#sorry you were prolly expecting this the other way around but my gut said no no no atsushi asks sooooo ijuhygtfgyhujio

[that-was-anticlimactic]

"can you stay?" + atsushi & kyouka

"can you stay?"

atsushi's voice trembles as they speak, and kyouka freezes.

"nevermind."

atsushi laughs almost immediately, blinking away the impending tears and wavng their hands in front of them. "sorry. you don't... that was stupid of me to say. i'm-"

"stop apologizing."

kyouka slides beside them, curling up against their side. she head plops on their shoulder.

they're warm and shakey, and kyouka feels soft on atsushi's neck.

"i don't mind staying."

honestly, she wanted to stay. no matter how many times she watches atsushi - her sibling by everything but blood - get stabbed, the more she fears for them.

it's a little foolish, she knows; she's been familiar with blood and death and gore since her parents died. limbs being torn off and blood slowly oozing out of the body doesn't scare her.

but it does when she sees it happening to atsushi.

(and she doesn't say anything, but atsushi isn't the only one who gets nightmares - she's just better at keeping them quiet)

"you're just a kid..." atsushi mumbles, breaths shaky and uneven. "you shouldn't have to-to comfort me."

even so, kyouka soon feels the cool pads of their compression gloves rubbing her wrist.

"doesn't matter," she says, because she knows you're still a kid, too only upsets them more.

"okay."

they whisper it so quietly the only reasons kyouka hears it is because of her assassin training.

good.

she snuggles closer still and listens to their heartbeat. it starts off quick, but gradually falls until it's steady.

and kyouka is able to fall asleep with the reminder that her sibling is still alive.

(send me a sentence (+ a ship/character) and i'll write the next five sentences)

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

Chapter 6 The Problem with Perfection spoilers!!

Hey all!! So, people asked to see the part of the chapter where Mondo was, uh... rude, so I figured I’d post it, since it’s already written. And it’s gonna be a while ‘til the companion piece (which is titled “The Problem with Mondo,” ha) is released, but there are no real spoilers in this section, and the one spoiler there is, I cut out. 

The section is below the cut! It’s about 5,000 words, starting right after Mondo leaves the store to find Taka. There will be some things that don’t make sense, since the context was written in earlier chapters of the companion piece, or ins later chapters of The Problem with Perfection (TPWP) so beware of that, ha. Also, since Mondo is far more foul mouth than Taka, there’s a TON of curses in this section, ha. I don’t curse in everyday life, like... at all. Not even when upset. So it may not be super natural, but I did my best. 

I will also say there is a warning for internalized biphobia in this segment, so beware that. And, of course, the use of the same slur in the TPWP chapter.

I hope this explains things!!!

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

Quieter than anyone would ever give him credit for, Mondo slips out of the computer store and into the chill late September air. He doesn’t even feel the cold as he looks around, trying to see if he can find Ishimaru hanging around the area, perhaps still crying or some shit. When he doesn’t see him, Mondo turns to the general store across the way, hoping the kid did what he said and went there, and that he didn’t just say ‘fuck it’ and returned to the school. Shit. He truly hopes he didn’t do that. It would make it worse if he decided to leave their class outing just because Mondo was a fucking idiot. Goddamn. 

 The general store looks exactly the same as every other general store Mondo has ever been in, and with his advanced height, he’s easily able to look over the top of the shelves, his eyes scanning for a very, very familiar frame. 

 It takes him only a few seconds before he spots him. 

 Fuck, he looks sad... he thinks to himself, gut roiling. The kid is staring blankly at the shelves, face fucking despondent as shit, and Mondo doesn’t think he’s seen anything that looked so fucking sad before. It makes him want to rush over to the kid, wrap his arms around him, and tell him it’s going to be okay, but it’s a stupid fucking desire so he firmly pushes it away. Besides. It’s not like Ishimaru would appreciate it. 

 Mondo gives himself a single moment to stare, trying his best to calm his fucked-up stomach, before walking over to the kid, silent as a mouse. He has no idea what he’s going to say, his head too fucking scrambled to even begin thinking of that shit, but it doesn’t matter. He’s mostly here so Ishimaru can get his revenge and feel better already, shit. It would prolly be better if he said something super fucking stupid, to get that fiery hatred to rise in those fucking gorgeous eyes of his. 

 He knows the second Ishimaru notices his presence behind him. The kid had actually been kind of loose before, even if sorrow and resignation clung to him like a blanket. But the instant Mondo gets close, the kid goes so fucking stiff and rigid it ain’t funny, looking like a statue again. Or glass. Fragile fucking glass...

 Knowing he has to say something, Mondo takes a deep breath and just fucking... goes for it.

 No time like the present...

 “Hey, uh, look, Ishimaru-” Mondo starts, feeling so fucking awkward, but he doesn’t have the ability to say anymore before Ishimaru abruptly cuts him off, eyes blazing as he fucking glares. Not at him, at the display, but shit, it’s still so fucking impressive. God, but if he ain’t so fucking beautiful alive when he glares... 

 “Look, Owada-kun, I am not in the mood, so if you have any decency in you whatsoever, you will kindly leave me alone!” Ishimaru hisses, eyes like lasers as they glare at the dried ramen on the shelf. If it were possible to set things on fire with a glare alone, those noodles would be toast, he thinks humorlessly. Shit… but damn, he truly fucked up, didn’t he… shit.

 Silence falls between them, then, and he sees Ishimaru move on from the ramen, looking so tense and upset Mondo aches with sympathy. And he... fuck, he really should just do as the kid said, just leave him the fuck alone and let him pick himself back up, but he... he just can’t. He still hasn’t apologized, hasn’t let Ishimaru tear him a new one, and he... he just can’t leave now. Not when Ishimaru still looks so fucking sad. 

 So, Mondo just trails after the boy like a ghost, feeling so fucking awkward, but not really knowing what to say. He can see tears shining in the boy’s eyes and it makes him feel like absolute shit. It might be better to just leave him alone, but fuck if he doesn’t fucking wanna do that. He has no idea why he cares so fucking much about this fucking kid, but... but he just does, goddamn. 

 Finally, after a few awkward minutes have passed, Mondo decides to say ‘fuck it’ again and just... goes for it. Allowing his voice to sound softer and kinder than it ever has sounded before, his face open and honest should the kid decide to look at him, he speaks, hoping that Ishimaru doesn’t think he’s making fun of him, god...

 “You really mean it when you say you’re not rich, don’t you?” 

 He doesn’t quite know why he says that, of all things, but he doesn’t regret it. Not even when Ishimaru freezes, eyes wide and watery as they look at the styrofoam cups he’s for some reason staring at. He even lets himself speak properly for once, the way his bro taught him, before he then taught him to speak improperly to piss off the authority. He knows his words can be taken in a negative way, knows that it could sound like he’s making fun of the kid, but he... he hopes that Ishimaru can tell he’s being serious, for once. And if he can’t, and he decides to get blindingly angry at Mondo, well... ain’t like he doesn’t fucking deserve it, shit. 

 When Ishimaru looks up at him, eyes blazing, mouth open to prolly tell him to ‘leave me the fuck alone’ (or, you know, without the curse since the kid is so fucking innocent he refuses to curse ever, shit), Mondo thinks that the second option is more likely to happen here. And while he kind of fucking hates it, he doesn’t blame the kid. It makes him feel uncomfortable to have his face be so open and vulnerable when faced with such anger, especially since he never lets his face look like this, god, but he fights to keep it like that. He wants Ishimaru to knows he’s being serious, for once. 

 It’s what the boy is fucking owed. 

 And then... to his complete and utter surprise... 

 Ishimaru relaxes. His shoulders lose that angry tilt to them, his face stops looking so pinched, and his eyebrows stop being so furrowed they might as well be a unibrow. He turns back to look at the cups, still looking sad and upset, but he... he doesn’t look angry. 

 S-shit...  

 Several seconds pass in awkward fucking silence, Mondo thinking the kid will just continue to ignore him until he finally is forced to awkwardly shuffle off, feeling worse than he ever has before, when...

 “No, Owada-kun. I am not. Not even close. You... you told me, last week, that I could never understand what it’s like to go to bed hungry. You couldn’t have been more wrong. I often did, my father unable to pay off our debts and feed us at the same time. I often wondered if I’d waste away from lack of nutrition, like the starvation victims I’d see in my textbooks. My... m-my mother, she... she died, because we could not afford her cancer treatment. I... I am not rich, Owada-kun. And it is highly unlikely that I ever will be. No matter what lies I may tell myself to get through the day…” 

 Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

 Holy shit!

 He... he never would have expected that from the kid. And he’s not even just talking about the words themselves, though fuck is that sad. His ma really died because they couldn’t fucking afford treatment...? Shit, he thought shit like that only happened in backwards countries, like America or something, god fucking damn. 

 But it’s not just that that has him so fucking shocked, looking at the kid as he stares at the cups, mouth pulled down in the saddest fucking grimace he’s ever fucking seen. No... it’s the fact that Ishimaru told him this, of all people. Why... why would he trust him like this? After all he’s done, all he’s said... why would Ishimaru trust him to not be a fucking douchebag, like he always is? Why would Ishimaru trust him at all, when he’s done absolutely nothing to earn that trust? G-god... s-shit... it’s almost too much for him, and part of him wants to run away. To flee this moment and never have to deal with Ishimaru’s stupid ass trust. He...

 He doesn’t deserve it...

 But...

 But Mondo still hasn’t apologized. 

 And if Ishimaru isn’t inclined to tear him a new one, and is instead giving him a chance to make things right, then... 

 Then he can’t fucking ruin this golden chance. 

 And so, he... he decides to show how sorry he is by showing Ishimaru the same trust that the boy just showed him. 

 It’s what the kid is owed. 

 Even if it does make his skin fucking crawl... 

 “Wow, that uh... that really fuckin’ sucks, man. I mean... freakin’. But I, uh... I get it, ya know? It uh... it was the same, for me. Well, not exactly the same, but... s-see, my folks they, uh... they weren’t exactly the best, heh. Da didn’t exactly hang ‘round long, and ma died not too long after. I barely even remember ‘em, ta be perfectly honest. Just a blur of angry faces and drunken words. My older brother, Daiya, he uh… he raised me. Took care a’ me. We never had much, but as long as I had him, I was good, ya know? But... but I still hated it. Bein’ so poor. Never havin’ even a fraction a’ the things the kids at my run down schools had. I remember gettin’ so angry whenever I’d see one a’ my classmates totin’ ‘round some new gizmo or whatever, not even realizin’ just what I’d give ta have something even half as nice. I... I was always so angry, back then. Still am, heh… ‘specially here, at this school... it... I dunno. S’hard. And you… ya just... I dunno. Ya remind me a’ them. The kids I knew. The ones I hated...”

 Mondo pauses here for a second, before he looks up at Ishimaru and chuckles softly. 

 “But I get now that y’ain’t like ‘em, are ya? You... ya get it. What it’s like. Ta have fricken nothing’ while wantin’ everythin’. Ya know, ya… ya remind me a’ my bro a bit, heh. My bro, he, uh… he started my gang, ya know. Built it up from scratch. From nothin’. Always had big plans, Daiya did. An’ I don’t expect ya ta understand, but it’s all I got left a’ him now. He... yeah. Maybe I don’t like the violence as much as I prolly should, but I can’t just quit. I owe it ta Daiya ta keep the gang runnin’, keep us together. Honor his memory. Or somethin’ like that… shit. Uh, I mean… shoot. But, uh… my point is, while I may be a biker, I ain’t a complete a-hole, ya know? I do got some limits. An’ I shouldn’t a’ said what I did ta ya. Yer right, it’s uh... distasteful, ta talk ‘bout things like that, ‘specially in front a’ other people. I don’t expect ya ta accept it, but I am sorry. Genuinely. It was shitty a’ me ta do that, and if ya wanna hit me or somethin’, I won’t stop ya. I prolly deserve it.” 

 Mondo stops his rambling words abruptly then, his hands twitching at his sides. He feels so fucking exposed right now, everything in him feeling so wrong and vulnerable. He hadn’t told the complete truth, either, downplaying the way his da and ma really fucked him up, but he’d been more truthful than he’s ever fucking been. He’d even done his best to mind his language, knowing Ishimaru hates it when he curses. And while normally he wouldn’t care, he just... he wanted his apology to be genuine, fuck. Ishimaru still isn’t looking at him and he feels so uncomfortable it’s not fucking funny, but he fights hard to not storm away like he always does when uncomfortable. 

 It’s so fucking hard, but his restraint is proven to be worth it when Ishimaru turns to face him, a small, wry smile on his lips, his eyes... his eyes full of life for the first time that day, holy shit... and what he says...

 “I thought you said that no one deserves to be hit, Owada-kun? Or does that not apply to yourself?” 

 Mondo cannot help how he blinks at Ishimaru with shock, mind blanking as he hears the kid fucking... fucking tease him, holy shit! He didn’t know the kid even had a sense of humor, but he’d clearly meant the words as a joke, since he’s smiling softly, fucking eyes dancing with a silent mirth. 

 As he gets over the shock at Ishimaru saying a fucking joke, he finds himself smiling. It’s small at first but grows more and more as he gets used to the idea of Ishimaru joking around with him, realizing he... he actually really fucking likes it. The kid smiling at him, for once, speaking to him almost like they’re friends or something. It... fuck, he has no idea how to describe the way it makes him feel inside, god. 

 Letting out a soft, relieved laugh, he feels so fucking glad that he didn’t mess this whole thing up. To try and let out the strange buoyancy he feels inside, he playfully shoves Ishimaru, not wanting to hurt him, but just wanting... to be playful and easy, to keep going with the unusual lightness their conversation suddenly has. He... god, it feels so weird, but also so... so nice, acting like this with Ishimaru... f-fuck... 

 “Aw, shut the hell up, ya nerd! I said no one deserves ta be beat, not hit. There’s a difference, idiot. Now come on. Hit me. I know ya wanna, ya goddamn goody-two shoes. Y’ain’t gonna get another chance like this, I promise ya that!” Mondo says, grinning like an idiot. He can’t help how he’s looking at Ishimaru, marveling at how nice the kid looks when he’s genuinely smiling. It... it’s making him feel so weird inside, and he knows his eyes are too soft, betraying everything he feels inside, but maybe it’s not so bad... not when Ishimaru is looking at him like that, g-god... like he’s not a fucking monster... like he might... might be...

 Someone amazing... 

 He watches, heart pounding strangely, as Ishimaru curls his hand into a loose fist, looking like he’s never thrown a punch before, god. And then, weak as a fucking kitten, the kid, he... he fucking taps Mondo so lightly on his chest that if he weren’t watching it, he wouldn’t have thought the kid had touched him at all. It’s so fucking endearing, Jesus fucking Christ... 

 Mondo has no idea what is going on inside him at that moment, his insides feeling so fucking weird and squirming. It... it’s almost like fucking butterflies, but he knows it ain’t, he’s not fucking gay, shit. But... but god, it feels so nice... Ishimaru smiling at him feels- feels so nice... 

 Unable to help himself, he lets out the laugh that wants to escape, loud and boisterous, like he always does when genuinely happy. F-fuck... he’s not laughed like this in ages... unrestrained like this, loud and just... happy. So fucking happy. 

 Ishimaru... Ishimaru makes him feel so goddamn happy...

 What the fuck…

 Before he can stop himself, he feels his hand dart out and grab Ishimaru’s hand— which is still hovering over around his chest— and just... shit. Holds it close to him, pressing it right over his fucking heart. He doesn’t know why he does it, he just knows that it feels... natural or something. And the feel of Ishimaru’s hand under his, the flesh warm and smooth under his rough palm, the fingers curled so wondrously under his, it makes him feel- f-feel... shit, he doesn’t even know, he doesn’t know, and he... he doesn’t know what the fuck to do, holy shit. 

 The kid is staring at him with wide eyes, his cheeks the most beautiful shade of pink he’s ever seen, and his lips are partially open, his breathing shallow and uneven. Something about the look is making his head go all stupid, his brain full of static and cotton, his chest aching but not in a bad way, and it makes him want... w-want to... 

 “Man, Ishimaru-san, you, uh... you sure are somethin’ else, ain’t ya,” he says softly, softer than he’s ever heard himself sound before. His lips are curled in a small smile, and everything in him is feeling so, so weird. He can feel himself drifting closer and closer to the kid, not knowing why he’s doing it, why he wants to do it, but fuck, he can’t make himself stop. He feels so warm inside, warmer than he’s ever felt before, and his brain isn’t working, and he... he wants... he wants...

 His eyes dart down to Ishimaru’s lips then, unbidden. They’re partially open, allowing Mondo to see a hint of a pink tongue sitting innocently passed the bitten lips, and it makes his gut lurch, heat blooming within him. H-holy shit... what the... t-the fuck...?

 What would his lips feel like against your own? he hears a voice whisper inside him, making his breath hitch, and he knows he should push it away, should shut it the fuck up, but... b-but...

 They look so fucking rough and warm, don’t they... bet they would feel so fucking nice, the kid pressing his body so firmly to you, hands in your hair... he’s always so fucking passionate, he’d prolly be a passionate kisser... maybe he’d even bite your lips to all hell, like he bites his own... and maybe then you can bite his, finally fucking feel those pale lips you’ve been dreaming about for so fucking long under your teeth, listening to the little noises that kid will prolly make, feeling so fucking much, fuck, Ishimaru is so fucking much and fuck is it so fucking hot- 

 Mondo gets cruelly jolted from the horrible fucking thoughts, holy shit when he feels Ishimaru jerk away from him, his eyes so wide and fucking horrified it’s not fucking funny. It takes him a second to realize what the fuck is going on, what had just fucking happened, but when he does, he... he...

 Holy. God. Damn. SHIT.

 Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit-!

 What the goddamn fuck had he just- just done... what the goddamn fuck had he just thought?! H-he... he isn’t... he doesn’t... h-he doesn’t want to fucking kis- fuck! No! No, no, no! Nononononononononononono!!!!! 

 He’s not- fuck! He doesn’t think of- of dudes like that, h-he doesn’t- and yeah, maybe he’s had a couple dreams of Ishimaru and his- his eyes and his- h-his li- but it means nothing! Nothing, nothing, nothing! Y-you can’t fucking control what you dream about, so it means fucking nothing! Nothing nothing nothing!

 As he looks at Ishimaru, the kid looking so fucking horrified, looking at Mondo with fucking disgust, Mondo knows he- he has to fix this, has to- has to make sure that fucking little freak doesn’t think he- fuck, it had to have been him! H-he was the one who- who had been drifting closer, who had gotten so close to him, who had almost- almost fucking kissed him, it wasn’t his fucking fault! I-it wasn’t- it wasn’t-! 

 “What the fuck... w-what the hell did ya... what did ya do ta me, ya fuckin’ freak?! What are ya, some kinda goddamn fairy?! Get the hell away from me, you f*g!” 

 Mondo can hear the horrified gasp the hall monitor lets out, the boy taking a step back as anger and hatred rise in his eyes. G-good... f-fucking good. H-he hates using that word, always beats the shit out of the sons of bitches who use fucking slurs like that, but he- he had to make sure Ishimaru knew- k-knew that he- he’s not... h-he’s not-

 Ishimaru is glaring at him again, so far from the soft and open look from a moment before it stupidly makes him want to fucking cry, but he can’t do that, doesn’t do that, he just- just glares right on back and hopes that Ishimaru doesn’t see the way he’s shaking, his entire body and mind so fucking confused. Because he- he has no idea where the fuck that came from, why he- he had felt like that, why he had thought that, why he... why he wanted-

 But no. He hadn’t. Hadn’t wanted, hadn’t wanted, hadn’t wanted at all. Ishimaru must have- have done something to him, fucking drugged him or something, it’s the only fucking explanation, holy fucking shit-

 “I- I... you! I did nothing! I-it was you who... and how dare you, use such a word?! I’m not- not... that, but that gives you no right to use such language! You are lucky we are not on school grounds, or else I would give you detention for the rest of the year for using such a vile word! I- I have never been so disgusted before in my life! Y-you... you...” 

