#Two weirdos with ashen hair
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Ciri and Raist
An aspiring God meets an aspiring Empress (maybe godess, why not)
Nilfgaardian Court Sorceress Yennefer is highly suspicious.
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I really hate time travel. Despite that squick, these caracters remain two of my very favourites.
Inspired by this painting by Pierre Jean van der Ouderaa
https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jouissance_spirituelle,_by_Pierre_Jean_Van_der_Ouderaa.jpg
#traditional art#the witcher fanart#Dragonlance fanart#the witcher 3#cirilla fiona elen riannon#nilfgaard#the witcher#empress ciri#cirilla#yennefer#yennefer of vengerberg#raistlin majere#raistlin#crossover#Two weirdos with ashen hair#Two weirdos with time related gifts/storylines#Two weirdos with lofty aspirations#pierre jean van der ouderaa
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So, I was listening to Treat you better by Shaw Mendes and a plot came out where Zeke and Hange are in a relationship but things aren't going quite right and that's where Levi, Hange's best friend, who is in love with her, comes in, showing her that he can treat her better.
For the first time in a while, Levi finally has the evening all to himself. No stupid corporate parties, no part time jobs or evening classes at the community college. Only he, his laundry and the dust that's been accumulating in his house for weeks at end.
Levi works relentlessly, and only when the clock strikes midnight, does he allow himself to retire to his bed.
He's just out of the shower, already in his favorite soft pyjamas, when the doorbell rings.
Somehow, even without looking in the peephole, Levi knows who stands on the other side. And somehow, he knows that something has happened, something serious. Usually, Hange has at least the audacity to call and ask if he's asleep or busy (not that it actually matters, neither of those things are more important than Hange anyway).
Levi goes to unlock the front the door, and when faced with Hange at last - he is genuinely surprised at how bad she looks.
There are bags under her eyes, her skin is ashen and deathly pale, her hair is in more state of disarray than usual, and her smile, along with that spark that lights up her eyes - it's all gone.
Levi's heart sinks.
"Four-eyes?" even he is shocked at how soft his voice sounds. "Did something happen?"
Hange looks anywhere, but at him, and the way she's clutching her backpack seems truly desperate. "Can I stay here tonight? I don't think I can sleep at Zeke's tonight."
Levi lets her in, without any hesitation. He was preparing to go to bed, his night can be all but ruined, but-
Hange is his best friend (slash crush), and he can't let her stay alone when she's like this.
"Make yourself at home," he throws, as he heads to the kitchen. "Do you want tea? Coffee?" he looks at Hange again, this time - more closely. "Vodka?"
Hange seems to consider his options for a while. Then gives Levi a nod. "Vodka sounds good."
Without question, Levi goes and takes a bottle Erwin bought to him a lifetime ago. He uncorks it and pours two shots for himself and Hange.
Hange sits down at the kitchen table, takes her shot of vodka in her hand, and drinks it whole in one go.
Levi watches her, honestly, it's a little impressive even for Hange.
"Zeke and I had a fight," she explains, as she pours herself another shot. "I think we actually broke up."
Finally? Levi wants to ask. But Hange is not just his crush, she's his best friend, and even if he had been suffering from terrible jealousy every time he saw her and Zeke together, he knows he has to comfort her. In more ways than just one, he's the only one who really can.
"And what the fight has been about?"
Hange peeks at him, beneath her fringe. "It's a little embarrassing. And pathetic. And it can make this whole stuff," she gestures between the two of them. "A little weird."
"Is there a way it can become weirder?" he genuinely wonders. "Four-eyes, we're already a pair of weirdos. Come on, spit it out."
"It's not the kind of stuff that makes pedestrian look weird at us. It's... a little different."
"Different how?"
Hange knocks back another shot of vodka. Wipes her mouth, then takes off her glasses and covers her eyes with a hand. "It's not that kind of weird like that time when I bit a fake blood capsule and we made it look like you killed me to scare the new interns. It's more like..." Hange does a waving gesture. "It's more like that time when Zeke couldn't make it to my sister's wedding so you came instead of him and everyone kept asking if we are together."
"Oh." That is a lot to take in, Hange is right. Levi still remembers all the looks they've been receiving at her sister's wedding and how fast his heart was beating because of them. And now, with just the two of them around? Will his heart be able to handle the potential weirdness? Is their friendship strong enough?
Of course, it is, Levi immediately corrects himself. Their friendship is sturdier than a fucking rock, or diamond, or whatever. Point is, they can handle it, no matter what stupid shit Zeke had spewed out.
"Four-eyes," he gently kicks her leg under the table, forcing her to finally look him in the eyes. "You're my best friend. I've seen you at your lowest, most pathetic, ridiculous and drunkest. Tell me what your moron of an ex," he makes a special emphasis on the last word, delighting in how good it feels to say this. "Has said to you. I'm always there for you, you know it, right?"
Hange takes a breath - a deep one, and then nods, more to herself than to Levi. "So we had another fight," she begins queitly. "You know how it is, I came home too late, Zeke threw a fit that we don't spend enough time together. And then..."
"And then?" Levi asks, realising that he's quite literally on the edge of his seat.
"Then he said that... that maybe I don't love him anymore, that, maybe... I've never actually loved him in the first place."
What an asshole, Levi feels anger rise inside him as he listens to Hange. How dare he question Hange's love? How dare he doubt it? Hange was always there, always for him, when Zeke was the one, who was forever distant and didn't show enough affection.
"He told me that all these years I didn't really love him, and just settled for this relationship because..." Hange pauses, her fists form trembling balls. Levi covers them both with his hands, offers Hange the comfort of his touch. "Because I couldn't have... the one I actually want."
"And who that could be?"
Hange looks at him, and suddenly, this bright, genius person Levi always knew seems like a lost and frightened child. But even so, Hange finds strenght to utter her next words, "That would be you, Levi."
This time, Levi is the one, who needs to take a breath. All out of sudden, he can't meet Hange's gaze too, his cheeks burn as though they're on fire, and his heart is beating so fast that he's afraid it'll make him dizzy.
"Hange," he says, after an embarrassingly long pause. "It's just Zeke spitting out his bullshit. He was just trying to hurt you, don't listen to him."
"No, Levi," Hange shakes her head, and her voice becomes that much fiercer and more confident. Levi starts to recognize the good-old, stubborn as a bull Hange. "He might have wanted to hurt me, but I know how I feel. And, deep down, I know that Zeke is right. But if this makes you uncomfortable, we can just-"
"Stop," he tugs at her hand, brings it dangerously close to his lips. "If that's really what you feel, and that's not vodka or your hatred towards Zeke talking, then..."
"Then?"
"Then it doesn't make me uncomfortable, you abnormal. But we have to figure this all out."
"Together, right?" it's Hange's first smile of the evening, and it shines more brightly than the chandelier Levi spent an entire hour cleaning.
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice a little huskier, more loaded with emotion it usually lacks. "Together."
They continue staring at each other - for a long, long moment. Levi feels like it stretches on for an eternity. He wants for his eternity to be like that, just gazing into Hange's beautiful eyes.
But reality brings him back to his senses, and so he sighs as he stands up. "Come on, let me get you to bed, before you stain all of my kitchen with your puke."
"Yeah," Hange gets to her feet unsurely, hand pressed to her head. "Let's hurry, I think I overdid it with vodka tonight."
"You always do," Levi complains with only half of his usual bite present.
He leads Hange to his bedroom, and already, he anticipates what the next day will bring. Perhaps, his unrequited crush... in the end, turned out to be actually requited.
Levi allows himself a half-smile as he thinks about it.
#wow??? me actually writing smth??? me being actually active on tumblr???#it's less likely than you think <3#levihan
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Memory Seed 2
A direct sequel to this. I got a surprising amount of people wanting more, So here we are!
Summary: Kuwabara thinks that if he’d been in a group of four, he’d remember that. Boy, is that little weirdo angry. (2300+ words)
***
“About half of his victims have already reverted to normal-”
“...But then only half of those people recovered their memories.”
“Why hasn’t Kuwabara remembered?”
“Yusuke, it’s been an hour! He was the last victim, we have to wait a full twenty-four hours.”
“Some people didn’t remember!”
“Kuwabara... Kuwabara will remember!”
“He has to...”
“What if he doesn’t remember?”
“...Can you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Kuwabara asked uncomfortably. He flinched as Koenma, Yusuke, Kurama, and Botan all looked at them, their eyes wide and unbelieving. He cringed at their bewildered expressions, and really wished they’d just take him home.
The shorter figure, Hame? Hino? No, no... it was Hiei. Hiei, stood away from the group, away from Kuwabara, his arms crossed and his red eyes glaring in the far corner of the room. He radiated with a dark aura, that warned for everyone to keep away.
Kuwabara was happy to oblige.
Koenma ran his hands down his front, drying and ridding them of the nervous sweat that he’d broken out into. Bending slightly towards Kuwabara, as if he was speaking to a child, Koenma asked, “Do you remember the mission you all agreed to help on before you left here?”
Kuwabara stood up. One, because of course he remembered, and two, because why was Koenma bent over treating him like he was the child! Koenma was the one who still wore diapers--probably!
“Yes, I remember! This asshole was using these seeds to take memories, and turn people into his warrior zombies. So we, as usual, went out and took care of it.”
“And you got hit!” Yusuke snapped, less angry, and more... frantic.
“Do you remember what the first memory is that you lose?” Koenma asked, standing straight, his brows knitted together with that anxious concern everyone wore on their faces.
“Yes... I do...” Kuwabara muttered awkwardly. He remembered the assignment. He remembered which particular memory he “supposedly,” lost. He just... couldn’t really believe it.
“You forgot me,” Hiei spoke up from the corner, his voice bitter and deep.
The room was silent.
Kuwabara awkwardly rubbed the toe of his shoe against the back of his leg. He wanted to deny that he knew Hiei again, but he’d been dragged to Spirit World and shown some video evidence that they had all once been a team of four. Not three, like Kuwabara’s memories, told him. It was hard to deny what he was shown. There was even footage of Kurama and this Hiei, training him before the dark tournament.
Kuwabara could even think of a few sword moves that he knew, that he saw Hiei use, with admittedly far better skill.
“And so I loved you?” Kuwabara asked, jumping as he felt the whole room flinch. Botan had sucked in such a sharp breath, she started to choke and cough.
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Hiei bit out, finally turning to glare at Kuwabara, “You never told me!” The way Hiei said that, sounded strange to Kuwabara. Hiei’s voice was angry and bitter, but it wasn’t just the feelings behind the words. It was the words themselves that was also strange. It was like he had heard it before, somewhere. It made his head hurt.
“You never told anyone!” Yusuke added suddenly, “You always said you loved Yukina!”
“That’s odd,” Kuwabara admitted, “I really don’t.” That was another thing that bothered him. He liked Yukina, loved her in a way, but she was not... he wasn’t in love with her. He knew this to be true as certain as he was sure of his own name. It seemed strange to him, his friends didn’t know that.
Again, the room stared at him.
“He...he admitted it so easily,” Kurama muttered.
“Hold on a second! You only gush every other day, that you love her!” Yusuke snapped, pointing at Kuwabara with accusation.
Kuwabara opened his mouth to protest. He squinted and narrowed his eyes a bit. Yusuke was right. He did do that. He did have memories of fervently declaring his love for Yukina. All the time. Around his friends.
Why?
“Why?” Kuwabara asked aloud, a hand coming to his chin. He tapped a finger on his mouth and muttered, “Why do I do that?”
“Because you love her! Or you said you did! Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with Hiei?! I don’t care! Did you think I would care?!” Yusuke pulled his hair as he shouted out the thoughts that had been haunting him since this all started.
Kuwabara titled his chin, disregarding Yusuke’s panic, “...I was saying I loved Yukina because... I told her I would.” Kuwabara narrowed his eyes as he struggled to remember. Did it involve this Hiei guy somehow?
“What do you mean Kuwabara?” Kurama asked.
“Because I did love her at first I thought,” Kuwabara continued to mutter, “But then we talked, and were looking for...” Kuwabara’s mutterings ended and his hand went to his head. He closed his eyes wincing against a sudden headache. He heard Kurama gasp, and felt blood drip from his nose, pouring out suddenly as if he’s sprung a leak.
“Kuwabara stop trying to remember whatever you’re trying to remember,” Koenma ordered, voice firm but tinged with fear, “That’s the memory seed still at work. You can hurt yourself if you push too hard.”
Kuwabara wiped his nose, sniffing as his head throbbed dully.
He felt Hiei’s eyes on him, glancing at him.
“It’s fine,” Kuwabara muttered, sniffling as he blinked rapidly until the pain was gone.
“It’s not fine Kuwabara! if you push too hard... well I don’t want to find out what that could do to you!” Koenma insisted.
Kuwabara wanted to roll his eyes. He had taken a lot more beatings than whatever this little plant was doing to him. He sighed and finished off his initial thoughts about Yukina, “I made some sort of deal with Yukina, and that’s why I was saying it all the time. We made this deal around the time Kurama and Yusuke went to the Makai for the first time. I can’t remember the ‘why,’ fully, or I could if I pushed a little more... but you’re all worried about a little headache-”
“Kazuma, don’t push your luck!” Kurama scolded, green eyes alight with concern. “Just... drop it. It... it doesn’t matter that none of us knew about your feelings, what matters now is just... taking you home, and hoping that by tomorrow afternoon you remember everything.”
“He’ll remember!” Yusuke insisted, looking at Kuwabara, and then looking at Hiei, “Kuwabara’s the strongest psychic around or whatever! That’s gotta count for something! He’ll remember!”
“I mean does it matter?” Kuwabara asked with a shrug. He pointed at Hiei, “This little guy clearly doesn’t like me, in the romantic sense or any other. If I don’t get my memories back then... whatever right? We’ll just start fresh, get to know each other now.”
The room went into an uproar all at once.
“How could... you are all friends!” Botan sniffled, eyes watery.
“Kuwabara...” Yusuke tried to speak, his brown eyes full of concerns he didn’t quite know how to express.
“Kazuma... please don’t say that. I know the tapes made it seem like you and Hiei had a... strange relationship...”
“But you two are really friends! It’s just-” Koenma’s babbling was cut off by the sound of a loud crack.
Hiei had punched one of the ostentatious decorative pillars in Koenma’s office, into dust. His eyes were glowing red, and his teeth gnashing as he took on an ashen shade. Kuwabara clamped his mouth shut, and his head retreated into his shoulders.
That little guy seemed pretty tough... it sent an excited little thrill through Kuwabara’s body.
“Out,” Hiei spit.
“Hi-” Kurama tried to talk, one hand reaching out for his friend.
“Everyone but Kuwabara-OUT!” Hiei snarled stomping towards the group that sputtered at him.
A strange look passed through Kurama’s eyes, but he was soon ushering everyone out, Yusuke and Botan protesting loudly, and with different reasons.
“I don’t think leaving them alone is a good idea!”
“Hiei! If you hurt Kuwabara you’re dead!”
Koenma didn’t argue. He didn’t even care that he was being chased from his own office, or if Hiei partially destroyed it! Without looking back he fled the room, Kurama pushing Botan and Yusuke after him. Kurama spared the anxious Kuwabara a soft look, “Kuwabara, you’ll be fine. Hiei’s not going to kill you.”
And then Kuwabara was alone with the angry little demon-man, that Kuwabara very much thought would kill him.
Kuwabara took a step back.
“Does it matter to remember me?” Hiei repeated bitterly after a long stretch of silence. He turned to glare at Kuwabara, the latter startled to see guilt underneath the layers of rage in those red eyes. Hiei stalked towards Kuwabara, Kuwabara walking back until he was pressed against a wall.
“It matters. It fucking matters, because you need to remember me. You need to remember so you can recall all those countless times I saved your pathetic life,” Hiei snarled, “All those hours wasted, teaching you to use a sword with some skill, rather than waving it around like a fucking flyswatter! You need to remember so you can tell me what deal you made ith Yukina, and so you can FUCKING tell me...”
Hiei pursed his lips tight, eyes narrowed as he stared at Kuwabara’s frightened face.
“You... you need to tell me why you loved me. I... I don’t believe you,” Hiei grumbled, his lie obvious. There was a different reason he wanted to know, but Kuwabara didn’t dare ask for it.
“I mean... I don’t believe, can’t believe I loved you either!” Kuwabara muttered, trying to force some bravery in his shaking words. Crossing his arms, and sliding along the wall away from the raging demon, Kuwabara continued, “From the twenty minutes of footage I saw, you seem pretty aggressive towards me all the time. And if you’re not aggressive, you looked hell bent on ignoring me.”
“How dare you accuse... you think you would understand our relationship? One that you don’t remember!?” Hiei snapped, cheeks mottled red.
“What are you mad about!?” Kuwabara wheezed desperately confused, “Are you mad that I don’t remember you, or that I’m supposedly in love with you? Because, I dunno, you seem the type to be mad about the second-”
“The type? The type?” Hiei snarled stalking towards Kuwabara, who yelped and fled to the other side of the room.
Hiei was now half chasing Kuwabara as he walked in a large circle around Koenma’s office, desperate to keep some distance between himself and Hiei.
“What do you mean, Kuwabara?” Hiei growled throwing Koenma’s office chair aside. It shattered against the wall as if it was made out of brittle match sticks.
“Look! You just... you’ve clearly got some anger issues-” Kuwabara tried, backing quickly away from the exploding man.
“ANGER ISSUES?!”
“Some anger issues! And you don’t look like you’d like a big guy like myself being interested in you-”
“Who are you to decide what I might like?!”
“Well, it’s clearly not me!”
Kuwabara didn’t even have time to scream.
Hiei, who had been at least four feet away, disappeared in less than half a blink of an eye, and reappeared, his hands on Kuwabara’s shirt, and weight pushing him down. Kuwabara slammed hard against the wall, sliding down to the floor as Hiei’s weight forced him down-something that impressed Kuwabara, as well as terrified him.
It was amazing to see such a little guy with such amazing force and strength.
That excited little thrill was back.
“You don’t remember anything,” Hiei muttered darkly, his voice filled with anger, longing, and bitterness. All somber feelings that surprised Kuwabara with their intensity. Hiei’s hand hooked around Kuwabara’s jaw, and he shifted Kuwabara’s face, tilting him at an odd angle.
‘He’s not going to-’ Kuwabara didn’t have time to complete the thought as Hiei kissed him, hard and desperate-and far too intimate and intrusive for it to be a first kiss.
Hiei knew Kuwabara’s mouth.
He knew where to slant his lips against Kuwabara’s mouth, knew to bite the bottom of his lip, and then swipe a tongue over the top lip. Kuwabara’s body responded a fact that shocked the man, even as he moaned. Hiei invaded Kuwabara’s mouth immediately, his tongue abnormally warm, and seeking. He stroked the inside of Kuwabara’s mouth with demanding passion, pressing and tilting himself against Kuwabara so that he could suck against Kuwabara’s mouth as if he could draw water from him.
Hiei drank greedily from Kuwabara, until, Kuwabara was pushing at Hiei, eyes watering from the air he needed. Hiei pulled away, Kuwabara gasping for a painful breath, his hands gripped knuckle white against Hiei’s shoulders.
Kuwabara took in several gasping breaths, fingers flexing nervously against Hiei. He stared down at Hiei’s waist, suddenly too scared to look him in the eyes.
That had been good.
Really, really, really fucking good.
Hiei was breathing hard, and after another few seconds of silence swore under his breath. He seemed disappointed in something that did or didn’t happen. Hiei reached into his cloak and pulled out a small silver object, which he revealed in the flat of his hand to Kuwabara.
Kuwabara looked up, Hiei waiting for his gaze.
“That’s... that’s the key to my apartment,” Kuwabara muttered. His lips felt pleasantly heavy, and he resisted the urge to swipe his tongue over them. He was scared what type of reaction that would cause if he did that now.
“...It’s my copy...” Hiei amended softly, the heat in his voice gone, and left hollow with longing and sadness.
“...Your copy...?” Kuwabara muttered blinking rapidly.
Kuwabara looked back to the door his friends had fled from, and then back to the little demon straddling him. He looked back at the key, and then back into Hiei’s sullen expression.
“Were... Were we in a secret relationship!?” Kuwabara choked, suddenly realizing that this missing memory thing might be a little more complicated than he first thought.
Hiei looked at Kuwabara, answering with his eyes, rather than his words.
“What the heck is going on here!?” Kuwabara fumed.
#Kazi fanfic#Hiei#Kuwabara#yyh#Hiei x Kuwabara#Hieibara#there will prolly be a third and final part#maybe#there wasn't going to be more#but people asked#and then I got to thinking...
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@nnoitra-jiruga
Jiruga almost has a pained sigh, but obviously Renji wouldn't understand precisely what he meant. Nobody would. Because it's so abnormal. Just like everything about the Quinta. About the Despair. There's just no logic, no measure, no balance in it. It's all or nothing. "Nah. 'Fuckin course I'd want ya to like me back but... just not with da same... "intensity"." Obsession, exclusiveness, would also apply.
Nnoitra smirks, it's not an angry or heinous one, solely a bit bitter maybe. "It's nothin' unfair Renji, it's just we're different. Ya've got friends, job, ya've got things in yer life besides me. While..." He pauses, reflecting for a second ; he doesn't even have a status now. Quinta espada ? It doesn't mean anything anymore. Now he's just some psycho/weirdo with murderous tendencies. "While I only got ya." His long bony hand topping Renji's squeezes it again. As if to comfort him.
A strand of straight black hair falls in front of Nnoitra's long ashen face. Cutting his smile in two. "I don't want ya to fall behind if I'm gone." - if I'm dead - Because he knows that's what would happen to him if Renji dies. Troubles exceeding and the last walls protecting his last bits of sanity falling apart, gone. With the one he loves. There's an echo from something in his mind, something far away that disturbs him and he forces his mind to drift away from it.
Still, Renji is confused - much like what Nnoitra had predicted. It’d always been Renji’s decision that when he found someone that he wanted to fall in love with, and wanted to stay by their side, he would love them wholeheartedly.Give all of himself to. Is this not what Nnoitra wanted?
But then the next sentence clarifies things a bit. “So... yer sayin’ that my affection is divided up amongst my friends, my jobs, my coworkers and then ya?” he asks with a furrowed brow. While Nnoitra on the other hand - all of his affection would be for Renji only, since he was the only thing in his life that he head worth going for him?
“Those are different kinds of love though, Nnoitra. What I feel fer my friends and coworkers and everyone isn’t... romantic in nature.” Needless to say, of course it would hurt and pain him greatly if Nnoitra were to die. But he had confidence that the Quinta wasn’t one to be so easily killed.
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Queer ‘n Crazy
CHAPTER 8
Hello, fellow fanders! This is chapter eight of Queer 'n Crazy, I wrote it in one go, so sorry if it's a bit rushed. Be sure to check the tags, I don’t want anyone to get hurt!
Also, whenever you feel sad, imagine a LAMP cuddle pile with a touch-starved Patton in the center. Platonic or Romantic. It works, or at least it makes me feel like there's beauty in the world. :) The summary is at the bottom just in case you can’t read it!
Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
WARNINGS: Contains mentions of a bad mental state, references to and mentions of an abusive mother/abusive parents, self deprecating thoughts, eating disorders, medication, anxiety, self conciousness, depression, lack of sleep, swearnig, repression and hiding emotions. Let me know if there are any others, please!
Thanks for reading this!
...................
"Are you sure this is the place?"
Logan glanced down at the flyer in his hand, before nodding.
"Yes, I believe so. Meeting is held in the sports hall, starts at 3:15. We seem to be in the right place." The two looked up at the rusty metal sign that was set above the entrance, and sure enough, it was emblazoned with the words Sports Hall.
Logan glanced up and down the silent foyer. "We seem to be the only ones here." he turned to Virgil. "Do you think we're early?" Virgil bit his lip, his fingers starting to toy with his hoodie strings.
"I dunno, are you sure we've got the date right?"
"Yes, we have, Virgil." Logan sighed, exasperated. Virgil froze at his tone, instantly curling in on himself. He stayed silent instead of replying. Logan hadn't seemed to notice his reaction. Or maybe he did and doesn't care. At that moment, the foyer door opened.
"Seriously?! Cavetown is superior. You cannot change my mind." Virgil turned his eyes to the noise, grateful for a distraction.
The girl who'd spoken was short and round, with pale skin and yellowing teeth. Her hair hung limp in little clumps, and she was wearing a black oversized hoodie. Accompanying her was a taller, skinnier girl, with thinning brown hair. The taller girl scoffed.
"Nuh-uh. Twenty one Pilots is better."
"You're just in denial."
"I'm telling the truth, you heathen."
"Your truth is a lie!" Something in Virgil's chest lightened at the mention of one of his favourite bands, but his jaw felt like it was wired shut. They were probably in Lyra, eating disorders. Virgil couldn't understand how. He was a stress-eater. He was probably staring at them - he should stop staring at them. God, I'm such a weirdo.
Virgil pulled his hood up and shoved his hands in his pockets, his stomach tightening. They probably thought he was some kind of recluse. He could feel Logan's gaze on him, but he didn't look at him.
"Cavetown's lyrics have meaning! I can't say the same for ToP."
"Cavetown's lyrics are bullshit compared to Twenty One Pilots'. Do you know how many lives they've saved!"
"Lives saved doesn't equal quality."
"One of their taglines is stay alive, for god's sake!"
"I don't think God would like Twenty One Pilots."
"Because they're calling him out for the disorders he's inflicted on us."
The shorter girl scoffed. "Bullcrap. What do you guys think?"
Virgil didn't respond, and Logan looked down at him.
"Uh, Virgil?" Virgil jumped, turning to Logan. A concerned expression filled his field of vision. Oh god, he's worried. I can't give anyone a moment of peace, can I. I guess mum was right about that one.
"The girl's asked you a question?"
"Are you assuming my gender?" said the shorter girl with a exaggerated expression. Virgil stifled a laugh, a little bit of panic fading from his eyes. Logan however, looked at the two, baffled.
"Sorry, are those not your preferred pronouns?"
"No, no, they are. Sash's just joking." The taller girl looked over at Virgil, who was now surveying the two with interest.
"Do you listen to ToP or Cavetown?"
Virgil nodded.
"Which one?"
"Um, Twenty One Pilots." The shorter girl pouted. "I've listened to a bit of Cavetown too, though."
"Aha! So tell us, dear emo - wait are you emo?" Virgil glanced between to two, confused.
"Uh, I guess?"
"Alright. So tell us, dear emo, which one is better?"
"Hey, you can't ask him! He listens to your stupid Pilots more!"
"Well you can't expect to find someone who listens to then equally-"
"I think I can, thank you very much!"
Logan shot a look at Virgil, who returned it, and the two redirected their attention to the bickering pair.
"Well anyway, which one's better?" Virgil started, his throat turning dry. Whatever he said, he'd probably offend one of them, so...
"Um, I like ToP better-"
"Ha!"
"-but Cavetown's valid too." The taller girl pouted, her eyebrows scrunching up.
"Well shit. I thought I'd won that."
"HAHA!!!!!!!!!!! ROBBIE AIN'T GOING DOWN THAT EASILY!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Isn't his name Robin?"
A silence overtook the group, all of whom stared at the tie-clad boy. Logan looked at the three, confused.
"Are you guys okay-"
"I"VE FOUND ANOTHER ONE!!!!!!!!!" The shorter girl screeched, throwing her hand up in the air. Virgil flinched away from the noise, but he found himself smiling none-the-less.
"What in the name of Rose Quartz is going on out here?" Virgil's heart jumped into his throat and he froze like a deer in the headlights.
"Oh, you must be here for gay club!" Gay club?
Virgil turned around, confused. A flicker of recognition ran through him when he saw the grinning face peering around the door, before his stressed brain made the connection. Thomas.
"Hey, aren't you that kid from the orientation?" Virgil nodded stiffly, before attempting to crack a smile. Thomas smiled, walking toward them with a clear bounce in his step.
"I'm Thomas, president of Gay Club."
"It's LGBT club, Thomathy." Virgil glanced at the door again to see a ...person, probably male, but they were dressed andro. They glanced at the four of them smiling. "You guys are at the wrong door, but we can make an exception."
Thomas started bouncing on his heels, and clapping.
