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134340am · 2 years

Note

oikawa with 16 this is gonna hurt me - :) this time the smiley face represents me smiling thru the pain

have you ever prayed for blessings in someone else’s life?

oikawa tooru x gn!reader, 3.4k, nsfw — minors do not interact.

— and in some nostalgic and hurtful way, august has always been a fragile moment in time, steeped in a big, broken cup of longing—a forgotten song, a polaroid picture on expired film, a band-aid that isn’t sticky anymore.

(in which the right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person.)

> warnings: post-timeskip, hurt no comfort, implied fwb relationship, blowjobs, ‘angel’ as a pet name, reader is kiiiiinda gross at first but trying their best, no happy ending.

花樣年華: The Notes Series

16. but he let go of my arm. it just made me laugh. what’s so important about being together? what are we to each other? in the end we are all alone.

it kinda stinks in here, tooru noted to himself when he first stepped into your apartment—one room, communal bath, tucked away into a shadier neighbourhood—though that’s not something he can explicitly say to you.

not when he’s here to get laid.

you dump your purse on the armchair in the corner, quickly shedding your sparkly top and sports bra. a stray sequin sticks to your bicep. you smell like cheap beer and people, rounded with the faint scent of your purple shampoo, and he feels crumbs in your bed under his back as you ride him slowly, lazily. even so, you’re still the best fuck he’s had in a while. sure, he’s had better, way better actually, but what’s he to complain about a warm body and a face as pretty as yours?

even with your mascara smudged and your eyes brimming with tears, tooru still thinks you’re one of the prettiest angels he’s ever seen.

and maybe that means he can ignore the crusty apartment, the random rolls of toilet paper sitting everywhere, and the suspiciously large pile of english dictionaries in a corner—if it means he can see you again.

tooru thinks of the second time as a coincidence. a stroke of luck, even.

because oikawa tooru only sees japan twice a year—first on new year’s eve (or earlier if he can help it), and the second whenever he can afford the time.

this year, it’s august: hot and humid. tooru’s memories of august are characterised by the thick air in the aoba johsai gym, chased by sweet and juicy watermelon slices juxtaposed with the salty taste of pocari sweat. sometimes there are extra classes—physics, english. other times, there are long karaoke sessions in town with the rest of the team that leave his throat burning and itchy for the rest of the week.

august has always been for hanging out with friends and ignoring his parent’s calls.

august has always been a long, sticky blur of melting ice pops and double loads in the washer because he sweats through his shirts twice a day.

and in some nostalgic and hurtful way, august has always been a fragile moment in time, steeped in a big, broken cup of longing—a forgotten song, a polaroid picture on expired film, a band-aid that isn’t sticky anymore.

this august is different.

this august, tooru finds himself back in your room, fan on full blast ruffling his hair and his cock in your mouth, sitting on your yellowed armchair that’s seen better days.

“can’t believe—” you hum between soft licks and sucks of his swollen cock head, “—that i managed to catch you at the bookstore.”

you take his cock into your mouth as deep as you could, lashes fluttering and hands digging red crescents into his thighs. tooru guides your head down, hips bucking into your face, and he only lets up when he hears you gargle and choke. déjà vu slaps him in the face when you come up for air—tearing and coughing and mascara smudged like the first time he slept with you.

“fuck, tooru, not so rough,” you scolded. “and do you even read? or were you just there for the free AC?”

“...shut up.”

he doesn’t even fuck you this time—a quick glance at his watch tells him he’s ten minutes late for his train to the airport. he shoves you off of him after he cums down your throat, panicking as he grabs his cap and bag, and mumbles a stuttered apology while he scribbles his number down on a piece of scrap paper by the door.

you say nothing, just lean against your soiled armchair as you spit into a wad of toilet paper.

tooru stops, casting you one last look before he closes the door. your eyes looked vacant—not exactly sad, and not angry either. you look… tired. is it the summer heat? is it because he’s leaving?

or is it because it’s august now and you, too, were longing for a person or a place?

curious brown eyes stray to the tattoo on your rib—a clean, thin, circle broken into lines of varying lengths. in your slumped posture, the circle looked more like a lumpy oval, a melty blob of ice cream.

