writingsofanomnivore

[writingsofanomnivore]

[writingsofanomnivore]

just thoughts of growing old with bakugou.

“Y’alright, old lady?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” You shot back with a huff, but the laughter in your voice softened it. “You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself, Mr. Dynamight.”

“Hah? I could still beat your ass in a race.”

“You could barely bend down to get your keys this morning.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. “Should’ve let you get them. You’re closer to the ground anyway.”

“Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

You two walked a few more steps before he noticed your breathing was just a little heavier. Your hand was tighter on his forearm. You hadn’t said anything, of course. He knew you never liked making a fuss. But Bakugou noticed. He always noticed.

Because if he didn’t notice, then he’d think he’s the shittiest husband on the planet.

Bakugou stopped.

You looked at him, confused. “Katsu?”

“Turn around.”

“What—”

“I’m givin’ you a piggyback ride.”

You blinked. “Katsuki, we’re in our sixties.”

“And? You think that stops me?” He crouched a little, wincing more dramatically than he meant to. Despite retaining lighter exercises to keep his body in tip-top shape, age still creeps in like a barnacle to his back. “C’mon, get up before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to throw your back out.”

“My back’s tougher than yours.”

“That’s not saying much anymore!”

“I’d rather break my back than see you waddle like a fuckin’ penguin with those stuffy shoes.”

“Our daughter gave me these shoes!”

“I know,” he replied. “Get on, woman.”

With a chuckle, you carefully climbed onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck like they did all those years ago when you two were barely adults sneaking out for late-night walks. He held your legs securely under him, your weight familiar even after all this time. You rested your head against the back of his neck.

He lifts you like it’s nothing.

“Still got it,” he mutters, somewhat relieved.

Because Bakugou wants to give you a piggyback ride—or just carry you as many times as he possibly could.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, well. You married me. So there’s nothin’ we could do about that now that we’re five decades in, huh?”

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder, your voice muffled. “Best decision I ever made,” you hum. “Do you ever think about what we were like back then?”

“All the time,” he replies.

“Do you miss it?”

Bakugou exhaled. “Nah. I mean, it was good. Great, even. But this…” He shifts you a little higher on his back. “This is better.”

“You’re carrying your wrinkly wife down the street, and you think this is better?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies without hesitation. “You still make fun of me. Still make me laugh. Still kiss me like we’re teenagers. And even if you walk slower now, you still walk with me.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “That’s so sappy. I hate you.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

You chuckled.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

“I know,” Bakugou says, and then, a little quieter, “I love you too. Always have. Even when you fell asleep during Die Hard.”

“I knew it. You were paying attention.”

He laughs. Full, unguarded, and warm. His chest feels full, like it always does when you’re near. The kind of full that doesn’t need fixing. Doesn’t need anything more.

-

“See?” Katsuki muttered breathlessly, settling you down onto a wooden bench that overlooked the town below. “Didn’t break my back.”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tch. Still mouthy,” he said, but there was nothing but tenderness in his voice. He reached for your hand, calloused fingers lacing with yours. “Old or not, you’ll never stop talkin’, will you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you murmured. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You tickle my toes when I’m about to fall asleep, you psychopath.”

“As I said, keep you on your toes.”

You two sat there in silence, side by side, watching as the last of the day faded into hues of soft purple and gold. The town below lit up slowly—windows glowing, streetlights flickering on one by one. It was the same town where you built a life, where you came after retiring from the city, where you spent quiet afternoons and lazy mornings and stormy nights curled under blankets.

“I was thinking earlier,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Remember that old apartment? The first one?”

“The one with the leaky pipes?”

“And the hole in the wall.”

Bakugou made a noise between a groan and a laugh.

“Don’t remind me. That place was hell.”

“But we were happy. And it was our first.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“You used to stay up late grading case files while I was asleep on the couch.”

“And you’d drool on every pillow,” he said, smirking.

“That’s love,” you quipped, “sharing spit on furniture.”

“Disgusting,” his eyes crinkled as he chuckled, quiet and deep, before falling into a softer stillness.

“Do you think we did okay?” you asked.

Bakugou turned to look at you. Your eyes were searching his face—not out of doubt, but for reassurance.

“We did more than okay,” he said. “We loved hard. Fought harder. Got old. Grew up.”

You smiled faintly. “We grew softer.”

He squeezed your hand. “You did. I stayed badass.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah… you did.”

A breeze blew past, and you shivered slightly. Bakugou was already tugging his jacket off before you could protest. He knows you well enough that it comes second to breathing. Something that he could never forget because he needs to remember it to survive.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up. You’re cold.”

You let him drape it over you, fingers brushing his wrist as he tucked it close. It was nice. This was nice.

“I still remember the first time I saw you,” you said after a while. “You were yelling at someone, I think.”

“That sounds right.”

“I thought, ‘What an ass.’”

“And yet, you married me.”

“Because you were very persuasive,” you told him.

He snorted. “Uh huh.”

Time passed like that—peaceful and unhurried—until the sun was a mere sliver on the edge of the world. Fireflies blinked into view. The quiet of the hilltop wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I’m tired,” you murmured quietly, closing your eyes for a moment against his shoulder.

“Want me to carry you home?”

“No, just…” You paused, then exhaled. “Let’s just stay here a bit.”

Bakugou nodded. “Yeah. We can stay.”

“You’ve always been stubborn.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“But also the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t reply right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. Your hair had silvered, your cheeks had thinned, but your eyes held the same sparkle that made him fall in love with you years ago. You were still [Name]. Undeniably his.

And he was still Bakugou. Your.

“Even if I get reincarnated,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, “even if I forget everything—I hope I find you again.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “You will.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll find you too,” he said. “You’re too damn loud to miss.”

You smiled. Your hand, much more wrinkly now, more fragile than it used to be, reached up to his cheek. Your thumb traced the scar that time left near his jaw.

“I love you,” you said.

He leaned in, pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too. Always.”

And in the stillness, with the cool air surrounding you and the stars beginning to blink into view above, you leaned into each other—together in warmth, in memory, in everything you two ever were.

Your hands stayed intertwined, steady.

And when the wind finally hushed, you drifted off into the quietest, most peaceful sleep.

Together, one last time.

Forever.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[writingsofanomnivore]

husband!kageyama taking care of your nails for you.

“You know, when you told me you were going to clip my nails, I didn’t think you meant it seriously.”

Kageyama gave a small grunt, not looking up. “I always mean it seriously.”

“That’s what worries me a little.”

He blinked, pausing to glance at you. “Why?”

“Because you have your ‘actual game face’ on. Like you’re about to hit the ball through someone’s soul—my poor finger’s soul.”

His brow furrowed. “This is delicate work,” he said, as if it were obvious. “I have to focus. And I’m careful.”

You laughed, watching him lift your hand like it was a precious object. He took a long moment to examine your fingers—turning them slightly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles in slow circles. It’s gentle and careful, and it warms your heart to see your husband so loving like this.

“You have a hangnail here,” he muttered, frowning. “Were you picking at it again?”

“I got nervous during that meeting yesterday.”

He clicked his tongue quietly. “Stop doing that. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting a full checkup afterward!”

“You don’t need to be nervous. You’re… good at what you do.” His voice dropped a little as he said it, like it embarrassed him to offer praise so directly. “I’ve heard you on the phone. You’re smart. And brave.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. Your smile softened. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve said all week.”

“I said you looked pretty yesterday.”