 Mondo feels a spike of absolute pain stab him then, making him want to gasp, but he can’t, can’t show weakness, oh god, so he just glares, letting all the anger and hatred he feels come to the surface as he glares daggers into Ishimaru. He masks the pain and the confusion and he just glares. 

 He listens as the kid trails off, as his eyes get shiny again, his lips (oh god, his lips) pulled down in the harshest grimace he’s ever seen, but he can’t let it sway him, oh god. After a moment of tense fucking silence, he hears the kid fucking sob, tears bright in his eyes, before he turns tail and fucking bolts. He strides away so quickly he might as well be running, and as soon as he reaches the door, Mondo sees through the window as he actually runs. He’s fast as a fucking bullet, like a fucking marathon runner, but Mondo can’t focus on that, fuck, he just can’t-

 Mondo is stuck in place, his body fucking frozen in space, no idea what to do, until he sees the owner of the store storming over to him, looking pissed. Putting on his most menacing, ‘don’t you fucking even look at me’ glare, he only has to look at the old man once to make that fucking coward’s eyes widen and make him back off. Seeing as how he’s prolly gonna head to the phone to call the cops, which would just make his fucking day so much better, he decides to just fucking bail. He- he doesn’t want to be here anymore anyway, he just- just wants to be away, god-

 He doesn’t realize he’d actually moved until he feels the chill late September air attack his face again, making him gasp harshly. Goosebumps are alive on his skin and he feels so fucking sick inside and all he wants is to get on his fucking hog and ride. Ride far from this fucking school, far from this fucking moment, far from- from what he- he had almost... almost done-

 Mondo is moving before he realizes again, mind so fucking confused it’s not fucking funny, feet taking off in the opposite direction he saw Ishimaru go. He can distantly hear people calling to him, Leon saying his name, but he ignores them. And then he starts walking faster, not quite running since his endurance for running is fucking shit, but he definitely is going fast, his long legs helping him for once. Pretty soon he’s out of the fucking mall and he doesn’t quite know the way back to the school, but he’s always had a good fucking sense of direction, so it doesn’t take him long to see streets he recognizes that allow him to make it back to the school right fucking quick. He keeps his eyes peeled, making sure that no one fucking approaches him (and that he doesn’t accidentally run into the one person he wants to see the least), which thankfully doesn’t happen, thank fuck. 

 Before long he’s in the school parking lot and as soon as he’s there he makes a beeline for his baby, hopping on without a single fucking thought, keys already in hand to turn her on. He doesn’t wait a single fucking second before peeling out of the parking lot, not caring about speed limits or traffic as he speeds towards the highway. 

 He doesn’t know where he’s going. He has no fucking idea where he wants to go, or what the fuck he’s going to do; all he knows is that he has to be away, away, away. H-he can’t stand being in that fucking school, fucking surrounded by that goddamn fucking hall monitor, slowly losing his goddamn mind, shit! He... he just can’t! 

 At least while he’s driving, he doesn’t have to think. He just drives, faster and faster, avoiding the other cars without any fucking problem. He’s going far over the speed limit, pressing 160 KPH, but he doesn’t fucking care. If the cops try to pull him over, he’ll just lead them on a chase, fuck that would feel so fucking good right about now. It’s risky doing that shit when by himself, his plates on, but he just doesn’t fucking care, god! He just doesn’t care! He wants to fucking stop feeling like this, his body and mind fucking frozen in that moment, wondering what would have happened had Ishimaru not pulled away, had he erased those last remaining centimeters, had he been able to actually fucking kiss those fucking kissable looking lips-

 Mondo drives faster. He drives faster and faster and faster, as fast as he fucking can, not caring where he’s going, just knowing he needs to be away. 

  (This part is cut out because there are ~~~~spoilers oooooo~~~~ Just know that Mondo is outside somewhere now. And he has alcohol, somehow that I can’t say because of spoilers, ha. There are some mild spoilers for the rest of TPWP in this next section, but nothing super major.)

   He takes the cap off the whiskey bottle and he downs half the bottle in one fucking gulp. It makes him feel so fucking sick but he doesn’t fucking care, he doesn’t care, he just wants to not fucking think- 

 He’s not fucking gay. He’s not, he’s not, he’s not, god, he’s not! He hadn’t wanted to- to do anything with Ishimaru, he fucking despises Ishimaru, he has never hated anyone more! Fuck, even the thought of that fucking fairy makes him want to kill someone! Ishimaru could fucking die and he wouldn’t fucking care! He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t! He fucking, goddamn WOULDN’T!

 You’re such a goddamn liar, Owada, such a goddamn fucking liar-

 He drinks. He drinks. He drinks and he drinks and he drinks, until the ache in his chest is gone, until he can’t feel anything anymore, until all he feels is fucking numb.  

 Ishimaru means nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. He doesn’t know why he’s felt so weird about him before now, but like fuck is he ever going to allow himself to show that motherfucker any hint of mercy now. It’s decided. His life’s fucking goal is to make Ishimaru as fucking miserable as possible. He will do everything he can to break that motherfucker, so that he never fucking thinks he can get that fucking close to him again, so he fucking knows how disgusting and pathetic he is. Mondo isn’t gay. He’s not gay, and he has no problem with people who are gay, but he does fucking have a problem with Ishi-fucking-maru. 

 He’s not gay. He’s not gay. He repeats the words in his mind, staring blankly at the stars, not knowing when the sun had set and night came, but not really caring. He isn’t gay, he can’t be gay. He has nothing against gay people, and if he were gay, it wouldn’t be a fucking problem, but he’s fucking not fucking gay. He likes chicks. Breasts. Pussy. When he looks at a naked chick in his porno mags, or when watching porn, he gets so fucking hard. He jerks off every night to the thought of himself fucking pounding into chicks, of chicks blowing him, of him eating chicks out. He likes chicks, he’s fucking attracted to chicks. 

 He doesn’t like dudes. He just- he doesn’t. He fucking can’t, because he already likes chicks, and Daiya always told him he could only like one. Chicks or dudes. Dudes or chicks. Whichever he chose, Daiya would support him, he was a good fucking brother, but the one thing he always told Mondo was that he had to choose only one. 

 Their old man liked both. He’d have men over, sometimes, and do things with them. While their ma was in the next room, sobbing her eyes out, Mondo staring wide-eyed at the wall, not knowing what any of it meant, he’d been so fucking young. His da apparently did shit like that before Mondo was born, too, even when things had been better for their little family, before Mondo ruined everything with his birth. Daiya always hated it, said it was fucking despicable, and he told Mondo he had to choose one. He had to be faithful, monogamous, and you can’t be faithful if you like both. Daiya never said that aloud, but Mondo could fucking read between the lines. 

 Mondo likes chicks. He’s fucking allowed to like chicks. He doesn’t like dudes. He just... he doesn’t.

 He is not his goddamn old man. 

 He doesn’t like Ishimaru. He hates Ishimaru. Him and his fucking wide, watery eyes, and his sad fucking smiles, and his lonely fucking demeanor. He’s never hated anyone more, shit. If he never saw Ishimaru again, it would be too fucking soon, because he’s a goddamn nuisance, who needs to be fucking put in his goddamn place. He needs to be brought down, needs to be reminded how worthless he is, needs to- to know that Mondo isn’t, that he hadn’t wanted, that he’s not fucking gay-

 Mondo will never admit it, not to himself, but his cheeks are wet. He prolly spilled some whiskey on his face, or maybe it started raining, but whatever, it doesn’t matter. He stares at the stars, feeling so goddamn sick, wishing that he weren’t fucking alive. That Daiya hadn’t pushed him out of the way that day, that he had just let that semi ram into him, that he’d been the one who died and not-

 His cheeks are wet, but it’s just from the rain. It always fucking rains, even though there’s not a cloud in the goddamn sky. 

 Mondo finishes the bottle, and he wants to die, but before he can die, he falls asleep. He knows he shouldn’t, it gets so fucking cold overnight, but maybe he’ll freeze to death and that will solve all his fucking problems. It’s not like anyone will care. Leon doesn’t care about him, he just wants Mondo around to make himself seem tougher. Fujisaki wouldn’t care, she was just trying to be nice to him earlier, humoring him so he wouldn’t hurt her. He doesn’t fucking know anyone else at that goddamn school, they all avoid him like the plague, so fucking scared of him, so they wouldn’t care. And... and Ishimaru...

 He’d prolly be happy. If Mondo died. If Mondo went missing and no one ever found the body. He’d prolly be so, so fucking happy. 

 Mondo sleeps and he dreams of bright red eyes, drowning him with the accusations they always contain, the hatred and disgust sharper than any knife he’s ever felt. 

 He wakes with wet cheeks. 

 Goddamn rain. 

[redhawtriot]

Baby Boom (Bakugou x Reader)

Sooo... I think It’s the size of my tag list that was fucking this chapter up so much! Every time I have more than my previous chapter had, this chapter deletes itself from my page/drafts! I’ve contacted Tumblr about it, but don’t cross ur finger’s on that one lol. I am sorry if you weren't able to make the list!

(If you beta read for me you could read the chapters up to an entire day ahead of every else tho! If ur interested in that, just inbox me!)

HnM

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Month 1, Month 2 , Month 3,

--Month 4--

‘SLAM!’

The front door crashed shut like ammunition through cannon fire. The sharp bang clapped and echoed throughout the small, otherwise quiet living space, and soon, three roommates filed out of their respective rooms. One by one, they inched out to get a glimpse of the oncoming storm: Hurricane Katsuki.

Denki warily removed his gaming headpiece as Bakugou whipped past his bedroom door, “Oh hey, Bakugou! You sure disappeared outta nowhere. We coulda used the backup in squads! Where’d ya go, man!?” 

The others listened carefully for the explosive blond’s answer, but got nothing short of an insult in return,

“None of your business, you damn idiots. GO DIE ALREADY!” and with that, Hurricane Katsuki simply slammed the door shut-- somehow even louder than before.

Kaminari, who had gotten the brunt of the explosion, was left wide eyed,

“Woah…”

Sero gave a low whistle as he shook his head at Bakugou’s shut door, “Looks like a wild Teenage Bakugou has entered the chat.”

Denki gave an abrupt, slightly uncomfortable chuckle at the remark, but soon gulped, giving his roommates a concerned gaze, “So… should we…” he trailed off.

Kirishima fervently nodded, stepping fully out into the hallway, “I’ll go check on him, guys.” He flexed before making his way to Bakugou’s room—a nervous habit he had picked up somewhere along the line to reassure himself before he dived headfirst into rough situations.

He looked back to his other two roommates one last time and threw a pleading glance as if to say “Wish me all of the luck” before giving a few slight knocks to the rage-secreting room, “Bakugou,” he called out, “You okay, buddy? I know that there is something up. There’s no point in hiding it…we can talk?”

No answer.

Kirishima gave a long sigh, “Well, when you finally want to talk about it, you know where to find me...” 

The other roommates sighed as well before both retreating to their rooms and shutting their doors. Kiri turned to make his way back to his room as well, but only made it a few feet before Bakugou’s door sharply yanked open a few inches.

“Where are those other idiots?” Bakugou’s eyes were redder than their usual vermilion as he glared out from the cracked doorway. Kirishima gave a thick blink in surprise. Had he… had he been crying?

“They back in their rooms?” Bakugou said very lowly. His voice had an extra hint of raspiness weighing it down, Kirishima noticed.

“Y-Yeah.” Eijirou quickly replied, startled by the unseemly sight of his best friend, “They’re prolly back on the game by now.” Bakugou did not say another word as he threw his door open a few more inches and marched deeper into his room to stiffly throw himself on the edge of his bed. Kirishima cautiously followed him-- this was as good of an invitation as any in ‘Bakugou language.’

Bakugou sat, glaring seriously at the floor in front of him, as if it offended him, and his leg bounced nervously. The red head uncomfortably cleared his throat. ‘Holy shit, what the hell is going on…?’  Kirishima had never seen him do that before, “You.. uh.. you wanna talk about it, buddy?”

No answer.

Kirishima waited a few beats before releasing another sigh and shutting the door behind him so that he could make his way to the bed. He sat down next to his best friend and simply sat deep in the silence with him. The two waited for what seemed like hours before someone finally spoke up,

“I got a girl pregnant,” Bakugou said very flatly, still glaring at the floor and bouncing his leg.

Kirshima had to stifle the choke that erupted out of his throat as his own saliva sneaked into his larynx, “Ack! Achkaka!” His natural bodily functions were completely forgotten as his brain tried to compute the sudden and drastic information that was just thrown at him.

Bakugou?? Pregnant? He never thought he would hear the words in the same room, let alone the same sentence! The guy hardly ever did anything but work, work out and come home to play video games. He didn’t converse with people. He didn’t get girls pregnant. Girls didn’t even look at him!

In his coughing fit, Kirishima’s speech was also forgone, “I-I- uh.. man that.. wow I…” he tripped and tumbled over his words. He was dreaming. He had to be. Well, either that or he had wandered into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone or something.

Bakugou’s glare at the floor intensified, “I thought she might not be so bad… but I didn’t want to be with her like this,” Kirishima’s eyes widened at the underlying tone of hurt buried under his friend's words, and then they widened even further once he realized what he just said.

Had Bakugou fallen for someone for the first time?? And then his eyes widened the furthest as things finally began to click within his confused mind.

He sucked into a sharp gasp, “You mean that model!?”

Bakugou simply scoffed, finally relieving his glare form the ground and focusing his hot gaze on Kirishima, “Yeah, turns out she’s actually a fucking bitch.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped, “BAKUGOU! That’s the mother of your child! You shouldn’t—”

“She didn’t remember the night at all. I was just another fuck toy for her,”  Bakugou stood up and clenched his fists over and over again as if they itched to be slammed against something—tears welling up in his red-hot eyes, “Now tell me if the roles were reversed, how shitty it’d be then, huh?” Kirishima immediately shut his mouth from speaking up anymore as he allowed his friend to release his feelings. It wasn’t often that Bakugou built up enough to let things out this way.

Bakugou scoffed again as he began pacing the room, but Kirishima swore that it had the hint of a cry layered within it somewhere, “they might not even be mine since she likes that ‘fuck toy shit’ so much. That night meant nothing to her…” he threw his arm against the wall, effectively tearing a hole into it

Kirishima jumped a bit from the action as his mind briefly wandered to the security deposit on their lease. He pushed these thoughts away as Bakugou stiffly returned to the bed, his leg bouncing even more fervently than before.

Kirishima simply watched for a moment to allow his friend to simmer down before he spoke up very softly, “But you think it is yours though…”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped up to Kirishima’s, whose eyebrows were furrowed deeply into each other as he stared back.

In all his years of knowing Katsuki Bakugou, Kirishima would have never described his best friend with anything even resembling ‘gullible.’ His gut feeling and instinct were as sharp as ever and hardly ever wrong,

“Must be for a reason then…” he tried to look past the tears that filled up within his best friends eyes but they still left his heart feeling a little heavier than usual,  “If you think it’s yours then I’ll have your back no matter what buddy. You’re not alone in this.”

“They.”

“What…” Kirishima eyebrows folded toward the center of his expression.

“She’s having fucking twins.”

“Holy Sh…” Kirishima quickly swallowed his words as he took in the forlorn expression plastered onto his friend’s face. There was no room for him to be shocked right now. He had to be Bakuous ‘rock’ so to speak, “I-I mean congratulations!”

Meanwhile you found yourself studying the woman in the reflection of your mirror. Your eyes trailed every detail of her swollen, red eyes. Then to her hair that was fuller than you had remembered—the beauty of bottled color maybe? You danced over the way that loose strands stuck to the slimy mess of tears and mucosa that had accumulated on your cheeks.

Nasty.

A sharp chuckle came out of you, spittle following not too shortly after, but as it reached your ears it resembled more of a cry.

Okay, that’s enough self loathing for one lifetime.

And with that, you moved away from the mirror; however, as you did so, your sight basically smacked the open cabinet of liquor bottles that you were eyeing earlier.

Okay…. Maybe not quite enough self loathing. Your mouth began watering at the delectable sight. It was a desert after a delicious four course meal.  There was always room for more…

With a shake of your head, you brought your hand up to smack these thoughts out of your mind. What was wrong with you? You had been a lot of things in life, but were you really so low to bring yourself to effectively murdering your own children?

That’s what would happen if you drank, right?

You loudly groaned as more tears slipped from your eyes. You really didn’t know shit when it came to this pregnancy thing.

Your mind briefly wondered to Baby Notes Vol 1. You should probably take the time to actually read through it a little. Skimming it wouldn’t kill you.

Physically.

The sudden pounding at your door snapped you almost immediately out of your thoughts.

“Y/N?? Y/N, it’s me!”

With a final pathetic sigh you found yourself gathering up all the alcohol from the cabinets that you could into your arms and placing them in the bathtub before jotting over to the door.

As soon as you opened it Deku barged in and gripped you softly,  “I came as soon as you called! What’s up, what's wrong?! Are you okay??” His eyes frantically danced around your wet eyes and red sockets before he allowed them to roam all over you, checking for injury.

He wouldn’t ever think that Kacchan was the type of guy to put his hands on you, especially with how much he’s grown since high school, but the nagging voice in the back of Izuku’s mind fervently reminded him of all of the bruises and burns and numberless emotional scars he accumulated with he was quirkless from his childhood friend.

And here was a woman he deeply cared about-- quirkless—having to spend time alone with said childhood friend.

“What’s wrong??” Izuku found himself repeating as his hands mindlessly wiped the fluid from your cheeks. As soon as he committed the action, however, his face ran completely red and he quickly released you from his grip, so that he could get a grip of himself.

You didn’t notice his slip up, and if you did you sure as hell didn’t care at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand. Two to be exact, “Twins,” you simply said to him as tears began flowing down your cheeks more furiously.

“Huh? Oh… Oh.” Izuku’s eyes went wide as your words sunk in. As soon as he threw you an obviously apologetic glance you threw yourself into his chest and sobbed throwing him a bit off guard as he barely caught you in his arms.

Izuku’s eyes nervously roamed around your home as if he were searching for the right thing to say to you, but as he made contact with an open pantry in your kitchen, his jaw dropped-- your alcohol pantry.

It was far less full than it had been the last time that he visited, “Y/N… What’s with the… have you been drinking?” he pulled you away from his chest and looked seriously into your eyes.

The sight honestly kind of scared you a little—like a 15-year-old being caught with their first beer-- that is, until you remembered that you were innocent as fuck, “No,” you gave a slight chuckle through your tears at the sudden surge of intimidation, “I need your help getting rid of it.”

You walked away from Izuku for a moment, leaving him confused and a bit wary of where this was going, until you returned with a hammer—leaving him even more concerned,

You were aiming for bad ass Harley Quinn vibes, but you were sure that with a dried trail of tears on your cheeks and the force smile splitting your face you came across like more of a psycho ass Harley Quinn. Furthermore, the look on Deku’s face screamed that you were correct (also it screamed ‘GET THIS GIRL IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!’).

“What are you gonna do with THAT?” Izuku squealed.

“I need to get my favorite bottles out of the house. Stat. and you're gonna help me.” At your words, Deku gave a gigantic sigh of relief, but still kept his eyes glued on the hammer in your hands. You noticed and shrugged a bit, “Smashing things is also really cathartic. I am sure you of all people can agree with that.”

“Heh… Yeah. But are you sure this is okay? I mean, I don't want to raise your blood pressure or anything because--”

“Deku. Less talk, more smash,” you threw a towel in your tub to make clean up a little easier, and so you didn't knock a chunk of tile on your bathtub. You gave Deku one last glance. He was still looking very uncertain, but you threw him a short smile before bringing the hammer down onto a bottle of tequila. The bottle instantly shattered, sending bits of glass throughout your tub. You looked up to give Deku an excited glance, and surprisingly, he returned one right back.

