titsay
Kiana Khansmith
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ojovivo
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
Game of Thrones Daily
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
d e v o n
Misplaced Lens Cap
Love Begins
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
noise dept.
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Cosmic Funnies
No title available
Discoholic 🪩
$LAYYYTER
Show & Tell
izzy's playlists!
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Pakistan
seen from Qatar
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Tunisia
seen from Ukraine
seen from France
seen from Indonesia
seen from Tunisia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
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@gloriousdreamerland
MASTERLIST
I used to think all these words that get stuck in my throat could drown me, that's why i write. Also, i'm chronically allergic to sad endings.
Welcome to my world.
NARUTO
HARRY POTTER
Now working on: Mission heart of the desert (2) // Mitsuya Takashi x reader (series)
Nanami kento my beloved
......... i just wanted to say that
streamer!yuji au part eight ೃ༄*ੈ✩ ⋆
a little while later…
masterlist
look at my son he is just one (1) apple tall
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc
Mission heart of the desert
Pairing: Gaara of the desert x Konoha! Fem! Reader (after Naruto but before Naruto the last)
Warning: Hurt/comfort; Bad english; Happy ending (only in pt 3); Mention of anxiety; A failed attempt at comedy.
Synopsis: Save your best friend AKA the love of your life. In which a kazekage who hardly knew love most of his life and just discovered the bond of friendship meets a Jonin from Konoha who would rather die than speak clearly about her feelings and tosses around signals that are probably invisible to the kazekage.
Even worse, said Jonin needs to save the kazekage from a cruel fate: arranged marriage.
Oh boy.
Mission heart of the desert - 01
Mission heart of the desert: the hidden archives - 02
Mission heart of the leaf: bring the desert back to life - 03 (Final)
About the Gaara fic.
The good news is i'm finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel, i'm finally past the middle yaaaay🎉
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The bad news is there'll be a chapter 3 for logic purposes, but this time i'll do like the George fic and when i publish ch2 i'll already have made ch3. I'm trying my best.
(Sorry if I send this twice, my phone just bugged up when I tried to send this 😭).
Imagine Sebek x Fae!Reader.
But reader is a Fae RAISED 100% BY HUMANS.
Like Silver, but without any curse or anything. Something like their parents we're two faes who lived in a city of humans, they both died and Reader was adopted by a couple of Humans.
Sebeks likes Fae!Reader, so he tries to do an Tipical Fae Courting... And Reader is like: "What's up with you??".
Sebeks thinks he was rejected and then Silver said something like: "Maybe they don't know how the Faes court and they we're confused..."
Failed Courting Rituals
Sebek x Reader
Notes: YAYAYA SEBEK💕💕 This is a really cute idea, but forgive me if this fic is a little weird, I lowkey had to make up some bs for the courting ritual since there isn’t any mentioned (that I know of) in game. I might have to rewatch Tinkerbell or watch some vids of crocodiles for this one✌️😭 Also reader is going to be a bird fae.
It was a lovely Tuesday morning, the sky was clear, there was a gentle breeze, and those two Heartslabyul boys, and that strange cat didn’t come whining to you about their problems (yet). It was just you under a tree reading a big book of fairy tales, which was gifted to you by a certain someone. But then, as if you summoned him by reading it, you hear loud, heavy footsteps approaching you.
“FEATHERS…”, Sebek shouts as he approaches you, “I have a wonderful gift for you!”, despite his words that any normal person would say with a smile, he looks almost angry. “Uh…again?”, you blink at him in confusion, both at the weird nickname he keeps calling you, and the fact he keeps gifting you things. “Why yes! Someone as incredible as yourself deserves the best offerings that is almost comparable to the Great Wakasama’s!”, he says with a finger pointed in the air.
“And there’s no better offering than lifting your spirits, so this time…!”, Sebek grabs your hand, reaches into his pocket with his other hand and places something hard in your palm, then closes it. It feels like a bracelet of some sort, but slightly damp…? It’s as if Sebek’s palms were sweaty before giving it to you. That’s something you noticed a lot lately, you considered asking Lilia why his hands have been sweating so much, but you wanted to save him from the doting.
“Wow, thanks, Sebek.”, you smile awkwardly, then look down and try and open your hand, but Sebek quickly puts his back over yours and sits close to you. “Don’t look yet! It needs your full attention, not one little thing shall take your eyes off of it…”, he trails off, getting weirdly quiet. When you look up at him, you notice him making this strange face, something between a cringe and a pout. You noticed that he’s done that a lot too, but when you asked him about it, he just snapped and claimed he had ‘training to do’.
The silence was a few moments away from becoming uncomfortable before Sebek speaks up again, “Feathers, I see you were reading the book I gifted to you last week. You’re obviously enjoying my selection, I knew I’d choose the best one!”, he grins as he boasts, which you’ve learned that he does it mostly out of embarrassment. You just nod, thinking that you’re helping him out by not reacting much, but it actually makes him feel sad and that he’s bothering you, not that he’ll tell you. “Well, Feathers,”, he gives your hand a squeeze as he stands up, “I’ll take my leave now, I don’t want to interrupt any more of your reading time.”
He finally lets go, then scurries off like something that’s ten times smaller than his actual size. You sigh and shake your head, wondering if he hit his head recently. Not that you didn’t appreciate it, but Sebek’s been acting so weird lately. He keeps giving you gifts every three days, some as simple as some fruit in a basket, and some as off putting as a vile of his tears. You didn’t know he could cry in the first place, much less cry enough to fill a whole vile. Sebek said they were ‘tears of passion’ to show how much he cares for you, but you feel like he would’ve been better off calling you his best friend.
Speaking of calling you things, Sebek keeps calling you ‘Feathers’ and sometimes ‘Tweety’ when he’s feeling more affectionate. He NEVER calls anyone besides Lilia and Malleus by any nicknames, and even then they’re technically titles and not nicknames. He doesn’t even call Silver anything and they’ve known each other long before NRC, he doesn’t even call him ‘human’ like he does with literally anyone else. You don’t mind the nicknames, but you almost feel like he’s expecting you to call him something back. At this point, you might ambush him with interpretive dance to see if it’ll get him to settle down with…everything.
Like Sebek acts like it’s his sworn duty to walk you back to your dorm every night. He would make you go with Malleus every time you eat lunch in the cafeteria, since Malleus practically scares everyone in line, so you’d both get first dibs on everything. Malleus didn’t mind, just happy to be making a new friend, you on the other hand wanted to back away like everyone else. Sebek would even offer to do the most mundane things for you, but in the most unhinged way possible.
Grabbing you a sheet of paper when you need to write down notes, even though you clearly had plenty in your notebook. Tying your shoes even if they were the SLIGHTEST bit loose, bending down on one knee as if it were a sacred practice. But the most unhinged was last Friday, he pulled you close to him and didn’t let you go for ten minutes straight. It WAS a little chilly outside in the woods, but not chilly for him to act as a human blanket. It was so absurd, you didn’t even question how or why he even followed you into the woods.
You don’t even question why he’s been so adamant on being all over you. Even in public surprisingly, though in those situations he just stands obnoxiously close to you, but it still counts. It’s not that you didn’t care, it’s just that you had bigger things to worry about. Sebek being affectionate was the least concerning of his…behavior lately. In fact, you feel kind of honored since you never see him be this soft with anyone else.
Later on the still lovely Tuesday, you were in potionology class and you and Silver were partners. You and Silver were great friends actually, having lots of things in common help you two become close. While you guys were mixing your assigned concoction. Silver looks at you with a serious look in his eye, “[Name], I know this might not be the best time, but I need to talk to you about something.” “Oh, sure. What is it?”, you say curiously, but you secretly hope it wasn’t anything too upsetting. “Do you not like Sebek or something? He says you haven’t been taking his courting very well.”, he looks concerned, but also worried on Sebek’s behalf. “He’s been trying so hard, y’know, and if you don’t like him back, you should put a stop to it before this goes any further-…”
“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH…!”, you yell for the entire class to hear, earning you a couple dirty looks, making you feel a little bashful, but you continue, “Courting???” As soon as Silver sees the shock and confusion on your face, he remembers you’re more clueless on fae culture than he is on human culture. He looks at you with second hand embarrassment, then says something along the lines of, “I’ll let him explain”, but then he starts to feel drowsy and cuts himself off, leaving you to worry more about his safety at the moment.
That night in Diasomnia, Silver finds Sebek in his dorm room, usually at this time, he’d hear him saying his nightly prayers to his Malleus portrait, but now he hears him just grumbling to himself. “Sebek? Are you feeling alright?”, Silver ask softly as he approaches Sebek. Sebek huffs and gives him an almost offended look, “NO! I am NOT okay! I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, usually in couples, after the third day, your partner would reciprocate! If they’re shier, maybe five, but it’s been over a MONTH now. AND-…!” “Sebek.”, Silver calmly interrupts, “They don’t understand fae courtship. They were raised among humans, remember.”
Sebek jaw drops as if he was just told the sky was falling, which to him it might as well be because how could he forget one of the most important things about the very person he’s perusing. He felt so silly, he was so busy being glad that you were fae, so you would understand what humans would consider strange, that he wasn’t thinking about how SILVER of all people understood the rituals more than you. Sebek shoos Silver away after a minute, then he writes down a strict, five page plan on how to court you properly in a way that the both of you could understand.
More Notes: I’m so sorry if this is weird and it doesn’t make any sense. I was making things up as I wrote, and this might be a little ooc or a lot idk💔💔💔 Idk what else to write I’m just embarrassed that I might not’ve done my goat Sebek justice😞
Fight Or Date
art credit: huge thanks to @yintrusiva for the beautiful artwork made for this fanfic <3 she’s also open for commissions, so please check out her account!
zoro x gn!reader (fem!reader only in the illustration)
the crew make you two go on a date but you're both competitive af — what will happen?
law version + ace version
tags: first date, fluff, kinda enemies to lovers, soft, humor
word count: 5.6k
zoro m.list || anime m.list || ao3 || ko-fi
Game night was a mistake.
A HUGE mistake.
Especially when the moment Zoro cracked his knuckles across the table and gave you that look.
The one that says: I’m not losing.
You give him the exact same look back, because neither are you.
“Last round. With the three of you.” Nami announces smugly, shuffling the cards “Winner takes all.”
You and Zoro lean forward at the same time.
Competitive energy radiating like two angry thunderstorms about to collide.
Across from you, the rest of the crew watches with barely contained excitement.
This is not about the game anymore.
This is about pride.
Honor.
Ego.
And unfortunately… you remember you two aren't the only two playing. In fact, you both lose.
You stare at the table.
Zoro stares at the table.
Then slowly you both look up and scowl.
“Rigged.” you say flatly.
“Tch,” Zoro clicks his tongue “obviously.”
“Skill issue.” Sanji says immediately, lighting a cigarette.
“You’re just mad you didn’t even make it to the final round.” you snap.
He gasps like you stabbed him.
Zoro snorts.
You elbow him but he elbows back harder.
“Anyway,” Usopp claps loudly, eyes sparkling with chaos, “losers have to pay the price!”
You narrow your eyes “…Price?”
Zoro cracks his neck “Whatever it is, make it quick.”
Huge mistake.
The crew immediately huddles together in a tight circle, whispering like cartoon villains.
You and Zoro are left outside like two rejected bodyguards.
You cross your arms “This is stupid. Technically I arrived second. This doesn't mean losing… who made this dumb rule."
“Tch. Just a waste of time.”
You both lean closer to eavesdrop.
They turn their backs.
You both glare.
“What do you think it is?” you mutter.
“Probably something dumb,” Zoro replies “like chores.”
You both pause at the thought.
“…I’d rather fight a sea king.” you admit.
He nods immediately “Same.”
The circle breaks. They’re smiling. All of them. Even Nico Robin, which makes it worse… That woman only smiles when something dangerous is about to happen, you know.
Your instincts scream. Run.
“So…” Nami says sweetly, hands behind her back.
You don’t trust that tone.
“You both,” she continues, pointing between you and Zoro, “have to go on a date.”
“With who?” You ask innocently but as an answer everyone looks bad at you. Here you understand what they mean.
“No.”
“No.”
You and Zoro speak in perfect sync. Then pause to look at each other.
Scowl deeper.
“Absolutely not.” you add.
“Tch. Over my dead body.” he says.
“Aww,” Usopp fake-pouts “Are you two scared?”
You stiffen.
Zoro stiffens.
“We’re not scared.” you snap immediately.
“Yeah,” Zoro growls, “just not interested.”
Sanji smirks, “Then prove it.”
You narrow your eyes “Prove what?”
“That you’re not intimidated by a simple date.”
You feel your pride physically rise.
Zoro’s aura darkens beside you.
You both know what they’re doing, you both see their trap… but you both walk straight into it anyway.
“Fine, I'll show you.” you say.
“Tch. Fine.” Zoro echoes.
The crew explodes with cheering and capping.
You immediately regret everything.
And now… now you’re here. Sitting outside a cute pastry shop on some random island.
On a date.
With Zoro.
You hate everything.
The table is small and round.
Romantic.
Disgusting.
Both of you sit there, slouching like you’re attending a funeral.
You stare at the street.
He stares at the sky.
Neither of you looks at the other.
The silence is thick enough to cut with one of his swords.
“This is stupid.” you mutter.
“Tch. Obviously.”
You both keep looking away.
A couple walks past holding hands.
You both look even further away.
A bird chirps.
Then he speaks out of nowhere “You’re doing it wrong.”
You freeze and slowly turn your head “…Excuse me?”
He finally looks at you and smirks.