"Oh goodie! Right this way, my rainbow friends!"
Logan straightened his tie, before following Thomas, Virgil and the girls in tow. Thomas gave them a basic run-down of the club as they walked.
"We're an LGBT club, obviously. We don't really do stuff, we just meet up and be gay."
"Define what you mean by "be gay"."
"Well, we do have a little clique in here that like to call themselves the "matchmakers", but they'll lay off you if you tell them to. We also set people up in straight seeming relationships if they want us to, exclusionists are not allowed. Otherwise it's mainly just gay jokes and sitting on chairs wrong. C'mon." Thomas lead them through a set of heavy blue doors, and suddenly they were inside the hall.
It was basically a gym. A gym that was packed with people -god, there were a lot of people. Across the pulled-out bleachers there was a large rainbow banner decorated with the words LGBT YOUTH in a striking gold. Students of all ages, from 12 to 19 were scattered across the place, chatting. There were a few couples flirting, Virgil could even see a group of punks playing uno with a few other kids. Despite the clear differences in personality, everyone seemed to be getting along really well, and as far as Virgil could tell, there were no rivalries.
This did ease Virgil's tension a little, although he still stuck close to Logan. Maybe he should ask about increasing his dosage.
"Oi, Talyn! We've got some more newbies!" The group followed Thomas to a large table in the center of the room, behind which sat a person with flaming blue-dyed hair. She looked at Thomas grinning, before shifting her gaze to the four following him.
"Hiya! My name's Talyn. They/Them." Virgil smiled at them, nodding. "Just put your name down here, along with your contact details. If you don't want to add your number, that's fine. Email will do. And if you really don't want us to contact you, that's cool too."
Virgil and Logan signed their names, followed by the girls. Virgil was ready to book it to a corner, but Logan waited. Once the girls were done signing, he spoke up.
"May I know your names?" The girls looked up, pleasently surprised.
"Oh! I'm Kate, and this is Sasha."
"Generic names, we know." Logan smiled.
"I'm Logan. I hope to see you around."
"'m Virgil." said Virgil, putting down his hood and smiling. "Nice to meet you."
"So what are you guys." Logan's brow crinkled with confusion, something which looked adorable on him.
"I beg your pardon?"
"She means what about you is not straight or cis?"
"Oh. I'm asexual and homoromantic."
"Bi."
"Cool!"
"Specs!" Virgil snickered as Logan sighed.
"Well, it was nice to meet you two." He turned around. "Hello, Roman. Fancy seeing you here." Roman scoffed, sauntering toward them with Patton in tow.
"Geez, Logan. Is that your standerd greeting? Ya gotta mix it up a little!"
"What do you mean by mixing-" Roman cut him off with a sigh.
"You're hopeless."
"Ro, you might wanna turn down the sarcasm a little. Hey, Virgil."
"Hey, Pat." Virgil frowned, taking in Patton's appearance. He was wearing a grey hoodie, and his skin was pale and ashen. Despite the fact Virgil had seen him a few days ago, his seemed considerably more tired, bags visible through his glasses. His hair was greasy, and he had his arms wrapped around his stomach, slouching. Even his smile seemed half-hearted.
"Are you alright, Patton?" said Virgil cocking his head. He felt an undescribable urge to hug the shorter male, but he resisted. Patton's expression changed quickly, his cheeks quivering as he tried to force a smile onto his face.
"I'm all good, Virg! Just feeling a little down!" Yeah, he's not okay.
Instead of saying this out loud, Virgil cocked his head to the side.
"Patton, you do realise you're talking to someone who's been in a bad mental state before, right?" Patton sighed, his shoulders sinking even lower.
"Yeah, I know. It's not too bad, I promise."
"It's all good. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to." Virgil glanced over at Roman and Logan, who were discussing Roman's latest hairstyle.
His bangs were swooped out of his face and the tips were dyed a dark red, something that constrasted against his dark hair dramatically. His expression, however, did not match his hairstyle at all.
"Whaddaya mean you don't like it." whined Roman, pouted. Logan sighed. Is that all he does around this guy?
"You asked for my opinion, Roman. I personally, do not like it. That is not to say it looks bad." Roman's pout grew impossibly larger, and he turned to Virgil.
"What about you, Emo Nightmare?" Virgil surveyed Roman's hair with interest.
"You dyed it yourself, didn't you." Roman shot him a look, surprised.
"How could you tell?"
"A proper stylist would have done it from the roots," Virgil mused, a smile gracing his features. "But for a first timer, you've done pretty well. Nice colour choice, too. It suits you." Roman grinned ear-to-ear, before twirling around.
"Yay!" he cheered. Virgil raised an eyebrow.
"Did you just twirl?"
"Aha!"
"You do realise we're not in a disney movie, right?"
"Shut up!" he shrieked.
While the noise irritated Virgil at the time, he later decided Patton's small chuckle made it worth it.
....................
SUMMARY : Virgil and Logan go to LGBT club where they meet two girls from Lyra named Sasha and Kate. They end up meeting Roman and Patton inside, and Patton looks like he’s going through a rough time. ROMAN GOT A NEW HAIRSTYLE!!!!!!!!!! His tips are now dyed red.
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#sanders sides#ts sides#ts#thomas sanders#virgil sanders#ts virgil#virgil sanders fanfiction#ts virgli fanfiction#virgil fanfiction#virgil#virgil sanders fluff#ts virgil fluff#virgil fluff#virgil sanders angst#ts virgil angst#virgil angst#sanders sides angst#sanders sides fluff#ts angst#ts fluff#ts fanfiction#ts fanfic#logan sanders#ts logan#logan#logan sanders sides#virgil sanders sides#logan sanders angst#logan sanders fluff#logan sanders fanfiction
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William Washington
Father: Dimitri Washington
Mother: Dorothy Marge Washington.
Dorothy gave birth to William but soon passed away after. Dimitri raised William but found he was not up to the task of raising. He grew bitter of his wife’s death and let the bitterness grow and ruin many of his own relationships. Dimitri sent William to the local Instable Enforcer school for it’s low cost and evening training.
As William grew up he developed some bad habits, coping mechanisms, and mindsets that trapped him within a harsh young man who cared for little. He was found seldom at home and often out with a group of friends who gave much care for school, quiet pastimes, or self improvement.
William had obtained genes from his father that turned his hair white, his skin ashen, and ruined his eyesight. Doing poorly in school and needing a partner for I.E events, he was assigned to a girl named Olivia.
Olivia was more fortunate than William, but had a kind heart. Despite Williams rough attitude, bouts of annoyance, and bad character all together, she did her best to stay kind. She unwittingly broke through William’s defenses and was surprised and unsure when she found out from him. Her soft nature won him over and while they grew closer she began to chisel away those rough edges of his fallen nature.
William often roused trouble for a couple of kids in his school. A pink weirdo named Strag was a boy who found himself at the short end of William’s stick. Jake, a friend of Strag’s was often there to watched and occasionally intervene. Away from the eyes of Olivia, William would rough up these two but rarely did he use his fists. Solely by use of his words did he accomplish this.
Until the day William, Jake, and Strag were informed of their new partners. Each other. For the sake of their own grades would they have to learn to get along. William bitterly let them walk by quietly within the hallway. And spent his nights expressing his reluctance to his friends.
Upon walking home one night contemplating whether is was late enough that his father was asleep. Caught sight of what he could only comprehend as a mugging, he thought. He approached with a pole he saw upong the concrete. A tall girl quickly ran behind him when he approached. Before he could fully realize that the victim was before his eyes not behind him, he felt the pole slip.
He arrived home once the sun was high within the sky. His ears ringing and eyesight worse than before. He saw his father shouting into the phone. He turned to William. His face flushed with anger.
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A TEASE A DAY BRINGS YOU CLOSER TO DEATH 002
TIGHT P.E. UNIFORMS AND AIZAWA'S
KINKY BANDAGE SCARF
to think about it, this whole anime can
become a hentai if you have great imagination.
Click.
A boy stands beside the door, blazer slung over his shoulder, the top button of his uniform wide open and crimson tie hanging loosely around the collar. The first thing that most notices about him was his long and narrow but charming eyes then the ruffian temperament he has.
Overall, people conclude that he has nice looks to woo some girls but he seems too much like a rascal down the back alleys instead of a hero in the making.
And yes, it is Y/N.
"Woah, this class is full of beauties," he comments and flashes a slovenly grin to them as he leaned on the wall just beside him like he has no fucking bones.
"Who do you think is the prettiest then?" a familiar mustard head boy retorts with a very difficult question for anyone that has seen too much high score faces.
To that, Y/N just laughs: "Of course it's—"
"YOU!"
"I remember you asshole from the exam, you fucking stole one of my kills!" a pissed off voice calls, and oh boy Y/N thought it was familiar enough, as he did get kicked by him in the middle of his sleep when they first met.
"Language, Bakugou-san! We should be civilised and educated h—" this guy with glasses makes an attempt to lecture 'Bakugou-san' but gets cut off by that unkempt boy by the door.
Y/N walks over to Bakugou's table and plants his hands on his desk, veering down to grin at him, "Oooh, well isn't that Tsundere-kun who's oh-so passionate to me?" Tipping his chin up with two fingers, Y/N shifts his lips towards Bakugou's ear — to the point where the latter can sense Y/N's mellow breath against his left ear, "Why, missin' me?"
The close proximity and resonant voice of his finds Bakugou with a flaming face that stays even after Y/N backs away. "S-SHUT UP DIPSHIT! AND FOUR EYES I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT BEING A CIVILISED PERSON!"
"Okay, okay," Y/N puts his hands in the air and saunters away from the scorching piece of wheat, but his tone still as amused as ever, "I'll see you later boy."
"Hey Y/N!"
Rotating his head, Y/N recognises the mustard hair boy in one glance. His eyes arch as a lively leer contorts his features, "Ah, if it isn't blushy boy Denki here."
"Likewise, s-scoundrel."
"Awh I thought I'd at least be a charmer or something."
"Nah man, your whole body just shrieks: 'I like flirting with anyone that looks decent' and that's exactly true to you."
"But you're not decent — you're," Y/N pauses for a while, "pretty good." Not only pretty good. His yellow hair and semi-long fringe frame his face and jowl to perfection, those phoenix eyes of his when they curve into crescents as he smiles adds to the glamour. And not to mention his well-kept figure. All that makes him overall attractive to almost anyone — absolute hot punk boy there.
But all that description is just in Y/N's mind and he just can't really piece all his words together properly in one go.
"Pfft," Denki snickers at Y/N's lack of vocabulary and questions with a cocked brow, "did you run out of words from your dictionary or something?"
"Yep, I'm too illiterate for this shit," Y/N admits with a generous grin, splaying his hands out. But he continues shamelessly: "But at least I have a good personality."
Denki comically sweatdrops, "Good personality, sure."
"Uhm ... is this—is this c-class 1a?" the colossal door gapes open once again and a tiny broccoli head kid walks in, hands fumbling at the hem of his blazer and head poking out to check around.
Skin limpid as jade, cheeks still plump with some baby fat, peach lips a coral hue and teeth ivory white. He has an endearing face that makes all girls want to be his mother and freckles to add to it, but those lofty glaucous eyes and that innocent, chaste but anxious smile are the main highlights here.
"No, this is class 1c for crackheads," Denki says which makes a few other students including Y/N to choke on their giggles.
"Hi! I'm Uraraka Ochaco, remember me? Thanks for helping me in the exams!" a girl with mousy hair scurries over to broccoli kid, and she holds both his hands in her palms to show her gratitude and sincerity — which broccoli kid in reaction goes into a tint of crimson at.
"Oh shit, that guy gettin' some pussy there."
"Ahahah ..." broccoli kid laughs, quite strained as he turns to the speaker of that comment. Taking a brief glance at Y/N, broccoli kid's eyes enkindle once he remembers who he is and he exclaims, "Oh! I saw you uh—uh use your quirk to help a lot of people and you looked awesome running around!"
"A-And when you launched off from the wall to the kick the robot!"
"It was epic!" he concludes, doe eye glistening like the stars in a dark night as he gazes at Y/N with elation.
"He only got the kill because I was fighting it first!" Bakugou tries to interrupt but his signal's just too faint for Y/N to give a fuck at the moment, so this boy gets brushed aside.
"Thanks, freckles! I'm L/N Y/N but you can call me," he halts for a dramatic pause before resuming, "tonight." Y/N ends it with a classic wink which leaves freckles' poor heart in havoc for the second time of the day.
"A-Ah I'm Midoriya Izuku!" broccoli boy juts his hand out enthusiastically, so enthusiastic that his dainty fingers are trembling slightly.
Stepping forth, Y/N takes his hand and squeezes it as he cleaves onto it, "I'll take note of that~" After he lets go (which Izuku is so glad of because he feels like he's going to pass out from high blood pressure very soon if Y/N doesn't stop the pinching at his hand), he says to Izuku, "Anyways, I'm gonna go take a seat at the back there, see you later!" Once again, he leaves another victim of vigorous teasing and flirting shaken in his original spot for quite some while with his heart battering way too fast for his lungs to keep up.
Y/N ensconces himself at the back, in the seat just beside a boy Melanie Martinez hair that can without a doubt be the most beguiling person in the room. But the boy just seems like he doesn't want to socialise with anyone in the class, perching by his seat all on his own, completely silent.
So Y/N decides to speak to him, beginning by tilting over towards his desk, "Heyyyyyy." A pregnant silence fills in the gap between the pause before Y/N speaks again, "Aren't you gonna say something?"
"Say what?" half and half boy unexpectedly glances over to Y/N, chiselled features void of any sentiment at all, gelid and impassive.
Y/N: "Hol-y shit."
The boy's voice isn't exactly low and deep but it has soft and refined texture to it, serene tone adding an eccentric touch to it. And when Y/N sees his face — skin ashen as snow with the exception of the red patch to his left eye, knife-shaped brows and heterochromatic irises protruding his pretty features.
Half and half boy: "???"
"I'm just surprised of your front face and voice," clarifies Y/N, seeing his creased forehead and the modest curve of frown on his pale lips.
"Oh."
"So—"
Y/N switches his focus to the big yellow pile at the door, "Wait is that a big dick in a condom?"
The classroom gradually hushes down as they all stare at the condom-looking thing, all at a loss of words as the condom writhes into the room like a caterpillar.
"That took eight seconds for you all to quiet down," an exhausted voice comes from the yellow condom. And a man's face shows itself from the zipper, slowly getting out while he continues to speak, "Hello, my name is Aizawa Shouta and I'm your homeroom teacher for this year and probably the next and the year after."
He heaves a deep sigh: "Pleasure to meet you all."
"Doesn't look like it."
Not taking any attention to the remark, Aizawa just remains in his own world. He fishes out a pile of sapphire clothes and says to the class, "Okay that's that, now change into these P.E. uniforms, we're going outside."
"Where are the changing rooms, Aizawa-sensei?" four eyes questions the already tired teacher, glasses glinting in the artificial light.
"Look at the sig—ugh nevermind, I'll just tell you."
"Go out, turn right, turn right, turn left, then turn right."
"Thank you, sensei!" Four eyes bows literally ninety-degrees to Aizawa, to which the latter just hums tiresomely.
"Are we gonna like do track and field with our quirks or something? Because I can't think of anything else we can do on the field and train for being a pro hero."
"Probably, I'm fine with either since my quirk literally is designed for dodging and running away."
"Hah, fuckin' pussy."
"Is that a new pet name?" before Bakugou even retaliates something back, Y/N swivels to face him whilst he walks backwards. An impish smirk brimming his lips, he says, "because if so, I'll gladly accept it."
"Looks like our friendship has increased ey?" As he approaches Bakugou, Y/N skips forth and hitches an arm around his shoulder.
"Who's your fucking friend?" Bakugou smacks Y/N's arm away, a contemptuous look sweeping over his face, "you're just an extra."
"I don't mind as long as I get to see all these pretty boys and girls."
"Sicko."
In the chaotic changing room.
"Turn over, you fucking weirdo!" Bakugou glowers menacingly at the pair of eyes just staring at his figure, clutching onto a plastic bottle, ready to just fling it at Y/N directly in the head.
"Okay, okay," Y/N chuckles as he pivots around towards the vast sink.
"But L/N-san's still staring from the mirror ..." Izuku, the only person who's honest and morally righteous, mumbles before getting shushed by Y/N.
"Shh."
It is absolute heaven in the changing rooms to Y/N, good ass bodies everywhere. Especially Bakugou, Denki, and Izuku's — the well-built type, slightly fit type and the holy-shit-he-fucking-has-eight-packs-like-bakugou-only-has-six type. Although Y/N wished to see half and half's body, but that clearly didn't happen as the guy probably dislikes being open with other people and changed in a stall.
"L/N-san? L/N-san?" Izuku goes over to Y/N, seeing that he's just gazing over at Katsuki and Denki as they change into their sports uniforms. Receiving no responses from the boy, Izuku proceeds to hold his shoulders and swing him back and forth. "L/NL/NL/NL/NL/NL/N!!"
"A-Ah, stop shaking! I'm back!" Y/N opens his eyes wide, hastily halting the broccoli from continuing to shake him to avoid a tragedy that ends with him getting a concussion. After Y/N wears off the feeling to puke, he finally says, "Yeah what is it, Izuku?"
"What were you blanking out at, L/N-san?" curious baby, Izuku, queries with his pristine, glistering emerald eyes.
To such a cuteass Izuku, Y/N only responds with: "Well, my brother — that's ..."
Izuku: "...?"
"Nothing."
"You'll know once you get into the world of zeroes and ones."
Izuku: "?????"
Izuku can't do it anymore and just says, "Okay ... but L/N-san, aren't you going to change?"
"Oh right, thanks for reminding!"
Y/N unbuttons his white uniforms and slips it off swiftly, revealing a whole patch of hirsute skin. As he gets out of his pants, he steps into the P.E. uniform and skids it up his body in his own leisure pace.
The three victims of his can't help but stare at his slender figure, lips agape to a slight extent. Obtrusive collarbones and unmarred complexion are uncloaked for a brief moment, rather bewitching and ravishing to them. His draped eyes entranced into unbuttoning his shirt, lashes flickering slowly as his slim fingers flick open the clasps.
It isn't until Y/N walks out of the changing that the three crack out of their daze. Let's just conclude this with: they try their best to convince themselves that they're straight with the: 'I am straight as a flat surface' persuasion.
"These P.E. uniforms look cool as fuck on us!" this rock-n'-roll-looking boy blurts out, enlivened, his fists toss into the air, making him look like a complete teenager who's too outgoing and lively.
"Yep, I agree. I mean look at it sticking tightly onto their bodies, I'm—oh shit." Y/N feels a surge of heat flow through his nose and before he knows it, a habitual scent floods his senses.
"Your nose is bleeding!"
"Oh it's fine, I get it a lot," Y/N responds, his voice distorted by his fingers pinching at his nose to halt the bleed, expression composed enough to see that he's gone through the same process quite a number of times.
、、、
"Alright we're gonna do a Quirk Apprehension Test, so listen carefully," Aizawa says and proceeds to explain what they're going to do today and 'threatening' the students with: "Our school is pretty chill about freedom on campus and that also applies to teachers too, so guess what you little bitches? I get to use any teaching method I want." Cue the crooked smile that just gets intensifies thousand times with his pale complexion and dry eyes.
"Bakugou," Aizawa makes his call of death (to the others anyways), "how far could you pitch a softball in junior high?"
"Sixty-seven meters."
Hurling a ball at Bakugou (which he does catch), Aizawa orders, "Now, use your quirk this time and you can do whatever you want as long as you stay in the circle."
His hand gripping onto the ball so clinched, Bakugou paces forth into the circle. He takes his ready position, arm swaying back and legs proding into the ground. And he swings his arm forward to fling the ball out of his hand!
"DIE!!"
He thrusts the softball further by generating explosions, and the ball charges across the air at an impressive speed, tendrils of amber flames trailing behind.
"I bet he has mommy issues," Y/N whispers into half-half boy's ear, gaining him the look of daggers from Bakugou (don't ask me how he hears it) and a blank stare from half-half boy.
Aizawa lets Bakugou go back and unveils his score to the class — a whopping 702.5 meters distance. The whole class's jaws disjoint at the unbelievable mark, facial expressions just overwhelmed with revelation.
"Hold on we have to use our quirks for these tests?" Y/N looks around at everyone, they're all either gushing with self-confidence or abasing themselves. Only the nicest of them all, half-half boy gives him a nod.
"Fuck, man."
Embarking with the first activity, fifty meter dash, everyone has been doing a lot better than Y/N thought (which may just be him being an arrogant little shit) and that frets him. With four eyes' score of 3.04, ribbit-ribbit 5.58, and kinky-tail guy's 5.49, Y/N can sense peril in his own self-reliance.
Then it is Katsuki (after shamelessly annoying him, he finally got his first name) and Izuku's race. Both their veins are bulging out from their arms and necks, thigh muscles clenching taut.
"Oh, the cauliflower and broccoli are going against each other," Y/N remarks as he squats down by the side of the track in an amusement, speaking to probably the souls in the grass, "my favourite cp, bro."
"Cp?" Denki cocks his head.
"Couple, of course."
"OOOoooO," jeering with laughter, Denki takes in Y/N's 'you know what i mean good bud' smile with one of his own.
By the time the two immature teens set the seal on their conversation, Aizawa's already displaying the results of the dash for Katsuki and Izuku. And it is Y/N's turn.
He turns to take a brief look at who his opponent is and fuck. If he doesn't take a look maybe he can just act okay and chill, but he takes a look and holy shit.
"I'm up against you, my brother."
Half-half boy just hums as an answer which gets Y/N stunned in place until the a shrilling squeal from the whistle makes him realise that he's still in a race. Half-half boy's already skating on his ice when Y/N begins sprinting with his quirk, "Wait up, wait for me!"
Spoiler: half-half boy didn't wait for him (naturally but just gonna tell y'all). The whole way, Y/N concentrates his eyes at his feet for some reason, not paying any attention to his opponent and surroundings. Making it to the end, Y/N jogs over the finish line for a little bit before just lounging himself over the grass at the side, chest rising up and down as he regains his steady breath.
"Hah ... hah ..."
"What did I," deep breath, "get?"
"3.41 seconds, L/N-san," Izuku skips over towards the patch of grass Y/N is killing by laying on with an ardent beam and bottle of water, "that was great!"
"Thanks~" Y/N seizes over the bottle of water (he ignores Izuku's protest at him drinking from his bottle), stifling a snigger at the All Might sticker on it giving a thumbs up. He sits up properly with two legs in front of him and knees bent then gulps down a fuck ton of H2O, instantly drinking away half the water inside the bottle, "But what's next?"
Izuku blanks out when he realises that it's an indirect kiss since Y/N drank from his bottle lip-to-tip, not hearing Y/N's question.
Y/N repeats, this time louder: "Izuku, Izuku?"
That gets Izuku out of his thoughts, and he flusters up once he realises what he was thinking of but he still replies to you, "G-Grip Strength test."
"Let me die! Don't hold me back!" Y/N pretends to ram his head into the dirt as he kneels on the ground, arm swinging at the back randomly. He persists to do that for some time until pure broccoli calls him.
"Uh ... Y/N? We're going indoors."
"O-Oh, coming!"
Grip strength, Y/N's quirk and arms say no to that. And that's exactly what his score says too, sixty eight. And to that, Y/N only shrugs and comments, "Well, that isn't very optimistic." But that chill attitude shatters to fragments in seconds when he exclaims, "Even Tsundere-kun got such a high score!"
Katsuki who's just minding his own business by the sidelines with his always-looking-pissed face hears and whoosh! The fire has been lit. "Hey, what do you fucking mean?!"
"The literal meaning, of course," Y/N slims his eyes into a sly grin at Katsuki and diverts his attention to Denki whose score is just being showed, "Naisu, Denki!"
"Thanks!"
Strolling over to sulking broccoli, Y/N pats his shoulder and consoles him a bit, "It's alright Izuku my son, I'm sure you'll probably do great with the next activity. And even if you don't, the next next activity, next next next activity, you'll do good in at least one of them!"
"I can see your potential!"
"Mostly because you look like a typical anime protagonist but yeah I'm not gonna tell you that," Y/N mutters rapidly, too fast to the point that Izuku didn't get it.
Izuku, once again: "?????"
The next activity is the standing jump test, where it's basically like long jump but they just call it standing jump? Anyways, Y/N takes an advantage on it due to his quirk but beyond the mountain is another mountain and four eyes got the highest score.
The final test is the pitch-a-ball. He observes the girl before him, Uraraka, draw her arm back and hurl the softball out like anyone would do, but the ball never came back??? In the end, she got infinity — Y/N is just purely dumbstruck at the fact that it's a thing to panic about his turn.
And when it is his turn, he just breathes one big ass breath in and sends the softball propelling through the sky. Then it falls after one second.
L/N Y/N 71 meters
Y/N makes an attempt to defend himself, "That's purely my arm strength, I swear."
"Sure, pussy," Katsuki gives him a white eye.
"It won't be good for Midoriya if he keeps doing this," Iida (Y/N finally got corrected by Iida when he said: "Woah, four eyes' gettin' all that scores.") remarks at the sidelines, hands behind his back, making him look unfathomable and profound.
"Of course not, he's a quirkless weakling after all," condemning Izuku with every chance he can, Katsuki laughs icily to the point where he can compare to half-half boy's quirk.
"Quirkless?" Iida frowns and faces Katsuki, "It doesn't seem so from what I saw he did during the practical exam."
"What?!" The fire has been flared up again.
"Aha, you sound like Izuku cheated on you or something."
"Forty-six ...?" a quivering voice sidetracks Y/N's focus, only to see Izuku with his green pupils dilated and face empty of his usual naive smile.
"I stopped you from using your quirk," Aizawa speaks, directing Izuku to stare at him.
"But ... why?"
And then Y/N can't eavesdrop on them anymore due to Aizawa hauling Izuku towards him with his kinky ass bandage scarf that just looks like tendrils in tentacle hentai — Y/N swears he's seen the same product on AliExpress once under the sex toys category. But anyways, when Izuku finally walks back and does his throw, it is magnificent.
The moment Izuku slowly lets go of the ball, his fingertip transforms and the ball gets propelled into the air, cutting through like a keen knife! His score shows up at an impressive 705.3 meters, although his finger did break from overloading too much force into the tip, Izuku's brows finally untangle and he cracks into a grin.
But Katsuki just has to ruin the moment with his shriek, "What's this Deku?!" Sounding like a housewife that just saw her husband cheat, his eyes mantle with red veins, he continues screaming into poor Izuku's face, "I thought you were quirkless?!" Katsuki hoists a fist up to cast explosions at Izuku but a familiar roll of kinky bandage tows him away from the waist.
"Stop making me use my quirk, I have dry eyes now! Fuck!" Aizawa finally snaps, it's probably the class's idiotic-ness that pushed him to the point of swearing in school.
"Sensei, I think you should use some eye drops or something like dang your eyes are literally popping with veins," Y/N attempts to give helpful™ advice, "you can try Thera Te—"
"Shut up."
Y/N: "Alright, alright."
"Is your finger okay, Midoriya-kun?" Uraraka strides towards the beaming broccoli, questioning him with concern present on her face. Y/N blows a whistle at that — to which both teens take no mind to.
"Ah, y-yeah!" Izu·virgin and haven't talked to girls much·ku stammers over his words when Uraraka suddenly slaps his shoulder for his good job. Beads of sweat literally stream down the side of his face by the time Uraraka turns away to speak to pink avatar and invisible girl.
"Y-Y/N," Izuku rolls his name on his tongue, walking over to tug at the boy's shoulder, Th-Thank you for believing in me!"
"No problem, man!" Y/N springs up and thwacks his arm onto Izuku's shoulder, putting all his weight onto the tiny boy.
、、、
"Well I got third to last, that's something to at least cheer for since I'm not last hah!" Y/N stands with his arm akimbo, guffawing out loud for some reason before quickly adding, "oh sorry Izuku, not saying you didn't do great because you did good as fuck in the pitch test! I'm sure you're not getting expelled."
"That asshole of a teacher is probably just telling us that to make us do our best," cambering his chin at Aizawa's direction, speaking in a low voice to Izuku.
"Right, I lied about the expulsion thing."
