#the fluff is off the charts with these two but so is the angst

[beans-and-shet]

I can’t lose you

[highvern]

Patterns I

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x fem!reader

Genre: smut (21+), eventual fluff/angst

Summary: Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. So what does it mean when you find yourself in Wonwoo's bed over and over again?

Chapter Warnings: fuckboy(ish) wonwoo, friends(?) with benefits, multiple sex scenes, oral (f. & m. receiving), choking, face fucking, penetrative sex

Length: ~10k

Note: woooohoooo part 1 done. let me know what you guys think! thank you @gyuswhore for being my beta and talking me down from a complete meltdown lmao

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

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This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

“And if you look at this chart, you can see profit margins over the past three quarters have steadily increased…”

Mona drones on and on. You try to listen and nod along but there’s only so much enthusiasm that can be faked for a last minute afternoon meeting on a Friday. Maybe if she was saying anything with an ounce of meaning you’d pay attention. But the numbers she spout off on record profits only confirm what the company who hired your team already knows: if they give their employees more work for less pay, they’ll make more money.

The vibration of your phone wakes you up. Peering into your lap under the table, you see your roommate’s name flash across the screen.

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: ruby’s tonight Y/N: Do I have a choice?

You don’t even lock your phone before she responds.

Lisa 👁️🫦👁️: nope!

“Y/N, do you mind sharing the latest reports?” 

Head jerking up, you meet Mona’s gaze across the room. She flashes a tight smile, clearly having caught your moment of distraction. Lucky for you, you could recite the reports in your sleep.

You smile and say all the right things; make all the right jokes. Just enough personality they feel special but not so much they feel like you’re a real human being outside of your job.

“All right. I think we’ve covered everything.” Mona claps. “Edgar and I will be on call this weekend if anything comes up.”

Shuffling out with the rest of your coworkers, you beeline back to your desk. 

Mona breezes by, slamming the door to her office shut.

“Do you think Mona has eyes in the back of her head?” Edgar asks, peeking over the wall dividing your cubicles.

Without looking away from the email crowding your screen you quip, “No, but I hear she sleeps in a coffin.”

“Huh. I thought that was just the hottest office furniture tread for execs.”

You snort in response. 

Mona was a hard ass but she was good at her job. 

“Anyway, any plans this weekend?”

“Get drunk and watch Love Island.”

Edgar gasps, hand to his chest like a scandalized debutant. “You wild woman.”

The next two hours crawl by. Not even the usual side projects keep you entertained, giving you time to research the new art installation downtown Lisa mentioned visiting. 

Hopefully buying tickets as her early birthday present will get you off the hook for tonight.

In true Lisa fashion, a surprise gift means celebration. And the best place to celebrate is Ruby’s.

Smoke chokes the air, bodies upon bodies packed into the space of the dingy bar on a Friday night. The chill of the outside stops at the threshold of the door, sweltering heat greeting you and your friends as you join the crows eager to celebrate the weekend.

It’s almost too dark to see faces but Mingyu’s head of dark hair stands above the rest from his perch in the corner. Lisa’s hand finds yours, and your other hand find’s Amina as you shoulder towards the table he’s claimed for the night. The bass of whatever remix blaring through the DJ’s speakers thrums through the crush of drunk patrons like a frantic heartbeat, rattling your bones with each step deeper into the space.

The glossy surface of the table is already littered with cups and beer bottles. Mingyu cuts his conversation with Wonwoo short to greet your group, smiling over Lisa’s head already buried in his chest. Wonwoo's only acknowledgement is a short nod over the top of the bottle he lifts to his lips. 

A pair of not so sly eyes wander down your front, tracing across the deep v of your top, baring your sternum between the swell of your breasts. You burn under Wonwoo’s blatant gawking, breath stalled and face hot but none of your friends appear to notice the electricity crackling between you two, intoxicated brains filling with lewd ideas. 

Needing a reprieve, you slither to the bar in search of a drink. Slipping between the sweaty bodies as they part, Amina follows close behind. A few shots and a beer later, you stumble towards the dance floor with laughter on your lips and the bitter singe of alcohol on your tongue.

The crowd of strangers accepts you, swallowing you into the churning chaos immediately. A few familiar faces stand out in the crowd as you shift through the sway.

Looking over the shoulder of the random person in front of you, a mess of limbs better known as Lisa and Mingyu flashes into view; Soonyoung and Eva no better next to them. Over their embrace, you spot Amina dancing with a pretty stranger of her own, both of them with drunk smiles plastered on their faces. 

Head dizzily bobbing to the music, your eyes slip shut. You know it's Wonwoo at your back, hips following closely, one hand around your waist and the other dragging a path of fire across your thigh. 

This wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in this particular position. Since your roommates started dating, and whenever alcohol was close enough to serve as a believable excuse, you managed to find each other like super charged magnets; gluing together and drowning heady touches.

It wasn’t like anything more happened. That was the excuse you told yourself after the first time. A girls night out Mingyu and Wonwoo happened to stumble upon. You’d still been upset about the breakup with Seungcheol two months prior, indulging in the shitty white wine that only served to fuel your boldness.

You’d never admit seeking out Wonwoo with the knowledge Seungcheol couldn’t stand him; taking sick satisfaction in imagining the look on Seungcheol’s face as you let Wonwoo touch the way previously reserved for him. You pressed against Wonwoo’s front with little care for who saw; a challenging gleam in your glassy eyes, daring him to push away. Not one to be bested, Wonwoo pressed back, and the rest is history.

After the first night of the new game, you went home and came embarrassingly fast to the fantasy of what would have inevitably happened if he’d followed. The week after consisted of staunchly avoiding Wonwoo. Guilt and disgust plagued every waking moment, and if you had to look at him you knew you’d feel worse. 

Your only real connection was your roommate Lisa dating his roommate Mingyu which meant your evasiveness went undetected for nearly a month before Wonwoo managed to corner you at a party and demand to know what your “fucking problem” was. It was then you realized he either didn’t remember what happened or didn’t think it was anything to make such a big deal about. You never asked for specifics but came to the conclusion: If he didn’t care, then why should you? It was just a bit of fun. A game of chicken neither intended to end. 

Each time you came across each other on the weekends after, the stakes increased. One night, you let wandering hands catalog the planes hard muscle hidden underneath the fabric of his shirt. The next, you followed a trail of goosebumps across his neck with tongue and teeth. 

And Wonwoo called your bluff everytime. His thumb tracing against the underside of your breast while delivering a particularly harsh grind of his hips, leaving very little to the imagination of what hid behind the zipper of his jeans. Or when he spun you around, hypnotizing you with his eyes while pawing your ass, dragging your core across his thigh wedged between your legs.

But whatever transpired fizzled away by the time the night ended, both of you content to go separate ways and ignore whatever was left on the dance floor (or occasionally a wall). Tonight would be no different. It never was. It never would be.

Wonwoo was fun to play with but that's all. Throw him flirty smiles, indulge in the bold touches, take a thrill in the chase and then retreat to the safety of the bar or drag one of your friends to the bathroom for a break. He let go without any argument; something you found disappointing much to your own chagrin. But Wonwoo’s eyes never left your figure the second it left his arms. Even if he found a new partner, he would watch you while he did everything he had already done and then all the things he would have done if you stayed.

“Come home with me,” he whispers in your ear, more of a command than a question, breaking the delicate silence surrounding your unspoken attraction.

The air in your chest thickens to a sludge. For a second, you think you misheard him, possibly hallucinating that he’s spoken at all. With the thrum of music and shouts it’s not out of the question.

Unable to turn in his tight grip, you settle for leaning back against his shoulder, neck stretching, giving him a direct view down your top, his eyes privy to the fact that you hadn’t worn a bra. His chest plastered against your back heaves with a heavy breath as you continue to move against him. 

Wonwoo tries again, his hand squeezing your waist gently, pulling you closer to his body to feel the evidence of his arousal. “Come home with me.” 

It's just the next level to the game, you think. The fantasy is tempting; taking you back to his apartment, spreading you out across his bed and making good on all the promises he’s teased into your skin for months.

If he wants to play, you’ll play too.

“What’s in it for me?” you hum, lips brushing his ear in a mimic of his motion moments ago. 

Wonwoo responds with another curl of his hips against your ass.

God, he’s good at this. Wonwoo is the only guy to spark any kind of interest since Seungcheol left months ago. Not for lack of trying but they were either too tall, too short, weird hair, awful laugh. The list of excuses goes on and on. Subconsciously, you’d been comparing them all to the man behind you and found each of them lacking. But if Wonwoo wants to progress to the next level, he’ll need to work for it.

“Not convincing enough,” you chide.

The hand on your thigh pauses, taking a second to squeeze the supple flesh before setting a new course. Wonwoo moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop his advance if you wish. Not sensing an objection, he pushes forward. Even over the thick denim of your jeans, Wonwoo’s palm scorches against the zipper. Continuing lower, he grinds the heel of his palm against your clothed pussy, nothing more than mockery of the real thing but it has you shuddering all the same. The slope of your shoulder stings under his mouth, licking waves of fire across the nerves with each nip of his teeth. 

Wonwoo pants against the shell of your ear on the next rock of his hand, laughing as your nails dig into his wrist before he whispers, “Unless you want our friends to watch, trust me.” 

You need to see his face; need to look in Wonwoo’s eyes and find out if he’s trying to rile you up or if he’s serious.

This time when you move, Wonwoo allows you to turn in his hold. The look in his eyes tells you he would take you right here if he thought for a second you’d let him. He isn’t trying to just get a rise out of you and see you squirm. Wonwoo isn’t playing a game anymore. 

He wants you.

You nod once and Wonwoo has you both out the door and on the way to his place before the song ends.

The cold metal of the door bites into your skin, bowing your chest straight into Wonwoo’s as he crowds against you, arms caging you in on both sides. His lips are busy surveying the skin of your neck, sucking and nipping until he pauses at the hollow of your throat. His teeth raze against the sensitive skin, tongue darting out to lave against the marks he’s determined to leave. Wonwoo listens closely to the sounds leaving your throat, focusing his ministrations whenever an exceptionally satisfied purr slips out.

He takes a step forward at the feel of your hand pushing its way into his jacket, rewarding the tease of your fingers across his stomach with a suck against your jaw. The sharp pain of your nails across his scalp forces a quiet groan out his lips; something you file away for later. 

“Get us inside before your neighbors catch us with my hand down your pants,” you gasp, giving his hair a particularly harsh yank to pull him away from your breasts peeking out from the low cut of your top.

“Wouldn’t mind that,” he mumbles, diving back. 

But Wonwoo concedes, grabbing his keys from his pocket while remaining focused on leaving his mark on your sternum. 

Despite your request, you do everything but make it easier for him; thumb dipping into the waistband of his boxers before slipping inside, cupping the straining bulge confined under the tight fabric. Wonwoo falters under your attention, pressing his hips into you until you're crushed between his body and the door. When Wonwoo finally fumbles the key into the lock, the door flies open under your combined weight.

Using the momentum, Wonwoo crowds you back to the wall just inside, slamming the door shut with his foot, returning where he left off without missing a beat. A hand tilts your chin back to give him more room, and you realize he hasn’t kissed you yet. Twisting the front of his shirt, you resolve to change that.

Pulling back, Wonwoo’s brows arching in confusion, mouth falling opening to complain at being interrupted again but snapping shut when you attempt to pull him forward. 

But a hair's breadth away Wonwoo stops.

“What do you want?”

You won’t beg. If anyone is cracking first it’ll be Wonwoo. Just like he did at the bar not too long ago. 

“If you won’t tell me then I can’t give it to you.” He moves forward, nose tracing along your throat, breath fanning across your neck. One of his arms moves to the space between your body and the wall, pulling until his thigh is bracketed by yours. The hard muscle is nothing short heaven against the seam of your jeans, invoking a traitorous whimper from your throat.

You manage a chaste kiss against the side of his mouth before he darts out of range. 

“Tell me and you can have it,”  Wonwoo says, cocking his head back, looking down his nose at you from behind the wire frames of his glasses; pupils blown. His eyes close and he leans forward again before continuing, “Tell me what you want, and you can have everything.”

His teeth trail across the shell of your ear on the last word and suddenly it's all too much. The rasp of his voice, the flex of his thigh, the layers of clothing separating your bodies. If you don’t get relief soon you’ll both implode.

“Kiss me.”

You feel Wonwoo’s satisfied smile a second before your lips meet, lighting the fuse for what's to come. There’s no gentleness in the connection, instead, months of insatiable need leads the way. Parting your lips, you suck his own between your teeth until it's swollen in retaliation. Wonwoo angles your head back with a gentle tug of your hair, immediately swallowing your gasp at his roughness. The hand wrapped around the middle of your back flexes, urging, no, begging you to grind against him. You oblige with embarrassing eagerness.

Your hand finds its way down Wonwoo’s front again, fingers firm and demanding. Tracing the zipper of his jeans up and down in time with your movement against his leg, the heel of your hand presses forward, causing his hips to cant up against the pressure. The motion is a mock of what he was doing in the crowded bar minutes ago. Just enough to rile him up and to piss him off until his hands drop and squeeze your ass so hard it hurts.

Refusing to let your mouths part, Wonwoo drags you down the hallway towards his room. It takes longer than it should, both of you stopping to force the other into the wall, bodies writhing against one another in search of friction and pleasure. At one point you consider letting him fuck you right their on the floor but he pushes through the door to his room just before you can unzip his pants.

Finally inside, Wonwoo herds you towards the bed in the corner. The back of your knees hit the side, bending as you land with a soft bounce. Wonwoo follows swiftly, settling himself on his elbows before diving back into your neck again. His hips slot into the warm cradle of your thighs easily, pressing forward to search for the heat he knows is there. You greedily return the movement, hips curling up, savoring the drag of his hard cock. Wonwoo sucks another bruise onto your neck, high enough you’ll have to hide it in the morning but you're so drunk on the idea of what is going to happen next you can’t even feign outrage. 

The strap of your flimsy top falls down and Wonwoo moves to explore the new span of skin. His lips drag over the uncovered swell of your breast, sloppy kisses trailing over the silky skin. Cocking his head to the side, he sucks a nipple through the thin black fabric. Your hips buck, back arching at the new sensation. The angle of Wonwoo’s cock is just right, pulling moan after moan from your throat. He’s so focused on what he’s doing he can’t be bothered to snicker at how he turns you into an aching puddle of want.

Clothes come off in a blur. You watch his abs flex as he rips his shirt over his head, eyes tracing the dark thatch of hair disappearing under the waistband of his pants. Soon, yours is gone too, lost on the floor. Wonwoo's eyes delight in the sight of you bare before him, with nipples puckered and breasts heavy with excitement. He ducks back down, mouthing at the sensitive bud, drowning in your breathy whines and whimpers. Using his hand, his calloused thumb massages the one his mouth had abandoned, pinching and flicking until you’re left raw and aching.

“Wonwoo,” you cry, hands ripping at the sheets when his teeth come out to play. 

He pulls back from your breasts, in a frenzy to remove your pants while his knees fall to the ground on the side of the bed. You arch up to help him rip the damning fabric away. An ember of fury sparks, furious with yourself for wearing jeans over the skimpy skirt Lisa had offered.

None the wiser, Wonwoo looks between your legs like he’s found an oasis in a desert. You realize too late they’re nothing impressive. Pale pink cotton; simple, practical. Just like your pants, since getting fucked tonight wasn’t even a remote possibility when you left your apartment. 

But Wonwoo doesn’t even seem to care. When you dare to look at his face, worried by the sudden pause in his actions, you find he’s not even blinking. His thumb finds your entrance through the fabric, shallowly dipping inside before moving back and massaging teasing circles over the damp spot.

Pride and ego long forgotten, you beg. “Wonwoo, please.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t give in. Focusing on the curve of your thigh, nose etching along the strained muscle while he continues teasing touches over your underwear. The wet of his tongue comes out when he reaches the hem of your underwear. So close to where you want him but not close enough.

“Please.”

The pathetic crack of your voice is rewarded with firmer fingers and his lips against the sticky crotch of your panties; the heat of his mouth right over your entrance as he laps at your release.

Another beg and he moves aside the thin strip of fabric, curling his tongue into your entrance before sucking at your swollen clit. 

The relief is short lived. Somehow, Wonwoo knows exactly how to touch and tease you, driving you up the wall only to pull you back down. One hand finds your knee, forcing it away when you try to crush his head between your thighs at the first prod of his long fingers inside you.

He slips another finger inside, his tongue continuing to swipe at your bundle of nerves, just as desperate to give you what you want as you are to receive it. Glancing down at him again, you find a scene worthy of being immortalized in a painting. His brow is furrowed in concentration, eyes pinched tight while he works to get you off. 

A pause to take a breath is all the reprieve you’re granted before Wonwoo dives back in, moaning under the sting of your nails on his scalp; encouraging you to hold him there and use him, to come for him. The symphony of your combined noises floods the room. The squelch of his fingers, rubbing up against the place that drives you mad. The wet noises of his mouth, your arousal mixing with his spit; his noises when you pull at his hair, vibrating against your cunt and pulling your spine into a harsh curve. 

You can’t help but watch him. Enamoured with how right he looks between your legs, skin slips together where his shoulders hold your legs up. Even the contrast of his hand on your knee fuels the fire.

He peers up at you when you call his name again. Eyes burning into your own. Like he can read your mind. Like he agrees this is the best place for him to be.

You hear yourself far away, chanting his name as you shatter into a million pieces. Clenching around Wonwoo’s fingers with a strength you didn't know you possessed, your hips ride them until your muscles lock and jerk. The smear of fluid across your thighs, slipping your ass and onto the bed is lewd. 

But Wonwoo doesn’t stop, working you through it like his own release is on the line. Licking and sucking and fucking you with his fingers until you finally manage to pull him away with a choked cry of his name. Even then, his hand continues pistoning into you as your mouths find one another hungrily. 

There's a sick satisfaction in your gut at the taste on his mouth. Your arousal coats his chin, his cheeks, even the tip of his nose is wet where it digs into your face as you suck his tongue.

Moving to his feet, Wonwoo bends over you, lips never straying from yours. He fails to crowd you down into the mattress like he intends. Freezing when your hands pushing his pants down the rest of the way. His cock bobs, the nearly purple head leaking. If there was any doubt he didn’t find pleasure going down on you before, the evidence of his enjoyment sits hard and heavy in your palm. An exploratory squeeze has Wonwoo’s chin dropping to his chest, a sharp breath leaving his nose.

Sliding off the bed and to your knees, you peek up at him through your lashes, letting the tip rest against parted lips. When Wonwoo drags his head back up, looking down his nose, your tongue darts out to catch some of his pre-cum, receiving another groan in response. A thought that has you blushing rears its head. 

He’ll probably like it, you think.

You let one of her hands trail down while kissing across the velvety shaft his length. Wonwoo watches closely, eyes widening for a second when you find the apex of your thighs, dipping down to collect the lingering slickness. Once satisfied, you exchange your grip on his cock and quirk an eyebrow. Stroking him coyly.

You don’t look away from his eyes even though every instinct tells you to hide from the heat in his gaze. Your palm catches at the tip, thumb brushing his leaking slit. More evidence of his arousal trickles out and you lap it up quickly.

“Shit,” Wonwoo hisses. “Fuck, you’re so good.” 

One of Wonwoo’s hands finds your cheek, helping you find a comfortable pace. Settling the back of your head against the bed, drag him forward by his ass, content to let him use your mouth the way you used his. Wonwoo stumbles for a second at the sudden movement, hands finding the bed to prevent himself from collapsing. He peers down in question. 

“Want you to fuck my mouth,” you pant, quickly taking him back in, going as deep as possible without gagging.

“Fuuuuck,” Wonwoo rasps, moving the hand on the side of your face to the back of your head. He pins you in place with his hips, giving a shallow, almost hesitant thrust as he discovers your limits.

You zone out when he finds a rhythm, hand at the base of his cock to keep him from bottoming out in your throat, the one cradling his balls dropping to trace the inside of his thigh. Eventually, Wonwoo lets himself go, savoring the pressure of your tongue when you lap against the tip as he pulls out. His abs twitch at the sight of drool leaking from the corners of your stuffed mouth, lips stretched and bruised around his cock. 

Opening your eyes, you look right at him; punching the air from his chest as you moan around his cock, the vibration forcing his head back, neck bared again as a bead of sweat settles in the hollow of his throat.

“Touch yourself,” Wonwoo commands, breaking the melody of whimpers and groans.

You disregard his command, content with focusing on untying him from his loose tether to sanity.

Not one to be ignored, Wonwoo pulls away on the next stroke. You follow, attempting to trail forward and suck him back down your throat but Wonwoo’s hand knots in your hair. He yanks your head back until his cock is just out of range. Looking up at him, you do nothing to hide the annoyance at such a sudden disruption.

“Touch. Yourself. ” he lets out tightly, enunciating each syllable. Equally annoyed but willing to make a point. 

“Wanna watch me?” you goad, smug as the tips of his ears redden. 

Instead of brushing it off, Wonwoo takes the bait.

“Yeah I do,” he says, one hand leaving your hair, guiding the tip of his cock across the seam of your lips, letting out a humorless laugh when your tongue reaches out to meet it on instinct. “Wanna watch while you suck my cock because you’re a good girl.” 

He lets you take the head, teeth grinding under the dig of your tongue into the slit. But any attempt to take more is punished with another tug of your hair. Until his hand circles your throat and he pulls you off completely. 

“Right, Y/N?”

The praise goes straight to your head, breath stunted. You barely nod before Wonwoo moves his hips forward again, slowly resuming their previous rhythm at the promise of seeing you put on a show. Two fingers slip in with ease, disappointment bubbling when the stretch doesn’t come anywhere close to his but you’ll play along for now if it means getting to feel his cum on your tongue.

Wet, messy noises echo in the room. You hollow your cheeks, hand acting as a bumper while letting his cock kiss the back of your throat. Wonwoo’s hips stutter when you swallow around him. The tension in his muscles doubles your effort, set on the satisfaction of making him cum from just your mouth. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” Wonwoo hisses, pulling you off.

Wonwoo hauls you up into the bed, aggressively crowding you towards the pillows. The cool sheets sting against your back, but you focus on getting another fist around his cock. Wonwoo intercepts your plans before you can make it below his navel. He pins the offending appendage next to your head; grip loose enough you could break if you wanted, but the tease of his dominance turns you on even more and it's not long before he has both hands above your head, and a disapproving look on his face.

“If you don’t want me to come on your thigh, I suggest keeping your hands to yourself,” he states, leaning towards the bedside table, searching for a condom.

“Didn’t think you’d be that easy,” you bite back. Planting your feet on the bed, your hips grind up into his. 

“Says the woman who begged for my cock,” Wonwoo grinds out, flattening his chest into yours, teasing with exactly what you asked for.

You're suddenly hit by how much stronger Wonwoo is than you. Able to have your entire body pinned like it’s nothing while working the condom on at the same time. You knew he worked out, broad shoulders and narrow waist giving him away; but having that strength used you sends a swirl of butterflies through your stomach.

Wonwoo resorts to ripping open the packet with his teeth, hips easing up to quickly roll it down his length. He rubs himself through your folds, collecting the wetness and repeatedly tapping himself to your clit. You’re about to flip him around and take matters into your own hands when he catches on your entrance and presses home in a slow thrust.

He slides deep. Deeper than Seungcheol, deeper than anyone you’ve ever been with. You barely get a chance to savor it before he’s moving, wasting no time before working up a pace meant to drive you both mad. 

“Shit,” you curse.

Wonwoo huffs into your neck, tongue tracing the shell of your ear. “Yeah? Feel good?”

“Soooo good.” 

Wonwoo lets go of your hands, tangling one the sheets, the other searching for the top of the metal headboard. The change in position folds you in half, giving him the leverage to fuck as deep as possible. Finding your hands free, one claws at his back, leaving bright red lines in its wake. The other grabs for his ass, squeezing the muscle there, helping him press forward. His balls clapping against the swell of your ass drives you closer to hysteria. 

Your second orgasm rushes forward, resting on his lips finding yours. The connection is bruising, all teeth and tongues. The hand on his ass falls to play with yourself and Wonwoo breaks away to watch.

“Like that, Y/N?” Wonwoo bites, whispering right into your ear. “Fuck, you're so tight, baby.”

His words only add to the inferno. The need to come overwhelms you, demanding satisfaction to the point it hurts. But you need more. Needs something you can’t name and only Wonwoo can give. 

Frustration twists your features, eyebrows furrowed and mouth tense. Almost as if he senses your oncoming tantrum, Wonwoo drops more of his weight, pressing you into the mattress and filling you to the brink.

 “Be a good girl,” Wonwoo coos, hip punctuating each word while his teeth tug at your earlobe. “Come for me.”

His permission is the key. Bombs explode behind your eyelids, cascading colors against the black and white. Loud moans rush from your throat to fill his room, muscles locked, body convulsing with endorphins. You want to kiss him again, until you can’t breathe, until you stop needing oxygen and adapt to survive on the taste of his mouth. 

Wonwoo must feel the same, meeting you in a lazy kiss, too fucked out to put in more effort. He swallows every whimper, the syllables of his name while he fucks you through your high. The wetness smeared between your bodies echoes all the motions, his pistoning hips driving more and more from your worn cunt. 

His own high rushes for him at light speed. Pulling back, he rests his forehead against yours. You burn the last bit of energy you possess to open your eyes and find his. Wonwoo’s face is tight as a thin sheen of sweat covers his body. All you want now is to see him cum, give him as much pleasure as he’s given you. Reaching up, your lips brush his ear one last time.

“Wanna feel you come,” you sigh. “Please, Woo.”

The responding groan signals success. His hips stutter forward, a deep grunt bursts from his chest. If you weren’t exhausted, you’d demand to go again; to fuck him again and again just to see the twitch of his lips as he empties himself into you, the grind of his teeth, and shudder of his chest. But Wonwoo gives one more hard drive of his hips before collapsing, completely spent.

You don't know how long you stay like that, drifting in and out of consciousness as sweat dries, and your thighs becoming uncomfortably sticky. When Wonwoo moves to pull out, a surprising whine rips from your throat. 

“Shower?” he asks, husky voice breaking the lingering silence.

You finally crack an eye open at Wonwoo’s voice, and find him looking at you with soft eyes. Uh oh. Warning bells fire but you’re too tired to care. A shower sounds lovely.

Wonwoo hauls you up, leading you into his small bathroom. The water in the shower is already running, steam escaping the stall as he ushers you under. The scratches at his back contrast brightly against his pale skin, a few bite marks spattered across his chest. You know you look equally debauched but the lull of warm water calms any concerns. The silence is comfortable, thick as you move like zombies. Wonwoo passes his body wash without a word, moving to shampoo his hair. Swapping between the brutally frigid air and the comforting warm water under the shower head, you both race to finish up quickly. Once satisfied, Wonwoo shuts off the faucet and grabs the towels from the hook on the wall. He hands you one before stepping out to dry himself. A spare toothbrush waits on the counter when you exit the stall.

Wonwoo leaves first, heading back to his room to dress. It gives you the opportunity to look in the mirror for the first time. Your skin glows, both from the steam and Wonwoo’s attention. Across your throat, bruises cluster like a necklace, splotches of darkness maring the skin. Unfolding the towel, you find more littered across your breasts, and an impressive one on the inside of your thigh. 

After the shock fades, exhaustion creeps back in. It had to be far into the early hours of the morning. You hope Mingyu stayed with Lisa at your shared apartment. Having to face Wonwoo in the morning was enough horror, but if Mingyu heard anything then you would never be able to look him in the eye again despite having heard your roommate and him more times than you can count.

Returning to Wonwoo’s room, you see him already under the covers, spread out on his stomach with his face squashed into the pillow. On his desk sits a tshirt and a pair of old shorts. Hanging the towel up in his bathroom, you snag the shirt and pull it on.

Finding your pants, you fish out your phone and see the time: 3:47AM. A few missed calls from Amina, several dozen texts from the group chat, and one from Lisa that reads “You better not be where I think you are” clutter the screen. 

There's no point in arguing the accusation. She has your location, you know she checked it before she went to bed. And in the morning you’ll have to answer every inane question that pops into her head. But for now, you need to sleep.

Sliding open the group text, you send a quick “I'm alive, see u in the morning for brunch?” tossing your phone aside.

Your head hits the pillow and you’re out like a light.

The dream you’re lost in is lovely. A faceless figure bends you over a desk, your heated face pressed against the glossy wood. Naked as the day you were born, nothing protecting your nipples from rubbing against the cold surface, hardening until you hiss from sensitivity. Large warm palms massage your ass, hands pushing upwards, lightly parting the cheeks to give him more leverage to lick at your leaking hole. You can feel him moan, echoing your own sounds of pleasure as he indulges. One hand finds its way back to his head, fingers tangling in his short hair, holding him in place as you rise on tiptoes to move against his mouth. He feels familiar but it doesn’t matter who he is, more so what he plans to do. Just as a thumb swipes against your other hole, pulling a shocked gasp from your lips, it all comes crashing down.

You claw at the tendrils of pleasure slipping past to no avail. Harsh whispers outside your door pull you awake as they gain volume. It isn’t out of the ordinary to hear snippets of your roommates’ conversations as they pass down the hall towards their own rooms. Having the first room off the kitchen was the sacrifice you made to have a bigger closet and a better view. Usually though, Lisa and Amina had the decency to not have a full blowout so early, and on a weekend no less.

As the whispers crescendo into a one sided screaming match, you make out Lisa and Mingyu’s voices on the other side of the thin wood. 

“Mingyu if you don’t move out of my way there will be TWO BODIES TO CLEAN UP.” 

Lisa is pissed, using a tone of voice saved for rare occasions. Occasions you rarely witnessed Mingyu be on the receiving end of. Whatever he had done, he better pray Lisa forgives him. He also better pray you forgive him for working Lisa’s temper up so early in the morning.

“Shut the fuck up!” you yell, voice thick with sleep, refusing to open your eyes against the light trickling in from the window above. Snuggling deeper in the soft covers, you try to force yourself back asleep, hoping to reunite with the anonymous dream man.

When did the window get above your bed? 

You shoot up, instantly regretting the decision. Splinters of pain shoot behind your left eye causing you to collapse back into the pillows to find reprieve. The grumble next to you sends your heart racing.

“I’m going to kill her,” a gravely male voice threatens.

Turning on your side, you brave the torturous sunlight to catch Wonwoo’s profile. His face is scrunched in annoyance, eyes shut as he too tries to get lost in the blankets. He drags the comforter over your heads, pulling you towards him to hide in the curve of your throat.

It all comes rushing back. Going home with him, your dirty deeds, the shared shower. You beg the powers that be to kill you when you remember how you begged with embarrassing ease.

Outside his door, Lisa bellows and forces the door open; sending it cracking against the wall with the force. 

The blanket rips down, uncovering who's hiding underneath. She only manages to pull it below your shoulder before you and Wonwoo realize what's happening and clutch at the fabric. Thank god you both are wearing clothes.

“What the fuck?” Wonwoo’s voice is acidic as he looks to Mingyu over Lisa’s head. Mingyu at least has the decency to look apologetic as Lisa acts like an overly concerned mother who just found her daughter with a boy in her bed.

“See? Y/N is alive, we can leave now,” Mingyu tries in vain to placate his girlfriend. Lisa snatches her hand away from him when he attempts to pull her out of Wonwoo’s room.

Lisa’s eyes take in your tousled hair, the bruises at both your necks, the clothes littered on the floor haphazardly. She isn’t stupid, she knows exactly what has happened. Lisa also knows Wonwoo wouldn’t take advantage of you, but she is still protective nonetheless. The amused look spreading across her face nearly sends you out the window and to the cement several stories below.

“Oh my god, are you fifteen?” Her question is pointed at Wonwoo, catching the string of hickies marking your neck.

“How about you get the fuck out of my room?” Wonwoo bites, raising his voice. He burrows under your chin, dragging the blanket over his head once again.

“We’ll talk about this later!” Lisa calls as Mingyu finally drags her out the door, her voice is muffled by the slam of it shutting but you clearly hear her yell, “Brunch is in an hour!” 

Finally left alone, you mind races to prepare for the interrogation waiting for you. Wonwoo appears to be unaware of any such troubles. Cuddling down into the swell of your breasts, he’s already trailing back towards sleep. 

Despite yourself, the hand stuck under him rises up to gently trace shapes across the expanse of his back. The warm skin lulls you into a trance as the memories from the hours prior replay.

“Are you sure I can stay?” A deep yawn warps your voice. You’re  already halfway under the covers, hoping he doesn’t change his mind. If you have to stay awake any longer you’ll have a meltdown.

“Yes.” His face is still pushed into his pillow, voice distorted by the barrier and slurred with his sleep. “Now shut up and sleep.”

And you do just that. Shocking, given you’re a horrible bed partner; tossing and turning most of the night, waking frequently. Seungcheol experienced many grumpy mornings courtesy of your poor sleep hygiene after a sleepover. But in Wonwoo’s bed, your restlessness decides to take the night off, allowing you to sleep like a rock.

It can’t have been more than a couple hours before you awake again. Despite the short snooze, you’re more rested than you’ve been in months. Stretching with a yawn, you find what roused you awake. 

Somehow Wonwoo found you in his sleep, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, body firm against your back. He’s hot skin and hard muscle, the tent in his boxers sliding roughly across the naked skin of your thighs. Cursing yourself for forgoing the shorts he laid out, you try and twist away only for Wonwoo’s length to settle between the dip of your ass.

You freeze solid. Listening to the sound of his breathing stop then even out once again. Waiting to confirm he’s still asleep, you try moving away again only for his hips to press against you once you wiggle against him. Body acting on its own, your spine curls, sending your ass back into his crotch. 

And then Wonwoo’s arm around your waist flexes and he thrusts forward. 

Shit.

“Can I help you?” he asks, face buried somewhere between your shoulder blades, nose tracing your spine until he finds the bare skin of your neck to leave heated gossamer kisses.

There’s nothing left to lose. You’ve already fucked. Wonwoo face to face with your most intimate parts, and you the same. You begged him to cum inside you for Christ's sake. Giving another curl of your hips, you decide to meet his challenge.

“Can you?” you whisper into the darkness, eyes sliding close again as a tired breath leaves your nose. It's less of a goad, and more of a subtle beg for his attention.

Wonwoo drags the hand wrapped around your waist downward, wedging it between your thighs gently. You’re already wet from the brief movements against one another. He wastes no time, immediately framing your clit with two fingers, teasing friction to warm you up. The first twitch into his hand has his fingers dropping, pushing into your entrance as you parts your legs to make more room. His movements are sluggish but he placates your want the best he can.

One of your hands slides under the covers, moving behind your back to grab him. The unmistakable heat greets you through the fabric of his underwear. His breath stutters against your back, his chest pressed tightly against your back like a second skin. Wonwoo jerks forward through your fist, clothed tip prodding against the soft curve of your ass when you reach the base.

Continuing to move just like that, you both are more than content to get off like this, much too tired to put in any real effort. But when you push down his boxer just enough to feel the hot velvet skin of his tip against the dip of your spine, leaking from light touches, Wonwoo decides he wants more. Needs more. 

He pushes your hand away, directing himself between your legs, resting his tip at your entrance. With shallow thrusts forward, he lets himself catch on the ring of muscle just inside, barely parting your walls. The thought of him returning deep inside you, condom nowhere to be found, makes you drool. At some point Wonwoo’s hand finds your waist again, this time under the fabric of the flimsy t-shirt. The thick cotton bunches across your breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples while his hand splays between and pulls you against him.

You have half a mind to let him fuck you like this, raw, half asleep, tucked under the covers in the silence of his room. The other half blares with sirens and red lights flashing DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! 

The louder part of your brain, the one that sounds suspiciously like when Amina scolded you for not using condoms with Seungcheol after getting an IUD, wins. 

It takes all the strength you possess  to break the trance Wonwoo has. His lips have taken to mouthing at the back of your neck, his nose tracing the notches of your spine while his tongue sends goosebumps blooming.

“Condom.” you finally manage to breathe out, voice pushing past the thick blanket of lust and fatigue.

The hand on your chest flies off, moving in the direction of the bedside table. Within seconds Wonwoo wraps himself in the latex and pushes inside.

The stretch is perfect, muscles already accommodating his languid thrusts inside you. His hips are tucked tightly along your ass, barely a sliver of space between your bodies. One of Wonwoo’s hands reaches back under your shirt to thumb your sore nipples, letting a heavy flesh rest in his palm. The arm propped under your head reaches out, Wonwoo’s fingers twisting in the pillow cases. The web of veins and muscles flex with each cant, almost ripping the fabric of the sheet apart when you clench around him. 

As if having a mind of its own, a hand trails up his neck, cradling the back of his head and tangling in short locks of hair. Wonwoo hitches his chin over your shoulder, leaning forward to moan right into your ear. Your other hand takes the abandoned post at your clit, determined to make yourself cum and pass back out in the next five minutes. 

Unlike the explosions earlier, your orgasm crawls up slowly, bubbling to the surface in a smooth simmer. Your thighs tighten, twitching as the pot boils over and melting you into Wonwoo’s chest. He follows you over the edge quickly, hips continuing their fluid rhythm until they stutter against your ass; shuddering breaths leaving his chest, a quiet groan of satisfaction punctuating his content. You can’t move even if your life depends on it, heaviness settling in your muscles like concrete.

You're already descending back into the realm of dreams when Wonwoo slips away.

Wonwoo’s soft snores jolt you back. You’re far too awake to try joining him. And you can’t just stay in his room forever. Glancing around the room, you devise an escape plan. Wonwoo’s position doesn’t lend any subtlety, any effort to move from under him requires you to lift his entire weight.

You sit still for another minute, contemplating the potential pros and cons if he is awake to see you run, away from the sanctuary of his room and into the reality sitting beyond the door. Precisely as you decide to deal with whatever teasing he’ll no doubt hurl your way, Wonwoo shifts, burrowing back into the pillow on his side to provide easy access. Waiting with bated breath, you’re relieved when the muscles of his back expand with a deep inhale as he settles in slumber once again.

Springing out of bed, you collect your phone and wrinkled clothes. The shocking level of cleanliness and organization the room possesses for a man his age aids your quest. However, your underwear appears to be a lost cause. With haste, you search under the bed, eyes scouring the area around his desk, even sneaking a quick glance back towards him to see if the missing garment is mixed with the pillows. All is fruitless as the bright pink garments have disappeared, gone without a trace.

After slipping on your pants with impressive speed, you're out of his bedroom and into the hallway. Body on autopilot, you tiptoe towards the front door.  

The cracked door of Mingyu’s room where Lisa is no doubt waiting to ambush lingers just ahead. You don’t dare to breathe as you breeze past and ruin her plans. The heavy metal of the front door groans at your pull, tensing as noise echoes in the hallway behind you. You’re swift, slipping between the crack in the door frame and into the stairwell before Lisa can even call out your name. By the time Lisa is able to pull the front door back open, you’re down the stairs and halfway through the lobby, beelining for the busy street outside.

Everyone on the street can tell you’re taking a walk of shame; their judgment burning into your skull with each step closer to home. The tale tell signs are clear as day: messy hair, t-shirt clearly belonging to someone else, eyes downcast as you move along the congested sidewalk of a Saturday morning. The only solace is the neck of Wonwoo's shirt covering a majority of the marks staining your skin. 

You don’t breathe until you round the block of your apartment. Thankfully the lobby is empty and so is the elevator as you ride up in stifling silence. Slipping through the crack of the sliding doors, you rush the remaining distance and finally find your way into sanctuary.

The door clicks shut, and the dull thud of your head meeting metal rings a second later; the cool melt against the sweat on your brow is a lovely reprieve.

The sound of a throat clearing down the hall less so.

Glaring over your shoulder, you find Amina leaning over the kitchen island, an eyebrow cocked inquisitively. Lisa clearly informed her of the morning's findings.

Her lips twitch with humor, choking out, “Have a good night?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, launching off the door and to your room. Sharp laughter meets your back.

Hiding away in the bathroom, you cloak yourself in steam and scrub away any remnants of the night. Starting with the piney smell of Wonwoo’s body wash. 

You run through the facts despite wanting nothing more than forgetting the entire ordeal. 

Fact: Wonwoo isn’t as horrible as Seungcheol made you believe.

Opinion: He’s still infuriating.

Fact: You slept with Wonwoo.

Opinion: It wasn’t half bad.

Fact: You won’t do it again.

Thirty minutes later, the hot water runs out and you’re forced back into reality.

She can’t look in the mirror, knowing exactly what you’ll see. The proof that can’t be scrubbed away, the proof that the you let Wonwoo fuck you silly, and that you wouldn’t mind if it happened again. 

Some time later, hidden amongst the piles of blankets littering your bed, you mope. The hood of your sweatshirt tied tightly around your head leaving only your face visible. The TV hums with the drunk gibberish of the reality tv show cast as they laugh and cry over something innocuous.

A soft knock on the door breaks your focus, Amina appearing in the opening.

“Are you still coming to breakfast?” She asks.

“Don’t feel good.”

“Y/N,” Amina sighs, sitting on the edge of your bed. “It’s not that bad.”

You almost swallow your tongue. Of all your friends, Amina dislikes Wonwoo the most. She’s polite as she can be for Lisa and Mingyu’s sake, but everyone knows they get on as well as fire and water. 

“Who are you?” you question, eyes widening at the impersonator perched at your feet.

Amina cackles in response, and you can’t help but join. 

“You had fun, right?” Amina asks, waiting for your nod before continuing.“Okay, then who cares?”

“You don’t?” 

“No,” Amina sighs. “You’ve been…” 

She pauses, weighing her next words. “...down, since Seungcheol left. Maybe this is what you needed to get back out there.”

You start to object but fail to find any evidence against her claim. Seungcheol leaving turned your world upside down. You couldn’t hate him. It wasn’t like he didn’t try to make things work. But there was nothing for you in Seattle, just like there was nothing for him in New York. Other than each other. Somehow it’s much harder when no one is to blame other than unchangeable circumstances.

Amina rubs your knee over the covers. “It’s not my business who you sleep with. Unless you bring him here and I hear you, then I reserve the right to kill you both.” 

“Trust me, it won’t be happening again.”

“Why?” Now it’s Amina’s turn to be shocked. “Was it that bad?”

“No!” You blurt, face heating at the sudden outburst. “It was just a one time thing. Get it out of the system.”

Amina hums. Silence falling between you.

“So… was he better than Seungcheol?” Amina asks like she doesn’t care either way but you know she’s curious. She heard enough times about the lack of chemistry between you and Seungcheol for to have a vested interest in your sex life.

Truthfully, he was. The best experience with Seungcheol paled in comparison next to your night with Wonwoo. 

Taking silence as an answer, Amina stands.

“Get dressed. Eva is already on the way here to pick us up.” 

She leaves with out another word.

Across town, Wonwoo contemplates the ramifications of murder. 

The morning after a night like his should have him walking around like the sun shined out of his ass. Instead, the most annoying person in the city chose to rain on his parade. That person is coincidentally his best friend's girlfriend.

If it hadn’t been for Lisa’s shouts this morning, he’s more than confident you would have agreed to a repeat of the nights events. Maybe even two or three if he was lucky.

But no, you sprinted from his bed the second he feigned sleep. Watching through barely cracked eyes, he almost broke his cover when you nearly fell head first into the door knob, hastily trying to pull your pants up and walk at the same time. 

Wonwoo let you go, no snide comments or crude remarks. He knew if he wanted you to return to his bed then the best way was to bite his tongue. Goading had worked the first time, now he’d have to let your curiosity get the better of you. You would come back sooner or later, and he'd be ready when it happened.

He’d given you a few minutes to find your way out, hoping you avoided Lisa and saved you both the embarrassment. The slam of the front door and lack of screaming informed him of your success. Wanting to make sure you were long gone before he exited his room, Wonwoo took his time brushing his teeth. Catching himself in the mirror, his reflection gave a self-satisfied smirk. The stain of your teeth and lips contrasted against his skin and his back stung along the raised red welts from your nails.