That stupid, smug, infuriating smirk “You usually would at least pretend you’re good at this. Just for the sake of winning for your own ego.”
Your eye twitches.
“I’d be good at it,” you snap, “if I wasn’t stuck here with you.”
“Oh yeah?” he leans forward slightly “You think you could do better and not be this boring?”
Your competitive instincts ignite instantly “Easily.”
He scoffs “Prove it.”
“Oh, I will.”
And just like that it becomes a competition.
“Oh wow,” you say dramatically, looking around, “this place is soooo nice.”
“Your acting is terrible.” he says flatly.
“At least I’m trying.”
“You’re trying too hard now.”
“You’re not trying at all.”
“Because I don’t need to.”
You gasp “Your ego is insane.”
“You noticed?”
“I noticed you’re insufferable.”
“Takes one to know one.”
You’re both leaning forward now and actually looking at each other.
“You’d be the worst date ever.” he says.
“You literally get lost walking in straight lines…” you reply.
“At least I don’t talk in my sleep.”
You freeze “…How do you even know that?”
He smirks wider.
You hate him so much.
Before the argument can escalate into an actual brawl a shadow falls over the table.
You both look up.
A sweet old lady stands there, smiling warmly, holding a tray of pastries.
“Here you go, dears.” she says kindly, placing them down.
You both stare at the pastries, then at each other, then back at her.
“…We didn’t order these.” you say cautiously.
She chuckles and points behind you “Those nice friends of yours sent them.”
You and Zoro turn slowly and there they are… at a table across the street… the entire crew.
Grinning.
Watching like it’s a live theater performance.
Luffy and Chopper are the only two completely oblivious, already inhaling sweets like vacuum cleaners.
Usopp gives you two thumbs up as if he's encouraging you two to continue.
Nami smiles and nods mockingly.
Sanji is just staring, he looks mad.
Brook is taking notes.
Robin and Franky smile like proud parents.
You feel your soul leave your body.
You turn back and Zoro is already scowling. Vein popping. Eye twitching.
You mirror him perfectly.
“I'm going to kill them.” you whisper.
“Tch,” he mutters darkly “I'll help.”
You both look at the pastries again. Then at each other.
Same thought.
You grab one.
He grabs one.
You both take a bite at the exact same time maintaining eye contact like it’s a declaration of war.
And somehow despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to laugh.
Which is unacceptable.
And just as you continue, the crew is whispering loudly. You hear snorts. You hear stifled laughter.
You hear Usopp failing miserably at whispering “I THINK THEY’RE MAKING EYE CONTACT—”
“SHUT UP!” someone hisses.
You close your eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.
You lower the pastry.
“So.” you say flatly.
Zoro’s eye twitches “Yeah.”
“We should leave.”
“Yeah.”
You both stand at the same time, in perfect sync.
The old lady behind the counter smiles like she just witnessed a romance movie climax.
You feel a migraine forming.
You don’t even look at the crew as you walk away.
But you can feel them like a curse… a presence… a disturbance in the force.
You and Zoro walk side by side in silence, boots echoing against the cobblestone streets.
The city is lively.
You shove your hands into your pockets.
“This is still stupid.” you mutter.
“Tch. Obviously.”
At least he’s consistent.
You walk for a while.
You glance sideways.
Zoro is unusually calm. Hands in his pockets. Looking around lazily like this is just another day.
You narrow your eyes.
Why is he not mad while you’re furious? He should be furious too.
A loud crash echoes behind you, followed by a very familiar voice “OW—!”
You stop walking and you turn around, AND there they are… trying to hide behind a fruit stall but failing miserably.
Half the crew… not even subtle.
Usopp is crouched behind a basket that is clearly too small to hide him. Nami is pretending to inspect oranges while staring directly at you. Sanji is holding a newspaper upside down. And in the back Nico Robin waves calmly, like she’s not part of the crime.
You blink.
“…They’re still following us.” you say flatly.
“Tch. Idiots.” Zoro mutters, but he doesn’t sound mad.
That’s what gets you.
You slowly look at him.
He raises a brow “What?”
“…You’re not annoyed.”
“I am.”
“You don’t sound like it.”
He shrugs “Doesn’t matter.”
You narrow your eyes harder… suspicious.
And then a thought hits you. A terrible, brilliant, petty thought.
You slowly turn back toward the crew.
They immediately duck.
You smile.
Zoro notices instantly but instead of stopping you in whatever thing you're planning, he smirks.
You turn back forward and start walking again.
But now you have a mission.
They want a show? You’ll give them one.
You will make them regret this.
You suddenly grab Zoro’s sleeve “Come on.”
He blinks, surprised for half a second before letting himself be dragged along.
“Where are we going?” he asks lazily.
You don’t answer, you just march forward with purpose.
Behind you, the crew scrambles to follow.
You stop in front of the loudest, most chaotic street you can find. Music blasting. Performers shouting. Vendors yelling over each other.
You turn to Zoro with fake enthusiasm.
“Wow,” you say loudly “This is so romantic.”
He snorts.
You kick his foot lightly.
“Play along.” you whisper.
His grin widens. He’s enjoying this.
You spin dramatically and point at random things “Look! Matching bracelets!”
You grab the tackiest ones you can find and shove them toward him.
The vendor beams.
Zoro stares at them, then at you. Then, without breaking eye contact he puts one on.
Your brain short-circuits as you blink rapidly.
He raises a brow as to say, your move.
You feel your competitive spirit flare. You grab the other bracelet and slam it onto your wrist.
The vendor claps excitedly.
Somewhere behind you, you hear a choked noise that sounds like Usopp dying.
You keep going.
You drag Zoro to the loudest stalls. The weirdest shops. The most embarrassing spots.
You exaggerate everything. Fake gasp at ugly decorations. Overreact at cheesy couple items.
You even lean closer to him at one point just to make it worse for your not-so-invisible audience.
Your soul leaves your body a little, but the mission is bigger than your dignity.
Zoro is not helping at all.
He lets you pull him around like a ragdoll with hands in his pockets and that lazy smirk never leaving his face. Occasionally throwing in a comment just to make it worse.
“You’re really committed.” he mutters once.
You glare “Shut up.”
He chuckles.
You feel personally attacked.
You stop in front of a mirror at a random stall, pretending to inspect something shiny.
But really, you’re checking behind you and there they are.
Good. Let them watch.
Even if you have to destroy your own pride to make them regret this.
Beside you, Zoro watches you from the reflection, amused and quiet. And he has no intention of stopping.
As you keep on walking, as you’re mid-scheme, you see it.
You stop so suddenly Zoro almost walks into you.
Your eyes widen, your jaw drops and you gasp audibly and way too dramatically.
Zoro immediately narrows his eyes “What.”
You don’t answer because you’re already moving “No way—”
You bolt straight ahead.
Zoro watches you run like you’ve lost your mind. Then follows at a normal pace, hands still in his pockets, completely unbothered.
When he finally reaches you, you’re already standing in front of a game stall, practically vibrating.
It’s one of those festival booths with cheap prizes hanging everywhere.
Throw the rings and hit the targets to win something stupid.
You look like you just found heaven.
Zoro looks at the stall, then at you and then back at the stall.
“…Are you a kid?” he asks flatly.
You slowly turn your head toward him. Offended.
“You just don’t want to admit you’re a loser.”
And there it is the moment and the fatal blow.
Zoro’s eye twitches. His lazy smirk gone.
The swordsman who didn’t care five seconds ago? Dead.
You have awakened something.
“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, stepping forward “move.”
You grin.
Oh, it’s on.
Coins slam onto the counter.
The stall owner startles slightly but smiles nervously “W-welcome! Just throw the rings and—”
You’re already grabbing them.
Zoro grabs his own set.
Neither of you listens to the rules.
You don’t need rules.
You need victory.
Miss.
Miss.
Miss.
Clink.
Bounce.
Miss again.
You narrow your eyes.
Zoro frowns.
This is unacceptable.
Again.
And again.
And again.
You lean closer to the counter.
Zoro rolls his shoulders like he’s about to fight a war.
The stall owner laughs nervously “Ahaha… it’s just for fun—”
“I will win…” you mutter.
“Tch. Not before me.” Zoro snaps.
Time stops meaning anything.
People pass behind you watching with fear.
Somewhere, a performer shouts.
You hear none of it. You only hear the clink of rings, your own breathing and Zoro.
“You’re throwing wrong.” he says.
“You’re aiming wrong.” you fire back.
“At least I hit the table.”
“That’s not the goal!”
“Tch.”
You lose again.
You slam another coin down “Again.”
Zoro does the same.
The owner starts sweating.
“Y-you can try the shooting game instead—”
“No.”
“No.”
You and Zoro speak in sync.
Never looking away from the targets.
More throws. More misses.
Your frustration rises.
Zoro’s aura darkens.
You both lean so far over the counter you’re practically invading the stall.
The owner laughs weakly “Maybe… maybe take a break—”
You don’t hear him.
Neither does Zoro.
Because at this point it’s just you and him. And war.
You throw again.
Miss.
You snap “Is it rigged?? Damn!”
You slam your hands on the counter dramatically.
Zoro doesn’t even react, he just grabs another ring.
Eyes sharp.
Focused.
Terrifying.
The stall owner begins to panic. His smile drops completely.
You’re both still muttering under your breath, arguing between throws and competing like your lives depend on it.
Behind you, a small crowd has formed.
You don’t notice.
You don’t care.
“Stand back.” Zoro mutters, rolling his neck like he’s about to unleash a forbidden technique.
“It’s a ring toss.” you snap.
“Tch. Watch and learn.”
He throws.
Misses.
You gasp loudly “Pathetic.”
“SHUT UP.”
The stall owner looks like he’s about to cry. His hands tremble as he leans forward slightly, voice small “P-please leave…”
You grab another ring.
Zoro grabs another.
Neither of you acknowledges him.
Not even a glance.
You throw again.
Miss.
You slam the counter.
Zoro growls.
The owner looks like he’s reconsidering his entire career.
“Please,” he whispers again, voice shaking, “I beg you…”
But you and Zoro only hear each other, only see each other. Locked in the dumbest, fiercest battle imaginable.
And somewhere deep down, neither of you realizes you stopped caring about the crew watching a long time ago.
After many other tries you throw again but this time it wobbles.
You both lean forward at the exact same time.
The ring tilts. Balances.
And then it drops perfectly onto the bottle.
Silence.
You blink.
Zoro blinks.
The stall owner blinks.
“I GOT IT?!” You explode.
You jump up and down, hands in the air, laughing in pure disbelief “I GOT ONE IN!”
You spin around and, without thinking, grab Zoro by the shoulders “Did you see that?!”
He doesn’t jump, of course he doesn’t, but he’s looking at you and there’s a soft smirk on his face.
“Yeah,” he says quietly “I saw.”
Continue after illustration:
You’re still holding onto him when it hits you. You let go immediately, but you’re still grinning bright.
You don’t even realize that a minute ago you were trying to beat him and now you’re celebrating like you both won.
You turn back to the stall, scanning the prizes like you just unlocked a treasure vault.
And then you point dramatically where hanging slightly to the side there’s a plushie,
Green. Grumpy. Round little body. Perpetual scowl stitched onto its face.
You don’t even notice the resemblance, but Zoro and the stall owner do.
And somewhere behind you, someone snorts.
“I want that one.” you declare proudly.
The stall owner freezes.
He swallows “Y-you need three rings in for that…”
You turn slowly and your expression shifts from happy to calculating to dangerously competitive.
Everyone feels the aura change immediately.
You roll your shoulders slightly.
“Three?” you repeat.
The stall owner pales.
“B-But—!” he stammers quickly, hands flying up defensively “You tried so much! I-I’ll give it to you anyway! And— and I’ll give one of his choice to your boyfriend as well!”
Silence.
The word hangs there.
Boyfriend.
Your brain stops.
Your heart does something incredibly stupid.
You blink.
Heat creeps up your neck.
Beside you, Zoro stiffens just barely.
You glance at him.
He’s not correcting it. Not snapping. Not denying.
He’s just standing there, arms crossed, looking mildly annoyed at the implication but not offended. Not rejecting it.
Your chest tightens in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with competition, and you realize something terrifying… you don’t mind, not even a little.
“Oh…” you say weakly.
The stall owner nods rapidly, desperate to survive this interaction “Yes! Yes! Take anything! Please!”
You look back at the plushie then at Zoro.
He looks at the plushie then at you.
There’s a flicker in his eye.
He reaches up and grabs one from the side.
A different one.
The stall owner practically shoves the plushies into your hands like he’s paying a ransom “Thank you! Please enjoy the rest of the festival… far away from here!”
You don’t hear him.
You’re staring at the plushie in your arms. It’s soft, round and angry-looking.
You hug it instinctively.
Zoro watches you do it and that soft smirk of his returns.
You start walking away, quiet now.
The chaos of earlier is replaced with something… different.
Your heart is still beating a little too fast.
Your fingers brush against the plush as you hold it.
After a few steps, you notice Zoro is walking slightly closer than before.
Then without a word he holds out his plushie.
You blink “What?”
“Take it.”
“…Why?”
“Tch. I don’t need it.”
He doesn’t look at you when he says it, he just keeps walking, arm extended slightly in your direction.
You stare at the plush, then at him, then back at the plush.
Your heart does that stupid thing again.
You accept it quietly.
Your fingers brush his for half a second.
He exhales softly and you just pretend not to notice.
Now you’re holding both plushies.
You look at them, then up at him.
And for once you don’t hide your smile.
