius has a big influence on the class. The cat couldn’t help but meow at the end of each of the professor’s sentence. Ace even made fun of Deuce who meowed along once because he was half asleep then. When Deuce tried to defend himself by saying it was actually Lucius who made the sound and not him, Ace fired back at him saying that he was literally looking at him while he made the sound. Poor Deuce immediately turned red as the rest of you laughed. It’s okay, you comforted him after laughing for almost a minute.

Soon after, you arrived at your humble Ramshackle Dorm. You let everyone into the lounge and you guys started to discuss about the game that you were going to play. You guys decided to draw sticks to see who will go first. In the end, you had drawn the longest stick therefore you would start the game first.

“Alright then, let’s begin! Epel, truth or dare?” You asked your first victim and so the madness had begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a few rounds of Truth or Dare, you had ended up with Epel being punished to wear a pink dress and his hair was in an up-do. Ace and Deuce had been punished to switch places, their personalities, the marks on their eyes and even their clothes had been switched. Jack was dared to have makeup on his face, from mascara to lipstick, you name it, beauty products littered everywhere on his face, his tail was in a big braid as a dare. Sebek’s whole body was covered in glitter, everytime he moved, glitter would flutter off from his body, he was also punished to speak in hushed tones.

Yeah, let that sink in.

And for you, you just had to be in an uncomfortable pose. You were feeling pretty sore too, who would’ve thought you would have to do the game standing up with only one leg supporting you while one of your hands were stuck to your waist and the other on top of your head. This was a dare made by Sebek out of all people, and you can only leave the pose when someone else calls out your name. So, yeah, you were ABSOLUTELY SORE.

“I think I know how to play this game now!!” Grim suddenly yelled out.

“Final- I mean, good for you Grim! I have to be nice to everyone if I want to be an honor student!” Ace said to Grim, mocking Deuce who was clearly irked by this.

“Fgnaaaaaa! Why wouldn’t I know how to play? I am The Great Grim after all!!” Grim laughed out.

“Well, I guess you should get a turn, go on then, pick a student and ask them Truth or Dare.” Epel said.

“Hmmm… (Y/N) then!” Grim looked at you and you finally collapsed onto the ground.

“Thank you Gri-“ You were cut off by the furball.

“Truth, or Dare?” You looked at him with widen eyes.

“Hmm… I’m never doing dare again… So, truth!” You said, not moving from your position at all because you were too tired.

“Alright, Truth eh?” Grim said, putting a paw underneath his chin to make it look like he’s thinking of something. After a few seconds of ‘thinking’ the furball had come up with the question.

“I got it!!” Grim yelled. “Who do you have a crush on in this school?” Everybody froze.

Grim, no, you just… You just started a war.

“Hey! How about I switch okay? I choose Dare instead!!” You frantically yelled out.

But Grim already made up his mind.

“Alright then, I dare you to tell us your crush.” Grim said to you and your eye twitched. You got to hand it to the furball, that was one smart move.

“Argh! NO! I won’t say anything!” You said, crossing your arms and turning away from your friends.

“Hey! You didn’t let me do anything else than wear this stupid dress!” Epel argued with you.

“Guys, guys, no. If (Y/N) is acting so defensive, it must mean she has a crush.” Ace said. The boys looked at you while you slowly shrunk yourself.

“(Y/N), it is a dare.” Jack barely said for his face was too heavy with the amount of makeup on.

“Yeah (Y/N) come on, tell us! I as the troublemaker need to know because I’m dumb!” Deuce said, mocking Ace.

Truth be told, the boys treated each other like enemies when Grim asked the question as they each wanted to be your ‘crush’, they knew that everyone had spent their fair share of time with you and you must have a favorite, right?

So, with what Deuce had said, it seemed like a direct attack to Ace. And let me tell you, Ace was not happy at all.

“HEY! I HAVE BETTER GRADES THAN YOU!” Ace fired back to his dorm mate.

“SO?! IT’S NOT LIKE YOU’RE SMART IN YOUR EVERYDAY CHOICES!” Deuce yelled back.

“GUYS STOP.” Sebek said, getting in between them.

“Fine! Just because I don’t want to be covered in glitter as well.” Ace said.

“Hmph! Me neither!” Deuce said.

“Wait… Where’s (Y/N)?” Epel asked out. Everyone turned to where you sat only to find air there.

You see, while everyone was busy watching/stopping the fight between Ace and Deuce, you had sneakily taken off and ran straight for your dorm’s front door.

“(Y/N)!!! YOU CAN’T ESCAPE!!” Epel yelled as he and the others started to run after you.

“NO! FREEDOM IS NEAR!” You yelled and opened the door and ran out of it. As you just left your dorm’s front yard, you saw the boys were already on their way chasing after you. Grim was also with them but he had a spot on Deuce’s shoulder.

So, you ran, with a bunch of ridiculously looking boys on your tail.

“Guys, we should circle her instead, so, split up!” Sebek told his friends. The others nodded and branched off. You turned your head to see only Sebek running at you at full speed. You gulped slightly before picking up your pace.

“(Y/N)! This could’ve been easier if you’ve just did the dare!” Sebek yelled at you.

“Over my dead body!!” You shouted back and took a sharp left at the end of a hallway, leading you to Main Street.

But when you arrived, you saw something pink slowly walking towards you. You widen your eyes as you realized that it was Epel in front of you. You turned your head to the left to find Jack slowly approaching you from that side. Your right was being approached by the two Heartslabyul boys so escaping from there isn’t an option. You also felt a presence behind you and you already knew who it was.

And with that, you were trapped. Escape was impossible then.

Or so you thought.

“Now, (Y/N), be a good little student who accepted a dare and tell us…” Ace said smugly.

“Yeah, no backing out (Y/N).” Deuce continued. You were overwhelmed.

“F-Fine! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” You said, covering your blushing. The boys all thought you looked adorable in that state. Could you blame them? You were looking all flustered and red and adorable while hiding her blushing face. Nothing could stop them from blushing slightly as well.

“Okay…” You said, taking a deep breath. The boys leaned in to you, wanting to hear more of your slightly trembling voice.

“My crush is-“

Ah, you were cut off. By a few voices actually.

“ACE! DEUCE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IS IT?!”

“EPEL! IS THAT YOU?! WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE EVIL QUEEN ARE YOU WEARING?!”

“Jack!! I need your help back at Savanaclaw!! Leona isn’t helping me!!”

“My oh my, if it isn’t Sebek, you know, Malleus would be disappointed.”

Yes, two dorm leaders and two vice dorm leaders were slowly walking to your group.

“Dorm Leader Rosehearts!” Ace and Deuce yelled to a red-looking Riddle.

“You two! It’s already curfew! If you don’t get back to your dorm in the next five minutes… IT’S OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!” Ace and Deuce’s eyes widen and ran at full speed to their dorm.

“Bye (Y/N)!! We’ll see you tomorrow!!” Ace and Deuce said as they ran back to Heartslabyul with Riddle following behind them, but of course Riddle walked slowly instead.

“EPEL!!!” Vil had yelled for his first-year. Epel let out a small groan before turning to look at Vil.

“What?” Your friend responded to his dorm leader.

“What in tarnation are you wearing?!” Vil questioned.

“Are you blind? It’s a dress.” Epel said with a straight face.

“Don’t make me slap you again. Come, we must go back to Pomefiore and get you out of this horrible outfit.” Vil said and dragged Epel away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow (Y/N).” Epel managed to say while being dragged back to his dorm by Vil.

“Jack! Didn’t you hear what I said?!” Ruggie was approaching Jack. “I told you that- HAHAHAHAHAHA WHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOUR FACE?!?!” Ruggie couldn’t help himself as he turned Jack around only to be greeted with a makeup filled face.

“Yeah, yeah, you need my help right? Let’s just go now.” Jack said, dragging a laughing hyena upperclassman with him. “Bye (Y/N).” Said the wolf to you.

“My… Sebek… What a sight to see you like this.” Sebek froze for a good few seconds before turning around.

“Lilia-sama…” Sebek muttered in a low tone.

“I wonder how Malleus would react to this.” Lilia said and Sebek’s eyes widen.

“N-NO, MALLEUS-SAMA MUSN’T KNOW!” Sebek yelled.

“Then, I suggest you better hurry back to your dorm before he catches you.” Said Lilia with a small smirk on his face.

“We will meet again tomorrow (Y/N)!” Sebek said before rushing back to his dorm.

“Bye (Y/N)~” Lilia said to you before going back to his dorm himself.

After everyone were gone, you let out a breath you didn’t even knew you were holding.

“Fgnaaaaa… I only played one round though.” Grim said, as he plomped himself on your shoulder.

“I think one round is enough for you.” You said and started to walk back to Ramshackle Dorm.

“But seriously (Y/N), who is your crush?” Grim asked with curiosity.

“I don’t need a crush, I have you after all.” You said to Grim, patting his head.

“But but!” Grim asked further.

“No buts, either you stop asking about my crush or you don’t get to have tuna for the next few days.” You said with a stern tone.

“Fine…” Grim said and the two of you slowly made your way back to Ramshackle Dorm.

#twisted wonderland fic #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #ace trappola #deuce spade #grim #mc/yuu #epel felmier #jack howl #sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #riddle rosehearts #vil schoenheit #ruggie bucchi #lilia vanrouge

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sentinelpri · 3 years

Text

Crush

Bumblebee never imagined a world in which he’d be obsessed with Sentinel Prime, but there he was, staring longingly at the Elite Guard member’s back as him and his team watched fireworks together. Luckily for him, Jazz had convinced Sentinel to tag along.

The yellow Autobot sat there, half-engaged with the conversation Bulkhead was trying to have with him. He hated that he was missing out on the fireworks, but something about watching Sentinel seemed to captivate him more.

A cocksure smile on beautiful lips which released an even more beautiful midnight laugh into the air, earning a laugh back from Optimus Prime, who was sitting by the larger bot’s side on the rooftop they were all currently on.

Jazz and Prowl were walking around the rooftop, talking and pointing out the fireworks they liked, while Ratchet (who was completely sober) laid in a corner with Sari sitting next to him and stared at the sky silently. Bulkhead had been by Bumblebee’s side the whole night, which he appreciated, but still... He couldn’t help but be upset, just watching them.

His fixation with Sentinel had gotten bad since the Prime had come to earth, to the point that he had memorized the outline of those rough lips and burned the scent of the older bot into the back of his processor.

But no, it wasn’t because he had a crush on Sentinel Prime, his former sergeant, like everyone teased him for.

Instead, it was because of how in love he was with Optimus Prime, one of his closest friends and the leader of his repair-team-turned-squad-unit.

And it hurt. Primus, it hurt.

It hurt to watch Sentinel have what he wanted so easily, to use that magic touch of his as he tossed an arm over Optimus’s shoulders and chatted away with him like the old friend that he was despite all of the fucked up shit he had done to the younger Prime.