Flicking off the light, Wonwoo heads towards back to his room. Lisa will demand audience sooner or later and it's better if he rips the bandaid off now. In his peripheral, a swatch of pale pink fabric tucked underneath one of the legs of his dresser catches his attention. Ducking down, he puls at the stretch of cotton. Lifting them up to inspect the out of place garment, Wonwoo finds himself face to face with your panties. He huffs a laugh before crumbling them in his hand, and tossing them in the hamper on the way out of his room. 

Lisa waits for him at the dining table; commanding the head seat like a mob boss.

From her perch, she watches him with keen interest that makes his bowl of cereal taste like mush. Mingyu already excused himself to take a shower before Wonwoo sat down, attempting to avoid the ensuing blow out. 

Every question is answered with one word answers or dismissive grunts. Even Lisa’s attempts to bait him into unrelated arguments roll off. Lisa chisels away at any sign of weakness but Wonwoo refuses to give her the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. It’s none of her business. Even if you’re her best friend.

Wonwoo counts his blessings when a call comes through her phone, the vibration on the table interrupting her attempt to burn a hole through his skull. Lisa rises to answer, pacing the kitchen while the feminine voice coming out the receiver chatters on. She ducks her head into Mingyu’s room, bidding him farewell. As she passes Wonwoo again on her way out, she gives him another furious look to let him know she isn’t done with their “conversation”. 

To rub salt in the wound, Wonwoo sends her off with an overly friendly smile and a wiggle of his fingers. He wipes down his face when the door slam shuts, shoulders dropping.  He knew hooking up with you might cause problems. He didn’t know they would become evident so quickly, but problems nonetheless. 

Worth it, he thinks 

The look on her face when she came for him made anything Lisa planned to throw his worth the price.

Wonwoo didn’t care what any of them had to say, you both were grown adults. He wanted to sleep with and you wanted to sleep with him. End of conversation. Anyone else’s opinion meant nothing.

And if things go the way he thinks they will, he’ll get to see you in his bed again.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @lovelyhachi

Series Taglist: @aaniag @sdoulc @wonvsmile @jeonwonwooscutie @wonrangwoo @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @yogurttea @4cheezflatbred @fragmentof-indifference @p-dwiddle @icedearlgreytea @cottoncheol @hoshiskimchi @listxn @kwonshiho

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[tubbytarchia]

Thoughts on the dynamic between TIES Tango and BB Jimmy? Or even the silly rivalry they have in SL? There’s just so much adorable fluffy potential there and I’m just 💭

- 🧚🏼‍♀️

YOU'RE RIGHT THERE IS AND I LOVE THEM. SL ranchers are SO cute and precious its off the charts. Limited Life however...

Ok drawing that hurt a bit so I'm immediately following up with this

Limited Life is so carefree in general it's SO fun and probably the least angst material out of any of the Life series to me (of course there is still plenty, can't underestimate the traffic fandom's ability to find angst in everything) including Tango and Jimmy. They're so fun and you're right that it's a lot of fluff potential, mostly because Jimmy being a "bad boy" is so funny. BUT THE, MAN. TH The fact that this is the one after DL, after Jimmy so desperately wanted to apologize to Tango for how they went out and who knows if he got to do that or not. I love the idea of them reuniting in some temporary afterlife game or dark void following their deaths, but also what if they didn't get to talk... maybe it was only Tango's distant messages "you're still here? It's over. Go home. Go" that reached him and then he just didn't dare to talk about it other than the one time he instinctually called him "rancher" again. I can't help but be filled with angst when I think about LimL ranchers but I trust that where there is angst, hurt/comfort is sure to follow.... If not then I just die I guess

The bad boy sunglasses are very convenient to hide the look with which he gazes upon Tango from a distance... But then oop Tango hops through the nether portal on top of bad boy mansion and Jimmy decides to go for it, to try and harken back to how they used to be to gauge how Tango will react when he goes "The boogie's being chosen, you're here with us now, we have to look into each other's eyes!" (paraphrasing) and then he's like "oh Impulse is here too" lmao and then that's just kinda it. And then TIES blows up bread bridge and auughhghhh you know??? I'm so bad at expressing how I feel, sorry this is a ramble. But I love them so very dearly and I could absolutely imagine inconspicuous moments between them. Like whenever I think of potential LimL rancher fluff my mind goes to this one fanfic about Jimmy being sleep deprived and he just kinda ends up at TIES and Tango puts him to sleep. Stuff like that

And idk what more to say about Secret Life. Their little rivalry is so funny and literally idk if it's the fanart that has absolutely fucked with my head but every time I think about them I imagine them awkwardly flirting on complete accident and just being kind of weird but. very lovable. They had only two notable interactions and those two interactions left me permanently deranged

ANYWAY THANKS FOR THE ASK ANON

[roosterforme]

The Younger Kind Part 41 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley really does have to work late, you spend a fun evening with Noah, but Bradley starts to realize all the ways his life is holding yours back when you go out with friends. Then as soon as you let Bradley see you in your formal dress, he wants to take it off of you. In fact, it'll be a miracle if the two of you make it through the retirement party at all.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, smut, spitting, butt plug, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Your phone screen lit up with a call from Bradley just as you shoved the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth while you were typing up a patient's chart. "Hello?" you managed while you chewed.

"Baby, I'm going to be late today. For real," he said, sounding a bit cautious. "Here, talk to Nat. You're on speaker."

"Hi," came his best friend's voice as you finally swallowed. "He's stupid and annoying, but he's not lying. We're staying late with the new mechanical crew to learn about an update."

"I'm assuming you're calling to make sure I can pick Noah up?" you asked as you smiled. It almost made you feel good that Bradley was being so cautious this time around. 

"Yeah. Can you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, perfect. I know I've been asking a lot of you," he said, his voice soft and deep. "But I trust you with everything. And I'll make it up to you."

Now you were smirking as you looked around to be sure none of your coworkers were around. "Are you going to make it up to me in our bed or in the shower, Daddy?"

He made a strangled noise and you heard Nat shriek in the background. "Baby, I said you were on speaker," he whispered. "Well, now you're not."

You had to stifle your laughter as you said, "I need to go. I'll get Noah from daycare. And then I'll try my pretty dress on for you if you're good, Daddy."

"Fuck," he muttered. "Yeah, I'll be good. I'll be so good."

You had to squeeze your thighs together at the prospect of making him beg. The retirement party for Admiral Bates was just a few days away, but you hadn't let Bradley see you in the purple dress yet. For the past few days, ever since you told him what Casey said to you, Bradley had been letting you hold all the cards. When he came home from work that day and told you that Casey shouldn't be a problem for you anymore, you gasped. He told you what he'd said to her, and then you gave him a blowjob. 

"I'll see you at home later tonight," you told him softly. "In my pretty Princess dress."

"I can't wait."

"Oh, and don't forget I have happy hour with my work friends on Thursday."

"I'll make absolutely certain I leave work on time on Thursday," he promised.

When you made it to the preschool to pick Noah up, you smiled at Casey. "Oh, hi. I'm here for Noah," you told her, annunciating each word like she was very stupid. She rolled her eyes and handed you the clipboard as you asked, "No bakery box today?"

She didn't acknowledge you or say a single word as she walked to the classroom door and went inside. You filled out the sheet on the clipboard, smiling as you saw Bradley's signature from earlier this morning. Then Noah came streaking out toward you. "Can we take Skittles on a hike?" he asked as he ran into your arms. 

"Of course," you told him, kissing his soft curls as you practically threw the clipboard at Casey and led Noah outside. "Daddy will be home late, so we can do whatever we want."

His face lit up as you buckled him in his car seat. "Can we get ice cream?"

You pretended to consider your answer before saying, "Of course we can get ice cream!"

You drove home with the windows down and the kid friendly playlist on. When you stopped at a traffic light, you turned around to sing along with Noah. And when you parked your car in the driveway, you carried him inside while you sang the dinosaur song together. 

"I love you so much," you told him as he wrapped his arms around your neck. You unlocked the front door and went right to the crate in the kitchen. Skittles was looking up at the two of you with the biggest, sappiest brown eyes you'd ever seen. Well, other than the ones the Bradshaw boys frequently gave you. 

Noah squirmed out of your arms and went to open the crate door just the way you showed him how. He was so gentle with the little pup, and she whimpered and whined until she was able to lick Noah's hands and face. "Come on, Skittles," you called as you opened the back door. She limped her way across the kitchen floor, and you had to force yourself not to pick her up since she was supposed to be moving around on her own. It was bad enough that Bradley carried her around all the time. She looked at you, and you bent to ruffle her purple bow before she wandered outside to the grass. 

"Should we go get ice cream first and then eat dinner after that?" you asked Noah with a smile.

"Yeah! We can pretend it's opposite day!"

"Great idea."

----------------------------

When Bradley got home, he was irritated. The mechanics took forever to get everything in order so he could sign off and leave for the day. The downside of being responsible for his jet was that he was really responsible for every little detail. When he let himself inside, he could hear the bath water running and laughter coming from the bathroom. 

He poked his head inside to find you kneeling on the floor next to the tub while Noah played, and you were both giggling. Skittles perked up and ran for Bradley, and then Noah saw him too. "Daddy!"

You whipped your head around to face him with a bright smile on your gorgeous face. "Hi, Daddy. You'll never guess what today is."

"Tell me," he said as he walked in still wearing his flight suit and boots, scooping Skittles up in one hand. He knelt on the mat next to you with a soft groan and then buried his face against your neck with a little nip. "I'm dying to know," he whispered as he kissed your ear. Then he reached for Noah and kissed his wet cheek as you turned the water off. 

"It's opposite day!" Noah exclaimed. "The water is dry, and I don't like dinosaurs," he said before bursting into a fit of giggles. 

"Opposite day?" Bradley asked, pretending to need help with the concept while Skittles licked his face. "Can I have another example?"

"We had ice cream before dinner!"

"Noah," you scolded playfully. "You weren't supposed to tell him that!" You eyed Bradley sheepishly. "We did end up eating dinner... just after dessert."

He kissed your cheek. "You're the best Mommy ever. You make everything fun."

"Were you good today?" you asked softly while Noah claimed all of his rubber duckies were sinking when they were clearly floating. 

"So good," he promised. The way you bit your lip reminded Bradley that it had been a few days since you and he had sex. He thought maybe you were ovulating, but it didn't really matter. He needed to do a better job of keeping you full regardless. 

Things had just been a bit hectic, and the tiny dog in his hand was evidence of that. If you got pregnant, things would get even wilder around here, but he didn't mind it. He actually craved it at times. And when he reminded himself that he finally had a teammate in you, things always felt manageable. 

"I have an idea," he said as you washed Noah's hair. "After this, I'll get Noah in bed and let Skittles out one more time, and then you can take your time getting ready while I get a shower."

You nodded. "Did you hear that, Noah? It's time to wake up instead of go to bed."

He laughed again. "Will you read me a good morning story?" he asked Bradley.

"Absolutely, Bub," he replied. "I mean... no, I won't? Opposite day is confusing."

When he got Noah to change into pajamas under the guise that he was really getting dressed for daycare, Bradley heard you get into the shower. Once Noah was tucked in, he took Skittles outside. The bedroom door was closed, so you must be in there putting on your purple dress for the retirement party. He couldn't wait to see it.

Bradley got in the shower and took his time, but he was yawning almost nonstop. He needed to get it together so he could fuck you if that's what you wanted. He'd made a lot of promises about that kind of thing, and he didn't want his age to start catching up with him. "Shit," he mumbled as he toweled his hair off before wrapping it around his waist. 

But he shouldn't have worried. As soon as he walked into his bedroom, Bradley stopped short. You were bending and petting Skittles in her little dog bed, but you really did look like a princess. 

"You're wearing your crown," he rasped, and you stood to your full height and turned to look at him. "Jesus." The purple dress was indeed two pieces, and the top was beaded and very tastefully showcased your tits. Then the skirt was some sort of sheer flowy materials in a million layers, and Bradley wanted to run his hands all over it. But not as much as he wanted to run his fingers along the strip of your skin that showed just above your belly button. 

"You like it?" you asked, twirling for him as you brought one hand up to hold your paper crown on your head. "You paid for it," you said with a laugh. 

The fabric of the skirt swung around your body and moved with you. Bradley was entranced. "Yeah, I like it," he whispered. "Everyone else at the retirement party is going to like it too." Maybe a little too much, but there was nothing to be done about it now. And Nat was right when she'd said you would look incredible next to him in his dress white. "Fuck."

"Daddy," you gasped, looking up at him as his towel fell away from his waist. He was half erect, and he hadn't even touched you. All he had to do was look at you or smell you, and he was ready to go. 

You were standing very close, but you didn't let your hands meet his body, and you seemed too perfect right now for him to touch you without permission. Just like actual royalty. "Princess," he whispered as you licked your lips. "Will you let me pull that pretty skirt up and fuck you?"

In response, you brought your hands up to your hips and jutted your chin in the air. "That was very lewd, Daddy." He grunted as the fabric of your skirt brushed along the head of his cock. He could smell your body wash as you ran your hands up to your top and over your breasts. He could practically taste your pussy as his mouth watered. "You better start begging."

Your gaze followed him as he slowly dropped to his knees in front of you and buried his face in your skirt. He kissed the soft layers as he asked, "Please, Baby? I'll do anything you want. Just let me have your pussy. Please."

You brought your fingers up to stroke his cheek and run your thumb across his lips. "You can do better than that."

His cock was throbbing now. "Anything you want. I'll get you off just right. You know I will. I'll worship you." He kissed the soft skin just below your beaded top with the gentlest touch of his lips, and you moaned his name.

Bradley kissed and nuzzled his nose against you, whispering please over and over again before you finally said, "Stand up." He was on his feet immediately, cock at attention and cheeks warm. "Don't mess up my dress," you told him, running your fingertips along his abs as you walked over to the bed. You bent at the waist with your arms and cheek pressed to the soft bedding. You looked so innocent and perfect with your teeth digging into your glossy lip, but you sounded dirty as hell when you said, "Come fuck me, Daddy."

Bradley growled as he reached for your hips through all the layers of your pretty skirt. He forced himself to go slow, pushing the fabric up inch by inch and savoring the way it felt in his hands. Eventually your perfect thighs gave way to your wet pussy, but then Bradley's head tipped back as the most ridiculous noise escaped his lips. 

"Baby," he moaned, rubbing his cock all over your ass and through your wet warmth as you gasped and grabbed at the bedding. You were wearing your purple plug and puckering around it beautifully. So needy, the way you were grinding forward against the edge of the bed. "This is fucking gorgeous," he crooned, gently pushing on the base of the plug and giving you more pressure. 

You rolled your hips back against his hand and raised up on your tiptoes. He knew you wanted your pussy full as well as your ass, and he was going to give you his cock and his cum. Eventually. But first he knelt behind you as you whined, and he pinned your hips in place. "Bradley," you gasped, trying to fight the hold he had on you, but he wouldn't allow it. With your voluminous skirt pushed up to your waist, Bradley kissed you from behind and swiped his tongue through your wet folds. 

"Oh," you gasped loudly, trying to thrust back to meet him.

"Shh," he warned, pressing your plug with his nose. "I'll fuck you just right, but I want you to cum on my mustache first."

It took almost no time, not with how sensitive you were. He debated edging you until you squirted for him, but he figured it was better to ruin the dress after the retirement party. So Bradley ate your pussy like the meal it was until you were on the verge of tears. Every long stripe of his tongue had your legs shaking a little harder. He just wanted a little more before he let you come. So he licked up to your plug and spit, watching his saliva drip back down to your pussy as he finally let you have a little pressure on your clit with his middle finger. 

"Daddy!" you nearly screamed as he rubbed you with steady circles. Your hips jerked as you got his mustache even wetter, crying out against the bedding. But Bradley didn't stop the motion with his middle finger. He kept going as he stood and smiled at your face buried between your fisted hands. 

"That's a good girl. Keep nice and quiet." 

He fucked you, bending over your body and gently kissing your back as he rammed himself deep a few times. You felt somehow even fucking tighter when you were wearing the plug, and Bradley made sure he pressed it deeper as he railed you. 

When he kissed your shoulder, your pussy clenched around him. He wasn't even sure if you were still on your first orgasm or if you'd started to come again, but either way, he felt like your knight right now. When you turned your head to take a deep breath, your crown rolled off, and Bradley watched you look back at him as he fucked into you and bottomed out.

"Am I allowed to come, too?" he grunted, leaning in and licking at your glossy lips. 

"Yes," you whispered, kissing his tongue before he stood at his full height, grabbed you by your hips and thrusted and unloaded. 

Bradley ran one hand up along your beaded top, stroking your bare skin when he came across it. He listened as you hummed and laughed softly while he looked at your purple outfit, your purple plug, and your purple crown on the bed. He'd never had anything so bright in his life before you. 

"Don't mess up my dress," you reminded him, and Bradley just stood there with his cock still inside you and his hands full of fabric. 

"Well, what do you suggest I do back here, Princess?" he asked as you giggled and reached your hands back to hold some of the fabric. You bunched it up higher as you slowly stood, and then Bradley could feel the cool beads of your top against his abs and chest. 

"I think it's safe," you whispered. Bradley withdrew himself, and with a grin, he dropped to his knees behind you. He watched his cum drip down your inner thighs, and when you tried to press your legs together he told you no.

He shoved his hand between your thighs and whispered, "No, it's too pretty," as his semen dripped right from your pussy to his palm. "God, it's so fucking pretty." He kissed along the backs of your legs and the base of your plug, but he didn't move his hand until his palm was coated. 

When he stood again, he whispered, "I'll go get a wet washcloth so I can help you get undressed." But before he could leave the room, you met his eyes and raised his hand to your lips to kiss his cum covered palm and swiped your tongue through it. "Oh, shit," he groaned, watching as you cleaned him up. "How's that taste?"

"Mmm," you hummed, licking your lips. "Good. Like me and you."

His mouth was on yours immediately, needing to taste it for himself as he wrapped his still wet hand around the back of your neck. His tongue met yours, and he tasted himself there along with the sweetness of your pussy. "God damn, Baby. I hope I can keep up with you."

You nodded as he pressed some soft kisses to your lips. "You always do."

---------------------------

On Thursday, you were getting ready for happy hour with your coworkers when Bradley walked into the bedroom. "You look pretty," he said as you applied some of your lip gloss. You smiled at him in the mirror, and he walked a little closer. There was something about you this week that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he had the urge to fuck you nearly nonstop. 

"Thanks, Daddy," you sang as he rubbed his hand along your lower back. 

"Hey," he whispered, letting his lips meet your ear. "You think we have time for a quickie?"

You knew. You must have known by the way you were smiling. He literally couldn't keep his hands off you. "You just like calling me your little cream donut," you replied, but you didn't say no. 

"I really do," he said, reaching for your jeans zipper, but you took his hand in yours and pulled it away. 

"We don't have time," you scolded, kissing his lips and lacing your fingers with his. "You need to get Noah in the car so you boys can drop me off."

"Who's driving you home again?" Bradley asked, needing to be sure you wouldn't get in the car with anyone who'd been drinking. 

"Sarah," you told him, cupping his cheek gently. "She's seven months pregnant. The hardest thing she'll be drinking is ginger ale."

"Alright," he agreed, letting you finish up as he put Noah in the Bronco. Then he drove you and dropped you off at a trendy looking bar in the Gaslamp Quarter which was filled with people your own age. 

"Looks like a bunch of hipsters," he mumbled as he parked in the loading zone at the curb. He could almost imagine Greyson and his idiot friends hanging out here, and he reached for your hand. 

You laughed as he kissed your fingers. "Everyone under thirty looks like a hipster to you. And I mean that with love."

"You don't look like a hipster," he said, brow furrowed as he looked at your hand and briefly wondered why he hadn't taken the time to buy you a ring yet. 

"I see them," you said, pointing out the window before you leaned in to peck his lips. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way home." Then you crawled halfway over the seat and kissed Noah who was already yawning. "Night, sweet Noah," you whispered before kissing Bradley one more time and hopping out. 

He watched you wave to the group of other nurses he'd met briefly. All of them were around your age, and sure enough he saw Sarah with her pregnant belly. He looked at your elegant body; you looked so damn young, but you seemed older than twenty four. And you'd look just right with a belly like that. Bradley groaned and put the Bronco in drive when he saw a group of guys walk toward you and your coworkers as you were about to head inside the bar. You ignored them in favor of waving to Bradley, and he did you the service of waving back before he started driving home. 

You trusted him, and he trusted you. That was all there was to it. He refused to let Casey try to upset you with her bullshit, and you wouldn't chat up random guys. 

"I miss Mommy," Noah said as he yawned again. 

It had literally been five minutes since you got out of the Bronco, but Bradley honestly said, "Me, too." 

And he felt like an idiot after he let Noah eat the ants on logs you left for them. It was nights like this when he started to feel like he was holding you back. He still had engagement rings open on his phone internet tabs, and he knew you'd say yes when he asked. You and he had talked about forever. But these nights out would become almost nonexistent if you got pregnant and there were two kids to look after. 

Noah whined for you at bedtime, and Bradley had to bribe him with extra books since he couldn't have another goodnight kiss from you. Luckily that kid was usually asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but once he was out, Bradley was left alone with his thoughts. He tried to watch TV and even attempted a nap on the couch until you got home. He ended up drinking a beer and holding Skittles on his lap as she licked at the condensation on the bottle. 

"You are begrudgingly very fucking cute," he told the pup as she curled up on his thigh with her casted leg sticking out straight. He petted Skittles until she was sound asleep, her body rising and falling in a soothing rhythm. Bradley finished the beer as he tried not to think about you, which only made it worse. But he kept telling himself you wouldn't still be here right now if you didn't want to be. You'd stayed through Meredith and all of Bradley's bullshit, and you were still here now.

His phone vibrated with a text. My Princess: I'll be home soon!

Home. It was your home, too. You belonged here. So maybe he was supposed to miss you a little bit on nights like this. Perhaps it was normal to notice that your warmth was missing from the room. 

He closed his eyes, about to doze off, when twenty minutes later, you came bursting through the front door. Skittles carefully jumped off his lap and ran to see you as you pulled your shoes off. You looked a little exasperated as you bent to pet the dog before heading his way. 

"Did you have fun?" he asked, about to stand, but you headed right for his lap.

You groaned and settled in so you and he were chest to chest and you tangled your fingers up in his hair, your purple painted nails grazing his scalp. "Everyone my age is exhausting," you said before claiming his lips.

He rubbed his hands up your thighs and smiled against your lips as he asked, "You prefer the older crowd?"

You kissed the side of his neck and yawned before letting your cheek rest on his shoulder. "You know I do. I'm crazy about you and your checkbook and your inability to use a smartphone correctly."

"Well you came to the right place," he whispered. "I have all of the old man shit for you right here."

You giggled before kissing his neck again. "I love you."

Bradley wrapped his arms around you and held you close. This is where you belonged. "I love you, too. You want me to take you to bed?"

You yawned again and said, "I was thinking about you all night, you know? Dirty stuff."

"Dirty stuff?" he asked as you nodded. 

"Mmhmm. You wanna fuck a baby into me?" you asked as your fingers loosened in his hair and your hand came to rest on his chest. "We could do that," you murmured, your lips moving along his neck. "If you want."

Bradley chuckled and held you a little tighter. As much as he loved fucking you, he loved taking care of you even more. "Let's go snuggle, Princess." He scooped you up and carried you to bed where you immediately fell asleep in his arms.

--------------------------------

"This was not a good idea," Bradley murmured as he paced around his living room in his dress whites with his uniform hat in his hands. When he peeked out the front door, Amelia Benjamin was holding Skittles on a leash, and she and Noah were blowing bubbles. He checked the time and groaned. "Such a bad idea."

He could hear laughter coming from his bedroom, and he had to fight the urge to walk back down the hallway and knock on the door again. He knew what the response would be if he asked how much longer it was going to take before you and Nat were ready to go.

"You can't rush perfection," he mumbled to himself as he rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. You already looked perfect all the time. And Nat always looked the same. So he didn't really get the point of the two of you spending the entirety of Saturday afternoon doing each other's hair and makeup just for Admiral Bates' retirement party. It was at the Botanic Garden; it would probably be so humid and crowded inside, everyone would look gross after an hour anyway. 

"Jesus," he grunted when he heard two female voices laughing about mascara. He stood and walked to the kitchen, considering making himself another cup of coffee to help him stay awake all night while he rubbed elbows with his superiors, but then your voice sounded louder. He returned to the living room and waited.

"I think your hair looks perfect," you said as Nat walked in wearing a pretty black dress that hugged her figure. Bradley could appreciate that she seemed to have more makeup on than normal, because her eyes looked bigger and more playful than usual. 

"You look nice," Bradley told her, but then his jaw dropped as you strolled in like you dressed up to impress every day. That purple dress. Fuck. He would always associate it with taking you from behind on the bed. But you looked incredible. "Holy shit, Baby."

"I know," you said with a grin as you spun into his arms. "Nat did my makeup." You kissed his lips, and Bradley didn't even care if that dark lipstick left a mark. Shit. He kind of wanted you to kiss him all over right now. 

"Beautiful," he whispered, cupping your cheek in his palm. You looked the same as you always did, really, with just a little something extra to drive him crazy tonight. 

"You look good, too," you said, running your fingers all over his service pins before taking his hat and plopping it down crooked on his head. He ran his hands down the back of your beaded top and pulled you snug against him. "We'll have a lot of fun with all of this later, Daddy."

Nat cleared her throat and clapped her hands. "Well, on that rather disturbing note, let's get going." 

Bradley looked you up and down one more time, kind of wishing you and he didn't have to go to the event at all. But Amelia was already here to watch Noah and Skittles, and if he didn't get you and Nat into the Bronco soon, you would all be late.

"After you," Bradley said as he opened the front door for Nat to talk outside. When you tried to follow, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you close again as you laughed. "Not you," he whispered. "You're mine, Baby. I want you with me all night, okay? No wandering off. You know how those Navy guys can be."

"Oh, I know," you replied as he ran his hand along that little strip of skin that showed above your skirt. "They can be very handsy."

"Mmm," he hummed as he looked down into your eyes. "So you'll stay with me?"

"Yeah. I'll stay with you."

------------------------------

Princess is going to look so pretty at the Botanic Gardens. Wonder if she'll end up with that skirt pulled up around her waist again. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 42

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ACCIDENTS✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff, angst. no smut. mentions of pregnancy, sex, injury, blood, and abortion. suggestive comments. WORD COUNT: 4.5k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, boyfriend!gojo, pregnant!oc, established couple.

SYNOPSIS: during oc gojo girlfriend's yearly check up with shoko, she finds out she's pregnant. how will satoru act when he finds out? AUTHOR'S NOTE: i did make some changes to the beginning compared to the preview that i posted! thank you @mdnxghtjj for staying up late with me to try to make up scenarios on how oc gojo girlfriend would be pregnant by accident lol my google search probably thinks i'm the pregnant one. here is the official start to my version of dad!gojo and the official start to the baby gojo chronicles 🥹 REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions, instead please do!

your least favorite time of the year was when shoko had everyone visit her office for a yearly check up. that was a full examination for everyone.

“here, pee on this.” shoko handed you a pregnancy test. you looked at her with confusion written all over your face.

shoko saw your facial expression and reassured you, “it’s just part of the protocol, (y/n). would you rather pee in a cup? last time you told me you hate peeing in cups because you don't want to accidentally pee on your hands.”

“fine... it’s gonna be negative anyways.” you said confidently. you took the test from her hand reluctantly and went to the bathroom.

as shoko gave you a thorough examination, you couldn’t help but peer at the white and blue pregnancy test sitting in the corner next to the sink. it wasn’t your first time using one, but it was always strange taking one. especially for no reason.

"alright, you're done. have you been feeling better since you caught that cold?" shoko asked as you hopped off the examination able. she went back to the sink to remove her gloves and wash her hands. you had caught some horrible cold or stomach bug over a month ago, and it left you with fever, chills, and non-stop vomitting for weeks. you were so sick that you told satoru you wanted to write a will to leave everything to megumi and tsumiki because you didn't think you were going to make it.

“yeah. i haven’t been that sick in so long. i was vomitting like every other hour. satoru thought he was going to die when i wouldn’t let him sleep in our bed. he slept in tsumiki's old room for two weeks, poor guy. i didn't want him to catch whatever it was,” you chuckled at the thought of your 6’3” boyfriend sleeping in a baby pink decorated room.

“(y/n)…”

“yeah?” you turned to face shoko.

shoko asked you cautiously, “are you on birth control?”

suspicion filled your eyes as you peered at the amber-eyed doctor, “yeah, i’ve been on birth control since i was 21… why?”

“your pregnancy test came back positive.”

you stared at the digital screen. the words “pregnant” screamed at you inside your head. were you really pregnant? this was something you never thought would happen, at least not right now.

“that’s not possible, shoko.” you laughed nervously in disbelief.

“according to the test, you are.” shoko looked confused. as a doctor, she was determined to figure out how one of her bestfriends, who was on birth control, got pregnant. she studied your charts and medical records as she chewed on the tip of her pen.

you tried to retrace your footsteps for the past month. you had a very specific routine, and you took your birth control every morning after brushing your teeth and washing your face. your package of pills sat in your bathroom drawer just below the sink as your daily reminder to take your birth control.

shoko folded her arms and cleared her throat, “uhm, i hate to ask you this because i truly don’t want to know, but when was the first time you and gojo had sex after you got sick?”

you thought it was a strange question because wouldn’t shoko want to know when the most recent time you were intimate with satoru was?

“well…” you looked at her sheepishly, a face full of embarrassment, “we had sex right when my cold symptoms went away.” it would’ve been uncomfortable for your aching body, so you made satoru wait. and yes, he complained about it for two weeks.

shoko massaged her temples as she realized what the problem was, “god, (y/n). remember you were literally throwing up all the time when you were sick?”

your jaw dropped, “does that mean i threw up my birth control…?”

“that could’ve been the case, but if you throw up 1-2 hours after taking your birth control, your body might not have the chance to absorb it. your body was technically missing dosages since you were vomiting almost every day for a week…” shoko explained.

you stared at the doctor. your heart was racing and your mind had a million thoughts running through your head. you couldn’t believe that you were pregnant. there was just no way. as much as you and satoru joked about having kids, you knew deep down that satoru wasn’t ready. and you didn’t think he’d ever be. but you were okay with that. you had spent most of your young adult life raising two kids, so you felt like you weren't missing out on much.

“please, don’t tell satoru.” you quietly pleaded with shoko.

“don’t tell gojo-sensei what?” megumi asked from the office door. he dropped his backpack and his gym bag on the floor, walking towards you and shoko.

your eyes widened as you discreetly shifted the pregnancy test under your thigh, “hi kiddo, don’t tell gojo-sensei that i bought him his favorite kikufuku as a surprise.” that was a horrible lie, you're usually better than that.

shoko cleared her throat to try and change the subject, “hi megumi! you’re early for your exam.”

“yeah, i finished jujutsu practice early.” he replied back to shoko as he reverted his gaze back at you, “(y/n), what’s going on?”

“nothing, i just finished my exam. shoko says i’m as healthy as a horse!” you laughed nervously.

“you’re pregnant, aren’t you?” megumi asked you straightforwardly, “you were complaining about your boobs hurting the other day, you felt sick yesterday morning at breakfast, and you complained about being bloated at lunch today. not to mention, you’re always throwing up in my bathroom at home.”

you stopped to think about the symptoms that megumi just listed. you didn’t even consider that being pregnant was the reason why you were experiencing those symptoms. you always thought you were in the clear with those stupid tiny birth control pills.

you sighed, lifting your thigh to grab the pregnancy test. you showed it to megumi. “satoru doesn’t know… and we’re going to keep it that way.”

“why don’t you want to tell him?” he asked you, “are you guys fighting?”

“no, we're not fighting. this whole thing was an accident because of my cold last month... and to be honest, i don't know if your sensei even wants kids.” you smiled halfheartedly at megumi.

“i won’t say anything.” megumi promised. he couldn't imagine satoru gojo not wanting to reproduce and to have mini-satorus running around to terrorize the jujutsu world.

you warned him, “that means you can’t tell tsumiki either, i don’t want her to rush back home from her study abroad program just because of this.” (read 'wherever you are' here)

megumi reached his pinky out to you and you locked yours with his, both of you kissing your thumbs to seal the seal. he wrapped his arms around you in a warm hug. you needed that comfort right now.

“if i do the math, you’re about 5 weeks pregnant, (y/n).” shoko said, “so stop taking your birth control if you want to keep your baby.” megumi’s green eyes peered over at you, interested in what you had to say about that.

“what if i want to get an abortion…?” you asked quietly. megumi’s eyes now wide in horror. 'how could you even think about abortion?' he thought.

shoko sighed, “i think that’s something you should have a serious talk with gojo about. it would be unfair for him not to know.”

you weren’t sure if you should feel excited, nervous, or scared. you were excited because who wouldn’t want to have a child with the love of their life? you were nervous (and scared) because you didn’t know how satoru would react if you told him. you were scared because your unborn baby would be a target to all rival clans, inheriting all of yours and satoru’s enemies. not only that, but also a target for all intelligent curses as well.

later that night: the gojo/(l/n) household

“how was your yearly check up?” satoru asked as you poked at your medium rare steak that you probably shouldn’t be eating now that you were pregnant. he watched you as you rolled a roasted baby potato around your plate with your fork.

“it was fine. healthy as a horse.” you recycled your joke from this afternoon. satoru furrowed his brows, he sensed something was wrong. you were fine this morning, so what happened between the time you went to work and the time you got home?

“are you sure…?” he started to pry.

annoyance starting to rise in your tone. you kissed the back of your teeth, “i just don’t feel well… and the steak is too rare.” you lied. you always ate your steak medium rare. rareness did not bother you, the cow could still be mooing and you’d eat it.

“i can always put it back on the grill, babe. want it medium?”

“well-done, please.” you mumbled, “thanks, sweetheart.”

satoru picked up your plate, extremely confused on why all of a sudden you would eat a well-done steak. it was very unlike you. he kissed you on the cheek to try to ease whatever it was that was bugging you. you wanted to tell him so badly that you were pregnant. you never kept secrets from each other. you watched him slide on his slippers, opening the door to the patio with catoru following behind him. he slapped your steak on the grill again while looking out at the tokyo skyline.

during this time, you wondered what kind of father satoru would be. you imagined he would be the carefree type of dad. he would be the fun, loving, lenient father while you were the one to lay down the rules. that’s how it was when you were both raising megumi and tsumiki. your eyes started to well up with tears at the thought of satoru possibly becoming a father. was this the pregnancy hormones getting to you?

you quickly wiped your tears as satoru made his way back into the apartment with your steak. he closed the door behind him and sat down next to you at the dining table.

“why were you crying just barely?” he asked softly. he could sense your cursed energy wavering from the patio. he knew every mood you were in just because of how your cursed energy looked to his six eyes.

“i wasn’t crying,” you said adamantly, “my eyes were itchy.”

satoru understood that whatever was bothering you, you didn’t want to talk about it. normally, he would pry and pry until you would finally tell him what was wrong, but tonight, he felt that he shouldn’t. he cut your steak into bite-sized cubes for you, just like how you always did before you started eating.

you caressed his cheek with your hand, giving him a soft smile in appreciation.

“should we go get some ice cream with the kids tomorrow? i promise i’ll treat.” he asked, knowing that ice cream always made you feel better after a shitty day.

“yeah. i need that dairy-free double scoop of chocolate ice cream right now.” (read ‘seeing red’ here)

the next day

you had taken half a day off to meet satoru, nobara, yuji, and megumi in shibuya to grab the ice cream that satoru promised you last night. you and satoru walked next to each together as your spirit birds flew overhead. the students were following behind you with their ice cream cones.

“i still can’t believe gojo-sensei has been dating (y/n)-sensei for over 10 years.” nobara hissed at her two partners as she watched you and satoru walking together in front of them.

“why is it hard to believe? sensei is a pretty good looking dude.” yuji said nonchalantly.

megumi sighed and explained, “that’s not the point, itadori. the point is that (y/n)-sensei is way out of his league.”

“you seem pretty close to her, fushiguro.” yuji pointed out, noticing that megumi always defended you no matter what the topic was.

“i kinda owe her and gojo-sensei my life.” megumi grumbled, “they took me in when i was five.”

nobara looked at him, wide-eyed, “you mean… they adopted you when they were 18?! and (y/n)-sensei is basically like your mom?! oh my god! he needs to put a ring on her immediately for all he puts her through!”

megumi knew the reason why you two weren’t married yet. it was for your safety, not because gojo-sensei didn’t want to. he would’ve married you right after high school graduation if that was the case.

you giggled to yourself as you scooped chocolate ice cream to feed to satoru. he grabbed the spoon from you, licking it clean.

“their conversation is so funny.” you said to him.

“are you listening to them with your shikigami? you’re so nosy.” satoru playfully chastised you.

you called back your birds with your hand signal as they flew closer to you and satoru. they seemed to be flying happily as no danger was around. “your students are wondering why we aren’t married yet.”

“you already know why.” satoru put the spoon back into your ice cream.

“you don’t want to make me a target.” you recited back to him. satoru gojo believed that if you were to marry him, you would be a target and gain all his and the gojo clan’s enemies. that would make you the achilles' heel to the strongest sorcerer known to man.

“it’s not like people don’t know that we’re together.” you rolled your eyes, “i can take care of myself, satoru. i'm pretty sure the kamo clan is out for my head as we speak.” (read ‘love at first fight’ here)

“i know you can take care of yourself. i just think it’s safer this way.” he shrugged.

“but i want to have kids too. i’m not getting any younger.” you inserted, hoping he’d take the bait to talk about having kids.

“what are you talking about? we have two kids, megumi and tsumiki.” satoru said nonchalantly, you wanted to face palm your forehead to how oblivious he was.

digging deeper, you added, “i want kids with white hair and blue eyes running around.”

“hate to break it to you sweetheart, but they won’t be getting blue eyes. there can only be one six eyes in a lifetime, you already know that.”

“what about your white hair?” you tip-toed to ruffle his hair as he laughed, grabbing your hand.

“what about your black hair and beautiful green eyes that i love so much?” satoru grinned at you, “if you want, we can practice reproducing later tonight?”

you threw an ice shard at him, hitting his infinity. “no inappropriate jokes around the students, please.” you chastised him as he winked at you. you scooped another bite of ice cream into your mouth as you frowned.

“so feisty… i’m in for a world of trouble if our future kids ever get your attitude.”

“if that’s the case… you better get ready.” you muttered under your breath.

satoru didn’t hear your comment. “hmmm? what’d you say?” he asked.

“nothing, eat your ice cream.” you replied, quickly shoving another spoonful in his mouth.

"ouch, brain freeze." satoru grimaced.

one week later

time was ticking as the baby in your stomach was growing. you had to tell satoru you were pregnant.

your morning sickness was horrible. you didn’t want satoru to catch onto anything, so whenever you felt sick, you ran to the bathroom near megumi’s room across the apartment instead of your master bathroom. (see the apartment layout here)

“babe?” satoru found you in the guest bathroom, hurled over the toilet, dry heaving. “are you okay?” he crouched down to pull your hair back, “do we need to go see shoko?”

“no, it’s fine.” you pushed him away, “leave me alone, please. i don't want to you see me like this.”

“and why would i leave you alone? there's clearly something going on with your health again.” he comforted you, rubbing firm circles on your upper back.

after your morning sickness session in the bathroom subsided, you miserably dragged your feet back to your bathroom to brush your teeth. satoru leaned against the bathroom door frame, arms folded. you turned to face him.

“don’t you have a mission today?” you asked him, hoping that he'd leave soon.

“yeah, i do. but don’t change the subject. what is going on? are you sick?” satoru asked. the past week you had unintentionally become distant and avoided having deep conversations with him. he felt the cold shoulder from you emotionally and he hated it. he was starting to get fed up.

“no. i’m not sick.”

“do you have some type of terminal illness or something that you’re not telling me about?”

“no, satoru!” you scoffed in disbelief. he was so smart and cunning in battle, how could he not put 2+2 together for something as simple as this?

“do you want to break up with me? is that it? are you tired of me?” he asked quietly.

how could he ask you that after 10 years of putting up with him?

“no!!!” you shouted at him.

“then what is it, (y/n)?!” he finally snapped after a week of trying to be patient, “what are you hiding from me?” satoru’s voice raised an octave as he got more frustrated as the conversation was going nowhere.

you couldn’t handle it anymore. you clenched your fists, water started pouring out of the apartment faucets and showers from your raging cursed energy.

“i’m pregnant!” you shouted back at him.

satoru lifted his blindfold, his blue eyes widened, jaw dropped. it was as if time stood still for him. the only thing he could hear was the sound of your angry breathing and all the faucets flowing throughout the apartment.

“what…?” satoru whispered, “that can’t happen. you’re on birth control.”

“that’s what i thought too. but shoko confirmed it.” you told him as tears started to form on your long dark lashes.

“damn it… damn it. damn it!” satoru hissed. he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing off his blindfold and throwing it at the bathroom counter. “why didn’t you tell me?”

his reaction hurt your feelings, “because i didn’t know what your reaction would be and clearly you’re not happy about it.”

“how far along are you?” he asked, ignoring your comment. he walked towards you to stand beside you, putting his hand on top of yours. you flinched as you took your hand back to wipe your tears away.

“6 weeks. it’s early enough that i can get an abortion.” you sniffled.

“just… don’t make any decisions right now.” he said. it sounded like he was begging you, “we can talk more when i get back from this damn mission.”

satoru leaned towards you. he grabbed the side of your head to kiss your temple, “i love you, (y/n). i'm not mad at you.” he whispered.

satoru’s mission

it took everything in satoru not to leave you behind at the apartment alone after the way he reacted. why did he have to be assigned such a lowly mission? any of the students could’ve handled it, so why did it have to be him out of all people and out of all the days?

he teleported to shinagawa where it was reported that a curse was terrorizing an elementary school. it looked deserted when he arrived at the front gate.

satoru raised two fingers to put up a veil, “emerge from darkness, blacker still. purify that which is impure.”

he walked into the school, his six eyes sensing the curse right away. it couldn’t have been more than a grade 2 or 3. he heard a bloodcurdling scream, leading him to the gymnasium.

“please help!” a woman’s voice screamed and begged as the curse towered over her. satoru teleported in front of the woman and swiftly blasted the curse away with sheer force, exorcising it immediately.

“are you alright?” satoru turned to ask the woman. he stopped dead in his tracks.

she was pregnant.

“please sir, save my baby.” she begged as she was bleeding from her abdomen. her hands and arms shielding her womb protectively. the curse must’ve already injured her before satoru arrived. he kicked himself for his late arrival. he could’ve prevented this if he came earlier.

he lifted the injured woman in his arms, “don’t worry. i’ll save you. nothing will happen to you or your baby.” he promised as he teleported to the closest hospital.

tokyo shinagawa hospital

“it looks like the patient and her baby will be fine. she was close to full term. if she lost any more blood, her and the baby would’ve died.” the doctor reported back to satoru as ijichi stood next to him, documenting everything for the report that he would have to fill out later.

satoru was deep in thought about how this woman begged him to save her baby and not herself. it was the fact that she so selflessly put her baby first that really got to him.

he thought about you and what you would’ve done if you were in that woman’s shoes. he knew that you would protect your baby with your life because he would do the exact same thing. satoru felt his protective instinct skyrocket now more than ever.

satoru’s heart felt heavy. he immediately felt guilty knowing that you thought he didn't want to have kids and how hard this must have been for you the past week. he wanted to be there for you, but he was terrified of the unknown. would he be a good father? would he be able to protect this baby? and were you even happy being pregnant with his child?