Fucking silence.
Everyone's just fucking stupefied and maybe a bit pissed at Aizawa.
To everyone's blankness, big tiddy rock-n-roll hair girl just says, "Of course it was a lie, you'd get it if you really used your brain for a little."
"N-Nani."
"I feel betrayed."
"You haven't even known him for more than six hours, so what do you mean betrayed!"
TO NOTE
skskskksks i am gonna start updating
a bit slowly, so yep that's that
NOT PROPERLY PROOFREAD
BECAUSE IT'S TOO LONG
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Who To Call In Case Of Emergency by Marina Rubin https://ift.tt/35BZ5iG Tulip's mundane work environment is brightened by her adventurous, bubbly and promiscuous co-worker; by Marina Rubin.
You can learn a lot about other people's lives when you ask for their emergency contact number. A daunting task Tulip undertook with a mix of idealistic dedication and administrative weariness, when one of her colleagues, a senior underwriter, Didi Estefanos, fainted at work. Everyone ran around the office, scrambling to find a number for her next of kin as she lay on the floor unconscious, her feet in thick brown stockings protruding from the partition of her cubicle. As the crowd swayed above her, spewing water on her face and wailing Didi, Didi, someone found her profile on Facebook, tracked down her son and sent him an SOS message. By the time two masculine paramedics rolled in and strapped Didi onto a stretcher, someone was already on the phone with her frantic son, Nicholas, instructing him to meet his mother at Mount Sinai Hospital.
"Would you look at that man?" Senna, the new girl from marketing, whispered into Tulip's ear, smiling at a tall paramedic with a sleeve tattoo. "It's true what they say - New York has the best looking men!" Senna had recently relocated from Florida so most of her sentences began with "It's true what they say" and were awe-inspired declarations about her new city.
Tulip had seen the tall paramedic before. Twice. Once, when the Operations Manager collapsed with a stroke and, of course, the staff struggled to find his emergency contact number since the one on file in HR was from twenty years ago - his father who had long been gone; and the second time, when one of the salespeople had a seizure while closing a deal on the phone.
"What kind of business is this?" the paramedic sneered, shoving consent papers into his EMS bag. "Everybody gets rolled out on a stretcher! What do you people do here?"
"Healthcare insurance." Tulip shrugged, failing to see what he was implying.
Then she watched Senna, in a surprising display of concern, chase Didi's stretcher down the hall and plunge into the elevator, like a puma, behind the handsome paramedic.
Tulip returned to her desk and, as if on a mission, composed a fervent email to the entire department letting them know she was collecting emergency contact numbers, "so we can avoid another Didi situation". In the coming days, emails floated from every direction, from benefit clerks to C-level executives, offering up names and numbers of loved ones: "...My wife Susan... my husband Edward... my brother Boris... my mother Beverly..." hoping they would never be used, the urgent phone calls that would never have to be made. Tulip included her husband George, although he was impossible to reach, a criminal attorney who spent most of his day in court. Tulip's boss, McNally, a devout Catholic and a perpetually angry ex-alcoholic barked, "If I drop dead, I don't want you calling anybody. Let them throw me to the dogs!"
As the spreadsheet expanded into several pages and circulated around the office like some kind of a death list, there was still no news of Didi. Some speculated she was in a hospital undergoing observation, while others joked she was already on the beach in Barbados, collecting disability.
One morning Senna appeared in Tulip's cubicle and, pressing her body against the grey fabric panel, said enigmatically, "I know you are collecting emergency contact numbers, I'm going to give you my children's father's number."
"Sure, that's fine," Tulip replied, not looking up from her computer.
"Well, he's my ex-husband, actually," Senna clarified, hanging her face on the divider and staring at Tulip with oval eyes full of longing. "But we are not together; the children are with him though... well, they're in boarding school."
An attractive woman in her late 30s with long bleached hair and large breasts, Senna told everyone she had always wanted to live in New York, it had been her life-long dream. She was renting a basement apartment in Brooklyn that she called a dungeon. "It has the allure of a dungeon," she once said at a staff meeting, with tenacity and pride.
"I didn't know a dungeon could have allure!" McNally jeered behind her back.
But Tulip liked Senna. There was a certain endearing quality to her, she was like one of those porcelain dolls, one minute beautiful in a box in a pastel ballerina skirt and the next ashen and warped, left outside in the rain with one eye broken and a dirty dress.
"Actually let me think about it, maybe I will give you someone other than my ex-husband," Senna said broodingly and walked away, bumping into McNally.
"What did she want?" McNally asked, dropping off a report on Tulip's desk.
"She was giving me her emergency contact number."
"Weirdo," McNally hissed and disappeared.
Next day Senna told Tulip by the water cooler, "I'll give you my Daddy's number."
"Great. Is your father here or in Florida?"
"No, he's not my father," Senna laughed. "He's my Daddy... you know, like my master."
"You have a master?"
"I'm in an S&M relationship," Senna said, beaming. "It's true what they say - you can be and do anything you want in New York!"
At home during dinner, Tulip told her husband George about the new girl Senna who apparently had a master. George nodded and yawned, "to each his own." That night in bed, he rolled on top of her and, nuzzling her ear, teased that he was now her master and she better obey him.
On Friday, McNally announced that Didi Estefanos was not coming back to work any time soon, she was officially on long-term disability, and no, he didn't know what was wrong with her. The team filed out of the conference room with an intense sense of envy and resentment towards their sick, stay-at-home colleague. Senna came over to Tulip's desk and declared, "I'll give you a different emergency contact number. It's my neighbor..."
"What happened to Daddy?"
"We had a fight."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"He's such an inconsiderate jerk!" Senna confessed, biting her nails. "He set up a date with this girl and forgot to tell me so I could schedule a date for myself too. Who does that?"
Tulip shook her head. "I hear you. Men are the worst. My husband won't even put his plate in the dishwasher after he finishes eating." Then she leaned in closer. "So it's kind of like... an open relationship? Sorry, I don't know much about these things."
"Open but very committed. We do play dates together and separate, with couples, and singles. It keeps our love fresh and exciting... It's just that he should have given me a heads-up so we could sync our calendars, you know what I mean?"
"Right... right," Tulip nodded.
"You think it's ok if I give you my neighbor's number?" Senna asked, still agonizing.
"Senna, it's just a list! A formality. In case of emergency. If anything should happen to you in the office. Hopefully nothing will happen to you in the office and they won't have to carry you out on a stretcher. Your neighbor's number is just fine! Don't worry."
"Of course. Nothing will happen." Senna smiled, holding up tightly crossed fingers.
In time, Senna and Tulip became chatty confidantes. When they met in the elevator on Monday mornings, they inquired about each other's weekend. Senna was always eager to share her stories, no matter who was around to hear them - here she was making a guest star appearance at some elite orgy, or dressing up as a bumblebee in a simple threesome. Tulip's weekends lacked the same kind of luster and sensationalism, but still, she kept up conversation by recalling her two days of cooking, cleaning and driving her ten-year old daughter, Abby, to ballet classes and gymnastics. When the two women bumped into each other in the hall, they shared a giggling hi-five. When they met in the kitchen for a snack, they always took a minute to whisper what an insufferable prick their boss, McNally, was and couldn't someone just put him out of his misery.
Eventually they discovered they both liked foreign films - naïve romantic comedies starring unattractive yet lovable French men with big noses. They also enjoyed the same kind of music - brooding guitar ballads by Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez. They started having lunch at a little Indian place down the street called Ms. Bombay, where they always ordered the same appetizer, aloo papri chat - chickpeas in tangy sauce - and shared chicken tikka masala, wrapping chunks of meat in Peshwari naan. "Can you believe this naan?" Senna gushed every time. "It has raisins and nuts! Only in New York!"
Senna told Tulip about her life back in Sarasota, how she married her high school sweetheart and gave birth in succession to two boys, Chris and Kyle. How she came to be interested in the underground S&M scene; at first her husband joined her at parties at the swingers' club, and when it escalated to dark cellars, chains and fetishes, he opted out, said he was concerned for her safety, but by that time they had nothing in common, and he couldn't stop her. She was still a young, attractive woman and didn't want to live in a matrimonial tomb. So she moved to New York. She met Daddy on-line. "There are websites and user groups for this kind of thing," Senna explained to Tulip, who listened, wide-eyed, her cheeks pudgy from Indian bread infused with nuts. She even told her how she once had sex in suspension, "You haven't had sex until you've done it suspended in the air!"
"Ok, stop, please!" Tulip yelled, covering her ears, "I don't think I want to hear any more."
"So you're now friends with the dominatrix?" Tulip's husband George snickered one night, brushing his teeth before bed. "I hope she doesn't recruit you into the world of bondage."
"You don't need to worry about that," Tulip laughed. "It's the last thing I would want to try! She is sweet, you know, and amusing. I'm not even sure if what she says is true... But she has this touching enthusiasm for life, New York, sex, even naan! Plus, she is not a dominatrix, honey, she must be a submissive, right? She has a Daddy."
George, gurgling mouthwash, muttered something along the lines of you know better, and went into the bedroom tugging at his pajama pants.
"Did I tell you I had a date with the paramedic?" Senna broadcasted one day in the kitchen.
There were other people around, stirring oatmeal, making coffee, slicing grapefruit. Senna did not care what anyone thought. Tulip often wondered if she did it on purpose, shocked people.
"How was it?" Tulip whispered, signaling for Senna to keep it down.
"We met for a drink, then went back to his place. It was very vanilla."
"Vanilla," Tulip repeated, nervously looking around.
That word, the flavor of ice cream she never ordered, came back to her on the train going home to Glen Rock... Vanilla... Was Tulip's life in suburban New Jersey vanilla? As in plain, dull, without flavor or spark? Her job, her marriage, her sex life? Not that she wanted to have sex in suspension, or wear leather in a room full of strangers, hell no, but the thought, as small as a sliver of an almond in a Peshwari naan, nestled between her teeth and would not budge. She was happily married, she loved her husband; when they met in college he was applying to law school and they were such a team, so committed to getting him through it that by the time he graduated and got a job at a prestigious law firm, yes the spark was gone and so was the passion, but this was their joint achievement, a real triumph, plus they already had a beautiful daughter, and Tulip was all gratitude, but that word - vanilla, that sliver of an almond...
For their office summer outing the company organized a scavenger hunt. Everyone ran around the Meatpacking district, agonizing over trick questions and looking for clues in the bricks of the buildings and inside the elevators of the overpriced Chelsea Market. "Which structure used to be a church, a nightclub, a shopping mall and now a sports club?" Insurance adjusters and claim processors struggled to answer on a sweltering day in Manhattan. Senna was wearing a pair of tiny jean shorts and high heels as she leaped over cobblestones, solving demanding brainteasers, winking at construction workers and tossing excited exaltations about the history and beauty of the city.
"Look at her," McNally grumbled as he trudged alone, behind all the teams, smoking a cigar and scratching his rotund stomach, "the only thing she's missing is a balloon cluster!"
Senna's team won. Wearing medals around their necks that looked like chocolate wrapped in gold foil, they celebrated in a seedy bar in Union Square. Tulip had to leave early to attend Abby's ballet recital, so Senna stayed with the analysts from Logistics. Later on she was joined by a petite, dark-haired woman with a wedding ring and a briefcase. "This is my neighbor and lover Francesca," Senna introduced her to a few remaining, intoxicated co-workers. They reported that the two women were fondling each other at the bar until a glistening Mercedes came to pick them up and whisked them to an unknown destination. Next morning Senna told Tulip how sorry she was she missed Francesca, her neighbor and her lover, the one she was telling her about, the one who would be her emergency contact.
"It's alright," Tulip insisted, "I don't need to meet your emergency contact."
The following week, on Friday, Senna was all pins and needles, awaiting a FedEx delivery. "Have you seen the postman?" she asked every executive assistant, madly dashing towards the reception area to see if anything had arrived. She and Daddy were leaving for the long weekend at an exclusive S&M retreat in the Catskills and she had bought a lamp on Amazon to decorate their tent. "It's a beautiful white lotus lantern with twenty leaf string lights," she told Tulip, almost in tears, showing her photos on the Internet. "I was going to hang it around our tent like a garland, so it's festive and inviting, and more people will come to visit us."
"Don't worry," Tulip comforted her. "It's still early, I'm sure it'll arrive."
Oh, how Senna screamed when the FedEx man appeared on the floor.
A week later, the building security office was conducting a fire drill and forced everyone to leave their desks and assemble in the hall by the elevators. As the fire warden droned on about what to do in case of an emergency, Tulip noticed how three women from Payroll with strangely similar hair bobs were whispering to each other and pointing in Senna's direction.
"I need two volunteers to be Floor Searchers," the warden announced, looking at the gloomy faces in the crowded hallway. "One male and one female. The role of a Searcher is very important. In case of fire, you must search the restrooms, offices, conference rooms and instruct all the floor occupants to evacuate. Do I have any volunteers?"
There was an ear-piercing silence and everyone looked at each other.
"Alright, I'll do it," Greg, the HR Manager, like a white angel, descended onto the floor.
"I guess I could be the female Searcher," Senna raised her hand.
"Great! Please come up to me and give me your names. This concludes our fire drill, thank you," the warden said in a raspy voice, as everyone trailed back to the office.
"Knowing her, she'll be checking the men's room first and we'll never see her again," McNally snorted under his breath, loud enough for the interns from Group Benefits to exchange glances and burst out laughing.
The word about Senna was spreading around the firm, and Tulip felt bad for her friend.
"You know, you don't have to tell everyone about your life," she said to Senna in one of the little nooks of the office. "No one needs to know about your lesbian affair with the neighbor, or the hot date with the paramedic, or Daddy and the orgies you attend every weekend. Really, it's no one's business. It's your private life!"
"But my life is not a secret," Senna insisted. "I married young and lived like a nun for years until I realized I deserve better. I have nothing to hide. I'm proud. I'm finally living!"
For her birthday, a pair of shiny thigh-high boots in black patent leather with laces up the back was delivered to the office. Senna hiked up her skirt and tried them on at her desk.
"Daddy sent them!" she exclaimed excitedly. "He's taking me to the opera! We're seeing Aida at the Met!"
"You're not wearing those to the opera, are you?" Tulip asked in a thin, shocked voice.
"Oh no, of course not. These are for the party we are going to on Saturday."
"What do you wear them with?" Tulip asked, feeling the pleather with her fingertips.
"Anything you want, really, or nothing at all! You can always dress them up with a pair of long gloves, or a classic headband."
"Well, have a great time at the opera!" Tulip wished her friend, just as she noticed, from the corner of her eye, McNally standing in the middle of the office, shaking his head back and forth and staring at the black sleek boots, as if they were the cadaver of an animal.
A month later, completely by accident, Tulip met Daddy. On some idle Tuesday when Tulip's husband was working late and her daughter was at a sleep-away camp, Tulip and Senna were having a drink after work. A man in a grey suit and tie surprised Senna from behind by covering her eyes and commanding her to smell his fingers. Bald, stocky, in thick dark-rimmed glasses, the man whom Senna introduced as her Daddy, her master, her lover who fulfilled every one of her fantasies, literally looked like her father, a severe man with a humorless expression, someone the IRS would send to conduct an audit at an automotive company in Detroit.
Senna and Daddy insisted on driving Tulip home. Tulip sat in the backseat, watching Senna weave her arms around Daddy like a willow tree, as he drove in silence with the tempo and precision of a German tankman. Tulip wondered why they were driving her to New Jersey, so completely out of their way. Did they know no one would be home, was this a ploy to get her into bed, did they want her for a threesome, was she being recruited into the world of bondage? They dropped her off in front of her house just as George was pulling down the curtains on the bay window. Tulip breathed a sigh of relief. Daddy stepped out of the car and gallantly opened the door for her.
"Who was that?" George asked when Tulip walked in.
"You are not going to believe it. That was Daddy!"
"Daddy? You mean, your crazy co-worker's S&M master? He looked more like a Certified Public Accountant from KPMG... Do we have anything to eat?"
Sometime in November, it suddenly became bone chilling and viciously windy. "It's true what they say - New York is a toothless witch of a winter," Senna announced. Having moved from Florida, she did not have any warm clothes, so she layered her summer shirts and wore the company sweatshirt advertising their new PPO plan on top. Tulip hated watching her shiver in the revolving doors of the building. Daddy should have bought the poor girl a coat, instead of those hideous knock-me-down-and-fuck-me boots, Tulip thought to herself, fuming. Instead of saying anything, she opened her closets. With care and dedication, she picked a few warm sweaters, a scarf, a hat, woolen socks, even mittens. Then she added a Burberry double-breasted cashmere coat she had snatched up on sale at Neiman Marcus. Something every lawyer's wife should own, she wore it once to a holiday party at George's law firm, now it adorned her closet like a mistletoe, something pretty but useless. She took it off the hanger and threw it in the bag.
"You can have these for the winter," she handed the bag to Senna on Monday.
"Oh my God, you shouldn't have. Thank you so much. That is so sweet," the Florida ex-pat jumped up and hugged her friend. Then she tried on the coat and even though she was taller and bigger in the bust than Tulip, the coat fit her perfectly.
And then the morning arrived when Senna was circling Tulip's cubicle, fidgeting and fretting about something, until she finally came out with it and asked Tulip to be her emergency contact. There was something so heartrending and pitiful about the way she asked, smiling, standing by Tulip's desk, still wearing the coat, holding out banana bread she had made over the weekend in a plastic container like some kind of sacrilegious offering, that Tulip had to look away.
"What happened to Daddy?"
"I don't think he wants to be my Daddy anymore," Senna said, biting her chipped nails. "He found someone younger, and prettier."
"I am sorry. What about your lesbian lover, that neighbor Francesca, or something?"
"Her husband found out and threatened to divorce her if she didn't stop seeing me."
Tulip sighed. "Look, Senna, I can't be your emergency contact, it's ridiculous. We work in the same office. It has to be someone from outside, you know, like a family member or a friend."
"Why?" Senna objected.
"Well, for starters..." Tulip tried to elaborate, until she realized she couldn't come up with anything reasonable, and that's when she folded, "You know what - okay, you got me!"
"Really?" Senna lit up. "Great! Can you put it down in the spreadsheet?"
At night, Tulip was having dinner with her husband and her daughter, a new crock-pot roast beef recipe she was trying with red-skinned potatoes, when her phone rang. It was Senna. "I'm just calling to activate my emergency contact number," she said, laughing like a gloriously happy child.
Sometime around Thanksgiving, rumors, like pocket-sized mice, were scurrying across the office and making squeaking noises in the walls. Employees congregated by the water cooler, in the hallways, in the kitchen, whispering, shaking heads, weighing in on the latest news. Didi Estefanos was not coming back to work, in fact, she had slapped the company with a massive lawsuit, claiming everything from emotional abuse to sexual harassment, ageism, racism, and all kinds of atrocities that had caused her to collapse in the office and get rolled out on a stretcher. What was wrong with her exactly, what particular ailment she was inflicted with, no one knew. Since all the tests came back negative, the doctors assumed it was stress. She hired a high-powered attorney who specialized in harassment in the workplace. The company executives from around the country flew into the New York office and spent long days in glass conference rooms, behind closed doors, talking into round speakerphones that lay in the middle of the table like UFO plates. They walked out, exasperated, wheezing, loosening their ties, pooh-poohing the process, and hurried along to lunches and dinners at the lavish New York restaurants they enjoyed on their expense accounts. Greg, a highly respected HR Manager and a proud gay man since the 80s, was seen standing outside the building, wiping his face with a paper towel. McNally was in and out of meetings, giving testimony, defending himself. "Sexual harassment my ass," he was heard screaming, "that old hag was a hundred years old!"
Meanwhile, a Thanksgiving sale was in full swing at Bloomingdale's down the street. All the girls from the office were shopping in the intimates department. Tulip always joked how their check was directly deposited into the iconic department store.
"I need your honest opinion." Senna came up to Tulip one day with a shopping bag. "I bought this corset for a party on Friday. But I'm not sure if it fits me right. Could you please take a look and tell me the truth, please!"
"Sure." Tulip nodded. "Let me just finish this report."
"Great, meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes."
When Tulip walked into the bathroom, the small vestibule with a full-length mirror and a few armchairs, was empty. She proceeded into the lavatory, it was empty as well, except for the one stall at the end where Senna was fiddling with zippers, swooshing fabric. Someone had left the water running in the sink, Tulip turned off the faucet and waited. Finally, the stall door opened and Senna appeared, wearing just a corset and a pair of a high heels.
"Oh wow!" Tulip squealed, veering her face to the side as if someone had just punched her. "Wow," she repeated, violently, "wow."
"What do you think?" Senna asked, standing in the middle of the bathroom, anxious, alert, her breasts bulging from a see-through corset, her shaved pale vagina on display.
"Looks great," Tulip said, her hand raised to her temple, partially blocking the view.
"Does it make me look fat?"
"No, it looks fine, not fat at all," Tulip stuttered, looking away, focusing on a crack in a tile. She did not expect to see her friend wearing nothing but high heels and a corset. She reasoned there was no real necessity to take off her pants or the skirt that she was wearing, let alone her underwear, to demonstrate a corset, especially one that went only to her belly button. And why the high heels? For the full dramatic effect, the big picture?
"Do you think it's tight in the back?" Senna turned around, flexing her muscular buttocks.
"No... Not tight at all."
"You don't think it's too small in the breasts?"
"No, it's great," Tulip repeated, making an effort to hide her embarrassment.
"Are you sure? You're not just saying it?"
"Definitely! You'll be a huge hit at the party on Saturday," Tulip assured her, as she hurried out the door, blaming an urgent report she forgot to do.
She ran out of the bathroom and walked down the hall, shell-shocked, frazzled, smoothing wisps of hair on top of her head, grinning to herself, imagining her husband's face when she told him tonight what had just happened, how he would fall off his chair, laughing.
"What's so funny?"
Tulip bumped into McNally, who was always stalking the hallways and had an uncanny talent for appearing at the most opportune place at the most opportune time. "What is it?" he demanded, studying Tulip's face. "You look strange... Is everything alright?"
"Yes, fine," Tulip, taken off guard, giggled in a surge of nervousness. "I was in the bathroom with Senna, she asked me to look at this corset she bought at Bloomingdale's, but... she was wearing nothing but a corset, you know..." Tulip laughed uncontrollably. "Oh, and high heels too," she added, slowly gaining composure and realizing her mistake.
McNally stood quietly, his arms folded on his stomach, listening.
That night, when Tulip told her husband about the encounter in the office bathroom, he did not fall off his chair laughing, as she expected. He turned surprisingly serious and asked her all kinds of questions, as if she was a witness on a stand, or a victim, or maybe even a co-conspirator.
"And what did you do?"
"Nothing, I ran out of the bathroom..."
"Why did she do that?"
"I don't know, she's probably an exhibitionist..."
"What is the nature of your relationship?"
"You can't be serious, honey... That's it. I am going to bed."
A few days later, Tulip was in the office kitchen, draping almond butter onto a Granny Smith apple, when Greg, the HR Manager, approached her and invited her in for a chat.
In a corner office crammed with ceramic bowls and teacups that Greg made in the pottery class his partner Rob bought him for his birthday, the tired HR Manager offered Tulip a chair and asked if she wanted anything to drink. She looked at the large pitcher of water sitting on the side of the table, a testament to the many people who came through this office in the last few days, and immediately said, "Greg, I don't know much about Didi, or whatever her claims are... She seemed like a nice lady, very erudite, but other than that I have nothing to add."
"Tulip, I didn't ask you here to talk about Didi," Greg said in a serious tone.
"Okay..." she looked at him, waiting.
"I want you to know this is a safe place and everything you say here is confidential."
"O-kay..."
"Tell me what happened with Senna," he said compassionately. "We have zero tolerance for sexual harassment and abuse in this company, and you did the right thing by reporting her."
"What?" Tulip jumped up. "What do you mean what happened with Senna? What do you mean, reported her?"
"McNally came into HR and filed a complaint on your behalf. He said that your colleague, Senna Andrews, has created a sexually abusive environment for you... Tulip, if Senna has sexually abused you, or harassed you in any way, you need to tell me right now."
"Sexually abused me?"
"Look, we received a complaint... It went all the way to the CEO. Of course, the big wigs upstairs are worried about you suing the company, but I care about your well-being."
"Suing the company? Is this some kind of a joke?"
"There is nothing funny about sexually unwanted advances, especially in the workplace, especially now - with the MeToo situation, we take these matters very seriously."
"This is not a MeToo situation!" she burst out, enraged. "No one harassed me! Not me! This is a NotMe situation!"
"Okay," Greg looked at her keenly. "Then why did you report her?"
"I didn't," she covered her face with her hands.
"Well, you communicated the entire bathroom incident to your manager, Eric McNally. To tell you the truth, I was surprised. I thought you and Senna were friends."
"We are friends," Tulip sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek.
"Then I don't understand what happened. Why did you report her?"
"I did not report her... McNally snuck up on me. That's what he does - he stalks the hallways like a creeper, and he just caught me off guard..."
"I don't know if you realize it, but your accusations could get Senna fired."
"No!" Tulip exclaimed. "It was a mistake, a misunderstanding. I don't want her fired. It was a mistake. Nothing happened. Greg, you have to help me. Don't let her get fired!"
She rushed out of the office and took the elevator down to the lobby. She ran across the street, sat down on a fire hydrant in front of her building and dialed her husband George. He didn't pick up. It was late afternoon and he was usually in court at this time. She kept dialing his number frantically and it kept going into voicemail. She looked at the gnarled trees around her and it suddenly occurred to her that if this was an emergency, if she was sprawled out in the middle of the street unconscious, or taken out on a stretcher from the office, no one would be able to reach George, and she finally understood what Senna had been agonizing over all this time. Tulip looked up at their building. Senna was somewhere on the 24th floor, and so was McNally, and HR, and the big wigs; what was happening up there, she wondered, what were they doing to Senna now?
At night when Tulip finally saw her husband and told him about her surprise meeting with HR, he put down his fork and somberly expressed his disappointment - she had played it all wrong, she should have consulted him first.
"You can't be serious, George."
"When your HR rep said they were worried about you suing the company, he was right. They should be worried, because this was an open and shut case. And if you had teamed up with this Didi woman and joined her lawsuit this would have been a winning case. But instead you chose to defend your little girlfriend."
"I can't believe you're saying this nonsense," she hissed. "I would never accuse a friend of such wrongdoing and get her into trouble like this."
"What are you defending?" George scoffed. "Your lusty little encounter in the fitting room?"
"It wasn't lusty!" Tulip shrieked, slamming the door. "And it wasn't a fitting room, it was a bathroom!" she corrected him, slamming the door again.
There were many slammed doors that night which ignited a bit of spark in Tulip's otherwise vanilla life.
When she came to work the next day, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Every one of her colleagues was sitting at their desks, in their cubicles, in front of their computers, doing what they were paid to do. Greg was in his office with his door closed. McNally was on the phone with his back towards the exit. Tulip looked across the floor, studied the layout of the office, and for the first time noticed the precise division of the cubicles, the symmetrical way in which the partitions were mapped out, like prison cells, or a closed mouse maze.
Senna did not get fired. Whether it was Greg's humanitarian efforts or McNally's endless maneuvering, she was transferred to another group, the only division that did not report to McNally. Was she ever called into HR, reprimanded, given a warning? Did she ever find out who reported her, Tulip often wondered with trepidation. But after the bathroom incident, she started avoiding Senna. When Senna asked if she was free for lunch at their favorite, Ms. Bombay, Tulip told her she brought lunch from home, or had an important client meeting, or was running to a spin class at the gym. When Senna invited her for drinks after work, Tulip lied again and blamed PTA meetings, ballet recitals, and date nights with the hubby.
One day Senna came over to Tulip's desk and asked her if she would look at a necklace she bought downstairs. "You would tell me the truth if it was gaudy, right?"
"Sure, let me see it." Tulip nodded with an old familiar smile.
But when Senna told her to meet her in the bathroom, Tulip looked at her for a long time and finally said, "We don't really need to go to the bathroom to try on a necklace. You can just put it on right here in this cubicle."
Senna went to get the necklace and never came back.
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Blanket Pals
[Read at FF.net]
[Read at AO3.]