“call me,” he offers weakly, more of a proposal than an order, before closing your door behind him.

you don’t.

you move on with your life—you pick up more shifts at the bookstore, go clubbing, and try non-dairy milk as you start to develop lactose intolerance. the little piece of scrap paper tooru scribbled his number on was swept away with the rest of your garbage as you do your first big clean of your apartment.

alongside it goes your textbooks from high school (any traces of a name or handwriting shredded or scribbled on with black marker), clothes that no longer fit (including the purple sequined top you wore the first time you met him), and a flurry of old knick-knacks and trinkets.

it’s september now, not august anymore. there’s no time to be sentimental or nostalgic—there hasn’t been time for that since you finished high school and everything got exponentially harder: finances, managing time, seeing friends. doing your laundry. climbing the stairs.

but doing away with nostalgia and clutter meant you had time for other things. better things.

you save up enough for a tiny tv to put in front of your old armchair. admittedly, it was a bitch and a half to carry up four flights of stairs—you had enough for the damn tv, not for delivery—but the addition of the new appliance to your space ignited in you a sense of accomplishment you haven’t felt in a very, very long time.

a visit to the hardware store and half a day later, you stepped back to admire your little telly, propped up on your collection of hardcover dictionaries.

the excitement that burned in your stomach felt unreal, like you were a child again, waking up on christmas morning. it took you two clumsy tries to insert the batteries into the remote, sweat slicking down your back and hands trembling. you manage eventually.

buzzzzzz, click.

the 20-inch screen flickers to life.

oikawa tooru, all decked out in bright blue turquoise that somehow complements his soft marshmallow hair. he tosses, runs, and serves—more like a spike, actually, and you watch as the ball blazes over the net into the opponent’s court.

the camera pans to his face, adorned with a self-satisfied grin that sticks even on his next serve.

buzzzzzz, click.

you toss the remote aside.

tooru shows up in early january, summer clothes now swapped out for high-quality mittens and a thick puffer jacket.

the biting cold outside has stained his cheeks and nose a bright poppy red. the evening starts with a hot cup of green tea and some rice crackers as your television plays the six o'clock news in the background.

“you didn’t call me back,” he starts, softly.

“lost your number while cleaning,” you mumbled back—not exactly a fib but not the truth either, ambiguous like your relationship with tooru—only to be met with a shrug.

he takes you after the pair of you drain your mugs, fucking you soft and slow against your cotton bedsheets as the last rays of the sun filter through your blinds.

it was completely dark when the two of you were done. tooru finds your hand in the darkness and squeezes your fingers—as hard as he could.

“oh, ow— fucking hell, tooru. as if you didn’t just break my back.”

he snorts. “don’t be dramatic. you liked it.”

“just enough.”

the pillow underneath your head shifts as he nods. his hand finds its way back to his side. the two of you lie in complete darkness, and all is still and quiet save for the soft puffs of your synchronised breaths.

tooru doesn’t come by often. but when he does, it’s always quick and easy. pants off, oral, and the next hour spent in blinding pleasure as he takes you against every surface of your humble apartment—kitchen counter, coffee table, back of your armchair.

he always has to rush off afterwards—practice, doctor’s appointment, errands, friends. in stark comparison, time always seems to drag on for you after your door closes. laundry takes two hours instead of one and changing the sheets takes a lifetime. somewhere in between, you turn the tv on for background noise.

lately, though, his visits have become longer and longer. before you knew it, he’s struggling to stuff your pillow into a pillowcase too small for it and making rude comments on the bad ads on tv. the box of green tea on your counter gets replaced quicker than usual. you buy more toilet paper.

tooru still leaves, of course—but never without a trace.

a used toothbrush next to yours, chestnut brown hairs dotting your off-white sheets. even his wool mittens—neatly patterned with deer and snow, probably at an unimaginable price point—are left abandoned on your crusty old armchair. they keep your hands warm on your way to work at the bookstore.

a part of you wonders how okay it is to get used to this: the abrupt hellos and barely-there goodbyes, the soreness that settles in your limbs and in your chest the next day. but another part of you—the part that smiles at the extra toothbrush and curls into the warmth of your wool mittens—thinks otherwise.

as your little tv blares the tunes of a catchy jingle, as you sip on a cup of warmed oat milk, as you relish in the pleasant ache of your body—you start to think that maybe you do have a chance. maybe you do have a choice.

maybe everything can be okay.

as quickly as life can get better, it can also get a lot worse.