“ijichi, can you take care of the rest? i have somewhere i need to be.” satoru asked impatiently.

ijichi complained, “are you sure you’re not just trying to pawn off your work to me?”

“there are two people who need me right now.” satoru waved as he teleported back to the apartment. the two people in question? you and the baby that was growing in your belly.

back at the apartment

you felt satoru’s cursed energy appear as he teleported back into the living room. he walked towards you and hugged you tightly, surprising you.

“can’t. breathe.” you said as your face was squished into his firm chest.

he immediately let go of you, scared he hurt the baby by embracing you so tightly.

“i know what you're thinking, the baby is fine.” you said as you hugged him back even tighter in return, “did you know the baby is the size of a sweet pea according to my baby tracking app? so they wouldn't have even felt that hug.”

“that’s pretty small.” he said, chuckling softly. he paused to take a deep breath, he then looked down at you, “can we talk?”

you nodded as he guided you back to the couch, sitting down in the soft white cushions as he sat on the floor in front of you, holding your hands.

he looked you in the eyes, “don’t get an abortion, (y/n).”

you blinked twice, “well, that’s not what i was expecting. what changed your mind?”

“i never said i didn’t want kids, babe.” satoru said defensively.

you mumbled as you folded your arms, “you made it sound like you didn’t. and your reaction when i told you i was pregnant earlier today doesn’t support that statement.” avoiding eye contact with him.

he grabbed your hands again and explained his point of view, “i was upset that you hid it from me. and i was surprised because you were on birth control which is supposed to prevent pregnancy. and i was really fucking scared.”

“scared? the satoru gojo scared of a baby the size of a sweet pea?” you emphasized. he furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“i had a come-to-jesus moment during my mission.” he started to say, “(y/n), i’d do anything for you. just like you would for me. but now… we can’t put each other first anymore. we have to set our priorities elsewhere.”

“what do you mean by that?”

“we have to think of this baby and how this baby will always come first now.”

you were quiet, processing what satoru just said. yours and satoru's lives were going to drastically change. this baby would be your number one priority in life. you and satoru spent the last decade caring deeply for each other and being each other's prime concern, now this baby would come first.

you realized that he was terrified of having this baby be the center of his universe, knowing that the baby would be defenseless without you and him. satoru wanted to protect this baby with his life, just like the mother he saved today who wanted to save her baby's life.

being a parent meant that you would always have your heart living outside of your body, and that would make you vulnerable to extreme pain, but also let you experience indescribable love. and that was something you were willing to risk experiencing in life with satoru.

“you're right, babe. i agree.” you said softly, you held his cheek in your hand. “you really want to do this? you really want to be a dad?”

“hell yes i want this.” satoru said confidently, holding your hand against his cheek.

“how dare you get me pregnant, satoru gojo.” you jokingly reprimanded him.

he kneeled forward into you as he kissed you softly, “sorry, it was an accident.”

EXTRA:

“babe! show me this baby app you’ve been using this past week.” satoru demanded playfully as he pulled you into his lap. you grinned as you grabbed your phone to pull up the ‘what to expect’ app.

“so! baby gojo is the size of a sweet pea or a nail head. and they’re .25 inches small.”

"baby gojo... i like the sound of that." he smiled at the thought. he nodded, a signal for you to continue.

“it says that baby gojo’s face is forming and taking shape! i hope they don’t get your big head...” you laughed as satoru frowned.

“my head is not big!” he defended himself, “moving on.”

“it says that the heart starts to pulse around this time and we should be able to hear a heartbeat at my first pre-natal appointment…” you said with a smile.

“i’ll make sure i request that day off.”

“you better! or i’ll have a word with principal yaga.” you smacked his chest playfully with the back of your hand. “baby gojo supposedly looks like a tadpole with a tiny tail. and i won’t feel any movement for awhile.”

“so you can’t feel it move or anything?” satoru asked curiously.

“no, but i’m feeling these pregnancy symptoms.” you complained, “my boobs hurt, my heartburn is worse than usual, and the morning sickness is killing me.”

“okay, so basically, don’t touch your boobs anymore, carry extra tums for you, and hold your hair for you when you throw up in the morning. got it.” satoru noted.

you glared at him with your emerald green eyes, “please stop talking.”

wanna know how the rest of oc gojo girlfriend's pregnancy goes? read the next chapter, ‘milestones’ here.

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[kingofbodyrolls]

BTS fic recs: December 2023

HAPPY NEW YEARS!! 🥳 May every single one of you lovely people out there have the best and brightest year to come ✨

I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✨ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart 🥹

❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell, so minors dni.❗ 

If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂

BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (*) | 💜 (ksj)(kth) |

Emoji meaning → angst = 🌩️, smut = 🥵, fluff = 🥰, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = 👻, personal favorites = 💯.

Namjoon

⭐Good Neighbor @sugaurora [0.7K] // knj x f.reader // neighbors!au, winter!au // 🥰🥰🥰

📝 Namjoon’s solitary tendencies versus the cookies. Spoiler: The cookies win.

🗨️ God, this was so fucking sweet 🥹 like sugary sweet fluffy fantastic! I loved it 💖 the way Namjoon just observes oc, and then helping her in the end 👏🏾 even though this is short, it’s fucking brilliant. The writing is just 😘😘 like I wished there was so much more, but I’m also so pleased with just what is 😌

⭐A Word from our Sponsors 💯 @ugh-yoongi [17.5K] // knj x f.reader // podcast!au, f2l, idiots to lovers  // 😂🥵🥰

📝 You’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 

🗨️ Okay. This. Was. Exceptional ✨🥹 I am slightly speechless, so this review might be short or long or just a rambling of my dainty thoughts. Here goes: it was amazing, seriously one of the best fics I’ve ever read 😭 everything just had that perfect flow, the writing was incredible, like I can’t even speak? The characters, out of this world fantastic ✨ the whole thing, just, perfect. Perfection. I don’t know what else to call it, sorry. The world building and tension was so fucking delicious I just ate it up! 😭 And their banter and chemistry was just off the charts amazing. Perfection. And it was so fucking hilarious too!! Many times I was just laughing or chuckling, like the lovesick fool I am 😂 it was definitely worth it to stay up late tonight to finish this masterpiece ✨ And them reading the fanfiction 💀 😂 priceless ✨👏🏾

Seokjin

⭐The IKEA Test by @yoon-bug [9.1K] // ksj x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰😂

📝 One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.

🗨️ Their banter and all the sexual innuendos are damn hilarious! I thoroughly enjoyed this very much 💜 

⭐I Don’t Think I’m Okay by @ressjeon [4K] // ksj x f.reader // slice of life, idiots to lovers!au, childhood friends!au // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 With many chances wasted, you couldn’t even resist anymore.

🗨️ A cute little Seokjin fic 🥰

⭐Turn Back Time 💯 by @raplinesmoon [13.3K] // ksj x f.reader // time travel!au // 🥵🥰🌩️😂

📝 After total humiliation at his middle school baseball try outs, Kim Seokjin wants nothing more than for his awkward years to fade away until he’s thirty. Cue a magic baseball glove, and his wish is finally granted. Seokjin suddenly wakes up seventeen years later, now the star pitcher of the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. Confused and overwhelmed at the prospect of the new life waiting for him, he turns to the only person who seems to understand him — you. Will Seokjin learn what it truly means to be thirty, flirty, and thriving? Or will he find himself wishing he could turn back time?

🗨️ Seokjin’s childhood/school was just, ugh, I really felt heartache for thirteen year old Seokjin 🥹 So very common as a kid, to wish you’re older – and then it’s just not what he expected at all. I really loved it! There were a few times I was laughing so damn hard, times where I was shedding a few tears as well. Just, incredibly good; very well written, the story was captivating and motivating, just yeah, brilliant. (Sorry, I’m suddenly bad with words). I loved the ‘lessons’ he learned, and then having the luxury (I’m using that word because we don’t have that irl) of going back to his childhood (almost like starting over) and damn it was good 👏💯

Yoongi

⭐Sinful Lust [series; ongoing] 💯 by @oddinary4bts [wordcount loading…] // myg x jjk x f.reader // established relationship, bisexual boyfriend!Yoongi, slice of life // 🥵🌩️

📝In an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating…

🗨️  Holy 😱 😱 😱 this is just completely unadulterated sin 🥵🫣 I can not describe how much I love this fic! It has A LOT of angst and at times it’s just sad reading how each character falls apart 😭 it’s amazing! If you’re into stories that will have you question your own morals and who to root for, this is for you 💖

⭐In Between the Pages of You [series; ongoing] @unique-high [wordcount loading…] // myg x f.reader // s2l // 🥰😂🌩️

📝 Yoongi fell in love with you. A girl he had never even met before. Knew everything that you were made up of within 96 pages of a worn red journal with a nirvana sticker on front, with coffee and tea-stained pages that also smelled of lilacs and summer. 

🗨️ I can already tell that this story will be amazing; it’s so sweet, cute and tender. The storyline/idea is really cute and fluffy, like who wouldn’t love that?? 😭 And as someone who wrote countless journals as a teen, this one just hits differently. It’s so cute and the concept is gold 💜 I really, really look forward to reading the next chapters and what Yoongi will uncover of OC through her journal. And if he can return it to her sometime and they meet! 🥹

⭐F*ck Christmas 💯 @sailoryooons [23.4K] // myg x f.reader // f2l // 🥰🥵

📝 Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancé cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog. 

🗨️ Gosh, I remember reading this sometime last year and it was perfection - it still is! ✨ It’s so so so fucking good. If you haven’t read it, please do so 🥹 it’s also one of the best Christmasy fics 💜

Hoseok

⭐Ho Ho Horrible 💯 @ugh-yoongi [5.6K] // jhs x f.reader // e2l, neighbor!au, holiday!au // 🥵🥰😂

📝 (or, the one where your neighbor is a relentless christmas caroler and refuses to take a hint, but at least he's really hot.)

🗨️ No– this was just so freaking cute! 😭 Like fluffy cute and also extremely funny, just what I love. I loved this so much 💜 OC’s friendship with Tae, their banter was 💯 and then with Hobi, just so so good! It was so cute and OC’s internal dialogue is just funny 😂A really cute holiday themed Hoseok fic that I can’t recommend enough!!!! Everything was just great. Had me smiling and giggling a few times – please go read it 🥹💜

⭐Started with a Sparkle, now we’re on Fire @the-boy-meets-evil [6.5K] // jhs x f.reader // f2l // 🥵

📝 You're feeling self conscious about your recent break-up and hoseok is more than happy to teach you a thing or two.

🗨️ Really really good! I really liked it 💜 I really loved how both sweet and demanding Hoseok was, guiding oc through everything.

Jimin

⭐Couchsurfer 💯 @heartbeatan [6K] // pjm x f.reader // s2l // 🥵🥰

📝 This was left intentionally blank 🫥

🗨️ Omg this was so fucking good! 💯 First, really well written and the pacing was lovely, even though it’s short and one night they spend together 🥹 the build up of their tension and their chemistry was off the charts! So impeccably done! Fuck. I loved it ✨ it’s insane how good this story is and Jimin is just so sweet, romantic and nasty 🥵 I can’t tell you how turned on I got by the description of how Jimin handled OC, like damn 🥵 this is so fucking good, please don’t sleep on the this beauty 💖 Normally, I’m not one for one night stands, because I catch feelings for the characters, but this has a lovely ending that I loved - so fucking good!

Lol. Can not stop screaming about this one. Please go read it, fuck. PLEASE 😌 ✨

⭐Paper Hearts @namfinessed [9K] // pjm x f.reader // f2l, college!au // 🥰

📝 hearts fragile like paper, tear it or don’t?

🗨️ I think it is both cute and heartwarming, with their foolishness and stubbornness towards each other. I loved how the fic becomes full circle with the description of love by both Jimin and reader and then again at the end - really, really beautiful! 😍 I really loved this, it was well written, their friendship and love really shined through too! If you haven’t read this one yet, you really should 💜

Taehyung

⭐The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles [series] by @gimmethatagustd [14K] // kth x f.reader // frenemies to lovers // 🥵

📝 You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s hipster, wannabe-photographer ass. You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s stupid smile and stupid jokes and stupid way of getting under your skin and sticking in your brain.

🗨️ At first I did not realize that this was a series, therefore I’ve linked to the masterlist, lol. Anyway, this series is just so fucking hot, like WHAT 🥵 There’s a lot of banter and their mutual ‘hatred’ for each other just makes this hit incredible hard. Really amazing ✨

⭐Loverboy 💯 by @kookslastbutton [7.1K] // kth x f.reader // established relationship // 🥵🥰🌩️

📝 After a startling conversation with your coworkers, you start feeling insecure about your sexual prowess. You don't initiate as much, you haven't worn lingerie yet, and you're still timid about doing much seducing with your body–are you giving your boyfriend boring sex? Taehyung reassures you that you are perfect and have nothing to worry about.

🗨️ These coworkers gotta go, okay?! 😠🤣 Planting seeds of doubt in OC’s head, no, no. Tae to the rescue!! He is so sweet in this too, yes a real ‘loverboy’ 😍 Gosh and then best friend Jimin - that was just pure gold, their relationship and how he helps OC 🥹 That is friendship goals!! A sweet, loving and comforting Taehyung fic - I loved it ✨

⭐Hush, yeah? [series; ongoing/hiatus] by @kithtaehyung [wordcount loading…] // kth x f.reader // brother’s best friend!au, music festival!au // 🥵

📝 Who knew an innocent accident could turn things so dirty..

🗨️ Pure gold ✨ — I don’t really have much to say, except GO READ IT.

⭐Under wraps by @jungkxook [15K] // kth x f.reader // e2l, fake dating // 🥵🥰

📝 There’s nothing you and taehyung seem to hate more than each other - except for christmas. having recently been dumped by your (now ex) boyfriend only seems to make this holiday even worse. but when taehyung suggests that you should pretend to be dating each other to save you both the embarrassment, pity, and bothersome questions from family and friends alike for a fun carefree month of celebrations, you can’t possibly say no.

🗨️ I just love me some good enemies to lovers AU 🥵 the relationship between OC and tae is really good, I think the tension between them was well built 👏🏾 I loved how their relationship unfolded and grew through their fake dating 🥹 the way OC realized she had feelings for him, but he had showed her before in his subtle moves, how much more he relaxed in her presence. I loved the interaction between oc and tae’s parents too, the way that they could obviously tell that OC was head over heels 😂 ah just, It was really really good! It was funny, it was comforting, and such a lovely read around Christmas! And the smut was sweet and tender (also hot!) 😍 a really great fic that I’ll add to my Christmas re-reads for years to come ✨ I loved it! Please go read it if you haven’t already 🥹

⭐Somebody Else 💯 by @jamaisjoons [4.2K] // kth x f.reader ft. yoongi // established relationship + post break up!au // 🥵🌩️

📝 Yoongi doesn’t want you anymore. but he can’t stand watching you with someone else. 

🗨️ Holy s– 🥵 I don’t even know where to begin with this one! It’s really good and the that is mainly from Yoongi’s pov makes it truly special – he is observing them and damn is it hot 🥵 Aish, really good 💯

Jungkook

Nothing this month 😞 — I AM SO SORRY that I haven’t read any with JK this month (though he is featuring in some with the other members). My JK ‘to read’ list is the LONGEST imao 😂 I’ll hopefully do better next month – but you can always check my Jungkook Library 💜

I have spend most of December being on holiday/time off, which gave me a lot of time to write my own stuff, which in the end gave me less time to read 😣 But it’s all good! I loved getting some stories and thoughts out of my head and now there’s space to read and obsess over other’s stories again 😀

Borahae 💜

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

For The First Time

Summary; Closed off older Eddie, slightly cynical, bit of a fuckboi who falls in love for the first time with you.

Bits of angst, mostly fluff and a lot of Smut, reader falls first and thinks Eddie doesn't feel the same, he falls harder. 18+ minors go away. Modern au

Older Eddie Munson x Reader

The reader is in her 20's and Eddie is 41.

If you enjoyed this then pls consider liking or reblogging ❤️✨🌸

I don't give anyone permission to copy, repost or translate my work.

❤️

Eddie takes the beer Steve hands to him and nurses it for a little while. He's exhausted after working on a car all week and his last hook-up with a woman called Sarah? Sasha? Two weeks ago.

Fuck, he can't even remember. He didn't make it a habit to be with the same woman for too long, they would try to get to know him, get him to open up about life and things he never wanted to discuss.

It's not like he disliked the women he was with, he liked them and had fun but that was that. He made it clear that nothing more was to come from it.

The only thing that was troubling him is someone had caught his eye, a friend of Nancy's who worked with her on the biggest newspaper in Indiana.

Yn was your name and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about you and your tight little skirt all day.

He met you a few days ago at a party Steve and Nancy had thrown for their son's 10th birthday.

You were shy, yes but after talking to him for a bit you began to relax and let your guard down.

Fuck, you even made him laugh and he can't remember the last time that he's enjoyed talking to someone so much.

Not only were you funny and smart, but you were also beautiful and a sweetheart. It stunned him that he was keen on speaking to you again.

He just doesn't know quite how to approach you.

Turns out though that you were in your apartment. Thinking of the very same thing

💕

The next time you meet the chemistry again is off the charts, you can't help thinking about how sexy Eddie is.

You know he's older but you don't care, you've never been so attracted to a guy in your life.

He moves with confidence and knows he's the hottest guy in the room, leather jacket and jeans, rings adorning his hand and a smirk on his face.

Yeah, he knows he's hot shit.

Nancy can see straight away that your crushing on Eddie.

"He's a great guy but he's a bit of a fuckboi so just be careful okay?" you nod and assure her that you'll be fine.

He's hot but it's not like you'd fall in love with him or anything and you approach Eddie even though nerves are racing in your stomach.

His eyes light up when he sees you and you immediately start chatting.

It's like the first time you got talking where you immediately feel at ease with him, except now the way you look at each other is more intense and its obvious how much you both want each other.

When he asks if you would like to talk somewhere a little more private you agree.

Though not much talking was done at all as the minute that you reached Eddie's place and you were inside, it's like all the tension between you boiled over and he backed you up against the wall claiming your mouth in a searing kiss.

Your clothes fall away as you head upstairs, Eddie tossing his jeans to the side and kneeling down to kiss over your stomach and between your thighs.

Your hands tighten around his hair which he sweeps into a messy bun. He looks so hot that you almost combust right there and then.

His lips are everywhere on your body, hands cupping your breasts, mouth closing over your nipples and you moan.

"You're perfect" he growls out as he looks up at you through thick lashes and those big brown eyes are darker than usual, full of need and desire.

All you want to do is feel every inch of Eddie, and you do having him at your mercy as he stands up to kiss you and you drop to your knees, losing all your previous shyness and wink at him.

The look on his face, the little Oh his lips form as you suck him off imprints in your mind.

He's moaning, begging for you to take him deeper and when you do he loses all control, his eyes closing, veins throbbing at his neck as he comes hard, you lick up every drop and he watches you do it with a hungry expression.

By that point, you are both desperate for him to be inside you and he lays you on the bed. Your bodies entwined.

Eddie sheaths inside you and his head throws back as he moans in pleasure.

"Fuck baby, I love how tight you are, feel so good" he grunts out and thinks that he could lose himself being buried inside you forever, the feeling of you clenched around him was more intense than anything he felt in his life.

He comes hard and fast again, a guttural moan escaping from his mouth that joins your fervent cries of his name as you come.

"So fucking mind-blowing princess, he coos, I hope you know that I'm not finished with you yet"

The biggest smile lights up your face and you giggle.

"I hope not, think you can keep up with me old man?" you tease and he laughs... Oh, he'll show you...

❤️

Eddie and you meet very frequently, he can't get enough of you and you can't stop thinking about him.

It was the best sex both of you ever had and you loved the feel of Eddie's head between your thighs.

Or when you sucked him off and he looked at you like you were a goddess, that was pretty good too.

He made a point to tell you early into your relationship, fling? Whatever it was - that he hadn't been in love before so this would be strictly physical.

A friends with benefits type of thing, which you were fine with because you didn't want to stop seeing Eddie, you liked being around him.

"Don't you want to fall in love?" your curious to know after he tells you all of this and his big brown eyes lock with yours, there's a vulnerable edge to them that you haven't seen before but just as you're about to say something, he shakes his head.

"No, I don't. Now sweetheart. Enough talking. I'd rather have you naked and at my mercy" He kisses you and you forget about the conversation soon after.

❤️

Eddie's naked body is entwined with yours and your hands trail over his tattoos, move to trail over the scars on his body but before you can touch them he flips you over and has you on all fours.

His fingers knead your ass and he smirks.

"Fucking gorgeous" he moans and you feel so overstimulated but Eddie's voice in your ear is spurring you on just a little bit more.

"Come on princess, think we can do one more orgasm huh?" he croons and you feel one building fast as he fucks into you relentlessly.

The orgasm makes your knees buckle and you cry out in pleasure, Eddie tilts your head back so he can kiss you, his moans of ecstasy filling the room as he comes, spilling inside of you.

"That's my sweet girl" he coos and his lips brush against your neck as he pulls out of you and you curl up on his bed.

You're exhausted, legs like jelly and completely happy and sated though a little sore.

Eddie's bed looks so inviting and it smells like his cologne, like he's wrapping you in a big hug.

Eddie watches you for a second with a small smile on his face, his fingers caress over your hair for a brief moment and the tender touch startles both of you.

He clears his throat and moves away and you secretly wish he could keep doing it.

"You can stay here sweetheart. Have a ton of work to do for a clients motorcycle and shit" You nod sleepily but capture his hand before he leaves.

''Can you stay? Just for a little while?" you don't think he will say yes but you just wanted to ask.

For a second he looks hesitant then he agrees which elates you.

"Just until you fall asleep princess?" and that is fine by you, it's just lovely to cuddle into him for a little while.

"You're dangerous" he mumbles as his head rests on top of yours. His words puzzle you and you look up at him wanting to know what he means.

"Me" you whisper in disbelief and there's warmth in his eyes as he explains what he means.

"That little pout could get anything you wanted with that" he teases and you rejoice inside that he likes it.

The thought and sleepiness from all of those amazing orgasms lull you to sleep. When you wake up an hour later hes gone and you can hear him tinkering outside.

The fact he did stay with you for a little while though is enough to send you back to sleep with a big smile on your face.

❤️

A little while after that night, something in your relationship shifts again. The first time he stayed the night.

You hadn't expected him to stay. Not really, yet he did and you find yourself enchanted by Eddie when he's asleep, all of his defences down, peaceful.

Eddie lays on his stomach fast asleep, he's out for the count and his long limbs are sprawled across the bed, one of them entwined with yours.

He shifts a little and gives you a view of his chest.

Subconsciously your hand trails gently over a large scar of his, there are a few scars or scar tissue on his body and you want to ask what happened for him to get these marks.

You want to ask but you don't because you know it's a sore subject for him. Ever so gently you place a soft kiss on the scar tissue on his chest, then the one on his neck that is hidden by a tattoo.

When you look up at him he's watching you his gaze slowly turning gentle.

"What are you doing?" his voice is low, sleepy and sexy, it makes you tingle.

"Kissing you" His gaze trails down to the scar on his chest.

"My scars" he corrects you and you sit up, wanting to reassure him.

"I know you don't talk about them. Just wanted to give you kisses" He grins, then chuckles.

"Could you be any fucking cuter?" he asks you and it makes you feel giddy then he's silent for a moment before speaking again.

"I was attacked by bats princess" Bats? You raise an eyebrow.

"Vampire bats?" he motions for you to sit between his thighs, your head rested on his chest.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, baby, I haven't told this story to anyone in over twenty years" This intrigues you even more and you turn around and cup his cheek with your hand.

"I'm a good listener, try me" and so he did tell you, after you promised you would never tell anyone else. That's when you found out about the Upside Down, interdimensional monsters, demogorgons, demobats and Vecna.

"Like Freddy Krueger but real and more terrifying sweetheart"

You find out he was wanted for the murders Vecna committed because the first girl Chrissy killed by Vecna was murdered at his trailer when she was there for a drug deal due to the visions she had been having of Him.

He tells you about how he almost died and he has nightmares about The Upside Down, it's why he doesn't stay the night with anyone.

Until now.

That's the first night you realise how deeply you're falling for him.

❤️

Time passes and you fall for Eddie more and more. However Nancy's words play in the back of your mind about him being a bit of a fuckboi.

Or his friend and Nancy's younger brother Mike's words that he's surprised you've been around for so long because Eddie grew bored easily.

The words wouldn't leave your head because Eddie warned you that he hadn't been in love before, that he didn't want to and yet here you were with your heart laid open to him.

That earned a terrifying glare from Nancy and Mike scarpered.

She apologises but the words are saying heavier and heavier on you and you wonder how long it will be before Eddie grows bored of you.

You're scared you'll fall even more in love with him the longer you continue to see each other, the thought of him moving on without a care in the world leaves you hollow and leads you to react to protect your heart.

Eddie can see how upset you are and he has you in his arms, soothing you. Kissing your head, calling you his sweet girl.

It's like you could pretend that hes in love with you too but you know that isn't possible.

"Hey, talk to me sweetheart?" he caresses your cheek and it only makes what you have to say even harder.

Why did he have to be so wonderful? You curl up into his chest for a second before you move away.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore," you tell him even though it devastated you.

His eyes widen then flash with pain or at least that's what you think because he turns away very quickly.

"Why?" there's a crack in his voice and tears pool in your eyes.

"Because I've fallen in love with you" you admit truthfully.

"What, no you can't" He looks so stunned and you feel yourself shaking, the pain you feel is agonising.

"I do love you and you don't fall in love. That's what you told me and it was pointless because I did then I had some fairytale notion that maybe you might fall in love with me. Stupid huh?"

His fingers grip the table he's leaning behind and his expression resolves.

"You deserve better than me princess" princess, the thought of him not calling you that or hearing his voice devastates you but you have to be strong.

You can't force him to feel the same way about you, feelings don't work like that.

"That's where you're wrong Eddie, you don't know how lovely you are" you walk over to him and press a tender kiss to his lips.

"Guess this is goodbye then?" you murmur and choke back the tears. He is about to say something when Steve comes in and looks between the two of you.

"Uh, what's going on?" you flee before your emotions bubble over.

Don't cry, don't cry you say in your mind over and over again and you don't. Not until your in the privacy of your home and the painful emotions swallow you whole.

❤️

Eddie doesn't need you. He doesn't, he keeps telling himself that, thinks if he says it enough times that it will sink in.

But he misses you, he wakes up to an empty bed with his sheets smelling of your perfume and there's that burst of agony in his chest again.

Steve takes him out to a bar to cheer him up but all he can think of is you.

Every woman who comes up to him is turned away because they aren't you.

He can't even think about being with anyone else because all he craves is you.

It takes one more full day of misery, where Dustin and Steve finally have enough of his moping about and Robin and Nancy encourage him to find you again so you can talk.

"Eddie stop being a dingus when it's obvious you love her too. Life's too short to not grab happiness when you find it" Robin tells him and he gets up at that point, having enough of moping around.

He does need you, the time he's spent with you has been the happiest of his life.

He wants to see you, he wants you back.

❤️

It's late at night when you hear a knock at your door, you aren't expecting anyone but figure it could be Nancy or Robin coming to check on you.

All you planned to do tonight was pig out on ice cream and watch horror movies- you were staying far far away from romance films for a little while.

Wiping your eyes you get up and answer the door.

Eddie is standing outside and he's holding a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, ones you can tell that he picked himself that are also mixed with your favourite flowers.

"I had to see you" You take in his appearance, the stubble growing over, the way his eyes have shadows under them like he hasn't slept.

He looks like how you feel inside.

"Hi," you murmur and he half smiles.

"Can we talk?" you nod and motion for him to come in. Why was he here? Was he here to tell you he had moved on or something?,

The thought is like a vice grip on your heart, that doesn't make sense though maybe he's here to return some of your things? You had one of his shirts here.

Or maybe he misses you as much as you miss him a hopeful voice says in your head which sounds a lot like Nancy.

"I miss you" he admits straight away and you itch to cuddle him and never let go.

"I miss you too" Your voice cracks and the tears come again and hes at you at once wiping them away ever so tenderly.

"I can't do this sweetheart, I can't not have you in my life" His confession stuns you because you convinced yourself so badly that he didn't feel the same.

"You know I love you Eddie, I know I can't force you to feel the same way, I never would force you to feel the same"

His voice is soft, cracking for a second then grows stronger. "I know that but here's the thing I've fallen in love with you, sweetheart, I can't imagine my life without you in it and I don't want to. I want you and only you for the rest of my life"

"Eddie" you sob and he smiles taking your hand in his, pressing a tender kiss to your lips.

"I love you today, tomorrow and forever if you'll have me" You nod and the euphoria hits you, the feeling that this wonderful man loves and wants to be with you.

"Yes. Yes, I love you Eddie Munson" He smiles and holds you tight, lips on your forehead and a whole new world of happy possibilities blooming for the two of you.

❤️

[juniperskye]

Why are you in my head? Pt. 2

Sneak Peek: Eddie and you are soulmates. The legend of soulmates is that you start to hear one another’s thoughts around age 16 – not all the time, but when you’re feeling a strong emotion. It simply flows out of you and into the other, the legend also states that the closer you are, the more you can hear them. **The events of season 4 did NOT happen** I did also use some of the dialogue

Bold are Eddie’s thoughts; Italics are reader’s thoughts. (mind you, they are essentially hearing both sets of thoughts)

Eddie Munson x Fem Sunshine! Reader (Soulmate AU)

Fluff/Angst - Part 1 Part 3 Part 4** Part 5

Word count: 2255

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, explicit language, no use of y/n, fem reader, mentions of drugs/sale of drugs/drug use, arguing, mentions of Eddie’s drug addict parents, teeny tiny glimpse into reader’s past, let me know if I missed any!

That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

So, I have 3 more parts mapped out for this story, making it 5 total parts. Please, Please, PLEASE let me know if you want it!!? I would love to write it.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You both let out a quiet chuckle.

All at once, colors were brighter, smells were sweeter, touches were softer. Everything came together in that moment; you couldn’t believe it. Here he was.

Before either of you could introduce yourself, the bell rang out, signaling that lunch was over. How long had you been standing here? Looking at him, seeing him for the first time, it made time stand still.

Don’t go. Not yet.

Neither of you made a move to leave. The cafeteria was slowly emptying around you, the reality of this moment creeping in. The second bell ringing brought you out of your thoughts, you looked into his eyes again and pulled back slightly.

“Shit! I can’t be late on my first day!” You hissed.

“Oh god O’Donnell is gonna kill me!” He facepalmed.

“You have O’Donnell this hour too? Also, you seem to be late to her class a lot.” You giggled.

“You’re in O’Donnell’s right now?” He questioned.

You nodded in confirmation. A grin took over his face, he grabbed your hand and began speed walking to her classroom. As you came up to the door, he looked over at you and nodded.

“Follow my lead.” He whispered.

You walked into the classroom, and everyone fell silent. Mrs. O’Donnell looked over at the two of you, and judging by her expression, she was less than impressed by your tardiness.

“Eddie Munson. I told you that if you were late to my class one more time I would be forced to fail you.” O’Donnell croaked.

“Mrs. O’Donnell, I understand that, but I couldn’t possibly let our new student wander the halls aimlessly.” He explained.

She looked at you, awaiting some sort of confirmation. When she was met with an enthusiastic nod from you, she finally relented. She looked down at her attendance chart and took note of the new student listed on it.

“Welcome to Hawkins High. Now both of you have a seat. Don’t make tardiness a habit.” She bit.

Eddie gestured for you to go first toward the back of the room. Once seated, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You couldn’t help the blush that crept its way onto your cheeks. His stare was keeping you from concentrating on Mrs. O’Donnell’s lecture about the debates you’d all be writing and then acting out in a week. You had no clue what the topics were, and you only hoped that she had put all the information on the handout that had been passed back to you.

God you’re so cute. I am so glad it’s you.

A giant shit eating grin enveloped Eddie’s face and you realized he must’ve heard that thought. You realized that you knew his name now, thanks to Mrs. O’Donnell, but he still didn’t know yours. You decided to pull out a pen and your notebook so you could write it down for him.

You caught his attention as you scribbled your name onto the paper, making sure to add a tiny heart next to it. You folded the paper up and passed it to him. If you thought his smile had been big before, well you were wrong, because you were sure this one would split his face in two.

A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

Your face immediately heated and turned bright red. You just had to make it through a few more minutes, then this class would end, and you get to really talk to Eddie before your next one. Only a few more hours and you might actually get to spend some time with him.

You had called your parents after O’Donnell’s class to let them know you’d be getting a ride home with a friend. You didn’t want to tell them that you had met your soulmate just yet, you figured you should get to know him a little bit first.

When that final bell rang you all but ran out the front doors of the school. Eddie had told you to meet him at his van. As you glanced around the parking lot you could see the cliques, jocks hanging out by fancy sports cars, theater kids sitting on the picnic tables in the courtyard, and the Hellfire boys, well, they were loitering around Eddie’s big beat-up van.

His face lit up when he noticed you, that’s when you ran towards him. As you neared closer, he opened his arms and you leapt into them. He spun you around once before letting your feet land back on solid ground.

I want to kiss you so bad.

Please kiss me.

With that, Eddie leaned down and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. Eddie’s friends whooped behind you, which caused you to blush. You could see the confusion on some of their faces.

“Guys! This is her; this is my soulmate!” Eddie announced.

“Holy shit dude!”

“No way.”

“How much did you pay this girl to fake it for you?”

“Dude she’s way out of your league.”

“That’s awesome man!”

Eddie’s friends all spoke at once, it was hard to understand what any of them were really saying. But the gist of it was that most of them thought you were joking. You figured that his friends probably messed with him like this a lot, perhaps this was how their friendship was, lots of joking and messing around. Your heart hurt a little that his friends would assume you guys were lying, but you figured he’d tell you if it had upset him.

“Guys I’m serious! This is her, we met at lunch!” Eddie exclaimed.

“Hi.” You gave a small wave.

Eddie’s friends were bombarding the two of you with questions, faster than you could take in. It was pretty overwhelming, the way they were all talking over one another. Eddie was spitting out answers as fast as they were throwing questions, and your mind could not keep up.

This is…ok. Woah. Slow down. What is happening?

“Hey guys, I would love to sit and chat with you, but I think I am going to take my soulmate here out for a drive.” Eddie said, as his hand moved to your lower back, and he led you to the van.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me; I could hear how anxious you were. They can be a lot, especially when you’re not used to being around them all the time.” He laughed sheepishly.

“I appreciate it either way. The whole shared thoughts thing really comes in handy!” You huffed a laugh.

Eddie put his hand out to hold your as he drove you to wherever you were going…you should probably ask him where he is taking you.

That night, you and Eddie were out well passed curfew. You had talked about nothing and everything. You shared all your favorite things, your hopes and dreams, your deepest secrets. Sharing with Eddie was easy. Talking with him was like breathing, it came naturally – you guessed that was the whole “soulmate” thing at play.

It had been one week since that night and honestly, things had been really good. Eddie picked you up for school (he had yet to meet your parents yet), you sat with Eddie and the Hellfire guys at lunch, he walked you to your classes and waited for you at his van after school.

Things were perfect…or so you thought.

Soulmates had this sort of stereotype behind them. People always said soulmates didn’t fight, that the shared thoughts sort of helped to clear things up before they escalated to a full-blown argument. Things were meant to be easy, simple even. It was the fault of this stereotype that the argument threw you off guard.

The thought had slid into your mind during your last class of the day. You were sitting in history, listening to Mr. Warner drone on and on about a war, you were too distracted to remember which one it had been.

Two pre-rolls and a small baggie of shrooms…shit I gotta meet her in 5 minutes!

What the fuck is that about? You couldn’t help the upset feeling creeping into your veins. Pre-rolls had to be weed, and shrooms? Was Eddie buying drugs? And who is the girl he is meeting to get them from? Your mind was racing with all kinds of questions, you felt guilty about being mad at Eddie, but why would he keep this from you? You two had shared so much with one another in the last week.

When the final bell rang, you took your time getting your things from your locker and then slowly made your way to Eddie’s van.

As you approached it, you noticed a severe lack of brown curls. Your stomach sank, realizing that he still must be with her…whoever she was, buying drugs.

Why would he keep this from me?

The thought had hit Eddie like a freight train. He immediately kicked himself, he knew he should have told you about this side hustle of his, but he was scared you would judge him…but now you’d found out because his thoughts are so fucking loud and he’s a total jackass for keeping it from you.

He made quick work of the deal, it had been with some random theater girl and her boyfriend wanting to enjoy their weekend.

Eddie practically ran to his van to meet up with you and he noticed the far off look you were wearing.

“Hey baby!” Eddie reached to pull you into a hug.

“Hi Eddie.” You returned his hug with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

“Let’s go for a drive yeah? I want to talk to you about something.” Eddie suggested.

“Oh, yeah, okay.” You nodded.

The two of you got into Eddie’s van and he drove you to the clearing by the lake. There was a heavy awkward silence for a bit, your thoughts just circling round and around in your head. And judging by the look on Eddie’s face, he was clearly experiencing the same thing.

“I need to talk to you about something.” Eddie started.

“Okay…” You waited.

“I realize that a thought of mine may have made its way to you. A thought that had to do with something I have neglected to share with you yet. Listen sweetheart, I uh, I deal. It’s just to make some extra cash, ya know, to help Uncle Wayne out and to save until I have enough to get the hell out of this place.” Eddie rambled on.

“Wait a second. You’re the one dealing the drugs?” You asked.

“Yeah…did you think I was buying?”

“Eddie, you sell drugs? That’s illegal! I don’t understand, you could get a different job if you want to save money. Why would you do something so reckless?” You questioned.

“Woah. What the hell. I know it’s illegal, but I’m smart about it and didn’t you hear me? I am doing this for Wayne…and for us! Dealing makes me way more money than flipping burgers at big boy or renting out movies to asshole pre-teens. You’re my soulmate, I thought you’d at least try to understand!” Eddie snapped.

“Eddie, you purposely kept this from me. Which just proves to me that you know that this is wrong. I know that other jobs may not make you as much money, but at least they’re legal and don’t run the risk of you being sent to PRISON. Because that is where you would end up if you got caught Eddie. Prison! Did you ever stop to think about what that would mean to the people who care about you. To your uncle Wayne, to Dustin, to me? How could you be so careless?” You waved your arms as you spoke, growing more and more frustrated.

“Jesus. Of course you don’t get it!” Eddie sighed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You couldn’t believe him right now.

“You were born with a fucking silver spoon in your mouth babe. You have never wanted for anything. Your parents are well off and you have always gone to good schools with new supplies and a nice backpack. I mean fuck, your parents moved you here, set up this incredible room for you, bought you a car, and still ask you what you need or want. I live in a trailer and before that, I was growing up in an even smaller trailer that my parents were doing and selling crack out of. I am doing what I have to, to make sure I am set up when it comes time for me to leave Hawkins.” Eddie was practically yelling by the end of his rant.

You sat there, your mouth opening, then closing again. You weren’t sure what to say. Eddie had clearly gone through some really difficult shit that you hadn’t been aware of, but he was also assuming that your life had been perfect, which couldn’t have been further from the truth.

This conversation had truly made you feel sick to your stomach. How was this meant to work. How was Eddie meant to be your soulmate if he thought so little of you. And how were you meant to be his soulmate if you couldn’t agree with what was obviously a part of his life. You clearly had a lot to think about and you couldn’t do that right now, not with the tension that was beginning to suffocate you in Eddie’s van. So you did what you thought best.

“Take me home please.” You whispered.

[zeroeightzeroone]

Hiyaa,

I have a request?

Producer!Bang chan x reader

Established relationship

Angst/comfort

Bang chan is in a bad mood so when he's at the studio he shouts at a co-worker he's close to/ 3racha member.

The co-worker/3racha member leaves and bumps into reader (who was already on the way to the studio? Because they haven't spent time together in a while?) and like hints at chan's bad mood.

Reader enters studio and chan starts to get mad but like reader is like "can I sit on your lap?" and he's like ❔ and she's like "you can continue working, can I sit on your lap?" and he's like "... Yeah?". Then it's fluff fluff fluff because fluff is the best 💯💯🚫🧢. Like a lot of fluff.

Oh also can you work in the reader saying something along the lines of "I get your frustrated but can you please not speak to me like that?" 🥺

And like chan gets more at peace/ relaxed/ less frustrated and apologies to coworker/ member and yeah and they all live happily ever after

creative differences - bang chan

genre: angst, comfort, eventual fluff

pairings: idol/producer!bang chan x fem!reader

warnings: chan is snappy, use of profanity

notes: thank you so much for your request <3 i hope i did it justice. this may also be the longest fic i've posted on this account with a little over 4.3k words

wc ~4.3 | moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

since their debut, the company had already set expectations that the boys would have at least two comebacks a year–one in the first half of the year and another in the latter half. if they wanted to have more than two, they could, but two was the absolute least. the first comeback of this year for the boys went off without a hitch, resulting in topping multiple charts and receiving a handful of music show wins. however, the process for this second comeback of the year was already off to a rocky start, and the road ahead only looks winding and increasingly difficult.

the boys of 3racha have been in the studio every day for the past couple of weeks brainstorming and trying to put things together for the upcoming release. but they all seem to be hitting walls, or the ideas clash due to the amount of stress and pressures looming over their heads. so many people are counting on them–the members, producers, choreographers, and the jyp entertainment team, stay. and as the days in the studio pass, with the boys not agreeing on songs, arrangements, mixing, and more, the weight on their shoulders increases as well.

bang chan, the leader of stray kids and 3racha, felt the pressures even more so than changbin and han did.

currently, the three boys find themselves in chan's room inside the jyp entertainment building; chan is seated on the rolling chair in front of the multiple screens and mixing boards, while changbin and han are seated on either end of the couch. the three of them with their phones, laptops and notebooks opened up as they continue to brainstorm and discuss. but much like weeks prior, the progress isn't progressing, the progress is lacking or non-existent.

letting a deep sigh slip past his lips, han's eyebrows furrow in frustration as he scratches over old bullet points and writes new ones in his notebook, looking for ideas that could work. changbin is scrolling through his notes app and audio recording app, intermittently bringing the speakers at the bottom of his phone closer to his ear to hear the audio better as it's turned down to not disturb the other two, changbin tapping his fingers on his knee as he listens with his lip pursed in a tight line. chan is doing a mix of what the two are doing; writing and scratching out old and new ideas in his notebook, scrolling through his notes and audio recording apps to find something that they could work with, as well as filing through the production hardware on the system to find any drafts that could also be used to at the least, spark some inspiration.

at one point, chan feels like he's going to tug his hair out by the roots as he runs his fingers through his locks haphazardly. he's reaching the end of his patience; they've been working for weeks, and they can't even find a starting place for the comeback–he feels as if all the old material he finds in the apps aren't good enough, that they won't exceed the expectations or hype of the last comeback, that it won't even reach those expectations. it's frustrating chan to no end as he feels like he's reaching a dead end.

with a sigh, chan turns in his chair to discuss with han and changbin who are on the couch. when changbin notices this, he glances at han from the corner of his eye, surveys the atmosphere, and runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

"we need to figure something out," chan splutters out, his mind quite frantic, "we have to have some ideas–at least something?"

he looks between changbin and han on the couch, their faces look just as discontented and their minds are frantic but blank at the same time–mirroring chan's own face and mind. chan shuts his eyes in an attempt to calm down his bubbling emotions as he leans back into his chair.

"we could look through the demos again?" han throws a suggestion onto the table.

"which ones?" changbin questions.

han shrugs while at the same time he says, "all of them?"

"why would we look through demos we already vetoed?" chan scoffs, "that would be a complete waste of time."

"it's just a suggestion," han restates, this time his tone laced with hints of irritation, "maybe one of those vetoed demos could actually work; we just need to rework it."