It hurt to watch Optimus turn to face the blue and gold bot and laugh, those plump lips curved into one of the only true and genuine smiles Bee had ever seen from him, the tension between the two rivals melted by the oil they’d all consumed and replaced with their blatantly obvious feelings for each other, those of which had always been there. It was almost like they were destined to be, two main characters in some sort of love story, while Bumblebee was a supporting character meant to push Optimus in that direction.

But, no. He was selfish, and he would never do such a thing, even if it meant seeing Optimus- because Primus be damned, he could make Optimus just as happy as Sentinel could if not happier, couldn’t he? He was selfish and greedy and wanted Optimus to himself, so he did what he could, and if that meant making everyone think he was in love with Sentinel Prime with the way he gawked at him, he was fine with that- because Optimus was too selfless to go after Sentinel if he thought Bee was interested, anyway.

That wasn’t his intention when he started watching Sentinel, initially. He’d just been trying to absorb whatever the hell it was about the large bot that Optimus loved so much, and everyone had misconstrued it, but it had worked out for him.

Or so he thought. Look at him now, though, ignoring his best friend in favor of staring at Sentinel and Optimus, neither of whom were even batting an optic in his direction.

And this was how his new year was starting, him wishing he had some semblance of whatever Sentinel Prime had that made Optimus fall so hard for him; confidence, strength, sharp optics, wit, bravery, or maybe it was something else like how Sentinel’s audials twitched when he was nervous, how his face plates burned red when he lied, or how good he was in the berth.

The thought brought him no peace, and it brought him no rest. He heard Sentinel sneaking into Optimus’s room at night quite frequently, and though he never knew what happened in there, the thought of Sentinel and Optimus intertwined underneath the younger Prime’s berthsheets, whispering sweet and filthy things alike in each other’s audials, kept him awake and anguished.

Bumblebee felt himself frown at that, lips pulled tight and mouth tasting bitter. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so negative, but when it came to his feelings for Optimus, he couldn’t help it. It was all wrong; how immature, how deceitful, how angry he was acting about the whole predicament, but he figured that’s what love did to a mech when it was at its worst.

“Bee? Buddy?”

When he snapped out of his trance, Bumblebee looked up to see that Bulkhead was dangling one large servo in front of his optics, clearly trying to catch his attention. The pang of guilt that always came at times like this manifested in the yellow bot’s spark rather quickly, sinking to the bottom of his stomach like tar in a way that made him feel sick. He knew he was neglecting his other relationships while being caught up with Optimus and Sentinel, and Bulkhead had always been there for him... Why couldn’t he just be one of those mechs who fell in love with their best friend?

No, that was a cruel thought. Bulkhead deserved someone who cherished and adored him, he was too good for Bumblebee, as was Optimus.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been out of it all night, and you seem sad... You have too much oil?” Bulkhead’s servo was on his shoulder plating, and for a second, Bumblebee struggled to speak. His optics landed on the bright fireworks above them, pink and purple and white and vibrant. Bulkhead was focused on him, Ratchet was pointing out planets to Sari, Jazz and Prowl were as in love as they always were, and Sentinel Prime and Optimus Prime...

Well, he couldn’t handle it. Maybe it had something to do with the oil he’d nervously been drinking to settle his nerves, or maybe he was just at a boiling point, but before he could think about what he was doing, he was standing up on his stabilizing servos with shaky knees. He must’ve looked bad, because within seconds, everyone’s optics (or, in Sari’s case, eyes) were landing on him.

“I- I think so, um... I’m gonna leave,” Bumblebee stuttered, voice cracking. Optimus was the first to object, standing from his spot on the edge of the roof. No matter how hard Bumblebee tried, he couldn’t seem to ignore the servo of Sentinel’s that was resting on Optimus’s back.

“Bee shouldn’t someone walk you back if you’re not feeling well?” Optimus approached him, but the smaller bot, unable to handle the emotional turmoil that was taking him over, found himself stumbling away before he could even process the consequences his actions might’ve had. “Where are you- hey, Bumblebee, wait up!”

“Let him go, Optimus,” Sentinel stopped him, because of course he did, and with that, Bumblebee was racing back down to the inside of their base from the stairwell on the rooftop and into his room.

When he reached it, he shut the door behind him and flopped down onto his bed with a frustrated shout.

He wanted to recharge, but his processor was too clouded with his conflicted thoughts to allow him to do so. The celebration on the floor above him slowly died down, the fireworks growing quiet and the sounds of berthroom doors opening and closing as everyone went to bed over the span of the next hour.

Optimus was probably already asleep, too.

Angry at himself, he started to rant, even if no one was around to hear him out.

“Ugh, why am I like this... I could’ve just put up with it like I always do, but no, I just had to go and make a scene in front of him, and now no one’s going to let me live it down, and they’re all going to assume I’m jealous of him for hugging on Sentinel when it’s not-”

His self-deprecating rambling was cut off by a knock at his door; knock, knock, knock. Three soft, polite, in rhythm taps that Bumblebee quickly recognized as his leader’s, followed by said leader’s deep voice ringing through the wall.

“Bumblebee? Are you awake? Sorry to disturb, but I wanted to see you. Could you come open the door?”

“Bossbot?” The Autobot perked up, and though he had fully intended to lay in bed sulking and ignoring everyone who came to check on him, the sound of Optimus’s voice had him rushing to open his berthroom door. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you since you seemed to be so out of it when you left, but you seem to be doing alright, thank goodness,” The Prime gave him that smile, the one of relief that made Bumblebee’s spark leap because of just how beautiful it was. “I should probably leave instead of pressing the matter, but... I thought I saw you staring at Sentinel and I, and I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t misjudge what was happening.”

His spark fucking dropped. While whatever his obsession with Sentinel happened to be was obvious to bots like Prowl, Ratchet, and Bulkhead who teased him for it, he had hoped that Optimus would never bring it up. It was a conflict he wasn’t ready for, and if he could, he would play it off.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bumblebee tilted his helm, wondering if he had been that obvious while watching them on the rooftop earlier that night.

“May I come in?”

Optimus being Optimus, he didn’t get right to it, which made the anxiety building up in Bee’s chest ten times worse. But alas, he could never say no to his boss, so he stepped aside to allow the Prime inside.

“O-Of course!”

With that, he shut the door behind them.

The two sat next to each other on Bumblebee’s berth, the lights still off, which meant that the only thing keeping the room lit was the beams that poured through the window from the moon and the fireworks. Optimus’s face was gorgeous in that moment, full of something that Bee could only perceive as longing and regret and love if he didn’t know any better, sharp features highlighted by the moonlight that shone over them.

“I’m not sure what you think my relationship with Sentinel is, but it’s nothing more than enemies at our worst and sparklinghood friends at our best. Our relationship is very long and very complicated, but we’ve always been more like brothers than anything, and as much as you deny it, I know you’re in love with him... I pay attention to how you look at us, when the two of us are together, and how you perceive him. I just want to reassure you that I would never steal him away from you, Bumblebee. I love you too much to do that to you- even if I can’t have you, and even if it’s with someone else, I want you to be happy.”

“W-What?” The younger of the two spat, optics going wide. Optimus being the type he was, he cringed at what he’d said and scooted to the edge of the berth, not even able to look at Bumblebee after the impromptu confession.

“Ah, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that, but-” The red and blue bot stood up and held his helm in one servo. He groaned while Bumblebee couldn’t even process what was going on. Had he imagined the whole relationship between Sentinel and Optimus that he thought was there? Was this actually happening? Did Optimus love him back, and was he going to get the happy ending he’d always wanted? “Well, I suppose the truth is out, then... The oil seems to have gotten to the both of us. I’ll leave-”

“No, are you insane!?” Bumblebee exclaimed with a laugh and moved closer to the Prime so he could grab his arm with both servos and drag him back down onto the bed. Begrudgingly, Optimus sat back down, and Bumblebee closed the gap between them.

“Huh?”

“It’s- It’s you, Prime! It’s always been you and it always will be, you know?” Bumblebee’s words were rushed, stumbling over each other and dripping with excitement. The tension in Optimus’s shoulders seemed to release as his face was dyed bright red with a heavy blush- perhaps from the embarrassment that came with the same realization Bumblebee was having. “I was never in love with Sentinel; he’s a selfish, inconsiderate glitch who’s always treated you like you’re scrap metal! You’re brave, you’re kind, you’re always there for me when I need it, and I just... I love you so much, and-”

“Oh, beautiful, c’mere,” Optimus broke and pulled Bumblebee into him, strong arms wrapping around the yellow bot’s frame and pulling him into his lap. Bumblebee melted into the touch and buried his face in Optimus’s chest plates. “I’m sorry it took us this long.”

“Me, too.”

There was a moment of silence, but it was broken by Optimus, who spoke with an uncharacteristically teasing tone and an equally teasing smirk gracing his plump lips.

“How long ‘ve you been crushing on me, then?” The words were a bit slurred in a way that made Bumblebee hyperaware of just how buzzed they still were from the oil.

“...Too long,” He spat and quickly stared down at the ground like it had become the most interesting thing in the universe. “I don’t want to admit how long level long.”

“Ah, I see... Looks like I owe Sentinel some money after all,” Optimus laughed, earning a playful slap on his arm from Bumblebee in return.

“Wh- You guys bet on which one of you I had a crush on!? I need to hear about this!”

“Okay, so it started when...”

And, as Optimus started to tell his story, an arm still lovingly wrapped around Bumblebee’s small frame, he sighed in relief.

Surely, after this, no one would think he had a crush on Sentinel Prime.

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lunaverseimagine · 4 years

Text

Escape

Prompt: I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with from @masterofthedarkness‘ 300 follower writing challenge! Congratulations again Val, I hope you like it <3

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: You’re having a bad day and your crush seems to notice

Warnings: Mention of injury (not your own), mention of alcohol

Word count: 2k

A/n: So I had a complete brain flop writing this and forgot that Snape was not, in fact, teaching potions in the Marauders era. However, I’ve written the fic now and don’t have the energy to change it, so consider this an AU of sorts? (Putting in bold bc I keep getting comments about it)

Fic:

It started the moment you woke up. You couldn’t explain why but all you wanted to do was crawl back into bed, wrap the duvet round you, and hide from the world. It was as though your energy had been sucked out of you, leaving a shell that felt too heavy. And yet you were a good student, you couldn’t stand missing lessons, plus you didn’t want anyone worrying about you. Which is why, in spite of your body’s groaning protests, you heaved yourself out of your dorm and down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Your friends were talking animatedly around you, occasionally trying to get you to join in the conversation, but all you offered in response were weak smiles and one word replies. As a last resort your best fried Beth tried bringing up your crush, Sirius. The topic normally excited you, but today it was just a reminder that nothing would happen between you, and you became even more withdrawn. Luckily your friends understood - you wanted to be near them but weren’t up to their early morning gossip - so they stayed with you but didn’t try to get you to speak anymore.