“You said I ‘looked rested.’”

“…Oh. Well, you look even prettier today.”

You laughed, and it made his ears turn pink.

He clipped your nails gently, his hands steady, fingers long and precise. He held each of yours securely, guiding you through the process like a practiced routine. It wasn’t rushed; Kageyama took his time, carefully aligning the clipper, checking the angle twice before making a cut. After each nail, he paused to brush the trimmed bits into a little ceramic bowl they kept nearby.

“Do you do this often?” You asked after a long pause. “For yourself, I mean?”

He nodded once. “Every few days. I have to. My fingers are everything. If I don’t keep my nails short and clean, they can catch on the ball or split. It’s stupid how much one little crack can mess with your whole game.”

You gave him a look, eyes wide with something like quiet awe. “You take this so seriously.”

“It’s part of taking care of myself,” he said, and his gaze lifted to yours. “And now it’s part of taking care of you too.”

Your breath caught for just a moment. How did you ever get so lucky to snag this man?

Kageyama picked up the small file next and began to smooth the edges with slow, even strokes. The motion was rhythmic and tender. You watched the way he focused so intently on the task—the slight pinch in his brow, the way his lower lip pressed into a thin line when he was trying to be especially careful.

“You always do this when you’re nervous,” you said softly, brushing your free hand against his hair.

“Do what?”

“Zone in. Like the world disappears except the thing you’re trying to control.”

Kageyama was quiet for a moment, then exhaled. “That’s… true.”

“Are you nervous right now?”

He hesitated. “Not nervous. Just… I want to get it right.”

“Because it’s me?”

He gave the tiniest nod, eyes still trained on your thumbnail. “You’re important. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against his for a beat. “You won’t.”

The silence between you grew comfortable. The kind of quiet that speaks in glances and gentle touches. After he filed the last nail, he gently ran his thumb across each fingertip, checking for snags, tiny splinters, anything he might have missed. Then he reached for the cuticle oil and unscrewed the little bottle with a slow, almost reverent motion.

“I’m going to massage this in,” he said, almost shyly—yet still determined.

You nodded, watching him carefully as he dabbed a small dot of oil on each nail, then rubbed it in with soft, circular motions. His touch was warm, so warm, like the atmosphere during mornings in a bakery. The way he held your hand wasn’t just careful—it was reverent. As if your hands were something sacred. Something worth protecting.

“I like your hands,” he said suddenly.

You scrunched your nose, barely. “Really?”

“They’re soft. And warm. And… I know them.” His voice dropped lower, murmuring. “I know the way you hold my wrist when I’m anxious. The way you press your palm to my back when I come home late. How you run your fingers through my hair when I can’t sleep.”

You swallowed. Your chest ached in that lovely, terrible way when someone says exactly what you needed to hear without knowing it.

“I want to take care of them,” he added, brushing his thumb along the side of your pinky. “Because they take care of me.”

“Tobio…”

He looked up then, eyes a little wide like he was afraid he’d gone too far. But you leaned forward before he could pull back and kissed him softly. When you pulled away, your voice was barely a whisper. “You are the gentlest man I’ve ever known.”

He shook his head, a breath of laughter escaping. “I’m not.”

“You are. Maybe not with words. Or… you know, strangers. But with me? You’re gentle in all the ways that matter.”

You sat like that for a long moment—hands still entwined, foreheads nearly touching, the world outside fading into white noise. Then Kageyama cleared his throat. “I could… maybe paint them next time? If you want?”

Your eyes lit up. “You’d paint my nails?”

He gave an awkward little shrug. “If you like it. I’d have to practice.”

You hummed, pulling him forward into another kiss, lingering and full of affection. “You’re already perfect.”

Kageyama flushed from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears once again. He’s so easily flustered—it’s almost illegal to be this cute, you think.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[writingsofanomnivore]

Please give us more Akaashi and mei moments😭😭💖💖💖💖

The blocks on the floor do nothing to combat the craving you’re having, the need for something sweet crawling through you while you play with your daughter.

It’s almost time for bed, she’s in clean pajamas and her curls are slightly damp from her bath, but that doesn’t stop your stomach from growling at the mere idea of a sweet ice cream filling your tastebuds.

You sigh, and Mei turns to look up at you, “what wrong, mumma?”

You smile softly down at her and hook her curl behind her ear, “mommy’s having a craving, my love. Just haven’t had dessert yet.” She nods and turns back to her blocks, and you get a lightbulb in your mind as you think of ways to get ice cream from your favorite place down the street.

“Want to help mommy get some ice cream?” You ask, and Mei nods excitedly.

"Help mumma!"

"Good girl," you grin, standing up and gently grabbing Mei's hand to guide her into the living room where Keiji sits unsuspecting, watching the MSBY game highlights with a pleased smile on his face. "Okay," you whisper. "Go up to daddy, and say 'I need ice cream' okay?"

"Okay mumma!" She squeals. Quickly, she toddles over to your husband, who eagerly turns to her with an even more pleased smile. “Daddy?” Mei hums, tugging on Keiji’s pant leg.

The dark haired man turns down to his small daughter, a hand coming down to gently card her curls.

“Yes, princess?”

“Mumma need ice ceam.”

“No!” You gasp, and Keiji looks at you with a patient grin. “No, mei love, say you need ice cream.”

“Oh, okay. Daddy?” She tries again.

“Yess?”

“Uhm, I need ice ceam, pease,” she says, and Keiji nods his head in thought before turning up to you, amusement glimmering in his eyes as he smirks and nods his head in thought.

“So you need ice cream, Mei?”

“Uh-huh!” She chirps.

“Even though you already had dessert?”

This time, Mei turns up to look at you, looking for further instructions. You kneel behind her and flash Keiji your biggest set of puppy eyes, "Kei, how could you be so cruel as to not get our sweet, pretty, angel baby another sweet treat! She's such a good girl, she loves you soooo much, she can have one more treat!"

Keiji laughs and leans down to scoop Mei up in his arms, squeezing her close and pressing a kiss to her cheek, making her giggle. Then, he leans close to her ear, "did mommy ask you to say you wanted ice cream?"

"Yes," she says sweetly.

"Mei!" You laugh. Keiji snickers and presses another kiss to your daughter's cheek, and you pout with a cross of your arms, "so much for helping me."

Keiji gently hooks his daughter's curly hair behind her ear, but his words are focused and directed at you, "when have I ever said no to getting you ice cream when you've asked, my love?"

"That's not the point," you grumble. "She's supposed to be on my side."

"Well, she's on mine," he teases. He plops her on the couch next to him as he stands up, "you want your usual?"

"Yes," you pout. Keiji leans down to press a kiss to the top of your head, one hand darting down to playfully poke your sides to make you gasp and writhe.

"Don't pout; I'm sure there'll be plenty of time in the future for you two to conspire against me."

"Promise?"

He grins.

"Promise."

[writingsofanomnivore]

I only came back to gush about these

Tell me why this is so sweet

I could get a kageyama ring but it won't do anything to aide my delusions. Plus it is a wedding ring what am i gonna do with it

But even then shipping charges would screw me up😭😭

Link if anyone needs

[writingsofanomnivore]

not really on a hiatus but maybe semi hiatus. i;m barely using tumblr* as is. I'm still on break- thought I would write a few things but I'm neither sad nor happy. i need to be at least one to write. I've to also start with learning a few things for my course. not really inclined to but I feel bored and it is engaging. not sure when I will come back - not like I'm actively ignoring this. maybe if I feel bored or something. recently I've also started watching hometown cha cha cha really cute i'd say but I need to stop spiraling or i'll b inge watch everything in a day.