“See? Not so bad!” 

But you spoke too soon as the scent kicked you in the fucking nose. It was too far to turn back now. You choked down your nausea and handed Deku the Hammer, “You go ahead and get started. I’ll go get another weapon-- I mean… tool,” you corrected yourself after he sent you a terrified stare.

As you made your way back to the after grabbing your second weapon-- I mean tool a sudden thought crossed your mind. Without hesitation, you pulled your phone out and dialed in,

“Hello?”

“Yes. How may I help you today?” Dr. Yamakawa sounded from the other line.

“It’s Y/N…Y/N L/N…” you trailed off, hoping that you wouldn't have to say the ‘p word’ or anything relating to it.

His old ass better take the hint. To your dismay, his old ass did not take the hint, and a long pause of awkward silence filled the air.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance, “Mama Bakugou,” you clarified through gritted teeth, still dancing around the fact that you were a maternity patient of his.

“Ohhhhh!” He exclaimed, causing your face to fall into an expression of disappointment as he continued, “What can I do for you, Mama Bakugou?!”

This mf. You internally ground and fought the urge to facepalm, “Well. I need you to write a doctors note for me.”

“For…?”

“Work?”

“For your pregnancy? Dear, why don’t you just take maternity leave for that?”

“No.” In the moment you shook your head even knowing that he couldn't see you,  “I need a few weeks more before I can tell my job about this… situation. I’m a model. They own me through a contract and I didn't exactly add two roommates to the lease on my body...”

There was a pause on the other line, causing your heart to lurch a bit, but things soon went back to normal when he finally spoke up, “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll email you something.”

You gave one final thanks (and an internal ‘yessss’) before making your way back to the bathroom, “Hey Deku, sorry it took me so long I was just--” you froze at the sight in front of you. The shirt that Izuku wore was completely drenched in liquid and your tub had a gigantic hole on the side.

Your lips fumbled over themselves as you gawked at the spectacle. Deku could only send you a nervous laugh,

“Uh, hahaaa… Can we be done now? This… this burns,” he rapidly blinked the liquid from his eyes as he glances back down to the lot of broken bottles in your tub before throwing your one more pleading glance.

You choked down a laugh, causing it to flee from you in the form of a snort, “Someone had some pent up aggression, huh?”

In response, his face delved into a deep shade of red, “I.. uh..” he had no idea how to answer you when you looked at him like that-- your lips curved into a stunning smirk of a smile. Izuku promptly cleared his throat, “C-can I take a shower?”

“Obviously not that one-- you're totally fixing that by the way Mr. Big Shot Hero,” with a laugh you swiftly made your way to him and carefully grabbed the hammer from his grasp, looking up to see his face dive even deeper into crismon. You flashed a smile at the display. He really was adorable as hell.

You took in his face bit by bit-- his soft, blushed skin, his freckles cheeks, his round eyes. As you digested his expression you swore you could see an entire forest within his stare. Suddenly your heart pinged.

“Uh, Y/N,” Izuku interrupted your thoughts, causing your heart to throb for a different reason as you suddenly realized the proximity of the two of you. You stepped back so fast that your head spun. At least, you hoped that was why your head was spinning,

“You can use my shower.” you said very abruptly as you turned away from him,gesturing him to follow you to your bedroom.

Your bedroom. Your hear throbbed once more. Deep down, you hoped that you were about to have a heart attack or something; however, something  within you told you that that probably was not the case. You swallowed hard.

What the fuck was happening?

‘KNOCK kNOCK KNOCK’

The next morning you found yourself stirring awake to a loud succession of banging. Your eyes fluttered open for a moment only before they snapped back shut. The magnet drawing them together and you closer to sleep was much stronger than whatever noise was trying to wake you up, “Mhmfmfm…” you muttered as you rolled over on the couch and pulled the blanket over your head.

Izuku, however, was not one to ignore such an obvious noise and he found himself trudging off of the other sofa he slept on to answer whoever was banging on the door.

‘KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!’

“Coming!” the green haired man tiredly called out as he launched himself toward the front door and swung it open.

The astounded face on the other side of the entrance soon mirrored his own.

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed.

Bakugou’s shocked expression very quickly contorted into one of pure rage, “What the hell is going on here?!” He screamed causing you to jolt awake as you threw the blanket over your head. You found yourself fumbling up as Bakugou continued to scream pointed to Deku, “The fuck is he here for??”

You made your way over to the two men- one seemingly terrified, and the other obviously enraged. As your head began lifting from the daze of sleep, you crossed your arms and glared at Bakugou, “He spent the night helping me with something,” you shook your head, trying to free yourself from the oncoming headache, “Hey, better question: why are you here?”

Bakugou seemed to swallow his own tongue as his jaw clenched shut, “I wanted to… uh…” he glared at the ground as he tried to find his next words. Shit. why was this so fucking hard? He should have never listened to that Shitty Hair and come over here. Bakugou scoffed to himself before redirecting his stern gaze back toward you, “Come with me.”

You could only blink.

What kind of caveman talk…You tilted your head as you fleetingly threw a confused glance toward Deku, who only shrugged in response.

Bakugou quickly grew tired of yours and Dekus silent conversation, “You wanna hang out or not??” he growled before throwing another heated finger toward Deku,  “And he can’t come.”

“I was just heading out anyways. It’s no big deal really!” Izuku defensively threw his hands up as if to show Bakugou that he was no threat at all. He went to gather a few of his belongings from the sofa he slept on before throwing Bakugou one more gaze-- this one a lot more astute.

A majority of Midoriya’s mind told him that there was nothing to worry about at all, but there was still a small section of him that couldn't shake the memories of how Bakugou treated him as a quirkless child. Izuku knew that he would never hurt you! But… just in case…

“You take care of her Kacchan,” the tone came off pleadingly but the look in his eyes was a  bit stern. You had never seen this portion of Deku before and it almost instantly caused your chest to thud, harshly reminding you of last night’s sensations. Shit.

“Don't tell me what the fuck to do, Deku. Those are my kids in there. Not yours. You just remember that,” Bakugou scoffed, causing Izuku’s expression to falter ever so slightly before he fixed it again.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer bluntness of his statement, “Kacchan, what the f--”

“I guess you’re right, Kacchan,” Izuku began, “Sorry if  I crossed a boundary,” he smiled at Bakugou-- who only huffed in return-- and quickly turned to you, making the tightness in your chest worse, “Bye, Y/N!” Izuku smiled, almost too innocently, considering the raging war in your gut at the moment.

You smiled back-- a feeble attempt at masking the inner turmoil ravaging your insides. “Peace, bb,” you gave him a weak hug before gesturing him out of your home. You threw him one final smile before shutting the door. You instantly whipped your head back around the the blonde brat behind you, “What. The. Fuck!?”

“I already told you. I want to hang out.”

“Are you fucking allergic to texting or some shit??” you yelled, “You just waltz in like you own the damn place and demand me to ‘Ohhh ahhh wo-man! come with me, wo-man’,” you renacthed his prehistoric behavior. 

Bakugou felt his muscles tighten in response to your taunting. Your loud nature, mixed with the confrontational behavior was reminding him way too much of his own mother. He swore on his life that he would never end up with  a woman like her and yet, here he was standing in front of her fucking carbon copy. The thought made him sick as he groaned in frustration,

“Shitty hair was fucking wrong!” Bakugou spat, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion as he continued, “The last thing I want to do is hang out with a bitching hag like you!!”

Your jaw dropped, “Excuse me??” You have heard pretty much every other insult in the book hurdled at you, but ‘hag’ was never one of them. You laughed, “I wasn’t a hag when you fucked me all night, huh?!”

“Yeah? I don't know what was wrong with me then. You are way different when I am not pumped full of alcohol, apparently.”

Your laughter immediately ceased, “Whatever. you came up to me and confessed your love like a raging SIMP, and now all of a sudden I’m a bitch?

“Fuck! Well, I got to know you past a pretty, stupid, fucking face!”

You blinked in shock. The unfamiliar feeling of your heart sinking into the pit of your stomach overwhelmed you as hurt surrounded your face. Practically your entire life, being beautiful has been a mask of sorts for your overwhelming failures. Still, here this man was-- practically a stranger-- seeing past your facade, looking directly into the steaming pile of shit that you truly were. Your eyes suddenly became warm as tears filled them,

“Then why the fuck are you even here, asshole?? TO PISS ME OFF?” you shouted, throwing your hands by your side and clenching them so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“BECAUSE  I WANTED TO KNOW ALL OF YOU!” he screamed back. The shocking words fled out from under his harsh tone and stunned you as your brain processed them. You felt your fist unfurl a bit as he continued, “I wanted to know you. Good and bad. Bitchy and not. You're carrying my children… I want to know them,” he finished, almost defeated. This tell of emotion was obviously the last thing he wanted to be doing, you could tell.

Still, it meant a  lot for some reason that he felt that he could do this with you “Oh,” you breath out, unable to articulate much else.

“Oh?!” he angrily repeated. Bakugou felt his face shrivel in disgust. He just poured out his being to you once more for you to trample on it like a fucking gymnast mat. However, as Bakugou formed his mouth to say something else, you halted him,

“Go… have a seat,” you gestured to the couch, blinking the accumulating liquid in your eyes away. The blond could only shoot a lone eyebrow up in response, causing you to sigh in exasperation,  “Well, Are you just gonna stand there looking like that, or what?” he gave you one final scoff before making his way to one of your couches and seating himself comfortably, propping one of his feet on your coffee table as he glared at the non functioning television.

“Welcome, I guess. I am sure you’ll have no issue making yourself comfortable,” you deadpanned, eyeing his propped up legs,  “I’ll go make us some… tea?” you suggested , but no answer came from him, “Tea it is.”

You rolled your eyes before trudging away. You always loved green tea, but for some reason the smell had been killing you lately, so you opted for peppermint tea instead. It was inferior by, far, but it matched the inferior, pathetic life that you had adopted recently.

Jeez. How much self deprecation can you fit into one week? Would this have any effect on the babies? If so, they’d probably come out singing RnB or some shit in the maternity ward. They’d have already stressed dyed hair and an entire Tumblr dedicated to sad aesthetics before they reached their first birthday, for god's sake.  

You vehemently shook your head to once again get rid of the oncoming headache that snuck in with these disgusting thoughts, “So Kacchan!” you called out as you walked back to the living room, “What do you wanna know?”

“Don’t call me that,” he simply barked.

“What?”

“Don’t call me that name. I fucking hate it.”

You snorted and took a seat next to his glaring figure. You tried not to notice how he shifted further away from you as you sat down, “I am sure Deku disliked being called worthless his whole life too,” you smirked up at him, “I bet he fucking hated it.”

The atmosphere seemed to once more shift into a much heavier tone after your statement and the room fell quiet for a few beats. Bakugou’s small glare morphed into a much more forced one. It was as if he was trying to use the glare to hide another feeling, you noticed.

Finally, he spoke, “How much do you know.”

You tilted your head into another shrug, “Enough to know that you probably hate the fact that I am quirkless.”

His face contorted into one of pure disgust as the glareful mask he wore faded away like yesterday’s lunch.  “I don’t give a fuck,” he argued, but the look you sent him showed no sign of believing it. Bakugou’s disgust deepened, but he made sure to control it enough to where you didn't know that it was directed towards himself.

“Oh really? Let’s see if you can keep that same energy when one of your kids pops out without that flashy quirk of yours,” Of course his face fell, just as you suspected it would. Just like it had for multiple other men you had told.

Most men’s pride utterly shrivels into dust as soon as the pretty girl in front of them-- the one that they fantasize about having a dream life with-- ends up telling them that they are quirkless. As soon as the words fall out of your mouth, the men's dreamy gaze effectively shatters alongside their hopes and dreams concerning you.

Nobody wants to pass weakness onto their children.

“You know what? I think I’ll go first,” you snapped him out of the uncomfortable, uncharacteristic silence, and he gave you an irritated, questioning glance, “You wanted to play 20 questions with me, or whatever. No limitations, okay? And I have the first question for you,” you explained before sending him a challenging gaze, “How could someone so full of hate truly aspire to be a hero?”

You expected him to blow up at you-- to scream, and yell and argue that you were wrong.

Yet.

The slightly apologetic, yet stern look on his face threw you for an absolute loop, “I wanted to win.” he simply answered. Somehow his matter of a factness was worse for you than any furious defensive scenario you had conjured in your mind, but as you went to open your mouth with a roll of your eyes, he halted you,

“That was when I was younger, “ he sharply clarified, “I wanted to win more than anything. To be better than everyone else—and that hasn’t changed but there's more to it now. I have to protect the people I care about—like my idiot roommates—I want to make sure we all come home safe by the end of the night.”

Once again he had thrown you off with a surprisingly normal non-caveman response, “That was actually…”

“My turn,” Bakugou abruptly cut you off, “How many men the you fuck this past few months?”

Your jaw dropped. 

And back to Neanderthal you mother fucking guess! “Are you fucking kiddin—”

“You said no limitations,” he gruffly stated.

You bit your tongue and shot him a glare that could match his own before giving a sharp sigh, “Four during the last year. You were the last and the only one during the month I… conceived,” you swallowed as the word left a bitter taste in your mouth, “My turn. What about you?”

“What.”

“How many women the past year?”

“Why the hell does it matter?” Bakugou argued. Your eyes shot down to his body as it shifted around even further from you. From his body language you could tell that his answer was sure to be outrageously high.

He was an extremely attractive guy after all. Those rippling arms were nothing to fuck around with. His red hot eyes could melt steel beams with a passing glance. The chisel of his permanently hardened expression could slice through even the most secured of panties. 

Yes. and there was no denying that he was a sex god in his own right.

It also didn't help that his temperament sucked, so you doubted he had had many long term relationships. He had all of the ingredients of a man whore stirring within him.

“I’m just curious,” you shrugged.

Bakugou threw his glare away from you for a moment as he contemplated on whether or not to answer your stupid question. He had his own questions to ask you still so he guessed that he didn't really have a choice if he wanted his answers,“...One.”

Your jaw dropped, “Seriously?” as his face fell into a furious shade of red you were smacked with a sudden realization,

“Kacchan, did you... lose your virginity to m...?” He glared even further away from you, but you could still see his ears falling even deeper into red-- effectively giving you your answer, “Oh my…” he trailed off. No wonder he was so fucking head over heels for you! Through your discomfort a horribly timed joke flew past your lips, 

“You knocked her up on the first try huh? You’ve got some super swimmers,” you half laughed, but Bakugou obviously didn't find anything funny about it as he snarled angrily as you,

“Shut up!” he barked, throwing a pillow at you, “My turn. What’s up with you and that shitty Deku?”

The pillow hit you, but it was really his question that had smacked you in the face. Your chest thudded, and you prayed to whoever was listening that he couldn't see the racing of your heart, “He’s just a friend! A really good friend to me. Probably my first actual friend ever,” you said this as a joke, but obviously forgot who you were talking to.

“You didn’t make any in high school?” Bakugou’s face twisted up disbelievingly.

“Never went. Couldn’t afford the tuition...” now it was you who was uncomfortably shifting from him. 

“Your parents didn’t help you out?”

“Slow down there, buckaroo,” you laughed, but his face remained as stern as ever as you continued, “That’s like three questions In a row for you. My turn.”

Luckily he caught the hint and didn't press upon the subject any further.

Through the night, you found out a lot of things about him. He was actually younger than you by a few years at twenty years old. His parents were both fashion designers (probably the biggest fucking shock to you considering his choice of black shirts and flannels) and that he was working on making his own hero agency since he had already climbed up the ranks in Japan.

Your game, however, was cut short by the growling of your stomach.

Bakugou almost immediately stood up, surprising you as he walked to your kitchen. Well, you did say ‘make yourself at home’ but this was a little upfront wasn't it? He soon yelled to you from the kitchen as you sat in shock still, “What do you have to eat in this shit hole?!”

Shit hole? You glance around at the decorations and clean atmosphere that you pride yourself on. That jerk. Your house was not a shit hole! “You can eat shit if you want. I’m not hungry.”

“The hell are you talking about? I just heard your stomach growling.”

You shrugged, “Just indigestion. I get a lot of stomach issues with these things inside of me,” the sudden clanging of pots and pan in your kitchen startled you,  “What the hell are you doing??” you called out before marching to your kitchen.

You found him rummaging through your cabinets, stopping momentarily to judgmentally eye your still plentiful liquor cabinet for a moment before moving on, “You can starve yourself all you fucking want, but you're not fucking starving my kids.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his accusation, “I’m not starving.”

“You think I’m fucking blind?”

“I have to stay in shape for work. Just like you I am sure,” you walked up to him and grabbed a bicep for demonstration, but he quickly threw your hand away from him as his face fell into a bout of shock. He quickly regained himself,

“Whatever,” he grunted before swinging open your refrigerator.

“What are y—Hey!” you yelped as he began haphazardly throwing food onto one of your counters.

“Is all you have in here rabbit food? Jesus fucking Christ,” he ignored your cries and began throwing certain items together and heating up a pot of water.

You couldn't help but blink at the display. He seemed pretty natural in the kitchen and that in itself was unnatural considering his caveman persona, “You... cook?” you felt uneasy.

“You don’t?”

Honestly, your diet consisted of salads and ramen since you were 15, so cooking wasn't a necessity. You reluctantly shook your head at him.

He looked completely disappointed and disgusted with you but, hey, what else is new? Bakugou scoffed, “Well you’re gonna have to learn how now. Pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes at him. If you wanted fucking Gordon Ramsey bitching you around in the kitchen you would have clicked on that stupid ad that always popped up on your Youtube. Then again, Bakugou was more of a Guy Fieri with that spiky hair of his.

Whatever.

You guessed learning how to cook one meal wouldn't be too terrible,  

“What are you stirring the water for if you didn’t put anything in it yet?”

“It helps it heat up faster, idiot.”

“Do you actually throw the noodles on the wall to see if they’re finished?”

Bakugou threw you a frown, “If you’re a fucking dumbass,” he said, moving you aside as he began stirring a saucer filled with vegetables. He completely disregarded your yelp as he moved you as a parade of thoughts bombarded his mind.

He would have to come over more and keep you and his kids fed if you truly didn’t know how to cook. He scoffed and his stirring hand more slightly more erratically with frustration. What kind of grown woman didn't know how to cook pasta?

His thoughts were halted by a loud squelch that sounded through the air. He immediately threw his gaze up to the wall in front of his face and his expression fell at the sight. He growled, snapping his gaze back toward you by the pot of pasta, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” his furious glare danced between you and the wet noodle that stuck to the wall.

“I wanted to see if it would actually stick! Don’t get your balls in a twist, it was one noodle!”

“So damn wasteful,” Bakugou ground his teeth as he frustratedly scrapped the starchy pasta off of your wall. He opened his mouth to tell you just this, but immediately snapped it back shut as he felt something being thrown at his head, “that better not be what I think it is…” he snarled through his teeth as he eyed food dangling from one of the spines of his hair.

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. It’s not a worm,” you laughed, but your giddiness was soon cut off as a hot noodle was thrown back in your direction. You could only blink as it stuck itself on your nose.

“Hmph,” the corners of Bakugou’s lips slowly curled into a smirk, “It’s a good look on you, noodle face,” You laughed but once again was cut off. The brief sound of his laugh coinciding with your own shocked you.

His smile slowly died down as he caught wind of you gawking at him. He cleared his throat, “Are you done being a child? I’m ready to enjoy my good ass cooking.”

However, you didn't answer him as you once again found a smile creeping onto your face. He rolled his eyes and began making himself a plate of food, but he quickly grew tired of you smiling at him like some bimbo,

“What?!” He snapped, “You want another noodle to the face.”

You shook your head as you shuffled past him to serve yourself a plate, “No.. just you have a nice laugh.”