As always, halfway through your meal the owls swooped into the hall, bringing newspapers, letters, and the occasional parcel. Mild surprise filled you at the sight of your own family’s owl Lolly settling in front of you. You stroked her head before gently untying the small, crumpled letter attached to her leg, and she nipped your finger affectionately. Your parents didn’t send you letters very often, and you were stumped as to what could be written inside. You took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.

Unfolding the parchment carefully revealed your mum’s scrawled handwriting. Odd. Normally your dad would write the letters; he found it calming to sit with his parchment and special quill after a long day as an auror, pondering his words for a while to make his messages as concise as possible. He said the process was therapeutic. But when you read the words inside it made sense, and you felt your stomach drop.

“Y/n, I’m sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know. Dad was injured at work. The healers say it’s treatable but he’ll be in St Mungo’s for a while. Hope school is going ok. Love Mum xx”

Swallowing your tears down, you let the letter fall from your hands and settle on the table. You forced your eyes to look up, away from the words, and you could’ve sworn you caught Sirius watching you from across the hall. As soon as you’d thought it, he’d already turned back to his friends, and you shook your head at yourself. So desperate that you were imagining interactions with your crush. Pathetic. You lay your hand in Lolly’s warm fur, focussing on how soft she felt between your fingers, trying to push the rest of your thoughts to the back of your mind. Breaking down in the middle of the Great Hall was the last thing you wanted to do.

Your lessons did nothing to help your mood. In transfiguration you were supposed to be turning rats into clocks. By the end of the class most students had done it perfectly, but your clock had a tail instead of an hour hand, and instead of ticking it squeaked with every passing second. You felt so deflated, the only thought that kept you going was getting back to your dorm at the end of the day and hiding in your bed. Maybe finding some firewhiskey too to dull the aching you felt when your thoughts drifted to your dad in a hospital bed. In fact, what you really wanted, the one thing that might bring you peace, was to have someone hold you. Not just someone. Sirius. But you knew as well as anyone that he wouldn’t be interested in the likes of you. You couldn’t event transfigure a rat, you’d never be good enough.

You had mixed feelings as you made your way to your last lesson of the day. After this you were free for the evening, but first you had to endure an hour of Snape’s teaching, and his judgement of you. Potions was your worst subject and Snape made a point of noticing every little thing you did wrong. Begrudgingly you approached the dungeons, the echo of your footsteps was all that filled the empty corridors. Most of the time Hogwarts felt familiar, but in times like these it felt cold and unforgiving, emphasising the loneliness that was building in your chest. Wait- why was no one else in the corridors? With a jolt you realised that you’d spent so long lost in your thoughts between lessons that you were late. Your steps sped into a run, and when you finally burst through the door to Snape’s dungeon, he stopped mid sentence to scowl at you. Everyone else turned towards you too, so many pairs of eyes drilling into you. You willed the stone floor to swallow you whole.

“I will not tolerate students showing up late to my class.” You gulped, trying to suppress your heavy-breathing as you awaited your punishment. “I’d have thought you of all people would want to be present for the whole lesson. Then you might finally brew a decent potion. Alas…” he trailed off, a thoughtful expression on his face. You felt your cheeks burn, your head hung low. “Detention. After class you will scrub everyone’s cauldrons clean. No magic allowed.” It was all you could do to nod. You felt so defeated as you stood at the table beside Beth that you almost didn’t notice the small explosion a few tables behind you. You whipped your head around, and- no, you definitely weren’t imagining it this time- Sirius winked at you as Snape stalked between the desks towards the commotion. He glared down at Sirius.

“Looks like Y/L/N won’t be alone in detention.” He sneered, and weaved his way to the front of the class without another word. Your jaw was slack and Beth nudged you with her elbow.

“He did that on purpose!” She whisper-yelled. Your jaw was slack, not quite sure if you believed her.

“Well- well maybe it was an accident? Or he did it for fun?” Your excuses were weak even to your own ears. But why would he want to be in detention with you?

Seconds stretched into minutes as you willed the time away. Thankfully Beth was good at potions so she did most of the work, telling you which ingredients to chop and when to add them to the cauldron. Snape still found things to fault but you just tuned his voice out, feeling like you were watching the scene through a window instead of being in it yourself.

Eventually the class was dismissed, and Beth gave you a sympathetic smile and mouthed “good luck” as she left the room. When it was just you, Sirius and Snape left, he held a hand out to each of you.

“Wands.” Reluctantly you and Sirius both placed your wands in his hands, not quite meeting his eye as you did so. “I want the equipment spotless.” With that he left the room. Despite feeling as bad as you did, you couldn’t help your heartbeat quickening at the thought of being alone with Sirius.

Avoiding his eye, you crossed the room to the cupboard full of cleaning supplies, dirty cauldrons being the only thing that stood in the way of you and the relative peace of your dorm. You felt his gaze on the back of your head.

“What?” You kept your focus on the cupboard, rummaging through the supplies to find what you needed.

“Are you ok?” After a moment, you turned to face him, throwing a sponge which he caught effortlessly, without breaking eye-contact.

“I’ve been better.” You didn’t elaborate, instead getting to work scrubbing the grime off the cauldron closest to you. Sirius abandoned his sponge, coming to stand on the opposite side of your table, watching your determined face as you tried to get one particularly tough spot of dragon-bogey off the side of the cauldron. He found himself admiring the way you furrowed your brows as you concentrated, the way your tongue poked out slightly from between your lips. Those lips. You, on the other hand, were thinking about how it would take double the time to clean if Sirius didn’t do his half. Subconsciously you squeezed your sponge tighter until your knuckles turned white.

“I bet I could make you feel better.” You huffed. Sure you had feelings for Sirius, but he could still be infuriating.

“I bet you could.”

His eyes twinkled, surprised that you’d joined in with his flirting. “Oh yeah, how’s that?” His hopes were soon shattered as you replied.

“By helping me clean so we can leave this bloody dungeon.” Sirius was taken aback. You never normally snapped at people, and he was just trying to be nice. Godric, he’d got himself a detention just so you wouldn’t be alone.

“You know what? Fine.” He stormed back over to his sponge and started cleaning the cauldron furthest away from you. The two of you scrubbed in silence for a while, making decent progress on the cauldrons, but you felt guilt creeping in at the way you’d treated him. The guilt, the tiredness, the worry about your dad, all of it swirled through your thoughts in a perpetual loop until you couldn’t help it anymore. You let out a small sob, trying your best to be quiet, but in the otherwise silent room Sirius heard it perfectly. He abandoned his cauldron, rushing over to embrace you in a hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back. He had no clue what to say, but the silence didn’t bother you. It gave you a chance to work through your feelings.

After a while you pulled away, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your robes. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for darling.” He rested his hand on your arm for a moment, waiting to see if you wanted to say anything else. When you just smiled, he returned the smile, before going back to cleaning the cauldrons. This time the silence that filled the room was comfortable, both of you lost in thought. Finally, arms aching, the two of you finished your last cauldrons, and Sirius went to Snape’s office to collect your wands. You sat on the floor outside the classroom waiting for him, picking at a loose thread on your robe. When Sirius returned he handed you your wand, and slid down the wall so he was sitting next to you. You rested your head on his shoulder, whispering into the corridor.

“Thank you.”

Sirius wrapped an arm round your shoulders. “What for?”

“I know you got that detention on purpose. Just- thank you for being there.”

“Not a problem darling.” His fingers traced tender circles on your shoulder, and you felt yourself melting in to him. Being so close to him you thought you’d be nervous, but instead you felt peaceful. Safe.

Sirius broke the silence. “What’s going on?” It was almost a whisper, as though he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve asked, but he couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering on your own. He needed you to know that he was there to listen.

“It’s just- it’s a bit of everything, y’know? I’ve had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with.” You laughed at how stupid that sounded, but Sirius took your hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I’ve got some firewhisky in my room?” It came out as a question.

You turned so you were face-to-face.

“And the cuddles?”

“I’m sure I’ve got some of those to spare too.” He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on each knuckle in turn. You closed your eyes, savouring the sensation. Then he stood up, helping you off the floor after him, and your hands stayed connected the whole walk back to his common room.

End

A/N: I hope you liked it (regardless of the Snape/Sirius timeline error oopsies)! If you did feel free to give feedback or check out my other stuff, and also give Val (@masterofthedarkness) a follow if you haven’t already! <3

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

Link

Disclaimer tho, all my knowledge of the fandom is strictly from fanfic and google. I don't read the comic or watch the anime. I only have some vague knowledge of what's canon or not and making this fanfic has been somewhat of a fever dream.

Tags: Fluff and angst. Attempt at humor. Crying. Probably ooc. No smut, just holding hands and some hugging and some kissing. Shouto smokes, and probably incorrect depictions of smoking. Implied child abuse (you know who). Lowkey Fuyumi bashing.

Warning: In character cussing from explodo boy.

Summary:

They found each other in coinciding vulnerability. Shouto was smoking, Katsuki was crying. Miraculously, no one died. It seems that vulnerability is exactly what they need to get through their respective problems, because vulnerability makes them do the one thing the two boys are allergic to do, opening up.

Or, Shouto and Katsuki cope with each other. It miraculously didn't end in explosions, just a lot of physical affections and crying.

Words: 10.9 k

You don’t have to take life so seriously Shouto! It can be whatever you want to be, it’s yours!

Shouto knocks his head back and parts his lips. White ribbons bleed to the orange sky. The clouds are pretty pink instead of white. The smoke doesn’t blend in with the white clouds anymore like a few hours ago. He taps the amber ash on the portable coffin-shaped ashtray. More than a dozen filter buds crammed there.

He should go back to his room. Any darker then it would be noticeable when goes back to his room. But there’s always that small whisper at the back of his head: Maybe after one more. This spot has been his salvation from overstimulation. It’s the highest building in UA, the rooftop of the dorm. He’s been here for two years and has always been alone.

The door slammed open.

High on nicotine, Shouto passes through shock to immediate acceptance that he’s busted.

Only, he’s not busted. The next sound that came is sobbing. The first thing he sees is awry blond hair and a tear-streaked red face. Soon came the already red blood-shot eyes, staring at him with a sadness that not even in Shouto’s wildest imagination can imagine on Bakugou’s face. It takes a few seconds too long for the default glare and anger to return.

“The fuck are you doing here!” He yells, his voice croaks in a not angry way. Wet and breaking at the pitch.

Shouto, still a bit floaty and relaxed from the nicotine in his system, nor is he yet to register the shock from seeing Bakugou’s tears, just points down towards his fingers.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” his voice is scratchy, a tad bit deeper. He never smoked so many that that happened. Then again, today is a special day.

Seemingly just as shocked, Bakugou seems to still. Shouto expects crackling hands, bared teeth, or maybe a ‘TELL ANYONE AND DIE’, but never that he strides his way and sits on the floor beside Shouto.

“Still have one of those?” Bakugou leans back.

Wordlessly, Shouto digs the last pack from his pocket. There are six left. Bakugou takes one, and Shouto lit a fire on the tip of his thumb towards Bakugou.

“How do you do this?” Bakugou says, eyeing the fire.

“You’ve never done this before?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I have Icyhot! Now fucking tell me already.”