[writingsofanomnivore]

I adore Lady Gyokuyou & as much fun as I have thinking about how she is the #1 Jinmao shipper, it also makes me incredibly sad. She's so sweet & gentle. In the episode about Lady Fuyou, Gyokuyou mentions to Maomao that she's jealous. This poor girl is barely older than Maomao & she knows she's not going to get a happily ever after like Fuyou. Her "love story" is just politics She is a political pawn. She knows that the Emperor's favor can disappear at a moment's notice. She loves her children, that's obvious. But the whole getting swept off her feet by a man who's madly, passionately, raise an entire army to rescue you in love is not going to be in the cards for her. And she could be so bitter, angry, and jealous that Maomao has that (and seemingly doesn't realize it), but she isn't. She's in both Maomao & Jinshi's corners & just wants them to be happy.

[writingsofanomnivore]

the first time he's ever been provoked to hit a child.

synopsis: he's jealous... jealous of a child.

characters: bakugo katsuki, denki kaminari, eijiro kirishima.

genre: fluff

warnings: fluff, jealousy( ? ).

masterlist.

bakugo katsuki

bakugo katsuki never saw himself as the jealous type.

he was top of his class—hell, probably top of the entire school. perfect grades, unmatched combat scores, and a sports festival champion. even as a third-year, he'd already built a reputation most pro heroes would kill for.

so no, jealousy wasn't something he thought he'd ever deal with. why should he? everyone knew you were his. and anyone with half a brain wouldn't dare look your way for more than five seconds—because they knew they didn't stand a chance. not when your boyfriend was him.

or at least... that's what he believed.

until today.

"god, villains really don't know when to quit, huh?" you groaned, stretching your arms over your head as your joints popped loudly in protest.

you and bakugo stood beside the police car as the cops made the villains enter the car—ignoring their protest about how 'they didn't do anything wrong'.

"yeah, well maybe if they had two brain cells to run together, they'd realize getting their asses kicked again isn't a fun hobby," your boyfriend muttered, handing you a bottle of water, before taking a sip of his.

you took the water gratefully, shooting him a tired smile, "thanks, kats"

bakugo just grunted in response, subtly brushing your shoulder with his as the villains were finally carted off. for a moment, things we're quiet. just another day of kicking villain ass walking away like the power couple you were.

and then it happened.

"(y/n)!" a small voice called out.

you turned just in time to catch a blur of energy as a kid—eight or nine maybe—came sprinting across the parking lot, weaving between police officers and tape like it was an obstacle course built for him.

"riku!" you laughed as the boy tackled your legs, "what are you doing here?"

riku looked up with the kind of sparkle in his eyes bakugo instantly recognized—and hated, "i saw the fight on the news and told my mom we had to come! you were so cool! you punched that villain through a wall!"

you crouched down to ruffle his hair. "it was more of a gentle wall-crash, but thanks sweetheart."

bakugo glared. sweetheart?

riku's face turned red as he rocked on his heels, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt, "u-um... i-i made something for you!"

he fished in his backpack and pulled out a crayon drawing—poorly shaded and mostly stick figures, but it was you in your hero costume, fighting a bad guy, with hearts drawn all around the border.

you took it with a touched smile, "awe riku. this is amazing! i love it."

bakugo, behind you, looked like he was witnessing a crime. his eye twitched, "... are those hearts? around her head?"

riku turned around, "oh! i drew them 'cause she's my future wife!"

bakugo choked on his water.

you stared at the kid, caught between laughing and panicking. "riku- what?!"

the boy puffed out his chest proudly, "when i grow up, i'm gonna be a hero too. then i'm gonna ask (y/n) to marry me!"

bakugo took one long, slow step forward.

you recognized that face. it was the calm before the explosion.

"hey, little man," he said, voice low, "you know she's got a boyfriend, right?"

riku blinked, confused, "oh... you?"

"yeah. me." bakugo crossed his arms. "the guy who just blew up half a building and walked away without a scratch? ring a bell?"

riku frowned, then shrugged, "i'm not scared. heroes are supposed to be brave, right?"

bakugo's mouth fell open for half a second before he clamped it shut, visibly malfunctioning. "brave?"

you stepped in before katsuki declared war on a child. "okay! okay! time for riku to go back to his mom—who is very kindly waving and trying not to look horrified right now."

"but—!"

you gently pushed riku back toward the crowd, "thank you of the picture sweetheart. i'll hang it on the wall."

riku beamed at that, "i'll train really hard! you'll see!"

bakugo waited until the kid was well out of earshot before muttering, "i'm gonna buy you a diamond the size of your damn head. see how he likes that."

you laughed, slipping your hand into his, "you're not seriously jealous of a child, are you?"

"tch- i'm not jealous," he muttered.

you raised an eyebrow.

"...okay, maybe i am. a little."

"you do realize he still thinks girls have cooties, right?"

"he also thinks you're wife material," bakugo huffed, "which he's right about. but still."

you leaned into him, laughing. "don't worry, babe. you'll always be my number one hero."

he smirked, tightening his grip on your hand, "damn right i will."

denki kaminari

"c'mon, pretty—just one last game" denki pleaded, eyes glued to the glowing arcade screen.

you couldn't help but laugh. he'd been at it for nearly an hour now, completely hooked. according to him, beating the high score was way more important than studying with bakugo—who, in his words, was "an actual migraine in combat boots."

with a sigh, you crossed your arms, "alright... but don't come whining to me when you're up all night cramming for exam."

his face lit up like a kid on christmas morning, "you're the best," he grinned, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, "swear this is the last one. for real this time."

you just raised an eyebrow.

he did not, in fact, mean for real this time.

denki dove back into the game like his life depended on it, fingers flying across the buttons as neon lights flashed across the screen. you leaned against the machine next to him, sipping your drink and watching with an amused smile.

everything was peaceful.

until it wasn't.

"hey," came a tiny, confident voice from below.

you glanced down—and there he was. maybe eight years old, decked out in a gamer hoodie three sizes too big, and a pair of cartoon-printed sunglasses perched on his head like he was born to be a problem.

"are you with him?" the kid asked, jerking a thumb at denki.

you blinked, "yeah?"

he squinted at denki, unimpressed, "he doesn't look like a winner."

denki froze mid-jump, "...excuse me?"

the kid grinned up at you, "you're really pretty. you should ditch the loser and come hang out with me. i've got v-bucks."

you chocked on your drink, eyes wide, "what—?"

denki spun away from the arcade screen, "alright, little man. pipe down. she's mine."

the kid crossed his arms, "that's not how it works. if you're really her boyfriend, then prove it."

denki raised an eyebrow, "prove it how?"

the kid pointed to the screen, "final round. me versus you. winner gets the girl."

you looked between them, half-mortised, half hysterical.

"denki, he's a child."

denki was already cracking his knuckles, "doesn't matter. no kid's gonna flirt with my girl wile i'm still holding a controller."

the machine blinked. player two joined.

the child took position.

you sighed, but couldn't stop the smile growing on your lips, "okay, but you're buying him ice cream if you make him cry."

denki smirked, eyes locked on the screen, "he started this. i'm just finishing it."