"this isn't the first time we've gone through the demos in the past couple of weeks," chan reminds, "if one of those demos could actually work, we would've found it on the first or second round of looking."

"what demos are you thinking of specifically?" changbin asks han, who shrugs.

"i don't know, but what harm is there to look again?"

chan groans in agitation, not understanding why han is so adamant about looking through the demos again: "this would probably be the fourth time–why waste our time with a fifth? we want to make progress, looking for a fifth time is a complete waste of time."

the older boy's tone is sharp, prompting an eye roll from the youngest in the room, his arms going up in protest: " hey. it was just a suggestion–at least something to get the ball rolling." he reiterates chan's words from the beginning of the conversation.

"how is doing something that hasn't worked the past four times for a fifth going to work? if it didn't work a majority, if not, all the past times–it's not going to work," the tension in the room continues to build.

"wouldn't it be better to start from scratch instead of looking through ideas that we already decided weren't working?" changbin chimes in.

at this, han starts to feel like the two older boys are ganging up against him, and he defends himself quickly, "once again, it was just a suggestion. i don't see either of you suggesting anything."

changbin scoffs, "did I not just suggest starting from scratch instead of looking through rejected ideas?"

han turns his head to face changbin on the other end of the couch, "haven't we also been trying to start from scratch these past couple of weeks? that also hasn't been working–if it did, we wouldn't be having this conversation!"

"how are we supposed to start from scratch if we have no ideas?" chan asks in a matter-of-fact tone.

"if we look through the old demos, put some together or play around, then maybe we can find ideas," han speaks slowly as if he's trying to enunciate his point to drill it into the other two's heads, "it's better than sitting at our notebooks and laptops and writing down, absolutely nothing."

han's method of slowing down and enunciating seems to have gone through changbin's head as he begins to see han's point. if they can't conjure something up from nothing, they might as well try to conjure something up from their old demos or many recordings of melodies that have come to mind in the past. putting things together could trigger some inspiration.

"no, i think han has a point here," changbin states, "if we have no foundation or starting point, we can't build anything on top of it. at least with the old demos, we can continue to build off of what we have."

a deep breath expels from chan's lips as he listens to both han and changbin bounce words of agreement off each other for this working with old demos plan.

"again," chan says slowly, "if it didn't work the past four times, why would it work now? the odds are not in your favour."

"but there's still a chance it could work," han argues, "if there's a chance, why not take it?"

chan tongues at his cheek, "because we have a deadline. we can't keep grasping at straws that are obviously not working."

"starting from scratch and coming up with absolutely nothing is also not going to help us meet the deadline."

"so you want to create an album of demos we've rejected? you want to release a subpar album?" chan taunts.

"that's not what i'm saying," han shakes his head.

"that's what i'm hearing!"

"look, hyung," changbin steps in, "just listen to us for a second."

"i'm listening," chan snaps, "and i disagree. we have a standard to reach, one to exceed. i'll be damned if we release something below that."

"why the hell would we release something below standard?" changbin scoffs, running his hands through his hair and over his face in exasperation. letting his hands linger on his face as he leans forward, elbows on his knees.

the youngest in the room snaps at chan, "the fuck? is this you saying you lack faith in our producing skills? that we can't rework old demos to produce something that not only hits that standard but exceeds it?"

the sharp change in han's tone and volume alerts changbin, who realizes this conversation–well now it's an argument–is getting out of hand. chan and han are practically at each others throats and they're both too headstrong but stubborn at the same time, neither of them will back down. obviously, avoiding conversation wasn't going to get them anywhere, but at this point, where emotions are high, and egos are even higher, no meaningful or productive conversation regarding the album will be shared. changbin realizes he needs to jump into action to diffuse the situation before it becomes a screaming match between the two heated bandmates.

"i'm saying we have a standard, we have expectations to uphold," chan speaks slowly, his voice deeper as he's practically sneering at han, "one that the company has for us, stay, everyone."

han snarls back, eyes throwing daggers in chan's direction, "i know that. i know that damn fucking well. i'm out here trying to innovate some sort of progress toward this album, progress that we have been severely lacking for the past couple of weeks. other than rejecting our ideas, what the hell have you been doing?" he raises his chin at the older boy in a provoking manner.

"han–" changbin starts but is quickly cut off by chan.

"what the hell have i been doing?" chan spits out the question, han nods, "i've been making sure all our releases since debut continue to surpass these standards–this upcoming album is no different. don't come into my studio questioning what the fuck i've been doing."

"hyung–" changbin tries again to no avail.

"maybe you should leave," chan hisses, and changbin's eyes widen, darting between the two other boys in the studio with fires in their eyes, "and come back when you have suggestions that aren't going to waste my fucking time."

"look, guys. hannie, channie hyung–" changbin is cut off again when han rises to his feet, jaw clenched as he stares down chan in front of him, eyes narrowed.

"fine. i'll leave," he declares, "this is a waste of my time. i'll come back when you've got your head out of your fucking ass and you're open to listening to anyone other than yourself."

chan spins back around in his chair, eyes rolling back in anger as he clenches his fists on the table. behind him, han is quickly packing up his laptop and notebook as changbin gulps, wracking his brain to think of who to attend to right now. when han stomps to the studio door, swinging it open and stomping out into the hall of the company building. changbin is quick to follow after him, leaving everything but his phone, keys and wallet in his pocket the whole time as he follows after han, shutting the door behind them, leaving chan to his own thoughts alone. he chooses to follow the younger boy to try to calm him down and ensure he's safe wherever he plans to run off to.

meanwhile, you're a couple moments away from the elevator reaching the same floor the three boys are on. your hands clasped in front of you as you keep an eye on the digital sign that changes with each floor, rocking back and forth on your heels to pass the time. you haven't seen your boyfriend in quite a while due to your conflicting schedules, work and life getting in the way of a relationship, but you were grateful for those moments in between the chaos where it was just steady love and happiness. you learned to cherish those small moments instead of grovelling over how much time you can't spend with your boyfriend–obviously you get sad once in a while when you're away from him but choose not to dwell on it. thankfully, tonight is one of those nights where you can spend your time in the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. but he has no idea that you were even planning on coming to the company building, he has no idea of this little surprise you've organized.

when the elevator dings, stopping at your floor, you exit quickly but you make your way down the hallway slowly. your head moving from left to right as you read the numbers on each door, ensuring you landed on the correct floor and were going in the right direction. when you hear footsteps and your eyes dart to changbin and han walking down the hall in your direction, a wave of relief washes over you until you catch a glimpse of the concern on changbin's face and the anger on han's. they notice you walking towards them belatedly, almost running into you, but you catch their attention before any collision.

"hey guys," you greet softly, concern written on your features at the sight of the two boys. eyes looking between changbin whose eyes are drooped with worry and han, who you can feel the anger radiating off of, "what's going on?"

they both exchange small greetings with you. given han's current state, his greetings are shorter and more reserved. his mouth shut and jaw clenched again once he's greeted you.

"creative differences," changbin says to which han scoffs, rolling his eyes, "ok well, that's how it started, but long story short, we got into an argument, and hannie walked out."

"we?"

changbin nods, "yeah, hannie, chan hyung and i."

your lips purse in a tight line when the second name rolls off changbin's tongue: "if you don't mind, could you explain what happened?"

not wanting to get into too much detail as changbin doesn't want further rile up the already upset han, he gives you a quick run down of the main points of the argument between the 3racha boys–mainly chan and han. you keep your mouth shut the whole time and nod, listening intently to changbin explain while han stands with his arms crossed over his chest, a prominent pout on his lips and his eyebrows knit together.

"you're on your way to see, channie hyung?" changbin asks for clarification and you nod, "okay, obviously after what i told you, he's in a really bad mood right now so proceed with caution. angry chan is scary chan."

you thank changbin for letting you know what happened from their perspective, bidding short goodbyes to both the boys as han and changbin decide to make their way back to the dorms. han needs some time to unwind and collect his thoughts after the spat with chan. you continue to walk down the hall, turning a corner and finding the room number that felix sent you earlier–103.

you knock on the door softly but hear nothing from the inside; you knock once again and hear nothing. you sigh and decide to turn the knob, letting yourself in.

chan heard the knocks; the first one sparked his annoyance, and the second continued to heighten it. the sound of the door being opened caused him to bark at whoever decided to come in when, through his silence, he clearly didn't grant the permission to.

"what the hell?" he mutters to himself before he barks out, turning in his chair, "complete silence after knocking is not an invitation to come in, fuckin–"

when chan fully turns in his chair to face the direction of the door, the words get caught in his throat at the sight of you. he assumed it might have been changbin, han or a staff member, but seeing you standing there took him by complete shock. you shut the door behind you and give chan a small wave that he reciprocates hesitantly, still trying to let it sink in that you're actually in the room with him and that he isn't hallucinating due to how long it's been since the last time he's seen his girlfriend in person. you move to sit on the couch that was once occupied by the two other 3racha members; now, one side is occupied by changbin's laptop and notebook while you sit on the opposite end. chan turns his chair, following your every move.

when you sit down, take the pillow and place it on your lap, you smile up at chan again, "hi."

"hey baby," chan speaks slowly, "what are you doing here?"

you hum before answering, "well, we haven't been able to see each other in a while cos of our schedules but some time opened up for me today, so i wanted to pay you a surprise visit."

chan feels his heart warm at the gesture, but he's still quite irritated and agitated from the argument with han and changbin. the lack of progress for the upcoming album, along with the plethora of expectations looming over his head and his patience begins to dwindle again.

"that's nice, but i don't really have time for this right now," chan's tone is stern, his voice deep in warning, "i've got so much shit to do for this upcoming album, and nothing is fucking–"

"can I sit on your lap?" you ask, cutting chan off and causing him to furrow his eyebrows together in a mix of confusion and irritation–irritated that you had cut him off but confused about whether he had heard you right.

"what?" he deadpans, blinking at you.

"can I sit on your lap?" you repeat, and now he knows he definitely didn't hear things.

"did you not hear what i said?" chan holds back from snarling at you in frustration. "nothing is done for the album, and i don't have time to take a break."

you nod, hearing his words but adding, "you can continue working. i just want to sit on your lap while you do."

chan opens his mouth to refuse, but his eyes lock with yours–your shiny, beautiful eyes with a perfect array of colours decorating the irises, gazing up at him with a splash of hope in the depths of love in your eyes. that's when his mouth snaps shut again, probably looking like a fish when it opens again, but this time he says:

"yeah? sure."

the bright smile that stretches on your face feels like a reward to chan. you make your way over, placing yourself on his lap while facing him; thankfully, chan's chair is big enough for you to practically straddle him in a comfortable position. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and nuzzle yourself into his neck.

"you can go back to work now," you say, your voice muffled from the pressure of your lips against his skin.

chan can't help the lopsided smile that makes its way to his lips. he also can't help the way his whole body seems to relax with your touch; the longer he feels the warmth radiating off your body onto his, the more he feels the tension in his muscles deteriorating slowly. the feeling of your body pressed against his, his arms outstretched to continue typing or writing in his notebook, feels comforting.

moments pass when chan's room is quiet, and the occasional noise of chan typing on the keyboard, picking up or placing his pencil down to scratch down who knows what in his notebook. at the same time, you're still perched on his lap, your arms comfortably draped around him, and your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

chan isn't sure if the arguing with han and changbin or if the feeling of you in his arms sparked some ideas to come out of him and onto paper, but he would like to say both. despite the heated atmosphere and half-hearted words thrown around, he doesn't want to feel like that argument was completely unnecessary and a waste of time; instead, he wants to see it as a bump in the road that shows him how he can continue to improve as a friend, producer, bandmate and a person as a whole.

meanwhile, you're thinking about how comfortable you feel in the position your in right now, and how you could probably fall asleep at this moment. sure, maybe your back will hurt when you wake up, but right now, you feel your whole body relax in your boyfriend's arms. a couple moments later, your eyes are half open and you felt yourself falling asleep, but you jump a little in shock when you feel both of chan's hands sprawled on your back. his hands rub your back gently and comfortingly before he circles his arms around your body and pulls you closer. a deep sigh escaping his lips as he holds you, his eyes falling shut for a few seconds. chan turns his head, kissing the side of your head on your hair.

"thank you," he whispers, placing another gentle kiss as his hands rub circles on your back again.

you respond in a small, quiet and slightly sleepy voice, "for what?"

chan shrugs, "for this. being here."

you nod, pausing for a moment before you say, "i ran into changbin and han in the hall."

you feel your boyfriend tense up in your arms. you begin to reciprocate his comforting action as you trace circles on his back with the pads of your thumbs, his muscles relaxing under your gentle caresses. you continue to speak in a soft, timid manner that only chan can hear since your lips are so close to his ear.

"i know you're under a lot of stress and pressure preparing for the album," you begin, "i get that you're frustrated, but can you please not speak to me like that?"

the man feels his heart drop listening to your words. his mind rewinds back to when he heard the door opening, and how his first instinct was to bark and scold whoever came into the studio uninvited. chan remembers how you blinked and gave him a small smile, trying to hide your surprise, but it was evident in how your eyes widened the slightest bit for a split second before returning to normal.

you and chan sit in silence; he's dwelling on your words while you're still tracing circles into his back with your thumbs. chan wants to say that he didn't know you were the one coming into the studio, to use that as a defence, but he knows how weak that is–that regardless of who came into the room, he shouldn't have let his frustrations blow over, flipping out and greeting them by raising his voice. sure, his emotions were high, which is a factor in how he acted earlier, but he can't use that as an excuse to get away with snapping at people who have nothing to do with what he's emotional about.

you feel chan nod, and he says softly, "i'm sorry." you go to say that it's okay, but chan interrupts, "it's not, though. even if i didn't mean to speak to you that way, i still need to figure out how to regulate and control my emotions."

"you're human," you say, "when emotions are high, it's hard to find a way to keep them under control all the time. but the fact that you recognize your mistake–that's a lot more than many people can say."

chan pulls you even closer against him, if it's even possible, "i'll try my best though. i'll speak to you at a normal volume, respectfully and saying sweet things. that's what my girl deserves."

your cheeks heat up at the way chan calls you 'his girl'.

"thank you," chan repeats.

this time, you pull away, sitting up straight to look at chan's face, your eyes meeting his soft ones. his hands rub up and down your sides slowly, a slight smile on his lips. you cock your head in confusion, "for what?"

"you always know the right thing to say," chan moves one of his hands up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, keeping his hand on your cheek gently and the pad of his thumb swiping over the skin, "i love you."

you're blushing even harder now, "i love you too."

chan uses the hand on your cheek to guide your face so your lips meet his halfway for a sweet kiss. after quite a while, a smile breaks out on your face at the feeling of his soft pink and plump lips against yours. your hands move to hold either side of his neck, and the two of you spend the next couple of moments sharing tender kisses and giggles in between.

in the midst of all of the kisses, you and chan are gazing down at each other when he brushes your hair away again. this time, he opens his mouth to speak with flushed cheeks, "i'm starting to think han and his suggestions were right; it'll be better to build on something we already have and improve on it than to force ourselves to start from scratch and continue to hit a dead end."

you brush chan's hair out of his forehead, and he continues.

"my head was too far up my ass to consider his suggestion," chan purses his lips together, and his eyes flash with regret as he recalls the words thrown around between him and the younger producer earlier. chan lets himself linger in his head again before voicing his concerns, "do you think they'll forgive me?"

you nod.

"really? you're not just saying that?"

you nod again, and this time, you explain, "as long as you can identify and acknowledge where you went wrong and what you did wrong, and sincerely and genuinely apologize–which i know you feel sincerely and genuinely apologetic for–i believe they'll forgive you."

chan's eyelids flutter quickly as he thinks, nodding as he fully processes your words. still, a wave of nervousness washes over him at the possibility that han and changbin won't forgive him.

"they're your brothers," you snap him out of his thoughts, "brothers fight, but at the end of the day, they still love each other."

main masterlist

[shibaraki]

THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: teachers are like bridges, there to facilitate students on their ungainly journey through life. add a war, a new subject, a gaggle of traumatised children and a handsome coworker with an apparent sleeping disorder — see where the bridge leads.

tags: GN reader (called 'Sensei'), coworkers to lovers, reader is a UA teacher (quirk science), single parent aizawa (adopted eri), some workplace shenanigans, meddling kids (class 2A + B), mutual pining, fluff + angst, learning difficulties, mental health (alluded PTSD), getting together, post war arc (heavily implied spoilers ahead), first kisses + making out, suggestive content + heavy themes, HAPPY + HOPEFUL END

wc: 19K

From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Welcome to UA! Message:  Good morning!  It is my pleasure to welcome you to UA — we are very excited to have you aboard! The files attached to this email are as follows:  

A map of the campus

The UA handbook and Emergency guideline

The Teachers Code of Conduct 

Please refer back to these regularly to familiarise yourself with everything. As we discussed in our prior phone call a place has been prepared in the teachers dormitory in preparation for your move. Your key and security badge are at the reception desk. Please bring identification to collect them. Do let me know if you require a reserved spot in the parking area. 

One last thing to note: 

The staff lounge and kitchen is located in the west wing of the first floor heroics building. It is regularly restocked with snacks and beverages. The coffee machine is also available to you at any time. Feel free to help yourself!

If you have any further questions you can email me or call me. I will get back to you as soon as possible. 

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall. 

It towers above your head, reinforced concrete and steel reaching for the heavens, housing weapons you could only imagine. Gone is the classic archway that once welcomed students with open arms. The public walkway leading uphill to the school is cordoned off. 

Even alongside global assistance progress was slow. A large chunk of Musutafu had remained levelled— debris and dust, unrecognisable. After the battle ended, rebuilding the country came first. Hospitals and emergency services were given priority; more shelters followed close behind, and once given the go ahead, individuals confined to UA were able to slowly integrate back into their own communities. 

One step at a time. Life stops for nothing, that is clearer than ever. 

You qualified as a quirk specialist, mainly working with college students, teaching science, history and philosophy of quirks. Principal Nedzu was an old acquaintance. You crossed paths at a conference or two, and you saw his name in citations of papers you read from time to time, but it never grew beyond professional respect. Thus, having him reach out to you through your private number had come as a big surprise. 

After the war a number of the current student’s quirks had evolved at an unprecedented rate, largely due to the trauma and strain they endured. He expressed his wish to include quirk study in the new curriculum and reasoned that having someone with your credentials on staff would not only ease the anxiety of the teenagers, but also that of the remaining teachers, who were inexperienced in dealing with stress manifestation. 

The call ended an hour later with a sixty three page contract in your inbox and a new job. You covered a broad range of subjects but your field of study was an elective, therefore smaller than you are used to. Even so it was your territory now. You tried to own it. The desks have been rearranged into a U shape, charts with interactive pieces affixed to the surface, and you decorated the space with Nedzu’s express permission in hopes of making it inviting. 

Over a month into the term and you can’t yet say you regret taking up his offer.

“Phyletic gradualism and punctuated equilibrium are the two extremes in a continuous model of evolution. The first kind is a far more uniform and gradual accumulation of changes that subsequently generate new species…”

Your mouth keeps moving as you scan the classroom for the fifth time, words muffled by the brief loss of focus. The students don’t notice the lapse; most eyes are still on you, some clouded and others intent on listening. It’s a true miracle that nobody has fallen asleep—though Kaminari is always a close call. Beneath it all is the soft, frantic scratch of Midoriya’s pen to paper and his low mutter, holding the attention of a bone weary Bakugo. 

“…Comparatively, punctuated equilibrium proposes that once a species appears, it becomes stable, showing little evolutionary change until an event triggers a rapid speciation process”.

Yaoyorozu’s hand flies up and startles Shinsou to attention. Her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to your lips. You point to her, “Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“In that case, Sensei, would that mean that quirks are an example of punctuated equilibrium?” she asks. 

“That is the most agreed upon theory amongst the quirk science community,” you reply, directing the answer toward the entire class. There’s a scarce mix of Class A, B, and support students. Monoma straightens under your gaze. He’s flanked by Kouda, who returns a mousy smile, fingers idly petting Yuwai-chan, his pet rabbit. 

“Quirks are our reality—that much is undeniable. But with that comes a myriad of unknowns. How, why, and when did this happen to us?” Striding toward the board you uncap a blue marker with your teeth and write the phrase ‘theories’ down in large, neat penmanship. You cast a passing glance to the clock. Any minute now. 

“There is still no definitive answer. So for your next assignment I’m going to ask that you research and write an essay on a specific theory about the dawn of quirks,” you are helpless to the wicked grin that pulls across your mouth at their collective groan. “It’s due next Friday. That’s ten whole days to complete it! So generous, aren't I?” 

Overhead, a bell blares out an incessant ring to indicate the lessons end, and in a moment of synchronicity each student rouses from their chair. Bakugo shoves his hands into his pockets and makes a beeline for the door and ignores Midoriya’s aborted squawk as he shoves his notes into his backpack. 

“Thank you Sensei,” he stammers, rushing after the boy. “Wait for me, Kacchan!” 

Nobody calls attention to the seemingly tumultuous relationship. The 2A kids in particular watch their interactions with a trepid fondness. They’re always like that—or so Shinsou told you, once, barely audible over Bakugo’s incendiary growls as he hauled his childhood friend into a headlock. You understood it a little when you heard Midoriya’s bubbly laughter for the first time. And you let them be. 

The others file out slowly, lost in conversation or waiting on a friend. Iida stops at your desk and bows before leaving, bidding you an effusive goodbye, a habit he has steadfastly maintained no matter how much you assure him otherwise. In stark contrast the two subdued support students, Toma and Nakao, throw a simple salute with startling synchrony.

Just when you think you have some peace, a shadow crosses your peripheral vision. “Yo, Sensei,” Kaminari chirped. There’s an edge to his voice that draws your attention. Shinsou lingers nearby feigning disinterest as Kaminari fidgets with his blazer button. “About the—uh. About the essay…”

Blinking away your initial confusion you sit up in realisation. “Oh! That’s right,” Kaminari tenses as you lean across the desk, flicking through your copious bits of stationery. You peel off a cloud shaped sticky note and write down a date and time before handing it to the boy. 

“I scheduled a one to one so we can go over everything you’ve done before the deadline,” you explain gently. Kaminari takes the note between his fingers, grip delicate either end as though afraid it might tear. “Don’t worry if you lose that. I’m going to send the details to your student email, and I’ll remind you again on the day. That sound good?”

Had you been any younger your eyes might’ve stung at the clear wonder unfolding on his face; surprised and happy to be accommodated without interrogation. Now there is only a dull ache beneath your skull and resentment in your heart. His reaction spoke to the copious rejection he faced before UA. 

You’ve come to learn that children are only ever as brilliant as you allow them to be. 

“Y—yeah. That’s amazing, thanks Sensei,” Kaminari steadily brightens. His fist hits his chest with a quiet thump, “I won’t let’cha down!” 

“I’m sure you won’t. And please don’t forget to bring your overlays,” you call to them as they amble out into the hallway. Shinsou holds the door, nodding shortly in acknowledgement. The savoury smell of curry has already distracted Kaminari enough to have him forget your discussion. 

You sigh, hearing their laughter grow quiet in the distance. Another muted pang echoes through your skull. Expression contorted, you wince and gather your things, thoughts latched onto the lacquered bento box that awaits in the teachers lounge to distract from the pain. 

The once stream of bustling students becomes a mere trickle, stragglers hanging by the bathrooms, others cross legged in front of their lockers, grouped tightly together without causing obstruction. They appear wilted. An overarching air of despondency; grey against the brightly painted corridor. 

The muscles in your face twinge. You resolve to greet them all, offering a smile as sincere as you can muster despite the heaviness in your heart. For many of these kids, if not all, life would never be the same. So young, grappling with such unprecedented loss. 

You come to a halt. Lofty double doors loom. Your fingers curl into the recessed handle and you slide them open. Though the walls are bare, the windows are large, and into the staff lounge beams intrepid light. 

You’re met with a chorus of sluggish murmurs, few heads lifting to see who has entered. Of the faces present there are two you’re most familiar with—class 2A’s heroics mentor and their homeroom teacher. 

Yagi is hunched at his computer desk. A cardigan too large for his frame is draped across his shoulders and pools around his wrists. Cradled in one hand is a thermos covered in stickers. Steam pours from the open top, wispy tendrils curling into the air. You inhale and recognise the weak scent of bone broth. 

Those sunken eyes flicker as you approach, striking blue roving over your form. Whatever he sees must be cause for concern. “Are you feeling unwell?”

You had felt an immediate fondness for Toshinori Yagi when you first met him. The presence of All Might hung tangibly in the air, a stifling ode to his service that still unnerved those who did not know him, but you were different. Like his colleagues, you looked back and saw a well meaning, sweet but bumbling older man. 

“No, no,” you demurred. “It’s just a headache”. 

Yagi grimaces sympathetically, furrow etched into his brow. Hips slumped low on the staff sofa, garish yellow sleeping bag at his feet, Aizawa hums a low amused sound that draws your attention. You’re surprised he’s awake. “My kids will do that to you,” he murmurs. 

The Erasure hero’s head is tipped to bare his throat, jawline shadowed by stubble. Dark curtains of hair fall across his shoulders. Aizawa is handsome. This you cannot deny. Before you met you’d heard him described as quite the opposite. Yet here you are, magnetised to him; to his callous humour, and the rough, rare instances of laughter; to the sturdy body hidden beneath baggy clothing and the deep, blasé manner in which he speaks. 

You swallow the sight thickly and pinch the bridge of your nose with a self deprecating laugh. It’s just a silly crush. “Nothing like that,” you assure him. The chair creaks slightly beneath your thighs as you recline. “I don’t think I slept well last night”. 

Admitting it invites a sudden wave of fatigue. Aizawa is no stranger to exhaustion. You think he could probably sleep anywhere—hell, you’ve seen him sleep standing up. He regards you thoughtfully, and the longer he stares the warmer your collar becomes. You feel his scrutiny even as you avert your eyes. 

Incognisant to the tension, Yagi continues to fret. “Ah, that’s no good. Let me make you some coffee,” he insists, brushing off his pants as he stands. Yagi sheds the feeble slope from his shoulders and you blink at the burst of energy. 

“Alright. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you reply, voice dwindling as he ducks into the modest kitchen connected to the lounge. Aizawa clicks his tongue. 

“You’ll regret that,” he breathes, ensuring the other man would not hear. “Unless you’re a fan of drinking tar”. 

“Don’t be mean. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” your trembling lips press firmly together, not wanting to to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh. He exhales and shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your funeral’. 

Yagi soon returns holding a cup of coffee and your bento box. “Here. I thought you might want to eat,” he gives a signature toothy grin. You say nothing of the shake in his hands as he sets them down on your desk and bring the hot drink to your mouth. 

The coffee is awful. You hold your breath and smother the urge to cough, swallowing it down with feigned enthusiasm. The astringent taste lingers. A shudder runs throughout your body and you inhale sharply. “That—will definitely wake me up. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you rasp, trying to smile. Yagi looks rather pleased and gives a thumbs up. 

Next you look, Aizawa has shucked the sleeping bag up to his midsection and burrowed into his capture weapon, leaving only bloodshot eyes visible above the fabric. They’re crinkled at the edges and full of mirth—you interlock and he lifts his chin to mouth, “Told you”. 

That shouldn’t be so attractive, you think.

On the next mouthful of your rice you subtly uncurl your middle finger from beneath your chopsticks and pointedly flip it at Aizawa. He snorts, amused. 

“Gesundheit,” Yagi chimed between sips, enjoying the warm broth in his thermos flask. From what you understood he had to follow a strict liquid only diet. He could hardly stomach solids anymore. “Are you getting sick too, Aizawa-kun?” 

Aizawa sighs at the obliviousness, though you think he’s a little glad for it. 

The conversation tapers and the lunch hour crawls on. Your mind drifts to the students as you idly chew, grains ground to mush, vision blurring out of focus. Thankfully it appeared to be one of their better days. Shinsou remained awake for the entire period. Yaoyarozu participated confidently. The shadows under Bakugo’s eyes hadn’t been as severe. Iida’s legs had not restlessly bounced under the table. Midoriya kept his hands to himself and felt no need to feel for his friend's heartbeat. 

However one of your more boisterous spirits, Monoma, had been noticeably withdrawn. Kouda’s rabbit—trained to detect and assist with anxiety—scrambled into his arms on numerous occasions. 

Your skin prickles, alerted to the weight of someone’s gaze on your back. Not a second later you hear the low call of your name. Aizawa slips into the chair opposite, disconcertingly silent in his approach, and leans his chin against his fist. 

“If you keep thinking so hard, All Might really is going to give himself a hernia,” he mutters. 

Yagi’s lighthearted chuckle devolves into a harsh spluttering cough. “Blunt as always, Aizawa-kun,” he jokes, voice muffled by his hand. 

“I’m not sure he could even get a hernia…” you muse, offering him a tissue. Yagi nods in thanks as he wipes the blood from his mouth. “I was thinking about the kids, that's all”. 

Aizawa tilts his head. The sun settles at her highest point and golden pleats stretch across his face. These are the rare instances that his artificial eye becomes observable. Light refracts in the iris, glittering crimson through graphene layers. 

“They’ve really taken a shine to you,” he says, and it comes like an accusation, softened by the slight jut to his lips. You smirk, shutting your bento box and setting it aside. How wonderfully petty. 

“Curious?” 

“Midoriya burst into class last week and asked Tokoyami if he had a twin that he ate in the womb,” he drawls, brow twitching. Yagi splutters. “So yes, I’m curious what it is you’re teaching my students”. 

A fleeting sense of exasperation comes over you. Trust Midoriya to abandon delicacy in his eagerness. “I assume it’s because we covered the genetics of chimerism and how it relates to quirk inheritance,” you say, bemused. Hopefully Tokoyami was not offended. It’s a wonder he didn’t ask Todoroki.

“And how does it?” Yagi blink owlishly as you turn to him in surprise. “I’m curious!” he defends. 

“Oh. Well, genetic chimerism is when an organism has multiple sets of DNA often originating from the fusion of different zygotes,” you recite. Instinctively, your posture straightens as though you were back in the classroom. “This can happen with twin embryos. One absorbs the other and as a result, they have two sets of DNA”. 

“O—oh…?”

“So,” you continue, fingers wrung together in your lap, turning to give him your full attention. Colour drains from the retired hero’s cheeks. “The question I presented was this: would it then be possible for the surviving twin to inherit an additional quirk?”

“I see,” Yagi swallows and his grin strains at the edges as he realises you are waiting for a genuine answer. “Ah, I’m not—”

The lunch bell abruptly begins to ring. You both startle in your seats. Unperturbed, Aizawa pushes to his feet. His hair falls forward as he sways in place and meets your gaze. “As interesting as this is, we need to get to gym gamma for basic heroics,” he says, tone laced with monotony. 

Yagi jumps at the chance to escape. You try not to laugh. He continues to nervously glance over his shoulder, worried that you might be disheartened, but you wave them off happily. 

Coworkers come and go throughout the afternoon. Kurose keeps you company during their free period, later joined by Yamada, who insisted on quizzing you about western rock music. With no classes left to teach you spend the remainder of your day planning quirk counselling sessions, printing worksheets and sending routine emails, headache persisting. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  To: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  Subject: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Good afternoon,

Please see the two files I have attached to this email. One has a highlighted version of the essay brief, and another detailing how to structure an essay. 

As I mentioned, I have booked a one to one session for us to go over your draft and any concerns next week on [x] September 13:00 — 14:00. However do not hesitate to email me with any questions you have before this date. 

Take care!

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After the final bell rings you linger a while, not wanting to be swept away in throngs of students making their way to the dorms. There are no stragglers as you leave and your footsteps reverberate unsettlingly throughout the main building. 

The sky bleeds into early dusk with disquieting rays of light. Gentle enough that you can look directly into the sun and see the canvas it paints. Standing in the middle of the walkway, balefully watching the far off horizon, the early autumn air makes you shiver. 

Living on campus was a big change. Even so you had little to complain about. The staff dormitories are larger and much more private. You’d been given a studio on the second floor, neighbour to Ishiyama, the rather withdrawn cement hero. While there is a bathroom and kitchenette in each apartment you usually preferred to cook in the shared kitchen, conjoined to an open plan common room. 

Another familiar face greets you as you enter. Powerloader is seated at the dining table, mulling over a mess of blueprints. Quirk science and quirk support often went hand in hand thus you had collaborated before, albeit very rarely. 

He lifts his head at your entrance, face obscured by long, spiked copper hair. Seeing him free of his big excavator helmet—much like with Kurose without their space suit—is still quite strange. “Hey, Maijima-san,” you skim over what looks to be a box buckle belt. “Working on anything interesting?”

“I’m designing an MMF induction system for Tetsutetsu in 2B,” he explained, sifting through the papers to show another preliminary sketch. You notice the ink stain on the heel of his hand. “I’m hoping with the belt and armbands acting as coils we could turn him into an electromagnet of sorts”. 

“Wow. That’s actually pretty cool. There are so many things he could do with that,” you mumbled. Flash bangs. Emergency power. Assisting in triage. The possibilities were endless. Awed, you lean forward to scrutinise the chicken scrawl dotted around the drawings, some characters smudged beyond your comprehension. “How do you plan to measure his tolerance to—?”

“Mochi?!” a small, giddy voice interrupts. 

“…Mochi?” you repeat, bewildered. You look toward the source, gaze falling upon two silvery pigtails. Eri rocks on her heels and excitedly holds out a curved plate full of rice cakes. The height draws her sweater sleeves down her thin, scarred forearms. She makes a droning noise to stress that you take one. 

Aizawa strolls out from the kitchen behind her. A dull clink accompanies his footsteps, slanted to one side. You immediately note the various colourful clips pinning his hair away from his face, tied into a similar pigtail style, though tousled and loose.

“Eri,” he rumbles. “It’s impolite to interrupt private conversations”. 

The little girl wilts a fraction as her expression pinches in worry. She lowers the plate, but before it is out of reach, Maijima stretches across the table to snatch one up. Eri brightens at the exaggerated happy sound he makes as he chews, “This is some good mochi, Eri-chan. I’ll forgive you this once”. 

“Thank you, Maijiji,” she chimes. At that Maijima’s jaw unhinges mid-chew, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet shock. Aizawa’s nostrils flare. He turns his head from the scene. Similarly, you tuck your chin to conceal your smirk and pluck up a mochi for yourself. 

“These look delicious,” you tell her, diverting the topic from Maijima—who, in your periphery, is mouthing ‘old man?!’ toward Aizawa with some incredulity. Eri’s focus remains on your face. She watches intently as the sticky dough yields under your thumbs. 

You tear a piece away to eat. Softer, smoother on the inside. It begins to melt on your tongue. The red bean paste is sweet with earthy undertones. “Wow!” the exclamation comes warbled, muffled. Eri tugs at the hem of her pink knit sweater, her smile stretching wider. “You’re very kind for sharing these, Eri”. 

“Mhm. S’because Yama-san teached me a quote in English today,” she effuses proudly, “He said sharing is caring”. The foreign enunciation doesn’t quite fit, like the words are choppy in her mouth, but they fall easily from her lips as if she has practised them a hundred times.

“Taught,” Aizawa corrected, bending into view to take the plate from her hands and set it on the table. She blinks at him curiously, and he explains, “You should say ‘Yama-san taught me’, not teached”. 

“Oh,” she says. You watch fondly as he licks his thumb to wipe away a smear of bean paste on her chin. Her face scrunches up, lips pursed and air in her cheeks. 

“And now you’ve been taught a new word,” you add, pulling off a bigger piece of mochi. Eri bounces in place as you offer it to her and she shoves it into her mouth. “Thank you for the treat, Eri. I think I’ll enjoy this in my room”. 

“Ywor lea’win’?” 

Aizawa sighs and concedes defeat to her poor manners. He cradles the crown of her head with his palm, stroking her hair. “I’m a little tired so I really want to take a shower and get in my pyjamas,” you say, hoping to placate her with a smile. “But I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime tomorrow, okay?”

Eri concedes rather reluctantly. Her fondness for you, once a stranger from the yawning unknown, is warming. Though her dejection is short-lived, soon distracted by the late arrival of Yagi and Yamada. 

The soft hair on your neck prickles. Sensing his stare you meet Aizawa’s gaze, heavy enough to feel like touch. It stirs a fleeting sort of hope in your chest. He looks gentle, frame wrapped up in the gauzy evening lustre. You clear your throat, “Did heroics go well in the end?” 

His brow twitches and you get the distinct feeling that you’re being laughed at. “No broken bones. So I would say so,” he deadpanned. 

“If it were anyone else saying that I’d be concerned,” you smiled, knowing class 2A in particular was well renowned for incurring injuries in training. “It was their first one since… everything, right? I’m glad they’re doing okay”. 

He hums, eyes sliding toward his daughter when her laughter breaks the delicate quiet. You shift awkwardly where you stand, overly conscious of Maijima seated nearby, now engrossed in his work. Aizawa levelled his voice, “How’s the headache?” 

“Persistent,” you murmur. Acknowledging it invites another dull pang inside your skull. “Honestly I can’t wait to get in bed”. 

“Hear hear,” he breathes. The corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you and gravity vaults around your stomach, rendering you momentarily weightless. Just a crush, you think, half hysterical. “Get some rest. If you plan on missing dinner then take a jelly pouch or an energy bar with you”. 

Touched by his concern you sway toward the kitchen. Your teeth sink into your cheek, biting down a grin where he cannot see it. “Yeah, okay,” you laugh under your breath. Louder then, “But I’m going to take your favourite flavour”. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he dared. 

You retire to your apartment with a green jelly packet in hand and a clunky wave. Energy seeps out of you like water through a sieve as soon as your door shuts. Fatigue creeps in; the body needing rest yet the mind restless. 

The shower does little to shake you awake. Dragging your feet to your bedroom, pouch uncapped and held between your lips. Tepid air sticks to still damp skin. Your bed yields, thoughts slowing. You crawl across the mattress, cheeks hollow as you lazily suck the jelly until the foil wrinkles. 

Cocooned in plush fleece and linen, you tilt your head and let it loll against the pillow; exhaustion sweeps through you, consciousness waning. The ache behind your eyes lessens as they close. You sleep. 

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From: Kaminari.Denki@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: RE: Reminder [High importance] Message: 

Hi hi

The worksheets really helped!!! You’re the best, Sensei!

I was talking to Mido and he said some ppl think quirks are a genetic mutation from a disease spread by rats?? ? (◎-◎;) super freaky. Can I make that my essay topic? 

Thnx!

Kaminari Denki AKA ⚡️ CHARGEBOLT

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From: Midoriya.Izuku@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: An analysis of the Q-gene theory Message:

Sorry to email so late! Or early haha… I found some articles while I was researching that I think will be helpful to my essay but the journal is not open access. Is there any way that I cannnnnnnnvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvccccccccccccccvvvvvvccccccccccccccccvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Sent from my ePhone 

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Morning comes abruptly. The sound of your alarm cuts out as you stretch across the bed to hit snooze, limbless and heavy handed. You rise with a crick in your neck. Barely cognisant, the floor rises to meet you, cool against the soles of your feet. 

A mottle of pale blue and white blended into a grey low lit morning, flooding the common area. It’s no surprise to you that people are already awake. Snipe is seated on the couch meticulously cleaning his pistol while Kurose is clad in their gym wear, jogging in place where they wait for Yagi to zip up his jacket. 

Upright, he beams at the sight of you, “Good morning! You look much better today”. 

You do not feel much better. 

“Morning,” you return lightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Snipe tips his hat in your direction with a quiet grunt. “Are the others still asleep?” 

The drooping blonde hair that frame’s Yagi’s face sway as he shakes his head. “Not everyone. I believe Yamada-kun is at his radio station. Ectoplasm is out walking the perimeter with Hound Dog. Though Aizawa-kun may be sleeping…”

“He got back from night patrol a few hours ago,” Kurose adds. They wave both hands at you, spacetime wielding fingers wiggling as though to entice you, “That aside, would you like to join us on our morning run?” 

Your expression immediately shifts, exhibiting strong disinclination. “I appreciate the invite, but I’d rather return to a horizontal position until my work hours start”. 

Kurose laughs warmly. Yagi, however, insists on reciting the benefits to early exercise while he ties and reties his shoes. You send them off, holding the door open to breathe in the morning dew, and spend a minute feeling the cool air prickle your cheeks. 

The day crawls on. You get to your classroom before the first period and review the lesson plans. The third years stagger to their seats. You can sympathise with their dead eyed stares—two hours of quirk regulation law is not exactly the most riveting topic—and take no offense to their spiritless attitudes. 

Third period is spent fostering discussion about politics with the business students. By the time lunch hour comes and goes you have barely left your classroom. Your next set is composed of first year hero students. This academic year both class 1A and B had been mixed into the same group. Hardly six months after a war steeped in blood and sacrifice, Japan’s citizens were not so eager to hand their children over to a hero school. Thus there were few applicants. Nevertheless, Principal Nedzu remained optimistic about their potential. 

Straight away you understood his judgement. In covering the quirk history module you saw first hand their iron willed determination to learn from the past and change the system. Hands are thrown high in the air—eager despite your intention to wind down—as you inquire their thoughts about the quirk classification system. 

“The whole thing is bull—brainless!” one of your more headstrong students, Higuchi, calls out. You can picture the lurid glare behind his blacked out glasses. His classmates murmur in agreement. 

“He’s right, Sensei,” Kaneko, 1B class president, adds quietly. The air distorts around her when she speaks and your jaw clenches, withholding a flinch as your ear pops. “Why are there only three categories? It makes no sense”. 

“I agree. The classification system is simplistic and outdated. Which is what leads me into my final question…” you hold out your hands in mock surrender, brows pointedly arched, and they settle down. In that instant, the door slides open and disrupts the peace. Every head turns to watch Eraserhead slip brazenly into the classroom, and after a pregnant pause, gesture for you to continue. 

Heat rises to the high point of your cheeks. His expression is soft in the artificial light, fixed on you with intent and sincere intrigue. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.  “Ah—What was I saying?” you joked nervously. Sensing your embarrassment the kids begin to laugh under their breath. “That’s right. My question is, if possible, what are some of the categories you would introduce to improve the quirk database? Brainstorm for me. There are no wrong answers!” 

Those eyes nag at you for the remainder of the hour. With another teacher present, heralded as a war hero no less, the motivation to impress increases tenfold. You bullet point their answers on the class board, prompting further explanation or examples and suggesting your own. It’s a welcome distraction—

And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:

Generation describes quirks that allow the individual to create something from their body. Example: Creati. 

Manipulation refers to quirks that control what is pre existing. Example: Poltergeist. 

Users with a Transmutation quirk can change or alter the function of things around them. Example: Mudman.

Augmentation quirks allow the individual to improve their own body in some way. Example: Mount Lady. 

Information quirks classify those that can detect, understand and apply information. Example: Nighteye.

You watch them rush to scribble the list down. Murmurings carry through the classroom as they turn to one another, listing more examples, giving thought to how each quirk should be designated. Pride swells in your chest. 

“I have a question”.

Aizawa remained hunched in the corner, one hand deep in his pocket. The other is raised lazily above his head. This elicits some anticipation from your students. You motion for him to continue, “Yes, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Erasure is listed as ‘Emitter’ in the quirk database. This means I share a category with quirks which are fundamentally different, such as Hellflame,” he speaks with a calm, assertive cadence that holds the kids' attention. His gaze sweeps across the class and they squirm. “Tell me, what would you categorise my quirk as to draw that distinction?”

The long silence is contemplative rather than daunting. Higuchi fakes a cough. He lifts his fist, fingers unfurling as his wrist then falls limp, feigning indifference. It was made no secret that he admired Eraserhead, given their shared ocular abilities. Allure was a powerful quirk. Persuaded with a single glance, inhibited only by the specialised lenses in his glasses. 

Thus you recognise the attitude change for what it is—a preemptive measure in the case that he slips in front of the man he admires. “Higuchi,” you warmly addressed. Aizawa centres his attention on the boy. “Do you have a suggestion for Aizawa-sensei?”