“You put it between your lips, and inhales a bit as you put this corner on the fire.” Shouto crowds him cupping the end of the smoke with his palm and keep the fire controllably small. It feels like Deja Vu, but this time, Shouto is showing someone how to smoke instead.

Bakugou tries, and before Shouto can say to take it slow, Bakugou already choked and doubled over coughing. Shouto pats his back.

“What the fuck was that!” Bakugou roars and grimaces when he sees the stacks of cigarette buds on his ashtray. “How the fuck do you smoke that many!”

Shouto shrugged, “I’m used to it.” He puts out his bud on top of the pile and picks up the mostly one-piece cigarette that Bakugou chucked to the floor and lights it up. He feels eyes on him as he put the filter on his lips and lit it up in one smooth move.

With the cigarette properly lit, he offered, “Wanna try again?”

“No! That shit’s nasty.” Bakugou snarled at the hand holding the smoking cig.

“Suit yourself,” Shouto takes a deep drag and sighs. Surprisingly, Bakugou doesn’t up and leave, and more so that Shouto doesn’t mind the silence.

Alas, it only lasted exactly 33 seconds.

“How the fuck did you get in here!” Bakugou grumbles, “The door was locked.”

“I made ice stairs from my balcony.”

“Like how Elsa did?”

“Exactly like Elsa did, she was my inspiration.”

Bakugou snorts. No sadness left, just a condescending smile, which is better than the ghostly tears in his eyes.

“How did you get in through the locked door?”

“How else would you think?” Bakugou lifts his hand, cradling a small cluster of explosions.

Shouto face palmed, dragging it down.

“What?” Bakugou barks.

“Well when they figured out the door broke then they gonna figure out that someone’s been here, don’t they?”

“That nicotine is already killing your fucking brain cells.”

“That’s not how it’s-”

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before anyone finds us you loon.”

“But I-”

“You’ve burned through enough death sticks, let’s go!” Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him up.

“Fine fine, let me tidy up.” Shouto could barely close his ashtray with all the buds in it, and he dusted the ashes that drops to the floor.

Shouto already makes the stairs down to his room before looking back at Bakugou, “Want me to drop you to your balcony?”

“I don’t know,” Bakugou narrows his eyes dangerously, “Will it suddenly melts away as I walk on it?”

Shouto huffs, “You have no faith in your favorite sparring partner?”

“The only thing I learned these past couple of years with you being shoved at my face as my sparring partner is that you’re a little shithead.”

Shouto makes the stairs towards Bakugou’s room first, reveling in how badly Bakugou tried to cover his amazement at the stairs.

“Just like Elsa’s, right?”

“You want me to give you Elsa’s number 1 simp trophy?”

Shouto melts Bakugou’s step and lets him fall blond head first into his balcony.

“YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT, COCA-COLA SHITHEAD!”

Bakugou roars, and Shouto giggles as he jumps upstairs to his room with explosions fading behind him.

Not until he’s laying in bed that night that he thinks about Bakugou’s tears again. Rest assured, his imagination spiraled to ‘what could it be’ until 4 am.

++++

I don’t understand why your dad wants you to be number one when he should’ve want you to just be happy. Nothing in life really matters unless you’re happy.

Shouto loves everything about living in the dorm, but it has one and only one weakness. He can’t smoke as freely.

His dad knows and just rant about how it’ll affect his performance.

Now, Aizawa knows, and he’s at the principal’s office.

Shouto instantly knows how. Bakugou broke the rooftop door. Iida must’ve found it, reported it to Aizawa-sensei. Maybe his homeroom teacher has magnifying vision too because Shouto could’ve sworn he left no trace.

Yet Shouto can’t find it in him to blame anyone. He knows as an aspiring hero he shouldn’t smoke, those reasons never matter at those desperate times he needed to smoke.

“Tea?” Nezu raises his pot of pink teapot, Shouto narrows his eyes at the paw (how did that paw hold the teacup?)

“Yes, thank you.” The cup is equally pink, with two cheerful yellow flowers on each side. This looks like a tea set Eri had.

Shouto sips the possibly herbal tea, trying to ignore the glare Aizawa-sensei is sending his way from beside Nezu.

“Todoroki, how long have you been smoking?” His sensei’s voice gravels, like he just woke up from bed, his bed hair supports the theory.

Apparently a little mental, Shouto said, “Overall or in school?”

“Both.”

“Started when I was in first-grade junior high school.” As soon as he has any time away from home. “In UA, as soon as I stayed at the dorm.”

“Now, Todoroki,” Nezu put his paws together, “You know someone as young as you shouldn’t smoke. You’re underage, and an aspiring hero on top of that...”

Nezu then continues his PSA on smoking. Nothing Shouto hasn’t heard. Every word goes in the left ear and came out the right. He also isn’t surprised that Aizawa will be taking his stash of cigarettes. It doesn’t suck as much because Shouto doesn’t have a lot left anyway, nor is he been regularly smoking. He smokes when he’s stressed and nothing else could calm him down. He never reached out to the cigs first. The coffin-shaped portable ashtray reminded him that.

As soon as he’s back at the dorm, he’s greeted with a cheerful environment. Half his classmates are hanging in the living room. There’s a group playing Mario Party, a group that’s putting on nail art, and a group that seems to cook something ambitious. Shouto usually joins the group, but not today.

“Todoroki!” Iida comes from the hall, “Aizawa-Sensei came earlier and ran through your room! He seems to confiscate a pack of cigarettes. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s all a misunderstanding-”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Todoroki! At our young age as aspiring heroes we sho-”

“Nope, sorry not today Iida. Good night.”

Todoroki feels a few eyes on his back, but he walks on. With him naturally keeping things to himself, his friends tend to worry but they trust him to reach out to them in his own time. When it gets too long they usually check up on him. Shouto wished they never will.

+++++

You have the power to be whatever you want, but why are you following the wishes of someone you hate? I know he’s your dad, but your life is yours, Shouto.

Shouto’s wish didn’t come true when Bakugou bugs him on the rooftop again two days after he was raided.

It’s Deja Vu, but fewer tears from Bakugou and Shouto isn't a pack and a half deep in cigarettes.

“I fucking know you’d be at my spot again!” Bakugou spat scathingly.

“Excuse you,” Shouto scowls, “I’ve been smoking at this spot since the dorm opens. This is my spot.”

“Well, I’ve been- I’ve been-” Shouto should’ve known that Bakugou would turn red and explodes instead of admitting he’d been caught emoting, “What the fuck are you doing here anyway! You’re doing nothing!”

“No thanks to someone.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, confused at the implication, but his exploding friend is smart, so he figured it out, and isn’t happy with what he figures out. “The fuck, get your accusing eyes away from me discount Sans, I don’t tattle.”

“No, but you exploded the door which leads to Iida reporting it, which leads to Aizawa inspecting the premises, and him figuring it out that smoked here.”

“That’s just your fucking fault for not covering your trace clean!”

Shouto inhaled indignantly, but then too tired to justify himself. There’s no ending of arguing with Bakugou, and Shouto had learned to choose his battles.

“How about you? How did you get in here?”

“Stole a key from Iida.”

“Are you here to cry again?”

Bakugou’s palms explode, his face an embarrassed flush and teeth bared in anger, “WHOS FUCKING CRYING!!?”

“I have eyes.”

“You’ve been sucking on those death sticks way too much.”

“I wasn’t smoking that type of substance.”

“Whatever, I’m not dealing with this,” Bakugou turns to step away.

“I don’t get it, it’s not a big deal!” Shouto raises his voice a bit, for some reason his heart rate picks up when Bakugou starts leaving. “So what if you sweat through your eyes? Midoriya does it almost every day, sometimes twice a day...”

“Don’t fucking compare me to fucking Deku you fucking fried ice cream!”

“...And Midoriya beat you at this year’s Sports Festival,” Shouto dismissed.

Bakugou grits his teeth, but his eyes watch over Shouto. “Stop stalling and tell me what you want from me,” Bakugou growls.

Shouto’s eyes widen at the sudden honesty, he nibbles on his bottom lips, “Stay here?”

For a second, Bakugou glares at him, but after two years of being his classmate, Shouto can confidently say that they’re friends. He knows Bakugou isn’t angry at him. As to prove his point, Bakugou sits beside him, a bit closer than Shouto expects him to, though still with that permanent scowl. Shouto moves his palms from his pocket, letting go of the aluminum ashtray. Shouto tests the waters and moves closer so their shoulder bumps. No explosions, no snarl, success.

Instantly, Shouto relaxes. Focusing on the pressure of their shoulders, the light shifts Bakugou does (because he can never fully stay still), and the clouds moving. No thought, just being alive.

Alas, no quiet ever lasted long with Bakugou, he expected it though.

“No wonder Aizawa figured it out, this place still stinks of tobacco.”

“It does?” Shouto takes a deep sniff, all he smells is Bakugou’s sweat that always smells sweet because of his quirk. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Yeah no shit scar head, your nose is probably numb at this point.”

“I don’t smoke that much.”

“Said someone who smoked more than a dozen in one sitting,” Bakugou’s nags turns to worry, “Damn, was it really in one sitting?”

“Is that worry I detected?” Shouto deflects.

Bakugou grits his teeth, “I’m not worried! Go die off lung cancer I don’t fucking care!”

“Good, then, because yes it was, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Fucking hell it’s not! What the actual fuck are your lungs made of? I barely suck it past my throat and I almost coughed out my insides.”

“I missed your dramatics,” Shouto says genuinely, and he waits for an explosion to come. Bakugou doesn’t do well with praises thinly veiled with snark.

It never came, Bakugou watches him closely instead, “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”

Shouto dared to glare back, but it didn’t last long, he knows the answer. Shouto had come out of his shell nicely, as Momo had put it. He’s still awkward, can’t really quite grasp ‘pop culture’ and how to correctly implied it, but he regularly hangs out with his friends. As of late, he’s noticeably withdrawn. Going straight to his room after class, and opting out of game nights, nail nights, and even soba nights.

They had been giving him space, which he finds endearing. Of course, Bakugou isn’t one to give anything liberally.

“Mine...” Shouto admits, and Bakugou looks surprised.

The fun part of befriending Bakugou is that Shouto could be a bit of a bitch and Bakugou would be a bitch back, and it wouldn’t matter. No one’s feelings were hurt, and Shouto can let go of steam without guilt. Shouto could’ve been in denial, said that Bakugou should step off his dick and no feelings would be hurt.

But he had enough of space, though admittedly, he should’ve confessed that with someone that wants to be in his space.

“Finally, you’re done moping around, everyone’s been on my ass worrying about you.”

“Why would they be on your ass?”

“Hell would I know.”

“Was that the reason you cried?” Shouto is just teasing, but the grim in Bakugou’s face isn’t a familiar one.

“I told you that didn’t happen!” he growls lowly.

Shouto considers, clueless yet curious. “I’ll tell you about me if you told me about you.”

“Just because you’re vomiting your crisis that I didn’t ask for, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same!”