He scoffed, “That all you're eating?” he completely disregarded your comment but you decided to let it die too,

“I don’t see you with any food on your plate,” you shrugged, “I’d be more worried about yourself if I were you,” you winked at him before setting down at the table.

The night went pretty well after that. So well, in fact, that the two of you decided to have “parental meetings” every few days so that Bakugou could teach you how to cook. You ended up learning how to make 10 more dishes within the next three weeks.

Bakugou and you didn't exactly become close, but there were far less screaming matches than there had been in your first few meetings. You still didn't know him very well, but he wasn't necessarily a stranger anymore.

It was… nice.

The next check up came very quickly because of your lack of employment and your dates-- err um… “parental meetings” with Bakugou.

“Your twins should be about the size of avocados now! We’ll check again with a routine ultrasound. We do have the DNA tests in for you all so I’ll just go and run for those real quick.. well walk briskly. You don’t do an awful lot of running at my age.”

“I don’t do an awful lot of running now,” you joked, and Bakugou sent you a stern glare that screamed, ‘don’t encourage him.’ you shrugged as the doctor walked out of the room.

It was silent for what seemed like forever. You and Bakugou still weren't very good at sparking conversations, but eventually he spoke up as you laid back on the exam table, “You're really fucking showing now.”

You brows instantly came together, high fiving each other in your state of being roasted, “Thanks...” you deadpanned.

The look on your face sent a wave of hurt through the blond’s heart.

What the hell. It was like he felt your hurt. For the first time in a long time, Bakugou actually regretted his choice of words. He glared at the ground as he attempted to change the subject, “You’ve been eating, right?”

“How else Would I be sitting here, looking fat and talking to you, Kacchan.”

“I told you don’t call me that,” he paused, as if he were really considering his next statement, “Call me Katsuki,” he finally dragged out.

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, Kacchan.”

Just as Bakugou open his mouth the no doubt scream at you, Dr. Yamakawa entered the room, 

“Mama Bakugou! We have some really good news. Everything seems fine with the twins according to the DNA testing. One is a little small right now, but it’s completely normal for there to be a dominant twin so to speak. No genetic abnormalities or health concerns,” you saw Bakgou visibly stiffen at this before relaxing as the doctor continued, “’Cept for you.”

You shook your head, blinking heavily as if you’d just been punched in the brow, “Me?”

“You do have a concerning BMI—you tend to lean a little towards underweight. I understand you are in the profession of modeling correct,” he said very, curtly, “You need to add more calories to your daily intake. You wont need to ‘eat for three” as they say, but you do need to put on some substantial pounds or you will risk a premature birth..”

You had no fucking idea what to say to that. ‘Nice?’ ‘Cool beans.’ ‘fucking just give me the mother of the year award already!’ You felt your chest tighten and suddenly you realized you hadn't been breathing. You sucked in abruptly, causing the doctor to take a step towards you,

“You're looking a little flushed there, Mama Bakugou.”

“Well how else is she supposed to respond when you tell her like that, old man?!” Bakugou snapped, causing both you and the doctor to gawk at him. 

“Kacchan! What the fuck don’t talk to him like that, jerk!”

Bakugou scoffed, throwing his glare, much more pouty this time-- to the jar of cotton balls on the counter of the office.

“It wouldn't help either of you to sugar coat this, son,” the doctor sighed, “You have made it this far along in her pregnancy. Miscarriage is substantially less likely but if you want to give these babies a better chance, I’d suggest higher caloric intake.”

Needless to say, Bakugou did not leave the doctor's office that day a very pleasant man. He would angrily stalk ahead of you a for a few moments before pausing and grumbling about how ‘fucking slow’ you were as you caught up before the cycle would start all over again. You could only take this for so long, however,

“What!?” you yelled suddenly as the grumbling phase of his cycle began once more, “Will you stop fucking brooding already and speak your mind—”

He instantly snapped his face towards your own to stare into your eyes. You fumbled back a bit as the intense vermilion bore into you. You opened your mouth to speak but his serious expression exclaimed something before yours could,

“I wanna move in with you.”

You paused. You couldn't have fucking heard that right.

He… wants to...

“What…?” you mouthed.

Taglist:  @steggy4ever​ @library-trash​ @watevermelon​ @glimmadora-ble​ @persephones24​ @dragonempress123​ @your-pri-ncess @broken-from-fandoms​ @hot-pocket01​ @tsukineho @bakugousbabydoll​ @bubbzibubbles @ikebukuro-ghoul​ @thehoneycookiecrumbs​ @katsukis-sad-angel​ @dulcetailurophile​ @yukiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @kanasakura @lonekitsune @pastel-prynce​ @mynameispurple​ @cutest-celestial-princess​ @minfani​ @aurorahoneybuns​ @galacticrosee @orokayagi​ @centerhabit​ @animefan7420 @katsukisposts   @bakugou-is-my-daddy

[sunflowersteves]

i won’t leave || n.r.

summary || you tell Natasha you’re bisexual, expecting her to break up with you.

author’s note || I wanted to touch on this subject as it’s very personal to me (I’ve had someone ghost me because they learned I was bisexual). There is lots of biphobia in the community (and transphobia and racism) but I thought I would touch on a subject that’s personal to me. Also, this is another submission for @trillian-anders​ Pride Drabbles!

warnings || Angst to fluff, prolly swearing, biphobia, this references LGBTQ+ so if you’re uncomfortable by any means please don’t read

Masterlist

You bit your fingernails, nerves taking over your whole body. You had sat Nat, your girlfriend, down to tell her your secret. Your secret that barely anyone knows, besides your best friends who you know will support you. Even then, it’s tricky to know who to trust.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” 

You started to fiddle with your fingers and stared at the ground. Tears filled your eyes as you opened your mouth. You couldn’t do this. You can’t. What if she breaks up with you like she did? The thought in of itself makes your entire body shake with despair and sadness. Natasha is the absolute love of your life. You would take ten bullets for her, maybe even eleven. You were so hopelessly in love.

“Honey…” You just shook your head, tears freely falling at this point. You try to open your mouth again but all it does is sound out a whimper. Why can’t you do this? Why can’t you just get the guts to tell her? You close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for the atomic bomb you were just about to dump on her. Before you could even open your mouth again, she speaks first.

“Are you breaking up with me?” Your eyes snapped open and your eyebrows furrow, “What, Nat, no!” She folded her arms, not quite believing you. If you weren’t breaking up with her then what’s got you acting this way? You suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes shut again, wanting to belt it out as fast as possible.

“I’m bisexual!” 

You cringed and your eyes stayed shut, not wanting to see her reaction. She just blinked at you, definitely not expecting what just flew out of your mouth. 

“What-”

Eyes still closed you interrupted her, “Look, it’s who I am and I won’t apologize for not being lesbian and just being who I am and-” Your eyes snapped open again at the sound of her laughter. Your shoulders slumped down. You knew it. She’s laughing at you. She doesn’t want you. Why did you think anyone could accept you? Nat could sense your uneasiness and quit the laughter.

“What, y/n, look at me.” She cupped your cheek, making you stare right into your eyes. You sigh, tears welled up in your eyes again. 

“I thought that when I told you, you would break up with me.” She looked at you, eyes flickering over your face. “Why would you think that?” She ran her thumb across your cheek trying to comfort you. 

“Well, my last girlfriend dumped me for being bisexual. She said that I was selfish and that I should just choose one or the other. She said I couldn’t like her because I’d just cheat on her with someone else. So when you started laughing I thought... I thought that you-” Tears skated down your cheeks and you saw Nat’s fist clench a little. Her hand still rubbed back and forth on your cheek, and now she was wiping some of the tears.

“Well, she’s an asshole. I laughed because I thought you were breaking up with me. The fact that you were just coming out to me was a giant relief. I’m sorry that I made you feel that way from laughing. If it makes you feel any better, I still love you before and after.” You nodded and she pulled you into her lap, arms wrapping around you as you placed your face in the crook of her neck.

“I love you the way that you are, bisexual or not. You shine brighter than anyone, baby. You will always make me feel like I can conquer the world. Your sexuality doesn’t change the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

You whispered so quietly as you spoke, “Thank you.” She drew circles on your back and pressed a kiss on your temple. “You don’t need to thank me for being a decent human being.” You wrap your legs even tighter around her body, wanting to be as close as possible.

“Oh and, I love you too.” You laughed but it soon turned into a yelp and she squeezed your ass, a smirk dancing across her features.

[arsonistslut]

Chapter 9: Reminders of Tragedy

"Hey, Jane!"

"Hey, Ingrid! How is my favorite person in the world?"

Jane's girlfriend of a good 9 years now happily walked over and kissed her on the cheek, beaming as she always seemed to do whenever she looked at her lover.

"Amazing now that you're here. Hey, you wanna go to that party Randy's having at his house tomorrow?"

"He's having a party? I didn't figure him the partying type."

"Despite the whole business parents thing, he is a real party animal. Hey, you know what's weird about the party?"

"What is?"

"He invited that Jeff guy there..y'know, that creep with the Conduct Disorder?"

She gestured to the tall, dark clothed young adult that sat alone at a lunch table nearby, playing with a switchblade.

"Hey, I remember him being pretty nice.."

"Remember him? You two date at some point?"

"We did, actually, wayyyy back."

Jane smirked when she saw the look of surprise and pride on Ingrid's face when she realized she guessed right.

"What was he like?"

"He was a sweetheart. Cheesy, but a sweetheart. Hell, even cheesier than me."

"Jane, you've carved our names into multiple trees. There's no out-cheesing that."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how we met, either. My dad was out mowing the lawn, and he accidentally ran over a rock and it hit Jeff in the head."

"Oof, that sounds bad.."

"I visited him in the hospital with my parents one time, and I will never forget what he said to me as a pick-up line."

"What did he say?"

Jane cleared her throat, before trying her darndest to do an impression of a young Jeff.

"Did you come from heaven? Because you look like an angel!"

Ingrid couldn't help but let out a giggle as she quickly pulled Jane into her arms.

"Aww, that sounds so cute!"

"It was!"

Jeff himself was hearing this conversation from afar, the little tricks he played with his knife not an adequate distraction from the constant reminder of what could've been.

"I don't think he handled our breakup too well..nobody really wanted to treat him as anything other than a freak after his diagnosis went public. One time, I heard him ranting to his brother about how it was hypocritical of the school to do a health topic on depression when they wouldn't stop judging him for his CD."

"Sheesh, it sounds like he's been through a lot..poor kid could use a friend."

"It doesn't really look like he wants any. Liu isn't sitting with him..that's weird, Liu always sits with him."

"Prolly had an argument or something, you know siblings."

"Yeah.."

The day continued without incident, Jeffrey getting home at the same time as usual..yet his mind was not thinking about the party, or school, he was thinking about Jane and Ingrid. Why was Jane so special that she had everything she wanted in life and not him? What crime did he commit that landed him with absent parents, demonization from his peers, and a fucking smile cut into his face? That love, that relationship they had..Jeff came to the conclusion that it was something to be destroyed.

Liu, meanwhile, was..struggling with something. Something he never expected would be a problem in his life. Lately, he began having these thoughts..these violent, awful, intrusive thoughts, thoughts that seemed to be begging to be spoken aloud, the actions they describe seeming to grow more and more appealing as time passed.

Kill Randy.

Maim Keith.

Skin Troy like the cattle he is.

Maybe if he gave the thoughts an identity, they'd be easier to handle, he thought as he thought of a name for these urges..one stood out from the others. Not at all goofy, but not as laughably edgy as the other options.

Chapter 10: Enter Sully

Liu ended up speaking to Sully for the entire night..and even into the morning. When Jeff woke up the next morning, he could already hear Liu downstairs talking with..someone.

"It's sad, really..so concerned about themselves..no time spared for you."

"I-I guess..but they've got more important things to worry about.."

"Child, they do not have a thought in them about you. They're all self centered egomaniacs that would rather get pushed around by a genetic failure of a human rather than do anything about their situation!"

"That's not true, Sully! You're lying!"

A horrible growl soon came from the room.

"We are friends, child! Friends do not lie to each other, do they?"

"I..I guess not..goodbye for now, Sully."

"Where are you going?"

"I..I need some time to think."

Liu got back up, jumping from fear when he saw his brother staring at him.

"Holy shit, Jeff! You scared me!"

"I bet."

Awkward silence soon filled the dining room where they stood.

"Hey, Jeff...?"

"What?"

"I'm..sorry about punching you, and saying all that shit about you. I shouldn't have done that."

"No shit, Sherlock."

The elder brother turned around and began walking back up to his room, but not before his brother called out to him.

"Hey..is there any way I could make things up between us?"

"You could make things up by not betraying my trust again. You're all I've got, Liu..don't pull a Jane and fuck it up for me."

Liu always did question that grudge Jeff held for his ex, after all, he chatted with her in the past, and it always seemed like she genuinely enjoyed what her and Jeff had, and she always felt bad for leaving him like that. Hell, it sounded like it was as painful for her to leave him as it was for him to find out that his girlfriend left him. He was tempted to point that out, but he feared ruining things with his brother again.

"Alright.."

Chapter 11: A Hell of A Party

When Jane and Ingrid rounded the corner home, they found..a disturbing sight. A dead raccoon laying in the middle of the street, it's guts ripped out of it's body and thrown aside, Jeff gleefully pawing through the freshly murdered animal, childishly gawking and giggling over the corpse.

"Hey, Jeffrey! What happened here, what the fuck did you do?!"

Ingrid cried out to the blood-soaked kid, who looked up at her, confusion riddling his bloodied face.

"I killed a raccoon. It's not like anyone's gonna miss it."

"Why, you little-"

Ingrid slapped Jeffrey right across the face, knocking him to the ground as Jane held her girlfriend back and tried to keep the situation from escalating any further.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"You killed a helpless animal, you freak!!"

"I oughta kill you next, you piece of-"

Woods choked on his own spittle as he made his threat, never having been particularly..elegant with his words.

"Oh, really?! I'll kick your teeth down your fucking throat!"

"I swear to God, I'll strangle you with your own fucking intestines!!"

When Jeff reached for his switchblade, Jane panicked and grabbed her lover's hand, running off with her as Woods continued to scream at them.

"Your last words better be some Mark Twain shit, because it's going on your tombstone!! You hear me?!"

That experience was all on Jane's mind as she watched Jeff steadily get more and more wasted by the bonfire outside as time went on, at least, what glimpses she could catch of him when she wasn't busy dancing with the other students. Randy was also outside, reluctantly playing Truth Or Dare with the others as well as his increasingly hot and bothered enemy.

"Ok, Jeff!"

"Whaddup, baby?~"

"Truth or dare?"

"Dare, hit me with the worst ya got!"

"Slow dance with Randy."

"What the-no! I'm straight as a arrow, dude!"

"So is spaghetti until it gets wet~"

"Jeff, never say that again."

"C'mooooon, do the dare, ya pussy~ I don't bite!~"

Woods took his time getting up, but still had enough cognitive function to put on Grover Washington Jr's "Just The Two Of Us", to try and improve the mood, but Randy still wasn't having any of it. In a last ditch effort to try and seduce Randy, Jeffrey just..up and took his shirt off. That'll get things going, right? No, it didn't. Despite some swooning from some of his classmates, Randy himself didn't want any part of this. He was a few drinks deep as well, so in a drunken haze, he grabbed one of the bottles of booze they had, took a running start, and smashed it right over Jeff's head. The problem with that is that they were only a couple feet away from a bonfire, so when Jeff stumbled backward, he fell right into it, the alcohol on his exposed flesh quickly igniting. He quickly burst into flames, screaming and running off as the fire quickly seared his body, every remaining nerve ending he had that wasn't burnt away shocking his body with waves of pain. He could feel his scalp burning up once his hair was scorched away, finally finding solace in a nearby puddle that put out the flames. Jeff could see his life flashing before his eyes..his family, his brother..that was all he could see. As Randy and the other students' screams of horror faded away, Woods silently cursed himself for not doing anything more with his life..a single bloody tear rolled down his face as he shut his eyes for what he believed would be the last time.

Chapter 12: The End Of The Beginning

Suddenly..he was in some sort of void. The ground beneath him was black as pitch, and footsteps began to grow ever closer to him. When Jeff looked to see who was approaching, he found no earthly being waiting for his attention. When he laid his eyes on whatever approached, the previously totally dark void began to turn a sickly red. What stood before him was a monster unlike any other, an otherwordly monster many believed to be a mere tall tale.

HE COMES.

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Softly, Barely a Whisper -- Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (part one)

Softly, Barely a Whisper — Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (pre apocalypse) (part one)

Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three

Description: (Name) moved in with her uncle, the Sheriff of a little town in Northern Georgia, to escape an abusive household. While living with her uncle, she meets Daryl, a redneck with a heart of gold and a life very similar hers. Fluff and angst and awkward shy Daryl Dixon ensue.

⚠Warning⚠: great amounts of bad language, past mentions of abuse, past mentions of rape, there's probably more, this'n's kinda a mess. Don't read if you get triggered easily.

Genre: angsty fluff?? Hurt/comfort?? I've no idea. Is awkward Daryl a genre?

Pairing: teen!Daryl Dixon x teen!fem!abused!reader

A/N: hey, sorry I've been gone for forever, I suck at commitment. I also suck at naming things, hence the title. I wrote another long motherfucker of a "oneshot" and therefore am breaking it into chapters like I did with Impromptu Cuddles, so look out for the other chapters soon enough. Enjoy.

Words without A/N: 3242

<—————————————>

"Sure thing, Daryl. You can use whatever ya'd like, just make sure you put it back afterwards. The doors unlocked and yer more than welcome to go in for a drink or anythin' if ya need it." Bill Coleman, or Sheriff Coleman, as most knew him by, called out as he moved to open the door to his cruiser.

The Sheriff was an interesting character to the youngest Dixon. He had hardened features and a voice like a gravel truck that immediately implied a harsh disposition, his eyes were constantly squinted into a look that resembled judgment, and the vibe he gave off was just generally unpleasant; but, in all reality, Bill Coleman was probably the gentlest man Daryl had ever met. He understood the workings of the Dixon household without ever having to be told, and did what he could to make life any bit easier for the teenager. Whether that be arresting the senior Dixon whenever he found possible, or offering Daryl a place to stay in his home over the weekend. Bill was, all in all, a genuinely kind human being. Something, Daryl found, was rather rare in his life.

But, even though the Sheriff had his trust, and he knew the Sheriff trusted him the same, it still came as a bit of a shock to him to see the officer willingly let him, a Dixon, have open access to his house while no one else was home.

Everyone knew not to trust a Dixon. Nobody in the town was willing to make eye contact with him, let alone trust him to their house and belongings while they were away. Will, his father, had done a fine job of destroying the family name in his drunken escapades, and his brothers addictions did nothing to help. This, combined with the confusion and disbelief that coursed through his system, explained the gawk the boy's eyes held as he stared in awe at Mr. Coleman's retreating figure.

This had to be some kind of trick, right?

"Oh," the Sheriff called. There it was, the part where he'd laugh it off and say "just kidding. Like I'd let a freak like you into my home without supervision."

Once again surprising the young man, his expectation was the farthest thing from what the greying man actually said.

"I fergot ta mention my niece, my sisters kid. She'll be here soon enough, gets off work in a half hour or so. She's been stayin' with me since, ah–" he trailed off a bit, one leg up in the cruiser, the other still planted firmly on the ground as he looked at Daryl over the door's window, looking mildly uncomfortable "–well, she's jus' stayin' with me. She's real sweet, you'll prolly get along with 'er. Jus', eh, just be soft, ya hear? She's a bit skittish, and real shy, too, so don't be too offended if she avoids ya, she don't mean it rude like."

And what on earth could he mean by that? The avoiding that he'd done when describing why she was here, what had happened that he didn't want to talk about? Daryl had a few theories already.

"'Till later, Daryl. Take care, and remember what I told ya, boy." With a wave and a caring (or warning, he could never quite tell with the old man) smile, the grizzled man pulled out of the small driveway and onto the road leading out of the trailer park to go do his civic duty, leaving a still heavily confused, and now slightly concerned, Daryl Dixon standing outside of his garage.