He catches it from the corner of his eye and doesn’t say anything, but the tips of his ears turn slightly red.
Behind you, somewhere in the distance, you hear faint whispering and dramatic gasps.
You don’t look back, you don’t care anymore, because as you walk beside him, plushies in your arms and something unfamiliar but not unwelcome blooming in your chest, you realize, quietly, that this stopped being about proving anything a while ago.
You walk back to the ship side by side.
Zoro walks with his usual lazy stride, hands in his pockets, expression neutral, like nothing life-altering just happened.
You reach the ship and go aboard.
Still no words about anything, just silence, but comfortable.
You stop near the stairs that lead below deck.
“…Night.” you say casually.
“...Night.”
That’s it. No dramatic pause. No lingering touch.
You turn and head to your room.
Behind you, hidden very badly behind barrels and ropes, half the crew deflates in disappointment.
“THAT’S IT?!” someone whispers aggressively.
“No kiss?!” another hisses.
You don’t hear or see them, because you’re too busy trying to understand why your chest feels warm.
Why you’re smiling, why replaying the night makes your stomach flip in a way that’s not annoyance.
You flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.
“…Why am I feeling like this…” you mutter.
The plushies sit beside you.
You bury your face into them to hide your smile and that’s when it hits you that you didn’t hate tonight.
You just… liked being there… with him.
The next morning is a disaster.
You step into the dining area and immediately freeze.
Everyone is there.
Brook leans forward eagerly, teacup in hand.
“Good morning!” he sings “May I ask how your romantic evening was? Yohohoho!”
You contemplate throwing him overboard.
“SUPER curious!” Franky flexes dramatically “Was it SUPER romantic?!”
“Did you hold hands?” Usopp demands.
“Did you confess?” Nami adds sweetly.
“Did you fight?” Sanji asks suspiciously.
You inhale slowly and exhale slowly.
You sit down and say nothing, you just start eating very calmly as they continue relentless.
“You brought back matching plushies!” Usopp points accusingly.
Your eye twitches but you keep eating.
Across the table Zoro sits like nothing is happening, drinking tea or whatever’s in the cup, calm and unbothered, not even reacting to the chaos.
The only difference from other mornings is that he isn't teasing you.
He just looks… anywhere but at you.
That’s new.
Days pass and something changes.
Zoro still trains, naps, gets lost somehow on the ship, and argues with Sanji…
But with you he’s… different. Less sharp and less provoking. If you reach for something, he doesn’t snatch it first as he used to. If you say something competitive, he just hums instead of biting back as he used to.
If you challenge him, he lets you win.
You stare at him suspiciously but he avoids your gaze.
You preferred the fighting and its sparks.
Now it feels like he’s stepping back, like he’s giving you space you didn’t ask for.
And you hate that.
One afternoon, you find him alone on deck, sitting against the railing with sunlight hitting his face, sleeping or pretending.
You approach. Arms crossed.
“Are you sick?” you ask bluntly.
One eye opens.
“…What.”
“You’ve been weird.”
“Tch.”
“That’s not a denial.”
He sits up slightly “You’re imagining things.”
“No, I’m not.”
Silence.
You step closer “What’s going on?”
He looks away and scratches the back of his neck “Nothing.”
You narrow your eyes “Zoro.”
He inhales, about to speak, and then—
“NEW ISLAND!” Luffy screams from the crow’s nest.
Everyone rushes, excited yelling, footsteps thundering past you.
But you don’t move and neither does Zoro.
You’re still looking at each other with something unsaid hanging heavy between you.
He stands.
Still silent.
Soon, the ship docks.
Everyone spills out eagerly.
You start walking toward the town when—“Y/N.”
You freeze.
He rarely calls your name like that.
Quiet.
Almost hesitant.
You turn.
He’s standing a few steps behind, not looking at you but looking somewhere to the side, like the sky is extremely interesting all of a sudden.
“…You… wanna go eat something?” he mutters.
You blink.
You don’t answer.
Your brain refuses to function.
At the silence, he finally looks at you and sees your shocked expression.
His jaw tightens slightly.
“It’s fine,” he mutters quickly “I’ll go alone.”
He turns but you grab his sleeve “Wait.”
He stops and looks at your hand, then at you.
“…I’ll go.” you say.
His shoulders relax just slightly “Tch. Good.”
You both start walking side by side.
The town is lively but it feels quieter to you.
After a moment, you glance at him “So…”
He grunts.
“…Is it a date?”
He stops walking instantly.
You stop as soon as you notice.
His head snaps toward you, eyes wide for a fraction of a second “What?”
You laugh lightly “Relax. I’m joking.”
You quickly continue to walk so he doesn’t see your expression as you say “...but I wouldn’t mind if it was.”
You say it casually but your heart is trying to escape your body.
You hear his footsteps rush behind you.
Suddenly a firm hand grabs your wrist.
You turn, surprised and see him close.
His grip isn’t rough but steady and certain.
He looks at you directly.
No more avoidance.
“Then it is.” he says quietly.
You blink.
He exhales “…A date.”
Silence.
Your brain melts but somehow you relax and a soft smile spreads across your face “Perfect.”
He lets go slowly.
You both turn and start walking again like nothing monumental just happened.
Like your hearts aren’t lighter.
Like your steps aren’t a little closer.
Like this isn’t exactly what you both wanted all along.
The restaurant is loud and perfectly pirate-coded. No fancy decorations. No romantic lighting. Just noise, food, and the smell of grilled meat.
Exactly the kind of place neither of you has to pretend in.
You sit across from each other, but unlike last time, none of you is scowling.
Zoro rests one arm on the table. You sit with your hands loosely folded, pretending the menu is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever read.
Silence. Not hostile. Just shy.
You glance up and he’s already looking at you but he immediately looks back at the menu.
You blink.
A few seconds later, he looks up again and your eyes meet. Neither of you smirks or challenges, it’s softer than that.
Then the waiter arrives and breaks the tension.
You both order quickly.
When the waiter leaves, you sit there in silence again.
“So…” you start.
“So.” he echoes.
You both pause.
You clear your throat “Training’s been… good?”
“Tch. Obviously.”
You nod “Right.”
Silence.
He shifts slightly in his seat “You’ve been winning more lately.”
You narrow your eyes “You’ve been letting me.”
He huffs faintly “You noticed.”
“Of course I noticed.”
A small pause.
“…Why?” you ask.
He looks at you then away “Didn’t feel like fighting.”
Your chest does something strange at that “Oh.”
Food arrives.
You both focus on eating for a moment and it helps. Talking with food around feels less intense.
You exchange small comments about the seasoning. About the island. About how Luffy is probably already banned from three establishments.
You’re still shy but it’s not heavy, just new.
Then the drinks arrive and you stare at yours, then at him.
Then you sigh dramatically “Okay, that’s enough.”
He pauses mid-sip “What.”
“We’re being weird.”
“Tch.”
“We just have to relax,” you insist “So let’s drink a bit, okay?”
A slow smirk appears on his face.
There it is, the Zoro you know.
He lifts his glass “Fine.”
Clink.
You drink, not a lot but enough to take the edge off.
He sets his glass down and you follow.
Something shifts, your shoulders loosen, his posture eases.
You start talking again. You tease him about getting lost on the way here and he denies it.
You call him out and he calls you stubborn.
You call him worse and he smirks.
You both laugh.
At some point you’re leaning forward slightly and he is too.
Later, you step outside.
The air hits cooler after the warmth of the restaurant.
You walk side by side, not touching but close.
Your hands brush once and neither of you comments.
You reach the quieter part of the dock.
The ship is visible in the distance.
You both slow down as neither of you seems eager to climb back aboard yet.
You lean lightly, looking out at the water.
He stands beside you close enough that you can feel his warmth through the fabric of your sleeve.
You glance at him and he’s already looking at you this time.
Your heart beats faster.
“…This was nice.” you admit softly.
“Yeah.”
You smile faintly.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Neither of you moves. Neither of you steps closer. But you don’t step away either.
Your hand shifts slightly on the railing and his fingers brush yours again.
Your pinky hooks lightly against his.
He still doesn’t move but his hand turns just enough that your fingers slide into his palm.
You lace them together.
He exhales slowly.
Your heart is loud in your ears.
You’re so close now that you can see the faint scar over his eye clearly.
You don’t plan it, you don’t announce it. You just lean in slightly.
He notices but he doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t rush forward either.
You’re both terrible at initiating.
So you don’t… not fully. Instead, you lift your free hand and rest it against his chest, right over his heart.
It’s steady. Strong.
He inhales sharply at the contact and his hand tightens around yours.
You look at each other.
So close.
“If you don’t want to…” you start quietly but he cuts you off by leaning down enough that his forehead rests against yours. His nose brushes yours slightly. Breath mingling.
“You talk too much.” he murmurs.
Your lips twitch “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you moves for a second longer, like you’re both silently asking the same question.
Then you both close the distance at the exact same time.
It’s almost clumsy and hesitant, but warm.
His hand slides to your waist.
Yours tightens against his chest.
The kiss is firm but careful.
When you pull back, you’re both breathing a little heavier, foreheads still touching.
You smile first. He pretends he didn’t notice but he doesn’t let go and neither do you.
EPILOGUE
The walk back to the ship is quiet.
Not awkward, just… calm.
You and Zoro walk side by side along the dock. Your shoulders brush once in a while, but neither of you comments on it… neither of you needs to.
When the Thousand Sunny finally comes into view, you both slow down a little.
The ship is mostly quiet, a few lights are on.
You stop at the foot of the ramp.
Zoro looks at the ship, then at you.
“Well…” he says.
“Well…” you echo.
A beat of silence.
Neither of you says “so we’re together now” or “what are we going to tell them?”.
You just… look at each other and then you shrug “Goodnight.”
He almost laughs and then he nods once “Night.”
You both walk up onto the Sunny and that’s it. No announcement. No dramatic reveal.
You just go to your rooms.
The next morning, nobody asks anything because they don’t know… and neither of you brings it up. Not because you’re hiding it. It just… never comes up.
You still argue with Zoro. You still compete with him. You still sit across from him at meals.
Sometimes your knees bump under the table. Sometimes your hands brush when you both reach for something. Sometimes you catch him watching you. Sometimes he catches you watching him. Sometimes you kiss when no one is around.
The crew is completely oblivious.
Somehow even Robin, who probably knows but chooses chaos.
Weeks pass.
The Sunny sails through calm blue seas and life goes on.
Then one day… “GAME NIGHT!!!”
Luffy’s voice explodes across the deck.
The crew cheers and somehow you all end up around the big table.
Cards, dice, snacks, chaos.
And of course you and Zoro would never skip a competition.
Hours pass.
Rounds are played.
People get eliminated.
Luffy gets distracted halfway through by meat.
Chopper loses because he keeps trusting Usopp.
Franky dramatically blames the rules.
Sanji gets eliminated early and spends the rest of the time glaring.
Eventually it’s down to two players.
You and Zoro.
The crew leans in.
The atmosphere is intense.
Usopp is commentating dramatically.
Chopper and Luffy are vibrating with excitement.
“FINAL ROUND!!!” Usopp announces.
You lean forward, eyes sharp.
Zoro leans back in his chair, smirking “Tch. Ready to lose?”
You scoff “In your dreams.”
“Been winning a lot lately.”
“Because I’m better.”
He raises an eyebrow “Or because I’ve been going easy on you.”
You gasp in mock offense “Oh please.”
The crew oooohs.
Luffy is yelling something dumb.
Usopp shouts, “THE TENSION IS REAL!”
You point at Zoro.
“Don’t worry,” you say confidently “I’m gonna kiss you anyway even if you’re a loser.”
Silence.
Total.
Absolute.
Silence.
Every Strawhat freezes.
Usopp and Nami’s mouths hang open.
Chopper blinks.
Sanji drops the plate he was holding.
Brook stops mid-laugh.
Robin smiles.
Franky’s sunglasses slide slightly down his nose.
Luffy tilts his head “…Huh?”
Your brain catches up with your mouth… way too late.
You slowly look around and see nine pairs of eyes staring at you. Wide. Horrified. Curious. Exploding.
And then—BOOM.
“WAIT WHAT—”
“YOU WHAT?!”
“WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?!”
“YOU KISS?!”
“ARE YOU DATING?!”
“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US?!”
“WAS IT ROMANTIC?!”
“WHO CONFESSED FIRST?!”
“DID YOU HOLD HANDS?!”
“DID YOU—”
You slowly slam your face onto the table.
Thud.
“…I hate all of you…”
The yelling continues. Questions fly over your head like cannon fire.
You stay face-down on the table, accepting your fate.
Then a warm hand lands gently on your head.
You look up and look at Zoro who is completely unfazed.
He smirks down at you.
The crew is still shouting too loudly to hear anything else.
He leans down slightly, close enough that only you can hear him.
His voice is low and amused “Told you you talk too much.”
You glare weakly and he smirks wider.
Then he adds quietly “But you’re keeping that promise… the kiss?”
Your brain short-circuits and before you can make your brain function you casually lean in and kiss him.
Right there… in front of everyone.
The crew explode.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”
Sanji collapses dramatically.
Chopper screams.
Usopp falls out of his chair.
Franky shouts “SUUUUUPERRRRR!!!”
Luffy claps like this is the best game night ever.
You bury your face in your hands as soon as you understand what you just did.
Zoro just sits back down like nothing happened but he's obviously dying inside and somehow you're both still fully ready to win the game.
btw it's so fucking stupid you can be anxious physically in your body even after you've decided mentally you don't care. I'm supposed to be in charge here
Phone calls on patrol
(jason todd x reader)
The line crackles in your ear before his voice comes through, rough and familiar.