“Okay, that’s fine too.”

“No, shut-”

“My mom and dad are getting back together.”

Bakugou’s expression mellows to confusion, “That sounds convoluted as hell. Didn’t they just got a divorce or something?”

“They never got a divorce. She’s just sent to a mental hospital and never came home, doesn’t mean the marriage is legally broken.”

The fact seems to sink slow with his explosive friend, “What the fuck.”

Shouto sighs, looking down his jittery hands, his mouth dries. “Last year when I visited my mom, we were talking about the future. She said she’d filed for a divorce, and I’d live with her.” Shouto feels oddly numb, but there’s this dull ache deep in his chest that’s constant. “I should’ve known. She said that before he ‘tried to change’... she said that when everything was still bad, she thought it still happened.”

“What still happened?” Bakugou sounds angry, but he always does.

“I got hurt a lot when I was a kid, because of training. She thought he still hurts me.”

He felt the shoulder beside him tensed. Beside Shouto’s jittery hands is Bakugou’s clenched shaking fist. Shouto looks up from their laps and finds that Bakugou’s face... an eerie stoic.

“Hmmm,” Bakugou hums, and a chill runs down his spine. “When did you start training by the way?” not even a curse in that sentence.

Shouto realizes then, this is Bakugou truly angry, even though Shouto can’t figure out why on earth would he be.

“The day after my quirk manifested.”

His childhood is unforgettable. The day his training starts with fear and pain, then ends with exhaustion and anger. The day Touya never came back, the day his mom left, the longing stare towards the backyard wanting to play with his brother and sister. He remembers it all, like a tattoo in his memory.

“We been knew that Endeavor was an ass but I didn’t know he’s a fucking child abuser.”

The words snap him away from his musing. This time, Bakugou looks angry angry. Teeth-gritting, scowling, boiling anger.

Oh, that’s why he’s angry.

“It was training.”

“Not at five fucking years old you e-boy himbo!” Bakugou barks.

“That’s new, what’s a himbo?”

“Not the fucking point!” Bakugou takes his shoulder away, and suddenly Shouto feels cold. Then he’s held by his shoulders, pinned by sharp maroon eyes, and the lack of warmth turns cold when a growl says, “You’re telling me that your dad’s been abusing you, and no one stopped him? And he’s fucking getting away with it??”

There are so many things wrong with that question and implied statement. One is that it was not abuse. Two is that no one could’ve stopped the then number two hero. Three is that Shouto didn’t tell him any of that but Bakugou assumed anyway.

Shouto doesn’t get to say all of it as Bakugou lets go of him and takes deep breaths. Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly displeased at what he’s thinking.

“Why did you think your mom wants to get back together with your dad?”

Shouto feels relieved now they’re back on topic, “I don’t know. It feels like one moment she’s afraid of him, and now she wants to be with him again. I guess... he did ‘try to be better’. Everyone else seems to forgive him, but I can’t.”

Then Bakugou does something that he didn’t expect, he defends them, “I mean... He’s not that much of a dick now, right? He’s a dick but he was pretty alright when we have a work-study at his agency. And your mom’s better, so maybe they could make it work?”

Shouto knows it’s technically true, but displeasure clawed him still, his blood boiling.

“I don’t care whether it works! I hated that she forgives him so easily!” Shouto shouts.

“Well, that’s selfish of you, isn’t it! It’s her decision, not yours!” Bakugou barks back.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Shouto spats, he stands up, “They’re going to destroy each other, and what then? Do they want me to just look at their trainwreck while they insist everything is okay? No! I’m not going through that again!”

“You’re just not trusting your mom! Things changed!” Bakugou stands up too, he looks exceptionally angrier than ever.

“No, I don’t. Especially after she said she wanted to get a divorce with him then changing her mind only a year later. Of course, I don’t trust her!”

“But isn’t it better to have both your parents together?”

“No, it doesn’t especially when she’s not happy!”

Bakugou doesn’t bark back, and Shouto only realized how Bakugou’s question was laced with a cracked voice. Shouto looks, only partially surprised that the eyes that look back thinly veiled with tears. The heat in his bloodstream wanes out, more worried/horrified that Bakugou is now openly crying.

This is the worst. Both of them are socially awkward lone wolves that have no idea how and what to do with emotions. So, Shouto does his #best.

“You can tell me.”

Bakugouu glares. Okay, so maybe Shouto’s #best isn’t what he needs.

“Only if you want, if you don’t then it’s okay too.”

“Shut the fuck up, thermostat.”

What else do you do when someone cried? Shouto racks his memories of times when he was crying a lot when he was little, trying to find examples he could follow. He remembers his mom.

“Come here.”

“The fuck are you trying to-”

Shouto cuts him off with a hug. It’s as awkward as it comes. Shouto has his arms around the broad shoulders, his chin hooked on the right side. Shouto doesn’t know how tight he should hug, but it’s enough to press their chest together. Then one of his arms, the left one, rubs Bakugou’s back, emitting a slight warmth. In two languid swipes, Bakugou’s tenseness bleeds slowly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Shouto says, mimicking what his mom had said once upon a time when he’s upset. “But it’ll be okay. Maybe it’ll take a long time, or it’ll be really hard, but you...” have me, you don’t have to deal with everything alone, was what his mom finished with. He doesn’t know if Bakugou would see him as reliable, but Fuyumi had said that intentions are the most important. “You have your friends, and you have me. I don’t know what will help, but I’ll do it if you asked.”

Shouto surprised himself that he means it. When he encounters an emotionally fragile situation, he usually gets Midoriya, or Urakara, or Momo to handle the situation. With Bakugou however...seeing that his usually prickly friend tipping at the edge like this, Shouto felt like he wants to help. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the S.S. Emotional Constipation that makes him reach out his personal hand towards Bakugou.

Shouto found another surprise when Bakugou hugs him back, his spiky blond head tucked at the crook of his neck. Shouto also didn’t expect the reflex tears pooling in his eyes at the feeling of tightening arms around his torso. He’s being held, tight and needy. When was the last time he’s held like this? Tears pours without his will when he realized the last time someone hugged him was Touya as Dabi when he was about to burn himself along with Shouto.

They stay there on the rooftop just holding each other as if they’ll fall apart if they don't. When Bakugou lets go, his eyes are even redder than it already is. When those red eyes look up, he noticed the tear streak down Shouto’s face and doesn’t comment about it.

Instead, Bakugou says, “My parents are splitting up.”

Shouto says nothing, only to pull him in his arms again.

They say nothing else as they sit at the same spot on the concrete floor leaning on each other, hand in hand. Shouto instinctually teared up again when he remembered the last time someone holds his hand was his mom as she walked him to a park, all those years ago. Other than that, it was for survival and fighting.

Bakugou leans his head on Shouto’s shoulder first, Shouto says nothing about it. He then leans his face on top of Bakugou’s hair, it feels like a bed of grass, Bakugou says nothing about it too. Shouto realizes that Bakugou can be vulnerable as long as no one points it out. Being untalkative, Shouto can do just that.

The future is scary, especially when their supposed foundation is changing. Bakugou’s foundations are breaking apart, while Shouto had grown accustomed to the torn apart pieces now move together crossing fingers that they fit.

But the future is for tomorrow. The changes are not theirs to make. All they can do now is hold themselves together as everything changes, hoping they don’t break in the process.

Eventually, nightfalls, but none of them moved. Shouto suspects that Bakugou might be sleeping on him.

It’s a suspicion no more when Aizawa found them there, and Bakugou doesn’t stir from being found. Those tired eyes already look exasperated as he finds Shouto’s tear-streaked eyes looking back.

Aizawa sighs, “Is it life-threatening ?”

Shouto knows that the teacher is prone to worries despite his appearance. Their stumble at first year seems to scar him and made him extra vigilant with his students ever since.

“There’s nothing we could do about it,” Shouto says, which is true, but seemingly a wrong thing to say.

“That doesn’t answer my question, trouble child.” Aizawa scowls, which means his worry cranked up to max. “Are the both of you facing a problem that harms you, or threatening your life?”

“It’s nothing like that,” says the bundle of blond in his shoulder. Bakugou sits up and stretches, yawning so big his jaw seems to unhinge a bit. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. “It’s family drama, you know how it is.”

“Is it really just drama?” Aizawa squints at Bakugou, too knowing for someone without a mind-reading quirk.

Bakugou looks at Shouto, searching and prodding. Shouto doesn’t understand what he could be looking for, or what he wants. Bakugou just sighs, “Yeah, just drama.”

Aizawa looks at Shouto too and softens. “If you two need to cuddle you can just do it in your respective room.”

“Nah, too many nosy people.” Bakugou starts to leave.

Shouto follows with a “Good night Sensei.”

Aizawa grunts.

“We can use my Elsa stairs,” Shouto pipes in as he walks alongside him.

Bakugou looks at him and huffs, “Turns out you’re not a himbo after all.”

Since Bakugou won't tell him, Shouto looks up ‘himbo’ himself. This raises a lot of questions about how Bakugou has been seeing him, but Shouto decides that he’d be offended by it.

++++++

You could still be lonely even though you have tons of sibling, or even when they really love you. I guess they just don’t know how to show us they love us.

He really should’ve known. He really should’ve fucking known.

The thought spins in his head as he smoked the last cigarette on his freshly bought pack. No one to catch him this time. It’s the weekend and he’s supposed to be at home, but it’s unbearable to be in the same room with his family. Usually, he could just slurp his soba in feigning ignorance but not now.

He’s sitting by the bench of a lonely park. He’s been sitting here since sun down. He has no idea what time it is. His phone in his pocket is on silent, he hasn’t checked on it since he walked out.

He should’ve stayed at the dorms, fuck the family dinner.

It’s not that Shouto wants things to end up badly. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be home, especially since his mom finally comes home after so many years. Everyone is happy that she’s back, even Natsuo, even his dad. Everyone except her. It looks so hard for her to be there. Shouto can see in her face that some places still hold strong bad memories for her.

His mother is strong because she pulls through. She holds herself through it all even though it seems only barely.

Yet why is he still so angry at her? Maybe not angry, frustrated. Shouto wants to ask her clarity. Why is she doing this? Why did she change her mind? Why come back here? Why not grasp the independence she had been telling Shouto she strived for? Was she coaxed to be here? Was she feeling some kind of responsibility to go back here? To salvage that sham of a marriage she had with Endeavor?

Shouto wants to ask, wants to understand. He crowded her with questions that moment when they said they’d be getting back together, only for his mom to wince, eyes widen, and quickened breath. For the second time in his life, his mom had looked at him with fear. Today, Shouto could barely meet her eyes again.

Is he really such a monster in her eyes just because he’s half his father? Then why go back to his father at all?

Shouto bought half a dozen packs as per tradition. Also because of his self implied tradition, he puts all the ashes in the coffin-shaped ashtray, even though there’s a park ashtray right beside him.

“You carry that everywhere,” Says a groveling voice that Shouto would notice anywhere.