This man, knowing his family's history with bad habits, was not only willing to let the teenager into his home without a watchful eye, but was also perfectly okay knowing he'd be there, alone, with his (skittish and shy) niece?

Maybe the old man is finally losing it, he thought.

Still in shock, the young man turned on his heel, and began the short trek back to the shedd to continue working on the pickup that he had been working on fixing up. Though it was really nothing but a shell sitting on bricks right now, he knew that someday it'd be his pride and joy.

Some uncounted amount of time later, Daryl was finally pulling himself out from under the hood. His throat itched with dryness, and he was covered in sweat from the never-ending harshness of the Georgian sun, but, nonetheless, he couldn't help the little spike of pride that ran through him as he looked down at the beginnings of the new-made guts of his pickup. Allowing himself the luxury of a small smile, he decided he'd finally take the old Sheriff up on his offer, and moved to head into the house to grab something to wet his throat, and maybe even a rag to wipe off his face, if he was feeling risky.

He found, upon entry, that the house was relatively clean. Cleaner than it had been the last time he'd been in there, at least, and only as clean as an old trailer house could really get.

Still, where before there had been newspapers scattered, now there were none, and in place of the cluttered kitchen was a clean countertop and a basket of fresh apples. He didn't dwell on it a whole lot as he moved to the sink to fill up a plastic solo cup, though he did wonder if Bill would mind if he stole an apple. The young Dixon couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten.

Filling his cup, he was quick to chug it down, the cold a dramatic (but welcome) shock against the harsh dryness of his throat. He let the water run into the sinks basin as he filled the cup up again, again, and then one more time, and only on his fifth return to the water did he realize the difference in sound. A few inches of water was backed up in the bottom of the sink, refusing to go down the drain like it should, and completely changing the sound the water pouring from the faucet made as it headed downwards.

Quickly setting the cup aside and turning off the faucet, he watched the water make its incredibly slow decent into the drain, and decided he needed to pay back Sheriff Coleman's hospitality. It was the least he could do, after all.

Opening the doors that lead to the plumbing beneath the sink, Daryl set himself to work.

~~~~~~~~~~×~~~~~~~~~~

"Good night, (name)!" Mr. Sennet's overly cheery voice called to the young woman as she moved her way through the front doors of the diner.

Calling out a quick goodbye to him as well, she hurriedly climbed into her rig. A shitty little Honda though she was, she still got the young (name) from a to b, and (name) would be forever grateful to her uncle for gifting it to her.

Dusk was just beginning to settle as she took off towards her new residence, and she worried slightly if her uncle would be angry that she was out later than usual. The diner had been busier tonight than normal, and instead of getting off at seven, as per usual, it was now closer to nine.

Taking a calming breath, she reminded herself aloud:

"He's not like they were, he won't be mad at you. He's not like them, he won't be mad."

Though she really did believe it, she still repeated it aloud to herself the entire way back to the house, as if she thought she could will it into existence if she hoped hard enough.

It was silly, she knew, but she didn't really care. After all she'd been through, she thought she deserved a little self reassurance.

The drive to her new home was short lived, though she didn't much mind. She hated to be alone now, it gave her too much time to think, and far too much time to overthink. A regular pastime of hers, it seemed.

It was odd, really. Before, when it was just her and the chromed glass house and the bruising voices, before she was taken away by her uncle, she loved to be alone. She cherished the times of peace she had between the hurt. Now, if she was alone for more than thirty minutes, it was likely she'd be found having a mental breakdown in a bathtub.

But, enough of the depressing stuff.

As the scarred girl pulled into the driveway, she didn't notice the second pair of tracks that accompanied her uncles, as she was far too wrapped up in her head. Something she'd be sure to kick herself for at a later date. She didn't notice the single light that was on in the kitchen, either, nor did she pay mind to the tools that lay neatly around their box as she passed the shedd that functioned as a garage, and she simply put the shell of a pickup truck that sat just outside off as another of her uncles pastimes. Opening and stepping through the front door, she didn't even notice the smudge of mud off the sole of someone's shoe that was left on the carpet.

She did, however, definitely notice the way the hair on the back if her neck stood to attention at the sound of a voice that most definitely wasn't the Sheriffs cursing angrily from the kitchen. Metal clinking to the ground and a tapping on something that echoed like tubing followed behind the exclamation, and (name) felt herself seize up in fear.

"It can't be them," she reminded herself silently, "it isn't them, it can't be."

Swallowing her fear, trying desperately not to let the tears that branded the backs of her eyes build enough to fall, (name) forced herself to move farther into the room, grabbing the aluminum baseball bat that resided behind the door and dropping her bag by a table near the door as she did.

Thinking back to the little bit of self defence that Bill had taught her upon her moving in, she pulled the bat to her side to keep it close enough that no one could easily pull it from her grasp, but could still cause some damage if shoved forwards hard enough.

Sneaking around the corner of the refrigerator that hid the person from view, she took a deep, calming breath before poking her head around to take a peek.

He was young, she could tell, likely not much older than herself. Shaggy, brown-blond hair nearly reached broad shoulders, and even though he was hunched over beneath the kitchen sink, she could still tell he was much larger than her. Muscles flexed under a sleeveless button-down shirt as he twisted a wrench against the plumbing under the basin, grunting lightly as he did.

He didn't seem like he was there to cause trouble, she figured. Who in their right minds broke into a house just to fix their backed up sink? Oh dear, maybe he's not in his right mind? What if they sent him and he's here to kill the girl? What if he was there to bring her back to them somehow? But they were away, they couldn't hurt her, could they? Even from the depths of prison, or the entrapment of the psych ward, the girl didn't really doubt that one of the two could get a word out to have her hurt (killed?) for getting them put away. She was going to die now and she wouldn't even be able to fix the meatloaf that she had planned for tonight's dinner. She felt her body begin to tremble (or perhaps it was already, and she only just then noticed) and her eyes glazed themselves with tears, to her dismay.

Could she swing and knock him unconscious? Could she at least discombobulate the man long enough to escape? Could she really even hurt somebody like that?

Before she could come to a decision, however, the decision came to her.

Away in the living room, a phone rang. The shrill tlrrring! making both bodies jump slightly, and causing the boy bent beneath the kitchen sink to take notice of young (name).

Blue eyes widened as he caught sight of her, baseball bat clutched in hand, and he threw himself backwards and away, slamming his body into the ovens door. Instinctively, his arms moved to guard his face and torso.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!" The loud exclamation startled the girl, and she jumped again, shoving against the refrigerator hard enough to make it rattle dangerously.

~~~~~~~~~~×~~~~~~~~~~

Fixing the plumbing turned out to be far more difficult than Daryl had originally assumed. The bits holding the stuff to the things was rusted on, making it difficult to loosen the thingy mabob and clear anything clogging the that thing.

Putting all of his focus into wrenching the bits away from the stuff, Daryl completely failed to notice the other presence in the room with him, and when the phone in the other room shocked him out if his thoughts, he found his mind immediately assuming it was his father standing there with a weapon in hand.

As his back hit the oven and his arms moved to guard his head, he caught full sight of the person, and quickly came to realize his mistake. His heart beat harshly against his ribs, and he couldn't help but exclaim his dislike for the situation.

"Fuck! Fuckin' hell, girl!"

At his shout, the girl flinched away from him so harshly that he thought the refrigerator was going to come crashing down on top of him, and he immediately felt guilty, for some odd reason.

She looked absolutely terrified. (Eye color) eyes big as saucers, glazed with fear and glossy with tears, shaking hands gripped the metal of the baseball bat so hard her skin turned white, and her entire body was shaking like a leaf. Her eyes never left his form as he slowly stood up from the ground, one hand still held out in front of him, whether to ward off an attack, or to show he meant no harm, neither really knew. The girl was down right terrified of him, and he hadn't so much as said a word to deserve it yet.

This had to be the niece the Sheriff was talking about, he decided. The scared look she was giving him as she slowly backed away from him made him feel downright awful, and he knew he needed to do something to show her he meant no harm. So, remembering her uncles words, Daryl worked to make his voice a bit less gruff than usual, and tried to keep the edge out of his tone.

"Uh-uh, I ain't here ta hurtcha, girlie–" she took another quick step back "–I'm a friend of Bill's. I was jus' comin' in ta get a drink, I ain't here ta hurtcha."

There was far more that could be said, he knew, but words never really were his forté, and he wasn't sure how much he could talk before he made her more uncomfortable. However, the little bit that he had said, mostly naming her uncle, he thought, had made her shoulders un-hunch a bit, though she kept her distrusting posture. Smart girl.

Slowly lowering the bat until it pointed at his chest she grabbed it with both hands and hesitantly backed out of the kitchen, beckoning him to follow her. Keeping him safely at the end of the bat, and moved to pick up the still-ringing phone and gingerly press it to her ear, her eyes never leaving him, and the bat never wavering (though it did shiver along with her tremors.)

Her eyes relaxed a bit more at the voice on the other end of the line, and though Daryl couldn't much hear the words that were being said—aside from the mumbled tone—he could still tell it was the sheriffs deep voice that spoke.

"Yeah? Uh-hm, good, I uh, I guess... I did. Of course," as she spoke to the formless voice, Daryl couldn't help the small spike of fear that ran up his spine. What if the Sheriff didn't want him there now that he'd scared the girl? He had warned him, he thought. What if Bill made him go back to his shit-hole house and wouldn't let him come back again? This place was one of the few he had to escape that hell, he didn't want to lose that. What if the officer freaked and called Daryl's dad to come pick him up? He'd have hell to pay if he let that happen. He was sure he'd end up with a few more scars at least if his dad were to find out that someone knew of what went on behind closed doors. The Sheriff, no less. What if he–

His spiraling thoughts were disrupted when he caught the sound of his name coming from the other end of the phone line and immediately tuned back in.

"Uhm, uh, yeah, I–I guess. I mean, yeah, yes, he's still here... Oh, no, he's, uh, he's been nice enough," was she even still talking about the red-necked youth? "Yes, of course it's okay, uncle Bill. Sure-sure thing, yeah, that's okay with me. I was thinking about making meatloaf tonight, anyway, that usually makes enough for more than just you an' me."

Wait, what?

The girl had lowered the weapon, though she still kept a tight grip in it, and gave him a shy, almost apologetic smile, before finally letting her eyes dart away. Daryl stayed frozen in his spot. What was even happening?

"–oh," she suddenly looked dejected at whatever had been said on the other side. Scared, almost. "Yeah, no, no, that's-that's okay, uncle Bill, sure thing. It's okay, promise," she suddenly donned a small smile, and though he knew imediately that it was fake, he still found himself startlingly light-of-breath at the sight.

"Yeah, of course, see you tomorrow, uncle, stay safe." Tomorrow? What? Why was all this so confusing to the youngest Dixon? Why was the disappearance of her smile making him feel so hollow?

The sudden change in the expression that the smaller figure wore was dramatically startling to Daryl. Going from sad and scared and sorry and a bit regretful to blushing and wincing and all together uncomfortable in the blink of an eye, the girl shriekingly exclaimed:

"Uncle Bill! No! Ew, gross! Don–Don't say things like that, ya nasty!" Daryl couldn't help but find her blush and stutter quite endearing.

Even from the few paces away that he was, he could still hear the loud laugh that erupted from the other side of the phone.

"Alrigh–alright, uncle Bill," the girls face was still flushed intensely, "I'm hanging up on you now... Yeah, yes, okay—thanks for that." She winced again at whatever he'd said, and she somehow flushed even harder. In a softer voice, now, "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Stay safe." Her last words were barely a whisper.

Slowly pulling the phone away from her ear, the girl placed it gently on the receiver before turning to glance at Daryl, though he took note that she never once fully looked at him again.

"I'm, uhm, I'm sorry," she whispered, grimacing softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ו×~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[artificialqueens]

Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor, 3 (Branjie) (and background everyone else) - Ortega

a/n: hey fam!! we are over halfway through the rewrite so hopefully soon i can get a brand brand new chapter out to u soon, in the meantime enjoy chapter 3 all over again and see if u can spot the differences lmao?? idk but i hope u enjoy anyway!!

fic summary: Strictly Come Dancing enters its 18th series and its producers, after being goaded by a rival dance show on its inclusivity, commission it to be an all-female cast. Unlike Akeria who’s just here to bone her potential dance partner, dancer Vanessa is ready to act like a professional.

And then TV presenter Brooke Lynn walks into the rehearsal room.

***

28th September 2020

Vanessa has never been more excited in her life as she paces the rehearsal room, checks herself out for what is surely the millionth time in the mirrors and pulls a few strands of her dark hair out of her ponytail to frame her face. There’s a cameraman and a lighting person and a random producer set up in one corner too but Vanessa hardly acknowledges them, because it’s her first rehearsal with Brooke and in a moment she’s going to walk through those doors and they’ll get to start their journey together.

Saturday night had been a blur. They’d been rushed off to film their post-show reaction interview and Vanessa hardly remembers what she’d said. She supposes it couldn’t have been more incoherent than her immediate reaction. Or perhaps it had been. They’d swapped numbers excitedly, Vanessa’s heart dipping a little as Brooke insisted she couldn’t join for post-show drinks as she had to film early the next morning. With a pang of embarrassment, Vanessa remembers the text she’d sent to Brooke in the early hours of the morning as a result of Monique and Akeria’s shocking influence and way too much tequila:

V: iknow its 1am but im still so excited to be partnered wirg u and i cant wait for first rehearsal!!!!!!! x

It’s a miracle Brooke had still been up so her reply could come instantly and Vanessa didn’t have to wake up smelling of alcohol, kebab and regret the next day.

B: I’m excited too!! Have a good night, can’t wait for Monday x

It’s not like Vanessa has a crush- she’s just excited, as she keeps reminding herself, and Brooke is her first partner. It’s natural to look forward to seeing her as much as she is.

Vanessa inspects her reflection again, frowning and pulling out two more strands of hair from her ponytail to hang loose. She gives a cry of frustration as she realises she’s ruined it by pulling out way too much, so she bends over and hangs her head down between her knees to gather her hair up again.

She’s in this position when the door opens and she hears Brooke’s voice ringing into the echoey room.

“Good morning! Oh shit, am I interrupting something?“

Embarrassed, Vanessa flips her hair back and stands up straight, walking quickly over to Brooke as she dumps her gym bag at the door. “No, fuck, sorry, I was just fixing my hair! Hey!”

Brooke has her arms out ready to hug Vanessa and she accepts gladly. She smells all clean and of fabric softener. She probably uses in-wash scent boosters like an adult who has complete control of her life and more money than sense. They pull out of the hug and Vanessa fixes Brooke with a smile.

“So!” Vanessa starts, but there’s a noise from the other side of the room. One of the producers has stepped forward.

“Uh yeah, ladies, we can’t use that intro. We’re gonna have to film again.”

“How come?” Vanessa asked, realising too late that it’s because she was bent over with her hair hanging to the ground and that Brooke swore. The girls share a guilty laugh and Brooke retreats to the door. The good news is that they get to hug for a second time when they reshoot, and Vanessa gets another scent of Brooke’s detergent and the protected feeling of having the other girl’s strong arms around her.

“So, first rehearsal!” Vanessa chats cheerfully, leaning on the barre and tilting her head as she talks to Brooke. “How we feelin’?”

“Good! Excited. Ready. Positive adjectives,” Brooke says all at once, smiling at her. “How about you?”

“I’m happy. Kinda nervous, ‘cuz now I have to live up to your expectations.”

“And they are great expectations.”

Vanessa nods. “George Orwell style.”

Brooke pauses, fixing Vanessa with a funny look, then bursts out laughing. “Even Charles Dickens?”

Vanessa laughs, shrugging. “They both wrote books, I stay winning.”

She watches as Brooke doubles over clutching her stomach in hysteria, and feels a sense of pride at having made the girl laugh so much. Remembering the film crew in the corner, she smacks her hands together. “Right! For our first dance as a Strictly partnership, we are doin’ a…quickstep!”

Brooke raises her eyebrows and nods slowly. “Ballroom first, okay! I can do that. I guess I’m surprised we’re not doing Latin.”

Vanessa shrugs. “Ballroom ain’t my strong suit so I figured it’s better to get it out the way early while we got other, shittier girls we can hide behind.”

There’s a beat of silence as the two girls look at each other. They both speak at the same time. “…Farrah.”

“Reshoot!” the producer shouts over, Vanessa feeling herself roll her eyes like a teenager. Brooke snorts a laugh and Vanessa feels that little match spark up in her gut again. They reshoot, having the same conversation as before in so many words. It’s tricky remembering not to swear- Vanessa peppers fuck and shit into her daily language like she’s seasoning it, so it’s odd attempting to remove that from her vocabulary. She should probably be trying to give Brooke the impression of a mysterious and graceful woman who says gosh and darn but if she’s going to be working with her she’s going to be working with her, not a cookie-cutter picture perfect imitation.

“You wanna warm up?” Vanessa asks her, feeling a little bashful as Brooke rolls her neck slowly. She gives a small shake of her head as a long strip of her bare neck is exposed, her blonde ponytail falling over her shoulder. Vanessa feels like shaking her head herself, shaking all the thoughts that just entered her head out of it. Get a grip.

“Nah, I already did a bit before I came. We’ve got a gym at the flat, so it’s good for that kind of thing.”

Vanessa feels her eyebrows fly up her face. What kind of fancy-ass flat does she live in? “You wanna just do a bit of conditioning then? I saw you were good at it on the induction day, so you prolly don’t need to do much-”

“You had your eyes on me on induction day then?” Brooke interrupts, gives Vanessa a cheeky wink that makes her face hot. She thinks about making a jibe related to Brooke eyeing her up during squats, but she thinks it’s maybe a bit much. This is only the third time they’ve seen each other, after all. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like such a teenager.

“You wish, princess,” she sticks her tongue out. Brooke laughs and Vanessa joins her, trying not to think too much about where that princess appeared from out of nowhere.

Brooke shrugs in agreement and they do a bit of conditioning on the mats that are kept at the studio. They don’t really need to be doing too much- it’s a quickstep, it’s not exactly Cirque du Soleil- but Vanessa enjoys giving her muscles a proper stretch anyway. She doesn’t need to be the bendiest dancer in the world but she likes to feel as if her flexibility and strength are constantly improving. The film crew stay to catch some rehearsal shots but Vanessa feels as if it’s only her and Brooke in the room, their easy small-talk coming naturally as they stretch and chat over the chill R&B Vanessa’s stuck on in the background. Brooke’s been working that morning already, shooting for The Voice. They’ve moved filming to the morning so she can participate in the show. Vanessa says she hopes it’s not inconvenienced her too much and Brooke laughs and waves her apology away, saying it’s been her dream to get asked on the show ever since she rose to TV-presenter status.

Vanessa agrees, tells her about growing up watching the show with her Mom, how it inspired her when she began to compete all those years ago. She could get into other stuff, like the Summer when they couldn’t fly back to Puerto Rico because Vanessa had begged and pleaded with her Mom to spend the flight money on another term at dance school instead and it had caused a rift so huge it almost tore a hole in her family. But she doesn’t. As Vanessa reminds herself, it’s only their third meeting.

So why does she have to fight the compulsion to tell Brooke her damn life story?

Before Vanessa can blurt out any emotional moments from her upbringing (and she doesn’t exactly have a shortage of them), she slaps her thighs, stands up and rolls the mat away.

“Okay, let’s get started. Now obviously you’re good-”

“Oh, of course,” Brooke jokes. Vanessa’s heart gives a dip.

“- so I think we can maybe just start learning the full thing? If it’s too hard then we can just do some of the basics and go over lil’ techniques an’…stuff,” Vanessa clocks the cameras, changes the “shit” she was about to let out. “But the good news is we got two weeks to learn this one instead of one.”