“Baby.”
You smile into your pillow. “You sound out of breath.”
“I’m running across rooftops in six layers of body armor. What gave it away?”
Somewhere in the background, you hear wind rushing past the receiver and the distant wail of sirens. “You could just say you missed me.”
“I do miss you,” Jason says immediately, easy and honest in the way he only is with you. Then, after a beat: “Hold on.”
A muffled thud. Someone yells. Jason curses sharply. “Jase?”
“I’m good,” he says, breathing harder now. “Some idiot thought he could pull a knife on me.”
“You know, most boyfriends send goodnight texts or calls when they’re in bed.”
“Most boyfriends aren’t actively fighting crime in Crime Alley.”
You laugh quietly, rolling onto your back. “True.”
He hums and you can practically picture the grin under the helmet. “You still awake because you were waiting for me to call?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s cute.”
“Don’t start.”
“No, no,” he says. “I’m being serious. It’s adorable. Makes me feel loved.”
“You are loved.”
Silence. Not empty silence. The kind that settles warm between two people who know each other by heart. Then softer, almost lost beneath the sound of his footsteps:
“Yeah. I know.”
“Jason.”
“What?”
“Why does it sound like you’re in a tunnel?”
“I am in a tunnel.”
You sit upright immediately. “Why are you in a tunnel?”
“Tracking a weapons shipment.”
“Alone?”
He pauses.
“…Maybe.”
“Jason Peter Todd.”
“Oh, wow. Full government name. I’m terrified.”
“You should be.”
You hear him laugh under his breath, and then the metallic clatter of something being climbed. “You know,” he says, “normal couples talk about their days.”
“We are talking about your day.”
“My day usually includes armed robbery.”
“Your life choices are exhausting.”
“And yet,” he says warmly, “you stay.”
Before you can answer, voices echo faintly through the phone. Jason’s tone changes instantly. Sharper. Colder.
“Hang on.”
You hear movement. Fast footsteps. A crash. Some muffled arguing. Another crash. The line goes fuzzy for three seconds and your stomach drops.
“Jason?”
Nothing.
“Jason!”
A hiss of static. Then, breathless laughter.
“You should hear the way you say my name.”
You nearly choke. “Are you insane?”
“Clinically? Probably.”
“You disappeared!”
“I dropped the phone.”
“You dropped me into cardiac arrest.”
“Aw,” he says. “You worried about me?”
“You literally got murdered once.”
“Fair point.”
It’s almost three in the morning when your phone buzzes with a phone call from Jason.
You answer sleepily. “Hi.”
“Did I wake you?”
“You called me. Guess.”
“Yeah, but you sound all soft.” He pauses. “Cute soft.”
“You’re obsessed with calling me cute.”
“You’re obsessed with being cute tonight.”
You hear his motorcycle engine rumbling low beneath his voice.
“Headed back to the manor?” you ask.
“Eventually.”
“That means no.”
“That means I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
The engine revs louder for a moment before easing again.
Then you hear a quiet “You ever think about leaving?”
Your chest tightens. “Leaving Gotham?”
“Leaving me.” He exhales slowly.
There it is. The fear he buries under sarcasm and bullets and bruised knuckles. You sit up fully now, voice gentler.
“No.”
“You answered that way too fast.”
“Because I didn’t need to think about it.”
Silence again. You imagine him stopped at a red light somewhere in the city, helmet tipped down, eyes closed.
“I’m serious,” he says eventually. “You deserve normal.”
“Jason, I fell in love with you, not normal.”
a/n: its my birthday!! so we're all gonna enjoy some jason
“Yer sure ya got everything?”
“Probably” you shrug, casually shoving a few more things inside your luggage without a second thought.
Osamu watches the whole thing with a deepening frown.
“I hate this” he whines with a little pout, looking a little too much like Atsumu for comfort.
That earns him a bright laugh, shoulders shaking a little as you toss the bag onto the couch, “It’s only for a few days. I’ll be back before you know it!”
But it does absolutely nothing for the ache in his chest.
Because you’re leaving.
Not forever. Not even for long. Just some trip with your friends a few cities away, barely enough time to miss a person normally.
And yet.
He’s already miserable and you’re still here.
That’s when it finally hits him.
He’s clingy.
This is the exact kind of behavior he’s spent years making fun of Atsumu for.
The dramatic sighing, the sulking, following people around like a kicked puppy because he doesn’t wanna be alone.
Now he’s staring you down, pit in his stomach like you’re never coming back, all because you’re leaving for a few days.
He wonders if this is how dogs feel.
His stomach sinks further when you turn away to double check your charger, and before he can stop himself he blurts, “Ya could still cancel”
You glance back at him immediately, eyes rolling playfully, “Oh my god”
“I’m serious”
“No you’re not”
“…Maybe a little.”
“Did you forget you’re the one who encouraged me to go on this trip in the first place?”
He puffs out his cheeks a little, pathetic little pout on his lips, “Yeah well… That was before I realized ya’d actually be leaving me”
“You’re so ridiculous” you giggle out, walking past him towards the kitchen.
Before he can stop himself, he’s grabbing your hand.
He’s got this pathetic little look to him, something so far from his usual cool demeanor, “I’m gonna miss ya” he says so softly, so quietly, it actually makes your heart ache a little.
You simply offer the softest, warmest smile you can and pull him in close. You pepper every inch of his handsome face with sweet little kisses, leaving a few extra big ones on his lips.
He melts into you like putty, dopey little smile never leaving his face.
“I’m gonna miss you too handsome” you murmur against his cheek.
“Then don’t go” he whispers back, real sweet and oh so pathetic.
“I can’t just-“ but you’re cut off with a little peck and a loud, whiny sigh.
“I know, I know,” he grumbles, “I’m bein’ a baby”
Later that night, after you’re gone and the apartment feels far too quiet without you in it, he ends up sprawled across the couch with your favorite movie playing in the background more for comfort than anything else.
His phone suddenly buzzes and he can’t help the small smile that blooms across his lips.
Damn, I miss you already
It immediately starts soothing the ache ever so slightly.
Maybe he’s not too clingy after all.
But if loving you this much makes him pathetic, then honestly..? He can live with that.
Until you come back, he guesses he’ll survive off your texts, the smell of your perfume lingering in the cushions, and the memory of your sweet kisses still lingering warm against his skin.
————————————————————————
A/N: we’re so back (this isn’t proofread AT ALL)
MISSED CONNECTION - MIYA OSAMU
a mini smau
JUNE 2, 2026, 6:32AM: if you’re the girl dressed like a hot dog that just knocked me on my ass on the side of the road, please know that i am in love with you.
TO SUMMARIZE - miya osamu meets the love of his life on his way to work for about two minutes total, and then spends five weeks trying to find her.
PLEASE BE AWARE that this story contains written parts, longing, alcohol, swearing, lewd jokes, and everyone is out of character. warnings may change as the story progresses
STATUS: completed
INTRO: the worst people in the world
INTRO: miya atsumu has a piss kink
CHAPTER ONE: love at first sight does not exist
CHAPTER TWO: eggs
CHAPTER THREE: stalking is a serious crime
CHAPTER FOUR: what attachment style are you
CHAPTER FIVE: let's be real second
@cashmakozume you inspire
❝ THE ACE OF HEARTS ︵﹒
💭: ace "accidentally" gets doused in a love potion after a slight mishap during alchemy class. he suddenly becomes unbearably clingy and dramatic with you, much to the dismay of the first-years. there's just one teeny tiny problem: it's completely fake. ace finds that it might be possible to fool you by spraying an uncanny amount of cheap perfume.
pairing. ace trappola x gn! reader ft. first-year gang
wc. 3.6k
warnings. crackfic, reader is prefect, ooc ace cs i know his ass is too prideful for this (probably), ace humiliating himself for 3.6k words, oblivious(not really) reader, second-hand embarrassment
a/n. so ace-pilled holy shit i was lowkirkenuinely cringing writing some of these lines bye i love my little fumbler 🥹🥹✌
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam—if there is a will, there is a way.
An irrefutably classic phrase, one that is strewn across the vast sea of modern literature, and in moments that blend with the mundane life. It, at its core, resonates with the very sentiment of human perseverance and unyielding nature—defiant, arrogant, yet all the more unapologetically humane.
It is an honest attestation to humanity—a primordial inheritance that has bled through one’s flesh and bones since breath was first given, and dust became living.
The phrase has always been bracketed for conquerors and geniuses, for those who have stood on the precipice between will and subjugation—life and death. It is a consensus that has outlived empires, etched onto monuments, and passed down through blood and scripture—scrawled in the handwriting of sleepless architects who drew lines until the graphite snapped, and in the frantic, ink-smudged margins of poets who starved just to feed a single verse.
It is also laced in the mutters of delusion posed by lovesick fools.
“You’re utterly pathetic, do you know that?”
Ace waves his hand absentmindedly in return, not even bothering to look up from where he has draped himself across your lap in a boneless and shameless manner. He leans his weight entirely to your side with a heavy sigh, polluting the air with the violent smell of cheap roses and synthetic hibiscus.
The air around him is thick with a scent so aggressively floral that it feels like being hit in the face with a funeral wreath. It’s a cloying, syrupy catastrophe of concentrated sugar that seems to radiate off his blazer, making nearby students cough and retreat—even Grim had abandoned you ten minutes ago after loudly declaring that his “snout hairs are being burnt through.”
“I’m touched by your concern, really,” Ace sighs dreamily, his voice dropping into a honey-thick register that makes Epel look like he’s about to physically gag. “But love is just a cruel and incurable affliction.”
“What in tarnation are ya saying?” Epel replies, horrified. “You… you reek of perfume from Sam’s shop!”
“It’s a love potion,” Ace corrects solemnly. “Get your facts right.”
“I told you, it was a complete accident in the lab.” Ace murmurs, his fingers tracing idle, lingering patterns against the lines of your palm. He’s been “unable” to let go of your hand for the last forty minutes, yapping about how the warmth of yours grounds the hazy territory of his tangled mind. “One minute, I’m just stirring the cauldron, the next—bam—pink smoke right at my face, and suddenly, the Prefect is the only person in the world that matters—it’s a tragedy, isn’t it?”
He tilts his head, resting it on your shoulder and peering up at you through his lashes with a gaze he clearly thinks is “smoldering” but is actually just intensely focused on making sure you aren’t suspicious.
Epel stares at him aghast, disbelief painting his countenance as he tries to blink away the ridiculous sight in front of him. Deuce stands slightly farther away from the scene, partly to stay away from inhaling that biohazard and mostly to save himself from embarrassment, looking deeply conflicted about whether he should intervene or let his friend continue to descend into social suicide.
“You really should pay attention to the steps Professor Crewel gave us.” You sigh, trying to steady him as he practically melts against your form.
You do not notice the collective agony radiating from everyone else.
Ace suppresses a smirk against your shoulder. He’s a fencer—he knows all about finding an opening, no matter how cornered or tight it might be. If he can’t find a way to your heart through normal, non-embarrassing means, he’ll simply build a bridge out of lies and stinky perfume.
He slackens his shoulders, his gaze turning glassy with manufactured devotion, and with devastating overcommitment, he squeezes your hand like a maiden grasping her final earthly tether.
“Prefect,” Ace calls out softly like he’s moments away from collapsing into an early grave (you swear you can see Deuce grind his teeth in cringe). “I don’t think I can survive this cruel affliction alone.”
Deuce makes a strangled noise. “Ace, it’s not possible to die from a love potion!”
“Oh, Juice… You truly don’t know anything.” He sighs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply—unfortunately, it turns out to be a massive tactical error on his part, because he ends up breathing in a mouthful of his own gas chamber of a perfume. He chokes for a split second, but he recovers with the terrifying tenacity of a man who could take on Lebron in a match.
“See? Love is the most twisted curse of all.”
Epel physically recoils. “Oh, no way you said that.”
“Ace,” Deuce hisses under his breath, face impressively red from secondhand embarrassment. “You said you were only gonna act a little weird!”
“Well, excuse me for being committed to the role.” Ace shoots back before instantly melting back into his lovestruck persona the moment your attention diverts back to him. His expression softens with almost terrifying speed, eyes half-lidded as he gazes up at you, as if you personally hung the stars, the moon, the sky, and everything under heaven. “Sorry, Prefect… loud noise makes my symptoms worse.”
You, completely oblivious to the fact that a standard love potion doesn’t require a daily application of five ounces of lavender eau-de-toilette, merely pat his head with a sympathetic sigh. “Does your head hurt? Maybe we should go to the infirmary…”
“No! No infirmary!” Ace stumbles out quickly in a panic, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat and drops it back into that low, dramatic purr. “The school nurse doesn’t have the cure. Just… let me stay like this for five… or fifty… more minutes.”
He is, without a doubt, a top-three fumbler in the history of Night Raven College. He has alienated his friends, ruined his favorite blazer, humilaitingly seen by a handful of his upperclassmen, and smells like three different air purifiers in the dead of summer—but as he feels you wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him from sliding off your lap, Ace decides that not even Sun Tzu can outsmart him in a strategic battle.
Ace is a genius—holy shit, he’s for sure one hell of a tactical genius bastard.
He presses closer, a smug and completely hidden victorious grin stretching across his face against your shoulder.
Epel mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “yeah, bet the nearest mental institute might help ya instead,” but he doesn’t dwell on it.
Unfortunately (or fortunately?), Ace’s “condition” unsurprisingly somehow follows you everywhere.