FIGHT!

the match was absurd. denki picked the flashiest character possible, spamming electric attacks like a man possessed. the kid? way to good for his age. thumb tapping like a professional, dodging and countering with perfectly timed combos.

a small crowd started gathering. a few people even started cheering. you stood back, arms crossed, watching your boyfriend and an eight-year-old battle like it was the fate of the world at stake.

"YEAH! TAKE THAT, PIKACHU MAN!" the kid yelled.

denki grinned. "big words for someone losing 3—1."

thee final round was neck-and-neck.

one bar of health each.

denki made the first move—risky—and landed a critical hit.

K.O

victory screen flashed.

denki dropped the controller with a dramatic sigh of relief and turned to the kid, "stay in school."

the kid pouted, "hmph. rematch when i'm ten."

he stomped off. denki turned to you, smug as ever. "so... still think i'm waisting time at the arcade?"

you wrapped your arms around his waist, "you just defended my honour in a video game death match against a third grader. i think that's marriage material."

he wiggled his eyebrows, "you say that now. wait until i beat someone in Dance Dance Revolution."

eijiro kirishima

eijiro sat on your bed, staring down at the phone in his hands—your phone. his gaze was fixed, as if he was trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense at all.

you two had been together for just over six months, and for eijiro, they'd been the happiest months of his life. he trusted you more than anyone he'd ever known. if you asked his to jump off a bridge, he probably would—because you'd only ask if you had a good reason—that's how much he trusts you.

not once in those six months had he felt the need to check your phone or asked for your location. his trust was solid. unbreakable.

until today.

when you stepped outside the room and your phone wouldn't stop buzzing, so he reached for it without thinking—just to make sure everything was okay. maybe it was your parents, or something urgent. he didn't meant to snoop.

but what he found knocked the air out of him.

over twenty messages. all from someone named yuki.

yuki: are you still coming over tonight???????? hellooooooo (y/nnnnnnnnn) i miss you i wanna play with you the same as yesterday!

and it kept going.

messages after message, filled with some kind of rope-related game and references to having done it every night this week.

and then it hit him.

you'd told him you needed to visit your parents because of family issues. was that a lie? had you used them as a cover to meet him?

the thought alone made his stomach twist.

his mind raced, spiralling, he didn't even hear the dorm door open. not until your voice broke the silence.

"i know you said you already ate, but i thought we could watch that new show together and—"

you stopped mid-sentence. you arms, full of snacks, lowered slightly as you took in the look on your boyfriend's face. his head was down, his grip on your phone so tight his knuckles were white.

you dropped the snacks onto the desk without a second look and rushed to him, cupping his face gently with your hands, "eiji? are you okay?'

he didn't respond right away. his eyes were a storm—hurt, anger, confusion, and something else you couldn't quite name.

eiji swallowed. his voice barely above a whisper, "do you... do you love me?"

"what?" you blind stunned. "of course i love you, eijiro! why would you even—wait... is this about those fans who started shipping me with izuku again? because you know that's just stupid—"

he reached up and took your wrist, gently lowering your hand then, he placed your phone in your palm.

"i need you to be honest with me..." he said quietly. "have i not been good to you? please tell me this is just some weird misunderstanding and not that you've found someone else—"

you looked down at your phone. the screen still showed yuki's texts.

"pffft"

eijiro's brows furrowed, hurt flashing in his eyes, "did you just... laugh?"

you bit your lip, trying to hold back the grin that was already tugging at your lips. "i—i'm sorry, it's just—you're so cute when you're jealous!" you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

he instinctively leaned into your touch, but quickly pulled back, still confused, "i don't get it..."

you stood up, tugging him up by the hand, "come on, big guy. there's someone i want you to meet."

thanks to your quirk—spacial manipulation—you snapped the two of you through a portal in a blink. one second you were in your dorm room; the next, you stood outside a house—your neighbours house.

eijiro looked around, confused, "wait... why are we—"

"(y/n)!!"

a voice interrupted him—small, high-pitched, full of excitement.

"hey there, yuki!" you called back.

eijiro turned toward the voice. a child—no more than 10 years old—ran up to you, throwing his arms around your waist with a big grin.

a kid.

a ten years old kid.

and in that moment, eijiro felt his soul leave his body.

he'd been jealous... of this?

you ruffled his hair as he beamed up at you, completely oblivious to the emotional torment eijiro was hit with.

"yuki, this is eijiro," you said tugging him gently forward by the hand, "the boyfriend i was telling you about."

yuki's eyes lit up wide with excitement, "red riot?! woah—you didn't tell me he was that cool!"

you chuckled, "yeah, sorry, he gets shy when people fangirl."

eijiro blinked. once. twice. and then, the puzzle pieces clicked together.

"you... this is the yuki?" h asked, voice cracking slightly as the color rushed to his cheeks. "the one from the texts?"

yuki nodded proudly, "yup! we've been playing spy games every night this week! she ties me up, and i try to escape, and then she catches men again—like a ninja!"

your boyfriend scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning, "oh my god. i thought—i mean, i really thought—"

"that i was cheating on you with someone whose idea of flirting is pretending to be kidnapped and yelling 'no fair, i almost had it this time' while covered in couch cushions?" you teased gently.

he chuckled despite himself, dragging a hand through his hair, "i feel like the biggest idiot in japan right now."

you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, "hey, no. you're not an idiot. you just... overthink a lot. maybe a little too much for your own good."

eijiro melted into the hug with a sheepish smile, "i should've trusted you."

"you do trust me. that was just a moment." you leaned back, pressing a small kiss on his jaw, before meeting his eyes, "next time, just ask me. no silent suffering, okay?"

he nodded, "i love you... so so much."

you felt your face warm up at the way he looked at you, "i love you, too."

as yuki raced inside, yelling something about showing 'red riot his secret base,' you and eijiro followed slowly behind, fingers intertwined.

"so... you still wanna watch that show tonight?" you asked.

eijiro smiled, "only if you promise not to tie me up afterward."

you looked your boyfriend up and down, a smirk on your face, "no promises."

ⓒarmxnh

[writingsofanomnivore]

Title: “Only One Damn Bed”

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Fluff, Tension, One Bed Trope, Mutual Pining, Hero Mission AU

⸻

The mission was simple.

Scout a villain base in a remote town, gather intel, and report back.

It was supposed to be an easy overnight gig.

But of course, the universe hated you—and you ended up stuck with Bakugou Katsuki. Your rival. Your partner. Your unspeakably hot annoyance.

And now, apparently, your roommate for the night.

“It’s the last room available,” the hotel clerk said apologetically. “Storm’s coming. Everything else is full.”

You both stared at her.

Then at each other.

Then at the one key she placed on the desk.

And then—finally—at the room with one damn bed.

⸻

“You take the bed, I’ll take the floor,” you mumbled, tossing your bag onto the nearby chair.

“Tch. Like hell you are,” Bakugou growled. “I’m not lettin’ you freeze your ass on hardwood.”

You looked up. “So we share?”

“…The hell we do.”

A long, awkward silence.

You folded your arms. “You snore?”

“No.”

“Move around?”

“No.”

You sighed. “Fine. Just stay on your side.”

“Gladly.”

⸻

The bed wasn’t even big. It was tight. Narrow. Way too much heat between the two of you.

You laid stiffly under the covers, facing the wall. Every cell in your body was aware of him—how his breathing had slowed. How his arm brushed yours by accident and didn’t move. How his scent—smoke and spice and something stupidly comforting—wrapped around you.