“it’s been nice knowing you,” naoki chirps from the other side of the shelf, pulling book after book of the new geronimo stilton series off the hardwood bookcase.

you let out an animalistic sound that was half-snort, half-chuckle. “don’t make it sound like you’re dying.”

“well, i am, in some way.” your coworker—small, sixteen years old, hoop earrings almost as big as her face—sings merrily. “this is the death of the naoki you know, who’s probably worked more hours than anyone else in this lame ass bookstore. and now it’s closing down.”

she sighs dramatically. “that’s the death of my hard work and pride too, y’know? so yeah, i’m dying. i won’t see you again next week. boo, bye.”

she’s right. come sunday, the store will close its doors one final time. there won’t be a big closing ceremony or a grand goodbye, just you and naoki flipping the door sign and double-checking the locks.

that’s the death of the version of you who worked at the store, and also the death of all the oat milk lattes you’ve been enjoying. if you’re careful with your expenses, you can still keep your tv.

“how— how are you so happy, naoki?” you ask. “i don’t know about you, but i’m kind of upset.”

upset is an understatement. you spent the better part of your morning shift aggressively wiping your eyes on your sleeve as you packed rows upon rows of books away into shipping boxes bigger than yourself. the only meagre form of consolation was naoki’s new playlist and the lemon poppy seed muffin given to you by your apologetic boss.

you catch naoki’s eyes through the bookshelf. “aren’t you upset that you can no longer buy your, um,” you pause. “your cute clothes or earrings or stuff like that. i’m guessing they make you happy, right?”

naoki smacks her gum. “yeah, i’m upset. duh.”

she finishes off her side and rounds the shelf to help you with yours. “but i know this is just a whatever thing. it’s all temporary and dumb. i know i’ll still be hot in the future, so it doesn’t matter. in fact, the store shutting down is probably for the greater good—what if i’m still stuck here years later looking as miserable as you?”

you gasp, offended, but when you look up at naoki again you catch the mischievous glint in her eye and the cheeky slant in her smile.

“anyways,” she continues, “cheers to the death of me and you. it’s cool, though, i’ll see you in my next life—and by next life, i mean at the froyo shop down the street.”

naoki grabs the last book from the bottom shelf and dusts it off. We’ll Always Have Paris, says the colourful cover. she pushes the little book into your hand and laughs.

“i heard the uniforms are, like, fucking cute.”

on the last day of your lease, tooru comes over.

“hey, listen. i wanna talk to you.” he takes off his cap, and ruffles his fingers through his hair while he makes himself comfortable on your worn armchair.

“or you can let your body do the talking, handsome.” you make a grab for him, but tooru intercepts your hands and pulls you into his lap carefully.

it was a peculiar sight for sure: tooru’s shiny leather jacket was a stark contrast to the faded patchwork of your old armchair. you picked it up from down the street when you first moved into this little room, and your heart aches knowing you won’t be able to bring it with you when you leave—back to the corner it goes, then.

hopefully, its new owner won’t mind the food stains.

you stick a finger into the middle of tooru’s forehead, forcing him back against the armchair—only for him to shoot you a warning look which had you dissolving in a fit of amused giggles.

“alright, alright. i’m listening. but after this, we fuck,” you say.

he’s quiet. unnaturally so, considering how he spent his last few visits talking your ear off. something about how he can’t find his favourite brand of sesame oil in Argentina, how he hasn’t been calling his mom enough, this and that. silly, mundane, little bits of conversation that sink deep into the yellowing fabric of your armchair.

“i’m moving to Argentina permanently,” he starts, eyes averted.

your chest burns.

“…and?”

“and i won’t be coming back. at least, not for a while.”

you still. panic rises from the pit of your stomach. for the first time since this conversation started, tooru looks you squarely in the eye.

“get it?” he asks softly, but his voice is lined with something hard and sharp. “it means we have to stop doing this. i’m sorry i’m telling you this so abruptly.”

his confession felt like a slap to the face and a javelin through your heart.