EXHIBIT #01: THE HEARTSLABYUL UNBIRTHDAY PARTY.
You can feel stares drilling straight into your soul, but you try your best to feign ignorance, opting to enjoy a slice of tart in lieu. Beside you, your sticky parasite doesn’t seem to get the memo, as he effectively continues to paralyze you by using your shoulder as a personal pillow, his arm looped tightly through yours.
“Prefect… the tea is too bitter,” Ace whines, his voice dropping into that theatrical cadence that nearly makes Trey drop his spoon. “The only sweetness I can tolerate right now is your presence. Feed me a forkful of that strawberry tart? My hands are just… so weak from the potion’s tolls.”
“If your hands are weak, Trappola, I can detach them from your wrists, if you’d like.” Riddle seethes from the head of the table, his teacup trembling with a dangerous clicking sound. His face is a shade of red that rivals his cape—half from the sheer, unadulterated public indecency of the display, and half because the sugary foulness permeating through the air is ruining the aroma of his Earl Grey.
“A—Ace, please, Housewarden Riddle is looking right at us,” Deuce whispers frantically from across the table, looking paler than paper. “You said you were just going to ask the Prefect to walk you back to the dorm!”
“I can’t help it,” Ace sighs dramatically, tightening his grip on your arm and leaning his head further on your shoulder. “If I’m not near the Prefect, I might seriously stop breathing—it’s the potion doing it, I’m telling you! You wouldn’t want to explain a corpse at an Unbirthday Party, would you, Housewarden?”
His fellow dormmates look the other way with varying degrees of expressions that encapsulate their desperate prayers of coming out of the party alive.
“I am going to count to three,” Riddle says, his voice lowering into a terrifyingly calm note as he pulls his magic pen. “And if you are still doused in that unsavory cologne and violating personal space boundaries, I will see to it that it will be Off With Your Head for a straight month!”
EXHIBIT #02: THE LIBRARY.
“Look at this section, Prefect,” Ace mutters, his warm breath hitting your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that he definitely notices, given his shit-eating grin that he doesn’t bother to conceal. “See, the ancient kings fought wars for land and territory, but I’d give up the whole world just for a single glance from you, y’know?”
From across the table, a poor Scarabia student groans into his hands. Genuinely, get this corny shit out of my face.
Seated in the quietest, cramped corner of the library, as dust motes dance beneath the dim lights, the supposed “study session” for your upcoming history quiz is completely overturned the moment Ace decides to sit so close to you that he is practically in your skin. His chin rests heavily on your shoulder, his chest pressed against your back, while his hands “helpfully” guide your fingers across the page.
So much for trying to pass Professor Trein’s class.
Suddenly, a shadow falls over the table in the form of Sebek Zigvolt, who, with his arms crossed, stares at the two of you with a snarl of pure, righteous indignation.
“Trappola!” Sebek starts to bellow, before remembering where he is and dropping to a harsh and aggressive whisper that still rattles the desk. “What is the meaning of this indecent display?! Get off the Prefect at once! Your vile stench insults the very air Lord Malleus breathes!”
“Ugh, talk about bad timing. It’s called romance, Sebek. Not everyone is emotionally repressed.” Ace doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, dropping his chin back onto your shoulder and tightening his hold on your waist with an arrogant, proprietary tug that cements his position. “Prefect, my head hurts… tell that loud pipsqueak to go away.”
“Loud pipsqueak?! Why, you impudent, malingering fraud—”
Before Sebek can burst a blood vessel, you hurriedly lift your hand to Ace’s forehead, your fingers brushing against the fringe of his bangs as you press the back of your palm gently against his skin.
Your brows knit together in concern, your thumb unconsciously smoothing a strand of his hair away from his forehead. “You do feel a little warm… maybe the potion is affecting you more than we thought.”
Ace nearly fucking ascends.
The moment your cool fingers brush against his forehead, his entire brain short-circuits. The smug grin completely vanishes, replaced by a bright red flush that creeps up all the way up to the tips of his ears. Your thumb idly smooths down his hair, and Ace suddenly realizes that playing dead might actually become a reality if his heart keeps hammering against his ribs this thunderously.
Sebeks merely gapes at you in utter, speechless cosmic horror, his chest locked mid-breath as he watches your hand actively comfort the enemy. His mouth opens once, then closes again with an audible click as he struggles to process the cataclysmic level of gullibility unfolding before him in real time.
“Prefect,” he says slowly, voice immensely strained with the effort of remaining civil, “surely you cannot be believing this buffoonery.”
Ace gasps as though Sebek has just insulted his entire lineage. “Why are you all against our love? Is it a crime to yearn? Is it a cardinal sin to be entirely consumed by the most profound and inescapable emotion known to mankind?”
Ace clutches weakly at your sleeves with the grace of a tragic heroine abandoned at sea, his eyelids fluttering with a level of vehement agony that is likened to a mourning opera singer. He blind-grabs your free hand from the desk, clutching your knuckles against his chest right over his furiously beating heart.
“Don’t look at him, Prefect,” Ace pleads, his voice trembling and delicate like spun sugar—so terribly artificially sweet just like the overwhelming wave of vanilla floating directly up Sebek’s nostrils. “If the world stands against us, then I’ll stand against the world.”
Sebek’s face violently transitions from an offended purple to a vein-popping, volcanic shade of crimson.
EXHIBIT #03: THE CAFETERIA
“Ace, I genuinely wish from the bottom of my heart that you will fall into a ditch and never be seen again.” Epel deadpans, his fork hovering precariously close to his plate of baked potatoes.
His knuckles are white from his grip, and his face is gnarled into an expression of raw visceral disgust that is worse than when he’s talking about lifestyle lessons with Vil.
Across from him, Jack quietly nods in agreement while trying—and failing—to eat his lunch through the suffocating floral fog emanating from Ace’s blazer.
“I can taste the perfume.” He says, disgruntledly, his ears flattening so far back that it’s practically pinned to his skull.
“That sounds like a personal problem,” Ace replies without shame.
The humid midday heat of the cafeteria has essentially aerosolized Ace’s three layers of perfume, turning your circular table into a high-concentration chamber that can suffocate a small woodland ecosystem. Nearby students have already cleared out, dragging their trays three tables away just to escape the fumes, leaving the first-year gang isolated in the red zone.
Poor Jack, being a beastman with heightened senses to top it all off—it’s a miracle he hasn’t passed out yet.
“Prefect,” Ace pokes your arm, his tray sitting almost untouched in front of him because, apparently, lovesickness has also robbed him of the ability to feed himself, “can you cut my omelette and feed me? I think I’m going to faint…”
Epel massages his temple. “Please stop talking.”
You glance between Ace’s sprawling state on your shoulder and his untouched lunch. “Is it really that bad?”
“See? Prefect gets me,” he sighs. “Unlike you heartless people who mock a man suffering through the torment of forbidden love.”
“There’s nothing forbidden about it!” Deuce whisper-yells, looking seconds away from ripping his hair out of second-hand humiliation. “You literally made this whole thing up!”
Ace gasps loudly enough to earn several irritated looks from nearby upperclassmen.
“Deuce…” he breathes out quietly, eyes full of faux betrayal, “how could you expose my medical history in public?”
“That is not what medical history means!”
“Wow, look at him trynna act smart.” Ace snickers near your ear, completely unfazed by the fact that Deuce looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. He slides a fraction lower, his shoulders slumping deliberately as he lets his weight anchor completely against your side.
“You were the one who asked me to help you!” Deuce hisses, lurching toward his direction with a desperate tone of someone attempting damage control, his voice pitched low enough as he jabs an accusatory finger toward him. “You said—and I quote—bro, it’ll just be a little joke for like ten minutes. Ten minutes, Ace!”
“Well, plans evolve, Deucy Juice.” Ace merely shoo’s him, letting his head drop onto your shoulder again, his hair tickling your neck as he shifts closer, shamelessly stealing warmth and attention as if it’s his God-given right.
Jack looks greatly disturbed as the seconds tick by. “You’re making us lose our appetite.”
“That sounds like jealousy.” Ace replies instantly before reaching his fingers over to play with the hem of your blazer. “It’s okay, I get it. I’d be jealous too if I saw us together.”
Epel slams his forehead directly against the table.
EXHIBIT #04: THE BOTANICAL GARDEN.
The golden sun bleeds a heavy, bruised orange through the glass panes of the Botanical Garden, but the natural fragrance of rare flora has been completely eradicated.
By evening, the entire first-year population has become unwilling participants in Ace’s one-man theatre production.
You sit on a stone bench near the temperate zone, trying to review your notes for the day, but it proves hard in practice when Ace is practically poured over your lap, his legs stretching across the bench, while his face is buried into your side.
He lets out a drawn-out sigh loud enough to constitute a public disturbance.
“What now?” Grim groans, his paws clamped so tightly over his snout that his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “You’ve been leaking that fake flower juice all day! My ears are ringing from your whining!”
“Nothing,” Ace replies, his voice a lazy murmur that rumbles right against your ribs. He shifts slightly, dragging his cheek along the fabric of your uniform. “Just thinking.”
“About what?” You ask, not looking up from your notes.
He cranes his head up to gaze at your eyes, looking at you through the messy, unstructured fringe of his bangs, lips curling into a devious smirk. “...You.”
“Oh, how touching.” Grim snarls right back at him.
“Ugh, just throw that damn ginger back to his dorm, henchhuman!” Grim’s muffled voice wails from behind you, now burying his face into a nearby bush brimming with exotic plants to save his nostrils.
Before said ginger can concoct a two-page excuse for why the scent of Heartslabyul’s air—especially if away from you—would further detonate his predicament and cause the fall of NRC, Ortho's buoyant voice beats him to it.
“Incredible!” Ortho chirps cheerfully, his mechanical voice cutting through the (frankly repugnant) air. “My atmospheric sensors indicate that the floral fixative concentration in this exact three-meter radius has nearly reached the level that is technically classified as a skin irritant! Ace, are you attempting to pheromone-bond with the Prefect?”
What the fuck.
“...Pheremone… bond?” You repeat, weakly.
“...Ortho,” Ace says carefully, in the tone of someone who’s trying to lace an emergency exit out of a conversation. “Look, buddy, my guy.”
“I’m just curious!” Ortho continues, his eyes blinking with the bright, faultless energy of someone who has absolutely no idea of the scale of the bomb he just dropped. “Pheremone-bonding is a documented cross-species courtship behaviour—I read about it in volume three of Advanced Magical Biology—where one party attempts to establish a scent association with a preferred individual through sustained proximity and repeated olfactory exposure!”
Ace nearly faints for real this time. The absolute, paramount confidence that he’s been riding all day as he flaunts it right at every possible chance shatters into a million jagged pieces. A violent, red blush erupts across his face, spreading from his cheeks down to his neck and up to the tips of his ears.
“Ortho, shut up!” Ace panics, his voice cracking spectacularly as he scrambles out of your embrace. He bolts upright, stumbling over his own legs as he storms right up to the floating guy.
He stands on his tiptoes, his face completely ablaze as he frantically swats at the glowing holographic charts floating in the air. “Why do you even have graphs for this?! Delete them! In fact, burn them!”
“But these are important visual aids!” Ortho protests, dodging Ace’s flailing hands with effortless ease as he floats higher into the air. “See? This chart clearly displays the increase in physical clinginess whenever the Prefect directs positive attention toward you! Would you like me to print a comprehensive report for your Housewarden?”
“What?! No! No one is printing anything!—”
While the two of them are locked in a high-stakes, hyper-panicked screaming match—Ace frantically jumping up and down to try and drag the other out of the air—Grim slowly peeks his head from the shrubbery. His blue flame ears twitch as his eyes dart between Ortho’s glowing charts, Ace’s crimson face, and your completely serene countenance.
Grim blinks—he looks at Ace, then looks back at you. A sudden, sharp realization strikes his brain, and he waddles over to your side on the bench, completely ignoring the chaotic noises in the background.
“Wait a minute…” He mumbles, pointing a paw directly at your face. “Henchhuman… you knew from the beginning, didn’t you?!”
You look at Ace, currently yelling at the robot three feet away, entirely stripped of his cool-guy facade and looking thoroughly like a thief caught red-handed. You let out a small, amused huff and calmly reorganize your books.
“Mhm.” You hum noncommittally.
Grim’s jaw drops, his tail snapping wildly in the air. “You knew?! And you just let him drag you around all day?! You let him ruin my nose hairs with that cheap flower juice for nothing?! Why didn’t you just punt him out the window?!”
“Well,” you reply smoothly, leaning back against the stone bench as you watch Ace fervently try to jump-kick Ortho’s thrusters, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “He just looks so cute trying so hard to find an excuse to cuddle with me. I figured the least I could do was let him have his win.”
Grim drags his hand down his face so hard it might as well leave a physical mark on his face, groaning loudly into his paws at the realization that he is trapped in a greenhouse with a shameless yearner and an absolute enabler.
@x1num ur ace-y poo <3
TITLE: lights will guide you home
CHAPTER: 13
PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader
SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.
At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.
You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.
(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)
TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, post-timeskip, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying
NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist
Bakugou smells faintly of smoke and caramel, an intoxicating combination you’re used to smelling when he comes straight to your apartment after an eventful patrol. His body is radiating heat, despite the relative coolness of the night. His scent, his warmth, and the way his hand is running slowly up and down your back have you sagging into him. He takes your body weight like it’s nothing.
Seconds, minutes, hours—you don’t know how much time passes in his arms until the sound of more EMS vehicles arriving brings you back to the present, suddenly remembering yourself and where you are.