You were doing just fine until—

“You cold?” he muttered.

Your breath hitched. “…No.”

He huffed. “You shivered.”

You stayed silent.

Then suddenly—his arm came around you.

Not forceful. Not cocky. Just warm. Protective.

You froze.

“Don’t read into it,” he said gruffly, voice low against your neck. “I just—hate seein’ you shake.”

You stayed still for a heartbeat.

Then whispered, “You’re not as heartless as you act, you know.”

“…Shut up.”

But his hold didn’t loosen.

⸻

Minutes passed. Then hours. You thought he was asleep—until he spoke again.

“You ever gonna stop pretending you don’t like me?”

You blinked.

Your heart plummeted into your stomach.

“…What?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes heavy with something sharp and honest.

“I’m not blind. You stare. You blush. You act like I piss you off but you still ask to be my partner every damn time.”

You opened your mouth—then closed it. Speechless.

Then, quietly: “You’re one to talk.”

He grinned. “So you do like me.”

You flushed. “Didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it.”

You huffed. “Bakugou…”

He leaned in. Close enough to brush his nose against yours. “Say it.”

Your breath stuttered.

“…Fine,” you whispered. “I like you.”

He smirked. Then—without warning—he kissed you.

And god, it was everything you’d been holding back. All fire and tension and heat—but slow, too. Gentle. Careful.

When he pulled back, his voice was soft. “Told you. One bed’s not so bad.”

[writingsofanomnivore]

Invisible String

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 - The act of falling

Had Aran not gone outside during lunch break, his pre-prepared lunch sitting cozily at home, he’d not have seen a familiar car.

But he does, and this is how he finds you, in the passenger seat of Suna’s minivan, staring back at him.

Aran hasn’t spoken to you since he made a fool of himself, exactly two weeks ago.

You didn’t text, and he didn’t have the strength to do it either. 

He’d called Kita and taken the blame for it all, though he probably would have preferred the twins' anger over Kita’s quiet disappointment.

But after that, it had been quiet. Lonely, too.

He misses you. And he hates that he still does.

You get out of the car. Suna makes no move to do the same, though he pulls out his phone, pretending to scroll. Aran has no doubt that the camera is on.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you say, with red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands. “Do you have a minute?”

The plastic bag in his hands crackles in the warm breeze. He nods. Leads the way to a nearby park. You don’t take his hand on the way there.

Not that you’re supposed to. Aran can count the times you’ve touched like this, and the list isn’t long.

But it would mean something now, wouldn’t it?

He fights against the urge to turn around and look for Suna. Surely there’s a reason he’s the one driving you. 

“I-” You stop, shuffle your feet against the asphalt. Your voice is caught up in your throat. “Tsumu’s jealous,” you finally manage to croak. “Just so you know. He said to tell you.”

Aran blinks. Gestures to a bench you can sit on, though you refuse to move.

Instead, your hand takes hold of his right sleeve, pulling forth a memory of the first time you spoke alone. 

“I do love you,” you say, your voice catching on the third word. “I really do, I-”

“It’s okay,” Aran lets his left hand rest on your head, like a blessing, or a last goodbye. “I understand. You’re the pearl.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Or maybe, yes, I don’t know. Samu said,” you laugh wetly and wipe your nose with your sleeve, “Samu said I’m the mayonnaise.”

“What?” Aran blinks. 

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “Cause they’re both bread and without me, a sandwich just isn’t the same.”

Aran nods, understanding. “Right. I get it.”

“Right?” You nod. “A-and Tsumu said that a couple is like a setter and a spiker, but you always need someone on the other side of the net, but we decided that didn’t make any sense, so-”

Aran chuckles. “Right.”

“Well,” you pull on his sleeve once more. “I thought about it a lot, you know? About the mayonnaise and volleyball and everything. And… if I’m the pearl, then… then there comes the time when I have to slip out, right?”

Aran swallows thickly. “If you want?”

You purse your lip, fighting the tears. “I wish I could have both things, but I can’t… so… I asked Suna to drive me. Cause Samu would have cried… And Tsumu’s a shitty driver. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why are you here?” Aran asks, his voice wavering. He doesn’t dare to dream or doubt.

You smile despite the tears streaming down your cheeks and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit with a wet hiccup. “I’ve been miserable these two weeks. I didn’t tell the twins,” You wipe your nose on your sleeve like a little kid and try to smile up at him. “So when I said Tsumu’s jealous, he’s jealous because you went out to eat with me. I don’t think-” You hiccup once more. “I don’t think he knows you like me. Or that I like you.”

Aran’s heart leaps up into his throat. He has to swallow three times before he can speak again.

“You like me?” He asks, cautiously.

You nod. “I like you. Samu knows, course, cause we talk about these things, but-” You wipe your nose once more. “I haven’t told him either.” You look up at him. “I didn’t want him to be sad, o-or worse, tell me that I should choose you. He would, wouldn’t he?”

Aran tries to think. Would Osamu be that selfless?

“But you came-”

Your hand fiddles with his sleeve. “I wanted to talk to someone about this. But the only one I want to talk to is you.”

“Not even Kita?”

You blink. “Kita’s a little scary,” you admit. 

Aran laughs. Freely, even though he still feels a little chained. But he’s chained to you, so he supposes that’s fine.

“Sit,” he says and guides you to the bench. “Eat. Drink. We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“See,” you whisper. “I told Suna you’d know what to do.”

“What’s that about anyway?” Aran asks, keeping his voice carefully calm. “Why did he drive you?”

“I needed an excuse,” you admit quietly as you sip from the bottle of water Aran has handed you. “I owe him now. But that surely won’t be that bad, right?”

-

Two weekends later, Aran drives back to Osaka. 

It’s far from perfect, what they have now, but it’s also the most he’s ever had of you.

Your voice in his ear, every night. Your picture as his background, his lockscreen - his teammates have started joking about it, but he does not care - and one in his wallet, just in case.

“Aran!” You wave as he steps out of the train. Your voice isn’t loud enough to cut through the noise, but he still catches it, maybe because he’s been made just for that reason alone.

“So,” he asks after he’s pulled you into a hug, “What are we doing today?”

“Samu wants to make us food,” you mumble into his chest. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t say no.”

“Is Tsumu coming too?”

“Probably,” you admit. “Though Sakusa said he’d try to keep him at practice a little longer.”

“Let me guess,” Aran asks with a chuckle. “You owe him now, too?”

-

Weeks turn into months.

Sometimes he sees you every weekend, sometimes just once a month.

It’s not perfect, far from it, but he can tell that you’re growing up and into yourself, learning to be the person you’ve always wanted to be.

“I’ve got an offer,” you tell him one morning, the sun rising outside the windows of his flat. “Red Falcons. You don’t have anything to do with that, hmm?”

“Maybe,” he admits, pulling you in. “I might have let it slip that I only take offers seriously that include my girlfriend.”

You’re quiet for a while. He lets you. You need room to breathe, to think. God knows you’re still a little scared of it sometimes, not quite daring to trust your own decisions.

“We’d only be one hour away from Osaka,” you contemplate quietly, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. “And Samu could open a food stall at our games too, right? Twice as many sales.”

“Twice as many sales,” Aran agrees. “And have you seen the team? I heard they’re getting a new Opposite Hitter. He’s a little scary, but I think you’ll be able to manage him well.”

“Idiot,” you hit him softly, giggling. “It’s not you I’m scared of.”