“dammit, tooru. i can’t believe you’re dumping me,” you joke, reaching out to pinch his thigh. he yelps and shifts, glaring at you. “but yeah, sure. best of luck. kinda sad that this is the last time in a long time i’ll be getting dicked down, though.”

he scoffs. “i doubt it. i give it a week, tops.”

the pair of you sit in silence. you find yourself avoiding his curious brown eyes, instead tracing the prominent veins on his forearms to pass time.

sure, you can give up oat milk for a bit. sure, you can give up the six o’clock evening news and the seven o’clock volleyball program. and in recent weeks, you’ve learnt to give up long afternoon shifts at the bookstore, singing along to funky pop tunes with naoki and getting the lyrics wrong on purpose so she’d laugh.

can you give tooru up, though? his toothbrush next to yours, his towel draped across your chair, his wool mittens that you keep on the couch all year round?

fucking hell, you curse inwardly. it’s not even august anymore.

“y’know, we’ve never really talked about what this is. what we’re doing,” you murmur.

pause. you take tooru’s hands in yours.

“but whatever it was, i think it was good,” you finish simply. then you take a deep breath and squeeze his fingers as hard as you possibly can, ignoring his yelp of pain and the soft pop of his knuckles.

“oh, ow— i, um, think it was good as well. though your words don’t quite match your actions, angel.” tooru pouts and retracts his hand, massaging it gently. “wait, hang on, i think i’m sitting on something.”

he digs behind him to pull up a wrinkled mitten. his eyes widen in genuine surprise as he examines the light blue blob, well-worn with a few fraying threads at the wrist.

“my mittens,” he breathes. then his eyes narrow to a slit. “you stole them!”

“no i didn’t, you left them behind yourself,” you retort as you slide off his lap. “idiot!” you toss over your shoulder as you stalk off to your bedroom to find the missing mitten to match his.

the left mitten sits at the edge of your bed. you pull it on, admiring how the familiar, fluffy material warms your hand immediately.

“we should take one each,” tooru comments. the bed rocks gently as he sits next to you, pulling his mitten on his right hand. it fits him perfectly—stretching smoothly over his palm and all five fingers.

the thought of it makes you laugh. “what’s the point of wearing just one mitten, tooru?”

“hey, it’s stylish.”

you fall back onto your bed, getting comfy, and tooru follows suit. the pair of you press your mittened hands together and his very obviously dwarfs yours. the wrinkled fingertips of your mitten fall short compared to his.

tooru slides his fingers over yours, tangling them together. if your hand was warm from wearing the mitten, it was positively on fire now. with bated breath, you examine the new form—in this entwined state, the two hands look identical: a symmetrical entity, one whole.

for a moment, you are not last trains and airplanes and the way august cuts your tongue and makes you swallow it. for a moment, you are bookstore dates and holding hands and sharing hot mugs of green tea while you wind down to the six o’clock news.

for a moment, time stops—

—then he let go of your hand. it just made you laugh.

what’s so important about being together? what are you to each other?

in the end we are all alone.

night falls.

tooru moves first. “i have to go or i’ll miss the last train.” his stuff is all packed up and readied by the door, mitten stuffed into his backpack.

“tooru, wait.”

“yes?”

“before y—” you almost choke then, but fight hard to keep a brave face. “—before you go, can you kiss me goodnight?” your words fizzle into the air in a breathy whisper. “one last time?”

a large hand, rough from hours of work on and off the court, but familiar and comforting all the same, cups your cheek. tooru’s burning touch fades into a quiet, balmy sensation—like warm rain on a summer day in august.

his eyes, once a captivating chestnut brown—a colour so tender and sweet—harden into an indecipherable jet black in the dim light of your bedroom.

this is it, the death of oikawa tooru. there won’t be a tomorrow for you and him—in a few hours, he’d be on a plane halfway across the country, and you’d be dragging your suitcases out onto the street. you choke back a sob.

if you didn’t meet in august, if you’ve never taken naoki’s shift that fateful afternoon, if you stowed away his mittens in the back of your closet—would things have turned out differently?

you let your eyes flutter shut naturally, feeling hot tears teetering on the edge of your lash line, and pucker your lips ever so slightly.

tooru’s kiss lands briefly on the apple of your cheek.

when you open your eyes, he reaches over to flick the light switch of your bedside lamp.

“goodnight, angel,” tooru murmurs, and you watch his silhouette walk to the front door. smaller, smaller, smaller.

before you can say it back, your door clicks shut.