Bakugou is in casuals. Black jeans and a grey hoodie seem like he’s out in a hurry. Just like Shouto.

“You’ve got to stop stalking me,” Shouto inhales deep, watching red amber burns till the filter and sighs.

“Who fucking stalking you Zuko.”

“Zuko doesn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Bakugou plop his ass beside Shouto, sitting waaay too close. He snatched the coffin tin, inspecting it. “Even when you didn’t smoke you carried this.”

“How did you know?”

“It shows your pocket, not big enough for a phone.”

Shouto knows he can’t get away once Bakugou began prying. “My first friend gave it to me.”

“That fucking Deku???”

“No,” Shouto chuckles at the image of Midoriya taking the role of what his first friend did. “It’s someone I met first-year junior high. She gave me this after introducing me to cigarettes.”

“That’s so fucking passive-aggressive I would’ve punched her in her teeth,” Bakugou grumbles, putting the ashtray to Shouto’s lap. “And why the fuck would anyone smoke at thirteen anyway!”

“Exactly because we’re thirteen, Katsuki, just because,” Shouto chuckles again at the memory. Seemingly too carefree from the nicotine, Bakugou had become Katsuki in his tongue. Katsuki bristles at his given name, but says nothing about it. It mysteriously made Shouto very happy.

“Among everything though, she was my first best friend, she teaches me a lot of things that make me who I am. She made me realize that I didn’t have to follow my dad’s wishes. That I can be what I want to be instead of what I was born for. That it’s valid to be lonely even though I technically have a big family. That it’s okay to not strive to be the best and just to be... happy.”

Shouto closes his eyes, remembering her lessons always fell bitter-sweet. But he’ll hold it in his heart forever.

“What you’re born for?” Katsuki says scathingly.

“Yeah, you know about this.” Shouto was told that Katsuki had eavesdropped on his conversation with Midoriya. Shouto was born to fulfill another man’s vendetta. A purpose first, and a son last.

“Seem like a wise person for a thirteen-year-old,” Katsuki sneers.

“She was, I loved her,” Shouto’s confession brings Katsuki’s face to a red grimace.

“Shit, I didn’t ask you to tell me your fucking secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Oh, really?” Katsuki spat bitterly, “Then why are you hiding your girlfriend from us?”

So many things wrong with that question. Shouto raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m not hiding her. She’s dead.”

The grimace fell like a hot potato, it would’ve been fun watching how Katsuki splutters if he didn’t look like he’s legit choking. “Holy fuck, that's... fuck, then why the shit you’re so stoic talking about it,” Katsuki seems appalled.

“It happens a long time ago. She seems accepting of her death that I... well I want to respect her decision.” Shouto knows it’s weird to not feel mournful of the departure of your closest friend. He still misses her, but she had been so positive until the very moment she left. Shouto was sure that she’s happy, so Shouto wants to be happy for her.

Katsuki paled, horrified, seemingly to misunderstand again.

“She had a terminal illness. Very likely no chance of survival. She chose to live her remaining time normally instead of undergoing treatment.”

“There’s... There’s no way her parents let her do that.”

“They’re economically challenged. They tried though, just too late in the end.”

“Fuck...” Katsuki cursed, running through his hair roughly. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to have life-changing moments like that.”

“A lot of people have proven to me that everyone has potential to be unexpected, and that’s just how it is.” Shouto looks pointedly at Katsuki, who glares at him in retaliation. “There’s a reason why we’re both here instead of home.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki mumbles, clearly not wanting to talk.

Shouto doesn’t too, to be honest, and yet keeping it in feels more exhausting, “My mom’s home.”

“No shit?” Katsuki was mildly surprised, “So it’s really happening huh.”

“It’s like walking on eggshells with her. I wanted to ask, but last time I did she flinched at me. I couldn’t look at her today.”

Katsuki sighs. This time, Katsuki is the one that scoots over till their shoulders touched all the way to their thighs. The contact makes Shouto breathes easier, he’s drawn to it like moths to a flame. His body goes limp as if it’s been too tense too long from holding itself together, and he drapes himself on top of Katsuki. Shoulder pressed together, his head heavily falls on Katsuki’s shoulder. Instinctually, his hand looks for another hand. Katsuki snakes around his hand and clasps it with his. It’s uncharacteristic, but Shouto finds himself grateful for it.

It’s warm, it’s damp, it’s grounding. Like lying on even earth after running away for so long.

“I don’t want her to be with him under the obligation that parents are supposed to be together for the kids. She’s been through so much, I would’ve understood, but I didn’t know how to say it without triggering her.” Silence follows, and Shouto realized what he said. “Sorry, uh, I’m not insinuating-”

“Shut up candy cane, I know.” Katsuki leans closer, his head on top of Shouto’s.

It’s warm, just what he needs in the middle of an emotional crisis at the beginning of November. It’s a bit out of character for Katsuki to do this, nor Shouto, neither of them are known for physical contact or talking about their personal lives. Yet here they are.

And Katsuki speaks anyway, “They’re fighting.”

Shouto, contrary to what Katsuki called him, isn’t a himbo. He knows who they are and he knows what a fight could entail.

“Did they hurt each other when they fight?” Shouto asks, then mused even if they did, could Katsuki do anything about it? Shouto couldn’t back then.

“No!” Katsuki says, indignant, “Of course not, they’re just bitching at each other about... about... I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid.”

“Hm, that’s good.”

“Fucking hell it’s good, they’re being idiotic!”

“They’re not hurting each other.”

Katsuki paused, his hands clenched tighter, “Did he hurt your mom when they fight?”

Shouto takes a deep inhale at the surge of memory. The fear that settles is old, he knows. Just leftover trauma that never went away, still, it bubbled to the surface, makes his skin cold.

Not trusting his voice, Shouto nods.

“They were fighting about me,” Katsuki says after a while, his voice a bit shaky, and Shouto knows better than to point it out. He keeps his head on the shaking shoulder and listens. “They didn’t know I was listening, they never did. They never... Turn-Turns out they didn’t even plan on having me.”

Katsuki holds his hand tighter and trembling.

“I’m a fucking accident,” Katsuki spat, venom dripping in every word. “Then they had a shotgun wedding, they didn’t even love each other at all.”

Shouto hears one escape of a sniff and lets himself relax, feigning clueless that Katsuki must’ve been crying. He lets the silence stretches until the hand holding his relaxed and the shaking subsides. Shouto had the same breakdown before. It downs to him that they’re not so different after all, children of a loveless relationship. Though he wonders if that instantly means he’s unloved. It had felt that way, but now... now it feels so much complicated than yes or no.

“Does it matter why we’re born?” Shouto hears a deep inhale of an incoming rant but he cuts it off with, “We’re our own person, with our own lives, and our own dreams. No one can tell us otherwise. Not even the one who makes us.” Shouto pauses and listens, what came to his ears is soft breathing, so he continues. “So what you’re not planned? That doesn’t mean you’re unwanted,” Shouto rubs his thumb over the damp knuckles, “You’re not unloved.”

Because Shouto had been to the Bakugo residence. Bakugou Mitsuki is as explosive as he is, but he can see her adoring stare at her son even when she’s scolding him. Bakugou Masaru is softer, always trying to calm both of them and giving small smiles when Shouto tells him stories about his son at school.

“What the fuck do you know, water dispenser?” Katsuki lowly growls, but it doesn’t have that biting hate, he doesn’t move away from Shouto.

So Shouto only hums and lets the silence stretch. He grabs the ashtray with his other hand, rubbing the plain surface with his thumb, remembering her, thanking her.

“What’s her name?” Katsuki says after minutes of silence, his voice with less snarl.

“Arisu.”

“... I’m sorry you lost her.”

And that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shouto may be able to let her go, but she’s still lost to him. Still hurts, Shouto still mises her. “Thank you.”

They didn’t let go of each other until Shouto’s phone rings. It’s Natsuo. His brother is just as unhappy about their parents' reunion, though for him it’s more about hating their dad and less about questioning their mother as Shouto did. Natsuo called to offer to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. Shouto immediately agrees, then he remembers Katsuki.

“Is it okay if I bring one of my friends?”

Katsuki instantly glowers at him.

“Who?”

“Katsuki.”

“Who??”

“Bakugou.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Buy some dinner on the way, I didn’t get to eat much.”

“Okay, me too.”

As soon as they hang up, Katsuki bares his teeth.

“Who says I’ll go with you, Pokeball?” His voice raised a bit, his arms crossing defensively.

“I’m not, I said if. You don’t have to, but if you want, you can.”

“No one fucking asked you for shelter,” Katsuki scoffs, facing away.

“I know...” Shouto knows Katsuki would rather leave than accept help. The only way he accepts it is that if no one acknowledges it. He knows Katsuki can take care of himself, but Shouto is the one that doesn’t want him to leave just yet. Shouto knows he’ll go back to Natsuo’s place only to hear him bitch about Endeavor when the real problem is with their mom and her odd decision.

“Can’t you just stay for dinner?” The desperation in his voice is real, Katsuki seems to notice it and is bewildered by it. “Please?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the magic word because no, Shouto doesn’t say it often, much less towards Katsuki, he had enough ego already.

Nose flared and fist clenched, Katsuki finally barks, “Fine! But we’re cooking instead of ordering take-out, I fucking know what you’re gonna get you soba simp. Your brother better has a kitchen.”

“He does,” Shouto replies, the upbeat tone in his voice is rare. Can you blame him? He’s excited that he’s not coming home, and Katsuki goes with him with his admittedly superior cooking.

At Natsuo’s apartment, Shouto helped Katsuki cook, nothing more than chopping stuff. Natsuo gave him a brief summary of what happened at home after Shouto left, but thankfully, he’s not saying too much because Katsuki is there. Once Natsuo finished talking and left to get beers, Shouto gives Katsuki an arm squeeze of thanks. Katsuki only grunts.

Dinner is ‘simple’ in Katsuki’s opinion. Stir-fried vegetables, miso soup, and hamburg steak. As always, it’s delicious, and Natsuo who’s none the wiser to Katsuki’s God-like cooking skill is blown away.

They’re in the living area on the sofa watching TV when Shouto scoots closer again. Natsuo is in his room studying.

“You can stay here for the rest of the weekend if you want,” Shouto says, bumping shoulders.

Katsuki frowns, eyes on the screen. “I don’t have my change of clothes with me.”

“You can borrow mine, I have some here.”

“Ran away a lot don’t you?” Katsuki sneers.

“You have no idea,” Shouto admits.

The sneer falls, “Why?”

“Just because I finally can.”

“You couldn’t before?”

Shouto shakes his head, finding his head heavy, so he lays his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again. “Before he was number one, he insists on using all my free time on training. If I didn’t, he’d take my phone, or the internet, or my manga, even burned them on some occasion. He even flushed my pet fish, rest in peace Kiya. Then he’s number one, and the dorms are established... so...”

Shout shrugs. He doesn’t reach for Katsuki’s hand this time, just pressed against him, afraid if he pushed then Katsuki would retract. Shouto doesn’t want to stop his newfound comfort just yet.