“Oh?” He nudges your cheek with his nose. “Pray tell?”

-

“Here,” Aran presses a key into Samu’s hands. “Don’t lose it.”

Samu eyes it, the silver glinting in the sunlight. “Is that what I think it is?”

Tsumu reaches for it, but Samu is faster, pulling his hand back. “Get yer own, idiot!”

“Not fair, I-” Tsumu stops dead in his tracks when Aran hands him a key as well. “Don’t lose it, I mean it.”

“I’d never,” Tsumu promises, though he drops it immediately, blushing as he bends to pick it up. 

“These are for emergencies only,” Aran reminds them, though he knows it’s a lost cause.

Samu’s eyes are already glazed over, no doubt thinking about all the late-night dinners he will make you host at your new place. 

“I’m done,” you call out from behind them, stepping out of the building with one last bag over your shoulder. Your cheeks are tear-streaked, though you seem composed right now.

That changes quickly, though, when your eyes meet those of the twins. 

Aran pulls you in with one hand, lets you soak his shirt with your tears even as he gingerly puts his other arm around Samu’s shoulders. The boy used to be smaller than him, but he’s all grown up now.

“Don’t leave me out of it,” Atsumu sniffles, stepping into their circle. Their group hug is a little awkward and watery, though Aran can tell it is necessary.

“We’ve got a present for you,” Samu croaks after a while. “Onigiri for the ride,” he offers you the package, the edges crinkled where he fidgeted with them.

“And a Volleyball,” Tsumu pulls it out of his bag. “We signed it, so you don’t forget us.”

Your lips wobble dangerously, so Aran steps in, one hand on the small of your back.

“You’re at our place next Sunday, right? Dinner?”

“Course,” Tsumu wipes his eyes. “But it’s not the same.”

You smile. “Right. Now I don’t have to tell you to put your dirty underwear away.”

Tsumu’s tears stop abruptly. “I’m not the only one who forgets.”

Samu snorts. “But you’re the one who forgets the most.”

“At least I don’t use all the kitchen utensils!” Tsumu barks. 

“At least I know how to cook,” Samu shoots back.

You get up on your tiptoes and press a kiss to Tsumu’s cheek, then Samu’s.

“I love you,” you whisper into their stunned silence. “I’ll see you next Sunday.”

-

“Tsumu! Samu!” You call out, waving your hands in the air to catch their attention. “We’re here!”

Aran follows after you, smiling at your energy. It has been a long flight, but he wanted to gift you something special for your honeymoon. Though he can tell, coming back home is the greatest gift of all sometimes.

“Oh my god, what are you wearing?” Tsumu shrieks, his voice carrying through the busy airport. “Are those real pearls?”

“Don’t you like them?” You ask, your voice turning a little wobbly. “I think they’re pretty.”

“I like clams, they’re tasty.”

Aran snorts out a laugh, catching Samu’s comment as they pull you into a group hug..

You cannot separate the Miya triplets.

-

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[writingsofanomnivore]

itoshi sae has no idea how you do it.

classwork, homework, midterms, exams, two jobs, and a lively group of friends? it all sounds so unnecessary to him, these things that would be distractions from his dream. but for you, it sustains you and encourages you to keep going. how differently our minds work, he thinks to himself when he has a rare day to spend on your couch and you're typing away at some assignment on your laptop.

"why do you do that?" you don't respond the first time he asks and he gently calls your name, even though you're barely three feet away. you turn to him with a tired look and something pangs inside his chest. "why bother doing that?"

"bother doing what?"

"whatever it is you're doing right now." he nods at your glaring laptop screen filled with words he can't even begin to understand, some final before your university goes on winter break.

"because it's part of my degree?" there's no malice in your words, just genuine confusion, just like there's no accusations in his words, just concern. "if i fail this class, i don't graduate."

"why do you need to graduate, or have a degree in the first place?"

"because i need a job, my love," you explain patiently. "we've had this conversation before. going to school means i can get a well-paying job to sustain myself."

"why do you need to sustain yourself when you have me?" you blink at him and his blank face. the only sign of emotion is the slight pinch between his eyebrows; he was truly puzzled why he couldn't just set you up for life. dating itoshi sae is like being an unwilling sugar baby.

"i'm not going to leech off your earnings," you chuckle in disbelief. "i'm not going to use you to make sure i have a comfortable life. i love you, and my kind of love stays whether we have money or not." he shifts awkwardly in his seat and his mouth pouts the tiniest amount. he obviously didn't like your reply.

"whatever i'm doing, it isn't enough for you," he states quietly.

without another word, you exhale through your nose and shut your laptop. you place it on the coffee table before crawling over and maneuvering your way into his arms. he gladly accepts you, sliding down the couch's armrest so that you're nearly lying on top of him. it's quiet for a few moments, not in an uncertain way but in a way that said both of you were figuring out how to articulate your thoughts.

"i just think that--"

"you don't need to--" you both begin your explanations at the same time and the huff of his laugh vibrates against your cheek. "you go first," you tell him.

"i was saying that, if you wanted me to," he inhales and tries to tiptoe around what he wants to say before deciding to just crush it with his foot, "i can take care of you without you needing a degree." a certain selfish part of him wanted you there for every single victory and ladder rung he ascended, not because he thought you owed him, but because he owed you. you, who weathered his darkest of moods and harshest of snaps. he owed you for dealing with his bullshit, so he figured, why should you need to lift a finger when you've already done so much for him? "i owe you that much for everything that you've seen me through."

"you don't owe me anything, itoshi sae. loving you is not transactional, nor have i ever wanted it to be."

"everything is transactional, mi amor," he argues and the pet name makes your heartrate increase. "give and take, it's how the world flows. shouldn't your university classes be teaching you that?" your eyes have fluttered shut on his chest, but you still hear the smirk in his joke.

"believe it or not, mister 'fame is the only thing that matters to me,' there are transactions beyond material goods."

"i know that," he says indignantly. "i also know that you're wrong."

"am i?"

"yes," he affirms. "i don't only care about fame. i care about you too, obviously."

"see, sae? give and take. i give you all i am--"

"and you take all i am."

"body and soul?"

"and everything in between," he finishes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before settling into the pillows. "rest, mi amor. you've paid more attention to school than to me lately, and that's an unequal transaction."

[writingsofanomnivore]

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you. 

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking. 

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–” 

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit. 

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?” 

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”  

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered. 

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye. 

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light. 

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.” 

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?” 

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked. 

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.” 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.” 

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[writingsofanomnivore]

kageyama is having a horrible night.

he’s hungry, cold, and pissed – and now, to add a new thing to that roster, he finds himself lost in this big ass apartment building now too.

and to be honest, it just about serves him right for ditching hoshiumi and the others back in the parking lot downstairs.

they can’t really blame him though. they were taking way too long in the car, arguing over and over again on how to make an entrance into “enemy territory”, when really its just another harmless reunion party they’ve all been forced to attend.

still, despite all of that, kageyama finds himself here — lost and alone in an empty building corridor, mentally berating himself for forgetting which door number he was actually supposed to go into.

he supposes he could always just text hinata and ask, he would know after all, considering it’s miya freaking atsumu’s apartment this stupid get-together thing’s being held at.

he grumbles to himself again at the thought.

it’s only been a few hours since the adlers vs. jackals match ended and much to kageyama’s dissatisfaction (and surprise), the jackals won over him and his team by a wopping 15 points.