“Y—yeah,” he says. “I thought we could add something like ‘Condition’ to the list…?”

“Can you elaborate on that?” you try to encourage. Aizawa’s posture shifts, his interest piqued. 

“I was just thinking, Erasure doesn’t fit any of the shi—stuff we thought up,” Higuchi continues, his fingers knotted tight on the desk, knuckles white. “Condition would cover people whose quirks enforce a condition on others. Like an infatuation quirk or—or my own quirk”.

Everybody is seemingly waiting with bated breath. You glance back at Aizawa, now carefully regarding Higuchi. You know that look. “Not bad, kid,” he nods, quietly pleased. Higuchi grins. 

Smiling, you move to add ‘Condition’ to the list. 

You’re on edge after the bell rings. Aizawa’s presence brushes you like a breath of balmy air, biding his time while you send off your class, grunting in response to those who bow in his direction. When you finally turn his half lidded gaze is mellowed. 

“So,” you begin clumsily. “Is there any particular reason why you interrupted my lesson?” 

Aizawa hums. A sound so deep, so supple you want to lean into it. “I have a favour to ask. Is the rest of your afternoon free?” 

“The Eraserhead asking me a favour?” you tease, needlessly lining up your stationary before collecting your things. “I’ve got no more classes to teach, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“All Might can’t assist supervising heroics training this afternoon,” he mutters, examining your display boards with absentminded curiosity. 

“You need to give me more than that, Aizawa”. 

He exhales, mouth pressed thin, ducking into his capture weapon. You see a shift in expression, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle around his eyes. The petulance brings a smirk to your lips. Aizawa had been mildly avoidant and emotionally reserved from the moment you met him, but for someone so motivated by logic he seemed to expect you to read his mind lately. 

“Two people are required to oversee the class”

“And you want that second person to be me?”

“If you’re going to be difficult I can ask Thirteen,” he replies dryly. The tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip, tempting your gaze. You feel yourself consciously resisting. 

The empty threat hangs lightly in the room. Your smirk gentles into a smile. He tracks your movement, standing aside while you tuck in the desk chair. “No, no. I’ll come,” you demurred. “I want to help. Let’s go”. 

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From: Shinsou.Hitoshi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: — Message: 

Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken. 

Shinsou Hitoshi

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From blue rafters to monochrome stone, the arched structure of Gym Gamma comes into view. Towers over you as you approach. Aizawa’s footsteps are purposeful and his legs carry him forward with a lumbering gait. You’ve changed into shoes befitting the outdoors—a pair of boots that hug your calves tight and keep your ankles warm as the afternoon wanes toward an inevitable cold evening. 

“The students participating today have been previously cleared for training in a controlled environment by their psychiatrist,” Aizawa says, breathing slightly visible in the autumn chill. His hands are buried deep in his capture weapon. “First they’ll start by sparring without quirks to warm up. If I see no risk they can then move on to using quirks”.

Allowing the kids to train again had been a sensitive matter. Not a single hero student came out the war unscathed; the first years especially, given the proximity to AFO, were dealt extensive physical and psychological trauma—a handful even undergoing  forced quirk awakening. Throwing them back into a battle environment, controlled or otherwise, needed to be handled with care. 

Aizawa did just that, and to your knowledge he always had. He exercised caution with his students. Even if it came across as harsh. Even if the chances of danger were nil. He was staunchly protective of his brood. You understood that to be the reason why their parents trusted him to lead them forward—

And you hoped it meant he would be open to your advice throughout the training. 

Your head bobs, nodding in acknowledgment. “During the latter half of the session, if I see signs of a student in distress—?”

“Inform me,” he cuts in firmly. A flash of crimson pools into his irises, gone between blinks, and you’re left to wonder if it was just a trick of the light. “I’ll erase their quirks and stop the spar before it escalates”. 

You ponder that as Aizawa shields his eyes and scans the beyond when a chorus of voices reaches your ears. An amalgamation of 2A and 2B are waiting by the gym doors, with the few that recognise you excitedly waving their arms and calling your name. 

“Understood,” a small smile pulls at your lips. You wave toward the group, donned in their UA tracksuits. “You’re the boss”. 

Iida graciously bids you both welcome, his hand chopping through the air as he speaks over the others and attempts to assuage them. Questions of All Might’s whereabouts are few and far, instead entirely focused on your unexpected presence—all the more surprising that Midoriya visibly brightens, unaffected by his mentor’s absence. 

You allow Aizawa to take the wheel while he makes introductions, rocking idly on your feet, nodding along when prompted. “I’m sure some of you are well acquainted, whether it be through individual quirk consultations or taking quirk science as your chosen elective…”

Yaoyorozu is poised beside a fellow student, Jirou, arms crossed over her midriff. Fingers wiggle by the crook of her elbow in another subtle wave, smile gracing her lips. Bakugo catches the movement and his eyes flicker in your direction. He acknowledges you with a short nod.

“Today is not about analysing the progression of your quirks. We will be observing how you apply them,” he continues. There’s a fleeting emphasis to his voice. It carries an underlying warning, the same way a parent might quietly reprimand a child. The class visibly stands straighter and Midoriya raises his hand. 

Aizawa exhales, a fond sort of exasperation shining through, “…Midoriya”.

“Will we receive individual feedback?” Midoriya eagerly questioned. “And can we get Sensei’s opinion on our own ideas? Because—!”

“Kid,” Aizawa drawls. Colour paints Midoriya’s face pink but he seems bashful rather than ashamed. “Once we move onto sparring with quirks, yes, you will be notified of anything we deem significant. After class”. 

Bakugo, Monoma, Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and Midoriya appear particularly motivated by this. You clear your throat, gaze sliding to Aizawa as you add, “And anyone seeking my opinion or reassurance is free to email me. We can set up a meeting. That’s what I’m here for, after all”.  

The hour wore on. Aizawa was happy to watch in comfortable silence, offering up any thoughts and observations as they passed. There’s a clear sense of pride about him. A softness. Comfortable showing it now he’s a distance from the prying eyes of his students.

Hand-to-hand warm ups progress to quirk use. Some have formed small battle royale type groups while the others chose to pair up. You scan the gym with a keen eye. The quick streak of Midoriya’s red sneakers as his left foot pivots on the mats catches your attention. His opponent, Todoroki, falls into a balanced stance. 

You watch their fight unfold. The intensity swells. Dread prickles down your spine. “Aizawa…” you cautioned. 

Green lightning pulses. One For All activates. A metallic taste sticks to the roof of your mouth. Midoriya’s body twists, and with it his right foot swings up in a singular, upward path. It cleaves through the air, a slice more than it is a swing, and the force lands squarely on the side of Todoroki’s skull—or it would have, if he hadn’t blocked it with his arm, encased in ice. 

There’s a split second in which everything stops. An immense, charged force bore down on your lungs. Your vision blurred. As quick as it came the lightning died out and a deluge of shattered ice fell to the ground. 

“Ouch,” Todoroki says, cradling his wrist. You think that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Aizawa sprinted across the room without ceremony, his hair hung high in suspension and ready to step in. Todoroki interjects first. Presumably to defend his friend and assure them both that he’s fine. While Aizawa scans his forearm for any sign of major injury you watch Midoriya return to himself. Colour drains from his face. Chest heaving. There’s a violent tremor in his legs.  Between rapid blinks you hear the crack in his mumbled apologies. 

Aizawa settles a gentle hand on his shoulder. The rest of the students return to their matches, save for a select few who spare Midoriya a concerned glance—nevertheless, nobody is truly surprised. You can only wonder how often this happens. 

Midoriya broke himself for the sake of others more times than you could stomach, and you’ve been witness to how uniquely adept he is at hiding those splintered parts first hand. With the wound still so fresh, people needed the courageous, forthright, spirited version of him, the one with the beaming smile and the promise of safety. At only sixteen years old that is already his delegated role in life. 

There are not enough words to depict just how catastrophic the war had been. You suffered heart-wounds of your own but in facing the sacrifice these children gave you felt a contrite, shameful hole in your consciousness. This is victory; the only one on the table, and it is painful.

While Aizawa calms Midoriya, your focus returns to the rest of the class. Tetsutetsu is holding his own against Iida. Kuroiro is half steeped in shadow, reflexively sinking into his quirk as he wards off Bakugo’s punches. You note that Kaminari is unsteady on his feet, having already discharged too much electricity. 

Something about Monoma’s hesitance also holds your attention. Of the abilities he’s used there has only been four. Odd, given his ability to hold five at a time, and the plethora of quirks surrounding him. 

You chew your lip and it occurs to you that he must be keeping one on reserve from prior to the lesson. The next thought comes unbidden, inhaling sharply as a sudden, cold sort of clarity slides through you. 

The only quirk you imagine Monoma could still be intentionally holding onto is the one he took during the fight against AFO. Erasure. 

“What’re you thinking?”

You shake out of your stupor and find Aizawa closer than expected. Somewhere in between he had tied his hair up. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, eyes squinted and wrinkling the scar tissue high on his cheek. “What?” you ask dumbly. 

“You went somewhere,” he clarifies. You feel his knuckles lightly knock your temple. “What are you thinking about?” 

“Ah,” you smile, abashed, and rub the spot of skin he touched. “Just making mental notes. I wish I had brought something to write with”.

“Well?” Aizawa says, as though his silence was enough of an invitation. “Tell me about them”. 

“It’s obvious the student’s have made incredible progress when compared to their first year quirk assessments. But there are some minor adjustments that I think will help considerably…”

You go on to list ideas for development and support tech. Things like regularly involving parkour into all their training routines. Or having Iida request smaller engines along the front legs of his costume for faster braking, or sharper turns. Or experimenting with Mina’s quirk, testing how precise her control is over her acid’s viscosity and if she could potentially create gaseous forms.

Your awareness wanes periodically, pausing open mouthed to discern the skill of each group, weighing your thoughts. To his credit Aizawa does listen to you ramble, mellowing the longer you speak. Tension seeps from his shoulders as though pulled down by gravity and that look of contentment returns. 

“In terms of wielding their quirk the one I’m most concerned about is probably Kaminari,” you hesitate, chewing your lip as your voice lowers. “I believe he still views his quirk as a final move”.

Aizawa leans forward, attentive to your opinion, and hums. The dulcet melody is warm by your ear—

You become conscious of his proximity. The air retains his heat, the indistinct woodsy notes that always clung to his clothes. 

—and your throat constricts as you swallow.

“Because of that he immediately jumps from zero to one hundred. I’ve seen his files. It results in mild cranial nerve lesions which then induces temporary impairment mid battle,” you continue soberly, staring ahead with lips stretched into strained assurance as some of the students begin to notice your proximity. 

Monoma strikes the back of Tetsutetsu’s leg as he makes a suggestive gesture, making him collapse on one knee. You close your eyes as embarrassment floods your body, “I have to wonder if he ever worked with a quirk counsellor in the first place”. 

Aizawa signals his agreement and moves back a fraction. His expression remained unchanged. He is by no means an unfeeling man, but you can’t help being jealous about how unshaken he is. All the while you probably look like a spring bouquet. 

“So, how do you suggest we help him?” 

His genuine countenance tempered your short lived frustration, and the word ‘we’ echoed in your mind. You knew what he meant, but it still brought a pleasant flutter to your chest. “I think we should start by having support give him a multimeter,” you reply. “Atleast that way we can discern the point that he begins to lose cognition and work upwards from there”. 

“Alright. I’ll ask Maijima-san once we’re done here,” he nods. There is a tentative pause. “Anything else you think needs to be addressed?” 

“There is…Monoma,” you add. His head turns in your peripheral vision, visibly taken aback. 

“Monoma?” he repeated. 

“This is just speculation on my part,” you grimace, sparing a glance toward the students. As the session winds down they’ve gathered in the centre of the mats, talking to one another. “But I have a hunch that he might still be holding onto your quirk”.

Aizawa’s face becomes pinched. The apparent frustration grows as his expression shifts. Mouth twisting, jaw moving with gritted teeth. “I should’ve noticed,” he mutters. 

“Monoma is primarily in Kan-san’s care, not yours. If anything he should be the one to notice,” you say, subtly detailing his side profile as he continues to observe his class. “Between the media circus, your physiotherapy, teaching and being a father—you can hardly blame yourself”. 

The bridge of his nose wrinkles at that. “Shit, sorry. Did I overstep?” you fret. 

Aizawa’s expression smooths out, reluctantly. He exhales. “No. I’m just not used to the idea of being a parent, I suppose”. 

“Guardian, then,” you amended with a flippant wave, hoping to lighten the sullen atmosphere. “Though I guess teaching is like a sub-branch of parenting in itself”. 

“How so?”

“Good or bad, a teacher plays a big part in shaping a child, right?” For a strange, short moment, you’re hyper aware of how closely he watches you as you speak, and you deal with it by finding great interest in the gym floor. “Y’know. Their self confidence, beliefs and ambitions… didn’t you have anyone like that?” 

That gives him pause, and while he thinks you drink in the line of his jaw, angular and shadowed by stubble, the wispy strands framing his face as his haphazard ponytail slowly loosens, and the faint crease formed across the bridge of his nose after grimacing so frequently. 

Aizawa’s brow arches. Caught, you quickly cast your gaze to the gym floor. “Well. There is the man that made me realise I wanted to go underground,” he says, graciously ignoring your ogling. “His purple highness”.

“His purple highness?!” you echo, voice clamouring through the now quieted din, diverting the students attention from their post training stretches. “Fuck, sorry. Of all the heroes I wasn’t expecting you to say him”. 

Nakaoji Tenma, now retired hero ‘His purple highness’, was the polar opposite of Aizawa. Widely renowned for flamboyance and theatrics, his notorious vibrant two piece suit and frilly open chested jacket sporting vibrant epaulettes on each shoulder was particularly unforgettable. 

“You wouldn’t be the first. I thought Nemuri was absurd for recommending Oboro and I during her work study,” he reminisced. 

“Surely it wasn’t that bad”.

Aizawa cracks a rueful grin. “His highness quickly recognised that I would have poor media presence and tried to teach me ‘how to smile’ properly. As you can see, it didn’t work out”.

You weren’t so sure. Aizawa’s amusement always started behind his eyes, a mirth that flashed across a grey midwinter and trickled into his chest to create a brief, reserved huff of laughter; though you sense underlying melancholy as he recounts his internship and lost loved ones, his smile still curled sincerely at the edges. 

“I don’t know. I like your smile. Even if it can be a little…”

“Disturbing?” 

“Disarming,” you return, nudging his side. Without intention your fingers brushed against the rough skin of his knuckles, fine hairs prickling—and then a sudden, shrill whistle cuts suggestively through the mood, shattering it. 

Kaminari stands proud a few feet ahead of his snickering classmates, lips closed around his middle fingers. Aizawa rolls his neck with an indignant sigh. The joint clicks. He raises his voice and impassively announces, “For that you can all do ten laps”.

A chorus of objections fills the gym. One by one, the students drag their feet toward the outer edge and break into a jog. You bite back a smile, “You’re awful”. 

“Never claimed not to be,” he tells you. “All Might has another hospital appointment at the end of next week, if you want to join us again”. 

A nascent fondness unfurls in your chest. “Sure,” you murmur. “I’d like that”. 

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From: Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp To: Maijima.Higari@UAedu.jp Cc: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: Request [High importance] Message:

Our resident quirk scientist has advised us to provide Kaminari Denki [ID: 16XXXX] with a multimeter to assist in his training. Do we have one on campus or am I going to have to do more paperwork?

Aizawa Shouta 2A Homeroom Teacher, UA High School Private number: +81 (03) 1234-5678 Do not call unless you are dying. 

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From: Yagi.Toshinori@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: An email is here! Message: 

My friend,

Young Midoriya informed me that you took my place alongside Eraserhead in training this afternoon. He found your input very impressive, and even expressed the desire to have you look over his notebooks. That is quite the privilege! Ah, but please don’t tell him I told you that…!!!

Thank you for your hard work today. I will see you at dinner.

Yagi Toshinori Heroics Department, UA High School └（★ｏ★）┐ 𝓹𝐥𝔲ｓ Ǘ𝐋ⓣ𝔯𝓐 ┌（★ｏ★）┘

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Something indiscernible has since shifted. 

The work week is long, and when you crawl your way out of the mire of trepidation that decidedly hung over you, the source becomes clearer. 

The kids are being weird. 

Heroes in training, absolutely, but masters in subtlety they are not. Less than innocent, mischievous whispers would reach your ears, and silhouettes duck behind the nearest corner whenever you look back. Above all else they’ve taken to closely observing your interactions with Aizawa—sometimes going as far as forcing them. Kaminari even deems it appropriate to be nosey about your love life—or rather, your lack thereof—during your supplementary one-to-one. 

“That is not your business nor is it relevant to your essay,” you told him, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. The gentle reprimand did nothing to placate him. Scratching his cheek, Kaminari simply laughed and returned to reading the annotations you’d left on his work. 

Aizawa doesn’t bat an eye to any of it. While he presented himself as an extremely private man with clear boundaries drawn between home and work, it was obvious to you that that line had been trampled. He was accustomed to their harmless meddling. 

“Believe me. It’s worse if you tell them to stop,” he said, as if they were toddlers and would eventually tire themselves out.  

You have the pleasure of teaching their final class that Friday. If you’re lucky, come Monday they’ll have forgotten whatever it is they’re hatching.

Their focus wanes with the hour, your lesson structure a little looser to lead them into the weekend. Eri had joined unexpectedly, hidden behind Midoriya’s legs and teetering on her tiptoes to peek around the room. Kouda let’s Yuwai-chan rest in her arms as she sits on her very own chair beside Shinsou, mumbling small delights. 

“Focus, guys. We all have something called a Plus Alpha Mechanism in our DNA…”

Your pen glides along the board. The quiet repetitive sound of Bakugo’s tangle fidget matches your meridian rhythm, and you could almost forget the nonsense that has shadowed you since the training session. 

“…Here. The simplest way to think of it is like this,” following along with a finger, you read the written equation. “For example, if somebody has a tail—”

“Like Ojiro-kun!” Midoriya chirps. Bakugo gives him a sidelong glare, and his cheeks fill with air. 

“Correct, Midoriya,” you smile at his sheepishness. Your finger moves along to the latter half of the equation, “But the mechanism to move and wield his tail comes from the Plus Alpha. Added together, this forms the Quirk Factor”. 

“Sensei, is it then possible that quirklessness can occur when the Plus Alpha gene expression is not activated?” Iida inquires. Midoriya’s pencil stutters. 

“That’s right,” you flash him an encouraging smile, wider as he preens. Bakugo’s hands, too, have notably faltered, the tangle fidget balled up into a knot. “It’s a popular explanation amongst fourth gen members of the medical community. Older generations tend to prefer the whole archaic toe joint theory—but I don’t have time to cover that today”. 

Midoriya and Bakugo exhale in tandem. Monoma observes their behaviour closely, chin cupped in his palm. He seems well rested which alleviates the heaviness in your chest a fraction. You hope Aizawa has had the chance to speak with him. 

“Any other questions before I start to wrap up?”

Shinsou goes to raise his hand, stopping midway. Your brow arches and he indicates to wait. You watch on as he leans down to whisper something to Eri. Her doe-eyed gaze snaps from Yuwai-chan to his face, meeting an expression apologetically soft. And whatever it is he says, she pats his cheek in response. 

Sufficiently reassured, Shinsou once again raises his hand above his head. And as he relays his question a sober atmosphere befalls the class. 

In a roundabout manner—and refusing to name him—Shinsou asks about the Quirk erasing bullets used in the Shie Hassaikai case. You, like him, immediately seek Eri’s permission to speak on it. She gathers Yuwai-chan closer and nods. 

“Despite the name, the quirk erasing bullets did not technically erase any individuals quirk genes. They were engineered to directly attack the Plus Alpha,” the tip of your pen squeaks as you write out the words below the previous equation, underlining them twice. “Therefore the quirk could no longer be activated, making them functionally quirkless”. 

Shinsou accepts this, cheek sunken where he chews the flesh. Between blinks the pensive downturn to his mouth begins to curl into a faint smirk. “What about Aizawa-sensei’s quirk?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Your benevolence tapers as the class titters. Eri giggles, muffled by Yuwai-chan’s fur, and her shoulders hunch to hide in the little neck she has. 

“While I understand why you might conflate the two, Aizawa-sensei’s ocular quirk, Erasure, deactivates the Plus Alpha temporarily,” you answer at the end of a short sigh, taking a step back to lean against the wall. You skim the room with a pointed look, “As I’m sure you have all experienced first hand”. 

A few shudder at that. The whiplash of having the connection to your quirk severed must be alarming. You imagine it’s not something one can ever get used to. 

“Oc-u-lar?” Eri repeats. You feel your expression gentle as you meet her curious gaze. 

“Ocular means it’s connected to his eyes,” you explain simply, pointing to your own. “That is why his left eye glows red when he uses his quirk. Cool, right?” 

Accepting this, Eri’s cheeks swell with her smile and she chirps in agreement, “I like his eyes. They’re pretty”. 

“She likes his eyes,” Kaminari repeats with a faux-solemn nod. “Do you think so too, Sensei?” 

Iida sits ramrod straight in his seat. The abrupt jolt knocks his glasses halfway down his nose, “That is hardly appropriate for the classroom!” 

The electric blonde waves in surrender, “It’s just an innocent question, Prez! Not like I asked if he was United States of sma—”

“Kaminari-kun!”

Something snaps. Yuwai-chan yips. A litany of orange curved pieces spray across the table. Bakugo slumps, wearing a scowl dark enough to silence the chaos, debris from the broken fidget between his fingers. “Who gives a fu—” he spares Eri a quick glance and releases a long, deliberate exhale. “Who cares. Bunch’a nosey losers”  

Worry paints Momo’s features. Somewhat uncharacteristic of her, she readily rolls up her sleeve to offer the creation of another tangle. “Bakugo-kun, do you need me to…?”

“Don’t worry, Yaoyorozu-san!” Midoriya interrupts with a sunny complexion. He lumbers his backpack into his lap, zips it open and pulls out an identical fidget. “Kacchan breaks them a lot”.

You stifle the urge to groan into your hands, or gather them all into an uncomfortably strong hug, or both. For as much as you could tease Aizawa for allowing the students to bulldoze through his work-life boundaries it is becoming clear you're just as guilty. 

Bakugo lingers after the bell rings. The others file out, some with apologetic smiles, and neither of you speak until the classroom is empty. “Is everything okay, Bakugo?” you ask lightly. 

He itches his neck. Shoulder jerking as he shrugs, giving a stiff nod. Looking a little frayed around the edges, Bakugo mutters, “Sorry about the mess. M’staying to pick it up”. 

“That’s not necessary,” you objected. A slight pout works its way onto his lips. You know well enough that for all his posturing, Bakugo respects the word of his teachers. “I assure you it’s fine, Bakugo. But I really appreciate the sentiment”.

“Whatever,” he says, barely above a mumble. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and motions to leave. “See ya Monday, Sensei”.

“Take care, Bakugo,” you call after him. Your ears latch onto the leaden echoing of footsteps until they disappear down the hallway. Silence creeps in while you pick up the small curved pieces.  The little moment of peace you had sought all week does not arrive. There are still emails to attend to, assignments to mark and future lessons to structure—

Your stomach rumbles and interrupts that thought. Again, evermore persistent while you attempt to ignore it. Eventually you dump the collected orange pieces into your desk drawer and make for the staff lounge, switching off the lights as you go. 

All Might and Present Mic are the only two in the room. Yamada spots you first. He’s yet to remove his costume, and the leather sleeves cream as he lifts his arms, waving loosely. Yagi spins on his axis for the source of the fuss. There’s a spoon in his mouth, and his lips stretch into a smile around it. 

A smile that dims as soon as you land in your chair with a heavy sigh. “I feel that,” Yamada says. His comically tall hair reaches high over your computer monitor, green eyes peering over the frame. “Kiddos run you ragged today?” 

“I don’t know how they do it. It’s not like we’re sparring,” you snort lightly and rest your chin against your hand. The muted scent of Yagi’s greek yoghurt lingers in the air. You wrinkle your nose, “Have either of you noticed them behaving…oddly? I feel like they’ve been scheming”. 

Yagi pauses mid scoop, bewildered. He looks from you to Yamada, who appears infuriatingly in the know. “Odd?” he asks. The shadows around his eyes darken in concern. “Is there anything we should be looking out for?” 

“I wonder,” Yamada titters, tapping a finger against his nose. Green eyes smile at you over the top of his tinted lenses. “Could it have anything to do with Mina asking me about your blood type?”

“Blood type? Whatever for?” 

Covering his mouth, Yamada bends and covers his mouth, amplifying his cryptic whisper, “Romantic compatibility”.

Chewing your inner cheek, you shake your head and insist, “It’s just a popular theory about personality types from the pre quirk era”. Yagi’s expression clears. He accepts the explanation easily. You wished it were that simple. “I’m sure it’s nothing…” your attention wavers as you notice movement out the window. 

A distant black figure grows larger the closer it gets. Eraserhead is coming back from his afternoon patrol. He sweeps up onto the roof of a nearby building and dashes along the eaves before leaping off again. His capture weapon lassos the adjacent dormitory building and he swings in a perfect arc that vaults him upwards. The movements flow into one another naturally, without thought, nimble as he twists through the air. You can’t take your eyes off him. 

“No, you’re right. It’s definitely nothing,” Yamada quips lightly, his voice drawing you to the present. The implication behind his tone rings loud and clear and it shakes you from your reverie. 

Embarrassment sours your expression; it feels like you’ve swallowed the sun. “It’s not like that,” you insist, laughing nervously. Your gaze settles on a heart sticker Eri pasted on the desk. An old coffee stain has blurred the colour, cheap ink smeared into the wood. Your fingers come away stained pink. 

“Young love is exciting! There’s no shame in it. You can be honest with us. With me,” Yagi’s large hand comes down on your shoulder to give a reassuring pat. “I may be old but I’m not that dense. I think”. 

“You’re hardly old, Yagi-san. You’re only fifty”.

Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright on his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”. 

Yamada leans forward to rest his chin in his palms, held open like a flower in bloom, and murmurs his agreement. 

“What…do you mean exactly?” you ask. 

Yagi exhales, wringing battle worn hands in his lap. “He has been through a lot,” he begins. “Of course we all have but as I’m sure young Yamada here can attest, Aizawa shoulders more responsibility than he needs to”. 

“Lotta unnecessary blame, too,” Yamada nods. A bittersweet tone pervades the air. “Always has, ever since we were kids. Reckon that’s why he doesn’t sleep”.

“See, there’s the kind of exhaustion that usually just requires a good night’s sleep,” Yagi’s face is sallow, and his gaze flickers to Aizawa’s empty desk. “But there is also another kind that asks much more—and I see that in Aizawa. Like he’s wearing a heavy coat that became heavy bones”.

Despite the clumsy metaphor you feel his words weighing on your heart; notably shared in a way that makes you think that he, too, wore a similar heavy coat of blame. And you thought: such is grief. 

“But!” Yagi suddenly blurts, restoring his former enthusiasm. “Since you started here it’s like…” he gesticulates with his hands then, searching for the right thing to say, stalling as seemingly he does not find it. “All that is to say Aizawa has a fondness for you and I think you should go for it!”

Self conscious, you pick at the skin around your thumb. Yagi’s encouragement was appreciated. With the quintessential All Might optimism unintentionally bleeding through it almost felt like you could do anything. But your head shakes and you laugh breathlessly at the thought, “You’re actually quite a gossip, aren’t you, Yagi-san?”

Yamada’s cackle reverberates around the lounge as Yagi splutters his shock into a tissue. You pat his shoulder. Pressing your lips thin you try not to smirk. 

“What are you doing?” 

Simultaneously, the three of you freeze, voices converging the instant you three blurt, “Nothing!” 

Aizawa frowns, displeasure framed by windswept hair tousled in all directions. He loiters in the open doorway a moment longer and his scrutiny pervades the air. You tightly cross your ankles under the legs of your chair and maintain an innocent look. 

Feigning obliviousness Yagi attempts to redirect the subject, “Did anything interesting happen on patrol, Aizawa-kun?”

Ultimately, Aizawa let it go. He shut the door behind him and the tension slipped from his shoulders as he shrugged and accepted the deflection. “Nothing significant. A bit busier than usual,” he replies.  “Seems like the commercial district has finished being rebuilt”.

Your heart beats and blood rushes to the tips of your fingers—dark eyes do not leave you as Aizawa slinks past to the kitchenette, taking with him a brush of cool fresh air. Yamada ducks between the computer monitors. Mouth puckered, he begins making an exaggerated kissing face at you. Oscillating between flustered and irritated, you reach for the nearest thing and throw it. A pencil bounces off his forehead, clattering to the floor, and he yelps. 

Aizawa returns holding two nutritional jelly pouches. “I don’t doubt you deserved that,” he comments, blasé as he passes you one of the colourful packets unprompted. It takes great effort not to gawk at his fingerless gloves, the once buttery leather now weathered. 

“Wow. Where’d my best friend go?” Yamada laments. He makes a dramatic show of the betrayal, long limbs sagging across his desk. “And no jelly for me, either. For shame! What happened to brothers before lovers?” 

Twisting off the cap to the pouch with his teeth, Aizawa sucks out the gelatinous innards until the plastic flattens. A smile plays on his lips as you stifle your amusement. “Hizashi, you know I flunked English,” he deadpans. 

The voice hero deflates. He turns to wave the previously thrown pencil at you, “Here. You left this knife in my back”. 

“You’re ridiculous”. 

“Et tu, Brute?”

The interaction does nothing to ruffle Aizawa. Like water to a duck's back. He merely saunters over to his desk, discards the empty pouch in the small bin beside his chair, and scoops up a thick binder of papers.  

“And now he flees,” Yamada pouts, holding the pencil between his top lip and his nose. 

“No, I need to wash up,” he dismisses Yamada and indicates toward his prosthesis, then dryly adding, “And I’m not sticking around to listen to you recite Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar simply because I didn’t bring you a jelly pouch”.

“Aw. That’s cold, Sho”. 

You bask in their back and forth. A friendship built on open hearts and feet that bleed. They share jabs, opinions and hardships without worry because there’s unequivocal trust there. Watching them together unearths a fraction of envy; stuck between wanting someone like that at your side, to wanting it to be him. 

Aizawa leaves not long after. He casts you a sidelong glance that you can’t read. One job to another, the work is patently endless, though you can’t help but to notice that it is self imposed—being stagnant is never in the cards. 

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Yagi clears his throat in the prolonged pause. “So. What is your blood type?” he asks with little tact, avoiding your look of betrayal. “If I had to guess, Aizawa-kun must be type B. He is quite honest and unconventional…”

Yamada cackles again. 

You put your head in your hands. This is hell. And it is largely populated by the UA heroics department.

The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.

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From: Yamada.Hizashi@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp  Subject: Check this out! Message: 

HEEEEEY 😎

[HYPERLINK: myquirkyintrovert.jp//11-introvert-friendly-activities-perfect-for-a-first-date/] Figured you might need this. ROTFL !

(Rooting for you)

Yamada Hizashi English Department, UA High School Put Your Hands Up Radio 81.3FM QOTD: If music be the food of love, play on 🎵 

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The morning spills over your senses like a heady fog. It obscures your vision, sleep-sand still tucked into the corners of your eyes. Dust fairies dance in the spotlight cast through the room and you turn into your pillow, away from the performance. 

You’re caught in a web—linens tangled around your ankles, anchored to the bed, suffering through cottonmouth and haze. According to the time you slept plenty. According to your body, however. 

The floor is cold against your feet. You yawn, joints clicking as your limbs stretch. Meander through the typical morning routine without a second thought, or a third. Only when your face is washed and you’re significantly more awake do you wander out of your apartment.

Cushioned by a set of fluffy, foam soled slippers, you stumble into the common area, welcomed to a languid, warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, a few people are already there. Yamada is dressed in his civilian clothing, waist length hair pulled back into a braided ponytail that mimics a mohawk. Eri is seated on one of the kitchen stools, squirming as his fingers work through her hair in gentle twists, styling it to match his own.  

She’s wearing a denim overall dress dotted with embroidered cats over a long sleeved shirt, matching the subtle pattern on her white tights. Her legs kick happily under the island. A smile pulled at your mouth as you watched the homely scene. 

A familiar sleep-worn voice murmurs your name and you try to look more alert than you feel.

The smell of percolating coffee reaches your senses. You retreat from the stinging heat that brushes your knuckles as Aizawa nudges a freshly poured mug toward you. “Oh, shit. Thanks,” you mumble. The surroundings are still gossamer soft and blurred at the edges; you’re impassive when your fingers slip through the curved handle and overlap his. 

Faint, coarse hair on his knuckles. Dull nails. Rough skin. You take the mug and bring it to your face. Steam kisses each cheek, billowing as you blow across the tawny surface. Aizawa’s throat bobs. Your stare lingers over the rim longer than appropriate, dragging down his body to take in the rare casual appearance. 

“You look nice”. 

His jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the button of his loose knit cardigan as he rolls it between his thumb and finger. Black, like most of the articles in his wardrobe, but stylish. The hem falls below the hip, hung over a pair of dark slacks. It’s flattering on his frame despite being oversized.

“Contrary to popular belief I can actually dress myself,” he says. 

“Colour me surprised,” you sip the hot coffee in a poor effort to conceal your grin. Even as the remaining dregs of sleep subside you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

Before he can respond Eri is bounding over. She crashes into your legs, chin above your knees as she looks up and chimes, “Good morning!”

“Good morning sweetheart,” you say, holding your hot coffee out to the side. Eri’s eyes squint with the force of her smile and sunlight pools through tall standing windows, highlighting the glittery clips in her faux mohawk braid. “Your hair looks beautiful”.

“Thank you,” she delicately pats the top of her head. “I wanted it to look pretty today. We’re going to the com-mer-cial dis…”

“District?”

“District,” she nods excitedly. “Have you ever been to a district? Deku said there are lots of fun things for us to do. Will you come with us?” Then looking to her father for permission, she clutches her dress and asks, “Please?”

You blink. The coffee mug begins to sting the skin of your palms. “We can always use an extra chaperone,” Aizawa offers slowly, eyes sliding over you from head to toe, making you all too aware of the ratty old pyjamas you’re still wearing. “You can accompany us if you want to”.

The next words leave you in an instant.  “Do you want me to?” you asked. They’re clumsy and your voice fractures, bringing with it a flood of warm embarrassment. “Sorry. I think—I’m still half asleep”. 

Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon. 

“Of course he wants you to,” Yamada strides over. The absentminded tapping of his phone’s keyboard echoes amidst the awkwardness. A smarmy grin plays on his lips and he tucks his chin to peer at Eri over the rim of his yellow tinted glasses, “Ain’t that right, Eri-chan?”

Eri nods insistently. Aizawa settles his hand atop her crown, careful not to disturb the braid, and stops the bobble head movement. “I don’t need you to speak for me,” He sighs, and the sound is fond more than anything else. “We’re meeting the students by the bus in thirty minutes,” He meets your gaze. A red-gold hue catches the light against the dark limbal ring around his iris. “You should come”.

Your chest flutters and you put his tone down to imagination. “I’d love to,” you reply, patting down your pyjama shirt. “Let me just get ready”. 

Quiet bickering follows you upstairs. You rummage through your wardrobe at a frenetic pace. There’s really no time to spare to worry about what you should wear. Once dressed you cram a water bottle, a lightweight fleece, sun protection, recovery gummies—

You pause, eyeing the unnecessary bulk in your rucksack. No doubt the kids were old enough to bring their own bags. Your tongue smooths over the teeth marks inside your cheek and you set the thought aside. No harm in being prepared. 

The clock on your phone screen blinks. Five minutes to go. You slip it into your pocket and hurry out the door, bag strap drawn over your shoulder. Kurose looks up from the couch as you stumble through the common area, navy hair flattened to one side, a few stray golden strands upright and reminding you of an antenna. 

“Hi Kurose-san,” you huff, jogging past and giving a quick wave. “Bye Kurose-san”. 

“Have fun out there,” they cheered. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That really doesn’t narrow it down by much,” you call back from the genkan, slipping into your shoes. Laughter bleeds through at the faux wounded look Kurose sends your way before you leave. 

The crisp morning air bloats your lungs on a deep inhale. Not a cloud to be seen, the sky a pleasant blue canvas. You descend the steps and follow the path toward the staff car park. Ushered into a single file line, a modest flock of hero students wait beside the minibus. You can’t help noticing how much younger they seem without their uniforms. 

Eri locks onto you instantaneously. Her lips move, and you think she must’ve called for you, but her voice was too small. Still it beckons the attention of the teenagers around her. One by one they shout your name, their clamouring coming together in an ill practised chorus.

Yamada ducks out from the minibus. “Yeaaah!” he beams, leaning against the folded door. “Right on time, my friend. We were just discussing the buddy system”. 

That reminder elicits a quiet groan from the class. Yamada laughs good naturedly, “I know, I know. But safety comes first, kiddos. Have you picked who you’re stuck with today?”

There are various nods and shrugs. Numerous heads turn to Bakugo, including both Midoriya and Todoroki, and he appears indubitably unimpressed that he’s spoiled for choice. Yamada’s focus lands on Eri. “What about you, mini me?” he pokes at the swell of her cheek. “Gonna be my buddy today?” 

Her anxious eyes flicker between you and him. You’re admittedly flattered that she’s torn. But the doubt is short lived, decided by an inconspicuous wink from Yamada. A toothy grin brightens her face. “Okay,” Eri chirps, holding out her hand for him to take. 

“We get to be passenger princesses today,” the voice hero whispers excitedly. You do well to restrain the coo building in your throat as his palm dwarfs her fist and her lips form an ‘o’. 

Suitably organised, the kids begin to climb onto the bus in their pairs. Iida and Todoroki sit in the spaces in front of Shinsou and Bakugo. There’s a soft pout to Midoriya’s lip but he happily joins Kouda, fingers moving in graceless strokes as they sign to one another. Yaoyorozu joins Jirou, taking the window seat. Tokoyami listens along to Kaminari’s aimless rambling; Sero, Mina and Kirishima behind them at the very back. 

Aizawa is already aboard the bus discussing safety policy, capture weapon draped around his shoulders. He pauses conversation with the driver and smiles as Yamada ushers Eri into seats positioned at the very front. Languid, his focus slides to you, the very last to enter. Heartbeat quickening. There’s something there, you feel it existing on the fringes. 

“Enough. Settle down,” he says, voice rough and commanding authority. The commotion dwindles. You nod before shuffling through the aisle to the remaining spaces. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this trip is a privilege. I am trusting you to behave, follow instructions and stick together. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei”. 

“Do you all have your phone notifications on?”

Yamada throws up a peace sign and jumps in, “Yes, Sensei”. 

Aizawa rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. With the polite incline of his head to the driver the bus doors whirred on their hinges and began to shut. He tucks a curtain of hair behind his ear, adding, “Any questions before we leave?” 

Shinsou clears his throat. His elbows rest on the back of Midoriya’s chair. He lazily points towards Aizawa and drawls, “Does Aizawa-sensei have a buddy?” 

You immediately become conscious of a tangible weight. Their stares fall to you, his included. Dark eyes like flint to your very core. You grin and bear it—grimace through the tension and hope his sharp intellect does not extend to 

Aizawa pressed his lips thin, “Any actual questions?” 

The figures in your periphery all shake their heads, biting back amusement in the face of their teachers' chagrin. The pressure does not dissipate when Aizawa takes the spot next to you, nor when the engine sputters to life and the looming barrier bordering the school entrance lifts to allow passage. 

The destination isn’t far. A fifteen minute drive at best. Still, as the journey progresses the air grows notably sombre. While much of the city has been restored, ghosts will remain. Skeletons of buildings sit on the landscape. Once a sprawling metropolis now made a uneven scar tissue terrain. 

That twinge of concern has you looking over your shoulder and scanning the bus in a less than subtle way. Everyone seems fine. Kaminari waves when you catch his eye. The only student that gives you pause is Bakugo, who has taken to staring hard out the window, discomfort etched into his features.

Or perhaps it’s your overactive imagination. The frown smooths into contentment and you realise he’s sharing a split earphone jack with Shinsou—maybe it was a song he didn’t like. 

You try to shake off the trepidation hanging over your mood. Aizawa notices but doesn’t pry and you find yourself grateful. 

Your concerns become minor the moment the minibus pulls into the commercial district. Standing prominent against the skyline, the building is sun drenched and unsettlingly clean. Inside, light pours through the high domed ceiling and reflects on the shiny tiled floor. There are three upper levels visible on spiralled balconies, each dedicated to different departments. 

Ground level is rather miscellaneous. Record stores, hobby crafts, tech booths and things of the like. Soothing music plays in the background, gentle melodic notes. Being somewhere that brought a sense of normalcy boosted the students morale. You’re warmed by contagious excitement—Aizawa too, lacking his usual force and a smile in his tone as he tells them. “Remember, you’re not to leave this building. If something happens you contact one of us”. 

They split off in opposite directions with the promise to meet at the food court in two hours. Eri and Yamada linger a few minutes longer. She tugs at her fathers sleeve and when crouched to her height she plants a short kiss on his stubbled cheek. 

You are then gifted a sparkly clip for keepsake, as though she were giving part of herself to take with you. “Thank you sweetheart,” touched, you attach it to your bag strap. “I’ll keep it safe”.

Satisfied, Eri thrusts her hand up for Yamada to take, and she comically leads him to march in the direction of a children’s store. The crowds are unexpectedly thin. Though you supposed a majority of the general public did not yet have the confidence nor the funds to make leisure trips to the mall. You’re only thankful they are respectfully giving your class a wide berth. 

Aizawa puffs an indignant breath, “…I think we’ve finally been set up”. 

Fondness surges deep in your chest and you bite back a grin. There’s urgency to it that you can’t satisfy. “Glad I’m not imagining things,” you wet your lips, moving to match his stride. “Does it not bother you?” 

“Which part?” he asks. He’s looking anywhere but you. There’s a playful lilt in his tone that equally settles and ignites your nerves. You would search his face for answers if the lower half were not obscured by his scarf. 

“The ‘clearly trying to get us to date’ part”. 

“There are worse people to be lumped with”. 

Aizawa’s profession rarely left time for indulgence. You’ve heard him discuss it before. He never thought it sensible to involve another person in what he had presupposed would be a tumultuous relationship. For that reason, you wonder if he has much experience in romance at all.

“Ever the charmer, Aizawa”. 

“Shouta,” he says. You blink, narrowly caught in a stupor. The erasure hero sinks to burrow deeper into his capture weapon. Warmth rises to the tips of his ears in spite of his efforts. “Just call me Shouta”. 

Very eloquently, your response is, “Oh”. 

“Or don’t,” he grunted. 

There’s a wealth of unspoken confessions behind a single name. Your heart feels full, stuttering in a way it hasn’t in a long while. “So. What should I tell my friends?” you pick up speed, giddiness spurring your pace and taking you a few steps ahead. “‘This is Shouta. We work together. He has twenty-something kids and our first date was spent patrolling the Musutafu mall’?”

“I have one kid—” Shouta falters, though fleeting, as if he hadn’t realised he’d begun to walk the perimeter. He arches an unimpressed brow, any scorn decidedly betrayed by the mirth in his eyes. “Did you have somewhere in mind?”

An hour rolls into another. You meander various stores together, occasionally bumping into the students and ignoring their suggestive looks. He buys some things for Eri—or so he claims, now in possession of three different cat gel pens—and you pick out new books to keep in your classroom. 

And in the grand scheme of things it’s a paltry affair. You’re looking around a newly built mall with a man you’ve known for close to two months. Simple, comfortable, as most things are with Shouta; yet it feels like a path you’ve walked more times than you can count. Fastened by mattress stitch seams, shoulder to shoulder, you share conversation written in passing glances, so many possibilities etched into a handsome crooked smirk—

Three message alerts come loud and in quick succession. That alone is enough to shatter the atmosphere. They feel frantic, and Shouta’s expression is explanatory enough. 