Summary: the blanket was shared, his voice, warmth and aroma fleeting all around her. Their eyes stared at the movie in front of them, but all they could see was each other, lost in a sea of emotions they couldn't put a name on, herself lost in his licking flames and him, lost in the night sky of her eyes, sinking until he couldn't breathe.
Rating: T
Word count: 25.299 /faints, I'm breaking records wtf
Author's note: Ok so I am here again with a SUPER LIGHTHEARTED FIC FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT because I enjoye Kacchako so much? And uh, I write long stuff, IT'S MY JAM NOW! It's a bit messy too? BUT EVERYONE LIKES MESSY STUFF AM I RIGHT? :D /silently hopes you do Bear with me, because I love this fandom and it's not gonna be the last of me! I WILL THRIVE!
So I have to give credit to @ everyone who has sent me any ask, any reblog, any new follower, any like, anything. Anybody who reads this mess is fucking credited because I LOVE THIS FANDOM?? So ou guys know who you are, fam. I made the wise decision to upload at FF.net first for those souls who can’t read this here. Also, don’t expect the same quality from the other fic. That’s impossible to beat, fam. And it’s not that good /derp
I don’t like this. It was so hard to write and I STRUGGLED SO MUCH YOU GUYS WOULD NOT BELIEVE YOUR EYES
Warnings: roller coaster ahead. It's gonna crush you.
It all started with a silly petition– the most extra of conversations in the most extra of scenarios.
“Yo, Uraraka.”
As soon as she registered who the voice belonged to, her whole form turned around to face the ashen blonde boy. His usually knit brow only deepened after seeing the weight in her arms. “What the fuck are you doing with that stupid hat– and what’s with that dirt all over you?”
Uraraka opened her mouth to explain that he was also supposed to be participating in that damn harvest activity with the other classes, that he should be making some social life apart of his loyal friend Kirishima and his animal hands– but as words were going to leave her mouth, she just decided to drop it, and sighed.
“Good afternoon to you, too.” she smiled at him, turned and proceeded her way. “Is there anything you need from me?”
Surprisingly, Bakugou trailed behind her, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, yeah.” that perked her interest, so she stopped in her tracks. Her round eyes peeked and looked at him in pure curiosity. It didn’t usually happen that Katsuki Bakugou – Jerk Explosion Murder for his… friends? (if he had any apart from Kirishima) – chased after anyone, especially if that someone was close friends with his mortal enemy.
“It’s not like I fucking need anything from you, don’t make misleading assumptions.” grumbled he, frowning and all with his hands deep in his pockets. His forehead was glistening with sweat. “That damn nerd redhead has sent me over to you. He wants us to have a movie night.”
Uraraka blinked. Once, then twice, until she started to freak Bakugou out. The basket almost fell off her arms and he swore he had broken her. “You mean, as in, like, the two of us?”
A mad blush spread throughout his pale face, eyes darting everywhere but her round face. If he looked at her he’d lose all the courage he had been building up. “The fuck, Uraraka? Of course not! Please, I thought you were damn smart.”
Uraraka left the basket by her feet, starting to lose her cool against the guy. Like, she had no problem hanging out with Kirishima, none at all– but Bakugou was a different story, a mess of anger and frustration in a neat package. She had no idea how to deal with Bakugou for an hour, imagine two or three. Arms crossed, her brow furrowed. “Well, then word your intentions correctly!”
“Look, fine, whatever.” spat Bakugou. His red irises burnt against hers. “Kirishima wants the three of us to hang out, like, seeing some damn movies at the common room tonight. He said he thinks you’re cool and stuff and he has never had the opportunity or some shit– and I still don’t know why I’m fucking drawn to this plan, but whatever.”
The prospect of a night with Kirishima sounded solid enough to her. It was true that they did get along and had never spent much time with each other. Clearly they could use some bonding time, even if it meant spending time with a potential psychopath. And don’t get her wrong, she actually cares for Bakugou– but spending quality time with him sounded like a hard challenge.
However, it was weird that Kirishima himself hadn’t come to her and asked himself.
Uraraka turned her head and searched for the redhead with her eyes– ah there he was, helping Tsuyu out with some strawberries. Oh, he was waving at her! Uraraka flashed a big smile and waved back, picking the basket up afterwards.
“Sounds like a good plan.” answered she, and saw Bakugou deflate of relief. Did it really take that much effort to him to go and ask her? What a weirdo. “I’ll be there. Just please make sure Kirishima doesn’t pick extremely violent movies, or very cheesy ones.”
“Does horror sound good? Or does the miss have any more requests?” his tone was so sarcastic and acid that the brunette was unimpressed, but feigned offense.
Uraraka frowned and spun around, chin high and pout present. “You can be such a pain sometimes, Bakugou.”
His fist rose up to the air, the air around them dangerously heating up. “WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, ANGELFACE?”
Kaminari, who was walking by along with Jiro, sighed in resignation. “Not this again.”
Uraraka still felt the ashen blonde following her, sensing his anger physically come out of his body, and turned around. His hands were closed in fists, as if he’d dare punch her in front of so many witnesses. “Horror sounds good. And please stop screaming.”
Bakugou dug his feet in the ground, trying to be civil with his soon-to-be movie buddy. “Then stop bitching. I’ll get some horror movies, or something– like I cared!”
She stomped her way to him and started throwing carrots to him. “If you didn’t care why would you ask, you–?”
The carrots came back to her, hitting her on the face and dirtying her more if it was possible. “Watch who you’re picking a fight with, you bitch!”
She was about to go and take out all his intestines, brains, hairs– just destroy him like she knew she could, make him go flying to some other dimension where is presence was required, when four arms came to seize her. “Uraraka-san, please stop the ruckus!” pleaded Deku, his grimace evident even when she couldn’t see him.
Upon feeling his voice near her, she instantly calmed down. However, her eyes still wanted to eat the ashen blonde alive. “What nerve, to come attack me when he’s the one inviting me over!”
Iida, the other restraint, pushed her back. Bakugou muttered something along the lines of a farewell and made his way to Kirishima and Tsuyu. Uraraka glared at his neck with a pointed look, growling. “That guy…” breath in, breath out. Once the boys felt her calming down, they slowly let go of her. Uraraka sighed. “Sorry for that.”
Deku looked at her, impressed by her sudden outburst. And he wasn’t impressed in a good way. In fact, Uraraka felt his disapproval in his eyes and she instantly felt ashamed. “What was all that about, Uraraka-san?”
She cleaned her uniform of any dust and growled. “Bakugou happened.” once again, she picked her basket up. “And I’m just so tired of taking these from one place to another. He didn’t choose a good moment to pick up on me.”
Uraraka marched towards the truck where the veggies were being charged and just let the basket drop. She cleaned her forehead clean and looked ahead: there were still many portions of land to harvest, and everyone was working hard– she must do so as well, help and do her job! She rolled up her shirt sleeves and smiled to the horizon.
However, her face resulted in a heavily shadowed face with a smile and a frown, half mad at the explosive teen and half happy about the prospect of working with her friends.
Deku and Iida looked at each other, terrified of what their friend was up to.
And that’s how this madness started.
When she saw what had been set up for the movie night, Uraraka had been mildly surprised.
The whole common room had been fullfilled with blankets, food on a table, the whole place was pristine and spotless – last party had been a bit of a mess, but controlled and surpressed after some time – and there was no extra windows closed, or any of them purposely open so bugs would get in the building– Uraraka hated mosquitos. That’s why the surprise was evident: she saw that Bakugou had remembered all that stuff about her and even carried it all out so she’d be pleased.
While putting another bowl of popcorn on the table, he squinted at her. She had stopped halfway, pinkish blanket in her hands and that stupid perplexed look on her face. “What.”
She snapped out of her reverie and made her way to him, both alone in the room. The whole class had gone out in a special permission for a night out, Miss Midnight going with them to ensure their security and that they didn’t consume any alarmingly toxic substance– because let’s be clear, of course they’d drink some alcohol, but there was no need to take it further than that.
Bakugou had refused to go, the same as Uraraka, Iida and Kirishima, surprisingly. Iida was too much of a legal guy to even go to the outing when he himself rejected the idea. Uraraka was just too tranquil for such jam-packed places, and Bakugou was pretty much the same. Kirishima must have stayed in favor of the movie night.
Which prompted the following question. Uraraka scanned the room warily, stark of any noisy redhead. “Uh, where is Kirishima?”
Bakugou stiffened at the question, and his ears turned red for some reason. She could clearly see them from her angle. “He decided to tag with those damn alcoholics, so it’s just the two of us, I guess.”
Wait.
What.
“Wait, what?”
Bakugou looked at her, already frowning at her fidgety form. “What the fuck is up now, Uraraka?”
“Ah, no, everything’s fine!”
Everything was not fine. Uraraka had most certainly not signed up for a movie night with a guy who could clearly murder her if she dared to speak during a movie or if she dared sit too close to him– maybe even just breathe too loudly! Like, the prospect of hanging out with Bakugou on a regular basis wouldn’t even startle her because she had always been able to see through him and she could handle his outbursts.
However, there was this big temporal difference between having a small conversation, a walk down a street– compared to something more intimate and longer like a movie night. Well, not like they were going to do anything relatively important, but it was still a big step regardless.
What was she even thinking when she thought it’d be a good idea to have a night with King Explosion Murder? Why hadn’t Kirishima warned her? What a jerk, that guy!
When he saw her make a constipated face, he just shrugged it off. She should’ve known what she had signed up for. Well, there was no way she would have known, but would Kirishima’s presence made any real difference? Did Uraraka despise the explosive boy that much? “Just come here and sit down already, angelface. Or I’ll start the fucking movie without you and I never, ever rewind.”
Uraraka scurried to the couch, expectant to see what movie he had picked up. Suddenly, the idea that her fluffy pajamas, teddy bear and pink blanket were a bit too childish occurred to her. She threw her flippers under the sofa and jumped to the sofa near Bakugou, wrapped and bundled in a pink, fluffy– wait,
“King of Doom?” read she from his blanket, disbelievingly blinking and looking at him.
Bakugou just cuddled deeper into the blanket, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Shut the fuck up. Yours is a dumb blanket, bitch. At least mine is… not pink.”
Uraraka elbowed him, to which he responded by reflexively pushing her away. “You’re so extra, Bakugou.” commented she, searching for the remote. He proudly showed it to her. “You could be a generous guy for once in your life and give it to me.”
His arms shot up, remote falling to the rug. “I’M ALWAYS GENEROUS, YOU DAMN BUBBLEHEAD!”
Uraraka picked the remote from the floor and hummed in approval. He leaned against the sofa’s arm and got a good deal of pillows to support his mistreated back. Unbeknownst to him, the fact that so many pillows were piled up only made him be closer to her. The idea didn’t put him at ease, but it didn’t exactly bother him, either. He just sighed and waited for her to adjust the TV to her liking.
Watching Uraraka fiddle with the TV was a challenge for anyone’s patience. She was rather clumsy when it came to any kind of gadget which possessed buttons– then, he guessed that maybe she wasn’t allowed to touch many of these things because her quirk has a rather easy activation. But seeing her stumble so much around a general-knowledge gadget like a remote was… fascinating.
He looked at her dainty hands. They were round, pale, and deft. They also had those weird pads to activate her quirk, and he wondered: what would they feel like? It was an absurd question, but also a very important one.
He glanced at his over stimulated companion. This was going to be one eventful night. The first thing he should do was teach her how to use a remote properly. “Uraraka, what the fuck are you–?”
“I have sensitive eyes!” exclaimed she, her eyes gleaming under the room lamp. “I need to adjust the imbalances so it doesn’t burn my eyeballs off!”
Bakugou sat up and rubbed his face, seeing that the screen coloring was just not right. “For fuck’s sake Uraraka, are you trying to blind us or something?” he reached out for the device. “Gimme that.”
She adamantly refused to have the item stolen from her and just got up to avoid his hands touching anywhere near here. “Off-limits, sir! This is my territory!”
He got up as well and when he again, tried to get the goddamn thing, she refused. Bakugou had to chase her around the table before he sat down and screamed internally. She was making the screen be over saturated, overly contrasted and too bright. And woes betide if he doesn’t end up throwing his eyes off the window to avoid such display of colors and sunshine.
Uraraka fought against the TV, but ended up giving the remote to the ever-so-perfectionist Katsuki Bakugou. “Here, have the thingy. I can’t find the thing for the thing.”
He blinked at her, disbelief written all over his features. That stupid girl was going to be the end of him. “Care to elaborate?”
“As in,” she gestured to the screen. “an option to make the image sharper?”
Again, he sighed, and reset all options to 50. “Having the TV be a flash of fucking rainbows isn’t healthy for either our eyes or our brain.” he got up to gather all the movies he fetched that morning. Some had old boxes, others were brand new purchases. “I have a bunch here that are damn flashy.”
She peeked a bit, interested. Bakugou then realized how close she was and coughed. She didn’t notice his discomfort, only leaned in a bit closer and grabbed a few movies. “I don’t know why you have that fucking dumb smile on, but you ain’t deciding which movie we see first.”
He got up to get his first started, ignoring her puffings and moans. “Why do you have to be so mean? You’re the one who invited me over!”
Bakugou frowned, snarling already at her. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING FUCKING MEAN?” and he threw her the box of the movie, with all intention to hurt her on the head.
Instead, she grabbed the box in mid air and read the title of the movie they were watching. She rolled her eyes. “When I said you were extra I didn’t mean this extra.” the box was waved in her hands. He glared at her. Furiously. “I was hoping for some decent movies.”
“ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY PICKS? FIGHT ME YOU ROUNDFACE!”
In response, she threw the box back to him, effectively calming his tantrum. “Just put the film on, Bakugou. Unless you want me to choose movies instead?”
He stopped playing around and put the movie in, finally, but still fuming over the fact that she had dissed him so badly. He’d make her pay for that. After a few seconds he made it back to the couch, lying on the stack of pillows with his blanket wrapped around him. Uraraka eyed him closely. “I would have never guessed you were a blanket type of person, though.”
His head snapped to hers. “I would have never thought you were so talkative during a fucking movie, you know.”
Ah, that’s what she was talking about. She sighed and got up to turn all the lights off. Once this was done, she hurried to the couch and jumped, bounced and got accommodated on it. Bakugou looked at her from the corner of his eye, seeing how she tried to find the right posture. The light of the TV made her look completely different, somehow.
“Stop fidgeting already.” spat he. Uraraka froze. “Let’s just watch the damn movie.”
Yes, this was what had her so nervous about the movie ordeal. Because she usually had no problem with nobody, she was so uncomfortable now. She had never experienced such a rocky relationship as the one she had with Bakugou, with him being a douche and her not giving a damn. Was that what had him so worked up, that she was unfazed by his bites?
Uraraka eyed him while the movie started blasting, the main soon-to-be-killed protagonists rolling on the screen. She sighed. It was gonna be along night.
Deciding to try and be relaxed, Uraraka picked one of the massive bowls of popcorn, smelling the sweetness of butter all over the snack. She grinned and took a mouthful of popcorn– fuck. That was when all problems began.
As her fingers touched the snack, there was a dim pink glow in the bowl. She almost shrieked as the events unfolded according to her quirk nature, all in silence. The gravity manipulator glanced at her companion briefly, who didn’t even suspect that something fishy was going on just a meter away from him. So, for the sake of a peaceful night, she held the popcorn in their place.
Fifteen minutes into the movie her hands started shaking, so the gravitational pull of the popcorn faltered for a second. One popcorn made its way out of her grip and, out of all places, landed on Katsuki’s nose. The aforementioned felt the tap and growled, thinking it had been her trying to be funny. However, when he looked up, just for the sake of making sure there was nobody else around, his breath haltered.
“What the f–“ all of the popcorn from the bowl had started to float in mid air, hovering near the ceiling and dangerously spread around them. He changed his question. “How the fuck did you do that?”
She started trembling. All options she had were to hold them in the air or let them go, scattering the little kernels all over the room and make a mess. Uraraka clenched her teeth. “My quirk… it just activates when I’m not mindful enough.” whispered she. Uraraka dared to look at him despite the incoming disaster. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem vexed at all.
If anything, he seemed amused. “Can’t you just like, fucking gather it all together?”
They were aware of the movie blaring on the TV, and since Bakugou never rewinded or apparently stopped the goddamn movie, they’d be missing some of it. “I can make things float according to their… momentum.” he nodded, still looking at the floating goodies. “If they have no prior movement, they won’t move. Since they had been compressed into the bowl, they have gained slight momentum and spread around.”
“Your quirk is goddamn crazy, you know.” spoke he in the softest voice he would ever muster in such random circumstances. “How long has that been up there?”
Uraraka checked a clock nearby and made some quick calculations. “I’d say around twenty minutes, now.”
“Shouldn’t you be throwing your shit out?” she blinked at him, surprised he even knew about her quirk’s limitations. “Yeah, don’t gawk at me like I’m fucking dumb. I’m always hearing Deku mumble about how much you can handle shit floating and stuff.”
“Shut up.” that was Bakugou’s usual line. It didn’t fit her usual easy-going demeanor. “We have to get all of that down. Maybe if I lower them a bit we can gather them in the bowl altogether.”
“Then hurry the fuck up. I don’t wanna have you vomiting while we’re watching the movies.”
It turns out that having the popcorn in mid air, closer to the floor than the ceiling– it was a nightmare. Having the popcorn near the ground but not touching either meant that she had to hold them tighter so she didn’t let go of the frail pull. To her, it was like carrying a bucket of water on her arms, or in this case, having to carry it with a long handle.
Bakugou though, was having the time of his life. While the popcorn were at shoulder length he spent a minute or two tapping them and watching how they clashed and moved around in silence, without rolling. And since they had no momentum limit due to his antics and pushes, they were starting to widespread all along the common room.
“Bakugou, for the love of god stop playing around, please.”
“This is what you get for trying to mess with me before.” stated he, stale, and starting to gather the popcorn in the bowl as if it was water. “Next time, watch who you’re messing with.”
Uraraka hissed. “You know I could perfectly drop them to the ground and let you there, picking every single one of them, right?”
“I’m damn aware.” muttered he, almost done with the popcorn business. “Stop putting it as if I was a baby playing with sand, I got this.”
She breathed in and glared at him, trying her best not to lose her concentration. The nerve of that guy… – however, she’d admit to herself that some of his antics were quite funny to her. Not everyday you saw somebody act so collected during such a crazy thing like making popcorn randomly float on air.
Like why had she–
Oh.
Oh.
Was it because Bakugou’s character made her kinda, sorta, a little bit intimidated? Well, not intimidated but, a bit jumpy? He was a bit snarky, rude, so no one could expect much from him. He’s so unpredictable.
Bakugou came back with the bowl full of popcorn, finding Uraraka staring at the nothingness of the floor beneath their feet. “Earth to roundface. What the fuck is wrong with that face of yours?”
Uraraka squirmed in her seat and propped her feet up the couch, completely covered by her blanket. Bakugou was by her again, deciding against the pillows this time, and sitting a little bit closer to her. The couch was particularly big, but the spot they were on was the best one to watch TV – it was common knowledge, so there were a few fights about who would take the magical spot.
This time though, they sat relatively close, sharing the spot. They weren’t touching, but they were about a foot away, and the idea of proximity to a human furnace bode well with her. All they had to do was reach out and they’d be cuddling, sharing heat and–
Bakugou heard a disgruntled noise come from Uraraka – why was she feeling so flustered at the thought of cuddling with him? –, but paid no heed to anything but the movie. He had already lost the track of the movie for that damn bubblehead loser and he swore it wouldn’t happen again. He did spare a glance at her anyway.
He came to a shocking realization. “She’s… pretty cute.”
When he had called her angelface during that fateful Sports Festival he had done it in the spur of the moment. He didn’t really wanna dwell in his classmates’ lives, he didn’t give much a damn about them– as in, their lives, their problems, and stuff. He had enough to worry about with his career as a hero and his parents being… his parents. So, when he called her angelface, he did it considering her most special trait – in the same way he called Todoroki half-n-half, called Iida four eyes and Kirishima redhead loser/ass, whatever he came up with.
He hadn’t actually considered that not only was she only cute, but she was also really pretty. At that moment he only saw a rival in her, a very weak one, at that. However, her beauty didn’t only come from her pump cheeks, round eyes and flashy smile – he long ago realized, in a night of lots of thinking – no, it also came from her heart.
Yes, he would never forget the fact that she was close friends with the bastard, but he could forgive her.
Now that he thought about it, that nerd liked Uraraka as well, right? He also had come to know that some time ago, the thought was so irritating– and he couldn’t see why it was like that. Why did the notion of her liking that loser irk him so?
This was going to be a long night.
One hour into the movie and Uraraka was already swinging on the edge of the couch, knees under her chin and eyes fixated on the next scene.
And it had no reason to be that way, really. It turns out that the movie he chose really was not only extra, but very boring one as well. Bakugou sat with crossed arms on the couch, fully sprawled on the sofa with the most irritated face one could pull at an unanimated object that shouldn’t be doing any harm to him– but it was clearly vexing the poor teenager. He then glanced at Uraraka, and his irritation came back in tenfold. What was so good about that goddamn movie that had her so wound up?
“Bakugou, Bakugou!” called she, excitement clear in her voice. He rolled his eyes. “Are you watching?”
“No shit Sherlock.” muttered he, rubbing his eyes. “It’s an ass damned boring movie. You sure I was the one to pick this shit?”
Her eyes threw daggers at him, shoulders tense. She drew a bit closer to tap on his chest. “That’s what you get for being a meanie to me earlier.”
His fangs showed up, arms sprung up, claws out and he seized her by the neck with his arm, pounding her head with his fist over and over. “You were the one who said it was a bad movie before and you’re fucking enjoying it now?” she yelped as he hit harder, frown knit in frustration. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who is the meanie now!”
Uraraka bit on his arm and he hissed, like cats usually do, and drew away from her. “Don’t get near me, you bully!”
Irony would get her for that later. Actually, not that late.
“Whatever you say, angelface.” he said sullenly. But the faint smell of flowers and citrus had invaded his nostrils, he had noticed how frail her wrists were in his reach, or how soft her hair was. There was something about her, something so soft, intangible and–
“KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
While scurrying to the furthest point on the couch, the ever-so-predictable protagonist let out a loud, piercing scream that sent a shaking Uraraka back to his arms, absent-mindedly searching for a source of heat– an anchor after such shock. Her jaw was trembling in utter terror after such a high-pitched and sudden sound.
Bakugou, having the same emotional approach as a coconut, visibly recoiled from her touch. “What’s gotten into you, you damn hysterical woman?”
Oh goodness, she was positively shaking. “It’s just, I hadn’t expected that at all and she was so loud, Bakugou!”
He gritted his teeth, brow shrunk in discomfort and all his physical awkwardness showing through his glaring irirses. “Well of course she’d be loud, this is a damn horror movie!” he hurried the blanket around her form so she’d stop trembling– it was so goddamn uncomfortable to see her like this, and he didn’t know why. “This is what you asked me to get and I just fucking complied–“
“I just meant the scream, not the whole movie, you jerk!” Uraraka pouted and crossed her arms, her head turned from his. “At least I’m having the decency to watch it!”
Bakugou’s feet flew to the couch and, suddenly, he was standing on top of the cushions, disbelief written all over his features. “WHO DID YOU JUST CALL JERK!?”
But Uraraka was already engrossed in the movie– his tantrum long forgotten, feet dangling from the couch and her hands grasping the sheets– it was weird to see her excited over something so tribal to him like a goddamn fictional movie. Finger to her lips, she shushed. “Shut it! The most important part of the movie is kicking in!”
His jumping came to a halt as he looked at the screen, still bouncing on the sofa a little. Since he had lost a good deal of argument with so much bickering and popcorn picking, the movie had lost all appeal to him. He frowned. “I don’t see the fucking point in watching this forsaken movie if–“
“Bakugou.” her hands reached out for his ankle, made contact and released his leg in a swift motion. “In nights like this, you know, you should just…” and then, he was weightless. “…lighten up.”
The ashen blonde groaned as loudly as possible, snarling at her. She didn’t pay much attention to him, just went on watching the damn movie. Her lack of control over his gravity and his little momentum with his silly fit made him start hovering upwards. Bakugou grabbed the back pillows for dear life, feet up. “Uraraka, for fuck’s sake.”
Giggles aside, she was being too naughty for her own good. His jaw clenched as Uraraka turned to look up at him, holding in her laughter. He tried to make his way down to her, grasping the fabric of the couch with disdain. “Stop bitching around, for kicks and giggles?”
“You’re the one who has to stop being a party pooper.” stated she. Her eyes couldn’t help but trace the way his figure looked so funny upside down. Also, he was pretty… muscular. And his biceps were making the effort to drag himself down, flexing. It was all sorts of appealing. “Besides, I now have more room on here to–“
The movie’s main monster – also known from now on as weekly yelling jerk – boomed across the whole room and deafened Uraraka’s ears, who shrieked and abruptly released Bakugou from his weightless status. There was a loud thud behind the sofa and a moan of pain, making her flinch and look behind, slightly concerned.
“Sorry! It’s just–“
Out of the blue, he was already on his feet, hands on his waist and a scowl deep enough to make the very same monster run away. “Yeah, I know, your fucking quirk playing games again.”
He jumped to the cushions again and eased the blanket around him, still mad at her for trying to float him out of the room. Instead of focusing his energies in being mad at her – even if he wanted to make her suffer endless pain for ruining what he thought would be a great movie night, with or without her in silence – Bakugou tried to stay put, be calm and focus on the movie.
It turns out they were heading towards the climax building. There was this silent, subtone music wrapping the scene while the protagonists made their way through a bleak – obviously there was someone there, but he would never be such a douche and spoil such surprising bit to her – dark cave. Despite the fact that Bakugou had already watched the very same film with his parents once a long time ago and despite knowing where their stride would lead up to, he was unsettled with the scene.
He eyed his previously thrilled and edgy friend to find her scrunched up in fear, and shockingly near him. Their shoulders were barely touching, hers mildly quivering against his quieter posture. Her hands grasping the sheets to her heart in interest, irises wavering in tension while she just– her body was shaking again, she was fidgeting with so much tension in the air, her teeth were clattering, maybe? and she would start bouncing to and fro anytime soon.
Before such lame thing happened, she started inching closer to him, her citric scent taking over all his senses. Bakugou felt her shoulders finally collide with his and he snapped. “Oi, what the–“
She most likely wasn’t even realizing how close she was until he opened his damn mouth. However, if this newfound arrangement annoyed her, it went unnoticed. Uraraka just glared at him for less than a second and continued her self-torture. Her arms were encircled around her knees, panic setting on her pretty round features, with the blanket loosely hanging to her hunched form. Most importantly, she was leaning into the explosive teen, the very same boy who could blow her away– that is, if he wanted to.
The thing is, he wasn’t exactly uncomfortable with their position. He wasn’t exactly tranquil with the painful pace of the movie, nor the tense music or his shaking mate beside him. Her head was stuck to his shoulder– his very comfy and warm shoulder, forearms touching, hairs tangling together and sharing warmth.
The very same notion of proximity, warmth and sweetness was so Uraraka, it was overwhelming him to the point of mental shutdown. He was severely torn between giving her a good push so this weird fuzzy sensation would stop and pulling her closer.
Regardless the option he chose, none were going to help the situation that Uraraka, that woman who could pull buildings off their own foundings and also be smiling in the process and that girl who was unfazed by his rash behavior, that stupid girl that was tiptoeing into his heart in the most bizarre of ways– that girl was leaning on him, warming him up, and almost hogging him at this point.
Honestly, he had to either embrace the feeling or push her out of his zone– shrugging it off wasn’t an option anymore with such colossal blush adorning his cheeks.
The response was instantaneous. “What– Bakugou?”
He shuffled her closer to him, his blanket thoroughly wrapped around both of them. There was a toxic mixture of her sweet fragrance and his rainy spark inside the blankets, but it was completely fine by him. His arm around her shoulders– oh she was so small compared to him, now he noticed – kept her close.
He used said arm to shush her with its belonging hand. “Shut it. I wanna hear the movie, bitch.”