Then his hand is grasped by a firm clammy hand. Shouto keeps thinking of how Katsuki’s sweaty hands must be because of the nitroglycerin of his quirk. If he’s not thinking about Katsuki’s quirk then he’d think about how it makes his heart skipped a beat that Katsuki initiates the touch again. So yeah, clammy hands that hold him tight.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Katsuki says, weaker than he’s accustomed to. It makes Shouto wary.

“I don’t know what is there to tell.”

A groan stretches, “What do I do with you?”

“Hey...” Shouto mock complains “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does he still train you like that?”

Shouto feels a bit of whiplash with all these questions. Katsuki has been asking personal questions left and right, and Shouto doesn’t understand why answering it doesn’t feel as hard as usual.

“No, not since he became number 1.”

Katsuki scoffs, “Got what he wanted didn’t he?”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the case. When he got it, he didn’t seem happy, just angry. Then he started wanting the family he broke to get that number one spot.”

That renders Katsuki to another bout of silence. He knows Katsuki strives to be number one too, and at first, Shouto had ridiculed him about it. Why does a superficial title mean so much anyway? Katsuki changed over the years though, with Midoriya being the main cause of it.

Heart on his throat, Shouto dare asks, “Hey, Katsuki? Why do you want to be a hero?”

Katsuki tensed, but Shouto holds him tighter, “Why are you getting nosy all of the sudden?”

Shouto knows he’s not getting things easy, “I just wanna know.”

“Yeah, that’s nosy.”

“No, I just want to get to know you.” Shouto bites his lips as soon as the words left, was that too forward?

They’re not looking at each other, but Shouto can feel the glare directed at him. “Why?”

“We’ve been friends for a while...”

“We’re not fucking friends-!”

“...But I feel like I’m taking you for granted. I didn’t even know you’re going through something so big.” Some friend I am, Shouto broods.

It takes a few seconds, but Katsuki defeatedly sighs, and Shouto smiles in victory, “At first, I just want to be the best.”

“Best at what?”

“Everything...” Katsuki muses, his head knocked back, “Then I realized that it was an impossible goal... Did a lot of thinking, did a lot of uh, self-reflecting. Started talking to Ito-san too. I realized that I just want to be needed.”

It makes sense why Katsuki is here then. Shouto wished he could outright say that he needs him so Katsuki would stay longer, but just imagining him doing so already makes him pink in embarrassment.

Ito-san is the school counselor, her doors are open for every UA student. Shouto had half the mind to go to her, but there’s always this weight of silence from being a son of a high-profile hero. Endeavor always drilled him about secrecy and how he shouldn’t say anything about his family to anyone or it’ll ruin everything. It’s the reason why Arisu was his only friend, she was dying, and she did take his secret to her grave. Shouto still feels guilty about that.

“Have you ever talked to Ito-san?” Katsuki asked as if reading his mind.

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Everything that comes out of my mouth is tabloid-worthy. Endeavor had drilled me from way young that I can’t run my mouth about our lives. He’s right about that at least, I didn’t want paparazzi swarming us demanding half-assed rumors if I can help it. It had happened before, someone even sneaked into my mom’s hospital to reach her. I guess... that’s also why I never told anyone at all about anything.”

“You told Arisu didn’t you?”

Shouto bites his lip, guilt gnaws at him, “Because I know she won't carry my secrets long enough.” Please don’t hate me. Shouto’s grip on Katsuki tighten.

“But you told Deku, you told me.”

“Well, I trust you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “You sure you don’t want to stay over?”

Katsuki leans away, and the cold strikes immediately. Shouto leans back, pointedly not looking at red irises.

“Fine.”

Shouto quickly looks up, then he finds Katsuki’s face odd. There’s something familiar with it. He’s... smiling, only slightly, but it’s a smile, and his eyes aren’t furrowed or angry or glaring. His eyebrows relaxed and he looks.... soft. Maybe Shouto fell asleep and currently dreaming.

“I’ll need to call my parents first,” Katsuki says after clearing his throat, looking away a bit flushed.

“Sure, I’ll get you settled.”

Shouto is half excited half worried. He told Natsuo that Katsuki will be borrowing the couch, which only replied with a hum while his eyes doesn’t leave the book. His brother is not unfamiliar with runaways. Shouto isn’t the only one seeking shelter at his place.

Shouto passes the balcony where Katsuki is screaming at his phone. Shouto can only hear muffles, but he gives Katsuki some privacy and gets some spare clothes. When Shouto sees that Katsuki is still on the phone even after ten minutes have passed, he takes the liberty of taking a shower first.

When Shouto walks out, he finds Katsuki sitting by the sofa, his hands suspiciously inflamed. He faces the screen but looking particularly nowhere. Shouto had seen those empty looks before.

“Katsuki?”

He jerks slightly as his name is called. Katsuki schooled his expression to a careful stoic, walls up. No matter, Shouto thinks, sometimes you don’t need to tear down walls to help a person, just hold their hand through the gate.

“Go take a shower, bath’s warm.”

Katsuki nods, taking the towel Shouto offered and the spare clothes. Shouto makes tea, for him, his brother, and Katsuki. Shouto delivers the cup of tea to Natsuo’s room, seems like the books are multiplying around his brother.

“Tea,” Shouto says before putting it on a coaster.

“Thanks.” Natsuo finally looks away from the book and takes a sip. “That Bakugou, how is he?” Natsuo asks, knowing that Shouto only brings his friend here in a dire situation.

The only other person he brought was Kaminari, believe it or not. Kaminari had said he didn’t want to come home for the weekend because he was scared of facing his parents after he came out via text. From the replies, it hadn’t been good. Kaminari spent the rest of the stay switching between sobbing and full-on crying. Only God knows why Kaminari asked him instead of any of the Baku-squad, but Kaminari is still his friend too, so Shouto provides.

But today with Katsuki is different though. Shouto had to beg him to stay, whether it’s for the benefit of him or Shouto the line had blurred.

“Hopefully he will be,” Is all Shouto can offer. Natsuo nods before going back to his book.

Shouto lays out his futon in the living room adjacent to the sofa. He’s laying down, scrolling at his phone. Putting his dad on read and ignoring Fuyumi’s and mom’s chatbox. He opted to look at cat videos instead. Soon, Katsuki came out of the bathroom, drank the offered tea, and laid down on the sofa.

They spent probably an hour separately looking at their phones when Shouto finally calls it a night. He turned off the lights, and tuck himself in. Before he said goodnight, Shouto thinks and his desires take.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

Blood red eyes look at him from the screen, “Where?”

Shouto shrugs, “I don’t know, just around, get my mind off things. There’s a cat cafe I’ve been wanting to see, then we’ll go from there.”

Katsuki stares, seemingly thinking it over, “Have you ever been to a rock climbing gym?”

“A what?”

Katsuki smirks, sharp-teethed and evil, “Oh you’re in for a fucking experience, red velvet oreo.”

Shouto is a bit suspicious, even so, he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow.

+++++

I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but you shouldn’t think that way. Of course you’ll have more friends. You’re more lovable than you think, Shouto.

Something changed between them after that weekend. Comfort grows between them. Comfort that they don’t want to let go just yet, perhaps not anytime soon.

The bad thing about it is that everyone notices. Everyone.

To their friend's credit though, they came to school together, walking very close to each other. It was fully initiated by Shouto, but Katsuki didn’t snap or push him away, so he assumed everything is okay.

Everything is absolutely not okay because the moment he walks to class everyone has eyes on them. Shouto thought it won’t matter to him, but Katsuki tends to be defensive. When Katsuki is defensive, he pushes people away. Shouto tried not to watch Katsuki for the whole class.

Momo noticed, of course, but she notices more than superficial things.

“Shouto,” Momo whispers, “Everything alright?”

Shouto gives her a smile and nods.

It’s not until they’re getting up for lunch that Shouto is tested in a form of Kirishima.

“Bakubro! How long have you been dating Todobro?”

The world screech halt, and Kirishima tensed at the sudden chill he’s feeling. When Kirishima found the source of burning in his back, he sees Shouto, glaring hard and terrifyingly at him. Face darkens, pupils small, ready to kill.

Kirishima squeaks, “He-hey, uh-”

“Back off Kiri, it’s none of your business,” is all Katsuki says. Not even a scream, just a conversational tone as if he’s bored. No defensiveness, no snarling at Shouto in retaliation. “The fuck are yall extras staring at? Move outta my way, I’m hungry!” Then he left.

No one is barging Shouto with questions instead. It’s out of character of his classmates to not poke their nose in something juicy, but as he drops his butt at his chair, he finds himself alone in class.

Shouto is left in class with a big wave of relief, so much that he couldn’t stand. Why is it that the thought of Katsuki pushing him away scares him this much?

A hand landed on his desk, he looks up to find Momo’s honest stare, “Something is not alright.”

Shouto sighs, “No.”

Unlike Katsuki, Momo never pries, only assuring that she’s there for him. Unlike Momo, Katsuki understands that some things can’t be fixed, wherein if he opens up to Momo and some others, they tried to help by fixing. The number of times his friends told him, again and again, to go to Ito-san when they found out about Dabi being his brother is an exhausting amount. Maybe that’s why Shouto has been more comfortable with laying his problems to Katsuki.

So he eats lunch with Momo in the silence of comfortable company, and there’s just that.

+++++

Thank you for being there for me. You’re the bestest best friend I could ever wish for. And you won’t be lonely for long, you’ll see.

Shouto has peaceful days following that first Monday. His comfort with Katsuki doesn’t change. Though they don't get together on the rooftop anymore (Iida never let go of his key since Katsuki managed to steal it), they still gravitate towards each other whenever they don’t feel particularly great.

Katsuki would approach and say things like, “They want me home this weekend.”

“You wanna stay at the dorms or my place?”

“Can’t. I know they wanted to talk to me about who I wanna stay with.”

“We can make up an excuse if you want.”

“Hm.”

Then they spent the rest of the day together, just sitting at the school’s lawn, looking at particularly nothing. And if they sit too close together and their clasped hands only partially hidden by their legs, no one pointed it out.

Shouto would approach and say things like, “Fuyumi wants to call me, I know she’s just gonna talk about how I’m tearing the family apart.”

Katsuki snaps from his bed towards the window where Shouto is stepping down from his Elsa stairs.

Katsuki’s shock then turns to fury, “Your sister, Fuyumi, THAT Fuyumi said that to you?”

“She wanted the family together. I think she’s frustrated that I keep making my parents' union difficult.”

“You know what, her spicy mapo tofu isn’t that delicious anyway!” Katsuki barks his hands clenched down mini-explosions. It’s one of Katsuki’s outbursts that Shouto doesn’t understand, nor does he understand why her mapo tofu is related in any way, so he doesn’t comment.

“I’m gonna head up to the roof, wanna come?”

“No, you’ll just smoke and you’d give me fucking cancer.”

Shouto feels cold, Katsuki had never said no from hanging out before, “Fine.”