15 of which were scored with atsumu’s sets.

and now, not only is he supposed to live with losing to someone like atsumu miya, but he’s supposed to be a guest at his apartment now too? he really doesn’t want to be here.

“are you here for the party?”

a voice snaps him out of his inner grumblings, and suddenly, he’s back in the cold apartment corridor.

the voice he finds (you) looks at him quizzically, and he realizes there that you’re also pointing towards the door in front of where he’s standing.

he hasn’t really met you before, but he does recognizes you as one of the people in the picture hinata keeps on the back of his phone case.

were you part of the reunion thing too?

“yeah.” he nods, quiet, and its only now he notices the amount of brown paper bags you carry in your arms, it looks like snacks and groceries, so he says, “do you need help with that?”

“would you?” you smile at him, “thank you so much.”

he takes the paper bags in your arms and in return, you open the door for him. you had your own set of keys for the apartment it seemed, so maybe you really were a close friend to the jackals after all.

the two of you take your shoes off as you enter the doorway, and he’s only a little bit startled when you call out, “we’re here!”

kageyama takes a quick scan around the room. there’s at least 10-15 people who showed, half of them he knows from his high school days and the other half he only sees in passing when he plays them during practice matches or official games.

the turn out to this reunion thing is impressive, speaking volumes for the kind of man atsumu miya is for being able to host such a thing.

(he’s more surprised this amount of people like atsumu so much to turn up to such a pointless party. the only thing he remembered about the fake blond back in high school was how punchable his face was.)

the apartment itself isn’t really that impressive to begin with, it’s a standard two bedroom japanese flat, but the way it’s been decorated makes it feel a whole lot more different — homier.

“you can place the bags here.” you tell him, pointing to the kitchen counter, and he remembers that he’s no longer as alone as he was earlier tonight.

he does as he’s told, quiet, skittish, polite and he watches you walk past the kitchen counter and start opening cabinet drawers.

“kageyama, right?”

he isn’t that surprised to know that you already know his name, you are pretty close to hinata after all.

“yes.” he tells you, nodding, “tobio kageyama.”

“shoyo showed me a couple photos of the two of you guys a while back.” you say, rummaging through the kitchen fridge now, “so i recognized you when i saw you at the doorway.”

you turn back to him after another second, a proud smile on your face as you show him what you’d been looking for — drinks.

you hand him the bottle on your right hand and you introduce yourself to him finally, a small smile on your face that he finds actually really nice that he almost misses the part where you say your last name too.

“miya?” he asks, taking the drink you’re offering, “you’re miya too?”

it would make sense if you were, seeing as how comfortable you were in this apartment of his or how close you were to all his teammates.

besides, it wouldn’t be the first time kageyama’s met someone related to atsumu miya anyway, but this time it was less obvious, considering the fact that you don’t share his face and all that.

“are you related to atsumu?” he asks, although a bit obvious.

and you give him a playful smile, shoulders rising a little bit as it kind of gets you to laugh, “something like that.”

hoshiumi and the others still haven’t gotten here yet and he’s got half a mind to just ditch them and leave for making him wait by himself for so long.

but the other half of his thoughts are here, sharing a drink with you, and he thinks, okay, it isn’t so bad.

“so, kageyama,” you nudge his shoulder, “you here alone?”

he shakes his head, “i came with a few of my teammates… hoshiumi korai? but i think i lost them on the way here.”

(he omits the fact that he did leave them deliberately. but if he’s asked, he’ll admit the fact that they deserved it.)

“well, what do they look like? maybe i can help you find them.” you tell him, and immediately you looked more eager to do so than he’d expected.

you were very friendly and polite, a lot different from the usual characters he’d usually meet on the court. not to mention the fact that you’re supposedly related to someone like atsumu miya, someone he knows for a fact was very much not friendly and polite at all.

“he’s short.” is his simple response, and he follows up, just as casually, “like a pigeon.”

that gets you to smile, and weirdly enough, kageyama thinks it’s nice.

“looking for a short pigeon.” you nod, “coming right up.”

you laugh a little bit as you say it, and he thinks well, your laugh is nice too.

to be honest, maybe its the people or maybe its the mood and atmosphere of the party, but kageyama isn’t as invested in looking for his friends anymore.

he feels his ears get warm at that sentiment.

was that a weird thing to think about somebody you just met? he really doesn’t know.

hoshiumi has been hounding him since the day they met that he needed to be more social and less of a recluse, but kageyama always thought of hoshiumi as the human equivalent of a bouncy house, so he didn’t really pay that much attention towards his words.

“do you play volleyball?” he asks you, and he doesn’t really know why. he hates small talk, but he thinks its nice when you talk to him.

“not at all.” you laugh with a shake of your head, “i’m mostly here for shoyo and the other guys.”

the two of you walk around the apartment now, both in hopes to suddenly run into hoshiumi and the other team mates in the midst of the crowd.

you pass by different faces all familiar to him, and they all say their heys and hellos to the both of you, but you seem to receive them a lot warmer than he does.

if he didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like you were the one hosting and not atsumu with the way everyone here greeted you — where was he, anyway?

“actually, before i met them, i had no clue what the hell a libero was.” there’s a soft laugh in your voice as you speak, and he’s all the more glad he made small talk.

you give him a bashful smile, “now i wanna be one just so i can be the only person on the team with a cuter shirt.”

that makes kageyama smile a little bit too. a smile small enough for it to be polite, but still big enough for him to know that it may actually be genuine.

in all truths and honesty, he really doesn’t care about where his teammates are anymore. they could have left and ditched him here for the evening and he felt that it still would’ve been fine.

kageyama has a hard time meeting people. they always think he’s too mean or too cold or too reclusive, and he can’t really blame them, for that’s really just the way he is.

he’s been resigned to this personality for forever that it just seems pointless to try and change anything about it now. if people don’t like him then fine, he’s not asking to be liked anyway.

but for some reason, tonight feel different, different here and different with you.

the conversation feels easy and your words are kind and polite, almost sweet. you smile a lot as you talk to him, and he thinks it’s nice to see every single time.

( it almost makes him think, maybe he isn’t as bad as company as people make him out to be. )

the two of you had done an entire lap around the apartment by now, back at the starting point of where the two of you first met, and still no sign of his team mates that were supposed to be here with him.

“well, should we try calling them?” you suggest, and he only shakes his head in return, you’ve already done so much for him tonight.

he sees you take your phone out of your pocket though and a different idea pops into his head, and immediately, his face feels warmer than it did a moment ago.

hoshiumi’s always been hounding him about being too much of a recluse, always going on and on about how he should seize opportunities and meet new people, and he’s always thought it was a load of bull.

“actually.” he begins, and kageyama feels embarrassed almost to even think about what he’s about to ask you.

but it’s a party and where else would opportunities be seized and where else would he meet new people that made him smile so easily.

so he swallows down his pride a little bit, and he looks at the ground, seemingly having an easier time looking at anything else aside from you, and he says, ears pink and all, “may i ask for your numb-”

“tobio-kun, glad to see ya make it.”

he doesn’t get to finish his question and when he looks up from the floor, he finally sees the man he’s been looking for all evening.

atsumu miya really does have a punchable face.

but it’s so much worse right now as he stands next to you, smug and proud to have seen him at such an embarrassing moment that kageyama could only hope that you didn’t hear him.