Uraraka stifled a giggle under her breath – after all he couldn’t call her bitch if he was keeping her so close. It was a weird discovery to see him so calm with sharing his personal space after having almost winced at her presence an inch nearer than usual. Well, it did ease the tension from the movie and gave her a strange feeling of peace. He was undeniably warm, strong muscular arms keeping her near and not far for a change, and his husky breathing– oh no.
She didn’t sign up for this! Her hands tried to hide the evident red in her face to no avail. Recount: she had King of Doom Bakugou Katsuki by her side, finally engrossed in a movie with her, pulling her as close as he deemed healthy, in the most proximate concept of cuddling that he’d ever consider carrying out.
So, she had two options: welcome the blush, his warmth and intimate, finally cool and rare behavior– or gently move away.
A part of her raged over his proximity and dared to try and throw away all of Bakugou’s developments socially speaking, and reject all the good things that came with this close version of cuddling.
Uraraka obviously decided against such outrage and moved closer, his arm adjusting to the idea of side hugs and her enjoying every moment of it, her head cradled on his neck while she paid attention to the show as he was doing, because his eyes seemed to be absorbing the movie like a sponge and, meanwhile, she had been so busy musing over cuddles that she wasn’t grasping the plot of the movie.
Look, none of them were really paying attention to the movie– they had never had such intimate contact with anybody, especially cuddles. It was all sorts of alluring and embarrassing. Bakugou was struggling to keep himself in check. Uraraka though, her mind was at the verge of short-circuiting itself.
“Am I seated in a good position? Do I smell? Is he completely alright with this? Maybe I am in a position that is uncomfortable for him and he isn’t comfy enough, but how do I ask him if he’s so focused on the movie and” her trail of frantic thinking came to a halt when she felt his muscles stiffen– they were a kiss away “is he ok? why is he so tense? oh no, he must be so un–“
“Yo,” whispered he, his breath fanning across her sensible ears. He sure wasn’t aware of the impact he had on her, but Uraraka, her mad blush and the goosebumps on her skin sure felt his presence. She was about to explode. “are you ok with this?”
The way he worded it made it seem like a much more important deal – well, maybe for him, it was a big deal. She curtly nodded and buried herself in his smell and warmth, not a bead of sweat apparent on her pale skin or a drop of awkwardness issuing from her approving hum. It wasn’t uncomfortable physically-wise, but his closeness was stirring all kind of clashing and incoherent emotions inside her little being.
“Girl, stop fretting over this.” mental slap. “Focus on the movie and enjoy the boy. After all, as soon as the night ends, you’ll be on the same level as before.”
Uraraka tried to make herself more comfortable, and his body – surprisingly, considering how inconsiderate he was most times – shifted along with hers, relaxing under her form on the back cushions. Fuck, he had expected the night to go as two friends watching a bunch of movies, no contact needed unless it was something major– but it had turned into two friends watching a bunch of movies, with her cuddling and suffocating him with her presence.
Worst of it all – admitted he all along, while he saw the scenes roll by with an unfocused stare – was that he was enjoying every second of it. This was, probably, the toughest decision he had made so hard that day and it was, by far, the best one he had made all his life. Having someone tucked under his arms had never sound appealing to him, not even once in his life. In spite of the startle of her proximity the first time, he had grown accustomed to it.
They moved closer to each other, her brown hair sprawled all over his shoulder and his skin feeling the warmth of hers, as if she was some kind of neat, nice and aromatic tea cup, dampening his insides in that electric, relaxing and overly light feeling of floating, his head floating out the door and leaving a happy man behind. Somehow, he was sure she felt it too, that shift.
His eyes abandoned the climax of the film to look at the crown of her head, accommodated on the crook of his neck– and it felt so right, to have her there, so close, safe, as if the whole world had faded away into a variety of grays and she was the only color in the room, shining straight into his heart and shattering his fears into smithereens, melting them and making them fly away to another place, another time– somewhere where they didn’t exist, where they wouldn’t be a burden.
His hand, previously hanging loose in front of her, brushed an unkempt tress of hair like a sailor cleans its boat: carefully, sincerely, and almost unconsciously. Of course she felt it– oh, she felt it so fast, her neck almost snapped when she titled her head to look at his red, fierce staring irises. Their breathing went erratic, getting stuck in weird places of their throats and their stomachs lurching in a delicious manner.
Yes, she definitely felt the tweak in the air. Not shift, not a blunt change– just a tweak.
Her brown pools blinked slowly, trying to make words out of his shaking eyes, those who always reflected proud feelings, his anger burning all around her– all but her, that girl who never jumped at his remarks, who he was a bit weak for, the woman who never burnt with the others and faced him all the time.
Interest had been there all the time, that’s for sure. But did such passion in his eyes, such cracks on his armor, the tenderness and approval; had it all existed before? Now he realized what he had really called her over for, and what the outcome had been. Bakugou couldn’t brush her away so fast though– not when he had dived so deep into the waters of her incandescent skies of brown.
His head, ever so slowly, made its way towards hers, shifting her form so she had better angle to move closer, her lips starting to part, eyes closing. Her breath was crossing his, mixing, tangling them together and pulling the cuddling pair even closer than before, their hearts soaring– his lungs breathed deep, and then, his hand grasped her neck, fingertips brushing the ends of her hair, and then, their lips inched closer, and closer, and–
“Yo, guys!”
Uraraka straight headbutted him in surprise, and they recoiled from each other with a disgruntled noise of pain and grief, feeling the catastrophic presence of Kirishima by the elevator. Uraraka spared a glance at Bakugou – who had turned into a blushing, raging mess of frustration and lack of self-control – and finally looked at her redhead friend.
“Good evening, Kirishima!” called Uraraka, grinning at her friend. She was so glad he decided to come in the end! “I thought you had gone to the party with the others…”
Kirishima wasted no time on sitting by Uraraka, squeezing her between him and a glaring Bakugou. “Nah, I ended up deciding to come with you guys. I’m so happy you’re still in one piece, Uraraka.”
The redhead chucked, and a vein on Bakugou’s head popped. Uraraka was beaming, though. “That’s great, I’m so glad you could finally make it here!”
The ashen teenager’s heart stopped beating. After such close call with Uraraka his heart had been beating hysterically, but it just snap stopped when he heard her. Kirishima blinked at her, confused. “Huh, finally?”
Thank goodness the brunette was too believing for her own good. She gripped her blanket to her neck, footprints of her cuddling plus that something with Bakugou pinking her cheeks. “Bakugou told me you were leaving with the others, so you wouldn’t be coming with us to the movie night like planned. I was so disappointed that you wouldn’t be coming when you were the one to invite me over!”
Again, Bakugou froze. Kirishima blinked at her and had this brilliant idea of looking at his best friend. He was looking– glaring at him, one eye twitching and an alarming amount of teeth showing beneath his snarl. “Movie night?” his eyes fell on how close they were to each other, how the blonde was still blushing, and the clench of his fists. “Oh.”
Kirishima smirked at Bakugou, understanding how he had made her come to his makeshift buddy movie night. “Sneaky bastard.”
And the funniest part was that he had been theoretically invited to the movie night, but he was at the same time clearly not invited to the movie night considering how Bakugou was mentally plunging daggers in his heart, twisting it, and bringing him all sorts of pain for interrupting such special moment with her.
His smirk only got wider. So interesting.
When Kirishima dragged his bastard ass towards her and swung his arm around her shoulders so casually, Bakugou saw red. “I ended up cancelling the outing plan for you guys, to come to our movie night.” Uraraka rose her fist in victory. “I see you have finished this movie already?”
Their eyes glanced at the static screen, credits already having rolled long time ago. The girl blushed, realizing that they had spent so much time gawking at each other that they had missed the ending of the movie. Bakugou gritted his teeth and got up to change movies, grabbing the first one he had at reach.
Kirishima turned to her. “I take it it’s been a good night so far.” the ashen blonde mumbled something to himself that his friends didn’t catch. “You guys must have been comfortable with so many pillows and blankets.” Kirishima knew where to hit next. “Can we share blankets, Uraraka? I forgot to bring mine.”
Bakugou’s back straightened, frown getting deeper and deeper. He made the TV eat the damn movie with a slam. He wasn’t jealous.
“Of course we can, Kirishim–!”
“Actually,” deadpanned the explosive teen, making his peers turn to him. “you can have mine, Kirishima.”
Uraraka was startled by what was to come, knowing what he was aiming for. Kirishima smiled knowingly at him – his arm remained wrapped around her nonetheless. Oh, how he loved teasing him so much. The moment he came into the room and saw them so close, he knew that his stay would be doomed with Bakugou’s glare. And that very moment he interrupted must have been very important, too.
“Are you sure, man?” asked the other, looking at the abandoned blanket by Uraraka. He chuckled. “Sorry, I meant King of Doom. How could I forget, your majesty.”
Like he always did when his name was spit on, Bakugou turned around and started bawling at him like a maniac. “Oi, watch your damn mouth, redhead loser!”
Uraraka shifted closer to Bakugou’s empty place, afraid of what pointy object he’d throw at him and how his aim could backlash when his temper got the best of him. “Don’t get so worked up, man! It’s your blanket who is speaking for me.”
Bakugou threw him a decorative ornament he found nearby, hitting his friend on the forehead, who groaned. Seriously, this guy could be pretty decent and all when needed, but he was also a total brute sometimes.
The blonde gave him the final we-have-to-talk-later glare and made his way to Uraraka, who had ended up nestling herself near Kirishima while the movie got started. Her blanket was still in her hands, and he’d be damned if he lost his cool again to her for the second time in a row. No way he would ask her for a blanket he didn’t even need, because the movie itself sounded promising and well, she also looked comfy in her own burrito arrangement.
Her eyes peeked at him for a second. Sensing his discomfort after their little bubble had been burst by Kirishima’s arrival, she nudged him with an elbow. Bakugou, with crossed arms and a neutral look on his face, watched her offer him a part of her blanket, a suggesting smile sketched on her pale, brilliant and childish traits.
The blanket ended up spread wide on them, a little bit short on his end. He grunted at her as a response and looked at the movie. His fingers nervously tapped on the couch’s arm as he glimpsed at his friends, unable to stop thinking about this– distracted by how she was shifting towards Kirishima and not him, how her head was angled towards him in low chatter and the way their knees brushed whenever she shifted– fuck, he wasn’t jealous, but Kirishima knew he’d be pissed if he was so touchy with Uraraka and he was doing it all on purpose.
So he did the most proper thing: glare the shit out of his best friend, who was still hugging Uraraka and didn’t even give signs of acknowledgement– then he turned his head and saw those piercing eyes of his, again pouring all his anger and hate onto his poor best friend. Muscles tense in agitation, eyebrows still twitching in possession towards that little girl who leaned too much towards the movie in expectation, her smile widening with every flash of light.
Kirishima felt, for once, truly afraid of his friend. Bakugou’s arm hung on the back cushions, a ghost hug for her over-stimulated form. Something interesting was going on in the movie, but Bakugou was too irritated by his friend’s arrival to care about the goddamn kissing scene in that low-key horror movie. His hands reached behind Uraraka’s leaning form to grasp at Kirishima’s pointy locks, growling in silent warning:
“Go an inch nearer.” his teeth shone to the white light of the TV, making him look dangerous– more than usual. “Go an inch nearer and you’re fucking dead, loser.”
Kirishima squinted at him in exasperation– was it really such a big deal that he was bonding with Uraraka? Geez, he might have arrived in the worst of times, but that didn’t make him a criminal! Bakugou continued pulling his hair behind a totally unsuspecting Uraraka, her eyes still bathing and dampening on the romanticism of the scene.
Before their silent bickering went noticed, Bakugou decided to mutter something about a kitchen, water, and Kirishima. The female was too wrapped in the scene to even notice their tantrum, so they left without being noticed– maybe that’s why dragging his best friend out of the zone and into a much more dangerous one with glass and knives was so easy for Bakugou.
There was a loud thud against a counter and the sound of wood cracking under a certain boy’s smoking hands.
“What are you doing here, you red punk?” muttered the ashen blonde, all but content smile showing his beast fangs. “I thought you’d be sulking up there like a moron over that alien girl’s whereabouts. Who the fuck invited you here!”
Kirishima crossed his arms, serious this time. There was no humor or glee in his always light voice, which now sounded chapped and slightly concerned. “You, apparently.”
That did the trick and shut him up, hands in his pockets and fuming because his friend was right. The redhead sighed. “What is going on here, Bakugou? Why are you with Uraraka, alone…”
There was a rapid blush spreading throughout Bakugou’s wincey face in a second. His hands grabbed the cracked surface, wanting to burn stuff again with scorching fervor. There was this wicked spark in his eyes after being busted so badly. “Get your mind out of the gutter, you bastard. Stop looking at me like I tried to rape her or something.”
However, based on the mysterious glint of his irises when his eyes diverted to her relaxed body on the couch, something akin to desire was crossing his mind. And Kirishima obviously saw it crystal clear.
“You two kissed, didn’t you?”
Kirishima was against the counter a second later, shirt fisted in a furious Bakugou’s hands. “What the fuck are you insinuating, you loser!?”
“Ah, so you did.”
“We didn’t!”
“But you wanted to, anyway, right?” Kirishima effortlessly freed himself from Bakugou’s grip, who growled and looked back at him. The booming of an action scene echoed all the way to them, but Uraraka – he was unconsciously peeking at her from his friend’s shoulder – didn’t even flinch at the flashy thing. “You seemed rather uptight when I dropped by.”
The blonde sighed. “We were going to… yeah.” the k word was too much for him to handle without losing his tough appearance in front of that nerd.
Kirishima tapped his index finger against his chin, deep in thought. “So, it’s been going on for a while, hasn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“You’ve liked her for long, I reckon.”
Bakugou’s heart set on fire, his tremor climbing all the way to his wrinkled brow and pumped up cheeks. “WHAT ARE YOU–“
A hand was slapped to his hand to stop the rant before Uraraka heard their heated discussion. “Don’t make a fuss out of this. I’m just stating the obvious.” Bakugou blinked at him in a perplexed stare. “It’s a bit evident you treat her differently – and well, seeing how much of a douche you are to mostly everyone, how you’re attentive of her sometimes and… this thing you had going on with her.”
The blonde’s back was turned to the other male, tense in irritation. Kirishima could hear the frown in his voice, his back muscles stiff after such bold statement. “Fuck off already, Kirishima.”
The other chuckled, unfazed by his brash friend. “But I’m not wrong, am I?”
A pair of seconds passed, then a whole minute. Then, Bakugou’s back deflated. The male turned, a troubled look in his face. He didn’t look like your cool average Bakugou– he seemed actually affected by the issue.
“I invited her over to… kinda understand whatever fucking thing I feel for angelface.” Kirishima encouraged him to continue with a nod, arms crossed and a pleasant surprise evident in his gentle smile. “I felt awkward around her at first but… I got the hang of it very easily. I didn’t feel like I was being a sucker by being nice to her. It was a pleasant feeling.”
Bakugou sat on a stool and rubbed his face with a hand to relieve stress. “So, you do like her, huh?”
The explosive teen’s eyes travelled to Uraraka’s brown mess of hair at the sofa, who stared at the movie with intention. His scowl faltered. “I enjoy being with her, but not in the same way as I do rarely enjoy your fucking pestering.” Kirishima dramatically grasped his shirt for dear life. “Her smile is cheesy as fuck, and she has that thing she does with her chubby ass fingers– and she never fucking shuts up. Also her eyes twinkle when something exciting happens, somehow. She’s stubborn as a motherfucker, too.”
Kirishima dared to ruffle Bakugou’s hair, earning him a menacing glare. The other laughed good-naturedly. “I guess that’s Bakugou talk for: I like Uraraka in such a frustrating way that I feel slightly intimidated.”
“What is most fucking frustrating” still looking at her from afar, Bakugou put his head on his hand, elbow on the counter. He snarled loudly. “is that she’s always drooling for that good for nothing quirkless bastard.”
His swearing was filled with so much rage that Kirishima whistled, lowly. “Sounds rough, buddy.” his face brightened for a second, finger shot up. “Hold on, didn’t you two almost kiss back there?”
The explosive teen growled again. “It means fucking nothing. We were almost cuddling, it was bound to happen.” he ignored Kirishima’s scandalized blush. “Besides, you didn’t give her time to step back. Thanks for that, loser.”
“I’m not sure if that’s an honest expression of gratitude, but you can be a sarcastic bastard when you really want to.” he was the one to ignore Bakugou’s face of utter ire after that insult. “But whatever the case, we don’t know if Midoriya-kun likes her back, in case she actually has the hots for him.”
“Are you fucking messing with me? You haven’t seen her around him then, blind ass. Maybe it was painfully evident before, but it still lives within her stupid, bubbly and bitchy self.”
“And how would you know if you live in a bubble outside the human emotional spectrum? I’ve never seen you being that emphatic or analytical before.”
Bakugou sighed. “It may be because, despite the fact that I am undeniably tough, I care for her.” he instantly checked if Uraraka gave any signs of having heard him. Apparently, she didn’t. “I’ve had people talking about her stuff at Gunhead like fanatics, it’s hard to ignore she has more value than some sorry asses at our class. I’m not constantly fawning over her whereabouts like you with alien girl,” Kirishima blushed at that. “but as somebody I respect and someone I enjoy fighting with, I do worry about her wellbeing.”
“I can’t believe you are a jerk even when talking about a girl like Uraraka.” before the other snapped at him, he cleared his point. “You can’t really say much about such stuff without hyperventilating or getting irritated with your own softness, so I guess you’re trying hard.”
“No matter how hard I try to be more open,” it was incredible she couldn’t feel such burning stare on her. Bakugou truly was an animal. “it doesn’t change the fucking fact that she’s obviously infatuated with the brat. And I can’t see what she sees on him that I ain’t have.”
Kirishima eyes his friend warily. “Feelings, care and sanity, maybe?”
It was clearly a joke, but Bakugou would never see that with such sensitive matter at hand. “You aren’t fucking helping, Kirishima.”
The other chuckled. Seeing his friend so worked up over a topic like love was hilarious. “It doesn’t matter if he’s got bad things though, she’s always looking at everyone’s virtues. The same goes for you man.”
“Are you telling me she sees me like a fucking god or something?”
“Of course not.” clarified Kirishima, sitting down on another stool in front of Bakugou. They were taking too long in getting what they had classified as glass of water. “But if she saw the version that everyone sees in you, she wouldn’t be with you right now. I’m pretty damn sure that most of our class would run away at the prospect of a night with you. But she’s there, dude. She’s constantly pushing you to become a better person. She’s not your regular classmate.”
Bakugou murmured to his hand something akin to “You bet she isn’t.”
Kirishima looked at her too. She seemed calm at last, “She’s something special, dude. I can’t tell if she likes you or not, but I can tell you that Uraraka doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to. She’s not that kind of girl.”
The explosive boy continued to stare at her, trying to decipher the big mystery that she was. Kirishima’s words were heard as a far-off voice. “She’ll always see the good in you. If she’s still willing to spend time with you despite your foul attitude, perhaps she actually wants to bond with you.”
Bakugou glanced at his friend, still troubled. “She seemed awkward at first, though.” not that much, really, but he was trying to get his hopes up for what would be a disaster.
“As anybody would be. This thing you two have here isn’t any kind of everyday routine, y’know. And I know for a fact that she cares for you no matter how stupid you can be sometimes.” Bakugou didn’t seem to be listening, focused on the girl, but Kirishima carried on. “Just try to be there for her and make her realize that you can be pretty cool, too.”
“I’M ALWAYS COOL, YOU DAMN LOSER!” yelled he in a whisper, seizing his neck in a livid grip. “And I can be as softie and stupid as that quirkless bastard, or more!”
Kirishima rose his hands in protest, sweat pouring from his forehead. “That’s not what I meant!” Bakugou let him go with a light push, sulking in his seat. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you have to highlight those virtues you have, and make her see your value the same way you kinda see hers.”
“So I have to be an overly bright version of myself? Like, be made of cotton candy and stuff?” he grumbled, frowning. “Not gonna happen. I ain’t losing my chill for her that badly.”
“Dude, I’m not telling you to go on full on her, or become someone else. If there’s a chance she likes you, acting differently will drive her away.” Kirishima sighed at his friend’s stubbornness to see that he was trying to help, that this issue didn’t need any embroiled solutions. “Just try to give her a bit of attention, listen to her for a bit. It’s not as difficult as it seems.”
Bakugou eyed him like he was the pest. It wasn’t a look Kirishima received often. “You’re telling me to fucking listen to all that crap about Deku she may want to say?”
“I seriously hope you don’t think that you’re destined to always hear what you wanna hear, because we sometimes have to face unpleasant issues – either because of necessity or just because someone vents their feelings on you.”
His head turned to him, brows furrowed. “’The fuck does vent mean?”
Kirishima shook his head. “Of course you wouldn’t know what such an emotion-charged word would mean.”
“Whatever.” Bakugou got up and padded to the sofa. “I just hope this bitch won’t come moaning about Deku or I’ll–“
Kirishima crashed with Bakugou’s back and moaned of pain. He looked at the couch afterwards. “What the hell, man– oh, this is new.”
Or course Ochako Uraraka would fall asleep on the couch after such a long conversation. Of course the most sleepish person would fall asleep in the middle of a movie night after such hard work on the harvest activity. The blonde’s fist hit the back cushions, teeth clenched after wasting such a valuable night with her because of–
His glare landed on his best friend. “Don’t you dare blame me for this.”
Bakugou sighed/growled and approached her. “We can’t have her sleeping here, or she’ll get a back ache or something.” mumbled Bakugou, picking her up. He had wanted to carry her on his shoulders, but decided against it just in case she woke up. Instead, he picked her up and carried her bridal-style.
“Yo, let me take a pic of this milestone moment–“
“Don’t you fucking dare.” spat Bakugou, walking to the lifts. “Wait here or– whatever, knock yourself out.”
Kirishima buried himself in Uraraka’s girly blanket and Bakugou’s one with a content smile. Both smells blended in before the redhead’s nostrils as he rewinded the movie on the screen. “I’ll be waiting for you here, darling!”
Hadn’t it been for sleeping beauty in his arms and he would have sent Kirishima flying to another dimension, somewhere with no possibilities to come back to him. Kirishima was a good guy, but he was a handful to deal with at times like these. The little ding of the elevator made him advance faster so he’d get away from his teasing, prying eyes.
Bakugou groaned once he was inside. Because this little girl was a reckless bitch who worked herself to exhaustion and she didn’t know when to fucking stop, and also because she had him wrapped around her weird fingers– now, he was stuck with her. He gave her a few shakes, musing over how light she fucking was and how that somehow worried him. Her tresses were disheveled to the point of being a case of bed hair, skin smooth and flawless, her plump lips parted in slow breaths.
She looked like a princess taken out from his wildest dreams, a little girl in rags who didn’t need saving or a man by her side to protect her value– all of her was a treasure, he knew. Somewhere along the way he came to see her shining through the bars of his heart, melting the ice around it and squeezing all the air out of it. It was such a sick, venomous but sweet grip she had on him, he tried to relish on her attention, every single one of her eye lashes, and her shattered breath on his neck.
He knew– the crash after the fall would hurt him eventually, the dread closing in and making his heart do all sorts of things, none of them natural. But for now… he just drew her close and stepped out of the lift, finding himself alone in the girls’ corridor at the fourth floor.
His steps were like ghosts in a cemetery. The eerie silence around him made him feel slightly intimidated, accustomed like he was to the loud chatter of his classmates all over the corridors. The lack of sounds wrapped around him like the warm air of a dark night on a meadow, alone and blind. It was all sorts of unnerving, but he had been through worse things.
Luckily for him, Uraraka had left the door unlocked, so all he had to do was give it a light push and make his way to her bed in the middle of the dark. He had only been to her room once or twice, but he knew how she had set it all up. His feet made out the outline of her rug, dodged the nasty table in the middle of his path, and gently lay her down on her bed. He opened the futon to cover her and tucked her in with utmost care.
There was a dim streak of light coming from the corridor, landing on a side of her face in a orange hue, making her glow in a strange way– his heart throbbed inside his chest, beating out of cadence and failing to let him leave or take his eyes off her. Bakugou gulped, nervous for once in his goddamn life, hands trembling as he gingerly took her face, fingerpads caressing the mountain of her rosy cheek, and took in her sleeping form. For once, she wasn’t moving, talking, fussing over anybody or making shit float.
Somehow, the very thought of her in such motionless state irked him, stirring all kind of twisting feelings in his already tangled heartstrings. Without thinking, his lips kissed the holy skin of her forehead in a mere brush that lasted a pair of seconds, but it sent his heart on a wild soar of euphoria. In a way, he felt repaid for the prior interrupted kiss fiasco, and the little secretive smile on his face proved how important that woman was to him.
And he’d get that kiss back someday – as soon as she realized that he could give the world if she so desired, he’d scoop her in his arms and kiss the air out of her, thrill rippling through his veins and eyes shining–
That girl was turning him into a poodle of love and goo. He couldn’t lose his chill in front of her so easily. He gave her cheek another caress and brushed some lost strands of hair from her face before walking back, his back turned to her so he wouldn’t crave into the urge of staying with her an make sure she was officially having a good sleep. Bakugou took his leave lighting fast, flexing his arms a bit so the soreness would wear off, and closed the door with a little click.
Sweat beads strode down his temple after such intimate moment. “That was a fucking close call.”
He silently strode down the hallway, step proud and his lunatic smile automatically on after melting for a few minutes. Yet, after exiting the elevator and hearing the TV blaring on the background his mood completely descended to the fires of Hell, down below the Earth and entering a whole new dimension– his bubble burst as he made his way to the couch, teeth clenched in a tight fit, the high from the kiss wearing off.
Needless to say, his lovely, peaceful and eventful night with Uraraka turned into a mess of screaming, rage and deadpanning with Kirishima.
Sunset rolled out fairly soon that day. Yueii had been cursed with a hot day full of battling, physical activity and tons of heated swearing from the classes’ number one lunatic. Of course it’s Bakugou, who else would it be?
The poor boy hadn’t had much more than a blink of sleep, and in all honesty, it wasn’t his fault. Kirishima couldn’t keep his mouth shut if he wasn’t sleepy enough or just plain tired. He had been working in the harvest the day before, but that guy had too much energy for his own good. That bubble head, though…
Bakugou glared at her from the classroom doorway while she spoke with Deku heatedly, both smiling and laughing at some stupid joke he did and no– no, Bakugou wasn’t jealous, jealousy was for little babies and he was no baby whatsoever. But the nerve of that guy, blatantly flirting with with her movie buddy in the very same place! Ugh, disgusting.
The ashen blonde did notice how something about Uraraka was off, and it was so obvious – or either he had become attentive of her after his heart to heart with Kirishima – that it vexed him that the bastard wasn’t paying attention. Was his world so narrow that the lack of spark in her eyes, how that big smile of hers never reached her eyes, or the lackluster of her cheeks– all of that, went unnoticed?
Bakugou frowned at the pair, feeling Todoroki’s stare from behind him, who was casually leaning on the wall. The blonde was extremely aware of the thousand conspiracy theories going on inside half-n-half’s brain, but he didn’t care as much as he cared about Uraraka and that bastard.
“You should stop stalking her, you know.” spoke the calm teenager, stale and dry as sincere and good-intended. There was a crack on the door, and a growl. “You will end up being discovered.”
His conversation with Kirishima suddenly started playing on repeat in his fried brain, making him jump into wrong and misplaced conclusions. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING A STALKER, YOU NERD? And what has Kirishima actually told you about me!? Shut it!”
Of course Kirishima hadn’t told him anything, and of course this seemed like a big, big issue for Bakugou, so Todoroki let it pass with an indifferent stare at his companion’s shaking back. He was livid at the pair of lovebirds. His display of pure rage and childish internal fits was pleasing to the eye– finally Bakugou would be frustrated at something with an actual reason.
Midoriya appeared on the doorway a minute later and he was scared shitless after seeing Bakugou’s deformed expression of anger and fixation on making the poor boy’s life miserable as hell. With his fearsome features still scrunched in such murderous intentions, he watched Deku trail behind Todoroki’s unaffected stride.
He calmed down a little and turned around to see Uraraka staring at him intently. Bakugou jumped a feet behind. “What the fuck, angelface! What’s the sneaky business for?”
“I was about to ask you the same.” her head titled to a side, and he had the urge to do the same for the sake of bonding. “Do you need anything?”