“It’s Shinsou. Something happened with Bakugo,” he mutters. In one fell swoop he is dashing ahead and you are not long behind. He turns a corner. Your kids are bunched together, seemingly bickering and distraught. Midoriya’s frantic voice can be heard above them all. Civilians have parted, tucking themselves against walls and waiting at security’s instruction. You’re comforted by the fact that they are not rushing out in droves. 

Bakugo is absent. The air smells like smoke but there’s no notable damage. Shouta flashes his hero license and steps into the shoes of a guardian so naturally you wonder if he ever takes them off. The officers standing nearby offer sympathetic smiles, allowing you through, too, after seeing your UA badge. 

While Shinsou is relaying what happened to Shouta you approach the others. A chill spikes the air, colder as the distance lessens, and you realise it must be Todoroki’s quirk. He’s standing at Midoriya’s side, exhaling visible breaths, laying a cold hand on his friend's neck to allay the panic. 

“Hey guys,” you greet gently. “Aizawa-Sensei is just clearing things with Shinsou. Do you know what happened?”

Midoriya snaps to attention, “Sensei—Kacchan, he’s—!”

Kaminari closes in, careful as he drapes his arm across Midoriya’s back. “It’s alright, man,” he murmurs. Todoroki nods. There’s a helplessness in his expression. “Kacchan’s okay. He just needed to blow off some steam. Or smoke, I guess”. 

A repetitive sound loops above your heads. You realise then that there’s a jumbo multi screen hovering in the centre of the ceiling. Clips depicting Gigatomanchia's rampage fade one into a title card, the words ‘twenty city rampage’ highlighted across a sepia backdrop. Your stomach churns at the sight, inhaling sharp between your teeth. 

“It’s that new bullshit documentary,” Jirou interjects. She fiddles anxiously with the jack hung from her earlobe. “They—uh. There were pictures of…”

“I understand. Thank you, Jirou,” you say. They needn’t relive it again—but they had. They will. Bakugo simply raised his head and saw his worst experiences pilfered for television. 

You exhale, taking with it the abrupt anger and frustration. They’re looking to you for reassurance. “I promise we’re going to find Bakugo,” you tell them. “I’m sorry that any of you had to see those images again. Like Kaminari said, I imagine he got overwhelmed and needed some space”. 

Midoriya swallows thickly and he nods. The motion is unsettlingly lifeless. His blank stare passes over your shoulder, and a silhouette of bodyheat settles behind you. 

“Shinsou explained everything,” Aizawa says. His presence visibly untangles the knots in their posture. “Security informed me Bakugo is still in the building. I need you all to wait here for Yamada-sensei—” he holds his hands out in a placating gesture as Todoroki begins to interrupt “—you will wait here while we look for him”. 

“I’ll start heading that way,” you point where the wide walkway narrows towards the southern exit and hard turns left, not wanting to remain still for longer than necessary. Aizawa regards you with a meaningful look and nods. 

You take off. The air retains a faint smokey smell. It grows thicker, more prominent as you pass the various hero merch stores, meeting the eyes of a Edgeshot cardboard cutout. Acrid nausea rises unforgiving in your stomach. 

It guides you to a fire door slightly ajar. Through the door is a dreary stairwell, presumably to be used by customers on the upper floors during an emergency. Bakugo’s hunched figure can be seen through the crack. He’s sitting on one of the steps, head cradled in crossed arms. 

You quickly text Shouta to let him know, and ask that he give you two a little space. You’re hardly expecting him to talk. But where Aizawa-sensei goes his ducklings will follow, and you have a feeling Bakugo is not yet in the mindset for company. 

The door creaks on its hinges as you enter. “Leave me alone,” the Bakugo shaped lump growled. An emotional hurricane in the body of a boy. Your throat swells. It threatens to drag you in. You can feel the sharp winds clipping at your resolve as you lower to sit on the step beside him and he bristles, furiously spitting, “I said fuck off!” 

Another, someone more volatile and disciplinarian, could be tempted to jump in. A person such as yourself, lenient and with less experience, might find it easier to flee; to let the gale propograte northward and weaken on its own. Before being employed at UA your students had always been older, plausibly wiser—but, you suppose, children still. You are honest enough to inwardly admit that you don’t know how to make this better. But you are determined to try. 

So you see your body relax and let your voice flow out calmly, “I’m not going anywhere”. 

Bakugo laughs humorlessly and snaps, “What, you gonna lecture me now?” His hands are wrung tight to stop the tremors. Blood surfaces beneath the pressure and seeps into his nail beds. “Gonna tell me some bullshit about how heroism isn’t defined by success and things will get better if I stick it out?” 

“No. I didn’t come here to lecture you,” you say. He eyes you with suspicion. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. We can sit here as long as you need”. 

What follows is a long, thick silence. The lives of people can be heard muffled through the stairwell walls. Unawares, and in a way, unintentionally mocking. Bakugo’s laboured gasps toll louder in your ears. You don’t speak. You monitor the rise and fall of his chest, gradually slowing until the defensive vitriol clears away. 

“I hate losing control like—” Bakugo’s expression twisted uncomfortably then, as though the confession tasted bitter, and you patiently held your breath. "Fuck. How can I call myself a hero when…" his voice loses strength, reminiscent of an echo. 

He rubs harshly at the spot where his heart rests. You take the young hero by the wrist. You envelop his split knuckles wearing a thin smile, admittedly strained, and squeeze around those shaking fingers while the moment simmers, a gentility not in the absence of violence, but despite it all. 

Bakugo blinks up at you. The movement knocks a tear free, careening down the side of a flushed cheek. The sight lodges something in your throat, thick and hard to swallow; all the words you don’t know how to say. You would never understand what it means to reside in his body—to think of yourself as the scene of a crime. 

Family members, strangers, had visited his hospital room to mournfully listen to that pulse one last time, and Bakugo told them to come by whenever as though he were a living effigy of their lost son. You saw the disconnect he felt from himself. That lifelong debate of what makes a person a person. 

He’s just a kid. 

“Bet you’ve heard hundreds of ‘I’m sorry’s’ at this point, huh?” you murmur. Bakugo snorts. 

“Try thousands,” he rasps. Clicks his tongue to his teeth to save face. “Never know what they’re really apologising for. Rubs me the wrong way”. 

And after being witness to how Bakugo’s mind works you understand what that means. Atleast, you think you might. Teenagers hold enough shame without the weight of another person's life in their arms. You only imagine he hears their regret, guilt, disappointment—hears ‘sorry it was you, kid’ and ‘sorry it wasn’t him’. 

“It’s okay to be angry, you know,” you vowed solemnly. “There’s so much pressure to channel what happened to you into something positive. To make it your strength. And maybe you will, eventually. But you’re allowed to step back and say ‘I went through something scary and traumatic and that changed me forever’”. 

Bakugo grunts. He scrubs under his nose with the back of his hand. “Don’t need you to tell me that,” he says, tone lighter than before. It sounds a lot like ‘thank you’. 

“I’m glad,” you nudge his side and return your hands to your lap. “In that case we should talk about something else”. 

“Like what?” 

“Your assignment,” Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hey. I’m serious. Most of the others have come to me with their topics but yours is still a mystery”. 

“‘Cause those losers need help and I don’t,” he says. There’s no malice in it. His cadence is lighter, the burden he carries now far more loose fitting. You watch him pick at the rips in his jeans. “…Mine’s about mythological figures. Some cult wackos out there believe the old Gods had quirks. Hence the animal heads and shit”. 

“That’s a brilliant choice, Bakugo,” his answer brings a sincere smile to your lips. “Gives you a lot more to explore in your discussion. I can’t wait to read it”.

The muscles in Bakugo’s face twitch. Mouth deliberately downturned. A flustered yet pleased blush paints the tips of his ears and the simple praise breathes him to life like a technicolour Oz. It eases the anxiety simmering under your skin. You prompt him to talk further, pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity extends further than Japan’s own mythology. 

Eventually you need to update Shouta again. Leaving it too long would only worry him further. Bakugo’s eyes track your thumbs movement across the keyboard as you type. “Are you texting Eyebags?” 

“I’m texting Aizawa-sensei,” you correct blithely as a text bubble appears on the bottom left of the screen. “I thought Shinsou was ‘Eyebags’”. 

“They’re interchangeable,” he rebuts. You huff a laugh, screen going dark with a quiet click. Bakugo’s reflection looks back at you where he’s peeking over your shoulder. 

“You two a thing or somethin’?” he asks, not even attempting to hide his interest. 

“We aren’t ‘a thing’,” your fingers form quotation marks around the words. And it’s true. You aren’t. Yet. “I don’t know why you all came to that conclusion”. 

“Probably ‘cause you look at him all googly eyed. And he always shares that shitty jelly with you. Basically his alternative to a proposal,” he smirked. Shouta is still typing—

Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.

—A thumbs up emoji. 

Bakugo laughs. His eyes crinkle. A crease deepens on the bridge of his nose. The brief flash of a toothy grin. No longer a hero-too-soon on two tired feet but instead a teenage boy, poking light fun at his teacher. 

“The hell. He texts like my old man”.

You hum in amusement. “Some people do better face to face,” the ‘like you’ remains unspoken. Shadows pleat across the stairwell as clouds shift, disturbing the dim stream of light. You become conscious of the hour. And it seems so does he. 

“How do you feel about heading back?” 

Bakugo’s stare fixed itself onto his hands. You notice the crescent shaped marks, the skin around his nails fraying, picking at his body like a seam. “I can go back,” he grunts. 

“You can, but do you want to?” you ask, blindly feeling up the strap drawn over your shoulder. The small, glittery claw clip is still there. “Humour me for a sec,” you unclip it and Bakugo frowns as you proffer it to him, rolling in the centre of your palm. “Let it bite you”. 

“Let it bite me?” he repeats dryly. 

“Clip it around your fingers or pinch your hand with it—yeah, like that,” you grin as he blindly follows the instruction. The little claw clip bites into a swathe of the skin from the back of his hand. “Better, right?” 

Lip jutted into a pout, Bakugo eyes the clip dubiously; no longer focused on the anxiety, and you take it as a big win. “I guess. Thanks Sensei,” you tense in surprise as he gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “I want to go back,” he says, nothing short of a demand. 

There’s certainly no love lost between you and the cold step under your thighs. You stretch as you stand, shucking the backpack higher up your shoulder. “Alright. Then let’s get you back”. 

Bakugo doesn’t protest when you remain at his side, keeping pace. His finger and thumb work at the clips hinge while he walks, absentmindedly opening, closing, running the teeth over his knuckles. You’re sure Eri would gladly let him keep it. 

Tears are all dried up which Bakugo appears grateful for. The class doesn't immediately rush him, though you can see that they want to. Rather they wait for him to come to them, parting like arms and coaxing him into the centre. 

You branch off to where Shouta is standing watch with Yamada. Eri stands behind his leg, clutching at his pant leg. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she looks up at you. “Bakugo is alright now,” you tell them. “But you know what?”

Eri instinctively pushes up onto the balls of her feet, as though climbing higher to hear a big secret. Lowered into a conspiratorial hush, you say, “I bet he would feel even better if you gave him a hug”.

Shouta’s hand crowns her head. He carefully pats the side of her braid, giving silent permission. Expression tight in a determined pinch Eri ducks between his legs and toddles toward the group. 

“He really doin’ okay?” Yamada quietly asked. 

You murmur an affirmative, shifting in place as you turn to watch the scene unfold. Eri pats Bakugo’s hip. He seems vaguely nervous as he rests on his haunches and allows her to tangle herself around him. 

Shouta’s knuckles knock your own. His fingers twitch, unfurling as though to reach out and then thinking better of it. “Do you think I should talk to him?” 

When you look at him he’s already looking right back. Eyes soft like the sun had made them warm. You mind the small gap and stretch your pinky, brushing the outer curve of his palm and retracting again. “Bakugo respects you. He feels safe with you,” you assure him. “I think it’d be good if you talked”.

“Maybe some extra sessions with Hound Dog, too,” Yamada adds. Your heart staggers, having near forgotten he was there. “For all of them”. 

“I’ll see if he can do another class session during their independent study period,” Shouta says, attention returning to Eri’s antics—she’s now walking Bakugo over, hand in hand, subsequently bringing the other students with her. 

Shouta exhales, clicking his neck. There’s a finality to it. You see the internal headcount he does in their approach, and how the preparation to jump back into action recedes at the confirmation that all his kids are present. 

“We’ve got two options now,” he announces. “I’m sure none of us want to stick around longer than we need to. So either we go up to the food court and eat, or we can head back to campus”. 

Mutterings break out amongst the group. Iida diligently attempts to organise a sensible vote and asks for a show of hands, but his effort is squashed the instant that Kaminari suggests WcDonalds. 

Eri keeps hold of Bakugo's hand the entire way back, and insists on sitting with him. Yamada switches buddy’s without complaint, wiggling himself into the window seat beside Shinsou, happy to pull out his headphones and collect music suggestions from his beloved students. 

Shouta remains at your side. You hear unfettered laughter and think you might be close to tears—the tender kind. Softly, you mumble, “I’m glad I took this job”.  

He exhales slowly, and the loss of tension has him leaning into you ever so slightly. Your shoulders touch. “Me too,” he says. 

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From: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp   To: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  Cc: Inui.Ryo@UAedu.jp; Aizawa.Shouta@UAedu.jp Subject: Incident report [High importance] Message: 

Good evening,

Attached is my account of the incident that occurred at Musutafu Shopping District on Saturday, [x] September 11:34am. 

Hound Dog and I have also brainstormed a few suggested classroom additions for students coping with anxiety. 

Take care!

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Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking. 

Everyone has since retired to their apartments and it is long past the hour for Eri to be in bed. Time slips through your fingers. You count the dust bunnies behind your eyes but nothing works. 

Clarity shrikes through you with small cuts. The day wears on your body like a bruise that you cannot ignore now the adrenaline has subsided. You’re processing the fleeting touches, the purposeful looks, the whiplash of panic, the heartache that comes with being helpless—

Your mind is a spinning top with no hands to stop it, not even the clocks. Though it falters at a single thought passing overhead.

There is one man you can trust to be awake at this hour. 

You kick off the sheets, unsteady as you nudge each foot into the wrong slipper. The dormitory is cast in shadow. Your eyes are slow to adjust, shapes and lines sharpening around you. 

Shouta is seated at the kitchen island, dark space doused in the low lighting from the stovetop hood, warm across the contours of his face. Papers are laid out before him in organised piles. 

“Burning the midnight oil?” 

A pen spins around his thumb. He peeks through dark hair curtaining his vision and hums. Your gait is heavy, like wading through waist high water. The quiet clink of melting ice draws your attention to his glass. “I didn’t take you for a gin and tonic kinda guy,” you murmur, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “Regular old sake, maybe”.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a pointed swig of his drink. He smacks his lips. “Gin and tonic keeps me awake,” he explains dryly, nudging the glass in your direction. You fold to his soft suggestion and bring it to your nose. The smell alone is enough to make you shiver. 

Shouta laughs at your grimace. At that point you sense in your gut that maybe, maybe you should have stayed in bed. You’re warm, pleasantly sleepy, and your tongue feels dangerously loose. 

Seeking distraction, your gaze drops to the papers stacked before him. You set down the gin, beaded condensation wet around your fingers, and lean in for a closer look. The grade written at the top is worryingly low. “That’s… not looking so good,” you prompted. 

“This is Todoroki’s,” Shouta clarifies, brow pinched. He gives an empathetic nod to your wide eyed stare. From reading their files you knew Todoroki consistently ranked top five in class A.  “It’s not just him. They’re all struggling in different areas. And I was never expecting things to go back to normal but it’s…” 

“You’re doing what you can,” you say. 

Shouta clicks his tongue, “But is that enough?” 

You cover his hand without thought, thumb outlining the rough dips and peaks of his knuckles as you insist, “Yes. I believe it’s enough”. Somewhere in the spaces between seconds Shouta overturns his wrist, and your fingers are intertwined, and you’re squeezing until your palms kiss. 

You think of that heavy coat Yagi referenced. Of a man wearing his failures as self imposed repentance. “You aren’t the only one here helping them. We’re going to get them across this bridge, and then the next, and the next—” Shouta turns a cheek to hide his amusement as your rambling becomes more exaggerated. 

“You’ll never be rid of them. Not even after they graduate”. You smile softly, “The kids are gonna be alright, Aizawa”. 

Dark eyes smile back, “…You did good today, you know”.

Hundreds of butterflies hatch inside your stomach. “I—I did?”

He huffs at that, wetting his lips. “You’re impossible”.

Something unspoken weaves into the atmosphere—the attraction between you becomes a tangible thread before either of you speak another word. He’s much closer. Every movement he has made you’ve mirrored without meaning to. 

“Impossible?” you repeat, hushed.

He pitches his voice low and says, “I thought I told you to call me Shouta”. 

At what point had you settled into the cradle of his thighs? Your breath catches. Two hands are on your hips, soft flesh yielding under his thumbs as they massage shapes from memory. You clutch at broad shoulders and exhale, settling into the hold and surrendering yourself.

“Shouta,” you echo, charmingly dumbfounded. 

Gentle, Shouta takes your chin and turns you toward him. A large, rough palm cups your cheek. He brings your forehead against his, close enough to hear his breath falter. The air is clammy. Taut, primed to break with another tilt of your head, and he must sense it. There’s trepidation—hesitance to handle something as tender as this when the things he knows best are animosity and bloodshed.

You offer mercy in taking the lead. Your hands slip from his shoulders to his jaw. Shouta lets himself be guided into your magnetism, a contented hum rippling in his throat like the water of a wellspring. 

He kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late. It feels like muscle memory. It feels like something you’ve done a thousand times over. Those hands circle around your waist, splayed at the lower back, heat radiating through your shirt. Lips part at the light swipe of his tongue. You taste the faint notes of citrus and juniper, coaxing him into your mouth, swallowing a soft groan. 

Heat flashes through you. Familiar want is coiling low in your belly, so stark that you shake with it. Hands wander. Lips too. Shouta kisses across your cheeks, nipping the delicate line of your jaw. Stubble tickles your throat. He mouths at your pulse and pulls you impossibly close, a desperate edge to it as though he were making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t. He outlines a topographical map of your figure, fingers walking the bumps, curves and dimples, tentatively slipping up your shirt to reach your soft stomach. 

The hair along your arms stands on end. Fingertips climb higher toward your chest, and a heart that threatens to leap right out through your ribs. “Aizawa, we can’t—”

“Shouta,” he mutters, continuing his path down your collar. You shudder and his fingers flex, sensing the aftershocks of his touch. 

“Shouta,” you amend breathlessly. “We can’t have sex in the common area”. 

A rare clemency follows. Shouta stops, and your hands come to thread through his hair. Dull stubble tickles the dip of your collarbone. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk. 

He leans back to look up and doesn’t take his eyes off you. Half lidded and soft, wrapping you in a gauzy roseate veil that hems the whole world pink. Something about the surety of his desire stunned you. To be wanted by a man who always seemed above such things—it makes your chest pound and your face warm, exhilaration spreading to the very tips of your fingers, restless with the urge to touch him. 

“Who said anything about sex?” he asks, tenor low and deeply amused. It seems any mercy from him ended there. 

“So now you can play dumb?” you mumble, an indignant exhale puffing through your nose. You feel him twitch, heat seeping through the thin fabric. “As if you were going to stop there”.

Shouta merely gives you a crooked grin. The scar tissue around his eye wrinkles. You find him unfairly, preternaturally handsome. You like him so much you’re dizzy with it. 

All at once you are torn apart. Shouta has pushed you into the adjacent seat and turned back to his papers. An ephemeral dread rushes through you—immediately washed away by the sound of a door opening. Two familiar voices follow. 

“I bet he’s somewhere down here,” Yagi whispers. He turns the corner into the kitchen, awkwardly bent to hold a small hand. Swimming in her sleep shirt, Eri shuffled in beside him barefoot and rubbing the sleep from her eye. 

“Look, see. And even…” Yagi’s eyes widened as he spoke your name. They flickered over your dishevelled state and then to Shouta, who is equally unkempt. Luckily for him that is nothing suspicious. You, however—

“I’m here Eri-bug,” Shouta says. His clothes have been smoothed out, hair tucked back over his ears, expression soft and unruffled as he crouched to her height. She stops short of him, laying her palm over his outstretched hand. 

“Did you have a bad dream?” he quietly asks. Eri shifts in place and nods. You look away from their vulnerable moment with instantaneous regret. Yagi meets your gaze, freezing mid step as he backs out, brows arched high on his forehead. There’s a slight blush around his ears. You grimace. He absolutely knows. 

Something small clutches at your shirt sleeve and tugs. The yellow ochre of light dances in Eri’s big red eyes as she studies you from the security of her father’s arms. “Hi there Eri,” you murmur gently. “Are you okay?” 

Her grip doesn’t loosen. She blinks long and slow, “Did you have a bad dream too?” 

Shouta adjusts her on his hip but says nothing. Behind the nonchalant veil lies fond amusement and warmth. “…Not a bad dream,” you tell her. “I couldn’t sleep because I was worrying a lot. But I’m feeling better now”.

A sleepy smile stretches across her lips. Eri is seemingly satisfied by your answer but not by the distance. Without ceremony she leans away from her father’s embrace into your own. You make a short noise of surprise as she wraps her legs around your middle. 

The weight is oddly comforting. You run a hand down her back, “Eri…?” 

“Bed now,” she slurs, rubbing the swell of her cheek against your shoulder. “Sleep safe”.

Shouta moves closer. There’s something in his gaze that makes your throat dry. You’re not sure what he’s seeing. What it is he has been seeing in you all this time—

“You heard her,” he pressed a kiss to Eri’s hair, then turned to kiss your temple. He lingers, and each word leaves another. “Let’s go to bed. We’re alright now”. 

—You can only assume, like for you, it is everything. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

From: Principal.Nedzu@UAedu.jp  To: QScience.teacher@UAedu.jp Subject: [High importance] Message:  Good morning!

I heard the news and thought it important that you’re reminded of UA’s relationship policies:

There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?

Much happiness to you both. It is always a pleasure to see love blossom.

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School  〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu.  Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

[liaarxse]

tr boys when y/n has issues accepting that they actually do love her

Yesterday, today and tomorrow

Characters: Nahoya Kawata, Manjiro Sano, Kazutora Hanemiya

Warnings: Fluff, a bit of angst in Kazutoras part

A/n: Literally pulled out the biggest smile when I saw this request. Also, yes, Nahoya again. I just love writing for him. idk why (cuz he a crackhead)

P.s: Remember, it was said multiple times that Toman doesn't hurt women, sunshines. Don't think they'd break your precious hearts. They'd be just a bit hard to deal with <3

—NAHOYA KAWATA

Okay, we've all seen that one best/worst boyfriend chart our friend Ken Wakui made.

Personally, I threw a fit when I saw who were the worst.

Then I thought about Nahoya. He seemed a bit like a fuck boy, you get what I mean? Yeah, no.

Then I thought about it again

I examined the post a bit more after I found it in English and read what Takemichi said. If Mikey and Kazutora would be the top worst because they're reckless, Nahoya would obviously be even tamer

So personally, I believe Nahoya is in the top three just because he has a carefree type of living way. Like, he isn't scared of fighting, killing, and all. I mean, he probably IS scared to kill but doesn't show it.

How's he a red flag again? I don't believe them.

But for one, he'd never cheat on you. He'll be loyal as hell. Maybe if he wasn't in a relationship in one of the time skips where it showed the top members he'd fuck around with chicks (straight hair grown up Nahoya gives me fuckboy energy), but since the change and he's now working with his brother In their ramen shop? Get that thing out of your head.

Because for him to get in a relationship, he must dearly love and respect you.

Keep in mind that he also has to trust you since, in one way, if you're not to be trusted and/or are somewhat dangerous, he's putting his brother in danger as well.

But that's besides the point.

He loves you.

It's painfully obvious

He protects you, he trusts you, he spoils you in his own ways

He loves you

Maybe it's past relationship trauma that causes you to think it's all a facade

Which brings us to today's scenario

You're in Nahoya's room since his brother is out all day and you didn't bother to fix yours

You were looking around his room while he was testing the new straightener you got him since his broke

Examining the objects around you, your eyes land on a frame right above his toman uniform. It was of you two

You wondered why he would frame such a picture on the wall over his gang uniform. You mostly didn't like it because you hated the way you came out in the picture

Getting off his bed, you walked over to the opposite wall and stared at the picture for a good minute

Nahoya noticed that from the reflection on the mirror in front of him, but his smile just grew a tad bit more and returned to straightening his hair

You pursed your lips together in thought and reached to grab it

"Oi!" He exclaimed with a giggle. "Hands off."

You flinched when he suddenly spoke and turned to him with a raised brow

"What? Why?"

"Because," He turned around to face you. "I know you'll throw the pic away."

You weren't going to lie. If you stared at it for a bit more, you would've made the paper rip itself. You hated how you came out!

"But I look horrible!"

"I know." He laughed, but it quickly died down to a chuckle when he saw you glaring at him. "I'm kidding, babe. You look hella cute!"

You quickly turned around to hide the blush that appeared on your face. Crossing your arms, you were still staring at the picture

Being too caught in the act, you didn't realize when Nahoya finally finished straightening his hair and came up to you. He loosely wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, mockingly copying your slightly frustrated face

You noticed that and rolled your eyes with a soft groan, which earned you some snickering from him. He pressed a kiss to your cheek before nuzzling his own to yours

"Why did you frame this?"

"Because it's special."

"How is it special?" Your voice grew confused. It's just a picture, nothing much

"Reminds me of the main reason I never give up."

Your blood went cold. What?

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're my main priority, babe. You, your safety, your smile." He chuckled at how cheesy he sounded. "That's why I framed us right over my gang uniform. Every time I have to change for a brawl or even just a meeting, I'm reminded of the smile that will greet me in the end and will always be there."

That didn't sound like Nahoya. For a moment, you even thought if that wasn't just some doppelganger

Until he smacked your ass

Yeah that's him

He loves you, and without realizing it, he just made all your problems fade away

Looking at the picture now, maybe, just maybe, it isn't as bad as you thought it was.

+ Your little twin girls found the picture in some box while playing and made fun of how you both looked. It was never to be seen again. It was under your mattress

— KAZUTORA HANEMIYA

So. Second worst boyfriend on the list.

Let's be honest, if your love language is quality time this won't work

Not that he won't want to spend time with you, but Juvenile? Sorry baby, they stole him from you

Kazutora loves you so much. He'd kill for you, and he'll die for you. No questions asked. He once even tried to break out from Juvenile because he couldn't take being far away from you anymore.

You visit him every day for as long as you can, bringing him gifts, telling stories, saying how much you miss him

But sometimes you wondered, does he love you?

"Baby!" A happy Kazutora exclaimed when you finally entered the meeting room and waited for you with a happy smile to sit down, on the opposite side of him, thick glass keeping you both separate.

"Hey, baby." You chuckled, adjusting in your seat.

It wasn't a lie how excited he was every day to see you. Sometimes, like today, he'd make you small diy gifts and show them off to you, explaining every minor detail from the inspiration, materials, hidden message, time taken, everything

And you kept them all on a special separate shelf in your room

"So that's my gift for you today! Do you like it?"

"I love it, 'Tora."

It was a small origami rose, which was actually very well made, considering he had to use his imagination

You both talk for a few moments before the chattering died down. You knew what that meant and quickly wiped the already falling tears

You hated this

You hated how close yet how far he was from you

You just wanted to break the damn glass and embrace him, never letting go

And he damn well knows he wants it too

But he can't, and neither can you

He was recently taken in, 3 years ago

Which means he'll be out in 7 years

Which felt like a lifetime for both of you

His biggest fear was you'd find someone new and leave him

Which he wouldn't even be mad about, considering he just ruined both your lives

But you stay consistent, you visit every single day, and even if you don't manage to, you always send him gifts and make up for it when you see each other.

But people's patience runs out at some point, and that point is today

You never meant to say this

You never meant to question his love for you because you both knew it was there and growing every passing day

So why did you ask? Was it the loneliness you felt every time you stepped out of the room and he wasn't there by your side? Was it the thrust to just be able to hold his hand? Was it the pain you felt every night where, instead of saying goodnight to him, you turned to a frame with a photo of him and said it to it?

You didn't know. He didn't know

The only thing you remember after that was the sound of glass shattering, alarms going off, and Kazutora hugging onto you as if it was your last minute on Earth.

You just cling to him, never wanting to let go again

You felt the tears fall when he kissed you, feeling all his love attack you in that one moment before the guards arrived and took him away

Your little moment lasted around 10 seconds, probably even less, but it felt like eternity to both of you

Visits were banned for a week until they changed the glass into an even more thick and unbreakable one

You dashed to the building the second they opened visiting hours again

And to be fair, even if that cost him 4 more months in juvenile, it was worth it when you finally managed to continue with your lives after his sentence

+ Your younger son thought it was funny while your older daughter cried her eyes out. I think you have 3 kids instead of two.

— MANJIRO SANO

Ah, yes. Our favorite dark impulse.

Listen, Mikey has to have FULL trust in you to even think about dating you. We're talking about Draken type of trust, if possible even more.

If Mikey falls for you, he will hit like fucking bedrock

If you don't reciprocate his feelings, he'd be hurt, but if you do, you're stuck for life

Mikey loves hard, and it's been proven so many times

It's the same as Kazutora. He'd kill for you.

Don't make him prove it. Just don't. You know, he knows, and everybody knows Mikey will do anything for you

So why ever question it?

You loved Manjiro, and he loved you. It was way too obvious to the point Emma already planned your whole future together

You knew that, but you always had this 'what it' thought in the back of your head, messing with you and you hated it

It was a normal afternoon. You were out with Mikey, just roaming around the city, eating at restaurants where they don't have flags so you brought your home-made ones, and spending way too much money on things you don't need

It was fun and all, just spending time together until he got a message from Draken which quickly brought him to his senses

He didn't want to leave you, but he had, so with a quick kiss on the lips he was off

You waved him goodbye with a smile and called up Emma and the girl just magically teleported to you in 10 minutes

She just loves you too much

Probably fought with Mikey for your hand at some point

You were having a blast with her until you both finally settled down at a café and talked about, just, anything and everything

You decided to share your thought with Emma and she quickly jumped, reassuring you that Mikey loved you with all his hesrt

She started showing you messages he's sent her about how he felt, what to get you and all sorts of things

But our beautiful Emma had her own 'what if' thought and when Mikey got home she instantly jumped on him

It was like, 1am when you heard his bike's engine roaring from outside your window. You got up and were met with a smiling Mikey and no more sleep for tonight

"Wake up, sleepy head. We need to talk."

The moment you got down to him, you were already zooming through the streets of Tokyo, but not in a racer-fast manner, just enought so you aren't like slugs on the roads

"Emma told me that—"

"I'm sorry, Mikey... I didn't mean to—"

"Please let me finish."

He talked for like, a whole ass hour. About everything that includes you both.

He brought you to tears ngl

His words just hit so deep that the thought immediately disappeared

Maybe it was he words of affirmation he used, the quality time he spend riding all night with you to ease your worries, the gift he gave you when you watched the sunrise and the fact you woke up in your bed later on with a small letter from him and a chibi drawing of both of you at the corner that kept a smile on your face till the end of you days

And you damn well know you lived one long ass life with Manjiro

And I'm kinda surprised to be honest

Not because you could've died while he was in Toman or anything, but because your kid is 3 times worse than Mikey.

+ Your son found his old gang uniform and wore it to school. The next teacher-parent conference was one hell of a trip.

[vivalabunbun]

There Are Nothing But Flowers

Summary: You want to play house and he’s just hungry.

Word Count: 11.3K

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut(r18+), Modern AU, Vampire AU, TW: Death, Terminally ill! Reader,  TW: Medical gaslighting, description of medial treatments & corruption, TW: Blood & Blood drinking, vague mentions of violence, Contract Marriage AU, slight! enemies to lovers, Slow burn, NSFW, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Unrequited love?, Vampire! Alhaitham, Dom! Alhaitham, Human! Reader, biting, slight orgasm denial, overstimulation, creampie, slight corruption kink, temperature play? you fall hard, slow fic, tragedy. 

Authors note: This is the other side to this work, your side of the story, please read the tags carefully. I wanted to explore the other side of the garden wall and themes of mortality, it’s heavy, please read when you feel well enough to see what lies beyond. Enjoy. 

Side note: the aftermath

“Honey, I’ll be off to work now.” A dapper man straightens out his tie, a briefcase in his other hand.

“Dear…aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Are my pants unzipped again?” His eyes darted down as disembodied laughter rang out in the unseen background.

“No, you forgot this.” The pattering of house slippers stops as the woman cradles her lover's face between her hands.

The kiss from her immaculately painted lips melted the wrinkles from his forehead as the taller man leaned into his deserved affection.

“Have a good day at work, my love.”

—

A quiet house on the hill, white picket fences, and a lovely dog wagging its tail in the green yard. Eyes watching the vibrancies dance along a small screen, blocking out the gray in the peripheral.

Everything about this drama was cliché, the plot slow and predictable, just mediocre. So perfectly mundane that your hand itches to grab it through the screen like a thief. But are you really a thief if you steal back what was taken from you? 

Before your mind can explore that comparison further a knock drags you out of the immersion, thumb quickly taps the screen to halt the fantasy. 

“Good evening, ma’am.” The doctor in his white uniform enters. 

“Hello, doctor.” 

Two polite smiles greet each other, neither truly reaching the eyes. Your hands neatly folded together, his fiddling with the chipboard which held your verdict.

Observing how his teeth bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes scanned the charts. Your hands remain still even as he takes a deep breath.

“Unfortunately it has spread beyond our initial expectations. The results show that it’s progressed to a late stage despite our best efforts. Right now, you only have a few treatment options left.”

What happened to ‘just that time of the month’, ‘just get fresh air’, and ‘just give it some time’? 

“There’s a series of procedures to cut out the spread, however, it might be very difficult as the infection is deep and intertwined with healthy tissue. The success rate is low, and the probability of it coming back is very high.” 

What happened to ‘you’re young and healthy, it’s nothing’? 

“The next possible treatment would be Kalpalata Lotuses. It has properties to slow inflections and has pain-reducing effects, however, it’s slow and inefficient in the long run. If you choose the first option you’ll have to pair it with treatment two. The first could give you fourteen years, the second on its own might only give you half of that.” 

What were these past months spent behind a glass prison all for? 

The constant hum of the machines filled in the dead space, the beeps on the monitors counting the passing seconds as two lips remained closed.

From the hallways, the chattering of nurses provided proof that the world in fact has not stopped spinning. Something dreadful filled the room, a silent suffocation. He was the first to fold. 

“Please take your time to think this decision over, I’ll leave you to get some rest. Have a good night ma’am.” There was a flutter of pages folding back down to the clipboard.

The doctors were letting you pick your poison, how thoughtful of them. 

Just as before two polite smiles that didn’t reach the eyes acknowledged each other, with a nod the doctor took his leave, eager to end his shift, to escape the unseen hands.

Not a word slipped past your lips during the one-sided conversation, tongue unable to string together a single sentence. What is there left to say? 

As you lay back down your fingers brushed against the screen, restarting the episode as the laughter of an audience resonated along the sterile walls. 

Maybe if the doctors, with their acclaimed degrees and status, were just a little more attentive.

Maybe if they didn’t simply see you as a lady with nonsensical symptoms.

Maybe if they didn’t view you as a statistic.

Then you wouldn’t have collapsed that day at work.

Then you wouldn’t have spent grueling months undergoing diagnosis after diagnosis.

Then maybe just maybe the Pythagorean Cup wouldn’t have surpassed its threshold, emptying out all hope. 

The dialogue continues but it’s all but a fuzzy ringing now. Eyes watching the passing car lights dance upon the gray ceiling from the late evening traffic of workers, with their white or blue collars, eager to return home. 

You longed for that, to return there. Hands itching to rip out the tube from your arm and the sensor with its pitched beeps. 

Fourteen years, fourteen years of what? Bed sores from thin sheets? Chest pains at too deep of breaths? Stitches recovering only to be ripped open again? 

Sounds more like a punishment delivered deep underground in a place whose temperature rivals the surface of a burning star. 

Was it because you cursed at the man who cut you in line once?

Was it because you stole your college roommate’s sweater?

Was it because you never brought offerings to the Sanctuary of Surasthana? 

Were you such a despicable person in a past life that the sins carried over? 

Heavy lids closed to soothe the burning in your eyes, letting the warm trails run down your cheek. Reining your senses back from its escapade with a slow breath. 

No. It’s none of that. It’s just life, capricious life. Capricious life that took your parents and now is hunting you. 

There’s no karmic debt to pay off, there’s no faceless god to pray to. Setting one foot onto the path of true adulthood, only for your eyes to spot the end just over the horizon. What can you do? 

The jumbled laughs and fuzzy speeches coming from your phone’s speaker were becoming too much. Thus you rolled your heavy body over to silence it. Once again the world outside the window was in view, the soft orange glow from the office right across leaking into the suffocating grey. 

Oh, he’s at his desk tonight. 

Wet eyes watch as the ashen-haired being shifts through sheets of crisp paper and his pen moving constantly. It’s strange, a bit mocking even, that an immortal creature could be so mundane.

Maybe that’s why their office is just across the Bimarstan, to taunt those who longed for that reality, beckoning them to sign their names on a dotted line. 

Candace’s words were right, it’s a predatory scheme. 

Perhaps hold habits die hard, after all, vampires are creatures of the night that once terrorized generations of humans. 

Shielded by the panes of glass separating the two buildings, it was safe to continue this strange routine. Is staring at a stranger considered stalking if they’re the only view the windows offer? 

He got up from his desk, moving towards the filing cabinet just off to the side, allowing for his profile to come into view. 

He’s handsome, features outshining any of the male leads you’ve seen in movies. 

Teal eyes, ashen hair like moonlight, tall and broad stature. It’s no mystery why so many heroes and heroines fell into depravity, lured in by their beauty, entranced minds blindly offering up their everything. 

You weren’t special enough to be immune. Hence, why you continued to watch the nameless vampire who doesn’t know yours. Resting your cheek upon the stiff pillow, the feeling in your arm decreases like the cars in the streets. The pitched beeps keeping time.

He stood back up from his desk again, one hand grabbing the coat thrown over the back of a chair. Placing pens back into a cup and paper back into folders, he walks to the door before his hand shuts off the warm orange light. 

It looks like tonight’s episode has ended on time like always. Rolling back to stare at the drab ceiling, allowing blood to rush back into your arm as the sensation of pins and needles crawled up. It wasn’t bothersome, as tonight's viewing evoked entertaining thoughts. 

What a punctual vampire, where does he go after midnight? To a tavern or home?

Is someone waiting at the door for him there? Welcoming him back with soft lips?

Is that why he’s so eager to leave?

Your lids were growing heavy, the view of a blank ceiling wanes your alertness. The sweet curiosities coax you to continue in the realm of dreams, you listened to their call. 

Could you be that someone? 

“So, how ya feeling?” Dehya places down a container filled with baklava. 

“Mmm…”

The metal legs of the visitor's chair scraped across the floor as she awaits your response.

“Would you still be my friend if I was a rock, Dehya?”

“Ahh, not this again.” She rolls her eyes. 

Sitting upright in the hospital bed, hands folded together you awaited her response.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll still love you to bits even if you’re a pebble or something,” Dehya sighs, but there’s an upward tilt in her lips. 

“I’ll love you too.” You helped yourself to some baklava. 

A reward for your diversion of a miserable topic with sweet nonsense and special words. After all, she’s got a difficult job during the night, no need to make the day as difficult. Your mother used to say to save such words only for a special someone, but that’s the point of a word if it's never used?

–

“So, a few weeks ago I took this assignment that–” Dehya’s sapphire eyes moved behind you, gazing out the window where the sunlight poured in. 

“Ugh, his office is right across from you.” 

“Who?”

“Alhaitham, he’s a vampire I had the misfortune of meeting during a job, not that he’d remember.” 

So the vampire’s name was Alhaitham, it felt nice on your tongue. 

“Oh? How come?” 

“He just always talks in long, convoluted sentences, and in that snooty tone, snooty even for a vampire.” Dehya takes a piece of baklava to ease her from that bitter work experience. 

“My, I wonder how his spouse bares with him.” The bait was set out. 

“Pfft?! Ahaha! Who? It’s nearly impossible to spend five minutes by his side.” 

“Mm, really?” 

“No ring on his finger. From what I’ve gathered even other vampires can’t stand that personality of his.” Dehya takes another piece. 

Success. 

–

The container of baklava now only holds a few crumbs and traces of sweet syrup. The sun was beginning to kiss the horizon, a sign that your friend’s visit was coming to an end.

After all, she’s got a duty to fulfill as a hunter that maintains the balance between mortals and creatures who dare cross the boundaries of the law. 

Right as your hand returns from the air after bidding goodbye, it lands on the cold screen of your phone. In an age of growing cities and ever-advancing technologies, you’re grateful for these developments. As it makes your next actions possible.

It’s hard to miss a name when the letters are written in bold, imposing signs along the building just beyond the panes of glass.

As per Sumeru regulation, all employed vampires must be listed on company sites, an attempt at keeping track of such creatures. 

Scrolling page after page until eyes landed upon familiar ash-mint trusses.

Name: Alhaitham

Species: Vampire (Born)

Title: Secretary

Years At Company: 168

Fingers clicked on the next tab. 

“To apply for a blood contract, one must bring personal identification, and fill out an application during an appointed consultation with the vampire present. Once the boundaries of the contract are established, it will go through the approvement process.” 

Eyes moved to the next tab.

“Seven years is the maximum time for a singular contract, but it can be renewed every seven years. Both parties must fulfill the terms written on the contract. The value of a contract is determined by the amount of blood offered on a regular basis or in a future deposit. Applying for a contract that gives the maximum, 10 pints, in a full sum amount must pass a psychological evaluation.” 

--

Fourteen years is an unjustly cruel fate, but seven… Seven might be tolerable. After all, it’s often called the number of luck, you wonder if vampires were aware of this, maybe that’s why they chose that arbitrary number. 

Waiting as the sun disappears behind the horizon with your head resting against the stiff pillow. The warm orange glow from the office across from you signaled the start of tonight’s episode. Observing every stop and start of his pen as two voices wrangled your thoughts. 

There was a guest featured in this episode it seems, another vampire enters the office with a fresh stack of paper. He seemed eager for Alhaitham’s approval, even going as far as offering a pen out from his own pocket. However, this plan was foiled by a simple rise of hand by the male lead. 

The universal signal for rejection. 

The guest seemed dumbstruck. The only explanation the silver-haired lead gave was a simple gesture toward a clock. The guest’s hands were moving frantically as if to convey the urgency of the papers piled up.

However, Alhaitham simply takes his coat from the back of his chair and shuts off the warm light. 

In the murky darkness, your eyes could just barely make out the silhouettes of two figures traversing out of the office. Oh, tonight’s episode has ended just on time as always. 

How shamelessly punctual that vampire is. Some might even call it selfish. But what’s wrong with being selfish? After all, all true passions in life in the end are thinly veiled excuses for selfishness. 

If life wanted to be shamelessly selfish, then why can’t you? With that, it seems one voice has finally emerged victorious. 

Your fingers crept towards a button just off to the side, a quiet ding resounding as the bright glow flashed. Breaths counting the minutes before a set of footsteps stopped in front of your room, followed by a polite knock. 

“Is there something you need, ma’am?”

“Yes, I want to discharge myself tomorrow, as soon as possible.”

Your eyes traced over the too-long string of zeros printed on the check, hands wanting to crumble up the slip of paper. So this is how much your life was worth. Standing outside the Bimarstan, you peered up at the tall building that once caged you. 