“atsumu.” he makes a polite nod of acknowledgment, straightening himself as he bows slightly, “thank you for having me.”

kageyama ignores the look atsumu’s giving him, and he says instead, “you have a lovely home.”

atsumu only gives him a shrug and kageyama swears he’s looking at him the same exact way he does when he sees him talk to hinata on the court.

the three of you stand by the doorway. awkward.

you clear your throat and the two of them look at you now.

“well, it’s all thanks to me, really.” you give them both a nudge, and atsumu knows the laugh you intertwine with your words feel nervous.

kageyama sees you give the blond man to your side a look, and atsumu deflates a little bit, but his menacing — and oh so punchable — demeanor is gone almost instantly.

its less awkward now.

you pat atsumu on the shoulder, “if it were up to this guy, it’d be paper plates kitchenware and dirty socks all over the floor all the time.”

it’s quiet for a second.

then kageyama raises a brow, “you two live together?”

and atsumu quickly replies, “obviously.”

( you nudge atsumu on the shoulder again, harder this time, and you roll your eyes when he says “ow!” )

you look at kageyama, feeling a little bit sorry for him at the confusion this all must be causing him.

“not by choice.” you give him a short smile, and you point to atsumu with another roll of your eyes.

“he’s my husband, so i’m forced to live with him.”

. . . oh.

it takes a second for your words to click in kageyama’s head, another second to notice the bright gold band on atsumu’s ring finger, and one last second to realize that you had been wearing one this entire time too.

. . . oh.

if kageyama hadn’t felt like an idiot before, he sure feels it and a million times more now.

he makes a mental note to never listen to anything hoshiumi tells him ever again, and another mental note to hit hinata in the head for not ever mentioning that atsumu miya, the most punchable guy on the planet, is married to you, the kindest person he’s ever met.

his words feel dry on his throat, his ears a darker shade of pink just from pure embarassment alone, and he chokes out, “ah — congratulations.”

and atsumu smiles widely, not missing a beat, “i set the bar high, i know.”

( surely, this guy has been punched before. )

you look like you’re about to say something to kageyama, (probably something consoling) but before you get the chance to, a stroke of luck in his favor finally happens, and finally — finally — after all evening, kageyama hears hoshiumi call for his name.

truly, he’s never been happier to hear his human bouncy house call for him.

kageyama turns to you quickly, and he bows, polite, “please excuse me, i finally see my friends.”

he sounds eager and quick to leave as he speaks, “thank you for your help and thank you for having me into your home.”

“its not a problem at all.” you tell him, and you kind of feel sorry for him just by looking at how much he already wants to leave.

before kageyama goes though, he looks to you one last time, ears still pink and eyes still avoidant.

still, he tells you, “it was very nice to meet you.” and then he’s gone.

atsumu watches kageyama leave, an amused smile on his face at the sight of how quickly he’s walking just to escape his vicinity, and a second passes, maybe another, and he’s lost in the crowd again.

the two of you are alone now, leaning together by the wall of the door and you nudge atsumu on his side, “you were mean.”

and your husband scoffs at you, “don’t think i didn’t hear him try and ask for ye’r number.”

you wave him off, and he moves closer to you.

finally, he felt like he’s been missing from you all night.

“ah, let it go, he didn’t know.” you wave your hand as you dismiss him, and you smile, “besides, what would you have done, hm? hit him?”

“no.” your husband crosses his arms against his chest, scoffing loudly, almost sounding offended if you didn’t know him so well.

but then he peeks an eye open, tone immediately changing, and he follows, “why? would you have found it hot if i did?”

you laugh and he is closer to you. “absolutely not.”

( you don’t get to experience the smug and punchable atsumu miya everyone else gets, when he is with you, the only smiles shared are big and happy and in between kisses and hugs. )

atsumu pulls you into his arms loosely, just to get you closer, just so he can touch you, “then i must be soooo hot right now because i didn’t, right?”

“oh, yes, definitely.” you match him in every way, “you are soooo hot and sexy for not assaulting anyone on our brand new carpet.”

“oh, i get sexy too? here i was being all humble with just hot.” he teases, and there may be lots of people in the apartment you share right now, but it still feels like its just the two of you together. “you’re very easy to please.”

you laugh — the way he always makes you laugh — and he kisses you, because who could resist kissing you? you kiss him back briefly, your smile breaking the kiss eventually as you push him off.

“i’m married to you.” you say, and you’re as playful as he is, “my bar is very low.”

people are always so shocked to hear it when atsumu introduces himself as your husband, and he knows, for good reason, that yes, it is because the two of you are married so young.

but he also knows that aside from that — and this one makes him very proud — that the shock and surprise doesn’t only come from your age, but from something else entirely too.

because not only is atsumu miya married at 21, but he is also married to someone who’s the complete opposite of him; someone who’s as perfect as you.

[writingsofanomnivore]

at this point, I have some beef with the dentist's office. every visit I get some bad news or the other. tell me why I need to pay so much for a toothpaste mousse? goodness

and the waiting time- 45 minutes. luckily I am on break and had nothing to do so I was able to wait.

but this has got to be the worst one yet. had to ruin my day

and then some pesky nosy people want to know how the exams went. i mean there is a reason I didn't speak about it right. spare me. this. these types of people make me leave the messages as is. good I haven;t seen it yet but I think even they know I reply if and when necessary or something I want to. really couldn't have though of a better time to ask me about it. literally during my break?

[writingsofanomnivore]

-

Water dividers

[writingsofanomnivore]

kageyama tobio is a quiet seatmate.

probably the most quiet of all people who've had the pleasure of sitting next to you.

most of your classmates avoid interacting with the boy because of the dead serious expression he always dons — to the point you've long had a hunch that it was just a extreme case of rbf.

you'd be lying if you admitted that you never flinch on the rare cases his blue eyes flicker over to you — hence your lack of action in the name of confirming that said hunch.

"is there something on my face?"

"uh... no. sorry."

resting bitch faces are called resting bitch faces for a reason. he looks nothing short of intimidating.

yet... was that really enough of a reason to avoid him completely?

in your friend's words, yes, he looks that scary — and the ridiculous rumor surrounding him that he eats people when they don't talk about volleyball is often hung above their heads when the topic of approaching him comes up.

frankly, it's a shallow reason to completely shut out a classmate — but you see where they're coming from.

he's tall, scary-looking and regarded as a star athlete. it's not easy to escape the prejudices held against prodigies like him, especially when said prodigy constantly looks like he had a first-row seat to the soviet-japanese war.

it's a shame, really. he's quite cute when you catch him dozing off during breaks. he's got star potential even outside the court.

but as much as you worry for his social life — it really wasn’t your business to meddle in.

he doesn't approach anyone unless prompted via school purposes, nor does he look that bothered whenever he eats his lunch alone. he looks more peaceful than anything. maybe you were just overthinking things.

yeah. your discreet gaze moves away from his side profile in favor of staring at the sunrise from behind the classroom's window panes. not my business at all.

you, however, fail to notice a stare burning onto you the moment you turn away, too engrossed in attempting to catch shapes of kittens and waffles amongst the sea of clouds.

as the boy quietly sits beside you, tightens the grip on his pen, gulps down a lump inside his throat whilst his cheeks begin to light aflame involuntarily — he can only think of one thing;

your gaze is way too intense!

because while kageyama tobio is a quiet seatmate, it doesn't mean he's not aware.

debut post rq :p

[writingsofanomnivore]

he be living rent-free in my head