Bakugou watched the spark in her eyes flicker into nothing, her eyes darker than he had ever seen them. She was shamelessly smiling despite the hidden turmoil she was going through after last night– remembering that night only made her blush and start fidgeting with her fingers. And god, how he hated seeing her so uneasy around him. Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest, sensing that something was wrong.
“You fell asleep last night.” stated he, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Uraraka immediately jumped again, remembering how comfortable the blankets around her had felt and how her world had faded before the boys came back to her. “I’m terribly sorry about that! I was just too tired and–“
“I don’t give a fuck about you being tired.” the gravity bender blinked at him, startled by his sudden outburst. “Don’t do that again. It’s damn annoying.”
When he turned around to leave, hunched over and mumbling about her being too much of an unnecessary hassle, she saw the meaning of his words. Her breath wavered and she felt lightheaded out of the blue. “Hold on, again?”
His steps haltered as he turned around, an unreadable expression in his face. “We’re repeating this movie night stupidity again. I never leave business undone.” the brunette stared blankly at him, flabbergasted after such brutal honesty. “You fell asleep halfway through the night. You ain’t escaping this so easy.”
As he turned to leave again, she took a few steps in his direction. “W-Wait, I may be late!” Bakugou groaned and spun around to face her, nearing a dangerous edge between being relatively calm and indeed mad at her. “I have some stuff… to do…”
She started, again – he was suffering while seeing her so shrunk – doing the thing with the fingers. Her eyes were downcast, hair shadowing her roundy, kissable cheeks. The world around her was covered in a static of blacks and whites, the only color around her being the red of Bakugou’s eyes and his burning stare– his white skin, the golden of his jacket, or the pearls of his teeth and the tremble of his lips upon seeing her so shaken up.
And she didn’t want to leave, feeling so drawn to the animal in front of her, the animal that had consumed her feelings so easily.
Something was writhing inside. Her mind had always been a clear slate of purity, pristine and transparent feelings showing in her big eyes of illusion and wonder. Yet, after so long, while her feelings remained unchanged, there had been a twitch in her heart. It had reactioned– it had beaten for the first time in years right before last night, and hadn’t stopped beating ever since.
What was with this change? Why did she feel unchanged, yet so disturbingly deceived at the same time? Uraraka knew where her heart stood, but did her heart wanna be there? Was it the best option? This adrenaline– this corrosive feeling of thirst and desire after his lips had brushed hers… why was it dampening her resolve? Why…
Why was she so frustrated with herself when she still loved another man?
Somehow, the relief of generalization sounded petty at best. She faced Bakugou again. “But I’ll try to be there as soon as possible!”
Bakugou approached her and stood dangerously near to her. He looked at her, eyes stabbing hers in a menace, but it somehow ended up being a low warning more than a straight-up murder threat. He stared down at her, brown orbs shining to his. “Don’t be late or you’ll be fucked.”
The burning notion of an unrequited love weighed him down, too.
With that, he parted to his dorm to think about the mental consequences of having an undeniably cute girl in your dorm for a night. Meanwhile, with her afternoon plans still beating hard in her mind, something bigger and foreign throbbed inside– something akin to those things she had experienced with that boy in the past but had experienced last night with this man.
And her heart wouldn’t stop hammering.
“If I love Deku so much…” her hand flew to her mouth. “why did I and Bakugou almost–“
And she cried, too. Ah, she felt that small tweak now.
When he opened the door to her, he hadn’t expected to see this. If she had been the one to be pleasantly surprised by his initiative, it was his turn to be bitterly puzzled with his guest.
It was now when he realized that it was raining cats and dogs outside. Her hair was soaked wet, raindrops falling down the tips and trailing down her face, neck, and arms. Her skin was rough after what must have been a long ass time in the middle of the rain. She wore this apologetic smile on her face, smiles on smiles on smiles that never filled the void in her eyes, endlessly saddened by something he couldn’t point, but that must be pretty tough if the star girl was in fucking shambles.
He quickly took her in, frowning at her disposal to partake in the tradition of having a cold after the exam season. “Oi, don’t come dripping me wet, you bitch.” he rubbed her arms to give her some warmth, flustered at her dumfounded expression after such a caring action. “I’ll go get you a fucking towel. You stay out.”
“Damn woman, damn her to hell.” his thoughts furiously pushed him into the bathroom, looking for a decent towel for her to dry her head with. Her hair had been so messy, all her tresses tangled into little knots of undying despair. Uraraka fucking Ochako wasn’t going to cuddle – because he knew she would be seeking some source of heat after being exposed to harsh temperatures outside, and he wasn’t going to have her all watery and messy.
Bakugou grabbed a smooth looking piece of cloth– it could even be a t-shirt, he didn’t even give a fuck. All he wanted was to have her dry and make her smile again so his life would have a sense of peace again. He stomped his way out the bathroom to find her sitting on his bed, looking at her hands absent-mindedly.
He almost asked her.
Almost.
Then, he remembered it wasn’t his business. She already had Deku to talk about this stuff. If she wanted to ramble though, Bakugou would listen.
He threw the towel to her – she immediately snapped out of reverie to catch the red towel, and stared at it blankly – and went to fetch his laptop and pendrive. “I have some good shit here.” he waved the thingy proudly. “I bet you’ll like whatever we watch here.”
When she didn’t come up with a snotty remark like she used to, or when Uraraka never rose up from her seat to berate him or throw a pillow to him– just do something, something snapped in him. Fearing an encounter with an awkward crying baby, he turned around, as slowly as ever. She was looking at the towel with a distant stare. She wasn’t crying, but her heart was crying a river inside of her.
He sighed and padded to her, kneeling in front of her. His deft hands grabbed the towel from her hands and he started to clumsily dry her hair. If she wasn’t going to cooperate, he’d sure as hell make her presentable for their bonding night. Fuck her and her turmoil–
When he saw her shiver for a second, those curses died in his throat. Despite the guilt climbing all the way to his gut, he still didn’t call her out on her silence. He continued messing with her hair and watching the drops fly around. Her hands were clasped on her thigh, fingers entangled with each other in a death grip.
This girl, that girl who was tough no matter what, suddenly rose up again. “Sorry!” the smile was beaming, heart breaking and painfully deceitful at the same time. “I was just a bit off.” the towel was shrugged off her shoulders, and she got up. After letting her mask fall down for so long, she had picked it so fast that it knocked the air off his lungs.
Uraraka got up, purposefully hiding her grimace while going to choose a movie. No matter how much she tried to act, after such a deadly silence, he knew something was wrong with her. His frown deepened, hands clenched in frustration– he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t let his care for her show.
After all, this girl belonged to another damned bastard. He was the first one who didn’t want it to be that way, but fuck his luck, really.
She threw him the pen drive. “Earth to King of Doom! Is this fine–“
He threw her the towel so she’d finish his handiwork. “Dry your fucking hair, you raincloud! I don’t wanna have my dorm getting puddles of water.”
“Opsies, sorry.” once the towel was in her hands, she stepped away from his laptop – he was dangerously glaring at her – and started getting rain off her hair. Her bowl cut had turned into a bird nest in a matter of seconds, all thanks to his careless hands. Her expression turned devilishly nasty as she strode towards him in silence, then buried his hair in the towel and started rubbing the cloth up and down.
Bakugou furiously tried to get rid of that pest of a girl by tugging at her sweater sleeves, feet pounding on the ground. “OI, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!”
She giggled while resuming her previous work of drying her own mess. “You needed to see what it–“ her towel was taken from her as he looked at her, growling like an angry dog. “Oh. Oh my.”
His hair was so disarrayed and messy– his spikes were pointed in wrong angles, some shrunk into curves and other weighed down because of the wetness of the towel, causing some of his strands to be completely fucked up. Other parts were fuzzy and askew. The whole picture was sinful and hilarious. It didn’t take time for her to notice how embarrassed and stupidly angry he looked to just burst out laughing. She ended up having to sit down.
He was having a hard time. His hands were throbbing to find any sort of pointy object to pop his eyes out– her laugh was so nasal, loud and honest that it was both irritating and adorable.
“O-oh my g-oo–“ laughs, laughs, and he grew even more flustered as he dried some of his spikes and set them in the right directions while looking at a mirror on his closet. “That- that’s a masterpiece-e! Best Je-Jeanist would–“
He immediately turned to her with decent hair – not perfectly fine, still a bit wet –, throwing the towel to her in a futile attempt of shutting her up. “Don’t you dare bring that guy’s name up!” she still went on laughing a few meters away from him, hands reaching for the towel. “He’s such a sassy motherfucker…”
Her laughing fit stopped – finally, he groaned – as she started rubbing the towel on particularly wet points of her hair. “I’m sorry, but that hairdo will show you how you can’t mess with my hair ever again.”
He arched an eyebrow to her. He could have cut her hair short and thrown it to a bin and get it all over with – of course she wouldn’t see that he had been gentle. That little smile on her stupid face showed that she had noticed his intentions though, but it’s not like she’d ever thank him for giving her a beehive as a hair style.
“I mean,” the towel was removed from her hair, revealing a ball of brown locks. “what’s wrong with you?”
Bakugou spared her with a few seconds of silence before walking to her, sitting down in close proximity and putting some hairs back where they belonged. He did it with such slow pace and intent that she was momentarily breathless. Forgotten was her prior silence and problems outside the room. His fingers would sometimes brush her cold, sensitive skin– his finger pads burned her. All she could feel and see was his pale skin and his burning flames softening from a hair to another.
He focused on putting the mess he made in a minute back together, focusing in everything but her unblinking eyes– oh, how soft they were, and how easy it was to dive into an airless sea of monsters, darkness and frightening tides, only to look into her eyes and peek inside her soul, see what had been troubling her earlier and what she felt– what she felt for him, for the world, for herself. He outwardly inched a bit closer in concentration, fixated on having her with a decent hairdo so she wouldn’t bitch about it all night long.
It could also be because her presence calmed the tornado of ashes that went through him whenever her skin brushed his fingers. It could also be because he enjoyed being surrounded by darkness but her light, or how her lips were slightly parted, insinuating wait– they whispered longing in a thousand languages, screamed at him to kiss them, to bite them, to make all kinds of atrocities to those uninjured roses of hers. He heard her sigh contently for the first time in ages.
Then, of course, he had to break such tranquil moment in a whisper.
“I’ve seen you at worse times, though.”
Her spine stiffened as she looked at him, horrified after such blunt and unfortunate comment. Realizing how he had come across as violent and how her silent disposition to his touches had been shattered into smithereens, he pulled away, coughing uncomfortably. “Go get yourself a brush, you bubblehead. Stop fucking bitching about it.”
There she was with the giggle business, touching the parts he had merely arranged on instinct. She could still feel the touch of a man that, despite the hell outside the room, could make her feel like nothing once and, suddenly, build her a monument and make her feel special and all giddy inside. And she had no idea why. “Thanks for the help, Bakugou.”
In some way, she was pouring much more meaning than what one could catch. He did notice how gentle her voice was, and the rasp in her vowels and the tiny tiny smile. It made him only more aware of her presence and it was disturbing.
He didn’t dare to speak against her and hummed a response, scrolling through his movie archive with skeptic eyes. A minute later, she had already settled in front of his bed with an army of fluffy pillows and his whole futon torn from the mattress. Such heresy struck him like a bolt, pointing at his naked mattress in pure horror.
“What fucking fortress are you building on the floor, you bitch?” he grabbed his laptop – in a Bakugou way: violently – and flung it in front of her, crashing next to her. Since her makeshift sofa was relatively small, they had to sit close to each other. None of them had a complaint against the arrangement, though. Well, Bakugou did in a way. “Couldn’t you have done this on the bed so this would be less messy?”
She blinked at him, again with that unimpressed look only she would pull at him. “Yeah. But where’s the fun on a movie night without a messy arrangement?”
“There were many other ways to go about this.” spoke he, refusing to believe that she had done all this mess for the sake of being fun – then, he realized that Uraraka was damn crazy and random when he never asked for it. He still loved it anyway. “We could have gotten some blankets and settled on the bed with a few of them, or taken those puffs and set them in front of the table...”
Another suggestion rushed through his mind, but he didn’t dare to word it. However, the way he voiced his ideas made it clear that he had another way for them. She gestured with her hands for him to go on. Rose twinkled in his cheeks– thank god it was dark in the evening and there were clouds and rain all over the sky. Uraraka’s presence made it all quieter and the rain, one way or another, was forgotten in the heat of their previous banter.
He nodded to the bed. “We could take the bed, lay down under the futon, pillows, and just put the damn laptop on that table.”
The idea sounded cuddly as hell, and it spelled intimacy and a level of closeness that they clearly weren’t ready for. She blushed at the idea of sharing a bed with Bakugou– but fuck, what could go wrong? It was just a movie night and it sounded horribly comfortable. Some healthy snuggles in a perfectly fine and fluffy bed, warm and possible cuddles – she needed some cuddles to get past today’s tiring and draining hell – sounded like a plan to her.
She nodded and hurriedly climbed up the naked mattress, watching his face go from unbelieving to smirking. “I would have never thought that getting you in my fucking bed would be so damn easy, angelface.”
That
that was weird.
She blushed in all kinds of red as he put the comforter around them, elbows touching as they set their heads on their arms. Oh, that shameful expression of hers made all kind of delicious twists in his stomach. He wasn’t one for making people blush or trying to make girls’ panties drench– but hell, he had to fucking try. He was always in for making people ashamed, especially if it was the out-going, witty and fearless Uraraka.
The moment they were lying down, him quickly getting the movie started with that mischievous glint in his eye– oh, she was in for a horrible night.
A moment later, the movie was started, both teenagers fighting for a good posture under the thick feather blanket. Their eyes were deeply focused on the shitty movie Bakugou had once again chosen – he was so stupidly dramatic and over the top when it came to filmography – but their hearts were beating irrationally fast. They would sneak glances at each other when one would reach out for popcorn, or water. Also each time Uraraka tried to get some goodies Bakugou would slap her hand away, lest the incident from the previous day happened again.
Whenever his arms flexed to reach out for snacks or just shut her mumbling by smashing her head against the pillows, she’d gulp. Being so close to a man, to a beast in the skin of a not-so-humble man– his hair was again a bit disheveled, making her wonder for the first time if he regularly brushed his mess of spikes, or if he just shook his hair after a shower like dogs do and made it roll like that.
Her fingers travelled to his head, then he flinched and glared at her from the corners of his eyes. Incandescent orbs threatened her to suffocate her in flames and hands on her throat. She chuckled as the softness of his tresses – something she had never really stopped to think about but was currently enjoying to her heart’s content.
His voice bubbled inside her chest. “The fuck’re you doing, pest.”
Her fingers continued threading around his locks. “Your hair was a bit messy; I’m just making you a favor.”
His face buried itself on his arms. The tension music echoed around them, making her uneasy as she absent-mindedly combed his hair and focused on the movie. His blush went unnoticed for her, and he unconsciously nuzzled on her soft, tender hands– dude, stop.
He abruptly pulled her hand away with a grimace, but his discomfort wasn’t noticed either. His reflexes had kicked in too late, now he had lost his cool again. Goddammit, what was this girl doing to him? His hands fisted the mattress and started tugging at it, all while Uraraka fawned over the protagonist’s back story and murder reasons– her face when she did the thing with the fingers, all interested in such stupid stuff annoyed him so much.
Nevertheless, Bakugou had never felt so at ease yet struggling to keep himself in check around someone. Her proximity was dawning on him like a bug on his back, nonsense dots of gee shining in her brown eyes. Sometimes, he’d catch her glancing at him for a second or two, maybe to check if he was enjoying the movie as much as she was.
In all honesty, having his newfound love interest less than an inch away from him wasn’t helping him. He had all odds against him: not only the movie was bland and cheap, but he had this fidgety, sweet and mumbling adorable Uraraka elbowing him to focus. He could do anything but focus on the movie. He dug his chin on the skin of his arms– he tried for all his remaining sanity not to look at her.
So… he didn’t. He snuggled his elbows and looked either at his bureau in a corner of the room or at the movie. Bakugou shifted on the mattress, and felt her squirm after a moment of contact. Not long after that he’d discover that she wasn’t really making a fuss over his skin brushing hers– his heart did stop for a second and the hairs on his nape shot dramatically. Glancing at the movie with spare annoyance, he discovered that the movie was reaching its romantic climax.
Classic female in distress was confessing, moved to tears by a male who had sacrificed himself for her safety– her whole being was trembling, quivering in hear and succumbing to the harsh reality that her beloved was dying. Ah, apparently, some shit scary monster had stabbed the loser with an axe. Bakugou had the urge to scoff. Too much corny stuff for him to deal with in a horror movie. Expecting Uraraka to be giggling at this bullshit scene, he smirked, ready to make a snarky, vicious remark for the first time–
She was crying. Her eyes stared at the screen as if she had seen a child die in the hands of a murderer. Her orbs were blown wide, mouth ajar and her hair was a mess again– it was a ghost portrait of what Uraraka was. Her cheeks were puffy, eyes glassy and his heart wrenched awkwardly in his chest. Her shoulders shook slightly, the lowest of hiccups issuing from her ribcage in a broken lullaby.
Whatever underlying distress she was going through, he couldn’t ask. But he could make her speak, too.
“Oi, Uraraka.” sighed he. The aforementioned immediately brushed her tears away and smiled like she always did – but it didn’t reach her eyes, it wasn’t genuine, and Bakugou was sick of it. “Stop crying, it’s a goddamn cheesy piece of garbage.”
Her head turned to the screen in slow motion, then, stared at it blankly. “Yeah, sorry.”
So this was the part about being understanding and shit that Kirishima told him about, huh? Bakugou laid his forehead on his arms, awfully tired. All the patience he had been keeping inside for whatever time she needed help with anything petty, all the hopes he had for this night to be more peaceful, for it to be spectacular, eventful, and possibly end with them a bit cuddled under the blankets– ok, maybe not that, of course Bakugou would never cuddle with someone again. All those expectations flew out the window and crashed ten feet below the earth surface.
“Uraraka.”
Still slightly doe-eyed, she looked at him with wonder. “I ain’t gonna pry whatever shit you have going on from you. If something’s bothering you, whatever the fuck it is, tell me. Feeling you cry beside me is annoying and I’m not gonna have this night screwed over again.”
He could have been gentler, but Bakugou didn’t do gentleness or tactful approaches. He would have liked to bask in her warmth and sweetness, but her tears had stirred something in him. Of course he wouldn’t ask – it was not his business. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about her. In the wake of the day and the ending of the night he always wondered why her absence was so noticeable, or maybe he’d wonder what he could have worded differently so she would see– just see that he cared in his particular manner.
Her silence overpowered the music from the movie, making it all around him be soundless for five good minutes. This time, ironically, he could clearly hear the pitter patter of the rain against his window pane, water splashing the glass and making him wonder if Uraraka had somehow provoked this foul weather. A big storm would come soon, so all he did was move a bit closer to her to make her snap out of her tempesting haze.
Bakugou looked at her like she was his moon, and, in response, her eyes shifted to his and drenched in his blood, soaking in chaos, and just stared like he was her sun. In the wake of one and the end of another, they could only see each other for a few minutes– but after her appearance, stars would lit the dark sky like she had done with his heart, lighting sparks in parts of his body he didn’t even know.
He just needed her to know he loved her. Unilateral or not, he wanted to get the point across: she was starting to consume his world, and all he asked for was an explanation as to why it was crumbling down in pieces.
Her scrunched form suddenly found its way to his, sides touching as his hands ached to hold hers. He resisted the thought.
Uraraka breathed in.
“I confessed to Deku, today.”
A cold bucket of water soaked him to the bone, made his legs wiggle and for the first time. The unbreakable man silently swept the floor with his broken heart. However, her sniffles were the part that hurt the most. He feared to know what was coming next.
Despite the pain, she looked at him like she always did: smiling, corners trembling with the heaviness of demise. “He… didn’t return my feelings.”
His soul, brain and heart made a run for it and leaped out the window. His little red organ painfully groaned once it hit the ground, and when it tried to make its way back to its owner, it had been already broken in half again. Bakugou’s eyes trembled as he looked at her– he was dumbstruck, stunned, sad, and mostly livid at this point.
So he only dared to murmur his mess of unintelligible thoughts and articulate them in the simplest ways. “He… rejected you?”
Uraraka feebly nodded, her smile turning sour and drops of salt falling down from her eyes. Something in him was destroyed instantly after seeing her shake, crumble, crack, and finally break. Her sobs were quiet, shoulders still shaking minimally. Something told him she was holding back all the pressure that this newfound discovery had made her shoulder.
Of course she had been hoping for Deku to be drooling for her, all the class was waiting for them to fucking finally make out and proclaim their love. However, much to his surprise and discontent, the bastard had rejected her.
Uraraka. He had rejected fucking Uraraka.
His teeth started grinding, seething– Deku couldn’t be a quirkless dick, have all the luck by him, try to intimidate Bakugou, and now reject what would most probably be the best thing that ever fell in his hands. Bakugou would be the devil if he were happy for this. Of course he wasn’t, not when she was obviously in love with Deku and she was shaking like this.
He couldn’t be more than a friend, so he’d act as such.
His arm snuck around her shoulders and pulled her close, fireworks erupting in his chest as he did so. The feeling was inexplicably bitter. “What the fuck are you doing crying for that loser, angelface.”
She shuffled closer to him her head directly touching his. “I’m sorry, Ba-Bakugou… it’s just…”
He was fully aware of the next movie automatically starting, but he didn’t dare interrupt this moment. His hands awkwardly rubbed her side, up and down. He sure was shit at cheering people up. “Shoot it already.”
After one little sob, Uraraka spoke up. Her voice was chapped and completely worn off from crying. “I had expected for Deku to say that he loved me too, but… I’m sorry, I don’t usually cry in public…”
He was damn aware. And the fact that she was alright with crying in front of him– because there was silent understanding and mutual respect for each other, and they had already let their walls. She could lift him up in the air if she so desired, and, in a way, he was sure she would be willing to be set on fire by him any time he needed her to. It was an unspoken bond that only rose to the light once it was needed. And she needed him now.
“I know, angelface.” and he respected her for being so strong when others needed a flashlight to guide them through and give them hope. For that, he held her tighter.
“I’m just confused…” Uraraka painfully remembered how Deku had struck her with the truth, in the middle of the rain. He was completely unscathed by the harsh waterdrops, and now she was soaked to the core with confusion and misery. Her eyes had dropped to the ground, heart wincing in her chest after Deku had looked at her with pity like no one ever had. “His face was so… he was hurt by rejecting me.”
Bakugou grunted and messed with her hair to snap her out of it. “Stop thinking about that fucker.” eye roll ensues. “Did he tell you why? Was it because you’re a witty bitch, or maybe because you make popcorn float?”
There surfaced the camaraderie they had going on under layers of heroism and his short temper. She smiled for a brief moment, making Bakugou feel accomplished in the silliest of ways. It didn’t last though, only flickered and then fell again. “He said he wanted to focus on becoming a hero. And that he couldn’t afford a girlfriend with all that’s been happening with All Might.”
At least she wasn’t stutteting like a fish out of the water anymore. Her voice was still dragging with darkness and the usual perkiness of her vowels was completely destroyed. This Uraraka was a tragedy. And he knew it would take her a while to get over it. And despite understanding Deku’s ambitions and reasons – and maybe even respected them a tiny bit – he was furious at him all the same.
“What a douchebag.”
“It’s not his fault, Bakugou…” suddenly, she lay on her side and hugged him, snuggling with his shoulder. “I think… it’s mine.”
Her movements startled him, made him jump in the place and turn to her, as well. They were fully hugging now, laying on the mattress and him trying to awkwardly hug her back. She wouldn’t feel his touch for sure with so many raging emotions inside of her, but the slim chance of her feeling him made him react. Bakugou nuzzled her head, eyes closed.
“I just feel…” her hands gripped the back of his black shirt, shaking. “I feel like not only have I destroyed our friendship, but I feel… I don’t feel as sad as I think I should be.”
This statement brought him to confusion. “Fucking elaborate, Uraraka. I can’t read your damn thoughts.”
She stiffened, either because of his harsh words or whatever she was going to say next. “I was completely sure of what I felt for Deku. But I have been… having these thoughts, lately.” her hands loosened and they just slackened on his back. His muscles instinctively tensed. “I was sure I loved him, and I said it with so much conviction before… the crash still hurt me. Yet… I’ve been having this feeling that I may not love him in the way I thought I did. I felt like we were… meant to be. But somehow, I…”
His hand came to rub her head in the gentlest manner he could. His respect for this woman pulled her to unimaginable limits– he was blushing, shaking because this was too intimate and her presence was lulling his brash brain to sleep. Yet he wanted to do this. There was no harm on being a good friend. “What the fuck, angelface? What if he had” his grip on her grew frantic, as if she would slip away in a second. “accepted your feelings? Would you have fucking pretended to love that bastard because you just felt you were meant to be?”
“I do think I love him!” screamed she, muffled by his chest. The sound of his palpitating heart tickled her stomach. “But… I just wasn’t aware of how much. And while I do feel like I love him and shit, this hurts like fire… things changed, somehow.”
“How?”
“Well… I’m hurting no matter how much I try to convince myself that my feelings weren’t that strong. But… I’m not as sad as I would have expected.” he wanted to tell her that it was because she was strong, because she was brave and she’d heal from this– but she had different thoughts. “I think… my heart…”
Uraraka couldn’t say it. Not after all she had realized, all she had come to terms with some time ago but was refusing to admit. Her heart, made of powerful towers and strong foundings– it had been torn apart, blown to ashes. But this man with her… why did it all feel like nothing was wrong when she was in his arms? Why did she feel so… safe?
Uraraka shed more tears. Why did she feel so terrified of something she didn’t even know?
“Spit it out already. I’m not a teddybear and my shirt is a mess.”
Of course he’d sound so reluctant and stupid out of sheer instinct. He wanted to get this over with, he needed to have her in peace again so he’d be in peace again. “I’m terrified that… that all the feelings I felt for Deku, all the feelings I still feel for him… that they may be unfounded.”
Bakugou frowned for the first time in too long. “Uraraka…”
“I feel that” her fingers trapped the fabric of his chest, feeling his heart beating under her palm. It was awfully soothing. “My heart is so out of control now. And I’m hurting. But all I can think about is how hurt he looked, and how little I’m hurting. But I still feel like the truth would have hurt more, and I think it may be because– because I…”
Uraraka trailed off. Bakugou put the pieces together in silence.
“So you’re all messed up…” he weighed the impact of his words wistfully. “because you think that, despite loving him so much, you are not fucking sobbing all over the goddamn building. So you think that your love for the bastard wasn’t as strong as you thought.” he felt nod. “You’re hurting because you are not hurting.”
“I feel like my heart has lied to me, and that’s why I’m still breathing. That even though I felt like I loved him… I didn’t feel what love may be like.” cried she, tears subsiding. “My heart didn’t beat as hard as it should, or that my skin doesn’t tingle when he touches me. I felt like I loved him, my admiration drove me to that conclusion but…”
The idea of Uraraka experimenting those sensations with somebody else other than Deku struck him like a knife. It hurt like hell that maybe Deku wasn’t her only option – he should have known there could be other people chasing after her. She was pretty, nice and talented. If he, the stone man Bakugou, had fallen for her, anybody could.
Fingers snuck through her hairs while her arms circled him again in a petite hug. The movie, long ago forgotten, blared in front of them. “So you were fucking wrong.”
Her nod only made her snuggle more against him. A grunted sigh escaped his lips outwardly, feeling her whole being against him. No matter how severe the matter was, her presence was keeping at him at bay– his ire had calmed down, only feeling the thick air around them prop him higher and higher until he was facing the moon of her dark irises. His muscles were yet to get loose after the agitation of Deku’s rejection.
He had rejected Uraraka and made her end up like this. The queen of fortitude and happiness was gliding down the slippery slope of a lie – all because Deku had messed with– misled her. Bakugou was pretty damn sure that Deku knew about her feelings for him, yet he decided to not call her on it despite knowing about it all growing in her mind– and their game went on til’ tonight.
But, if Deku had accepted her feelings, would it had been any better? Ugh. These situations were the main reason why Bakugou never dared to peek into these fucking dramatic issues. Thinking about it was giving him a pounding headache.