You clear your throat and take a step back, putting some space between the two of you. Bakugou frowns. The air feels too cool as it rushes over the places you’d been connected.
“What—how are you here?” you ask him.
Bakugou’s eyes can’t seem to settle; they dart from your eyes, to your ears, to your hands. His brow furrows as he reaches up to touch the side of your neck. A blotch of sticky, drying blood comes off onto his glove.
“Heard about the villain,” Bakugou says, and he clenches his fist, lowering it.
His voice and other sounds still come across as muffled, as if your head’s wrapped in a blanket or as if you’re underwater. You shake your head a little, as if trying to dislodge water that had gotten into your ears after swimming. Of course, the motion does nothing except exacerbate the headache you have.
Wincing, you glance around. Thankfully, it seems like everyone’s too busy doing damage control to have paid any attention to you and Bakugou. You’re relieved; you don’t know what you’d do if another media incident featuring the two of you came as a result of this night. Still—
“We should go,” you say. No need to push your luck any further.
“Not yet,” Bakugou says. “You’re getting those ears looked at.”
“They already checked me over and gave me the go ahead.”
Bakugou scowls ferociously. “Well they did a shitty job. Let’s go.”
Sighing, you trail Bakugou as he makes his way to an EMS medic preoccupied with healing a woman with some nasty looking cuts on her legs. The woman looks as exhausted as you feel and doesn’t even look up when the both of you approach, seeming dazed as she stares down at the bright green glow emitting from the medic’s palms.
“Hey, hedgehog head,” Bakugou says to the medic, to your horror. Sure, the man’s hair is styled—or maybe naturally?—spiky, but there isn’t any need for name-calling.
“Hey, Dynamight!” the medic says cheerfully. “What can I do ya for?”
“Fix this shit,” Bakugou says, gesturing to your ear.
Your eyes widen, and you wave a hand in front of yourself. “Please finish up with your current patient! I was already seen by someone else, so no need—”
“The hell there isn’t,” Bakugou snaps, and you glare at him.
Perhaps taking pity on you, the medic smiles. “No worries. This lovely lady is all patched up, so this seat is up for grabs.”
The green glow fades from his hands, revealing clean, unblemished skin on the woman’s legs.
You open your mouth to protest again, but Bakugou shuts you up with a look that has you reluctantly taking the seat the woman evacuates. You make a silent promise to yourself to get him back for this.
The medic is apologetic that he’s only able to heal the cuts on your face and your ear damage; he explains that he needs to save his juice for really serious injuries, and there are still several people who need medical attention.
Before Bakugou can continue to be a menace, you quickly thank him, jumping up from your seat and speed-walking away.
Bakugou can only follow you with a frown on his face, redirecting you over to his car where it’s parked just beyond the EMS vehicles and taped off areas to prevent people from stepping into the path of glass and other debris.
He’s walking so close to you that every step has you brushing your shoulder against him, your elbow. When you try to give him some space, he scowls at you and closes the distance, bumping against you.
He opens the front passenger door and ushers you in. Rounding the front of the car, he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the car.
As you sit there, you deflate. Truthfully, you’re grateful for Bakugou’s pushiness. The injuries to your ears had cranked up your anxiety levels, and now you have one less thing to worry about.
“Thank you, Bakugou,” you say quietly as he puts the car into reverse and reaches out to brace a hand on the back of your headrest.
Your eyes make contact for a brief moment before he nods, continuing to reverse.
The car is silent as Bakugou makes his way through congested streets, backed up because of the incident. You look out the window, studying the damage the villain had caused—the shattered windows and dark streets, unlit because of the broken street lights. But your eyes can’t help but be drawn back to Bakugou. The line of his left arm connected to the steering wheel, handling the car with ease, as his right arm rests casually on the door’s window ledge. The shadows under his eyes deepened by the dim lighting of the car’s console cast on his face.
In the chaos of everything, it hadn’t even occurred to you that it’s been almost a week since you’d seen Bakugou and it’s been radio silence between the two of you. That the last time you’d seen him left a bitter taste in your mouth, his voice ringing in your ears, filled with anger.
It’d all been washed away upon seeing him, being in his arms.
But now that you’ve had time to catch your breath, it all comes flooding back, and. You don’t know. Is it trivial, the fight you’d had? It feels like it in this moment. But you don’t want to just brush it aside, as if it’d never happened. Because what if it happens again?
Swallowing, you break the silence. “The agency’s pretty far from here… Was the villain so dangerous that they called heroes further out?”
“No. Local patrol had it handled, and it was settled when Ei, Raccoon Eyes, and Dunce Face got there to support.”
Raccoon Eyes? Dunce Face? You know Ei’s Kirishima. Context clues point toward Raccoon Eyes being Pinky… though you’re not sure the nickname’s entirely accurate, given Pinky’s golden irises. Maybe something like Wolf Eyes would’ve been more accurate… Dunce Face has to be Chargebolt, though you have no idea why. You wonder if Bakugou’s just being mean for no reason.
You realize your train of thought is a little rambly, scattered. You're not exactly firing on all cylinders. An overwhelming wave of tiredness washes over you, settling into your skin, leaving you struggling to keep your eyes open.
The car stops at a light. Bakugou drums his fingers against the wheel, glances over at you.
“How’re your hands?” he asks gruffly.
“Stings a little, but they’re okay.”
A yawn comes trailing after the ends of your words, and you just barely cover your mouth in time. At the corner of your eye, you see the corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitch upwards.
Now that you’ve gotten clear of the area damaged by the villain incident, the streets go by faster. They’re familiar to you, but they don’t lead home.
“Bakugou, this isn’t the way to my apartment,” you say, straightening up.
“My place is closer,” Bakugou says.
You blink, open your mouth, then bite your lip, falling into an uncertain silence.
The silence stretches.
Bakugou’s hands tighten around the wheel, knuckles whitening.
“...I’ll take you to yours,” he says, low, switching lanes. He doesn’t look at you. Something in you clenches.
“No,” you blurt out, surprising him, surprising yourself. He glances over at you.
“No,” you repeat, a little more quietly. You gaze at the profile of his face, the shadows that pass over them as you drive past lights, the slope of his nose, the firm set of his lips.
“Let’s go to yours. Let’s—let’s just go home.”
Bakugou’s shoulders lower just an inch, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel releasing. He drops one hand to rest on the center console, keeping the other on the wheel. He gives a short nod, still not looking at you.
For a moment, you just watch him.
Then, tentatively, you reach over and touch the back of his hand, fingertips gliding over his skin.
A quick glance at you, then back at the road.
He flips his hand over and takes yours in his, gentle, mindful of your bandaged cuts.
He doesn’t let go.
The minute you step into his apartment, it’s like the strings holding your body up are cut. It becomes difficult to keep yourself upright, the fatigue weighing you down.
“Hungry?” Bakugou asks, and you just shake your head wearily.
“Can I have a toothbrush and some clothes? I just wanna shower and sleep,” you say, yawning again. It’s so wide that you’re barely able to cover your mouth with your hands. Bakugou snorts.
“Forget the shower.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “How’re you supposed to wash yourself with those hands, dumbass.”
Shaking your head, you say, “I’ll just suck it up with the cuts and rebandage them after. I can’t sleep with blood in my hair and dirt on my skin.”
Bakugou scowls, narrowing his eyes at you. Stiffening, you brace yourself for an argument.
His eyes take in your expression, and he drops his arms quickly, his face flattening into something more neutral. You watch him cautiously, unwilling to trust that he’d back down so quickly.
Brows furrowed, he’s quiet for several long moments, thinking.
“I’ll wash your hair,” he says finally. “And I’ll close my eyes or some shit while I wash your body.”
For a moment, you can only blink. Then you burst into laughter, half in surprise, half in disbelief about the suggestion. He makes a face.
“Bakugou,” you say once you calm down enough to suppress your giggles, still grinning, “How would that even work? You gonna work it out by feel?”
You’re amused, but you feel your face warm a little at your own gall to tease him like this, warm at your imagination, when it begins to sketch out what exactly his solution would entail—his hands on your body, on your bare skin. Those calluses on his fingertips dragging, catching.
But it’s nothing in comparison to how Bakugou’s cheeks pink, the tips of his ears reddening.
Your eyes widen, and his gaze meets yours for an electric, singing moment before he looks away, hand coming up to cover his mouth.
Your heart’s racing, your mouth dry. Your smile fades, and you bite your lip.
Shaking your head, you swallow and say, “Do you have gloves?”
Luckily, Bakugou has nitrile gloves and medical tape in his first aid kit. After you put the gloves on, he tapes the openings against the skin of your wrists so that water isn’t able to run down into them. For good measure, he makes you put another pair of gloves on to protect the tape.
If you were less cranky, you’d acknowledge that it’s a good idea, because it does keep your bandages dry when you brush your teeth and then step into the shower to scrub your body down. Your dexterity is greatly affected though, as you keep dropping things, causing Bakugou to nearly burst into the bathroom the first time the body wash bottle you drop makes a loud thud. Only your frantic shout that you’re fine saves you.
But soon, you’re forced to admit defeat just before getting to shampooing your hair. In the beginning, you’re able to just barely handle the stinging sensation from the constant hand movements as you wash your body. Gritting your teeth through it is possible only up to a point, though, as soon you feel a dampness on your hands that you identify not as water leaking into the gloves but blood from your reopened wounds.
Just the thought of what you’ll find under the gloves has you queasy enough to stop.
You step out from under the shower head. You wish you could rub yourself dry, but you’re afraid to make things worse, so you settle for gingerly wrapping a big, fluffy towel loosely around yourself.
“Bakugou?” you call out, hoping he’s nearby to hear you.
You start to make your way to the door, dripping water across the floor.
“What’s wrong?” His voice comes immediately, muffled through wood.
“I need help,” you say, and make sad, shuffling noises against the door with the back of your hand. You wish you could turn the knob to open the door, but just the thought of applying pressure to your palms makes you wince. “Open the door, please?”
The door opens with a swiftness that has you startling backwards, nearly slipping and causing you to loosen your grip on the towel—a near disaster. You clutch at the towel, holding the cloth to your body with your arms. You feel yourself beginning to flush as you look up into Bakugou’s face.
His ears are completely red, charmingly so. The crimson creeps up his cheeks as his eyes dart around, unsure where to rest before settling on a distant point behind your shoulder.
Clearing your throat with effort, you step closer. “Can you… fix my towel, please? Like tuck the edge in so it’s secure?”
His eyes flicker. Wordlessly, he does as you ask, clumsily. The brush of his fingers against your body has you shivering, goosebumps rising across your skin.
“You cold?” Bakugou looks at you consideringly, then shuts the door behind him.
You laugh a little, helplessly. You’re glad he thinks your goosebumps are because you’re cold.
The moment seems to help him regain his composure. He looks you in the eye, careful not to let his gaze drop, and asks, “What do you need help with?”
“Were you serious about being willing to wash my hair?” you ask. You raise your hands a little. “Because I may or may not be bleeding under here and I don’t want to make it worse…”
Bakugou’s expression darkens. Before he can say anything, you jump in.
“You can save the ‘I told you so,’ for later! Please, Bakugou, I just want to finish up so I can go to bed.”
You must look exceedingly pathetic, because instead of grouching at you further, he goes to grab a stool you can sit on. He places it against the edge of the tub and motions for you to get situated so you can lean back with your head hovering over the tub.
For the first few minutes of him dampening your hair, you’re a little tense, preoccupied with keeping the towel tightly against your body and self-conscious about how much skin you’re showing. With how big the towel is, you’re about as covered up as you’d be if you were wearing a flirty sundress. But in this context, knowing you're naked underneath this rectangle of cloth, with Bakugou leaning over you… It’s a lot.
His expression is concentrated, laser-focused as he rubs along your hairline, protecting your face from the splash of water with a hand. He’s gentle, almost excessively so, working his fingers through the strands of hair and to your scalp, massaging the shampoo in. It’s involuntary, how your eyelids soon slide shut and you lean into his hands, a soft sigh exhaling.
“S’okay?” Bakugou says, and sleepily, you murmur an affirmative. You could fall asleep right here, putty in his hands.
You drift a little, you think. Maybe more than a little, because the next thing you know, you’re in what must be Bakugou’s bedroom, only a dim lamp illuminating the room as he sets you down on the bed and adjusts your towel so it’s a little more secure against your body.
“Clothes’re right here,” he says, voice a quiet susurration. “Get dressed and then I’ll dry your hair.”
He leaves the room. You do as he says, putting on clothes that smell like his detergent and peeling off your layers of gloves. When he returns with the first aid kit and a blow dryer in hand, not even the whir of the machine and hot air do anything to deter you from your path to sleep.
When Bakugou begins applying fresh bandages to your palms, you can barely keep your eyes open, swaying a little as you sit.
It’s only until Bakugou turns off the light and moves to get up that you stir.
“Where’re you going?” you mumble, yawning widely.
“Sleepin’ out in the living room,” he tells you, voice low. “Go to sleep.”
You make a sleepy noise of protest, eyes fluttering open with effort. “No… I’ll go, you sleep in here. S’your bed.”
Bakugou breathes out sharply through his nose. “Hell no.”
“Bakugou—” you start, starting to stand up.
He pushes you down, then places his hand over your eyes, covering them.
“Sleep,” he tells you.
You wrap your fingers around his wrist, ignoring the pain, so you can pull him away.