“So there’s no excuse for it not to be perfect,” Brooke nods immediately. Vanessa freezes, taken aback. Brooke in turn looks almost as if she’s been caught out, and her face turns a little red. “Sorry. That probably seems way too keen, it’s just a fun dancing show-”

“Nah, keep that spirit. I’m a fan of that,” Vanessa smiles at her and Brooke, reassured, smiles back. The girl’s clearly a perfectionist. Vanessa adds that to her growing list of things she’s learning about her new partner. “Aight, I’m gonna show you how it’s gonna look. Lemme get my phone.”

Vanessa dashes over to her gym bag, scrambles about in it for a moment. She spent all of Sunday and stayed up all night finishing off the choreography with Crystal, who she’d also helped choreograph her first dance too, not that Crystal needed any help choreographing Latin. Or indeed ballroom. Or indeed any dance full stop. They’d brainstormed and drank gallons of water and chatted together excitedly the whole time. Being on the show with Crystal is nice because they practise their Spanish together so Vanessa doesn’t lose too much of it, and she understands what it’s like to be away from her huge extended family on days like Cinco di Mayo when the only real celebration of that in the UK is a display of Mexican party food in Tesco, and they moan together about the fact that neither of them have seen a single plantain on sale since arriving in the country. Finally finding her phone in her gym bag, Vanessa searches for the video she and Crystal took of the quickstep once it was all finished. Finding it, she plops down next to Brooke who’s sitting on the dusty floor and leaning against the mirrored wall. She hits play, holds her breath nervously and hopes Brooke will like what she’s come up with. Vanessa is relieved when a small smile grows on Brooke’s face.

“Are we actually doing it to Pon De Replay?”

“Damn right we are!” Vanessa replies proudly. She got her song request in early and the producers approved it on Sunday morning. She knows that she’s not as good at ballroom but she likes the fact that she can use songs she likes and twist the style to fit, making it more comfortable for her. The dance she’s created is clever, even if she does think so herself. First week is all about showcasing your celebrity and what they do, what kind of person they are, so Vanessa wants to give Brooke a challenge. The first half is a straightforward quickstep and the second is the same but everything mirrored and in reverse. There’s a silly bit at the start where Brooke’s going to pretend to be interviewing Vanessa to reflect her everyday career. It’s cheesy, but that’s Strictly.

The video comes to an end and Brooke is smiling from ear to ear. “Oh my God. I love it.”

“Ah! Amazing. I’m so glad,” Vanessa beams, happy and relieved all at once.

“I mean, it looks hard. But I didn’t think any of this would be easy.”

“It’ll get easier, though! Just needs practise. And remember, we’ve got two weeks!” Vanessa reminds her, standing up and shaking herself out. “So we’ve got ages. I mean. In between all the press and social media madness, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Brooke laughs, pushing herself up from the floor. “Right, come on then, teacher. What do we start with?”

Vanessa begins showing Brooke the routine, the complex and intricate little steps and hops of the quickstep taking Brooke a little bit of getting used to. But by lunchtime, they’ve gone through a little chunk of the dance already and they’ve run it without and with the music. Vanessa’s pleased with their progress and when they stop for their lunch break they’re both exhausted, sweaty, and smiling.

“You good?” Vanessa asks Brooke, who’s taking a long swig of her drink. Her eyes widen as she nods quickly.

“Yeah! Christ, it’s so tough. You’re a good teacher, though,” Brooke says, finally finishing her water. The praise makes Vanessa blush; she’s glad she’s already red from all the dancing so it doesn’t show as much.

“You’re doin’ great. Makin’ my job easy,” Vanessa smiles at her. She bites her lip before speaking again. “Hey, you wanna come have lunch with me?”

Brooke pulls a face and pouts. “Aw, that sounds amazing but I’ve got a meeting with my agent at quarter past. To make sure you’re not committing human rights violations against me or whatever.”

Vanessa snorts a laugh, tries not to look disappointed. They promise to meet back at the studio in half an hour, and Vanessa heads to the canteen where she knows some of the other girls will be having lunch too. The studios that a bunch of them have had the foresight to block-book are great and modern, and Vanessa feels bad for girls like Jan who’s having to rehearse in a draughty church hall near Jackie’s sleepy Hounslow suburb. Pushing open the double doors, she finds Phi Phi, Jaida, Monique, Crystal and Plastique already sitting at a table and eating lunch. Vanessa dashes over.

“Beep beep, hoes! Winner coming through,” she shouts over to them cheerfully, Monique laughing and rolling her eyes long-sufferingly as Jaida shakes her head at her.

“Take several seats, bitch.”

“One’s fine, thanks,” Vanessa flutters her lashes at her, causing the other girl to laugh.

“How did you even get in through the door with your head this big?” Monique scoffs, as Vanessa chucks her bag down and rakes through it for her lunch.

“Hey, you’d be crowin’ as well if you saw what my girl can do,” she points out, ignoring the way Monique’s eyebrows fly up her face at the my girl.

“It’s not about who’s got the best dancer from the start, it’s all about the potential,” Plastique shrugs at her. Vanessa gives a laugh.

“Aw, Scarlet’s got loads of that, right?” she jibes, the other girls laughing. Plastique rolls her eyes.

“We spent half an hour on a step-ball-change. Every object in the room slowly started to merge into implements with which I could kill both her and myself,” Plastique put her head in her hands. She’d ended up being partnered with the soap star and Monique, to her badly-suppressed delight, had been given singer Monet.

“At least she’s trying to work hard,” Phi Phi sighed, her face taking on a sour expression. “Willam is killing me. She keeps doing shit wrong and if I point it out she just makes a joke about it. And she keeps dashing next door to show shit to Courtney! What the hell is up with that? Courtney’s got Blair to worry about, she doesn’t need a damn goofball interrupting her rehearsal every two minutes to add to that.”

“Where is Courtney, anyway?” Vanessa asked, taking a big bite out of her chicken and rice. She knows Courtney shares their studios too and she’s notable by her absence.

Phi Phi pulls a face in response. “Let’s just say her and Blair have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, I can’t relate,” Monique smiles smugly. “Me an’ Monet have been doing amazing.”

“So’ve me and Gigi! She’s awesome,” Crystal pipes up excitedly. Vanessa swears she can see her pupils turn into little hearts as she speaks. “She’s so hardworking. We’ve done, like, half our dance already.”

“No you haven’t, stop lying,” Phi Phi nudges her under the table with her foot. Crystal rolls her eyes, resigned.

“Okay, not half, but maybe like a quarter. An eighth? A twelfth.”

The girls explode laughing and Vanessa actually has to wipe tears from her eyes. When she calms down, she asks Jaida how her rehearsals with Yvie are going so far.

“Alright, I guess. The girl’s really great, she’s got so much talent. But the bitch won’t stop filmin’ shit for her fuckin’ vlogs! I’d leap out the damn window but our room’s on the ground floor.”

Another roar flies up from the girls. It’s always funny to see how they all gel with their dance partners, and Vanessa has never got to experience it for herself until this year. She’s so happy she’s been paired with Brooke.

After the girls finish their lunch, Vanessa and Brooke continue to rehearse. The days pass like that easily with hours spent in hold, out of hold, stepping, hopping, watching Brooke tear her hands through her messy ponytail in frustration when she can’t immediately nail a particular move. Vanessa learns that Brooke’s hard on herself and, though she never snaps or yells, Vanessa knows it annoys her having to really properly work at the tricky bits. Truth be told, Vanessa gets annoyed at herself too. She curses herself whenever Brooke struggles with something, becomes convinced she should have made the dance a little easier for her. If Brooke doesn’t pick something up quickly Vanessa is irritated at her own teaching methods. She knows Brooke wants to be the best no matter how much she plays the competition off as simply a bit of fun, and she gets annoyed when it seems like she’s not doing enough to help her achieve that.

On the whole, though, Vanessa tries not to beat herself up too much. They do seem to be making really good progress in comparison to some of the other girls, and they’ve more or less learned the whole dance by the end of the first week. It bodes well for their next few weeks together, as they both know the two-week rehearsal process is a luxury that’s not going to be afforded to them for the rest of the series. Besides, next week is full of social media madness and promo filmings and they’ve got their It Takes Two interview with Cheryl on Friday. It’s going to be exhausting.

“It’s going to be exhausting,” Brooke smiles gently, contemplating the week ahead and rubbing her eyes at the end of their Saturday night rehearsal. It’s 10pm and probably far too late and Vanessa should’ve let Brooke get an early night but she got carried away polishing up little sections with her.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you so late tonight,” Vanessa laments, frowning. Brooke frowns back, her face full of concern.

“Don’t apologise! I’m willing to stay as long as it takes. However long you think I need,” Brooke gives a small laugh, and Vanessa concedes and joins her laughter. The thought hits her that they’ve not shared too much on social media yet. Some of the pairs are giving round-the-clock updates as if they’re News 24 (she doesn’t think Aja and Farrah have stopped going live on Instagram since they began rehearsing but that’s what you get with a reality TV star as a partner), and Vanessa feels a bit guilty. She knows she’s got fans- it never gets any less crazy to say but it’s true- and she knows they’re as excited about her Strictly journey as she is. So she takes her phone out of her bag and waves it a little at Brooke.

“Hey. I know it’s late, but we’ve been workin’ so hard we kinda forgot about all the fun shit. Wanna take a few post-rehearsal selfies for Insta?”

She pauses as Brooke lets out a small laugh, suddenly feels embarrassed. “You know. If that’s your sorta thing.”

“I’m a TV presenter, Vanessa, I’m not the Prime Minister. I’m allowed to have fun,” Brooke laughs, struts up to stand beside her and faces the mirrored wall. “Go on then, Naomi Campbell, start the damn photoshoot.”

Vanessa laughs and her heart gives a little flutter as Brooke locks her fingers and rests them on her shoulder, leaning down and resting her head on them. She pouts and in turn Vanessa throws up a peace sign and sticks her tongue out. She takes a burst of five photos that will all look identical but she knows she’ll be able to find a tiny, minute difference in them all. Brooke leans over her phone as she scrolls through the photos, and suddenly jabs a finger against her screen.

“That one. It’s cute.”

Vanessa obeys orders and puts it on her Instagram story along with a timestamp and a little gif of a teddy bear falling asleep.

“Now do a video!” Brooke bounces on her toes all excited, and Vanessa has to laugh at how much she’s getting into the swing of things. Vanessa points the camera at them both, begins recording.

“Hey guys, Vanjie here with my girl Brooke Lynn, so it is…” she forgets the time, appeals to Brooke. “10.05? 10.06?”

“Way-too-late-o’clock,” Brooke chimes in, pokes Vanessa’s face teasingly. Vanessa rolls her eyes.

“We’ll go with that. An’ we have just finished a run of our full dance, you’re gonna love it, I can’t wait to show off this girl, y’all are not ready.”

Vanessa feels her face grow ever-so-slightly flushed as Brooke turns to her and smiles. “Aww. That’s cute, thanks! Oh, can we tell them what the song is?”

Vanessa faces her and laughs. “No way! We gotta wait til Monday, that’s when they all get released.”

“Please?” Brooke actually pouts. It’s too adorable and her face is so close to Vanessa’s in her attempt to fit into frame that Vanessa could totally lean forward and give her the tiniest little kiss if she wanted.

She doesn’t want to. Why the fuck did that thought just appear in her head?

“No! They’ll find out on Monday. And the dance too! No special treatment.”

“Ugh. I’m so telling my agent, this is definitely illegal. Should’ve stayed on the damn One Show.”

Vanessa bursts out laughing at Brooke’s joke, shakes her head at the camera. “I have to work with this diva. Jeez. Well, see you guys later!”

“Yeah, see you all later! If she hasn’t murdered me by then.”

“If I haven’t murdered her by then. Bye, love ya!” Vanessa signs off and stops recording, posts the video to her story as Brooke laughs. “You’re a natural at all this social media shit. Right, go get some rest. See you Monday, girl.”

“See you Monday,” Brooke smiles. Vanessa doesn’t miss the way she sort of hovers, lingering with the smile still on her face before looking to the floor and then leaving the room. Vanessa wonders what she was thinking. It couldn’t have been that important.

Before Vanessa begins to pack up she checks Instagram to see the reaction to the stuff she’s just dropped. There’s a few replies- she always gets them on her stories from fans and she tries to reply to most of them. One in particular catches her eye- a reply to the video which is peppered with heart-eye emojis and simply reads:

OHMYGOSH!!!!! You guys are SO cute together!!!

Vanessa doesn’t realise how long she’s been smiling until she’s left the studio and walking to the tube.

They both have a day off on Sunday- they all do. It’s been a long first week and they’ve all earned it. Vanessa has an ice bath because she’s forgotten how intense it is to be rehearsing all day every day with just one other person. It reminds her of the show she did that Summer with-

Well. It doesn’t matter now.

What matters now is Brooke, and Vanessa spends most of the daytime on Sunday sitting on the small sofa that’s squashed under the ceiling beam in her tiny narrow flat, curled up under a blanket and trying to figure out how to text her. She wants to make that connection with her partner, she wants her and Brooke to be close friends and to be able to go for lunch and talk about anything together and have their own little jokes and stuff like that. Lots of the dancers have that kind of connection with their girls already- Crystal and Gigi are averaging around two silly selfies a day on social media, Vanessa can hear Monique and Monet’s laughter ricocheting off the walls and down the stairs from their rehearsal room, and there is already some are-they-aren’t-they media speculation in the form of Jan and Jackie, who were papped going to get bagels in a break between rehearsals with their pinkies interlocked and small smiles on their faces. Vanessa’s not jealous of them, whatever it is they have. She’d asked Crystal about them, because she’s closer with Jan, and Crystal had laughed it off and said they’re just friends and they’re getting on very well. Vanessa has reason to doubt her, mind you. She knows chemistry when she sees it.

Vanessa finally decides to shoot Brooke a message at around six at night. She’s making a cheat meal of mac and cheese with a bunch of chorizo through it, because she damn well deserves a carb and some dairy and some oily meat. It’s when she realises that she’s made enough for a small village that she takes her phone out, messages Brooke before she can overthink it.

V: i’ve just made way too much mac and cheese, u wanna have a rehearsal room floor picnic tomorrow? x

The moment it’s sent she regrets how outrageously fucking pathetic she sounds. That is until she gets a reply around two minutes later, one that makes her face hurt with a smile.

B: No chance you’re offloading your failed masterchef attempts onto me. How do I know it’s edible? x

Her reply is flirtatious. Vanessa tries to explain it away but she can’t, so she positions her phone in front of the huge earthenware tray she’s just taken out of the oven, the breadcrumbs giving a satisfying crackle as she sticks a serving spoon into it and takes a boomerang of the strings of cheese and billows of steam that emerge as she pulls the spoon out and a golden slice of the baked pasta with it. She sends it off to Brooke without any written reply and for a moment she forgets about any potential response as hunger overtakes her. She grabs a white bowl with a small crack down its side and piles the pasta high into it, sitting back on the couch and pulling the purple blanket over her knees as she scans the channels for something to keep her company as she eats. She settles on a rerun of some 90s gameshow and as it eventually finishes, so does her dinner. It’s only then that Vanessa remembers her phone, and as she dashes back across to the kitchen counter her heart gives a giant thump of joy as she sees four messages from Brooke.

B: Omg I take it all back, I will never doubt your cooking skills again x

B: Is that chorizo???????? I’m so hungry x

B: Are you mad at me because I said it wouldn’t be edible?? I’m sorry!!!!!! x

B: Please bring some for lunch tomorrow! I’ll get us a dessert, call it an apology x

Vanessa looks at the little “x” after each one. She’s blushing before she even knows it and it’s almost like Brooke has planted real little kisses on both her cheeks.

V: i’d say it’s a date but i’m not gonna give u the satisfaction x

A reply from Brooke doesn’t come but somehow it doesn’t bother her.

They have their picnic on the floor of the rehearsal room the next day, just as had been promised. Brooke makes ridiculous noises as she takes her first bite of the mac and cheese and Vanessa pokes fun at her for buying the cakes and not baking them (but Galaxy cake bars are delicious, so she doesn’t complain too much). They make a silly video for Instagram- “Hey guys! We’ve stopped for lunch and I brought a picnic!” “Hey, I made cakes!” “Bought cakes. Bought.” - and they’re almost too full to practise afterwards but they do, until late into the night, and the day after that and the day after that. They squeeze in their photoshoot for the title sequence and an interview for the Radio Times and the days pass in a busy blur. Vanessa’s smile grows wider with each rehearsal as they become better and better at the dance and on Thursday night they run it through with no mistakes at all, Vanessa so happy that she jumps into Brooke’ arms and squeals with delight and Brooke squeezes her tight and does the same. Before they know it it’s Friday, they’re the last It Takes Two interview of the week, and the first show is a little over twenty-four hours away.

“You nervous?” Vanessa whispers to Brooke as they watch Cheryl interviewing one of the past contestants they’ve invited on to give their insight. The sister show of Strictly isn’t watched by a huge number of people but it is watched by the hardcore fans, and Vanessa is anxious to make a good impression.

“A little. I’m used to conducting the interviews, not giving them,” Brooke frowns a bit, sweeps her blonde hair over her shoulder. She turned up to the studios in a smart blue suit and orange heels and Vanessa is amazed that she hasn’t dissolved into liquid form under Brooke’s gaze.

Brooke is so beautiful, and Vanessa wonders if she’ll ever stop thinking that to herself.

Vanessa drops a shy hand to her side and takes Brooke’s, lacing their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. They hold hands and press their bodies together and look into each other’s eyes all the time as part of the dance so it’s not weird, it’s almost routine. When Brooke smiles at her, reassured and at ease, Vanessa relaxes by at least ninety percent.

They’re soon called out while a pre-recorded VT of their rehearsal footage plays and they whisper an excited hey to Cheryl in all her fake-tanned, white-toothed glory, the very vision of an Essex girl-turned-professional. Vanessa’s been interviewed by Cheryl before, last year when she was on the bench and all she had to do were some silly challenges and goof around with the other pros. This is different.

Vanessa takes a quick breath in and holds it while she smiles maniacally at the camera and Cheryl does their introduction. “Alright, now, joining us for the last interview of the week- it’s Brooke and Vanessa!”

A cheer goes up from the production crew as they both wave to the camera, and it makes Vanessa’s smile turn more goofy than she’d intended it to be. She leans into Brooke’s side as she laughs and she notices that Brooke’s got an arm resting on the headboard on the sofa behind her.

“Now, Brooke, you’ve had a fortnight of rehearsals and had to work around your busy taping schedule- what’s that been like?” Cheryl asks, leaning forward with interest. Vanessa has always liked Cheryl, mainly because an interview with her feels like a chat with an old friend and she always genuinely seems interested in what someone has to say.

“Ugh, you know what? It’s been amazing,” Brooke smiles, and Vanessa’s heart lights up in affirmation. She turns to look at Brooke and she’s already smiling at her. “Obviously it’s been tiring at times, I think I’ve had a combined total of about 10 hours of sleep this week-”

Vanessa snorts, laughs at how dramatic Brooke’s being.

“-but I wouldn’t change it. I’ve learned so much, and V’s such a good teacher. I really struck it lucky with her.”

The production team let out an “aww”, and Vanessa tries to bite back a grin and fails. Brooke’s arm goes from the headboard to rest around her shoulders and Vanessa is scared to move in case she scares her away like a butterfly.

“Now speaking of- Vanessa,” Cheryl’s face breaks into a smile as she turns to her, and Vanessa’s stomach flutters a little with nerves. “You obviously felt you struck it lucky with Brooke too, let’s remind everyone of your reaction to getting paired with her.”

Vanessa lets out a wail of protest and buries her face in her hands as the clip of their pairing is played, and she can hear Brooke creasing with laughter beside her. Her embarrassment is rewarded with Brooke squeezing her shoulder in reassurance, and Vanessa supposes it’s sort of worth it. The clip comes to an end and, as Vanessa takes her hands away from her face, she knows she’s blushing hard.