Were the administrators looking down at you at this moment from their high offices? Were they watching your reaction to their little bribe? Pushing you to keep your lips shut, so that their mistakes and misjudgments won’t reach the ears of the press? 

It doesn’t really matter now, but it was thoughtful of them to hand out an extra bargaining chip. Refocusing your attention back on the building just across the street, there were still some preparations to finish.  

–

The time was now 6:30 pm, the sun has ran off into the night allowing for the stars to guide you back to the building just beyond the glass.

A simple bag held your offerings: proof of identity, property documents, doctor's notes, and bank statements handsomely topped off with the help of a certain check. 

There’s a jitter in your legs as you stood just beyond the threshold of the sliding doors. Is it really the right thing to do?

What would be the look on the faces of your dearest friends?

Would the handsome stranger show last night’s gesture to you too? 

Your lungs steadily filled with the crisp air, pushing their capacity almost to the point of pain, you exhaled. 

The right thing to do is to be selfish, they’ll understand sooner or later, and the worst thing he could do is say no.

Even if you leave with your cheeks burning in shame, the burn would only last seven years. Your feet stepped past the threshold and the glass doors parted. 

“Excuse me, is Mr. Alhaitham here tonight?” You already knew the answer. 

“Hm? Yes… Are you looking for him, youngster?” The receptionist quirks a brow at you. 

“Yes, I want to schedule a contract consultation with him right now.” You take note of her name tag. 

“Hold just one moment, the secretary-”

“Is his schedule occupied right now?” 

“No, but if you’d let me finish, Alhaitham isn’t one of the vampires that usually accept such-”  

“Please, Madam Faruzan?” 

You weren’t sure if it was the polite address of her name or the plead in your gaze that was the cause of the decisive furrow between her brows. However, her shoulders slumped forward as a huff leaves her lips. 

“Alright, please follow me.” She gestures a hand, welcoming you to the elevator just behind the desk. 

“Thank you.” 

Within the confines of the fancy cart, the blue-haired vampire asks over and over if you had all the correct documents, listing each one out. Your skilled ears tuned every word out, nodding along to feign attention. Finally, the saving grace of a pleasant ding signals the chart’s stop at its destination. 

When the polished doors slid apart, you charged out into the floor, your legs guiding you to the office with the clearest view of your old glass cage.

From behind you, Faruzan called out your name as she mutter something about how humans these days are always in just a rush. Your ears could care less about her words. 

Gallivanting through the threshold of his open office door, you finally came face to face with the male lead you’ve been fawning over.

As his eyes meet yours, you observed the brilliant shades of teal and ocher in them. Really, the view from across two panes of glass couldn’t detail his true beauty. 

“Hello, Mr. Alhaitham.” You beamed your best smile. 

The pattering of steps behind you comes to a stop as Faruzan finally catches up exasperated at your impatience. 

“Secretary Alhaitham, this young lady here would like to make a blood contract with you.” 

The weight of his teal gaze shifted back on your frame after your late introduction, assessing the situation as you awaited his response. 

“I see.” He nods while walking out from behind the desk, pulling out the chair in front of it.

The receptionist took her cue to leave the room, shutting the office door on the way out. The room now balanced with just one mortal and one immortal. 

You paid no mind to his words as you settled down into the seat, after all, you’ve already read through them. Instead, your ears absorbed his timbre tone and smooth cadence. What a dangerously beautiful voice, it’s beckoning you towards the murkier waters. 

“What are your demands?” 

“Marry me.” Your lips blurted the truth out before shame got the chance to stop them.

Remember, the worst he could do is to show you the door. 

–

In truth, you were preparing yourself to see the open palm of his large hand as he rejects your ridiculous proposal. Yet, here you were, still in his office. Sitting just across the expanse of his dark oak desk, all your documents scattered across it as Alhaitham’s pen guided across a form. 

“What are the living arrangements you expect?” He doesn’t glance up from the paper.

“Mm… Would moving into your home be possible? Married couples usually live together.” 

“That’s possible. Expectations for domestic and financial responsibilities?” 

“I can’t work, so I don’t mind taking care of the house. But, I do want us to share some chores, so I don’t go insane.” You wonder if the ends of his lips would curl at your humor.

“I see.” The pen continues to record the sentences down on the form. 

You kept the smile up despite the sting of failure. 

“So… How much blood do vampires need?” Best to move on. 

“It depends. Humans can give at most two pints of blood safely, and only once every two months.”

“You only need to feed once every two months?”

“Yes, would that be an issue?” 

Lips parted, your next sentence dangles just off the tip of it. However, it seems that Alhaitham had already read them. 

“Mortal medicine has no effect on our bodies.” 

“Are there any restrictions on affection? Any personal boundaries?” You pivoted to another question. 

The pen stops for a moment, his teal eyes shifting off the paper for just a brief moment as he evaluates numerous scenarios, or at least that’s what you think he’s doing. 

“Deep kisses are not permitted.” Alhaitham’s teal eyes pierced straight into yours as he delivered the verdict. 

It’s silly really, you really don’t have the right to demand an ounce of touch from him, you aren’t entitled to his personal space. However, something still made your stomach sink. 

“Oh?... May I ask why?”

“There runs the risk of blood contamination through exchanging saliva, our incisors are quite sharp.” 

Oh. You read between the lines he penned down. The most sacred law of this age, a time where mortals and immortals walk alongside each other: vampires cannot turn humans into immortal beings. 

He’s being precautious, after all the price he’d have to pay for a drop of his blood tainting yours is far greater than anything you could offer. Yet, the greed deep within you wouldn’t stay silent. 

“Are closed-mouth kisses okay then?” Haggling the clauses like you were at a market stall. 

Once more the pen stops as he contemplates your bargain. 

“Yes.” 

“The contract has been submitted to the legal department. If you pass the evaluation, it’ll be approved by the end of this month. I look forward to your cooperation.” 

And with his disembodied voice over the phone, he accepts your proposal. Alhaitham agreed to play the role of your husband. The anticipation that weighed down your shoulders for the past three days was finally lifted. Hopefully he can’t hear your idiotic grin through the phone. 

Success. 

—

“No, I won’t accept this.” Dehya slams her glass down, unfazed by the glances from surrounding tables. 

“Please reconsider your decision.” Candace gives you her disapproving gaze. 

Shifting your eyes over to Nilou, poor sweet Nilou whose wide eyes could only convey the word ‘why?’. The interrogation after showing the ring to your dearest friends was much more intense than the evaluation you underwent to get the marriage approved. 

However, it’s to be expected. After all, two of the people at this table were hunters. If anyone knew the true brutality vampires hold, it would be them. 

Tapping on the screen of your phone to reveal the time. Of course, you won’t arrive at this negotiation unprepared. Glancing back up to face the counsel of your friends, a honeyed smile on your lips. 

“Would you guys have the time to accompany me to a doctor’s visit?” 

–

That took longer than you expected, walking out of the sliding glass doors which reflect the everchanging hues of dusk. The cause for this extended session at the Bimarstan was the numerous times your dearest guests made the poor doctor repeat your verdict. 

Each time hoping that something different would leave his mouth. Peering up at the building across the street, you wonder if he’s getting ready to leave the house soon. 

The closing of the automatic doors draws your attention back to the three figures who followed behind you. Pensiveness eyes downcasted as their minds continued to digest the events that have unfolded. 

“Pfft! What’s with this atmosphere?” A giggle leaves your breath, it’s unbefitting for a gathering of friends. 

“I won’t force you to attend my wedding if you don’t want to. However, I’ll be quite the lonely bride without any bridesmaids.” There was your honeyed smile again.

They could say no, they could beg you to drink the first poison offered by the doctors, they could ask you to give them more time, to give yourself more time. But they won’t. You knew they won’t.

Unlike you, they’re selfless and heedful, all your fortune in life must’ve been spent on finding such dear friends. 

You’re the only selfish one. 

There are many things you like about Alhaitham. Even excluding his excellent physique, his starlight hair and beryl-citrine eyes, he’s got the perfect traits of a life partner. He satisfies all the aspects of the ideal husband. Never leaving you wanting or hungry. You could list all his positive traits.

–

One, by simply holding out a hand, he’ll place his black card onto your awaiting palm. Not even batting an eye when you returned home from a ‘simple grocery run’ in a new set of clothes with the tags still on.

When you mentioned to him that a TV would look nice on the empty living room wall, he ordered one on the same day. How dreamy. 

–

Two, he’s quite the interesting specimen. 

“So, if someone were to douse you with blessed water, your flesh won’t burn?” 

“No.” 

Alhaitham humors your ridiculous inquires about his species, enlightening you to just how inaccurate those films and shows you loved were.

He even humors the trivial anniversaries, celebrations, and dates inspired by any recent dramas you fancied. The wedding was proof enough: he tolerates your fantasies. 

–

Three, what you liked most of all: he’s too smart to ask redundant questions. After all, he’s read the files, he’s seen the diagnosis.

It’s not some secret that shall not be told, not a monster that shall not be named. Just like how there’s no point in telling someone the sky is blue, there’s nothing left to say about the doctor's notes.

No surprises, no sudden alarms, just the artificially sweet lull of domestic life. 

–

Performing the part of a doting husband with such spectacular accuracy, you could almost mistake it as sincere.

You applaud the amount of skill it takes. However, costars are meant to bring out the best in each other, pushing one another past their thresholds for an excellent show. 

The slightest blunders of lines and facial muscles couldn’t fool your expert gaze. It does take one to know one. 

–

“Haitham,” you called out. 

Setting down the two servings of biryani on the dinner table, the rich spices perfumed through the halls. It only takes one call for Alhaitham to come out from his library, halting for a second at the threshold of the kitchen before swiftly composing himself once more. 

“Dinner is ready, it’s biryani tonight.” You gestured for him to take a seat, a smile ever present on your lips. 

“Thank you.” He takes his place. 

You take your place just across the table, wasting no time enjoying the fruit of labor after standing over a stove. Every grain of rice perfectly coated in the right amount of seasoning, just the correct level of richness. The recipe you followed online deserved its high rating, it’s delicious. 

Traveling across the length of the dinner table, your leaden gaze landed upon the figure who has yet to touch his meal. That must’ve been enough for him to take his cue, bringing a spoon full into his mouth, chewing then shallowing. 

“How is it?” Resting an elbow on the polished oak.

“You’ve worked hard on this dish, thank you.” He takes another bite. 

Letting out a pleased hum, you released him from this scene. Turning your attention back to your own meal. 

You’ll clear your plate in about twenty more bites, and he’ll continue to push the contents of his plate around once in a while faking a bite. Then after you’re finished, he’ll swiftly offer to clear the table and dishes, telling you to retire to the bedroom for rest. 

A clever diversion from his ultimate goal of dumping your cooking into the trash. You’ve gone through this script for two years now. 

It’s practically impossible to completely suppress one’s true intentions and instincts. Alhaitham can’t fully prevent the corners of his lips from down-turning every time you address him with that botched nickname. 

He can’t entirely stop the sigh escaping his lips whenever you call for him to help with menial tasks, unbefitting for such a noble creature. 

He can’t suppress the repulsive scrunch of his nose every time your cooking assaults his palate, the same reaction witnessed during the bi-monthly feeding sessions.

The same disgust he has of your blood, you thought mortal medicines has no effect on such beings, an oversight on his part. 

He’s not as much of a mastermind as he might think, after all, he’s the one who allowed a piece of paper to be dangled over his head. Placing the power of clauses into the palm of your awaiting hand. 

You tell him ‘jump’, and he’ll ask how high with disdain thinly veiled behind brilliant teal.

Humans are defined by their curiosity and greed, mortal hands always playing chicken with a boundary, testing how far they could go. You’re not special enough to be different.

Perhaps the only time he gets the advantage is when you bare your neck for him. Fangs hastily piercing skin, hands a bit too harsh around the neck. He wants it to hurt, you know. 

Too bad, months spent at the hospital trained your tolerance to such sensations. 

If life wants to entangle its fingers into your hair and cruelly tow you to and fro, why can’t you enjoy that same feeling? You’ll just grasp at any wisp of control, you’re a simple human after all. You’d even grasp onto death to stable yourself.

Mortal self-interest versus immortal apathy, what a disastrous harmony. 

Ah, you slept a bit too long. Extended nap causing you to miss a scheduled cup of tea. Tapping a finger along the cool marble countertop you watched the kettle boil.

Frame resting against the counter, each tap against the marble was a futile attempt at distraction. Kalpalata Lotus’ effects can only last four hours, what a shame. 

The steady rhythm of taps interrupted now and then by a pulse of pain as the leaves steeped. Starting deep within your core then crawling it’s up to your lungs like a shadow overtaking a frail flower. 

This must be your warranted punishment for a transgression committed over the weekend. Dragging a creature of the night into the bright, unwelcoming sun all for a silly farmer’s market. Alhaitham’s slumped figure and worn tone were the cue. 

You thought vampires weren’t like how the drama portrayed them, but perhaps there’s some truth, an oversight on your part.

You played chicken with that boundary and got burned, how will you soothe the wounds of guilt now? 

Foregoing honey this time, you hastily swallowed the entire contents of the cup. No matter how fast you push the tea down your throat, no matter how many spoonfuls of honey you put into it: it’s unpalatable. 

The herbal tang dried the inside of your mouth, yet the bitterness made your salivary glands go into overdrive. This is what purgatory is like, huh? 

The chime of your ringtone snapped you back to reality. Glancing over at the screen: Candace. A call so late, she’s at work now, isn’t she?

Swiftly pushing down the bitterness that lingered, clearing your throat before accepting the call. 

“Hello?”

“Good evening, how are you feeling, any discomfort?” 

“Pfft! The diligent Candace gets on her phone during work just to check up on me? I’m swooned.” Your bell-like laughter made the pain worse as it rang through the empty house. 

From the other side, you could pick up the faint giggle, you envision her fighting back a smile. 

“Yes, yes. But more importantly, where are you now?” 

“Home, why? Did you want to visit? I got some baklava.” 

“Good, stay there.” There’s an instant switch to the mood. 

“Mm?” You hummed, passively acknowledging the tension. 

“Please stay inside. There’s a rouge vampire at large, hunters are scattered all throughout the city.” 

Leaving you with a cliffhanger, she knew you’d want a taste of the details. You’ll bite. 

“Oh? That serious, what did they do?” 

“He turned his lover.” 

Goosebumps ran up your neck in the perfectly tempered room. That vampire crossed the forbidden line in the sand, straight into the ocean of inevitable demise. 

The most sacred rule results in the most miserable end. Once caught, his chest will be pierced with silver, heart torn from his body. She doesn’t need to detail those, you already knew. 

“Oh?” 

“His lover has been located, they’re receiving treatment, unsure of the status. However, you should tell your husband to be careful.” 

“I should be saying that to you. Stay safe out there, he’s probably on his way back anyways.” Your eyes glanced at the clock, 11: 59 pm. 

“Alright, I will. You should really rest, it’s so late.” 

“Mm? Says you, Candace. Tell Dehya I said to stay out of trouble.” 

She hums in response. Right after you chimed your farewell and right before she disconnected the call, you slipped in one more line. 

“Please stay safe.” Addressed to no one person in particular. 

–

The hands on the clock now read 3: 21 am, a fresh cup of tea now rested in between your hands. Eye reflecting back at you, still no message, not a single call. His voicemail now ingrained into your ears. 

In an age where humans and vampires now live side by side, it’d be naive to believe that such arrangements are free from prejudice. After all, centuries of fear and hatred don’t just vanish into the air like the vapors of hot tea.

If a vampire is slain during a hunt, a creature unrelated to the true prey, oh well. 

It was for the greater good, it was to maintain the peace, to ensure humanity’s safety. You’re not in the mood to debate such flimsy excuses. 

–

It’s now 4: 34 am, the blushing hues of dawn were just about to creep through the curtains by the front door. Your legs begged for rest, your shoulders heavy, but you refused to leave your post. 

Finally, the clink of keys slotting into place sang through the entranceway. The heavy oak door opens, you don’t need to study his expression, he’s disappointed to see you. 

“Where’ve you been?” No chirp in your command. 

“I went drinking with coworkers.”

You know, you could smell it on him. 

“Why didn’t you call beforehand?”

Alhaitham doesn’t bother to suppress his deep exhale, nor the downward tug at his lips. Disdain meets disappointment, eyes and frowns locked into a staredown as the hands of a clock kept time.

In the peripheral you spot warm orange chasing away the pink, clearing the way for the most brilliant star. Oh, it looks like your wound wasn’t soothed enough. You closed your eyes. 

What went wrong with the script? 

You. 

It’s not selfishness, it’s plain immaturity. Immaturity breeds cruelty. The same immature cruelty of a curious child who ripped off the hypnotically beautiful wings of a butterfly. 

Perhaps the corruption of your tissues has made its way into your personality, an unforeseen consequence of that herbal tea. Or maybe your transgressions were the influence of a green-eyed monster. Immortality gives him an overabundance of what you’re deprived of. 

But it’s not his fault, it’s not an unseen monster’s fault, it’s your immaturity that’s ruining this performance. 

This just won’t do. With the script going awry long ago, there’s no use in trying to follow it, the two of two should conserve your energy.

It’s best to rewrite it again, to say lines that’ll move the scene along in the right direction, to save this domestic drama. You’ll be the first to fold. 

“My life’s too short for misunderstandings and messy communication,” you huffed. 

Lids opening back up to catch his gaze again, restrained and artificially blank as always. Still, he’s got beautiful eyes. 

“I’m your wife, and you’re my husband.” You stated the obvious.

Alhaitham knows that, so his lips remain still.

“So when my husband, who usually arrives home at half past midnight on the dot, didn’t arrive home until dawn without a single text or call, I got worried.” 

Another deep exhale from him. 

“You don’t need to report every movement to me, I don’t want that either. But if you plan on staying out please give me a simple text, so I don’t have to spend hours worrying about why my husband isn’t answering my calls.” 

The discoloration under your eyes, the slump of your heavy shoulders, and the unsteadiness of your knees. He’s observing them all, isn’t he? A pro-actor accesses the situation before deciding how to respond to an ad-lib. 

“I understand, I’ll do that from now on,” he answers. 

What a typical response for him, but maybe not so much for a husband. 

“You’re supposed to apologize, ya know: ‘I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife’,” you advised. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, my wife,” he parroted. 

You’ll suppress your giggles for now, this successful pivot of a dreadful scene caused a grin to break out on your face. One that reaches your eyes. 

Arms outstretched you wrapped them around his neck as your lips warmed up his cool cheek, tying the ending together with repetition that’s now become a habit. 

“Welcome home, Haitham.” 

“Closed… for construction?...” Your eyes trailed across the bolded letters. 

The grand garden was blocked off by iron gates and mossy stonewalls, path dimly lit by dull streetlamps. 

It’s your third anniversary, to celebrate a new chapter, a reworked script, you planned this special itinerary. The Pardis Dhyai was the grandest garden in all of Sumeru, and they offered night tours. It was perfect, but it seems that you miscalculated.

“It’s negligence on their part for not having this notification on their website.” Alhaitham’s baritone voice draws you from your thoughts. 

You must look so idiotic right now. Getting all dressed up and even coaxing him from the comfort of the house just to bring Alhaitham to a wall. You didn’t fight the slump of your shoulders, the fires of shame licked at your cheeks. You feel the weight of his teal eyes. 

“The street market is open tonight, would you like to go there instead?” 

What a good husband, stepping in to remedy his wife’s mistakes. Finally gathering the courage to connect with his gaze, you notice the faint twitch of his nose as a breeze passed by. 

“Do you not like flowers?” 

“Their fragrance is overbearing.” 

Recalling the times you’ve shoved an excessive bouquet in front of his face during previous anniversaries, the familiar burn of guilt crept up your back. You just can’t do anything right tonight, huh? 

“There’s no point in standing around.” He stretched out a hand towards you, palms waiting. 

“... Heh, it’s a good thing it’s closed then huh, Haitham?” Placing your warm hand into his cold grasp, a meek smile stretches your lips. 

Alhaitham hums in response, mercifully guiding you in the direction of the night market. As you walked along the dimly illuminated path, your eyes traveled back to the stonewall once more, its height towering even over your husband. 

“I’ve never visited this place before… what a shame…” The comment slipped your tongue before you could bite it back. 

Alhaitham promptly stops, turning back to glance between you and the mossy wall. The lullabies of crickets filled the nothingness, much like they did during the wedding night. The smile on your face grew tighter, he must think you’re whining. 

“Woah??-” 

Before you could conquer up a line to transition from this scene, Alhaitham had released your hand, only for his arms to hoist you off the ground.

Tender hold balancing you against his firm frame, you had to tilt your neck down to look at his face. Following the subtle motion of his head you looked in the same direction, eyes widening as realization dawned upon you. 

The garden wall towered over the two of you, but as one, you were able to peer over the craggy barrier that once blocked your view. Wind blowing the floral fragrance over your face unobstructed. 

“What do you see?” The deep vibrations of his chest resonate against your body.

There was no one here tonight. Just a husband and wife enjoying a moment so private, not even the moon dare intrude. Sweetness meddling with bitter guilt, crafting something bittersweet.

“Flowers…very beautiful flowers,” you answered, gazing beyond the stones. 

“It’s a garden after all.” 

“Pfft!”

The contrast between this gentle scene and his curt response pushes a laugh from your breath. 

Patting his arm, you signaled for him to place you down, and carefully he follows your instruction. Once your feet touched the solid earth again, you pressed your face into his shoulder. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. 

“It’s our anniversary.” The justification of his actions. 

“Of course… now let’s go, I want to try the samosas there!” The brightness returns back to your lips. 

This time, you lead the way. Warm hands mingle with his cold ones, creating a comfortable temperature as you gallivanted along as one. Under the moonless sky, you told him your first true lie, a full lie. 

–

How troublesome, you said you’d clean the library tonight. Looking around at the piles of books littered all throughout and the coating of dust. If only a nap didn’t eat away at the day, then maybe you wouldn’t be so pressed for time. 

Oh well, rolling up your sleeves to begin your promised duty. No use in mulling over it, and no use in blaming the nap either. It’s to be expected, after all, tea time is now every three hours. 

Alhaitham’s collection of books is nothing to scoff at, in fact, you’re willing to wager his collection rivals those of academic archives.

How long did it take for him to gather them? What criteria must they fit to catch his interest?

Small inquiries bloomed through your thoughts as each journal slid back into its rightful shelves. 

It can’t be helped. Finally, after four years, you’re now allowed past the threshold of his library. The last corner of the house which was wholly his. You’re allowed a glimpse into his sanctuary. The exhilaration from this privilege was enough to outweigh the tediousness. 

Eyes switching back and forth between the two covers currently in your hands. So focused on deciding between which shelves to place them your ears failed to pick up the poised footsteps coming your way. It took a pair of adamant hands on your shoulders to wake you from these thoughts

“Why weren’t you at the door?” A familiar baritone voice.

Oh, you weren’t mindful of the time at all. Meeting teal irises as you glanced back over a shoulder, not missing the ghost of a furrow between his brow. Alhaitham isn’t one who’s fond of deviations from a practiced script. 

“Sorry, sorry I got caught up in these books.” You couldn’t help but giggle. 

Placing the books back down and spinning around, cradling his face between your warm palms, you carefully placed a kiss on his cold lips. 

“Welcome home, Haitham.” You whispered against them. 

Alhaitham hummed as his eyes closed, savoring the sensation of your warmth transferring to him. How unbefitting of such a noble creature, melting into the touch of a mere mortal. What a beautiful view to witness, so lovely in fact, a certain phrase clawed its way to the tip of your tongue. 

“I...” You waited for his brilliant beryl eyes to reveal themselves again.

The soft trills of crickets creep in through the window, a call back to a night when an executive decision was reached by both parties to remove necessary lines from the script.

“… wonder if you collect books in place of company.” You’ll heed their warning. 

There was a sigh that filled the distance between you. 

“They’re great stimulants for the mind, perhaps you should read some.” No hesitation in his sardonic counter to your playfulness. 

“Pfft! Haitham, I can’t read half of these languages.” 

 It’ll be redundant to reinstate such words into a script that wasn’t written for it no? A part of you wonders if the quip was supposed to be a diversion from the faint downward pull of his lips.

The windows were cracked ajar allowing the crisp night breeze into the sanctuary of the bedroom, the new air circulating through helped push out the stuffiness. However, Summer was always too hot for you.

“Haitham.” Under the glow of a waxing moon, your hands reached out. 

Soon, the cool cheeks of your husband settled into the space between your palms, taking away the excess heat. You brought him closer, allowing your foreheads to touch. 

To never be bothered by the polar extremes of temperature, how nice it is to be born of the supernatural. 

“Mmm… It’s been a while, aren’t you hungry?” You broke the comfortable silence. 

“I’m fine.” Two firm arms pulled you closer. 

His gray lashes were still shut, concealing away the teal stained with hints of scarlet. A tell-tale sign. It’s about five years too late for him to lie to you. Like a stubborn child refusing to take his medicine, where did the arrogant vampire go?

It’ll be best to change tactics, everything must have its fair compensation, a principle Alhaitham follows to its core. Sliding your hands away from his face and down along the contour of his body as your face rests into the crook of his neck.

“It’s really hot tonight.” Warm palms sneaking under the barrier of a shirt. 

There’s a hiss that sounds next to your ear as two hands firmly grasp your hips. Emboldened by his reaction, your hands continued to explore his sculpted frame, icy skin stealing away the warmth that smothered you. Alhaitham’s fingers kneaded your hips in contemplation. Moving closer to his ear, your breath ghosted over them. 

“Haitham, can you make it go away?” The final push. 

A deep growl reverberated against his chest, a sign of his surrender to your whims. A gasp is knocked out of your lips as your back meets with the plush mattress. This time two icy palms traversed the sweltering outline of your skin, goosebumps trailing behind his every touch. 

You hummed at the sensation as his hands travel further up, pushing the troublesome fabric of your shirt out of the way, exposing your soft breast to the air. A moan slipped off your tongue as Alhaitham gropes at the soft mounds, placing a kiss in the valley between them, cold fingers playing with the nipples now perked. 

Wrapping your legs around his solid frame, your hands tugged at the shirt that blocked your view of his godly body. A silent whine for him to take it off, and like the good husband he is, Alhaitham complies. In return, your shirt was also stripped from your frame, a fair trade. Cheeks stained red from shame your mind was too muddled to process, you blame it on the heat. 

More icy kisses trailed along your chest and neck, as cool fingers sneaked under the waistband of your shorts. His icy touches land straight against your puffy lips, labia glistening with slickness. You flinched at the sudden temperature change against your pussy, and his hand twitched at the small surprise. 

“Wet already, and nothing underneath…” Alhaitham’s baritone voice reports his finding against your ear. 

“Mmm,” you sounded out, shivering at the combination of his voice and teasing fingers. 

“How lewd.” 

“You don’t like it?”

Instantly, a stiff mass was pressed against the softness of your thighs. 

“Do I seem displeased?” 

Entangling your fingers into ashen locks, you let a giggle flutter your chest against his. Two hearts beating on opposite sides. Shorts pulled off the length of your legs and kicked to the side, leaving you bare underneath his mercy.

Rolling your hips against his cool palms to generate some friction, your clit begging for an ounce of attention. A quick slap against the sensitive bud jolts your body as you moan, a swift punishment for your impatience. 

As if to soothe the lingering sting, his fingers circle the bundle causing your legs to shiver as pleasure runs up them. Your folds release more of their essence, Alhaitham’s fingers collect it, tracing your entrance with fleeting touches. The heat engulfing your body was beginning to become too much, your walls clenching around nothing desperately. Your legs pull him closer, attempting to spur on the tempo. 

Your feeble strength is nothing against his, Alhaitham effortlessly pulls away from your trap. A whine left your throat as even his ashen locks freed themselves from your grasp. 

“Shh, let me have a taste first.” He pulls you toward the edge of the bed. 

Vascular hands gripping onto your thighs, spreading them open to allow him unobstructed access to your dripping greed. A firm hold denies you the opportunity to slither away from the cool breaths hitting your pussy lips. 

Alhaitham’s tongue teases its way between your folds, collecting your escaped honey into his mouth as he releases a satisfied grunt. Licking stripes along your pussy, cool lips brushing against your sensitive clit. Your fingers found their way back to his silken locks, the back of your hand blocking your mouth. 

Objecting against your cruel act of denying him the privilege of your moans, a finger was abruptly thrusted into your soaked walls with a squelch, causing your back to arch off the sheets. Hand no longer able to withhold the sinful sounds from his awaiting ears. 

  Another finger soon makes its way into your gummy walls, sliding to curl against that one spot deep within before sliding out and repeating. All the while his lips closed around your delicate bud, suckling and abusing it with his brutish tongue. 

He was supposed to cool you down in this unbearable heat, yet your body only burned more under his ministration. Your walls desperately clenched down as your fingers tightened their hold on his ashen hair, trying to find any perch for your sanity to cling to. 

Your actions only spurred him on, harsh sucks to your swollen clit and fingers increasing their pace. He wanted to ravish you wholly, to leave you a mess beyond saving. White flashes shoot up your trembling legs still held apart by his iron grip. If he continues then you might really fall beyond the grace of help. 

“S-slower.”

Your slurred speech must’ve made your words incoherent, as Alhaitham only added more force behind his movements. Your slicked walls clenched around his fingers as they continued to pinpoint your weak spot, the messy licks and sucks at your clit causing the knot in your core to grow tighter and tighter. Or maybe your husband is just too famished to know mercy. 

Back raising off the bed, no matter how hard your fingers cling onto his hair and the messy sheets you couldn’t stop the fall off the edge as your eyes saw the back of your head. A broken moan resounded through the room. Hopefully, it’s too late for anyone on a late-night stroll past the open window. Every fiber of your being shivering and nerve overwhelmed with hot flashes of pleasure. All the while Alhaitham’s tongue never stopped its torture. 

Laying bonelessly upon the ruined sheets, hands limp by your side. Your chest heaves trying to remember how to breathe as a large figure looms over you. Your quivering pussy reluctantly released his fingers as a string of slick connected them.

Unfocused eyes watch as your husband’s tongue cleans the essences off, making sure to clean every inch. 

You felt so empty inside, the heat between your legs only escalating as your walls clenched around nothing. Was it the heat or pleasure that’s melting your mind? You don’t know and were too desperate to care. You wanted relief from the heat and judging by the hard shape pressed into your thigh, he needed relief too. 

Wordless your nimble fingers reached down, curling over the waistbands of his pants and boxers you pulled them down. Finally freeing his cock, it slaps against his naval as the leaking precum spears across his exposed skin. Playfully, your finger toys with his swollen tip, gathering up the precum as a hiss leaves his clenched teeth.

Making sure to look directly into his piercing eyes, you brought the finger into your mouth. Swirling your tongue around the digit and then pulling it out from your lips with an audible pop. 

Your shameless behavior earned you a guttural growl from Alhaitham, soon your hand was pinned above your head. His face was just inches away, the brilliant teal of eyes now wholly glazed over with crimson. Everyone is warned to never play with fire, but it’s just too addicting to resist. 

“Brazen girl,” he snarls. 

You countered with a grin, cheeks a deep red, but what’s there to hide from someone who’s laid you bare numerous times before? 

Sucking in a gasp as his thick tip rubbed against your negligent folds, your leaking walls trembling with anticipation. Longing for the stretch only he could offer you.

“Beg.”

Of course, nothing ever comes easily when it comes to him. Self-control honed by years of experience, all held by the iron grip of his analytical mind. A battle you’ll never win, so it’s best to sacrifice your self-respect in favor of your aching pussy. A fool for pleasure, gone far beyond the point of saving. 

“Please… I want you to ruin me… please ruin me.” Sinful words rolling off your tongue. 

Words that finally snapped the last thread of self-restraint Alhaitham had, instantaneously his hips met yours. Your gummy walls, long ingrained in his shape, welcomed the familiar stretch, clamping down as a wet slap resounded through the room. Alhaitham pushed his cock in further, pinning your body deeper into the mattress, hissing at the heat that engulfed his length. 

Your mouth falls open, pleasure shooting through overstimulated nerves, the bed creaking underneath you as his hips pulled away just to snap back. Setting a more punishing pace than usual, the bed shook in protest as your pussy welcomed each thrust, slick walls wrapping around his girth.

Moans flowed out of your mouth like how water flows through rivers, any semblance of embarrassment drowned out by molten pleasure. Two bodies connecting and mingling together to create a private heaven. 

Alhaitham’s hand abandons its grip on your wrist in favor of getting more leverage on your hips, purple marks promising to appear in the morning.

Before your muddled mind could process it, icy lips crashed into your plush ones, a tongue crossed the line. Sloppy and hungry was how his mouth devoured yours. Tongues clashing and dancing as he shallows each moan of yours. 

He pulls away momentarily as you took the opportunity to steal a few breaths. Scarlet-hazed eyes observe the transgression just committed before his lips moved back to reconnect with yours.

It’s clear he doesn’t give a damn about that arbitrary rule anymore. Why must forbidden acts always feel so good? 

Free hands now found purchase on his broad back, nails digging into the smooth skin trying to balance out the onslaught of pleasure invading every fiber of your being. Legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper into the sheets with you never once interrupting his savage pace.

Your attempts at staving off your independent orgasm were futile, teary eyes rolling back as your walls clenched and your body shook. 

Alhaitham released your lips in time to savor the broken symphony of a moan leaving your throat, the sheets underneath you a soaking mess, proof of your fall from cloud nine.

Despite this, your husband doesn’t slow down in the slightest. The sight in front of him only heightened the hunger in his eyes. 

The solid oak bed frame swayed in time with the pistoning of his thrust, tight walls clamping down yet giving no resistance as his thick tip continued to bully that sweet spot. His chilly breath against your nape, tongue running a wet trail to prepare the area. Sensations your melted mind could barely register.

His fingers dig deeper into your hips as he pulls them flushed against his, thick cock pressing further into your wanton core. 

A sharp prick shoots up your nape before the sensation of your walls being filled beyond capacity distracts from it. Your pussy pitifully attempts to suck in every last drop before succumbing, letting his essence join yours in making a mess of the sheets. Trembling hands run along his muscular back, pulling him closer to your heaving chest. 

Your pants counted in time with the hands of a clock, shards of your sanity slowly returning to you as gulps moved down Alhaitham’s throat. With a satisfied sigh, his incisors released your neck, tongue lapping over the escaped drops of scarlet.

Slowly pulling away from your embrace, his untainted teal eyes scan over you. Hair fanned out behind you, chest still heaving, and cheeks still violently flushed. You must look absolutely ruined, just as you asked of him. 

Carefully, he pulls out from your gummy walls, trembling walls allowed to gather their senses again. Detangling your legs from him with tender hands he repositions your droopy body comfortably along plush pillows. 

Humming in gratitude as you rolled onto your stomach, face buried into the luxurious pillows which held his opulent scent. The aftermath of passion gradually faded away from recovering nerves. The space next to you dips down as his frame joins you, a cool hand resting along the curve of your back. 

The soft sways of leaves in the night breeze, slowing pants, and the sweet lull of nothingness filled the air of this private haven. Two hearts, one mortal and one immortal, beating together.

“Would you want more time?” Came a question that broke the silence.

A hushed invitation slipped to you behind the watchful eyes of the divine. A lure towards deep waters by his beckoning voice. 

Perhaps your curiosity has influenced him as well. All your innocent inquiries must’ve muddled the line, question after question brushing away at the definition until misunderstanding took its place.

This won’t do. Your time is too short and his time too precious to be wasted on miscommunication.

Since it was you who muddled the line, it shall be you who reestablishes it. 

“I was born a human,” you began.

Pausing to enjoy the feeling of his cool fingers drawing unknown shapes into your back and the gentle vibrations of his hum. 

“I will die as one.”

With those simple words, the line was once again clearly drawn in the sand.

Separating you from him, and him from you. Just as the laws of morals, nature, and this world dictated. 

After all, it was you who said: “For a fraction of your time, I’ll give you all of mine”. Not the other way around. The price he’d have to pay is far greater than anything you’re willing to sacrifice.

No, you’re too selfish for that.

Under a waning moon, the market was lively tonight. Bright lanterns and stringed lights challenged the radiance of the sky’s stars. The twinkling momentarily distracts your mind from the cries of your muscles and the aches of your bones. 

What a simple thing you are, or perhaps you’re just a human in the purest sense. So entranced by the beauty of a rose, it distracts from the sting of thorns.

Such drab comparisons have no place in your thoughts tonight. 

As if to run away from them, your legs moved with volition, weaving in and out of the surges of crowds with clumsy grace, some haggling, some laughing, some yelling. 

Glazing up at the moon above, it was as if she was following your every step, watching, judging the performance of this daydream.

It wasn’t long before the volition faded away as you slowed to a halt, lung greedily trying to hog all the air they could. A herbal scent found its way to your senses, a quick glance to your left confirms your suspicions. 

It looks like your legs couldn’t carry you far enough in the end. Stopping right in front of a display of dried Kalpalata Lotuses, the moon must be laughing right now. 

You weren’t sure which one tasted more bitter, the herb or the irony.

Straightening your posture back up, ready to push through the burn of your muscles once more before a cold grasp grounded you back into reality. 

Whipping your head around, bewildered eyes connected with placid teal. There was a furrow in the brows that framed the hypnotic azure.

“Don’t go where my hand can’t reach.” Alhaitham’s atonal voice carried over the chatter of the streets. 

Bringing your husband out of the house, only to then leave him alone in a sea of people. What a capricious wife you are.

Perhaps Alhaitham foresaw this exact situation, that’d explain the recent spike in his reclusiveness. Seeing this, a giggle bubbled up in your throat. 

“Oh?~ Someone’s been watching my dramas. Where’d you learn that line from?” 

As he sighs your giggles only increased, cold fingers loosening around your wrist. 

“It’s exceptionally crowded tonight, be mindful of your surroundings.” 

You simply nodded along, a sign to him that you’re only absorbing half of his words, another sigh from him and another giggle from you. 

“A bag of Kalpalata Lotuses for the two of you tonight as well?” The vendor, ready with a fresh paper bag, intrudes on this raillery. 

Your lips pressed into a thin line, silencing your giggles as your eyes trailed over the dulled hues of the dried herb. 

Four hours went to three went to two and now down to one. Each cup becoming more and more unpalatable. There comes a point when a bucket can longer keep a sinking ship afloat, perhaps it’s better to gaze upon the starry night as one disappears under the waves.

“Actually… Padisarah tea tastes better, I want a bag of that instead.” A honeyed smile dawned upon your lips as you glazed back up at him. 

Alhaitham parts his lips, a response ready to fall off his tongue, but he closes them just as swiftly. Returning a hum of acknowledgment at your request, handing over the mora in exchange for the bag of dried Padisarah. 

Your attention has already shifted away from this scene, eyes avoiding the dull hues, finally landing upon wood carved with much creative liberty. There’s enough space for another sculpture no? It’d be nice to add more company to the home. 

Before the muscles in your legs could budge, a hand twitched, reminding you of the loose hold still around your wrist. 

A good partner should respect the wishes of their spouse. Warm fingers slide into the space between cold ones, intertwining like the lights above with the sky.

All it took was a soft tug for a human to move a vampire through the bustling crowd. 

A common phrase uttered to unwell patients is ‘mind over body’.

However, there’s only so much the body can take before it rebels against the mastermind.

Even your own body had enough of your selfishness. 

Protest taking the form of wheezes, lethargy, and that piercing ache forever present deep within. You were always the one to toe the line, pushing your luck to the limits and beyond, only stopped by a towering wall. 

It’s time to lay rest under silken sheets and plush pillows. Something you’ve been doing very often these days. Perhaps your body is just practicing for the ending.  

The cumbersome duvet fails to capture the wisps of warmth only a Sumerian Summer can offer, it fails to prevent the chill from penetrating deep into your every bone.

Dull senses alert you to a shift in weight on the mattress. Fighting against the leaden weight of your lids, you opened your eyes to the sight of your husband.

Ashen hair slightly trussed and button down wrinkled as his frame lays next to yours. He must have come here straight from the door, a once-practiced tradition slowly faded away much like strength from your limbs. 

The muscles on his face relaxed, neutral by default, yet his eyes were downturned much like the corners of his lips.

Your husband must be deep in thought. His thumb is digging into his palm again, it seems that Alhaitham has developed a new habit. Hazy eyes carefully focused on how the nail threatened to break the surface of his palm.

That’s no good. 

Ignoring the exhaustion, you slipped your fingers in between his, shielding his palm from the assaults of his thumb, settling into a gentle embrace as two rings clinked together.

The weight of a teal gaze centers on you.

“My husband is such a handsome actor.” Breathy voice barely a whisper. 

Chest protesting against your action with wheezes, but you needed to finish this script, it's what a co-star should do.

“You don’t have to play this role anymore.” Exposing your neck to him as your lashes fluttered shut, it was time to pay your dues. 

Much like the clauses written on parchment signed by two names, the ending of this script must be followed, your body already taking its cue.

At least the doctors were accurate this time, how punctual your body is. 

A brisk breath brushed against your nape, skin reacting with a trail of goosebumps as you feel the presence of sharp incisors draws near before grazing against your delicate neck. Your mind counts back, ready for the final pierce of pain to come. 

Three… Two… The pressure of his fangs disappears from your skin. Replaced by the touch of gentle lips.

Opening your eyes with confusion and lost anticipation, you were met with stoic eyes.

“You don’t have to hold yourself back.”

“I’m not holding myself back,” Alhaitham answers without the slightest pause.

Your chest wheezes once more at your lung’s clumsy attempt at gathering a breath.

“What a silly vampire,” you giggled, the crimson hues were obvious even to your dimming vision. 

After the numerous questions you asked and the innumerable answers he gave these past seven years, you still couldn’t fully comprehend him. Neither of you were the masterminds you thought you were, huh? 

In the end, both of you were fools trying to perform a stage play.

Your mind ponders this revelation as Alhaitham tugs the covers up your body, gentle hand running along your body through the thick fabric barrier. 

The faint ticks of a clock pull a buried secret from the guard sanctuary of your thoughts, dusting off the obscurity to reexamine the details in full clarity.

What was the end of the path like? Well, just like the scene blocked off by a garden wall under that moonless night, it’s all the same.

Maybe tonight you’ll tell him the truth.

What was over that wall? With its stones piled high and with moss creeping through its crevices, a wall that only creatures born within the grace of an undecided god could peer past. What did it conceal?

Nothing.

A nothingness so empty, ultimate peace could reside. 

Seems like you’ve discovered something new in the end, you shameless fool. Death is nothingness in the end, a nothingness that fingers pass right through. 

So instead of holding on to nothing, you’d rather grasp a cold hand as nothingness envelopes you. He didn’t seem to mind. 

You wanted to tell this to the creature who humored your daydream for all these years. If he doesn’t want your blood then you could at least impart this priceless insight to him. 

Oh, it’s such a shame that your tongue just won’t move anymore. Instead, you’ll offer him a smile. In hopes that Alhaitham could decrypt the curvature of your lips with his seven years of experience. To translate your silent message into a language known to man with his lifetimes of wisdom. 

It’s all you could do to thank him for holding your hand as the dirge of Summer crickets fade out and the last first rays of a grieving sun kiss the horizon. The final wisp of warmth escaping down your cheek. 

Fin~

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS. 

[lunarw0rks]

Can I get a Drabble about ghost / konig pining after reader whos bf is an asshole and they confess that they love her and she deserves better? W a happy ending ?? Tyyy

☾𓂃❛🍰❜┊ right person, right time

warning(s): fem!reader, toxic relationship, angst to fluff, mild language, hurt/comfort ♡ masterlist // requests // ask box

ghost;

normally, simon would spend little time comforting anyone. he felt he wasn't good at it, that he was incapable of aiding the person's worries. but when you, a dear friend of his, finds herself in need of it, he breaks his code.

you called him, which wasn't out of the ordinary... until he heard your attempts at masking tears. ❝stay where you are, can you do that for me?❞

when he saw you; distraught and shivering outside a restaurant, it pained him to feel very little shock. your boyfriend, a thorn in his side for months. he couldn't do this here, not in this busy area. ❝come sit with me. c'mon.❞ he didn't grab your hand until the both of you were out of view - but then he wouldn't let go.