🏷 | @thegetoufather @itachislut @nanamisflowerfield @kairakeiji @touyaz @missmeinyourbones @lovelorn-thots

a/n: it’s done!!! this fic falls under the category of “i know i’ll never post if i let it marinate in the drafts for too long” so... here it is, imperfect, incomplete, unready. this turned out vastly different from the original idea had in mind, which was a soulmate!au, but i like this version as well. i feel really nervous posting this because the writing style is a little different from how i usually write—this is closer to how i write my stuff outside of fanfiction which i haven’t visited in a while so please be kind :*) also i hardly write angst because i’m a baby and this hurt my back hurts everything hurts ohgod

as always, please let me know what you think!!! what did you like, what did you not like, what stood out to you, this and that. reblogs are greatly loved and appreciated as well ^o^

thank you so much for reading!

(masterlist) (read on ao3)

#oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x you #oikawa x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #oikawa angst #yuna writes #hyyh: the notes series

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mikrokosmos875 · 4 months

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HYYH NOTES - ENGLISH TRANSLATION

The Notes 1 Review

The Notes 2 Review

#the notes #bts #bts the notes #hyyh

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neetest · 5 months

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i feel like hyyh seokjin is an overlooked character considering he's a protagonist. he's very interesting and brings an interesting concept to the table. yk that question? "would you rather be rich and sad or poor and happy"? seokjin is the rich but sad. he was born in a golden crib, got to finish his studies in another country, living in a fancy mansion, yet no amount of money is enough to replace the empty in his heart, an empty of affection. his dad is a corrupt politician, which makes it a realistic story, but it brings a question that's very interesting, that being of "what are the kids of these asshole politicians like?" are they also assholes? are they okay?

hyyh seokjin is a boy born from money, dirty money, and he feels guilty over that, his dad dosen't care about him, only about the fame and ruling over, but just because you have the money and the power dosen't mean you have the people.

seokjin could befriend those kids his age with the same amount of money, those who came from the same sack of money as him, yet he dosen't, he still treasures the underdogs and the poor of the other six boys, because they don't bond over the pennies in their pockets or the fancy mansions or the power, they bond on the pain, they bond on the doom they share, on the tears of sadness and anger they shed. they bond over how dysfunctional all their lifes are, its something that no amount of money could replace. and they bond on that.

#neetest talks #hyyh #hyyh seokjin is such a huge kin on that factor </3 #2 notes on this this post is not a certified neetest banger

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banghwa · 1 year

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hey, can i ask how you were able to get such a good grasp on the hyyh storyline?? i'm asking because i've been a fan of their work for over a year but i was never able to fully comprehend the actual events of hyyh.

i have watched videos and learned some other stuff from comments here and there but the problem is that, although there seems to be a general consensus on some of the themes of hyyh, some people have different interpretations of what actually happened. not as in they have different interpretations of the meaning of the events, but rather the actual events themselves. i know this is inevitable considering the way the storyline was presented (through music videos that weren't in chronological order, mobile games (?), the notes, social media easter eggs, performances, etc.) but it's kind of discouraging to think that there will almost always be stuff you miss, you know? all the appreciation i have for hyyh comes from the few things i've been able to understand but i sometimes wonder if my analysis is completely off simply because i don't understand the storyline itself.

it seems like there's a lot of resources out there helping people understand references and metaphors but the problem is that i never actually know where their source is from (as in, for example they make a connection to another even that i didn't even know had happened).

what i'm trying to say is that i would love for you to maybe talk about your experience understand and analyzing hyyh and how you consumed it in the first place. did you just watch the music videos and hope for the best? do you think reading the works that were referenced in the story (demian, the ones who walk away from omelas, etc.) would help ones understanding of the events or is it of more help in terms of themes? did you use secondary sources? if so, do you have any recommendations for people that want to understand the storyline but are starting essentially from zero?

im so sorry this ask is so long lol. of course you don't have to answer it, i'm just really really interested in this and what you have to say, and i trust your judgement so.