“Stay?” you ask. Even if you were wide awake, you’re sure you wouldn’t be up to Bakugou’s fighting weight when it comes to getting your way; you should’ve known he wouldn’t take the bed when you’re a guest in his home. But maybe you can convince him to compromise…
“Please?” you say, eyes rising to meet his. Your hand slides down from his wrist, coming to rest loosely in his grasp, your fingers entangling.
Bakugou looks down at your entwined fingers. He nods jerkily.
His hand slips from yours, and he makes his way back to the bathroom. The door stays cracked open, and as you wait, you hear the shower turn on. Steam trickles through the light streaming from the gap in the door.
You do try to wait up for him. But sleep’s siren song calls you, and you pull back the covers, getting in.
The bed dips next to you, and you stir. The movement’s enough to rouse you into tentative wakefulness as you begin to slide closer to the center of the bed. You make a drowsy, querying noise.
“S’just me.” Bakugou’s voice is a rumbly rasp, so quiet as it is.
There’s a feather light touch to your cheek and your body softens, relaxing, and then you’re asleep again.
Nose scrunched, you make a sleepy sound that’s a cross between a whine and a groan as you register that you’re way too warm, from head to toe, and that’s what’s drawn you out of dreamland.
You don’t want to wake up. Eyes still closed, you tense your muscles in a stretch—from the arches of your feet to your calves to your core to your back—then relax, trying to fall back asleep.
A soft laugh, just a quiet exhale of air through the nose, makes your eyes shoot open.
Directly in front of you is a broad chest in dark blue, rising up and down in a steady rhythm. Now that you’re wide awake, it registers that underneath your head is not, in fact, a pillow, but warm skin, firm muscle—an arm. Your hand clenches fabric, and there’s a grunt right above you, close. Immediately, you let go when you realize your hand is gripping Bakugou’s shirt, crumpling it over his abdomen.
Bakugou’s voice is deep, more gravelly than usual, sending little involuntary shivers through your body that you desperately hope he doesn’t notice, when he says, “Finally awake?”
You can feel his voice in your body with just how close you are to him, tucked into his side as you are. There’s a line of heat that travels all the way down the front of your body where it meets the contours of his, uninterrupted even by air. He smells so good; his natural scent combines with the fresh notes of whatever shampoo or body wash he uses, and this combines with the fragrance of clean, laundered sheets wrapped around both of you.
You half wonder if you’re still dreaming.
But consciousness comes back to you in waves.
It’s hard not to be self-conscious about a myriad of things—of morning breath, of how swollen your eyes must be, of the bandages on your hands, of how comfortable you’ve made yourself, nestled into him.
Flashes of the night before hit you, and you’re embarrassed by your helplessness. Your audacity. Of your honesty. You should really move away, make some space between you, but you can’t quite bring yourself to do it.
You feel Bakugou’s bicep flex under your head as he shifts a little, and you resign yourself to getting up.
But to your surprise, Bakugou’s only moved so that he’s laying on his side, facing you. Looking at you.
The room is dim because the curtains are still drawn, but slants of light still seep out around them, brightening the room just enough for you to see the crimson of his eyes, the blond of his lashes framing them. The scar on his face, the messy ruffle of his hair, a crease mark on his face from the pillow, maybe.
The orange and gold of his lights pulse around him with a deep warmth, the gold sparking in places like you’ve never seen before. Entranced, you slide your hand up his free arm, from bicep to forearm and back, watching as the colors swirl in your wake. Beneath your touch, the hues seem to almost intensify, but you’re sure it’s your eyes playing tricks.
Bakugou inhales sharply, and the sound snaps you to the present, eyes jumping to meet his.
He’s gazing at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat, then beat faster, insistently. Your breath shallows out. When he reaches up to touch your face, the movement dislodges your hand, but you barely notice.
Bakugou cups your jaw for a long moment, just looking at you. His thumb strokes your cheek, just once.
Then he pinches your nose.
“Breakfast,” he says.
Breakfast is a quiet affair.
Bakugou puts together a hearty breakfast. When you try to help, he scowls at you, bumping you out of the way with a pointed look at your hands. So you content yourself with messing around with your phone at the dining table, all the while sneaking glances at him. The fluidity of his movements around the kitchen, his quiet skillfulness with a knife. The neutral lines his expression falls into as things come together.
Eating together is peaceful, uninterrupted by conversation. You can tell Bakugou’s thinking about something, and you’re preoccupied yourself, trying to muster up the courage to address the elephant in the room.
It’s not until the table is cleared and you’re idling, just watching Bakugou load the dishwasher because he refused your help again, that you ask, “Don’t you have to go into work?”
Bakugou shakes his head, closing the dishwasher door and washing his hands in the sink. “Called out. Ei’s handling shit today.”
“Oh.”
You fidget a little, shifting your weight back and forth, then make up your mind. You don’t want to talk about it today. Going home is probably the best thing you can do.
Just as you open your mouth to say your goodbyes, Bakugou’s eyes slide to meet yours.
He asks, “Y’wanna get coffee? At our usual.”
His lights flicker erratically, orange flaring in spikes before settling into a moody dimness around him.
You should say no. But—you don’t want to; you want to say yes. Last night was so chaotic that you couldn’t properly process your feelings. This morning, with how you’d woken up to him, how you’d fallen into a rhythm during breakfast… It all reminded you of how uncomplicated things could be.
“Okay,” you say. Then you furrow your brow. “But we shouldn’t be out in public together, right? Ikeda would have a conniption.”
Bakugou scowls, then shrugs a shoulder. “The story’s that you work for me. Wouldn’t be weird.”
“I guess… but in these clothes?”
You look down at yourself, dressed in one of Bakugou’s black shirts with a skull on it, a little tight on you, and sweatpants that are too loose; you had to roll up the bottoms and tighten the drawstring as far as it could go. No matter how Bakugou or Ikeda could spin it, no way would anyone buy that you work for him wearing what you’re wearing.
Bakugou’s jaw tightens, then releases. “I’ll drop you off at yours, then.”
Something in his expression, subtly downcast before it’s tucked away into a neutral stillness, makes your heart twinge, an involuntary response.
“If you don’t mind,” you say carefully, “I could get changed at my place quickly and then we could go to the cafe.”
He stares at you for a moment. He looks away. “You’re not wrong that people could be annoying and take pictures or whatever. S’better if I just take you home.”
“If—If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” you say firmly.
A couple months ago, when the pet store incident happened, you did mind. You minded a lot. But now… so much has changed. You don’t care anymore what people think. They don’t know you, and they don’t know Bakugou. There’s a feeling in your gut that if you turn Bakugou down now, you’ll regret it.
Bakugou reaches up, pauses at your cheek, then moves on to tuck some hair behind your ear.
“Okay,” he tells you.
Mikan greets you at the door with yowls. He’s upset because it’s way past his breakfast time, which you’re guilty about.
“I know, baby, sorry,” you say as you reach down to pick him up, giving him a big smooch on his head. You head to the kitchen, and Mikan wriggles out of your arms as you grab his food bowl. As you crack open a can of food, Mikan meows loudly and impatiently twines himself through your legs.
You don’t even realize that Bakugou’s cleaning the litter box until you’ve set Mikan’s bowl down.
“Bakugou—” you start.
“Go get changed,” he says, then glances around.
“Where’re the other furball?” he asks you. “Only the greedy one came out to eat.”
A pang of sadness pulses through you. Shaking your head, you say, “Natsu was adopted while you were gone. It’s only Mikan now.”
A beat of silence, then Bakugou nods. Moves to the sink to wash his hands.
You retreat to your room to change, but not before seeing Bakugou lean down to stroke along Mikan’s back, the orange cat arching into his touch briefly before stuffing his face back into his food.
It’s late enough into the morning that you’ve successfully managed to avoid the morning rush, so you take your time to look at the menu instead of immediately falling into line.
“What’re you getting?” you ask as your eyes scan the boards hanging above and behind the counter.
“Usual,” Bakugou says. He hasn’t looked once at the menu. Instead, he’s scanning the cafe, a sharp look in his eye.
He’s wearing a baseball hat and a black hoodie for some anonymity, you think, but the hoodie doesn’t do a good job of hiding much of anything. At the least, they don’t disguise his broad shoulders. And the expression on his face is anything but civilian.
“Boring,” you tell him, trying to soften him. Looking down at you, he pinches your cheek, rubbing a thumb against the skin before letting go. You jab an elbow into his side, but he dodges it easily.
“Hi! Can I get an iced houjicha latte, please?” you say to the cashier with a smile.
Bakugou steps up behind you, close enough to feel his body heat, and hands her his card as he recites his order right after yours.
As you wait for your drinks, Bakugou suddenly says, “You haven’t thought about keeping ‘im?”
“What?” You blink at him.
“The furball.”
“Mikan?”
“Who else.”
“I’ve thought about it,” you say slowly. And you have. Mikan’s been with you for ages now, and you’ve grown to love his spontaneous bursts of energy as he zooms through your apartment or hunts down the feather attached to your wand toy; his moments of stillness as he curls up in your lap; his affection as he butts his head against your mouth before settling on top of your chest when you lie down, paws tucked underneath him, purring.
You look down. “But I don’t know. He was just matched with someone. I’d hate to take him from them.”
The barista calls your name, and you pick up your orders.
“Fuck it,” Bakugou says as he holds the door open for you to exit ahead of him. “I’ll tell your pet organization or whatever that I wanna keep ‘im. I’m sure they have other furballs that need homes. Those people can choose from them.”
“Thought you didn’t like Mikan,” you say, glancing up at him.
Bakugou’s nose scrunches up in a way that makes you laugh.
“Got used to ‘im, I guess.”
You hum, a thoughtful noise, as you walk. You’re not sure why Bakugou’s suddenly suggesting this or if he’s actually serious.
What you are sure about is that you’re not quite ready to get back in his car and go home. There’s a normalcy to the rhythm you’ve both settled into, reminiscent of how things were before he left for his mission. You’re reluctant to disrupt it.
“Do you wanna walk off breakfast?” you ask. “There’s a park nearby.”
Bakugou grunts an assent, and you keep walking past his parked car.
As you walk, his hand lightly brushes against yours from time to time. You don’t pull away, though you feel the tips of your ears warming and you mentally berate yourself for your inconsistency. You’re upset at him, you’re hurt by him; you’re so happy to be with him, you’re soft in his hands, at his care.
Frustrated with yourself, you look up at the sky.
The sky is a heartbreakingly clear blue, with just a few white wisps to interrupt the expanse. Along the pathway cutting through the park, trees provide welcome shade from the unrelenting sun. The area is relatively empty, what with it being a weekday, except for some aunties and grandmas stretching on the other side of the park.
You think about how quickly the seasons have changed. When you bumped into Bakugou at that grocery store that night, it was early spring, with the cherry blossoms just beginning to bloom. Now it’s fall, and the leaves have just started to turn color, and everything is different.
“Bakugou,” you say hesitantly. “Do you have time to come over and talk?”
“Okay,” Bakugou says as he settles on the couch across from you. “Let’s talk. But no running away this time. I won’t do that shit a third time.”
The urge to defend yourself rears its head, and you look up at him.
His expression is set, grim; he’s leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees, hands clasped together.
The words die in your throat. For a moment, you regret inviting him over to have this conversation, your stomach churning.
Bakugou tips his head, looking at you with a glint in his eye, then says, “You needed space. I get it. But feels shitty when you leave mid-conversation. Or give me the silent treatment. Fuck that. How’re we supposed to fix shit if you’re not around to talk shit through.”
You want to tell him that you weren’t running away. That you don’t feel like it’s productive to continue conversations that have escalated into hurtful exchanges. But you take a moment to think about what he’s saying. About how this all started because you were hurt by his silence, his unwillingness to communicate and maintain connection.
Maybe you’re doing the same thing to him in your own way.
“All right,” you say, finally. “You’re right. I won’t do it again. And if I do it again you can call me out on it and I’ll get my shit together.”
Bakugou nods, and the lines of his shoulders ease. You study him, not realizing how much your actions had bothered him.
Looking down at your hands again, at the bandages Bakugou had carefully wrapped around them last night, you inhale deeply.
You begin, “I know you and Kiri own the agency together. And that you’ve been friends since UA. And our friendship hasn’t had the same amount of time, or the kinds of experiences, to develop, I know. But I wanna get there with you, someday. And I think it can only happen if we talk to each other. Tell each other things. Build trust.”
As if you’d opened a lid, everything starts to spill out, your words tripping on each other as if they can’t come fast enough.
“I—I care about you. I worry about you, and I thought about you a lot while you were gone. I counted each day, hoping that it’d be the one when you’d be back. And I know it’s not what you intended, I know you’ve explained your reasons why, but it hurt because it felt like I wasn’t worth the minute it would’ve taken for you to shoot me a message that you’re back and that you’re okay. Felt like I didn’t matter to you.”
You fall silent, hands clenched tight enough to hurt. Bakugou makes a rough sound, reaching over to touch the back of your hand, to make you let go. You try to relax, take a deep breath.
“I hear your reasons for why you did what you did,” you say, looking him in the eyes, hoping you’re getting across to him. “I get that I can’t change who you are. I just want you to know how I felt.”
Bakugou takes one look at your face and curses.
“C’mere,” he says roughly as he moves to sit next to you on the couch. He reaches over and wipes at the moisture around your eyes with gentle fingers. “Fuck, don’t cry.”
“I’m not,” you say, making a face, and your voice comes out thin, trembly. You’re not crying. You’re just—when you’re in difficult, emotional situations, sometimes it’s like your body can’t take the stress and you tear up. You’re not crying. It’s just a lot.
“M’sorry,” he tells you, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you to his chest.