“Who said you can leave? Come here!” Katsuki held his ankle from the balcony, gripping tight.

Shouto blinks, remembering what Aizawa-sensei had said some days ago. “Oh, are we gonna cuddle?”

Katsuki’s face set aflame, “Just fucking come in here Katy Perry, before I yank you by your stupid Poland flag hair.”

Shouto finds himself obeying at the thought of cuddling, but then confused, “Why Katy Perry?”

“Hot and cold.”

“I guess that’ll make sense if I know who Katy Perry is but.”

Katsuki spat a curse, “Alright, time for a session of pop culture.”

“But I already had them with Mina and Sero”

“And they’re doing a shit job about it if you didn’t know the person that shapes a whole ass generation.”

It started with a music video of Hot and Cold by Katy Perry and ends with a retelling biography of Lady Gaga. Who knew Katsuki is so knowledgeable about female pop stars.

“TELL ANYONE AND DIE,” He said after Shouto pointed it out.

Most important of all, they did cuddle. They were sitting on the bedside then suddenly they’re laying down side by side. They’re watching a gameplay video of a Swedish man playing a horror game, another important role in pop culture as Katsuki said. It’s an old video, and Katsuki said that the man owns some part of Antarctica, which Shouto knows it’s some kind of an inside joke.

The nights getting late, and Shouto is reminded of the text on his phone, how it vibrates occasionally. Shouto has been in Katsuki’s room for four hours, but he doesn’t want to go back to his room.

Katsuki notices him lingering, “You wanna stay here for the night?”

Shouto looks up from Katsuki’s phone with big sparkling eyes, “You sure?”

“Tch, I wouldn’t have offered if I don’t.” Katsuki looks away, exposing his neck that seems red to the tip of his ears, “It’ll be a little cramp though with my single bed.”

“I don’t mind it. Just don’t kick me out of bed.”

“No promises.”

Katsuki didn’t. He curled away from Shouto as soon as the blankets tucked. Their backs pressed against each other because of the small space. Shouto finds it hard to fall asleep, could be the new environment or the gnawing anxiety.

He’ll admit that Fuyumi is his favorite sibling. She’s there for him when he was condemned in that lonely manor only to train and study. Fuyumi stays back for him, tend to his wounds, cook for him, keep him company. Natsuo had left and rarely come back, even though he’s there for Shouto in the end.

Then his dad had a bootleg redemption arc and Fuyumi dropped him like hot potato and shoved both of them together despite what Shouto feels about his dad. When his parents are getting back together, Fuyumi stopped consoling Shouto and started to support them blindly. So desperate to have their family together. Doesn’t she know that there’s nothing to salvage? Doesn’t she remember what he did?

“I can hear you from here, air conditioner,” Katsuki grumbles, his back vibrates, “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

Shouto can’t stop thinking, can’t stop getting angry and getting hurt. It hurts when his sister is pointing the blame at Shouto, it hurts even more when it’s kind of true. It hurts that despite his fear of facing her, he still owes her a call at least. He’ll never be ready for what she’s about to say, never be ready to be hurt by her. Shouto turns around and buries his face at Katsuki’s back, ducking under the cover.

“What is it?’ Katsuki asks, not demanding, but Shouto’s floodgates are opened.

“I don’t understand how they could forgive him. He hurts mom, he hurts Touya to a point that he left and hates us, and he... he hurts me. It’s just training but-but- fine, okay, it hurt and I was scared most of the time that he’s not gonna pull his punches. Fuyumi forgives him so easily, and mom just went back in there even though they were never in love in the first place. It’s like they’ve forgotten what he had done, how deeply he scars all of us. Like what- like what happened didn’t matter.” Shouto’s voice breaks the whole time, a sob escaped in between the jumbled words and he’s trying so hard, so hard not to cry.

Katsuki turns around, his arms wrapped around Shouto’s hunched shoulders. A burnt sweet scent hits his nostrils, his face pressed against a defined neck and collarbones. All tenseness bleeds away when Katsuki starts rubbing his back, and tears break from his eyes without his will. Shouto wraps his arms around his friend’s torso, feeling his chest constrict when Katsuki mercifully says nothing about the silent tears landing on his chest.

He shuts his lips, pressing tightly because he’s not sobbing to Katsuki’s chest. They’re comfortable with each other but not that comfortable... right? Shouto’s tolerance to breakdown cries is thanks to exposure to crying most of his childhood, the same can’t be said for Katsuki. The hug is enough, it’s everything. Shouto never realized how much he craved being touched until that day Katsuki sits way too close to him.

His lips pressed tight keeping from sobbing, but his hands tremble on Katsuki’s back instead.

“Damn, you’re touch starved aren’t you,” Katsuki sighs to his hair, his face buried there.

“I didn’t know,” Shouto’s voice shaking pathetically, breaking at the edge and Shouto is too torn to care about it.

“Me too.”

Shouto doesn’t know which one Katsuki meant, but neither let go until they sleep.

++++++

I love you too, Shouto. Don’t be scared of letting people in, okay? Not all of them are gonna leave you, I promise.

Things get rough, but their comfort pushes each other through.

Katsuki chooses to stay with his dad, but he’s co-parenting with his mom. Katsuki spends his weekends at both their house, switching every weekend. There’s still tenseness between his parents, and Katsuki explodes whenever his dad or mom asks Katsuki about the other. ‘Stop fucking asking me! If you wanna know so much then you shouldn’t have gotten the divorce!’ Katsuki doesn’t want to hear their reasoning, feeling better to just accept the change and move on, but Shouto thinks he’s just not ready to hear it. Sometimes Katsuki stays at the dorms with Shouto or the Todoroki estate when he gets overwhelmed.

Shouto finally talks to his mom. At first, it didn’t go anywhere. She’s as unsure as Shouto, but her willingness to try and salvage the marriage is as honest as it comes, even though her feelings might not be there yet. It feels like hearing Fuyumi talk, hearing the same desperation and blindness in putting things together. It’s hard to understand her foolishness, but Shouto tried to trust her. Shouto’s opinion might have been persuaded a little when his father announced that they’ll be moving houses due to mom’s tense reaction to the place. It’s a plus that his dad is willing to do that for his wife, but Shouto is still keeping an eye on them.

Then things get better, but their comfort doesn’t stop. Shouto is comfortable in following his desires without questioning them, but he quizically finds that Katsuki seeks him too even though he no longer approach Shouto with that near tears scowl, and situation bomb.

“How’s your mom?” Katsuki asked out of the blue under the summer blue sky. They’re sitting by the school lawn, their backs to a tree trunk, their friends strangely been leaving them alone.

“She’s fine.”

“Then why did you want to meet here?” Katsuki murmurs, looking down at the comic book Shouto lends him but not reading it. The tips of his ears are red.

Oh, Katsuki is testing the waters, “I just want to be with you.”

Katsuki flushes, “Ew, where the fuck did you even get that cheesy line.”

Shouto pays the snark no mind. “We haven't had any excuses for being together lately, do we?”

Katsuki hums.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Say... If I ask you to go to a cat cafe this Saturday, will you go?”

“Satan in hell, cat cafe again? I still have fucking fur on my black jacket from the previous visit! I felt like we’ve been to all the cat cafes in the country!”

Shouto pouts, “That’s not possible.”

“Let’s go hiking instead.”

“Okay.”

Katsuki twist his head towards him, “You would?”

“Just us two right?”

“Obviously, there’s no way I’m taking those extras. Those nature documentaries made them wimps.”

Shouto only listened to the first word he uttered, “I’ll go with you.”

Then Katsuki looks him that way again. Soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows, fond stares, and the most devastating of all, a small genuine smile.

“Cool. Come to my place, we have to wake up early. I miss seeing the sunset there, it’s awesome.” There’s light in his maroon eyes, excited to go, and he’s taking Shouto with him to his hobby, his precious place.

Shouto feels warmth radiating from his chest all the way down to his toes, a smile blooms on his face. He’s been feeling this mysterious warmth pretty often lately, only now has he realized that Shouto is happy and that he hasn’t been lonely despite his current family strain.

Katsuki’s rambling about his favorite hiking spot is cut short when Shouto leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. The smile is exchanged with shocked parted lips. Shouto feels himself shrink by the silence of Katsuki’s loud mouth and the pinning stare of his sharp eyes. Blood rushed to Shouto’s cheeks, knowing that he’s blushing up a storm, suddenly nervous.

“Is that okay?” Shout asks, too cowardly to say that he wants more, closer, to continue being together for no reason at all other than just because.

“No.”

He’s grabbed by the face, and a pair of lips pressed against his. Shouto expected to be bitten, his head clawed, and his lips bruised. But the weeks he spent with Katsuki should’ve made him know better. Because the gentle hands cradling his face, the complete capture of his lips, and the soft nips are all unsurprising. Shouto melts away, leaning his whole weight so they’re chest to chest. He grabs Katsuki by the hips, pulling closer, kissing back.

Katsuki hums, and the vibration echoes on Shouto’s body deliciously. Katsuki’s lips taste sweet and hot as it moves to nibble Shouto’s bottom lip. The hands cupping his face moves past his neck. One is clutching his back and the other plays with the hair at the back of his head. Fingers card gently around his nape and Shouto has a whole body shiver.

Then the lips go missing, and Shouto goes limp in Katsuki’s arms, gasping for breath on his chest.

“And that’s how you kiss, Strawberry Shortcake,” Katsuki says smugly, patting Shouto’s back condescendingly.

Shouto scoffs and leans back. Katsuki still has that fond eyes as he looks at him, but now paired with a cheeky smirk. Shouto wants to kiss that too, and Shouto does.

From then on, it’s expected that he sometimes steps down his icy stairs just to cuddle with Katsuki, and it’s perfectly acceptable that Katsuki barges into his room and starts pulling his hand towards wherever he wants.

They’d still bicker sometimes, and sometimes Shouto unintentionally steps on some lines that set Katsuki to explode. Sometimes Katsuki is frustrated with him. Those days they fight makes him nervous.

But they always say their apologies eventually. Katsuki always comes back and tries again with him. Even when the fights are between them, they eventually get over it and get better while they’re still leaning onto each other for comfort.

Eventually, Shouto keeps the coffin ashtray in his keepsake instead of his pocket.

He’d like to think that he can finally let her go now that she’s proven right.

Shouto finds someone that loves him, someone that makes him happy, and someone that doesn’t leave.

++++

nicknames that didn't make it: Colgate toothpaste, hot pocket, tide pod, dry ice. nicknames that I magically forgot: Half and half.

Tag yourself as Shouto’s nickname, I’m water dispenser.

#todobaku #bakutodo #todoroki shouto #todoroki shōto #bakugo katsuki #todobaku fic #todobaku fanfic #Todobaku fanfiction #emocel's #I'm crying #i googled shouto's nickname for this #I saw 'Strawberry Shorcake' and I lose my mind #I saw a trope that Bakugo smells like caramel becs of his quirk and i lose my mind #todoroki shoto fluff #boku no hero #boku no hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction

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