“Uraraka.” mumbled he, feeling her still and quiet for the first time that night. “When you say you don’t feel that shit with Deku…” the suggestion was evident in his voice, dripping with a bit of jealousy and embarrassment. “does that mean you have felt it with somebody else, then?”
“A-Ah.” among his flustered state, his chest felt the heat of her face. He knew what she was thinking almost instantly, and his flustered blush spread to his ears. “Well… you could say I have…” she pursed her lips, thankful for the darkness in the room and how she could hide her face on his chest.
She didn’t dare say anything else, because it had been too much of an emotional day to dwell into how her breathing was erratic, or that the air in the room wasn’t enough– suddenly, they weren’t in the room anymore, they were flying in the sky, embracing each other in a sweet grip. He was a bit too strong, probably trying to hold in his anger for Deku, but she was endlessly caring in her touches and caresses. Every time her fingers slid along his pearly skin, or touched his hair, he wanted to fly.
And every time he looked at her, her heart pounded irresistibly hard against her bones, exploding when he was too near, and dying when his lips were an inch nearer than needed. His touches were like feathers falling on her, the touch of a fearful animal doubting on where to caress, unsure of what to do. He was a fearsome monster that would crawl behind her without losing its dignity.
Why hadn’t she ever felt this with Deku?
What were those emotions that were making her hurt somehow?
And why was it so painful to smell his shirt and feel closer to a future home? What was this?
“Then,” whispered Bakugou, pulling away from her now that she was fully calm, collected and controlled after the breakdown. “do you love Deku, angelface?”
Her answer was almost instantaneous. “I don’t think I can say I don’t, because the pain– it’s still here, Bakugou. The fact that I may have screwed our friendship is nagging at me. But at the same time, I’m confused.”
“Confused?” yes, Bakugou was socially disabled, and couldn’t see that the fact that Uraraka was madly blushing at him was a big hint of where the confusion came from.
She nodded, pulling away a bit as well to give him space. “The rejection still hurts despite it being a lie. After all, this false feeling– or whatever this was, it felt nice, and I thought he felt the same, too. I’m just a bit beaten up, that’s all.”
Her eyes fluttered close for a second, and he brushed a strand of hair away. Too much for a tranquil night with her. Still, the hush between them was brushing all their fears away, leaving them restless. Her eyes opened again, revealing that little spark of hers ignited by warmth and the reflection of his desire for her. His eyes travelled to her parted lips, shining in the darkness.
That was the worst time to kiss her. Yet, given the unholy mess she had become, he wanted to make it all feel better by kissing the pain out of her– wanted to make her sigh, smile, giggle his name and not her offender’s. Why couldn’t fate be merciful with him?
“You know,” there was that little giggle of hers again. His stomach made summersaults upon those little squeals and pearls of uninterrupted joy. “you can be a real softie when you want to.”
That was when his frown was again wrinkling his angular features, eyes bulging and fangs showing once again. Her heart fluttered out of her mouth for some reason. “Oi, who are you calling a softie!? Weren’t you my guest, and I’d kick you out!”
Normalization was good. This jump from sadness, crying, to just normal Bakugou raging over the littlest of details– it gave her life in a thousand spoken ways. “You can actually kick me out.” Bakugou squinted at her. “But I doubt you will.”
“Fuck off already, Uraraka.”
The gravity bender laughed naturally, showing her teeth and leaving her in a grinning mess afterwards. She turned, face down, and looked at the suspended screen of his laptop. “I think we kinda lost track of the movie, huh.”
His fist shot out of the blanket, face down as well, like before all this mess ensued. “And who’s fault is it, you damn crybaby!”
She bumped him with her elbow playfully, smirking at his antics. “Stop being so extra and get a damn movie already.”
“Oi, are you going on at me with the extra shit again? Who are you calling extra, you damn bitch?”
And despite the fact that she was looking undeniably better than ten minutes ago, Bakugou made a friendly reminder to himself to have a little chat with the quirkless bastard the day after.
A day after the storm, the explosive teenager was ready to start his bastard hunting.
Bakugou was sitting near the dorm building, rays of Friday cloudy sunrise reflecting on his blonde tresses. His hands were deep in his pockets, backpack readied with all his books and his jacket blowing with the morning wind. His usually serene but moody features were constricted into a deep frown and a constant glare at whatever thing that moved in his peripheral vision.
Thus, when he spotted Deku leaving for class on his own, very possibly the last one to exit the building, Bakugou’s eyes instantly narrowed. The tears on his short from Uraraka’s bratty crying and how she had wailed for her heart to stop hurting– and oh, how he had heard sobbing behind her door when he dropped her at her room, how quickly she had broken down once danger was not a threat.
Yeah, she was always dealing with her feelings in the shadows– alone, right?
Not anymore.
Once the freckle boy was nearby, Bakugou coughed, making Deku look at him. The latter started sputtering, and when Bakugou’s expression turned potentially threatening, he tried to hurry away. He wasn’t having none of his murdering business this early in the morning, especially having some serious talk to do with Uraraka.
Before he could scurry away, the beast with fangs seized him by his shirt and dragged him to a shadowy side of the residence, morning dim light hitting all over the place but around them.
And once they were successfully hidden from the public eye, Bakugou wasted no time in smashing the teen onto the concrete wall, grimace deeper than imaginable. He wanted to punch this guy, pound the living lights out of him– but he couldn’t. As much as he hated Midoriya, as much as he wanted to hurt him because he had hurt Uraraka in a way…
She wasn’t his. But he could still call him out on her actions as her friend.
“What the fuck is your goddamn problem, bastard!?” yelled Bakugou, his hands already producing sparks to vent the anger he was feeling. It was pure adrenaline, notion of knowing that he had a damn reason for once to insult him. “What the fuck are you doing rejecting angelface like that!?”
It seems like Deku had been giving the very same topic some thought, because he snapped the moment he mentioned Uraraka. “Why are you calling me out on this, Kacchan?” Midoriya’s distress was evident. There were heavy bags under his eyes, teeth clenched, and fists as tightly squeezed as possible.
But Bakugou paid no heed to his worry about the matter, just wanted to get answers out of him. “Because I had Uraraka crying to me for a solid hour, telling me how fucking messed up she was because you rejected her yesterday!” his vice grip only tightened, and he crashed the other’s head against the concrete once again. “Give me a fucking answer as to why she isn’t enough for you, nerd!”
“Is it my fault that I don’t feel the way she does, that I am already planning my life beforehand!?” tears were gathering at the corners of Midoriya’s eyes. Damn crybaby loser. Bakugou snarled. “Can’t I have higher ambitions than her, and have my goals–“
Bakugou punched him on the face, knocking him to the ground below. Deku didn’t even try to get up, just winced and rubbed the sore spot. The blonde looked down at him, red eyes burning with intense fervor and bloodthirst.
“I hadn’t intended to come and use damn violence against a nerd like you.” scowled Bakugou, sweat running down his forehead with emotion. He cleaned some of it with his wrist. “But you ain’t gonna say to me that her goals are in any sort higher than yours, when I’m pretty damn sure you know her motivations. Don’t try to sell me some drama material, bastard.”
Deku looked up, mute and unable to speak a word. Bakugou only glared harder at him. “You have two ways out of this, nerd.” he spit near his enemy, face deformed in a perpetual wince. “You can run away like a fucking coward, or answer my questions. If you wanna leave, do it now.”
But the other didn’t make a move. Instead, he stared at the ground below him, still sitting. Bakugou gripped his shoulder and forcefully picked him up. Midoriya stood in the shadows, face cast down– and Bakugou stood in front of his classmate, uneven spots of sun between clouds hitting on his face and making him look like an ethereal being when such notion was far from reality.
Bakugou was a fearsome monster, somebody who was to be respected. He was awkward, protective, socially lacking and incredibly talented. This time though, he was being needy, too– needy for answers, needy for closure on what Deku had done to wrench Uraraka’s heart so powerfully.
Deku had had her in his grip and just… squeezed all happiness out of her.
“Help me fucking understand, Deku.” mumbled Bakugou, making his way to him again. His hand travelled to his already wrinkled collar, trembling with bottled up rage– oh no, there was a big storm coming. “If you had this thing about being a single hero – or whatever business you had, then–“
Bakugou’s spine hunched over, teeth clenched together. Her whimpers the feel of her hot body against his still ran deep in his blood, not providing good aid to help the situation. The blonde was sinking inside, feeling how rage took over him, a wave of rushing curses and violence coming to him like it had never come before. These walls, the four walls of his existence were fracturing, starting to show creaks of fire coming through–
Then, he just screamed at him and his fist came flying to Deku’s stomach. “WHY GIVE HER THE HOPE, WHY LEAD HER ON WHEN YOU HAD PLANNED ON REMAINING FUCKING SINGLE!” his voice boomed at top of his lungs, deep and hoarse. “Why make her wait, why make her make the move just to– JUST TO FUCKING REJECT HER LIKE YOU HAD PLANNED TO!”
Bakugou would have been fine with Deku not reciprocating her feelings, or just having feelings for someone else. It wouldn’t have hurt Bakugou to death to see Uraraka tie the knot with Deku in the end, either– at least she’d be fucking happy.
But everyone knew Uraraka had feelings for Deku. It’d be nonsensical for the very same boy not to notice. So Bakugou punched the wall, making cracks on the surface. “I can’t fucking understand how you call yourself her friend when you knew her feelings– because you…”
He glared at the panting teen on the ground again, and a shadow passed by his eyes. The fact that he refused to stand on his feet again told him all he needed. “because you knew about her feelings, didn’t you.”
Deku nodded curtly, a tear trailing down his cheek. “I should have fucking known–“
“But I also knew…”he watched as Midoriya removed some dirt from his face, breathing hard. “I also knew that her feelings… I knew she’d let go of them. I knew her feelings…”
A droplet of heaven water fell down Bakugou’s arm, but he didn’t give a damn. All he could see was a boy who had played with Uraraka, someone who was trying to find excuses… as if he knew the truth. Uraraka’s feelings might have ended up being a lie to her– she had started feeling stronger things for someone, it seems. She felt that true love was bubbling in the surface of her heart, stronger feelings and emotions sparking up in her compared to the petty butterflies Deku just provoked.
But whether her feelings were feeble, he had hurt her anyway. She was confused: she had fallen in love for the longest of months, found that she felt more for someone else while still loving Deku, confessed, and gotten her heart broken to only find that she wasn’t entirely disgusted, just heartbroken.
Unfounded feelings or not, they had been there. And Deku had played with her. Bakugou kneeled in front of his opponent. “She fucking loves you, asshole. And you basically told her that being a hero matters more to you than her.”
“She doesn’t love me, Kacchan.” sputtered Deku, vocally grumpy. This was the roughest part of Midoriya that Bakugou had never seen. “And I’m sure you know that.”
“And how in hell would you know that.” deadpanned Bakugou, hands flinching with violent urges.
“Have you seen… her eyes, lately?” oh, so he had noticed the lack of stars in the sky of her eyes. “They… didn’t shine as much. Something had changed, Kacchan– somebody made her change. The way she looked at me after yesterday… I just realized how it had all gone downhill, it was crystal clear then.”
There was a moment of silence between them, rain starting to pour from the sky in slow pours of random droplets. Bakugou seemed unaffected by the weather, only preoccupied with injuring this bastard real hard. “She may have found a better partner for her. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still hold fucking feelings for you, idiot. Even if she tries to let them go, it will take her a damn lot of time.”
Midoriya dug his nails on the concrete of the floor, his heart shaking uncontrollably and painfully constricting his train of thoughts. He visualized Uraraka, smiling at him with those beaming eyes of hers, and her hair floating in a halo. The thought of her crying didn’t bode well with him, maybe because he had never seen her cry.
But Bakugou had. Why?
“If she has found that there are better things for her out there, I’ll never be the one to hold her down, Kacchan.”
“You said you didn’t know this at the time you rejected her – but after. Don’t come spitting lies at me, bastard.” still kneeling, he grabbed his throat in confusion and anger. “Don’t tell me you did it for her. At least be fucking honest and tell me you wanted to give priority to your career, and not her. I don’t think you were unaware of what she felt for you.”
“Are you calling me dumb?”
“I am dumb. I am dense and slow with these things. But look how quickly I caught you.” he didn’t let Deku go. “I am calling you stupid because you knew that she had feelings for you. You didn’t know about her stuff because this was a pretty damn newfound discovery when she actually came fucking crying after that and I was the first one to know. So don’t come at me with that crap.”
“She doesn’t love me!”
“DENYING THE TRUTH WON’T GET YOU ANYWHERE, ASSHOLE!” his voice was thick with emotion, veins popped wide and eyes bulging out of their sockets. His fingertips burnt. “She still fucking loves you like the silly bitch she is, and will still hurt for a long time. I already fucking told you: the fact that she has found her feelings were somewhat fake ain’t mean she’s over you.”
“I didn’t mean to mislead her. I never meant to–“
“But you still did anyway.” snarled the red-eyed boy, irises pointy in disdain towards the excuse of a hero in front of him. “You were all blushy with her, showering her in gifts and stuff while you fucking knew she loves you– you never even acted on your feelings like Uraraka did. At least she had the decency to be brave and tell you. The fact that she later discovered that there may be other options is irrelevant to the fucking clear damn fact that you broke her heart.”
Midoriya made an attempt to get up as Bakugou propped himself up. “It wouldn’t have mattered anyway.”
The blonde rose an eyebrow at him. His face was already injured, face swollen and purple wounds already darkening his cheek– yet he was still defending himself. The nerve of this dude. “If I had accepted her feelings, if she knew of other options around her, it wouldn’t have mattered.” he coughed bitterly, “She knew there were other options for her, right? She may love me, but those other options would have surely nagged at her no matter how much she loved me. She wouldn’t be able to live knowing there’s much more to love than what I offered.”
And he was right about that. Uraraka was always in for the 100%, not less than that. But the point still stood out. “Yet you didn’t cut her feelings short. It doesn’t matter how she’s feeling now about her feelings, but how she was feeling right then about you. You let her believe she had opportunities with you when what you should have done was tell her straight away that you didn’t want anything with her, you miserable asshole – so shut your damn mouth, I hate liars.”
“Kacchan–“
“I SAID SHUT UP!” Bakugou pinned him to the ground, punching his ribs. Hard. Hit after hit, Deku became more aware of the fact that Bakugou wasn’t using his quirk– he didn’t want to destroy him to death, just feel him hurting so her suffering was compensated somehow. No matter how much he hit, pounded, and grunted at him, Deku didn’t budge. “What are you–“
His talking haltered when Deku flashed him a smile, one of those unreasonable smiles he had whenever he was in danger– that stupid grin that got him out of all trouble. And Bakugou was sick of it. “I am sorry for what I caused to Uraraka. I’m sorry that I misled her in a way that led us to this but… I would have hurt her either way, Kacchan.”
The aforementioned looked up to the sky, expression turning grim as rain cascaded down the sky in hues of rose. “Don’t come at me with your glittery business, Deku. If I weren’t so tired after last night, I would surely punch you for a damn while to my heart’s fucking content. You hurt her more this way, bastard.” Bakugou cleaned some rain from his face. The drizzle was light enough to damp but not as light as to go unnoticed.
The explosive teenager was soon getting up again, showing Deku who was still the boss there. “I am glad it’s over and that angelface can go on in life without worrying about a dick like you. But I ain’t forgetting this any time soon. Nor is Uraraka.”
“I will apologize to Uraraka properly as soon as I see her–“
“But you know, Deku.” spoke Bakugou, as softly as he could still be in his agitated state. “I’m both fucking angry and disappointed with how things turned out. It’s not like I trust you or anything, because I think you still are a lucky motherfucker.” intense glare at the boy, who frowned back. “But I would have never thought that you, of all people, would do things like these.”
“Kacchan, I…”
The explosive teen removed his jacket and tied it around his waist, palms rippling with small explosions. They’d soon be late for class and he’d be damned if he let Kirishima tease him for being a sleepyhead. “You don’t get to fucking apologize to me, asshole.” one of his hands dug into a pocket again, the other grabbing his backpack tight. “Get the fuck up, loser.”
And the aforementioned complied quickly, brushing off some dust. Bakugou wasn’t done yet. “You may be all the good guy you wanna, I’m cool with hero wannabes – after all, I can always punch the shit out of them or ignore them. But as soon as you interfere with my life, you’re done for.”
And then he glared at him with the same passionate, burning and possessive stare of his. “Don’t go near Uraraka to confuse her. Don’t fucking dare do your glitter-glitter-blush thing because I’ll kick your sorry ass to a thombstone. If I see you step in the wrong direction, you’re fucking dead. Got it?”
That last line was whispered so harshly and menacingly that Deku had to step back to feel out of his rage zone. However, with so much burning hatred throbbing in Bakugou’s voice, came a shocking realization for Deku. He stared at his classmate, taken aback by the rush of information that crashed within him as Bakugou was, slowly, making his way to the school.
“Kacchan, wait!” called Midoriya. And the blonde stood still, waiting for whatever bullshit he had to say. “Why… why are you so interested on Uraraka’s wellbeing? What has gotten into you?”
Bakugou looked at the face of his sworn enemy. Purple swells marred his fair cheeks, and dirt was caked on his hair after being on the ground with the mud for so long. The blonde turned around and took his leave. When Midoriya was once again going to demand answers, Bakugou answered in the most humble, defeated voice somebody had ever heard intoned.
“Isn’t it obvious, bastard?” but he kept on walking. “She’s gotten into me.”
Fifteen minutes after the confrontation between both boys, Bakugou made his entrance two minutes later after the bell had rung. Everybody felt him internally fuming, not completely satisfied with the outcome of his fight with Midoriya– no one dared speak. Something big had happened.
It was when a very beaten Deku entered the classroom, one exact minute later than Bakugou, that everyone made the connection. However, only one person in particular was able to put the dots together.
Bakugou glanced behind him to see Uraraka glowering at him, her teeth clenched and her pencil broken in twain. That what when he knew that he had fucked up again. And the feeling sunk his heart deep again.
Bakugou could almost see it, the freedom of a heavy day. His backpack felt especially massive on his shoulders, grasped with his calloused hands. The bruises from the fight, still fresh after being washed with morning dew, hurt his mistreated fingers. His jacked had become a wrinkled mess after carrying it around tied at his waist. Some teachers had called him out on it because of etiquette and stuff, but Bakugou hadn’t been paying attention.
Why, despite having poured all his frustrations on Deku – like a bully, he knew, but also in a deserved way because that kid had been a jerk –, despite having ignored Uraraka for the rest of the day and, even having talked stuff out with Kirishima– why. Why wasn’t that feeling out of his heart?
Bakugou sighed while making his way to the dorm building. The feeling of remorse, ashes of anger and that nagging feeling that Deku hadn’t been ounished enough– they were consuming him, eating him alive as hours tumbled around him. Where had his walls gone? Why had they collapsed after Uraraka had dared to step near them?
Of course he wouldn’t be used to the idea of being so emotionally exposed – after all, no one had ever dared to step near the sanctuary of his heart excepting her. Why wasn’t he satisfied with the beating, with seeing Deku to the ground? Was it because he had been relatively unfazed by his brutality, as if he was trying to make Bakugou believe he was a weakling? or, was there anything else left?
“Bakugou!”
Of course there was something left. There was everything left.
Bakugou heard the dainty steps of her feet running towards him. His step haltered just before the steps to the building, but didn’t dare to turn around. The sky had been watered with pinks, reds, and sun bathed clouds, giving birth to a golden lighting around them. He could picture how beautiful she would look in the midst of the path, her eyes determined to talk him off and her smile– it was always her smile what broke him, so cute and cheesy.
Her run stopped five good meters behind him. Bakugou finally turned around three seconds later, a hand on his pockets and the shallowest of expressions painting his face. There she was, of course she was there, like she had always been to torture him and, deep inside, he had a feeling that she’d always be there.
It was down to him and her. The wind blew around their halted bodies, staring at each other in wonder and surprise. It felt like centuries had passed ever since they last saw each other– all they could remember was the warmth of the other’s arms, the shine of her eyes and the fire, blood and metal in his deep, hellish eyes. Everything that had to do with her was heaven, a world of colors and sunshine. All he had was a void world of curses and solitude.
Yet, there they were, world sunk in black and golden as the sun glared on them. Uraraka’s eyes were slowly recovering their spark, stealing fire from his stance. He repared on how her hands were shaking, limp by her sides, and her breath was labored.
He didn’t realize, but his was also clumsy, stuck in his stomach and inflating his anxiety to see her, to touch her and please, please pray for her to be fine.
“Bakugou…”
He spit, guard back up upon the cold tone of her voice. “I thought we were above the name basis, angelface.”
“Give it a rest.” bit she, snarling and taking a step further. “I’m not like the others, I’m not going to leave so easily no matter how much you try to kick me out – just stop it.”
His silence welcomed her, mildly ashamed that she was being so stubborn on him but, mostly, because he couldn’t find a smart remark to keep her at bay. There was no point on denying it, she had long ago crossed the barrier.
Seeing her tear-stricken face, it seems like he may have also crossed her barriers too, because the way her eyes shone when looking at him was heart wrenching to watch, passion and frustration fighting for dominance. Was he hurting her in anyway?
Bakugou was going to turn and walk away again when her voice called after him again, cracking chords in the middle.
“Stop running away from me!”
So he stopped, eyes wide like stars and limbs tense under her control.
He could hear her shivering, struggling to get the words out. Was his presence troubling her as much as hers did to him? And why was she the only thing he could hear? The rustle of her hair against her face, riding the wind, or the battling of her eyelashes while fighting the tears…
She could only cry in front of him, couldn’t she?
“Why…” it came wavery, low and growling. There was a fight going on, and it definitely was not funny. “Why did you have to beat him up?”
Bakugou chuckled. Of course she would still defend him even after all the ruckus the previous day – it was Uraraka. She was always standing up for those in between, even if she had no reason to. “He deserved more than what I gave him. That fucker–“
“Shut up.”
“He misled you, Uraraka.”
“I said shut up!” screamed Uraraka as loud as she could, face reduced to a mess of wrinkles and unwanted tears. “I don’t wanna hear none of that bullshit, Bakugou!”
It was his time to fully turn to her, striding. “Why are you still defending that nerd when he gave you hopes all along, Uraraka?” he was a meter away from her, but it seemed like an abyss between them was widening and tearing them apart. It was unnerving to have her in reach, yet so far. “He hurt you, for fuck’s sake. What were you crying so much for yesterday if you’re gonna stick to him despite those conflicted feelings you have?”
The way he called her, how he softly as he would only do tried to speak to her. Uraraka could feel his heart trying to approach hers, making all those emotions he had just mentioned jump in circles in her stomach. Suddenly, she was sinking, spinning, left dizzy and ever so sick with the aftermath of a rejection.
The weight of an unrequited, yet fake love… it hung on her, as well.
“He’s still my friend, Bakugou.” growled she, feet flinching in advance. “And I don’t understand why you, ironically of all people, would go and use him as a punching sack.”
His jaw tensed and clenched, eyes darting inside of hers. The stars of determination and recovery illuminated the darkness of misery, and his fires chased her fears away. It was an incredible spectacle. “Maybe because I do have business with him, angelface. And trust me, punching the hell out of him, after yesterday, wasn’t fucking enough.”
“After yesterday?” his words lingered in the golden rays of sunshine for a minute, clouding her vision as the terrible truth came to realization. “Don’t tell me– please, tell me you didn’t because of that, Bakugou.”
Bakugou refused to give a straight answer, so he wobbled around the attack and dodged the accusation as calculatedly as possible. “He didn’t deserve to go off without punishment, roundface. Not after having misled you for so long.”
“He isn’t–“
His bruised hands clutched her forearms, alarm and urgency in his red eyes. “Stop fucking denying that he hasn’t, already! He knew about your feelings, Uraraka. And if I knew about this, I’ll never fucking believe you didn’t know.”
The gravity manipulator didn’t know why, but the ground below her shattered and swallowed her quickly, leaving her in a cramped place. Her lungs constricted and refused to let her breath, because, because–
“I knew.”
He let her go, apprehensive of what she’d say next. There was this leisure smile on her face, painted against her will. She knew for too damn long.
“A part of me thought that if he was playing along was because he knew the drill and just… decided to play along. I arrived to the conclusion that he liked me back.”
And this was why Bakugou had given Deku such a hard beating– it was because of this. The way the stars in her eyes crashed to tears and how her smile faltered while murmuring sentences, drowning in the hard reality that a man she once came to love didn’t love her back, but even if he did, he’d choose being a hero over her. And she couldn’t find the heart to tell him he was wrong. Alas, so didn’t Bakugou, who despite having given Deku all sorts of wounds, still felt unsatisfied.
“But, even if I’ve reached the conclusion that I didn’t really love him– that it was a weak compared to these conflicted feelings, which I can’t name…” her head was held down, neck shaking in confusion. There were no strangled noises or major fidgeting, so there was on sobbing. She was trembling with fear, so vulnerable for once in front of her. In a way, he also wanted to cry. “Why is it that I still hurt over Deku? I don’t…”
Bakugou stepped an inch nearer when her voice raised a notch higher than usual. His hands felt the ghost of her skin caressing his soul, the flames of his eyes licking the sun that hit on her shoulders. “You still love him, angelface.”
“Why?”
The blonde sighed. “Because that’s what love is about, whether it is minor or big.” her dumb, big and gleamy eyes stared deep into his. His fingers reached for hers for a moment, but ended deciding against it, grim expression dangling. “Sucks, right?”
She would never love him back, would she? It seems like her heart would always belong to Deku despite her feelings for him being laughable at best. Uraraka had experienced what true love was, the adrenaline of having someone near and feeling that spark in your eyes, actually feeling it buzzing. Bakugou sighed, his shoulders faltering ever so slightly because he had to face it: Uraraka was in love with another boy who didn’t love her back. But maybe that was good for her, maybe Deku was after all a better man for her.
His scowl didn’t seem angry at her for once, just sad at himself– for he had failed at making her happy so she could quickly move on, failing on making those emotions she talked about spark on her, failed to at least stop her crying. But every time he was in front of her, she was always crying. And Uraraka Ochako was not a crier.
But he didn’t know that she didn’t cry because he was a failure, or because he hadn’t succeeded on making her happy – it was the other way around.
She cried because her heart had started beating once she entered that fateful common room and saw it set up to her liking. She cried because her fingertips were electric against his skin, or the way his hair glided so perfectly through her fingers when she combed through his mane. Her tears streamed down because her body in the bed would sometimes ache for his hands to burn her, how her eyes missed his and how badly she had been wanting to see them look at her with that ferocity of his.
Uraraka knew why she had almost kissed Bakugou that movie night.
It was because those newfound feelings turned her world upside down, and there was no way to put it in order anymore. She knew that there were weird things going on through her, something more powerful than her love for Deku and everything else she had ever encountered.
But… what was that feeling? Was she ready to embrace its whole power? Another little, tiny trail of thought waved in front of her as Bakugou suddenly turned away– he was tired of seeing her unmoving, still musing over that green haired loser who had injured her so when he could have given her all she needed, all she desired, and give away his little, stone heart for het to protect him.
But she would never love him back.
“What if he rejects you as well?”
The though flashed in front of her again, and Uraraka pounced. Bakugou had only taken one step away from her when voice reached his ears, shoulders stopping their shake and eyes stinging for so long.
“What is love, Bakugou?”
His shaking breath staggered in his throat, making it hard for him to recollect his thoughts and stop to think about what she had just said. It was a complicated question, that one. Millions of people asked the very same thing one day after the other, and there would never be a satisfying conclusion to such thing. Days, millennia and nights may pass, skipping generations of lost people in a crowd of mismatched shoes and hearts, everyone seeking for that little piece that made one’s life fuller, sensible and bright with colors. Uraraka’s world was white, lost in confusion, while his was deep black with dots of her eyes.
Bakugou had never experienced love before Uraraka, and even now he was struggling to understand what it really meant. She was barely making it through a rejection, but was still willing to hold on for Deku, he thought. She had had a past love, and knew what was the difference between the true deal and what a dainty kind of love she had for Deku. He didn’t know what was going through her head at the moment, but he knew that she had sounded desperate and ultimately sad when wording her doubts.