You’re still, breathing him in. Stiff, trying not to give in to him. “I don’t want you to be sorry just because of—because of this. I don’t mean to. I’m not. I just get worked up.”
You don’t want him to apologize out of guilt, or to make your tears go away. You want him to understand.
When you try to pull away, Bakugou firms his grip on you, refusing to let go.
“You’re right,” he says. “It’s fucked, I messed up. I’m not just saying this shit because I want to stop arguing. If you went somewhere for work, or—or on a trip somewhere, I’d be pissed if you didn’t tell me anything. I think about you all the goddamn time. Last night stressed me the fuck out because I wasn’t sure if you were okay and dumbass Ei left you.”
Those last words end in a growl.
You’re wide-eyed in his arms, stunned into silence. You scarcely dare to breathe as you struggle to process his words.
Bakugou relents, allowing you to pull back enough to look into his face. Your eyes search his, not sure what you’re trying to find.
He says, “I do shit this way because it’s what’s worked. And I’ve been doing it a long time. S’hard because most people around me already know how hero work is and don’t expect me to do anything different. I’ll do better.”
You close your eyes, letting out a shuddery breath, letting his words soak in, weighing whether to accept them or not. His hand moves up and down your back in long, steady strokes. As if you were Mikan.
A feeling you’re not willing to name rises in your throat, and you really do feel like crying now.
You soften.
“Missed you,” you whisper against his chest, pressing yourself against him. His arm moves down to circle your waist as you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. “Glad you’re home safe. Meant to tell you that. So happy you’re home.”
His arms tighten around you, squeezing almost a little too hard. You welcome the pressure.
“Don’t like when you cry, so stop,” he mutters.
“M’not crying,” you say, but the wobbliness in your voice isn’t very convincing.
For a moment, you’re tempted to leave things here. You think you could be satisfied with this. And yet…
You raise your head, look at him.
“I have just one last thing I gotta get off my chest,” you say, letting your arms drop.
Shifting a little, you move to put some space between the two of you. You don’t know how you got there, but you’re half in his lap, and it’s a little embarrassing. But he doesn’t let you get far, even with the face you make at him, his arm firmly holding you in place.
“Weeks ago. Before you left, when I was sick, you made this comment like, ‘You don’t get it,’ when I mentioned taking it easy with the hero work. And you said something similar when we argued.”
Swallowing, you say, “And I want to tell you that it makes me feel lonely, hearing you say that. It feels like you don’t want to explain because you think I wouldn’t understand. It sucks.”
With how close the two of you are, you can feel Bakugou’s body tense up in response to your words.
“I don’t say that kind of shit to be exclusionary,” Bakugou says. “It’s just. It’s fucking true. Civilians can’t understand the job. And I can’t take it easy. People depend on me.”
You scan his expression, trying to read him. Trying to pick your words so that they click.
“I know. You’re right. But… that reasoning can be used for any line of work, right? Or life experience. You can’t know what it’s like to be—to be an office worker. Or a doctor. An engineer. An artist. A mother, or a sibling. We’re all living different lives, and the only way we can come together is by sharing our lives with each other. That’s how I see it. What about you?”
Bakguou is silent for a beat. Then he exhales. “The hero stuff… it’s not all glory and saving people and happy endings. Sometimes shit is fucked, and all we do is try to keep it from being worse. I don’t want you to have to deal with that too.”
A bitterness you’ve never seen before turns down the corner of his lips, sharpens his eyes, furrows his brow. There’s sorrow there, too, a bone-deep fatigue. It makes you want to reach out and touch it, erase it, so your hand cups his cheek before you can think. Your thumb strokes his skin. His eyes lock on yours and hold.
“That’s my choice,” you tell him gently. “I don’t need to be sheltered from things, like I’m a kid. If it turns out I can’t handle something, I’ll tell you. If there’s something you’re not comfortable sharing, or you’re not allowed to tell me something, I’ll respect that. But you should communicate that with me instead of not giving me any explanation at all. I think that’s fair.”
Bakugou is quiet for a long moment, and you’re content to let him think. Finally, he says, “Okay. But you have to promise to tell me if shit’s too much for you.”
“Promise,” you say, a small smile lifting your cheeks. You give in to the urge to pinch his nose, payback for this morning, and he nips at your fingers as you retreat.
A thought occurs to you, and you pause. There’s one last thing, one true last thing, that you haven’t talked about yet. You’ve been avoiding it all this time because you’re afraid to shatter what’s between you. But so many things are out in the open now, and it feels a little bit like maybe it’ll be okay if you bring this thing up too.
“I lied,” you tell Bakugou. “I have one more last thing to get off my chest. It’s the actual last thing though, I swear.”
“Better be,” he growls at you, and you laugh a little. It helps you be brave.
“I—I know that for you, at least part of what we are might just be trying to make up for what happened when we were kids, but you don’t need to. I already forgave you, okay? I don’t care that I’m not your soulmate because…” You hesitate, avoiding his gaze. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Regardless?”
Bakugou has gone rigid around you as you’ve talked, but he startles at your last words, jerking his head up to stare into your face.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
You flinch.
Bakugou swears, then, “Fuck, no, I meant—the hell do you mean you’re not my soulmate? You are.”
For a moment, you feel like you’re separate from your body, untethered. His words echo in your ears, reminding you of how things sounded right after the villain’s attack last night. Then the words register, and you crash back down to earth.
“What?” you say, and the word comes out cracked. Something tightens in your chest. “No I’m not.”
“The hell you aren’t,” he snarls. His hand on your waist squeezes, tightening, a reflex.
“But you said that I wasn’t!”
His eyes, cutting crimson, bore into you. “When the hell did I say that?”
“When we were kids.” You stare at him. Swallow. “When we first met. You told me that you’re not my soulmate, after I told you that you’re mine.”
“Fuck.” Bakugou simmers in silence for a long moment. “Fuck. I was a shitty kid, okay. And I said what I said because I didn’t want it to be true. Because soulmates or lights or whatever the fuck are bullshit. Some random person tells you they can see lights around you that you can’t even see yourself and that means you’re supposed to suddenly give a shit about them? Didn’t believe in that garbage and still don’t.”
He’s breathing heavily, as if he’s just sparred three rounds against Kiri at the gym. His gaze is piercing. His lights are erratic, orange overpowering the gold and flaring intensely.
“Then why the hell are you saying that I’m your soulmate like it matters? If it’s even true?” you say accusingly.
“It doesn’t!” he says, explosively. He catches himself, takes a deep breath, and continues, more levelly, “It doesn’t matter to me. But I know it does to you. And it is true. I’ve always been able to see your lights. All this time. Distracting as shit.”
He reaches out and grasps your hand gently, careful of your palms, his other rising to rest on your arm, running back and forth across your skin as if interacting with something that you can’t see. A motion you’d done just this morning, lying across from him in bed.
You’re speechless. You’re afraid. To believe, to hope.
Bakugou ducks his head to meet your eyes.
“But I don’t care about you because of some shitty lights. Want you. Didn’t deserve it, but you gave me another chance. Figured out you’re it myself. Didn’t need those dumb lights.”
Eyes intense, he looks at you, checking to see if he’s getting through to you.
He releases your hand. Tousles his hair roughly, clicking his tongue.
“Friends, whatever you want, we’ll do that. Just don’t think I’ve stuck around just because of these damn lights or what happened when we were kids. I told you. I only do shit I wanna do. Thought you were smarter than this, dumbass.” He pokes you square in the forehead, and you scowl at him, rubbing the spot.
Your scowl slowly fades as you furrow your brow, trying to process everything. But your mind’s awhirl, and trying to settle on a single thought is like trying to catch the dust specks that’re only visible in sunlight, twisting, floating.
Groaning, you bury your face in Bakugou’s shoulder.
“I give up,” you say, voice muffled. “It’s too much to think about. My brain’s going to explode.”
“You’re the one who kept bringing shit up. Last thing to get off your chest, my ass,” Bakugou snarks.
Your head jerks up, and you narrow your eyes at him.
“Watch the attitude, asshole.”
“Or what?” Bakugou scoffs.
Ooh, the urge to do something diabolical is so strong. But you restrain yourself, tallying up all the strikes he’s made against you today and tucking them aside for later.
Soulmates.
The word keeps repeating itself, a mantra in your head, as you go through the motions of the rest of the day.
Bakugou insists on driving you home, not letting you take public transportation despite the fact that you don’t live too far from each other. Maybe he senses you need the silence, or maybe it’s because he doesn’t have any words left either, but he doesn’t say much to you between the ending of your conversation to dropping you off at your apartment except to remind you to change your bandages and to call him if you need anything.
You head to your bedroom to change into your own clothes. It’s only in the privacy of your room, smelling traces of Bakugou’s body wash on your skin, his shampoo in your hair, that the past twenty-four hours really hits you.
You sink shakily onto your bed and try to breathe.
Given the revelations you’d confronted this morning, the villain attack feels like it happened ages ago, irrelevant, as ridiculous as it sounds. If the bandages on your hands weren’t proof, the event would’ve faded from your memory.
Soulmates.
You mouth the word silently.
You don’t think Bakugou would lie about this. Knowing him like you do now, it makes sense that he’d so adamantly refuse ties he has no control over. Knowing the kid he was back then, the young man he grew into, gathered from various press coverage over the years, it makes sense he’d want to forge his own path and deny anything that got in his way.
You’re just not sure what shifted between his rejection when you were children and your meeting months ago, in that grocery store. You regret not asking him, but—in the moment, you’d been so overwhelmed. You’re still overwhelmed.
How would this change things between you? If he’s been able to see your lights all this time—what do they look like to him? You’ve never told him the color of his lights; he never seemed interested, anyway. You wonder what you look like to him. You wish you could see yourself through his eyes, understand what’s going on in his brain.
Friends, whatever you want, we’ll do that.
He’d said that. And you’d said that. Friends. But if you’re truthful with yourself, that’s not what you want. You want more, and only now do you feel warranted to hope for more. You know what it feels like to be held in his arms. To wake up next to him, the first thing you see. To be treated so gently by him, like you’re important. Precious.
…But what if wanting more from him would be forcing upon him another tie he never asked for? Surely if he feels the same way you do, he would’ve said something instead of defaulting to friendship.
Just as doubt begins to creep in again, your phone buzzes, a welcome distraction.
Kiri: Hey! I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to check up on you last night. Had to deal with so many problems!!!
You smile and reply.
You: Don’t worry about it! I’m doing good. Got seen by some medics and just have some cuts on my hands, no biggie
Kiri: Wish I could’ve escorted you home! I hope you didn’t get home too late… There was a bunch of traffic and closed off streets
You: We got home in pretty good time, nw. I hope you didn’t have to stay out too late dealing with everything
Kiri: Oh? Did your friend pick you up? Or family?
You pause for a moment, wondering if you should answer. Shrugging, you tap out a response, figuring that Bakugou would tell Kiri eventually. Honestly, you thought Kiri already knew.
You: Bakugou came. We made up!
You keep it short and simple.
Several bubbles come up on Kiri’s end, disappearing and reappearing. You nearly put your phone down with how long he takes, but finally, his reply comes in a flood.
Kiri: That! Is! So! Great!!!!!!!!
Kiri: I’m so happy for you dude
Kiri: And for Katsuki ofc but damn. At least one good thing came outta this mess!!!
Kiri: Hey, would you be down to join our next hangout? It’d be with Mina and the guys, you saw them that night. Hanta and Denki
Kiri: We try to do a monthly thing, like dinner or something, but obviously that didn’t happen…
Kiri: We also usually try to get Katsuki to come! We’re not usually successful :(
Kiri: But if you come, he’ll definitely come. Pls?
You watch the messages roll in, smiling. Kiri’s energy is so infectious, even over text.
Thinking back, you hated how your last interaction went down. You regretted how avoiding Bakugou meant avoiding Kiri, the agency, and the people you’d made friends with there. Reconciling with Bakugou has been a relief in many ways, and you’re grateful that it means you can return to the life you’d built before your argument.
You: Would that be okay? I don’t wanna intrude. Esp if you guys can only meet once a month
Kiri: Dude, you would NOT be intruding. Everyone’s been wanting to meet you for ages
Kiri: Bakugou’s just been stingy hiding you
Kiri: Pls?
You gaze down at your screen, thinking. Kiri’s words imply that you have some sort of impact on Bakugou. Not only that, they reveal that somehow, Bakugou’s friends whom you’ve never met know about you. It makes you wonder what Kiri knows, what they know.
You: Okay!
You're going to find out.
Author's Note: Hi friends! This update definitely wasn't quick, but at least it didn't take a full year between updates like chapter twelve did, I guess... Seeing post-time skip Bakugou finally get animated helped! I got a ton of fan edits coming across my TikTok FYP lmaoooo. (I do wish that Horikoshi had designed Bakugou (and Izuku) to be more mature-looking, like Shouto is. Alas.)
Any how, so many important conversations happen in this chapter, though arguably, the most important one—What are we?—is still to come. Though, I know how many of you have been yelling for some clarity about the soulmate question. I've had this scene written since the beginning, so it's been a long time coming. I'd love to hear what you think of how their convos went down!!!
I have next chapter scheduled as the last one, but who really knows until I start writing it. It may be the last, or I may add a fifteenth chapter. I'll keep ya'll upated!
Finally, I hope you're all doing well and that you enjoy this chapter. 🧡 Thank you so much for all your comments, here and on ao3, for your asks, your likes, your reblogs, all your engagement. As I've said before, your interest is what keeps me determined to finish this fic. We're in the home stretch!
Hugs and kisses, and take care, everyone!