❝he's a prick,❞ he speaks bluntly, though it was the biggest understatement of the century. there was so much more he could say about him, things you didn't need to hear. ❝listen, love. you are—❞ his thumb caresses your knuckle as he shifts awkwardly on the bench.

simon's gaze softens entirely when he finally decides to spit his words out. ❝you are going to find someone one day—someone who won't leave you a mess on date night.❞ it was him, he wanted to be that someone. there was no going back now.

if he didn't do it now, he never would. ❝you mean... everything to me. more than i'd care to admit. please just... let me help you.❞ his fingers find your cheek, the closest to physical affection you had gotten from him. it was obvious this wasn't platonic comfort, even in your disoriented heartbreak. it was in his nature for his eyes to dart around for unwanted attention, but right now he couldn't. he needed you to understand what he meant, otherwise he would continue his silent suffering.

könig;

könig's protective instincts were off the charts. once he latched onto someone, the thread connecting the two of them would never be cut or snapped; whether frayed or strained by the end of it.

his observance was even more persistent; how dreadful you felt around your boyfriend, the way he talked about you, seeing you in tears—it made his blood boil. and you, more concerned about crying in front of him? könig was fighting every urge to break his silence. but it was in his nature; a bleeding heart on his sleeve once his uniform was taken off.

❝schatz, bitte...❞ his towering frame is lowered, knelt in front of you as you sob at his kitchen table. ❝don't do this to yourself any longer, no more tears.❞ könig's palm finds your thigh, rubbing soothing circles as you express your heartache. he can't just sit back and watch, then let you walk out of his house upset again like many nights previously. he had to say it; tonight.

his other hand finds your chin, forcing you to meet his stern and tender gaze. ❝if you could see yourself through my eyes, you would see how good you truly are, meine liebling. better than that fool, better than me, hm?❞

his parting words before he let you speak again, they were more of a plea than a confession. his last effort for you to recognize the better half for you; ❝du bedeutest mir alles, you know that? there's nothing i wouldn't do for you.❞

[superums]

42 songs — 42! miles morales x reader

spidey!reader. angst, no happy ending. for general audiences. (cannon) character death. reader is a but of a loser here. some fluff. reader has a (loving) mom. gender neautral reader. no pronouns. no y/n. childhood friends to crushes to enemies. jeff is a father figure to the reader

color coded text: miles. you/spidey. your mom. jeff.

inspired by: 24 songs by playboi carti

pre-spidey headcannons

crime is off the charts in this universe, every other day there's a riot, a robbery, accidental killings, purposeful killings, people on the news begging for help, bombings, and general terrorist attacks caused by mutated mad scientists and victims of freak accidents

in the daytime, you can sort of ignore the turmoil the city is in since everyone feels safer when the sun is out. At night time there's a curfew for teenagers and even some young adults because of all the crime that happens.

you feel uneasy a lot of the time because of the political climate but the crush you have on your mom's best friend's son, miles morales, makes you forget about it even if it's just a bit.

you've had a crush on him ever since you could remember; you couldn't even remember when it started.

for the longest time you wanted to confess to him but every time you tried to he would always get distracted by the pretty girls at school.

your hands were sweating as you held onto your backpack strap with two tickets for the museum. you found miles alone in a classroom putting things in his backpack.

"hey, miles." you saw him turn in your direction before smiling a bit. getting closer to where you stood a few feet in front of him you felt a little shiver go up your spine as you saw miles' big brown eyes look directly into yours.

"yeah?" his accent made your heart race a little. looking down at your shoes you began to ask. "y-yeah i was wondering if..." the sound of ruffling pom poms in the door cut you off.

"hey miles are you still coming?" michelle jones stood at the door waving at the boy with her two friends behind her. "uh... yeah im comin, my fault." miles continued getting his things together before walking past you. "can this wait? i gotta get ready for practice?" he said as he walked past you to join the three cheerleaders.

your embarrassment never left you as you watched him leave you in the dust. "yeah... my fault." you muttered to yourself as he left the class room to join the cheerleaders.

you ended up going to the museum by yourself (not wanting to waste any money), little did you know you were going to get bit by a radioactive spider at the vending machine

post spidey & cannon event headcanons

being spidey is not easy in universe 42. the crime was bad before but now it the gotten worse. during your second week of being spidey you had to fight villains that other spidermen would shiver at the green goblin, the sandman, and many more.

after 4 months you've been beaten down, almost died a few times, even almost got your secret identity exposed at least twice but you always get back up because you love your city and everything who lives in it—it's just too bad your new york doesn't feel the same about you.

The people of your new york really like jonah jameson and respect his opinion so when he talked bad about you the public opinion of spidey quickly soured.

you work with the police aka hang criminals upside down with your webs and leave a little note as you swing away when you hear the sirens coming towards you.

you struggle to balance your school life with your spidey life so you end up isolating yourself like all the spidey’s before you have. so now you only interact with miles in passing. when you do have the time to actually talk to him your spidey senses pull you in another direction

your parents worry about you a lot, at first they thought you were fine because your grades were good and you had a few friends but now you sometimes walk with a limp and sometimes your friends (miles specifically) come by to check up on you it's just too bad you're never there

every blunder you made as spidey would always met with a loud rant from jonah jameson. like when you got knocked out by rhino slamming his head into yours multiple times or when you accidentally let the green goblin blow up an entire block because you were getting pestered by protesters who were trying to rip your mask off

speaking of blunders your mom calls you sometimes when you're fighting crime because she's scared about if you're safe and you always try to calm her down but it never works because there's always screaming and explosions going on in the back

most of the time you end you hanging up abruptly because you have to stop the villain or else more people get hurt but you always make sure to face time her when you get away from the chaos so she doesn't get too scared about you

almost a year after becoming spidey you were invited to jeff’s promotional party and your mom stressed that you be there. You haven’t been able to make it to outings recently—canceling at the last minute, not showing up without a warning or leaving early without a trace, it was starting to feel like you were only someone she could talk to on the phone and never in person.

and throw in the fact that the morales family have been friends with your family for years, almost like a second home and none of them have seen you not even miles— it was starting to worry everyone.

when the morales family invited yours to jeffs promotion party your mother practically begged you to come

when you got to the party you and your mom had an argument about your latest disappearances. she brought up how your school was calling her about missing school ans how you were flaking out on her and while you tried to argue that you had more than just her to worry about, your argument immediately fell flat when she asked you ‘like what?’

after congratulating jeff on his promotion you left to sit under the water tower and watch the streets of new york. you knew you couldn't keep lying to your mom forever, she was worried about you and you just wanted to keep her safe. looking out to the city you didn't notice the foot steps coming from behind you.

“you aint gon say hi to me?” a familiar voice said from the right of you. turning your head you saw miles leaning on one of the metal rods that held the tower up. “you were busy with everyone else. i thought you’d be too busy to talk to me.”

“you coulda still came to say hey or sum’ you're like a ghost now.” miles looked down at you causing you to shake your head before looking ahead. “tuh… anyway, i heard you made the basketball team.” you changed the subject as you turned your head around, not being able to see the bashful look on his face. “”yeah it was easy.” “i bet. you're like good at everything.”

the boy looked at his feet trying not to smile when he heard your praise. “also! i noticed your new hairstyle. it's really good on you….” you messed with your fingers a little before turning back to him. “yeah?” the boy would be blushing if his melanin allowed it.

you stayed at the tower for most of the gathering. your mom even coming to get you so you could watch jeff blow out his candles. after that though you had to leave the sounds of police sirens started to go off as the sun began to set, you had to go back to your job.

cannon event & 'cannon event'

as you work to keep the city safe there's always something you can't stop and that is death. unfortunately, you can't save everyone even if you try to. believe me you tried everything but nothing could stop him slipping through your fingers

it was a cold winter when it happened, everyone getting ready for winter break the christmas lights were beginning to be put on display it was almost perfect until norman osborne broke out of jail

if was like he wouldn't go down. it didn't natter what you did—final blow after final blow the man would get back up and destroy even more buildings.

you tried your best to keep everyone safe, multitasking between saving people and knocking down the green goblin. your bones were screaming as you swung across the city, webbing buildings together, destroying rubble before it could hit the civilians below, you did all you know.

but that wasn't enough.

your web couldn't stop the tip of the daily bugle antenna from hitting him. you almost moved in slow motion; jumping off of green goblins glider to chase after the rod.

the man you've seen all your life stood still, paralyzed with fear. your webbing got sloppy after hours of fighting, your left web missed, the other right one ran out of fluid—you couldn't stop the antenna from hitting jeff.

the green goblin laughed maniacally as he flew off into the snowy sky, leaving you shivering holding the man you saw as a father figure.

"spidey...." his voice was weak, the tip of the bar was lodged into his heart, he wasn't going to make it. "i'm sorry..." your voice was weak as you held onto him, you heard his slowing heartbeat above the chaotic city.

"im sorry... i'm sorry" you sung apologies to him as you saw the life draining from his body. "spidey... i was growing to like you." jeff started, looking directly into your mask where your eyes would be. "i know i don't got much time..." he heaved once. twice. thee times.

"but please, don't lose yourself cus a' me." his blinking started to slow down. holding him tighter your couldn't handle this. "please, please stay with me. the paramedics are almost here!" your begged the man who just gave you a sad smile. "remember.... with great power comes great responsibility."

the man stopped breathing in your arms. you almost screamed into the sky if it wasn't for the sirens getting closer. "freeze spidey!" you heard them cock their guns, they were going to shoot you. "w-wait you dont understand!" you tried to explain through tears but you knew you had to go.

a gun-shot from your right made you leave before you could get a word out, a few of them hit you but not enough to be anything fatal

you ran to your house and practically tire your shit off of you. you cried for days, and didn't go to school for at-least three. your mom didn't know why you were so upset but didn't budge, seeing g how depressed you were

spidey didn't show up for a while. almost disappearing entirely besides a few sightings. though the press around the hero in the mask got worse

“Spidey? More like spider menace! look around you New York—that fraudulent freak trying to call themselves a hero is a danger to our livelihoods!” a booming voice echoed through the snowy streets of new york. “The green goblin, the lizard all of them—this is all their fault!” “spidey has brought nothing but uncertainty and harm to this city!”

news reporters seemed to go on and on about you on every channel, every jumbotron, and street corner—spidey was the topic of discussion. they're a killer, a sorry excuse for a hero. who are they? where are they?

*the sinking feeling in your stomach never disappeared as you saw miles at school. he was darker, less talkative, more angry—you cant help but think it's your fault.

you almost quit being spidey but you knew the people needed you even if they acted like they didn't. the robberies, rampaging villaians everyone needed you.

you went back to fighting crime even acter you saw the headlines on the billboards calling you a murderer, a fraud.

in less than a month a new face was making noise on the news. the press called him the prowler. he's been stealing money from museums and the daily bugle; anything he can get his hands on.

his LED mask was the only thing they got as he sped away on his bike.

the prowler began to leave messages 'bring me spidey.' and a simple spider drawing with a red X over it. he wanted you dead, and you knew he wouldn't stop until he had it.

in hindsight it was like dejavu. you're back where you started. fighting on a building in the snow.

"i've been waiting on you spidey." you bearly escaped his claws. stream came from your mouth as you jumped back from him."who are you?!" you knew you were being played with but you couldn't help it. the masked man laughed before swiping at you again.your other cuts from him stung, his claws were full of poison.

"you ruined my life." he managed to punch you, poisonous gas exploded in your face from the impact. "you got me all wrong!" you fought back, bearly noticing you began to crack his mask. "you'll pay for what you did to me." he bunched your face repeatedly.

"no!" bringing your leg up you managed to kick him in his face, knocking him back. getting on-top of him you repeatedly hit him in his face. you didn't even notice the familiar brown eyes being unveiled to you until it was too late.

you froze in place when you saw his face. miles. he knocked you off of him again, smirking, he began to laugh. "this'll be the last face you see, spidey."

"miles?" you felt like throwing up all over again, looking at the boy you've loved for almost all your life talk down to you. you were almost living the worst day of your life all over again.

[vxxxb]

DEPRIVE ME [1] - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

[Synopsis] - After an incident that jeopardizes your position at HQ, Miguel O'Hara becomes a constant reminder of the high expectations and zero tolerance for mistakes within his ranks. Everything takes an unexpected turn when Miguel sees the potential in your abilities and decides to enlist your help for a more personal endeavor. [Notes] - Slow burn, strained relationship in the beginning, slight angst, eventual fluff. Reader is ethnically Hispanic, with race not specified. Part Two | Part Three |

Wake up. Do the mission. Go to school. Sleep. Repeat. 

Wake up. Do the mission. Go to school. Sleep. Repeat.

Wake up.

Do the mis-

Your heart drops as the grip on your web slips, any remaining strength in your body dispersing despite your instinct to shoot another.

"Someone catch me," You breathe out, eyes fluttering shut as you brace yourself for impact. Just my luck, you think before passing out.

------

Murmurs. It's the first thing you pick on as you regain consciousness. Your eyelids feel heavy, and even the slightest movement sends a sharp pain throughout your spine. Ultimately, it is useless trying to move. The urge to groan is strong yet unattainable. You can't help but think of the long and agonizing recovery waiting for you.

"She's been punished enough," A harsh whisper echoes from a distance, "Just look at her."

Your brows twitch as you strain yourself to focus. Just where were you? And why did your body feel...? A jolt of panic forces your eyes to open, bright lights swarming your vision and making them squint. You take deep breaths as you assess your surroundings - The infirmary.

A scoff catches your attention from outside the door. Two shadows, Jessica and Miguel, were in a heated argument. Their words reach your ears, albeit in fragments.

"You should be glad I didn't kick her out altogether," Miguel argues quietly from the other end. "She knew what she signed up for the moment she joined." 

"You and I both know this isn't what she signed up for," Jessica bristled.

There's a brief pause, and then Jessica enters the room with a small smile. Your eyes briefly meet Miguel's. The man stood there with an unsympathetic gaze, eyes slightly narrowing as they scanned you. Without so much acknowledgment, he leaves.

"Ignore him," Jessica hums. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I became one with the ground," You croak with a small laugh. "I guess no one caught me," You pout, more so grimace.

"Sorry about that, hun. By the time we noticed, you were already out of reach. Hobie somehow managed to brace your impact with his webs."

You nod. "Any serious damage?"

"None, other than a minor concussion and a sore body," Jessica replies, looking over your chart. "You need to rest." She eyes you sternly.

"Kind of hard when your boss has a vendetta against you," You grimace, sitting up. 

"I'm aware he's out of line-"

"Is he?" You close your eyes, pushing yourself off the bed. "Somehow, the more I end up here, the less sympathy I have for myself," You remove the IV attached to your hand. "A couple of concussions doesn't even begin to make up for my mistake. If we can even call it that."

You change into your suit and begin to head out. 

"Where are you going?" Jessica questions behind you. 

You pull on your mask while opening a portal. "Part-time, remember. The last thing I need is someone else nagging me."

Arriving at your job, the lab director nods in your direction as you take place behind your station. With one headphone on, you immerse yourself in work. Somehow you manage to find solace and relaxation in the tasks at hand.

Your soft hums resonate throughout the room, time progressively passing, and your mind drifting. You reflect on the repetitive nature of your life — wake up, mission, school, sleep, repeat. How many more times were you going to push yourself to exhaustion? The last time your body gave out in a mission, you had risked endangering Gwen. Working for the team was becoming increasingly difficult. More so working for him. 

Lately, it was like clockwork. Mission after mission, no matter how many you completed or how many reports you submitted, there would always be another. And another. And another. And well, you know how routines work. 

You joined the organization being made fully aware of how things ran around HQ. And who ran things around HQ. Miguel hadn't been the one to recruit you; Hobie did. The anarchic spider had taken quite a liking toward you -- your abilities in particular. With one mischievous grin, Hobie brought you to Earth-928, handing you over to Jessica Drew like some new toy before leaving to do his 'own thing'.

Things were honestly going fine for you at HQ. More and more Spider-people continued to join, and you couldn't have asked for better mentors (and friends) while becoming part of this society. Everything had been so exciting, so liberating.  

And then... and then your eighth mission happened. Earth-12131. Scorpion from Earth-1610 had appeared in that universe. Though difficult, the mission had been going according to plan; you and Gwen were in charge of capturing the anomaly while Pavitr aided and rescued endangered citizens. Between the three, you had webbed Scorpion against a wall, minimizing any attack they had planned. 

What wasn't anticipated was the multiple shards of glass coming down from the roof to cut through the webbing. Scorpion's tail had quickly knocked you off your feet, its stinger immediately targeting your watch. Things progressively got worse after that.

A broken watch meant unstable atoms, unstable atoms meant unavoidable glitching, which you did -- badly. As Gwen and Pavitr handled the anomaly, you attempted to regain yourself, fingers working rapidly to repair the watch. That is until you glitched again, your very being reacting with the electromagnetism of the device. Any control you held over your abilities at that moment vanished, twisted hallucinations and sensory delusions falling prey to those unfortunate within proximity.

You had sensed everything, from the nightmarish visions that developed from people's fears to the suffocating darkness that overwhelmed them due to the oppressive void that robbed them of sight, sound, and touch.

Fifteen people died that day.

Gwen and Pavitr had barely managed to fight off the disorienting effect before coming to your rescue after capturing the anomaly. This mission marked you for the rest of your stay at HQ. 

"Y/N?"

You physically jerk at the sound of your name, your body reacting to the sudden interruption. Upon realization, you address your boss, hands instinctively setting down the tools you'd been holding.

"You can leave now," They tilt their head toward the clock. "It's already past nine." 

Your eyes slightly widen, "Right! Yeah - sorry, I'll be going now." You rush to say, hurriedly packing your belongings.  

"Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Professor!"

Exiting the building, you can't help but rub your tired eyes. You contemplate the choice of whether to head back to your shared dorm or your very own personal quarters at HQ.

You snort. "HQ for sure," You mutter, preparing to open a portal. 

Just as you're about to, an incoming call from Lyla interrupts you. You answer with a tired smile. "Please don't tell me I have another mission waiting for me," You groan, energy already draining. 

She laughs, pink shades sliding down to throw you a wink. "Nope!" She envelops you with a portal of her own. "Miguel wants to see you."

What? "What?" You voice out loud, already regretting your choices. "Lyla I don't think-"

"Be there tomorrow early morning!" She salutes you before disappearing. 

You stand there, mouth slightly agape. Nothing about what Lyla said left you feeling at ease. If anything, you were positive another fainting episode was about to happen. Deep breaths, you remind yourself. 

With a mixture of uncertainty and exhaustion, you head to your room for a few hours of sleep, hoping to be prepared for whatever awaits you when you meet Miguel in the morning. If Miguel wanted to see you, he would see you. Just not defenseless. 

At least he won't kill you, right?... Right?

Part Two | Part Three |

[A/N] - Well... I hope that was alright. Please feel free to message me what you think so far, or comment!

I know it's kind of short but I want to gauge people's reactions first to see whether it's worth continuing. Anyways thx!

[bbyseok]

meadow afterglow

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

cw: fluff everyone !! pro hero bakugou, gender neutral reader, reader is a florist and owns a flower shop, reader loves flowers/plants/nature, swearing ofc, brief violence (attempted assault on reader from some strangers), awkward katsuki hours incoming- he’s super whipped but helpless, i switch povs from bakugou to reader often, tiny bit of angst.. some misunderstanding—both bakugou and reader are idiots that can’t communicate

wc: 5.2k words

analysis: bakugou fucking hates flowers—they’re too fragrant, too cliché, too romantic. and yet, he finds himself always coming back to the same flower shop once his shift ends.

———

bakugou katsuki doesn’t like flowers. hates them, despises them—loathes them even! flowers just aren’t his thing.

when they came along with prizes (where he won first place of course), he’d always snort and throw them away in some trashcan once he could.

when kids back in his middle and high school days were brave enough to make a move on him, he’d send a spark from his palm and ultimately burn their flowers (and hopes) away.

he does the exact same thing to this day with his fans if they were perhaps lucky enough to encounter him during his patrols. (it looks bad when the press covers it obviously and that’s only one problem his pr team deals with.)

so yeah, in conclusion: bakugou isn’t particularly fond of flowers. it’s one of his many supposedly unpleasant traits—not that he really cares. now, he’s changed in these past years, truly, but he’s still maintained some of the roughness of his personality.

‘cause when you think of pro hero dynamight, number two on the hero charts (interchangeably with number one pro hero deku), you don’t think of flowers.

but… here he is. it’s just around thirty minutes past six in the evening, the ropes of dusk in the sky evident as the city prepares for nightlife. his shift had ended a while ago, but everyday, on the way home, he makes sure to stop by a small shop. a flower shop of all places. and bakugou katsuki hates flo- yeah, you get the point.

he doesn’t even know why he hesitates going entering the shop—he’s pretty damn sure you can spot him from outside. his visits are expected. the sound of the dainty bell ringing reaches his ears as he walks in.

“back so soon, dynamight?”

he grunts and turns his head away, sharply avoiding your gaze so you miss the squinting of his red eyes. you’re behind the counter as usual, fixing the arrangement of some daisies in their pots.

his cheeks burn but he’s lingering by the entrance, feigning his attention on the shelves decked with plants so you don’t see any blush. “yeah, yeah.. jus’ give me some damn flowers already,” he demands gruffly.

the sound of you briefly laughing has his head whipping back to you almost instantly. he catches the sight of you lightly shaking your head in amusement.

“anything like usual then, dynamight?”

fuck, he can’t help but wonder what his actual name would sound like off your tongue. it’s always been dynamight this, dynamight that—and while he certainly doesn’t mind, he just can’t help but wonder. when you tilt your head at him, he realizes he had been staring. he clears his throat. “yeah, whatever.”

finally, he walks toward the counter, moving around the small display tables topped with a pretty arrangement of succulents as you beam at him.

“alrighty then!” you clasp your head together, nodding for a bit. “i hope you don’t mind tulips then. we got a fresh new batch so they should just do fine!”

he nods in acknowledgement. “yeah, that’s fine f’me,” he huffs. and as you send him another smile and you dismiss yourself to the back to fetch said tulips, he can’t help but think about your first meeting.

it had been a week or two ago. a usual day of kicking ass was over and he was just on the way home until longtime friend kirishima eijiro called in a favor—he had practically begged bakugou to grab him some flowers for his date with mina since he was running late.

begrudgingly, katsuki had agreed, insisting only because the redhead was being so damn annoying. and so he pulled in to the first flower shop he saw—yours. he had stormed in and just demanded for a bouquet and the rest was history.

he found himself coming back even though he didn’t even need fucking flowers. (at first, he tells himself it’s because he’s got nothing better to do. and then he convinces himself it’s just to ensure the safety of another civilian, since you close nearing nighttime and walk home. and then he can’t lie to himself anymore that he finds you a tad bit.. cute.)

when you return, he breaks out of his reminiscing and looks back to you, blinking expectantly. “here you go!” you chirp, presenting the tucked tulips in some wrapper.

he’s grabbing his wallet from his pocket with a huff. “right.” he can feel your gaze on him patiently and he almost fumbles with his hands. (how embarrassing—he’s done this so many times too.)

and when you exchange the amount of money for the flowers, the briefest of touches from your hands makes him stutter in his movements just subtly. once the flowers are with him, he can smell its scent and he wants to sneeze.

he brushes it off and raises a brow at you. he wants to say something, maybe tell you how endearing it is to see how your name tag is lopsided on your shirt or how your wrinkled work apron has some clear stains of dirt from the flower pots on it. but instead, he says- “go home, dumbass.”

he knows you’re used to his rather blunt comments and words, but he swears he can feel the tips of his ears burn with a scorch as you snort and giggle in amusement. “i could tell you the same thing, dynamight,” you say back.

the flowers shift in his hold and he eyes the counter for two seconds to regain himself as he clears his throat and scoffs. “i meant- it gets dark faster nowadays, ‘kay? go home.”

you salute him playfully. “of course. you know i don’t close up the shop until you leave. you’re my last customer, dynamight.” (he knows.) “drive safe!”

“mhm.” he grunts and decides to take his leave before he makes a fool of himself. you wave him goodbye enthusiastically as he exits your shop and gets back into his car.

and when he returns to his apartment, he places his tulips with the rest of the flowers safely.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

the morning is just creeping into the starting hours of noon—it gets a bit busier around this time with people in the city. peak business hour because sometimes, there’s always that one person who’s looking for some flowers or the perfect plant.

but right now, your shop is empty. the wafting scent of roses newly perched on the side counter fills the air but you don’t mind it as you sweep some fallen leaves from the floor.

you had turned on the small tv hooked up in the corner of the ceiling for some background noise, humming to yourself to pass time, but its current broadcast catches your attention.

“pro hero dynamight is on the scene of the ongoing shionosu bank robbery with the help of some sidekicks and-”

you abandon your sweeping to watch the small, short-lived clips of the robbery the news station has to offer, but seeing the familiar red-eyed blonde on screen has you feeling all fluttery.

you fingers tighten around the broomstick and you shake your head to yourself. you had somewhat gotten attached to the explosive hero throughout his daily visits—his honest and brash presentation may be off putting to others but you don’t mind. he’s like a literal explosion in your little life. you like to think that your plants enjoy his company.

besides, it’s sort of cute knowing that such an aggressive man had the time to stop by your shop nearly every single day to buy some flowers. and then you shake your head again—he was buying flowers, most likely for someone he was seeing.

you can still remember your first meeting with him like it was yesterday. man had strutted into your shop like he owned it and ordered you to give him some flowers. something along the lines of “oi! you still open? get me some shit for a date or something!” and that’s how it happened.

you wouldn’t change whatever this.. relationship you had with the pro hero for the world but it did hurt a little, knowing he was coming to your shop for your flowers only to give them to someone else. why else did he buy them?

the sound of his voice from the tv has you perking up and you’re quite embarrassed of yourself by the the effect he has on you, even on a damn screen.

“hah? just some fuckin’ d-list criminals who chose the wrong day to rob a bank,” he barks at the reporter, “you really think i couldn’t handle those shits?” of course, his words are poorly censored and you can’t help but laugh.

yeah, you’re okay with what you have. you’re happy that you can somewhat see another side of dynamight through your little exchanges.

the bell ringing then diverts your attention away from the tv and you politely greet an elderly lady walking in. you place aside the broom and head back behind the counter, content with knowing that you’ll see him later today.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou comes in during his usual time, casual clothes only slightly rumpled since he had been in a hurry to make sure to make it before you closed up the shop.

and there you are as always, behind the counter with a sweet smile. “good evening, dynamight!”

he sighs quietly, taking in the calm and scenery of your shop. it’s a welcomed contrast after the hectic events of today—annoying criminals thinking they could take him down and even more annoying reporters with nosy questions.

“hey.” he grunts, then asks curiously, “how was your day?” he decides to ignore how pleasant surprise flicks over your face by roaming through the shelves on the side.

“it was pretty good,” you hum in reply. there’s a pause and then you add, “i saw you on tv today. a robbery, huh?”

the realization that you saw him in action on screen makes his cheeks heat up for some reason but he plays it cool, peering at you from behind one of the shelves. “oh, yeah,” he chuffs, “impressed?”

you giggle to yourself, crossing your arms as you observe him. “impressed by how they somehow managed to censor you, that’s for sure.”

katsuki winces only subtly and rolls his eyes as he comes out from behind the shelving to approach the counter. “yeah, yeah. pretty sure my pr team is gonna try ‘n whoop my ass again for that.” he barks out a rough laugh. “as if they could.”

you tilt your head back as you laugh with him, and fuck, he thinks he can watch you laugh all day. it’s music to his ears. “right,” you snort, “they can try, huh?”

he straightens his shirt somewhat, noticing the obvious wrinkles on them. “oh, yeah. you watch me the whole time?” he’s teasing.

“you wish,” you banter back, now uncrossing your arms to drum your fingers on the table absentmindedly. “this woman came in for some flowers. she was so kind- i gave her some delphiniums!”

he tilts his head, brows furrowing. “delphi-what now?” he huffs, leaning against the counter as he watches you brighten up. (damn, are you cute. but he’s not gonna say that out loud.)

“delphiniums are pretty.” you sigh and then start to ramble, “i gave her some royal larkspurs. pretty easy to take care of at the start! they usually symbolize dignity and grace, amongst some other things like sincerity, dedication- oh, i’m talking too much, aren’t i?” you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. “you’re just here for some flowers, sorry. uh, just anything like usual?”

bakugou blinks and chuckles softly. “nah, don’ worry. like hearing you talk.” shit, did he really say that? he straightens his posture and clears his throat, trying to act all nonchalant. “and uh, actually- i’ll take the larkspurs or whatever.”

you gaze is wide before you nod with a bright smile. “larkspurs it is.”

later that night, he adds those beautiful arching flowers of blue with his growing collection, another reminder of you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

god, how bakugou hates commission meetings with a passion. what he hates even more is waiting for them to actually start. ‘cause that means he actually has to socialize with his fellow colleagues.

like fucking deku here.

most of the heroes are lingering around the long table, and here’s his childhood friend, rambling on with the familiar faces of half ‘n half bastard and round cheeks, and they’re entirely invested with his current dilemma. “i just don’t know what to get her! i’m overthinking this, right? just a simple gift or some flowers could do, right?”

ochako pats midoriya’s shoulder reassuringly, saying, “you shouldn’t worry about it too much, deku. i’m sure your mom would love anything you get her!”

deku shakes his head as he continues mumbling in thought. even after all these years, the nerd never lost some of his annoying traits, much to bakugou’s irritation. old habits die hard, he supposes. (however, when you ramble, he finds that he doesn’t want you to stop.)

some of the others are joining in on the conversation to pass time—there’s fucking both dunce face and soy sauce face and he’s pretty sure he’s one second away from blowing the shit out of all of ‘em. how the hell did he tolerate them in high school?

before icyhot can open his mouth and surely say something idiotic, bakugou groans and turns in his chair to face them, dragging a hand over his face. “oh, for the love of- can you shut your trap already? jus’ get her some larkspurs or some shit.”

fuckin’ nerd looks at him all curious and interested, and he’s got the attention of the others now as well. “larkspurs, kacchan?” deku questions.

“yeah,” he huffs, turning his gaze away. he recites their meaning he had learned from you instinctively, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up onto the table.

denki then speaks up, “woah, kacchan. since when were you a flower expert?” the electric hero grins and leans forward and the others are obviously interested too.

“fuck off!” katsuki snaps roughly, “i ain’t no expert on some damn flowers. hate those fuckin’ things.”

he grumbles when the others laugh and continue to tease him whilst deku thanks him profusely. yeah—he’s still a damn nerd.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

it’s another day of business. still midday, with the sun taking its place in the high in the sky. the afternoons aren’t as hot anymore, and you know you should start to move some of the display plants outside back inside but you’ll get to that later.

a lovely couple had left earlier with their desired flowers for their upcoming wedding and you had happily aided them. once they had left, you decided to take a small break, slouching on the counter.

you can’t help but let your thoughts drift back to a certain blonde. judging how he really didn’t care what flowers he got—other than the time he had asked for the larkspurs—you guessed his partner really didn’t mind the type of flowers they received either.

and as if your thoughts had summoned him, the bell rings and the door opens to reveal the man plaguing your mind, fully decked out in his hero costume.

“d-dynamight?” you yelp in surprise, immediately fixing your posture as you stare at him. he only comes at the end of the day, after his work is over and yours is nearly done—what the hell is he doing here? in the afternoon?

“ya busy?” bakugou grunts, making his way in without any further words.

he looks so out of place here—brandished armor and combat duty boots sounding heavy on the floor. you’re pretty sure he almost knocked over the shelves with how big his gauntlets are. he looks made for battle but here he is, standing expectantly, surrounded by dainty flowers and plants.

“um- um, no?” you then shake your head. “what’re you doing here? not that i mind! it’s just.. you’ve never come in the middle of the day before! what if someone sees you?”

he makes sure his grenadier bracers don’t actually knock down your hard work of arrangements, looking to you. “s’why i’m gonna be quick, idiot. can’t come later tonight so ‘m here now.”

“o-oh! of course.” you rush around the counter to pick something simple to offer to him, since he doesn’t seem to care again on what he’ll receive. you’re aware of his eyes following you as you grab some false indigos for a bundle.

“stay safe out there, dynamight,” you bid him, holding out the flowers for him to take. “i’ll see you some other time then?” you hate how hopeful you sound.

his red irises linger on you for a couple of seconds before he nods and pays up. “yeah, you will. you stay safe, idiot.“

his words make you feel warm—with the false indigos now with him, you simply smile. you won’t tell him that they symbolize protection; maybe he can learn that another day.

(later on, you see a media outlet that reads PRO HERO DYNAMIGHT SEEN WITH FLOWERS… HAS HE FOUND A PARTNER? and you hate how the title makes your stomach churn with jealousy—but seeing your flowers tucked delicately in his arms is worth it.)

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou actually doesn’t get to see you for a couple of days. there had been a change in his schedule and he had been assigned for some overnight shifts along with some other heroes in another district due to the rise of criminal activity there.

but he’s back now, thankfully, and he’s antsy to see you after all this time. (mind you, it’s only been three or four days. smitten, he is, for the attractive florist that supplies him with flowers even though he claims he hates them. on a side note, he hopes his assistant had taken good care of the false indigos he had placed in his office.)

so as he drives down the familiar street, katsuki can’t help but wonder if you still wait for him so you can close the shop. it has been a while since his last appearance that one early afternoon, so even though he wouldn’t be surprised that you don’t, he couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t be a bit disappointed.

but as he pulls in into the parking lot, he’s furious.

you had just closed the shop, not even a few feet away from the door as a gang of looming strangers crowd in towards you, all hunched and shady as you match their stares warily.

katsuki isn’t sure he’s moved faster than he has in his life—he’s scrambling out of the car to help you when you manage to land a sucker punch square into one of the asshole’s jaws. with your flank exposed, another one lunges for you and you scream.

“you fucker!” he snarls and he reaches you in record time, the one you had already knocked to the side being met with an accurately aimed kick to the gut from his boot before he sends an explosion that has the remaining three flying.

when bakugou sees that none of them are making an effort to get up, he slips out of his offensive stance and immediately turns to you in concern, eyes roaming for any injuries. “are you hurt? did they touch you?” he demands, brows furrowed. “i’m-”

he falters when you simply stare at him in awe. the silence between you two is deafening and he doesn’t know how to interpret it. he starts, worried, “hey, are you-”

you arms wrapping him around has him inhaling sharply. his arms linger, unsure of what to do but he accepts your embrace delicately. “thank you, dynamight,” you murmur after a moment, still holding him.

he breathes softly, and he’s all quiet when he speaks again. “..it’s bakugou to you,” he tells you gruffly, “got it?”

his words have caught you by surprise—he knows it by the way your eyes widen when you pull back to look at him. he meets your stare readily.

“thank you, bakugou,” you say gently, and his gaze softens. (hearing his name roll off your tongue is something he can get used to, he decides.)

he then chuckles, all fond. “remind me not to get you mad. that punch looked nasty.”

you laugh genuinely, and katsuki can’t help but think about how much he missed hearing it.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

bakugou drives you home every night from then on.

you had no problem before, as your apartment building isn’t that far off, perhaps a fifteen minute walk, pushing ten if you jogged a little, and that was something you could manage. until the incident a couple weeks ago.

you definitely feel safer with him escorting you, even when you did protest that he didn’t have to waste his time driving to your shop, waiting for you to close and then dropping you off at your apartment—but he insisted. like, almost put you in a headlock if your dumbass didn’t listen insisted. (he still buys flowers every time too.)

and as giddy as it made you to spend more time with the pro hero, the reminder that he was supposedly taken was enough for you to know your limits. he’s simply doing his job—protecting people, s’all.

but in moments like this, you think you can selfishly enjoy yourself.

he’s blasting his music—some sort of punk rock that you can’t deny is pretty catchy—with his newly acquired lilacs resting on the center console for him to take home. it’s a bit silly, hearing such vulgar lyrics in the background as the petals of the magenta flowers shake slightly.

“you’ll enjoy your new home with bakugou, won’t you?” you coo at the plant, brushing your fingers over it tenderly. “he’ll take good care of you, i’m sure.”

bakugou’s got one hand on the wheel and he casts you an amused glance. as the car approaches a red light, he turns down the music and snorts. “are you seriously talking to the fuckin’ flowers?”

you lightly glare at him, a smile quirking up on the corners of your lips. “it helps them grow when you talk to ‘em nicely!”

“oh, yeah?” he raises a brow, snorting again—but he’s got an amused smirk on his face now as he focuses back on driving. “i’ll keep that in mind then, idiot.”

you sneak subtle side glances at him the rest of the ride, admiring his beauty—so close yet so far.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

this is so fucking stupid, bakugou thinks. he should be buying flowers for you, not from you—or whatever couples do nowadays to please their partners. but here he is, back again. even if he is your drive home, this weird tradition of buying your flowers he had gotten accustomed is getting old. he just hopes you’re getting the hint that he’s not exactly here for the flowers.

katsuki doesn’t even bother announcing himself when he doesn’t see you behind the counter—you’re probably somewhere in the back tidying up some final things so you can leave, so he starts looking for something to buy already.

“hey, got anything new f’me to buy?” he calls out then, and he hears some rustling from the back room. he figures he might help you out so without much thought, he saunters around the counter, following the noise of your muffled movements.

your voice rings out, “yeah, i do! just lemme-” way closer than before and just as he enters the doorway of the backroom, you appear—walking right into him.

now, obviously he’s a wall. lean and fine muscle make up his body—and you crash into him, yelping when you stumble back in surprise.

bakugou’s reflexes are quick and he manages to catch you in time—his arm dips low and braces the small of your back before you can fall over. “fuckin’ idiot,” he huffs out, “be careful.”

“hey!” you cry out in protest, “you’re the one who was standing there! for someone so loud, you sure are stealthy.”

“ah? i can be plenty fucking stealthy!” he argues, voice booming against the walls and proving your point.

you giggle at that—and that’s when katsuki realizes you’re both so fucking close. he can see the shape of your lips and the way your eyes gleam in the lighting from above. he freezes.

you seem to realize it too, falling silent for a couple of heartbeats. bakugou clears his throat and lets you go. “alright, brat. gonna give me my flowers so we can fuckin’ leave already?”

he thinks he sees your shoulders relax and fall down before you nod and brush past him. “yeah, of course.”

he scoffs and follows you, wondering what it’d be like to kiss you.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

you twiddle with some ribbons laced around some pottery, trying to redo some decorations on them since you can spare some time.

bakugou had come in a little early for you to close up, so he’s waiting for you to finish, casually leaning on the counter as he observes the store. okay, well- you’re not exactly sure what he’s doing, since he’s probably memorized the entire layout of your small area of the building by now because of how many times he’s been here.

you’re humming idly to yourself, the tv flicked on to some music ambience channel to full in the quiet air anytime bakugou isn’t striking up a conversation. he’s been silent for a while now.

“what’s a person’s ideal date?”

you nearly drop a vase. obviously, the question surprises you. it should, you think, since this is a pro hero who’s been coming to your flower shop for over a month or two now, supposedly getting flowers for his significant other—even if he does linger around longer than he should and drives you home—and he’s asking you on what someone’s ideal date is? this.. doesn’t make any sense.

“well...” you begin reluctantly, unsure of where this is leading, and even more unsure on how to actually answer. “it depends on the person, bakugou.”

the blonde simply clicks his tongue and his eyes meet yours.

“okay then. what’s your ideal date?”

just when you think he can’t surprise you any further, he does. you’re pretty sure your eyes nearly bug out of their sockets as you set the vase aside so you don’t actually drop it. “huh?”

“you heard me, dumbass,” katsuki scoffs with a roll of his eyes and you want to disappear into the floor. “what’s your ideal date?”

your throat suddenly feels dry. “i’m, uh, not the best person to ask for romantic advice, bakugou,” you warn, trying to be all teasing as you laugh anxiously. you do not want to help him plan out a date—you’d rather throw yourself into the sun.

“‘m serious, brat,” bakugou grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at you. you can’t read him, usually you can’t, but his eyes are warm. “tell me.”

you continue fiddling with some ribbons as you glance away to contemplate. “well.. a- a picnic date would be nice. with some of my favorite foods, maybe. it’d probably be out in some meadow. just.. a nice, open meadow where you can see flowers for miles.” you sigh dreamily.

it’s quiet again and then you glance back to him, stammering, “but- but that’s just my preference! i dunno if the person you’re seeing would like that ‘n stuff. everyone’s different, y’know?”

suddenly he’s got this confused scowl on his face, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed. oh god, did you offend him in some way? say something awful? what if you-

“hah?” bakugou snaps, voice colored in disbelief, “who the hell said i was seeing someone?”

what? now it’s your turn to be utterly confused, and you stare at him with wide eyes. “you’re not- you’re not seeing someone? dating someone?” you inquire, puzzled.

“no, dumbass!” he barks out, “i’m not- where the fuck did you get that idea from?”

you blink once, twice. “you!” you cry out, saying, “when you came in here for the very first time, you asked me to get you flowers for a date!”

bakugou’s eyes widen and then he’s taking steps towards you. “not a date for me, dumbass! my friend asked me to get him flowers for his date!”

your mind spins with the new information but you’re still so confused, still in denial—you shake your head. “but- but.. why else would you come in for flowers every single day?”

“because i wanted to see you!”

oh. the confession has your cheeks heating up. so… the blonde you’ve been harboring a massive crush on is, in fact, not seeing anyone, and is coming in every day to your flower shop to buy your flowers because he wants to see you?

bakugou stares at you, eyes all wide as if he can’t believe what he had just said aloud. his words are echoing in your head and you laugh a little. “you.. aren’t here for the flowers?” you say softly.

his gaze is all warm as he relaxes, and you can see the faint pink tingeing his cheeks. “no,” he confesses in a grumble, “..‘m here for you and your stupid dumbass.”

you laugh again, and he finally reaches you. his fingers twitch and slowly, you take his hands in yours. they feel a little warm, clumsy like he doesn’t know what to do with his fingers before they tighten around yours. “we really are idiots, huh?” when he glares at you softly, you add, “i like you too. just so you know.”

his blush is visible and oh so pretty now, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your words. and then he snorts, “good, ‘cus i’m gonna need some help takin’ care of all the stupid fuckin’ flowers at my apartment. it’s practically a shop now too.”

as he pulls you into a crushing hug, you burst into a fit of giggles.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“you forgot to water this one, you idiot!” katsuki calls from the corner of your shop, grumbling at some of the drooping crotons you brought in recently. “where the fuck did you put the watering can?”

you point to the counter, too occupied with fixing the succulents. “should be somewhere on the floor over there, suki,” you tell him. and as you watch him snatch the watering can and storm back over to the plants in need, you grin to yourself.

“thanks, katsuki,” you hum as you stand back up, “you’re a big help, y’know?”

he scoffs. “yeah, yeah.” as he tilts the watering can to spray the plants, he continues in a hushed voice. “what you would ‘lil fuckers do without me, ah?”

your heart does a flip. a month or so ago, you wouldn’t believe it if someone had told you that the pro hero dynamight would be in your shop taking care of your plants as he talks to them. but you know, you also wouldn’t have believed it if they had told you he’d be your boyfriend.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

and katsuki eventually does take you out on that ideal date once it gets warmer. a dainty picnic lunch with your favorite foods that he made from scratch in his very own kitchen in a heavenly meadow surrounded by flowers all around.

and it’s there, when he kisses you, that bakugou katsuki realizes that he doesn’t hate flowers. especially since he has the most gorgeous flower of them all—you.