“Now, you were…I think you were a bit happy?” Cheryl teases sarcastically. Vanessa playfully glares at her, and Brooke squeezes her shoulder again. “Are you still as overjoyed with having Brooke as a partner now you’ve started to rehearse with her?”

“Aw, I’m still as happy as I was on launch night. Honestly,” Vanessa smiles at Cheryl, turns and smiles at Brooke too because she can’t help it. “She just makes it so easy because- she doesn’t stop smiling, so rehearsals are fun, and she is just the hardest-working girl…that even a word? Hardest-working…most hardworking..I don’t know, but she’s it, you know?”

Her praise is rewarded by Brooke dropping her hand down to her waist, and Vanessa’s heart gives a judder. It’s not like she’s not used to Brooke’s hands on her, but the context is different, and it throws her off ever so slightly in the best possible way.

“I think what’s nice is- I’ve wanted to be on this show for so long and it’s V’s first year with a partner, so we’re kind of doing this whole journey together, and it’s special,” Brooke smiles, and Vanessa nods in agreement, as if the movement of her head will stop the blood rushing to her cheeks in a blush.

“It is nice! Because I suppose, Brooke, you ain’t gotta compare yourself to anyone because there’s not been any partners before you,” Cheryl adds with a shrug. Vanessa smiles at her words and nods, turns to Brooke as she speaks.

“Yeah. You’re my favourite.”

Brooke’s eyes have a twinkle in them as she smiles back at her. “Aw, thanks.”

The interaction is so quick that Cheryl’s already on to her next question before she can pick up on it. “Now, Vanessa, you chose a quickstep for week one, why was that?”

Vanessa sighs a little as she thinks about it. She doesn’t want to come across too cocky, come out with because my girl’s the best and I knew she could do it in her sleep with her eyes shut, so she instead tries to come across as humble as she can. “I think because- it’s a fast dance, and it’s good to go right in at the deep end on your first week. I can see Brooke Lynn’s potential, and I know what she’s capable of, so we just sort of went for it and she’s coped so well. She’s thrived.”

“Not survived, but thrived! I love it!,” Cheryl laughs along with her. “Now, this pairing, I have heard…through the grapevine…this is a bit of a linguistically challenged pairing, am I right?”

Vanessa blinks at her. “What’s that even mean?”

Brooke howls with laughter beside her and Cheryl does the same opposite, and Vanessa pouts. She doesn’t like to look dumb, and the wounded part of her wants to remind them both that she’s the only one out of the three of them that speaks more than one language, but she lets it drop when Brooke explains it to her softly. “Like…words and stuff.”

“Oh right! Yeah, so Brooke’s got lil words for all the steps we’re doin’.”

“It just helps me remember the timing!” Brooke laughs, her turn to feel embarrassed as she covers her face with her hands.

“Yeah, so we go, like…step, hop, beans-on-toast!” Vanessa explains. Cheryl’s looking at Brooke as if she has two heads.

“What is beans on toast?!” she exclaims. Brooke shakes her head, gives Vanessa a look of admonishment.

“It’s just a little phrase, and it goes with the timing of the steps of the dance, and it helps me remember them…I won’t do it on the night, you won’t hear me say it!” Brooke laughs. She’s got the slightest hint of a blush hitting her cheeks, and part of Vanessa feels warm with the fact that the stage lights are too bright to pick up on it and it’s like a secret only she knows.

“Well, Vanessa, there’s also a revelation I’ve heard today that I’m a little bit shocked by…” Cheryl begins, and Vanessa feels nervous, as if Cheryl’s about to rip the butterflies out of her stomach and show them to Brooke as some sort of proof of any embarrassing little feelings she’s got for her. “…you’re a Strictly pro that can’t actually say the name of one of the dance moves?”

“Oh my God,” Vanessa lets out a groan. She knows instantly what Cheryl is referring to, and Brooke’s hand is wrenched from its position on her waist as she claps her hands with mirth.

“Can you say it now?” Brooke teases, and Vanessa rolls her eyes at her.

“Girl, you know I can’t!” she whines, prepares herself to try and say the offending word. “Sash-ay?”

“No!” Brooke laughs, the twinkle in her eye almost blinding.

“Sash-ay?” Vanessa hears herself, and shakes her head. “No, wait, I already said it like that.”

“It’s not like a sachet of sauce,” Cheryl supplies unhelpfully. Vanessa raises her eyebrows at her. She tries again.

“Chassé,” she finally comes out with, and a roar of satisfaction erupts from the crew behind the cameras. She laughs as she protests her lack of pronunciation. “Leave me alone, I got two languages to try an’ speak in!”

“And you can’t say chassé in either of them,” Brooke teases, sticking her tongue out at her. Vanessa finds it hard to rip her eyes away from her partner as Cheryl speaks again.

“Well, you two, you’ve been a joy to have with us today, good luck for Saturday night-”

“Thank you!”

“- Brooke and Vanessa, everybody!”

A cheer goes up from the crew, and Vanessa can’t help but giggle at the silliness that was the end of their interview. As Cheryl introduces another section of the show, Vanessa feels Brooke slip her hand into her own, squeezing it once. Vanessa squeezes back, and Brooke meets her eyes in a calm smile. It’s Friday evening, they’re off to rehearse as soon as this is over, and then it will be Saturday and their first live show as a couple. Vanessa is the best kind of nervous, and she finds herself shutting her eyes for a second as if to check she’s not dreaming.

Another squeeze of her hand from Brooke Lynn brings her back to earth with a bump, but she doesn’t mind.

[butt-lore]

Here’s something that will prolly make you sad.

Paring: PCY x Black non binary/ambiguous OC (I’m telling you that cuz I don’t know if there will be more chapters n it’s first person)

Words: 12905

Warnings: past abuse/abused/trauma mention, semi graphic (one detail). Pcy is NOT the antagonist/perpertrator!!!!

Rating: Loose fluff, loose hurt/comfort, building a relationship, soulmates sorta.

He’s been doing it all day. In between bites of the expensive dinner he insisted on, while sitting idly in traffic, while walking on the street (my hand in his coat pocket of course), everywhere we went his eyes would lazily drag across the ground or table to watch me. Never did he mean malice, I don’t think, as unnerving as it was Chanyeol appeared amused. The longer the night got the more sideshow I felt to the pleasant evening, from the private viewing of a quickly rising artist, to the picnic lunch complimented by an expansive garden, and especially at dinner, a (again) private room that overlooked the Yellow Sea. He claims he enjoys looking at me, I take him at face value. But now…

It’s not a kiss that increases my pulse, but he does kiss me in the middle of me talking. It wasn’t anything grand, just my favorite flower, which he asked for. I was caught off guard, wide-eyed, alarmed to say the least. It’s not a spectacular “soulmates meant to be'' kiss, yet I can’t call it unwelcomed. As slowly as he took his time to motion The Kiss I could have backed away. Soft as Chanyeol gently cupped each check in his large palms offset the chilly January breeze, as gentle as he leaned into my lips rather than pull me closer. Everything about The Kiss was right, the timing odd, but if this were “The One,” wouldn’t the earthquake beneath me or stars shatter from the sky? No rush of blood comes when he backs away, no fireworks form in my throat, I’m left speechless in a secluded cabin on a mountain very very very far from home. Danger doesn’t bang on pots and pans, anxiety refuses to acknowledge my behavior as any type of red flag, my body acts feels quite heavy as my head crumbles into his expectant hands. It’s so quiet in the woods.

Chanyeol’s brown eyes seemed concerned at my response— or rather the non response as an answer. We never break eye contact, even as my lungs impatiently pull air back into my chest. I need to think quickly, tell him whatever wouldn’t discourage his feelings, reassure him I just have no idea how to process the situation. Then he says something dumb— because they always say something dumb.

“It’s just..” the rapper is first to break eye contact, measuring his words with each drum of a finger against respective cheeks. “When we first spoke I thought to myself, ‘this person has the prettiest lips I’ve ever seen,’ I’ve been thinking that.” I’m not immediately offended, it’s not a compliment I’m new to, it just irritated the fuck out of me. “But just now, when you were speaking, the way you said flower was really pretty and I interrupted you, so I’m sorry for that.” I don’t process what he said immediately, so he goes on, still refusing to look me in the eye. “And when I kissed you just now I thought to myself, ‘I can’t date a person who makes me want to kiss them because they said flower’.”

Absurd. Near laughable. I knock his arms to the side to get his attention, head snapping back down towards me. “You bring me millions of miles from home, make me uncomfortable all day, interrupt me while I’m answering your question just because I have pretty lips?” Yes, the whole ordeal is hard to contain, I want to bark into fits of laughter. If it weren’t for the aggravated look he threw at me moments after my abrupt movements… I go the direct path, keeping my tone light and even, I hope I soften my eyes enough that shock has faded, even if I was still unsure what to do now.

“Yes.” I stay silent, perhaps there’s more to the story. Maybe I’m so funny I split his sides when we’re texting, a slight chance I make the best pork katsu he’s ever had, that my company was so enjoyable he took me to a cabin in the middle of the woods where no one can hear my screams no matter how loud they bounce off the walls. The warning bells I didn’t feel before punch me in the gut and I’m attentive to each move he makes now. Tiny ticks in his fingers, the frown, how he backed away.

When his rich baritone goes unspoken, I stay friendly. “Okay.” I look around the cabin unassuming, the fireplace surely has a stick or two, the kitchen isn’t far but his legs are longer than mine. I can’t drive in the snow either. Did I ever tell him that?

Chanyeol sighs, walking away from me entirely to sit on the couch. “I thought you would like it.” He sounded upset. I stay where I am by the dining table close to the entrance of the home. “Would you have preferred the city? Or a city abroad?” I inch a little further away. Small movements. “You said you hated busy places so I figured a cabin would be fun, we could go skiing or something, but I see I should have asked.”

Blinking back the alarm bells, I managed a small giggle. “I like it.” Which is the truth, this is my idea of a nice vacation. But I met Chanyeol a week ago. He’s yet to make me uncomfortable like he has today, however. “I just didn’t expect you to kiss me is all. Or for that to be the only reason you brought me here.”

The way his head jerks causes all the strands he so carefully tied into an incredibly messy bun to fall suspiciously around his face. I’m not frightened, his eyes are wide and lips parting and closing like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Just? Just? Well that’s just stupid, Rolo.” I’m not sure where I've offended him but I need to leave. “We just met a week ago. Do you think this is the norm for me? That I throw money around for people I barely even know just because they have pretty lips. I told you I thought that when we met. Would you like to know what I think now?”

I’m almost too afraid to nod, I expect him to yell, throw something, force me into submission. It’s irrational, because I don’t know this man, I’ve never spent an extensive amount of time with him alone, I know what I’ve seen and heard on television, there’s no logical explanation to my fear, but it takes me to my knees figuratively, and I’m almost audibly whimpering. Whatever he wants a soft, comforting voice whispers, you can get out alive if you do whatever he wants. I think he wants me to answer yes, so I answer yes. Dry and my throat is, he hears me.

Rising to his feet and placing his eyes back on me, this time with annoyance, Chanyeol puts his hand out. The gesture means nothing to me, was he calling me over or asking me to come over? Did he want my hand? There are too many wrong answers in these situations. I go to walk over but he puts his hand palm up, stopping me before I start. “I’m asking to approach you.” He does the gesture again, this time it clicks. He is gesturing towards me, asking respectfully without words if he can come over. I nod. He inspects me again before approaching, now holding out his hand for mine. “I have made you uncomfortable. All day?” Chanyeol is away from me, watching from outside his body as it attempts awkward contact with mine. “I was watching because you fascinate me.” I keep my arms rooted at my side, if I could wrap them around my person, comfort myself, or disappear into myself, I would.

As best as a tall and broad man can, Chanyeol shrinks himself before me, kneeling on his left knee before falling to the other. It’s a display, a situation I’ve never seen or been in before. Was he apologizing? “Oh, it’s okay-“

Chanyeol hangs his head gently, a chuckle on his lips. “Ro, hear me when I say my intention was only to learn you. What you like. How you do things. What makes you smile most and what turns your face up in that cute scrunched up almost piggy-like pout. I can’t help it, forgive me. You entrance me.” My head is spinning… maybe the room was spinning— the next thing I know I’m sitting on the bouncy and my date is kneeling by my lap, hands to himself. “May I ask you something before I tell you my answer?”

I know what he’s going to ask. It’s not the first time. I’m so used to these situations I had given up on dating entirely. The pity in their eyes after you tell them about the Trauma, about the pain. I’m no longer an individual but rather something fragile, almost childlike; someone to easily be manipulated. I can’t say I am ‘easy’ but I’m swayed if convinced enough. So eager to please. Even if I was healing, this was exhausting.

“Yes. All the time in fact. So often I had to get a socket reconstructed.” Chanyeol is slow to process my words. I should have waited for the question. “That’s why I’m nervous. I have no reason to be but I am. It’s been a long time since I’ve been alone with a man.”

“Why’d you come?” When I look down, shining brown eyes are looking back, “I never want you uncomfortable.”

“I assumed this is how you kpop stars do.” I can’t help but wonder if he knows just how breathtaking he can be. Even just sitting before me was adorable. Shaggy brown hair touching at his shoulders, a light pink dabbed over rounded cheeks, each beauty mark (but especially the one on the bridge of his nose) are charming me off the ledge. Slowly, unknowingly at first, I’m growing more comfortable. “But you said you don’t do this, so now I would like your answer. I came because I think you’re funny and kind. I wanted to get to know you better whatever the cost, I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing, neither does Chanyeol, who is smiling so softly, pity etched in umber irises. I felt so small even if I had to look down at him. This isn’t what I want. “But earlier—“ big cheeks drop, concern is all he can give me at this moment. I’m too unpredictable. “When you kissed me, I felt nothing.”

That doesn’t shock him, her who is standing to his full height and giggling his way to a cabinet in the kitchen. “Do you like white or red wine?” He knows the answer to this one, only does he ask to make obvious why he would go to the kitchen. He’s not gonna kill me, a simple drink order is all. He’s not mad we are meant to just be friends. What if he hates that idea though? “Here.” Chanyeol insists I open the bottle, another reassuring measure his brain must have cooked up. It’s working. I’m relaxing. Yet he is acting like I hadn’t rejected him, should I make myself more clear and high tail it down the hill and back on a plane? Would he search high and low for whispers on me? Panic is settling all around my ears, alarms blaring, his thin lips move and I can read them, but I can’t hear his voice at all. Curious.

Taking a steadying breath, “so if I tell you right now, I want to go home, home home, and never see you again?” I have to strain my eyes to read his words, a genuine yes, he even takes the wine bottle from my trembling hands and gathers my things. He’s halfway to the door when I hear a suitcase click, and then the ac unit, and some low electronic rumbling. Perhaps I can hear the rustling of birds outside, or some other animal lurking by. “I want to stay. Just. May I use the bathroom?”

“It’s negative twenty out. If you want to leave let me drive you.” It’s stern but not a command, like he’s inviting me to challenge him, like it’s a game for him.

I rise up to the occasion. “What makes you think I don’t have an escape plan?” At first, the joke was even morbid for me, I think it’s too far, this isn’t someone you just casually say to another human. Especially when they think you’re terrified of them.

Chanyeol surprises me again with a shrug. “Not practical enough your phone is in your bag by the door.”

“Lucky for you I just need to pee and recollect my thoughts.”

“I do my best thinking in the bathroom, go.”

The rest of the night isn’t nearly as uncomfortable. When he looks at me I’m not on display, but rather, there’s a look he gives me, one I’m well acquainted with. I hadn’t seen it in so long I had almost missed it. My dad used to look at me like this when I would bring him dinner after a long day at work. My mother would look at me like this after tucking me in at night. This very same look a man who was never this kind gave me. How do you differentiate between love and fiction? How do you know if the love that is there is made up of malicious intent or if you are soulmates?

It’s very late by the time Chanyeol announces there are three rooms in the house and that I can pick from any of them. He never intended we share a bed, something that shocks me yet again. Why bring me all the way to a cabin in the middle of the woods during winter? Is that not the point of cabin vacations? Cozying up to the one you love?

“You want to know what I think of you now?” My head had fallen prey to his strong shoulder, cheek squished on a bicep, a strong bicep. Shapely too. I wonder if he works out daily or just a few times a week. Humming for him to continue I stay in my musings, what a wonderfully sculpted man. “I think you’re weird as hell and you match me exactly.” Shifting so I can look at him incredulously, Chanyeol is carefully putting my face back in his hands. “That first kiss was just because I liked the way your lips moved when you said flower. Nothing more nothing less.” If this was a love confession it’s the cheesiest one I’ve heard. “I will not kiss you again until you let me. I need to hear you say, ‘Chanyeol, I want you to kiss me.’ And I will no hesitation. Because— while you might not feel anything, I feel everything for the both of us right now and it’s overwhelming. Tell me if or when you’re ready, for now I will shoulder the burden.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Mimicking his earlier sentence, my teeth poke out from my lips, I’m trying so hard to not laugh. “There’s no way in hell me saying ‘flower’ has any effect on you at all… see I just said it and you’re still there and I’m still here.” Chanyeol just watches, pressing his palms into my cheeks, he licks at his lips while watching mine. “Chanyeol… kiss me.” And he does, immediately pressing his lips to mine.

A star collapsing at seven solar masses doesn’t begin to compare. It’s almost criminal when he does it again to say goodnight. I lay away, heart in my throat, replaying all three kisses in my head like a giddy school aged kid with their first boyfriend. The first one: off guard and alarming. The second: spectacular and dawning. The third: nostalgic and longing.

Holding up my left hand I look at the word embedded on my ring finger; “pretty.” Plain, blockly black text mocks me. A friend of mine in high school had “your eyes- fuck, excuse me I’m sorry, your eyes are stunning, I’m Melo,” appear on my thigh during swim practice at pe junior year. All I get is “pretty”. A tried and true compliment but one I hear so often. One that is almost never accompanied by other nouns. “Pretty”.

Chanyeol called me pretty the moment we met. Out of breath and slightly dazed, his tongue twisted loops just to force out a measly “pretty.” I laughed of course, a famous man told me I was pretty, to which I complimented him back. He asked me on a date that minute and I said yes. He could be the one. The one whose handwriting is scrawled unceremoniously on my marriage hand. God is so funny like that sometimes. Kiss one, kiss two, and kiss three… I wonder if “your smile takes all the air out my lungs,” is neatly scribbled on his tanned skin somewhere, if that’s why we’re in a secluded cabin.

Mom told me not everyone finds the owner of the words, and not everyone ends up in love with the owner of the words. Some stay friends, some become enemies, others simply live life never searching. I remember the day mama’s words left her, she didn’t leave bed for a week. I never met the person, but daddy says she was kind, and the light of my mom's life. A part of me wishes the words would just leave me, but then I remember why words suddenly disappear and feel guilty. Searching for the owner of these words has placed me in vicarious situations, ones I almost never got out of. I should just give up. Who cares if kiss one wasn’t special, the other two still had me reeling. I’m so giddy, I can’t wait to see him in the morning, to speak with him all day, to kiss him goodnight again.

Soulmate or not, one thing is for sure, I am falling for Park Chanyeol.

[monsterfucker-mcgee]

This prolly sounds dumb but since the trans day of visibility happened ive gotten a lot of hate bc im a trans dude and like, Tivius comforting a trans person who was being harrassed, not rlly an x reader like a Relationship but like, just a comfort fic bc he seems like the type to comfort a sad stranger

Listen up - there is nothing silly about wanting a little comfort, especially not given our current circumstances, and especially especially not when you’re getting a lot of hate because of who are you. I’m so sorry this is happening to you. If you ever need an online shoulder to cry on, or just someone to vent to, my inbox is always open, as are my DM’s. I hope this little fic can help you feel a bit better :( 

Given the nature of this ask, there are a few trigger warnings in this little fic - misgendering, hate crime, and harassment. 