Could he, of all people, give her a satisfying answer? The reckless, short-tempered boy with zero control and just a weak side for her?
Bakugou didn’t know that answer.
But he knew what his answer would ever be, no matter who asked.
“Love is…” his head turned, letting half of his face to show. His eyes seemed torn, broken – and Uraraka’s heart sunk – at the fact that his answer could either matter a ton or just be useless. He still had to try once more. “Love is that feeling you get when somebody comes in through your life– more like barging, when you never asked. And no matter how hard you try to push them away, they stay despite your flaws, they just see through your words and will take care of your heart. It’s that feeling when a world you took for granted gets shaken up and bursts into color, sends you flying, and leaves you confused, afraid– it’s something you feel before knowing what it is.”
There was a moment of silence after he finished, then two. The golden lights hit the ground Bakugou looked at, not even ashamed of having given such a discourse to the girl behind him. The weight on his shoulders didn’t disappear– it only got heavier and heavier the more he listened to her breathing, his world still aware of the sun shining in its glory but submerged in a sea of darkness.
He was suffocating. He couldn’t be there.
Then, he heard it. A sniffle.
Bakugou turned around to find out that she had stepped back during his speech, and how her hands were grasping her shirt for dear life. Her tresses hovered in the breeze, letting through the rays of sunshine while her eyes– her eyes, they were glazed, tears falling down without her truly noticing because… because in the end, the final piece had fallen into place. Her world was consumed by static as it, then, exploded into roses and the sun, meekly noticeable, shone in all its glory on her.
She was utter disbelief while Bakugou looked at her, frantic, ambers shaking as his mouth fell agape. His mind tried to put the pieces together as she finally breathed out– and finally smiled.
His world, previously untidy, chaotic and mindlessly black, fell into place with hers, too. The colossal feeling of pressure on his being faded away slowly as their feelings fell into their place, together, in harmony. He felt it again, that twitch in his heart.
And this time, he was sure she felt it, too. Her eyes had blossomed into meteorites again, letting him dive into her pools of brown as he basked on a new feeling, the feeling of her by his side– she was meters away from her, but he felt her in his arms, hugging him again.
Bakugou didn’t feel alone, anymore. Uraraka didn’t feel heartbroken, anymore.
“Yeah,” her shoulders shook, her smile reaching her eyes for the first time in centuries. It made Bakugou smile too, and the mere gesture brought goosebumps all over her. “this feeling… this is the real thing.”
The emotions she had felt by his side… they were love after all– the electricity towards him, those powerful emotions for him… they were love. After all the pain, the doubt, and the fear of discovering that her feelings were not only unilateral, but also fake compared to the sharpness of these ones– suddenly, nothing mattered. That awkward feeling in her chest dissipated into the warm thin air as her tiny steps approached him, eyebrows low in a soft, sincere smile.
Those growing feelings that had stomped over those she had for Deku… these were real. She had been in the dark for too long already. The pain in her heart completely disappeared, and Uraraka wasn’t afraid of embracing them anymore.
“I think…” Uraraka was by his side, now. “I think I know what those new feelings are, now.”
His eyes widened. “You do? Then what the fuck was my moving speech for?”
“It was all thanks to you, Bakugou– that I may finally be able to move on from this mess.” her hand circled his elbow as she took him forward, towards the building. “C’mon, we should get on going. We’ve been here for too long.”
The tone of her voice, so soft and inviting… He didn’t feel unrequited, anymore. Rather, he felt light headed, flying, in peace. After the thunderstorm, the smell of her light and the sun hitting on his skin was the first thing to welcome him. And man, wasn’t he happy.
“There’s no need to hurry, angelface!”
She just giggled along the way. He felt the urge to giggle with her, kiss her, and hand her the world he desperately needed to share. It was too soon now, her coming to terms with those feelings and finally stepping away from Deku– but he’d make her realize that he was worth it, too. He didn’t know it, but deep down, she had realized this long ago.
After all the trouble, the scars and the regret, he could only think one thing as they made it through the doors.
“Man, am I not lucky.”
“Duuuude, hand out the money, I won the bet clearly by a day of difference!”
Kaminari regretfully handed Kirishima the stack of bills, letting the redhead count them with analytic eye. “I still don’t know why you leaked all this information though.”
“Yeah, that was a bit low from you, dude.”
Kirishima looked at both Tokoyami and Kaminari, who eyed him back twice as disappointed. “I had to take advantage of that motherfucker finally making a move on her. Don’t blame me for this, after all we were all on edge for this.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Tokoyami, shut it. Weren’t it for us and you’d be sulking in your room doing homework.” commented Kirishima as a joke, but it clearly vexed the aforementioned. “Besides, you have also gotten money for this.”
“That’s true.”
“Now, there’s this other bet I had in mind!” fearful for what the blonde would say about betting on the soon-to-be-couple, they prepared their weapons. “When they become an item, we have to– must, do a bet on when they’re having se–“
Kirishima had already risen his fists to pound the guy to the ground with the help of a rather tired Tokoyami, mumbling something about darkness and sexual themes on open air.
Kirishima punched Tokoyami, too, for being too emo. It was being a fun day for the redhead.
And like that, the world started again.
Author’s note: MAN didn’t this suck compared to the last one. I still love you guys tho. This fam is amazing. I accept asks sending me hate :D and bread as well, man I need food./derp
#kacchako#bnha#fanfiction#kacchako fanfiction#bnha fanfiction#I shall pray for forgiveness#I shall be buried underneath the snow and thrown salt#hot mess
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Warm waffles | Ronniecoln short-fic
“Oh, dang it, my shift starts in fifteen minutes!” Said Bobby, suddenly standing up.
“No it doesn’t, you dummy” replied Ronnie Anne focused on her cooking. “Your shift starts at four.”
“No! I traded my shift with Mike, he covers me tonight so I can go out with Lori to celebrate our one hundred and twelve days together!” Said the older Santiago, swiftly finishing his coffee.
Ronnie Anne turned around to look at her brother with a raised eyebrow and her jaw dropped.
“A hundred and…? Why would you celebrate that number?” She asked, not believing what she had heard.
“We always celebrate our anniversary on even numbers and multiples of five. They’re nice numbers! Anyway, I gotta go.”
He dashed out of the kitchen as fast as he could. Before anyone could do anything, Bobby came back, this time wearing his waiter uniform, perfectly ironed and fixed by Ronnie Anne.
“I’m sorry, Ni-Ni, I’d love to eat your breakfast” he apologized, getting close to his little sister and tenderly hugging her. “I promise we’ll have breakfast together tomorrow, okay?”
Ronnie Anne frowned and looked away to the floor. She didn’t hug him back.
Bobby opened up his mouth as if to say something else, but either he changed his mind or he didn’t find the right words. He softly patted her back and let her go, his face now showing an expression of discomfort and worry.
“I’m sorry” he repeated in a whisper, before moving away from her. “Well, I… I gotta go. See you later, Ronnie! Bye, Lincoln!”
Bobby left the kitchen and they soon heard the sound of the entry door being hurriedly closed. Ronnie Anne kept looking angrily at the floor like the kitchen tiles had made a personal offense to her. She had her lips pursed in a thin line until her brother’s last words finally echoed in her mind. She opened her eyes in surprise and looked up, meeting Lincoln’s worried gaze.
“Are you okay?” Asked the boy with ashen hair.
For a moment there, Ronnie Anne had forgotten that he was there, sitting at her kitchen’s table. That she had invited him for breakfast. That she was cooking waffles for him too. She put up her false bravado once again, looking sternly at him.
“Of course I’m alright, lame-o. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She quickly turned around and put her attention back on the bowl where she was preparing the waffle’s batter. She was mixing all the ingredients in there with such a strength that she considered writing a letter to the bowl factory, congratulating them for the excellent response of their products to intense mechanic efforts. She was supposed to beat all the ingredients together for two minutes or so, but after only forty-five seconds she had already found the right consistency for the batter.
She poured it all in the waffle iron and, once it was all set up, she patiently waited for two minutes. Two minutes of silence in a non-empty kitchen that felt much longer than they actually were. She kept her eyes fixed on the machine until the time was up and the food was ready.
When she finally took the waffles out of the iron, she added some butter and a little sauce. She stared at the breakfast she had just cooked and couldn’t help but smile. She liked cooking, she did it pretty often and she had learned a lot with practice. She put the waffles on two plates and went to the table with Lincoln.
She was better now.
“Here they are, partner,” she said with a smile, handing him his plate. “You better eat them all.”
Lincoln’s eyes shone at the sight before him, and a little drool escaped his mouth.
“They look fantastic! Thanks, Ronnie Anne!”
He quickly grabbed his fork and knife and ate his first mouthful, savoring that wonderful meal. Ronnie Anne giggled at how desperate he seemed to be. She made sure that Toby Roshell II wasn’t in danger of falling from the table and then she stretched her right arm to turn on the radio, in the usual station.
“Hish aagh abashhing!”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, weirdo” she laughed.
Lincoln gulped down his food and gave her a wide smile.
“These are amazing! I didn’t know you could cook this good.”
“I guess there were a lot of things you didn’t know about me, huh?”
Lincoln’s smile hesitated.
“Yeah, well, about that… Look, I-”
“You don’t have to say it, Lincoln. It’s okay. You got us a second chance with Ms. Johnson. I forgive you” she assured him.
Lincoln puffed out his chest and kept eating with a goofy smile on his face that Ronnie Anne couldn’t stop staring at. She completely forgot to eat for a moment, simply lost in his expression, so focused on him that she didn’t realize his eyes were staring back at her. Not until he stopped eating and his warm smile turned into a smug “gotcha” kind of grin. She looked up and found Lincoln looking at her very interested, with a raised eyebrow.
“Something’s wrong?” He asked with a funny tone.
Ronnie Anne wondered if the heat she felt on her cheeks would be visible for that fool.
“I-I, just… uh… I can’t believe you eat so fast. Don’t they feed you in your house?” She quickly snapped back, going back at eating her waffles, trying to keep her mouth occupied and to dissimulate the situation.
“Well, it’s just that we’re always eating the same things in my house” he explained, trying a new bite. “It’s always nice to taste something new, and your waffles are delicious.”
“O-Oh… I guess, uh… Well, thanks.”
Feeling the need to change the subject, Ronnie Anne turned up the radio volume a little more, pretending that she was paying any kind of attention to what the announcer was saying.
“So you like radio?” Asked Lincoln.
Dang it, she thought. He wouldn’t shut up.
“Well, it’s not that I really like it, but I usually have it on, you know?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean… it gets boring when there’s no voice in the house other than your own.”
She kept eating her waffles, although she wasn’t enjoying them anymore. She could have been eating wet cardboard and she wouldn’t have noticed it, for her mind was now far away from there. Far away from the kitchen, far away from the egg, far away from Lincoln. They kept eating like that until both their stomachs were full.
Lincoln, ever a gentleman, offered to wash the dishes while Ronnie Anne looked after Toby Roshell. When he finally cleaned the whole kitchen, Lincoln went back next to her.
“Thanks for the breakfast, Ronnie Anne. It was really good.”
“You’re welcome, Lincoln. Thanks for telling the truth to Ms. Johnson, admitting it was your fault that everything went wrong the first time.”
Lincoln nervously laughed, and then they found themselves trapped in an awkward silence.
“Well, then...” he started.
“I guess you’re going back to your place, aren’t you?” Asked Ronnie Anne.
Even though she tried, she couldn’t sound casual, like it was no big deal. Like she didn’t want him to stay with her.
“Yeah, about that… Look, I know that I kept the egg for myself a lot already and I didn’t let you have enough time with her… I mean, him. But… Well, I learned my lesson. And the project is about taking care of it… together. So… if you’re okay with it… could I, maybe, stay with you and keep you company? T-To take care of the egg I mean, of course.”
He was so cute when he got nervous. That’s why Ronnie Anne loved to mess with him. He was adorable.
“Well, I guess that’s our homework, right?” She asked, rolling her eyes and feigning disinterest. “If you really have nothing better to do...”
“What’s more important than spending some quality time with my family, eh?” Lincoln said, grabbing the little egg and cradling it in his arms, doing funny faces and noises like he would do with Lily.
She was thankful that Lincoln didn’t see the face she put after his words. He didn’t want to be embarrassed yet again in front of him.
“Well, you’re the one with experience on babies. What do they do after they eat?” She asked, standing up and walking near him with her hands on her hoodie’s pockets.
Lincoln raised a hand to his chin.
“Well… Usually Lily does her needs after she eats” Lincoln explained, “although I don’t think we need to worry about that.”
“Fortunately.”
“Sometimes, after lunch, my mom takes Lily to a nap.”
“Oh. Well, should we lay it down?”
“I guess so.”
“Alright. Let’s go to my room.”
Ronnie Anne walked out of the kitchen and went into her room. She was really grateful that she had cleaned up all her mess the day before and that she had taken her laundry early that same morning. It would have been too embarrassing to have Lincoln seeing all the mess she usually lived in. Only her school bag, her skateboard, and some baseballs were on the floor. She could live with that.
For a few seconds, Ronnie Anne was fully conscious that this was the first time a boy other than Bobby entered her bedroom. But when she turned around and saw Lincoln walking in with Toby on his hands, she relaxed.
It had to be him. It couldn’t have been any other boy.
“Nice room,” said Lincoln, staring at all the purple decorations.
“I really don’t want to punch Toby’s dad in front of him, but I’ll do it if you don’t shut up.”
“Alright, alright. Okay. Wow… Must be great to have a whole room for yourself. Look at all this space...”
“I thought you were happy with your linen closet-room” she commented, going to her bed and grabbing one of her cushions.
“Yeah, I like it, don’t misinterpret me. But… well, it doesn’t matter.”
Lincoln took the egg and put it over the cushion Ronnie Anne had laid over her bed. The two kids got themselves comfortable at each side of the egg, staring at it.
“You know, I’m glad we got to do this together” Lincoln confessed, absently looking at the egg. “If I hadn’t come here to your house for this, I wouldn’t have realized you are so...”
Ronnie Anne punched him in the shoulder, interrupting him.
“Ouch! Why was that for?!” He asked, slightly annoyed.
“Because I know what you were about to say and I won’t allow it” she answered, looking at him with fake anger.
Lincoln needed a few moments to read her eyes, but when he finally realized she wasn’t really mad, his face relaxed. He smiled at her and then leaned closer to the egg.
“She might be pretty rough sometimes, Roshell, but your mom is actually really caring and loving” whispered Lincoln, looking straight into Ronnie Anne’s eyes.
“And your dad’s a dork, Toby,” she said, leaning down as well, her eyes fixed on him, “but he’s also really thoughtful and sweet. Or at least he is when he learns his lesson.”
They laughed together and Lincoln laid back down in the bed, resting his head on his left hand. Ronnie Anne imitated him, and they were both practically lying down together, separated only by the cushion over which their son was resting.
“You know, lame-o… I think you’d be a great dad” she admitted, very aware of the fact that her cheeks had probably blushed after he said that.
Just like Lincoln’s had after hearing her.
“Y-You, uh, I mean...” He cleared his throat. “And I know that you’ll be an excellent mom. And whoever gets to be with you will be very lucky.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’ll have to find someone who can stand me first” she joked, slightly disappointed, looking at the happy face drawn on the egg.
“I would.”
Ronnie Anne moved her neck so fast that she was afraid of hurting a muscle with the whiplash. Lincoln was also looking down, but he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the egg. After several seconds of awkward silence, however, he had to look up and meet Ronnie Anne’s eyes. They both realized just how close they were to each other.
“I… I think that the more I know you, the more I know that I… I mean...” his face flustered even more, and he started to make gestures with his hands, trying to find the right words. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah. I do” she simply said in an almost whisper.
They kept looking at each other, barely conscious that they bodies were moving closer to the cushion.
“Still, I don’t think you could put up with being married to me for a lifetime, lame-o,” she said, trying to sound smug and aggressive, but here tone and face could only show affection.
“Of course I could. We’ve been married for a whole day already, haven’t we?” He casually said, pointing at the egg. “If every day would be like this, I don’t think I’ll-”
Ronnie Anne silenced him in the only way she thought she could, and it was super effective. By the time she drew back, some seconds later, Lincoln had turned into an incoherent mass of babbling. She found that image really cute. So far, he had been the one who took the initiative in those things, acting with so much confidence.
It was really funny to see what an unexpected kiss left him like.
Ronnie Anne seized his surprise to move on her bed, and she put the cushion in the empty space between them, on the new angle their bodies formed. She put her head on his chest, feeling his breathing, and looking lovingly at Toby. As Lincoln nervously put his arm around her shoulders, she could only think that she’d love to be able to control time.
Then she could stop it right there forever, or she could move it forward to a point where they were older and they could finally be together as a real family.
@UnderratedHero || Patreon || FanFiction
#the loud house#loud house#fanfic#ronnie anne santiago#ronnie anne#lincoln loud#ronniecoln#sfw#comfy
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Deadly Voice Part 21
Hi guys, so i haven’t really read over this much but I want to get it out, its 1am here, I’m exhausted and want to go to bed! So I apologize for any problems with it, but I wanted to get it finished tonight!
Hope you guys enjoy - I really appreciate the comments and feedback I am getting! And if you want to talk about anything not to do with fanfic then I am also here! I am happy to chat about anything, honestly!
Warning (yes this one has a warning): Suicidal themes - please don’t read if this is going to be in anyway triggering!
Masterlist
I had awoken in a cold sweat, my breathing fast like I had just been sprinting. As twisted onto my side I could still feel a weird ache in my stomach from my supposed ‘stab’ wound and I even lifted my pyjama top to check once more that it had truly all been a dream. It had.
It was still dark in my room and the clock on my phone read way too early, but there was no way I was closing my eyes again - it still felt all too real. So instead I lay awake, recapping the scenes that I could still remember until my mind seemed satisfied it had truly not happened and I was fine. Then I pulled myself up and out of bed.
I splashed my face with water to help wake me up before deciding to take another shower in an attempt to alleviate some of stress I could still feel in my body, winding me tight. The hot water and soothing massage of soap did seem to ease the tension in my muscles and I stepped out feeling relatively refreshed - though the memories of the dream still lingered in the back of my mind. And my plan. That was what now niggled in my thoughts – waiting to be acted on, promising to put an end to all of this.
I threw on my dressing gown – seeking comfort, knowing I had no need to be dressed and functioning really - and wandered through my darkened flat. The only light came from the street which shone in streaks through breaks in my curtains, illuminating strips of flooring and edges of furniture. I ran my hand over the rough area I knew a light switch would be and sought blindly before finding the plastic switch and flicking it to fill the room with the vivid artificial light that flooded the open room.
After the spots faded my vision I made my way to the kitchen area and made myself a cup of strong coffee before grabbing my laptop off the side of the counter and curling myself up the sofa, settling the laptop on my bare legs.
I spent the rest of the morning sat there researching and planning, only moving to refresh my coffee and chew on bits of dry cereal when I began to get hunger pangs. I soon felt I had looked at everything I needed at least twice and began to run out of ideas on what else to do with my time. I unfolded myself from my chair and felt my bones creak with the lack of use, my muscles stiff. Time to go for a walk, I thought and so I threw some half-decent clothes and headed out into the streets of Gotham with the idea to set everything up I needed.
As I strode out the back door of the club I walked through the alley where I had killed the two men and I was reminded of the Joker, and so sharply reminded of last night’s dream. The dream had been my mind telling me how much I needed to get out. Leave. I couldn’t stay here. I was in constant danger and anyone who I thought might actually care about me clearly didn’t. There was nothing in my life at the moment apart from uncertainty and mental torture. I didn’t want that to become physical torture either – be that by the Joker or Penguin.
The day was the usual over cast weather of Gotham as I moved through the dank streets. I still had the fear of the Joker suddenly appearing around one the streets and I would jump occasionally if I felt I saw flash of green. All were false alarms of course and I slowly began to feel more confident. By the time I returned back to the club I was far more relaxed and walking with more confidence. Besides, I was certain he had lost interest me, and therefore doubted he would want to follow me. Plus I was certain the man was nocturnal – I couldn’t imagine him strolling around Gotham in broad daylight – that would surely be a one way ticket back to Arkham.
I had wasted most of the afternoon with my stroll around the city so I didn’t have much time to kill till I needed to get ready for work. The evening was as uneventful as I could make it – not making any particular effort to attempt anything new. The whole evening I tried to avoid looking for Penguin, and, when I did notice him across the room, walking near the staff corridor, I made sure to avoid eye contact and just finish my set. I couldn’t deny I was distracted though, and I felt my whole soul wasn’t in my singing – my mind still running through the my scheduled plan for tomorrow. Maybe that was for the best – in the end it might be better really that I seemed out of sorts.
At the end of the night I made sure to dodge my way away from any conversations, narrowly avoiding Oliver who I knew would want to go over tomorrow’s schedule, never failing to make at least one criticism on tonight - whether it was my stage presence, the pitch or my outfit.
I slipped past Oliver and out of sight as he headed to the backstage area, and I moved down the staff corridor. I was nearly at the end by the staircase to that lead to my upstairs flat when I froze at a noise behind me coming from Penguin’s office. I thought better about my position and I quickly dashed for the cover of the steps. I made it out of sight of the passageway as the door of the office opened. I stole a glance around the old dark staircase barrier to see a tall business man stood halfway out of the doorway, he seemed to be shaking hands with whoever was in the room – most likely Penguin.
I didn’t loiter long, swiftly, but lightly springing up the remaining steps and then treading softly along the thin, worn carpet that led to my front door so that no one downstairs could hear me. Tonight I didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone.
I closed my front door carefully behind me and then made my way to my bedroom. I was mentally exhausted from the stress of my plan and the events of the past few weeks were still catching up on me, but I knew these same thoughts were reducing my chances of sleep tonight.
Never the less I braced myself for the hours of tossing and turning in my ever constricting bed linen, going through my usual evening routine mechanically before climbing into my bed lying wide awake, staring up at the greying ceiling above me. I was in for a long night I sighed.
And sure enough, it was after the hundredth run through of tomorrow’s plan I finally fell into a exhausted sleep.
It was time. I could put it off no longer. A nearby clock tower struck 8am. I had chosen this hour for a reason – the streets of Gotham would be busy with commuters, both pedestrians and vehicles.
I strode nonchalantly towards my destination, cars rushing past me where they could before they once again stuck in a blockade of traffic. Backstreets that I only dared to walk in the daylight offered some shelter from the chilly winds, though the cold of the morning still bit at my cheeks – the only bit of skin uncovered in the cold air.
I left the protection of the alleyways as I stepped out onto the main road, the strong winds now being tunnelled down the wide streets and whipping strands of my air across my face until I have up and scrapped it back into a messy bun. I now made my way towards one of the many bridges that crisscrossed and stitched Gotham together, my bulging coat pocket knocking against my thigh with each stride as I followed the bright brake lights of the usual morning congestion until I met the waterside. I peered over the thick stone barriers at the dark swirl of water below. It looked bleak and cold. How inviting, I thought.
I shook myself out of my thoughts and joined the crowd of people filing up the pavement and over the bridge. I was in no particular hurry and so was often shoved aside and overtaken by those running late for their early morning shifts.
I stepped out to side so I was leant against the low wall that lined the bridge, seeking refuge from the flow of foot traffic. Next to me were a few tourists taking selfies or full landscapes of the skyscraper skyline on their mobile phones and chatting in different accents and languages.
Now that I was here, staring out of the dark watery surface, I was becoming hot and bothered and I peeled my gloves off, my palms feeling clammy. I waited a bit longer - pretending to take in the view - the dark shadows of the towering offices standing out proudly against the dull, ashen sky. Eventually most of the people around me had moved off and I stood relatively alone as I glanced around, except for the steady flow of office workers and occasional vacationers that pasted by.
I took a deep breath. No reason to put this off anymore. I placed my palms on the solid stone barriers in front of me, ensuring I chose the cleanest bit, avoiding the worst areas of old chewing gum and bird droppings – I owed myself that much dignity. I put all my weight into my forearms and swung myself up so I knelt on the cold ledge, blowing out a sharp breath to calm myself as I pushed myself to a crouch, ignoring the stares I was beginning to get.
I made sure I had good balance on my feet before I pushed myself the rest of the way upright so that I stood facing out to the road and people milling before me.
The wind slapped my cheeks even sharper up here but I ignored it and the few lose strands of hair that flew in front of my face. I could see people now staring openly at me and some slowing, though not stopping, to look at the weirdo stood on the bridge. Some seem to just be confused about the situation, but I though a saw a few with concern on their faces, though still no one had stopped.
I could feel my exposed face becoming red and numb from the lashing wintery air. Damn I wish it wasn’t February – this might not be as bad if it was warmer.
The road over the bridge was heavy congested and so I could see some people the static cars looking out their windows at me as I reached into my heavy coat pocket and wrapped my hands around my gun that lay nestled in the fold of material.
I pulled the weapon out slowly, prolonging the moment as long as possible. Let everyone see. Get a good look, I thought as I brought the weapon out into the open. I heard a few gasps then, they probably feared more for their own lives then for mine in that moment. Some people who had begun to loiter did make a quick getaway then, in Gotham you rarely hung around at the sight of a weapon – random attacks being all too frequent on these streets – though I doubted many had occurred out of the cover of darkness and in the middle of a busy, crowded bridge. Though who was I to think this – there were some insane people in this city, and I was starting to believe I might be one of them.
People seemed to relax slightly about their own safety when I raised the gun toward my head. Were people talking? Was someone asking me something? I couldn’t hear over the wind and the rush of blood in my ears. I drowned everyone out. My arms were shaking from all the attention on me. I tried to keep my eyes fixed in front on me, staring unseeing at the river I could make out on the other side of the bridge. Still, out the corner of my eye, I could see a few people step out of their cars, though they didn’t make any move to come closer.
Though I couldn’t really see the gun anymore in my peripheral vision, I could feel its presence to the right of my temple. I felt tears slip down my cheeks. There were screams now; more people were getting out of their cars.
That was nice. People seemed to care. But did they care? Or did they just not want to have to own up later if they saw me do this and never tried to do anything?
People were getting closer now, but they still seem to act as though there was a 5 foot bubble in front of me. None of them dared to get closer than that and they formed a wall around this invisible boundary, their lips moving, eyes pleading. But I didn’t hear anything. It was like I was dreaming again, but I knew this was all too real.
I couldn’t let people touch me. They couldn’t stop me. This was the plan and I had to go through with it. It was the only way I could think of.
Then I noticed a new movement above all the others. Someone, a young girl around my age, was pushing through the wall of bodies. Her winter coat hung open with a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and a woollen hat shoved quickly on her dark hair. She had come from one of the cars sat in the queue, the blue Volvo’s car door still open wide as she tried to worm her way through those who were too scared to get any closer to me. She seemed to generally care. That was nice. Gotham clearly hadn’t got to her yet. Maybe she wasn’t from around here. Maybe she was just visiting someone – a boyfriend maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice, I thought as my finger rested on the trigger.
She had cleared the crowd now - her woollen hat having been lost in the mass, but she didn’t seem to care. The gun was becoming heavy in my hand now, my arm weakening from holding it up for so long. Get on with it! I snapped at myself. She was a few feet from me now crying something indistinct to my ear amongst the noises that roared in my ears. Was she saying to stop? Don’t do it? It didn’t really matter what she was saying – it wouldn’t stop me. She didn’t know me, didn’t know my situation, and didn’t know that this was the only way I could think of to get out of everything.
I hoped her boyfriend was nice and this toxic city didn’t corrupt her as I finally pulled the trigger. I fell backwards, the chilling air rushing to meet me as I plummeted down, making my stomach drop. The sight of the bridge rushing away from me was enough to get me to shut my eyes, but not before I saw the girl’s head appear over the side of the railing. Sorry, I apologised silently, she didn’t need to experience this.
I fell for longer than I thought, wondering if somehow the world had vanished around me and I was now just falling through a void in the universe. Just as I finished this thought however, I felt the stinging slap as my back collided with the steely surface of the river.
#joker x reader#deadly voice#deadly voice part 21#joker fanfic#joker fanfiction#jokersenigma#fanfic#fanfiction#deadly voice fanfiction#deadly voice fanfic
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