——————————–

Tivius Lintis was patrolling the pristine grounds of Presidium when he heard distant shouting. Crying followed the shouting, and his curiosity was piqued. He followed the noise to a nearby alley where he found a group of five humans. Four of them towered above the fifth who was lying on the ground, clearly crying and with their hands over their face. 

He stood back for a minute or two to figure out what the problem was.

“You’ll never be a real man!” one of the towering humans snarled, then laughed loudly when the human on the ground let out a broken sob. 

“What’s the matter, girlie?” another said and stepped closer, and this was where Tivius intervened. 

“Hey!” he shouted and walked towards the scene calmly, but his blood was boiling. Immediately, the humans looked at him. “What’s the problem here?” he asked and put his hands on his hips, looking the four humans over. They looked to be in their twenties, two of them being female and the other two being male. He glanced at the fifth human on the ground - they looked to be in a bad state. 

“Nothing, officer,” one of the women said, almost purred, and batted her eyelashes while twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Tivius stared at her coldly. He had seen enough hate crimes to know when he was faced with one. Somehow, the human on the ground was different from these four, and while he couldn’t piece it together right now, he was going to figure it out. 

“Then you have no business here, do you?” 

“I could make you my business,” the same woman murmured and took a step closer to Tivius who arched an eyebrow plate. 

“And I could throw you in a cell. Hate crimes are illegal, which I’m sure you’re all well aware of since you’re trying to hide it.” 

Three of the humans sent each other nervous glances, but the woman seemed confident. At least confident enough to flirt with a turian C-Sec officer, which took guts. But that didn’t excuse her nasty actions. 

“Are you going to arrest me?” she asked in a tone that was definitely meant to be seductive, but Tivius had no time for that. 

“Yes, I am, unless you all get out of here. Go on, leave.” 

The woman seemed to debate with herself whether to stay and try her luck, but the other woman grabbed her arm and tugged, hissing out, “Come on, Cailey, let’s go. She’s not worth the trouble,” and glaring at the human on the ground. 

The woman called Cailey snorted and rolled her eyes, but led her little gang out of the alley. Tivius looked at them leave before he hurried to the human’s side. They were sobbing softly, and their clothes looked torn and dirty. 

“Hey,” he whispered and gently touched the human’s shoulder, “hey, it’s alright, they’re gone.” The human sniffled and turned their head to look at him, and he did his best to smile. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered again and squeezed the human’s shoulder before letting go and sitting back to give them some space. But immediately when he let go, the human sobbed again and reached out for him. 

Tivius, who may be good with hugs with his partner, tensed for a fraction of a second before relaxing again and sitting down beside the human, close enough that their hips touched. The human turned enough to press their face into his shoulder, crying quietly. 

“It’s okay,” Tivius repeated and stroked their hair, “it’s okay, they’re gone now. What’s your name?”

“David,” the human croaked and wrapped his arms around Tivius’. 

“Alright, David, thank you for telling me.” Not wanting to upset David any further, Tivius spoke softly and calmly while carding his talons through his hair. “Can you tell me what that was all about?”

David nodded against his shoulder and pulled back to rub his eyes. He didn’t answer immediately, but Tivius was patient, simply smiled at him. 

“They… they live in my neighborhood. They don’t like me because I’m… well, I’m different.”

“In what way?”

David bit his quivering lower lip, and his whole body trembled. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and his nose was red. Tivius felt a twinge in his heart - he hated seeing people cry, even if he didn’t know them. 

“I’m… not actually a man,” David mumbled. Tivius frowned.

“I’m sorry?”

David answered by lifting his torn shit enough that Tivius could see a long scar run under his left nipple. Immediately, horror filled him, and his blood began boiling again.

“Did they do that to you?” he asked, his vocals deeper than he had expected. David shook his head, and a small smile twitched onto his lips. 

“No, they didn’t. I… had surgery.”

Slowly connecting the dots, Tivius nodded. What the other humans had shouted, why David was crying, the scar. 

“You’re transgender,” he concluded and tilted his head slightly to the side. David nodded and turned his head away, letting out another sob that he tried stifling with a hand. Tivius moved to sit in front of David and stroked his knees gently. “What makes you think you’re not a ‘real man’, David?”

The human shrugged and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, sniffling softly. 

“Being a man has little to do with what your body looks like, and all to do with what you feel,” Tivius whispered and lowered his head to try and get a glimpse of David’s face. “It’s not about what body parts you have, it’s about what’s in your heart.” 

David looked up at him with red, puffy eyes, and Tivius smiled softly. 

“If you feel like a man, then you’re free to present yourself as such.” 

“What if I like… girly things?” he whispered, nearly inaudible. Tivius made sure David could see him shrug before he answered. 

“Things have no gender. Unless you’re talking about grammar, which I suspect you aren’t. What are some things you consider ‘girly’ that you like?”

David’s lips quivered when he spoke. 

“I like… I like floral things. I like wearing dresses. I like horses.” 

Tivius nodded and pondered this for a moment. 

“As far as I know, there are no official laws that dictate what men can wear and what women can wear. And if someone knows the law, it should be me, right?” David nodded with a small smile, and Tivius smiled back. “As for the horses, some of Earth’s most famous… equestrians? Is that the word?” David nodded again. “Right. Some of Earth’s most famous equestrians were men. I can name a few that you can look up if you want.”

David shook his head. 

“I already know a lot of them. But thank you. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” Tivius nodded and stroked the human’s knee for a second longer before withdrawing his hand. “Bottomline is that if you feel like a man, then you are a man. If you feel like a woman, then you’re a woman. You can be both or you can be neither. It’s entirely up to you.” 

David smiled a bit wider. 

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you to say.” Tivius’ mandibles flared in a big smile. 

“Please, you can call me Tivius.” 

“How come you know so much about gender? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.” 

“Not at all. I have a couple of transgender friends, and I try to keep an open mind about this kind of thing. It’s not really something that’s prevalent in turians - at least not that I know of - but I see and meet a lot of humans in my line of work. You’d be surprised by how many of them share the same views as you, saying they can’t wear this or that or that they can’t like a specific thing because it ‘belongs to the other gender’.”

David nodded again and rubbed his eyes, sniffling quietly. 

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Tivius trying to come up with more comforting things to say and David steadily calming down. 

“Do you want me to follow you home?” he asked the human. 

“You don’t have to.”

“But do you want me to, David?” 

David nodded, almost imperceptibly. 

“Then how about we get going? It’s getting late.” Tivius got up and reached out a hand to David who took it and let himself be hauled up. 

“Do you live with anyone?” Tivius asked as they walked towards the wards. 

“I have a roommate.”

“Are they accepting of you?”

“She is. She doesn’t really understand it, but she’s never made a mean comment.” 

“That’s good. What about your family? Are they okay with it?” 

David nodded. “Yeah, they are. They seem to understand it better than my roommate, too.”

Now it was Tivius’ time to nod. 

“That’s really good to hear, David. What about friends? Do you have a good social network?” 

David gave a shrug with a shoulder.

“I guess? I have a few friends who know about my situation.”

“Humans?”

“A human and a turian, actually.”

Tivius hummed and nodded, his mandibles flaring slightly. As they walked, they passed a number of shops, and a number of humans sent long looks after Tivius. David noticed. 

“Must be nice to have so many eyes on you,” he mumbled with a small smile. Tivius chirped in amusement. 

“When it’s the right pair of eyes, it sure is,” he answered and thought about his partner, warmth spreading in his chest. “Do you have someone whose eyes you want on you at all times, David?”

David blushed lightly. 

“Maybe,” he mumbled, making Tivius chuckle softly. 

“Oh yeah? What species?”

David glanced at him and quickly looked away again, much to Tivius’ amusement. 

“A turian?”

“Y-Yeah.” 

“Do they know how you feel?”

“I don’t think so. But I want her to know. She’s the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, and she’s the sweetest, too.”

“Is she one of your friends?” 

David nodded and scratched the back of his head. Tivius smiled. 

“Why not tell her?”

“Because it’s… weird. A human and a turian? People would laugh us all the way back to Earth.” 

Tivius hummed, not really offended. He knew that struggle, but he also knew how good it felt not to give a shit about anyone’s opinion. 

“My mate is human,” he said and looked at David who stopped walking and got wide eyes. “It’s working out great. I have actually thought about making her meet my parents.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting laughed at?”

Tivius shrugged. 

“If people have a problem with it, they have never told me. And if they do have a problem with me having a human mate, then it’s their problem, not mine, so why should I care? They’re the narrow minded asshole, if you’ll excuse my swearing.” 

David laughed softly, and Tivius’ mandibles flared in a warm, wide smile. It was wonderful to hear the human laugh. 

“Basically, David, don’t base your view of yourself on how others see you. You’ll never be perfect to everybody, and you’ll only hate yourself more if you continue trying. I understand the need to be liked and loved, but the right human, or turian, will like and love you for who you are, not who you’re trying to be.” 

David nodded slowly and began walking again, shoving his hands into his pockets. Tivius followed him. 

“Thanks, Tivius. I really appreciate your talking and following me home.”

“Of course, David.”

They walked for about a minute more when David stopped in front of one of the many apartment doors. 

“This your place?”

He nodded and knocked on the door. Barely had he knocked for the third time before the door was ripped open, and a turian stood in the doorway. It was a female, distinguishable by the lack of a fringe, and Tivius instantly suspected it was the one David was crushing on. She was rather pretty - her markings were bright purple with blue eyes that held the depth of an ocean. 

“David!” she exclaimed and pulled him into a tight hug. He hugged her back, burying his face in her shoulder. “Where have you— Spirits, what happened to you? Was it those kids again?”

By the mention of ‘again’, Tivius narrowed his eyes. 

“Has this happened before?” he asked, forcing his voice calm. 

The turian looked at him and nodded. 

“Who’re you?”

“Tivius Lintis, ma’am, with C-Sec. I found David in an alley being bullied by a gang.”

“Look into them, will you? They need to pay for what they’re doing to David.”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you know anything that could help me? I only know the first name of who I presume to be the leader.”

“Her name is Cailey Lemara. She works with David, and her gang is always up to no good.”

“I’ll look into it, ma’am. Take care of yourself and David, okay?”

“Yes, sir, I will. Thank you for bringing him home.”

“Not a problem, I’m happy to help. If you find out anything about this gang, call C-Sec and tell them to contact me.” 

The turian nodded and led David inside.

“Thank you, Tivius,” he shot over his shoulder.

“You’re welcome, David. Take care.” 

[imsvg]

home

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia  Pairing: UraMomo (Ochako/Momo) Words: 1831 Summary:  In which Ochako spends a night awake, but not alone. Links: FF is here! AO3 is here!

knock knock, bnha fandom? yes hello, i'm here w my rarepair.

Ochako found that sleep didn't come easy to her as it used to.

It started when she moved into Heights Alliance. Sure, for first several weeks she would knock out like a rock, but that didn’t last. It was a subtle change, she noticed. She fell asleep at later times, the hours dragging on, and on, and on….

It would be one…then two…then three….

Before she knew it, the sun would be rising over a new day, and Ochako would be in her bed, body heavy with fatigue.

She sought other ways to help her fall asleep. Twenty or so jumping jacks, counting sheep, doing jumping jacks as she counted sheep—none of them worked. Sleep never failed to elude her, and with each passing night, Ochako grew more and more frustrated.

Eventually she decided that if she was going to spend the night wide-awake, she would do it in the common room, where at least she’d have a nice view of the sky to keep her frustrations at bay. Night after night, Ochako sat curled under a thin blanket, looking out the large, arched window, counting the countless stars dotting the night sky, alone.

This particular night, however, she wasn't alone.

She sat curled in the corner of the couch that faced the window, her head leaning against the crevice where the armrest and back cushion met. Her body felt heavy, yet her mind was wide awake as her eyes drifted from one star to another.

Hundred-five…hundred-six…hundred-seven…hundred-eigh—

“Uraraka?”

Her thoughts dissipated like clouds of breath as she turned her head. She saw Momo staring at her with a mix of confusion and surprise.

“Yaoyorozu,” she began, “what’re you doin’ ‘ere?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Momo said, raising an eyebrow.

Ochako felt a sheepish smile curl her lips. “Couldn’ sleep.”

“Your voice says otherwise.”

“Really?” Ochako laughed tiredly. “I guess I do soun’ sleepy,” she said after a while. She covered her mouth with the blanket as she yawned.

“Are you sure you’re not forcing yourself to stay awake?” Ochako caught lilts of worry in Momo’s voice.

“‘M sure,” Ochako said, blinking away the tears that sat in the corners of her eyes. “It’s like—mm—you know when your body is tired? But your mind keeps you awake?”

Momo hummed in confirmation.

“Tha’s what’s happenin’ with me.”

“…I see.”

There was a moment of silence, one that was heavy and awkward. As she shifted in her seat, Ochako realized that this was the first time she was alone with Momo. It also occurred to her that she wasn’t as close with her as she was with all the other girls.

Now that she thought about it, Momo was someone who always kept to herself.

“Do you wanna sit?” Ochako smiled and patted the cushion next to her.

Momo’s eyes widen and her cheeks color with child-like excitement. “Really?”

“Really.”

With constrained excitement, Momo made her way to sit next to Ochako, her eyes sparkling with glee all the while like a pup. The thought made Ochako’s smile grow wider.

Ochako felt the cushion beside her sink as Momo sat down. She could feel Momo’s warmth through the thin blanket, and as she took a deep breath, she caught the faint richness of coffee whisking past. The sting of homesickness pricked Ochako’s chest as she remembered the early mornings of her childhood when she would watch her father leave for work, leaving the smell of coffee in his wake.

“Didja drink some coffee?” Ochako found herself asking.

The weight beside her shifted as Momo hummed. “A little bit.”

“Is that why you can’ sleep?”

“Oh, no,” Momo said as she shook her head. “I can’t sleep because I stay up out of habit—I used to study through the nights when I was younger. Besides, it was non-caffeinated coffee.”

“Non-caffeinated?”

“I drink it because I like the taste.”

Ochako laughed. “That really is a Yaoyorozu-like answer.”

Momo turned to her with furrowed eyebrows. “Is…that a bad thing?”

“No,” Ochako said with a small smile, “it’s not. ‘M jus’ sayin’ you have adult taste, since you like coffee. Since it’s real bitter an’ all.”

Momo hummed, nodding slightly. “Do you not like coffee?”

“If it has marshmallows in it, I don’t mind it.”

There was a slight pause before Momo asked, “Marshmallows?”

“It’s somethin’ that my pops and I used to do,” Ochako explained. She chuckled quietly to ignore the cold feeling of homesickness spreading throughout her chest. “Sometimes I would wake up early and drink coffee with him. We didn’ really have things like hot chocolate because that was a sorta luxury for us, so he’d put marshmallows inta my mug to make it sweeter.”

Momo smiled, and for a moment, Ochako felt like she was sitting under the sun, its warmth melting the chill settling in her chest.

“You sound close to him,” Momo said.

“Yeah….” Ochako’s words faded with her smile, her eyes trailing off to gaze at an invisible spot on the floor. A chill passed through her spine as she mumbled, “I really miss him sometimes.”

Momo wrapped her arm around Ochako’s shoulders and pulled her close. The scent of coffee was undeniably stronger, and undeniably comforting. A familiar feeling she couldn’t quite name washed over Ochako. It warmed her the same way warm beach sand did, tingling sensations traveling from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.

“You sound close,” Momo said, barely above a whisper. Ochako found that the gentle rumble of Momo’s voice soothed her. “It’s understandable why you’d miss home.”

“Yeah, guess we are.” Ochako allowed a breath of amusement to leave her. “We’re a small family that don’ really have much. All we really had was each other. But they did everythin’ they could to support me.”

Momo said nothing this time. Instead, she began to rub Ochako’s shoulder in small circles. Ochako found solace in the gesture; her mother would do the same thing when she was younger.

“They sound like good people,” Momo said.

Ochako’s lips quirked up into a smile. “They are. I wanna pay them back. For everythin’ they’ve done.”

“Is that why you became a Hero?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s a very Uraraka-like reason.”

Ochako chuckled; didn’t need to look up to know that Momo was smiling.

“How about you?” Ochako asked. “Why’d you become a Hero?”

Ochako noticed that Momo’s hand paused for a brief second before she answered. “Partially because it was expected of me,” she began, “partially because I wanted to.”

“Oh, right—I forget that you come from a well-known Hero family.”

Momo chuckled, but Ochako didn’t catch any note of amusement. If anything, it sounded quite the opposite: unsure, reserved, even a bit cynical—like she was laughing to distract herself from something.

Another shiver spread through Ochako’s, body, this time settling in her gut like water.

“I’m surprised people can forget a big title like that,” Momo said. The cynicism was leaking into her voice as she continued. “I wish I could, sometimes.”

Hearing her words made the cold water in Ochako’s stomach turn to ice. The frost crept up her body, freezing her lungs, making it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

Sympathy and shame churned in her gut as she finally forced herself to take a breath. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Prolly shouldn’ ‘ave mentioned it.”

“No,” Momo began with a shake of her head, “I’m the one who should be sorry—I lost control of myself for a moment there.”

Ochako forced herself to stay quiet by chewing on the inside of her cheek. A question nagged at her, however, in the back of her mind. It prodded and poked the way Kirishima sometimes did in class, annoying her and demanding to be asked.

Ochako stopped her ministration, instead taking a breath to steel herself.

“Yaoyorozu?”

Momo answered with a faint hum.

“Can—can I ask you somethin’?” She paused before quickly adding, “Ah, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

Ochako felt Momo nod faintly. “What is it?”

“Are you, mm, on—on good terms with your family?”

Momo chuckled gently, a far cry from the cynicism she showed earlier. This one was much gentle and warm. “Of course I am.”

Ochako quietly sighed out of relief. “Tha’s good.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just thought that, mm, you weren’t on good terms with ‘em, y’know? Like you might’ve been in a similar situation. Like Todoroki.”

“Ah. Well, I can assure you it’s nothing like that. But”—Ochako felt Momo let out a heavy exhale through her nose, and she scooted closer to the vice-president, hoping it would give her some form of comfort—”sometimes the name gets too heavy.” There was a moment before Momo added, “Like the pressure of being a Yaoyorozu. Not—not the actual name.”

Ochako stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her blanket. Momo was a lot like Todoroki, Ochako noticed, with how awkward they were. Maybe that’s why they got along, because they understood what it was like to be an outlier.

The image of Momo sitting alone was upsetting Ochako much more than it should have.

“Y’know we got your back,” Ochako began, her voice holding such conviction she even surprised herself, “not because of your name, but because you’re you, y’know? Titles and stuff don’ matter to us; it just matters if you got the ‘eart of a Hero.”

An awkward, heavy silence weighed over them. Sweat began to collect on the back of Ochako’s neck. Did—did she say something wrong? Momo wasn’t saying anything, but that doesn’t mean it was necessarily a bad thing, was it? Because—

Momo blew off the silence with a laugh as if it was nothing. There was something living in her voice as she laughed, something so rich and so genuine that it made Ochako’s heart soar in her chest.

“It’s kind of comforting to hear something like that,” Momo said with a quiet sniffle. “Thank you.”

The warmth in Momo’s voice comforted Ochako. It wrapped around her like Momo’s arm, keeping her in an embrace that made her eyes heavy with sudden fatigue. It settled in her chest, tickling the edges of her heart every time she took a breath, like the scent of coffee that clung to Momo. The more Ochako held onto that warmth, the more she noticed the promise of safety behind it, like a place she was all too familiar with.

“You’re welcome,” Ochako managed to slur out before closing her eyes. The warmth surrounding her grew stronger as Momo’s other arm came around to fully hold her. Ochako felt her head shift from Momo’s shoulder to her chest, the scent of coffee ever-present.

Teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, Ochako smiled softly to herself.

Momo felt like home.

The thought was enough to put her into an easy sleep.