hiiii omg of course! i think video essays and stuff are really great for understanding how the mvs depict the storyline and to get a good idea of the main themes and symbols, but when it comes to understanding the timeline your best bet is the notes! i got into the hyyh game veryyyyy late but i had read the webtoon when it was coming out, i watched the video analyses etc etc but it really wasnt until i read the notes that i felt like i really understood the key dates and the characters too. i think reading the books that inspired hyyh are totally secondary and not really necessary, especially that the direct references as so sparse in the grand scheme of whats concrete canon vs what is symbolism. watching the mvs first and watching a few analysis videos/posts first really helped me get interested but if you're looking to get invested in the characters, understand their motivations, and be able to link dates to the mvs i rly recommend the notes!

however, like you said, hyyh is incredible and annoyingly confusing and convoluted :') even the notes can be difficult to read bcs 1) they're translations so some details are lost or skewed and 2) there are a lot of double notes + notes that are from different timelines without any distinction of what happens when and where and 3) theyre just for the most part poorly written. like its just straight up poor sloppy writing lmao. and there's just soooo much BU content but the problem is none of it is really that consistent and its hard to gauge whats canon vs whats another attempt vs whats a hyyh/ARG nostalgia cash grab. and so its very difficult to remember absolutely everything. so honestly my advice is to keep it simple! no need to remember dates or anything, just key events is fine. the notes for the most part cover everything and there have been lots of fan translations in addition to the official book so theres always backup for more nuance!

tldr: i would highly highly highly recommend reading the notes for anyone interested in getting into hyyh, i think theyre rly the best bet for balance between canon and clarity. definitely feeds the other sources rly well and fills in a lot of the blanks!

#theres a ton of notes pdfs and translations online !!#and pls!!! i dont mind long asks at all esp hyyh asks!!! i love to answer them!!!#💌#yoongi3 #hyyhposting

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breadtheft1796 · 1 year

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my heart still longs for a happy ending for hyyh yoongi and jungkook, honestly. give me a resolution for them bang si-hyuk.

#me? bts posting again? absolutely.#i'm hyyh theorising again #the best multiverse of madness #bts #brioche notes

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taegularities · 2 years

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So BTS hiatus= members showing up topless on their IG posts huh aksjskdmdkdkdk

IT'S CHAPTER 2 !!!! IT'S WHERE THE SMUT BEGINS !!!!! GET READY !!!!!

#hyyh and love yourself and all provided the angst and fluff #and now.....#notes for rid 🌹#anon

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nosfelixculpa · 4 months

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yoonkook moments from the hyyh notes books that make me want to chew my arms off: a VERY messy collection

#creations #stills #books #hyyh #hyyh yoonkook #jungkook #yoongi #hyyh the notes #guess who finally read the 2nd one #the 'you think i follow u around bc i like u' quote is driving me INSANE #having these here also helps me for writing reference purposes also i feel my hyyh yoonkook bones creaking #also if anyone wants these scans message me nd i can link u to the twitter i found them from

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rj-jinye · 11 months

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(“how flames seemed to drip bit by bit from taehyung’s eyes. the eyes that looked at me as if hearing an unbelievable story.”

“i couldn’t find taehyung after he ran away. a broken drinking glass, bloodstains that had started to congeal, and pieces of crumbling snacks were all that was left of what happened a few hours ago. in that interval of time, one picture had fallen. in that photo with the sea as the background, we were together and smiling.”)

— hyyh seokjin to hyyh taehyung

#hyyh taejin #taejin #taehyung #seokjin #hyyh #bangtan #hyyh the notes #bts

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namjinsuperior · 1 year

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🟣Notes

Map Of The Soul: PERSONA

Namjoon

Seokjin

Yoongi

Hoseok

Jimin

Taehyung

Jungkook

#bts #army #hyyh the notes #map of the soul #map of the soul persona

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june-13-year-22 · 2 years

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Who can remember the moment when love starts? Who can predict the moment when love will end? What is the meaning of the human inability to recognise these moments? And for what reason was I given the ability to undo everything?

- Seokjin, 30 August Year 22. The Notes 2

#hyyh #hyyh seokjin #bts the notes #bts universe #the most beautiful moment in life #bangtan universe #bts #quotes #bts quotes #bangtanarmynet

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134340am · 2 years

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so i taste the ocean when you leave

bakugou katsuki x gn!reader, 1.7k words, suggestive + no quirks — it’s been three long months of summer, after all. and they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

11. his eyes looked vacant | 花樣年華: The Notes Series

“hey, handsome,” you croon, hands sliding from his waist, up his chest, to grip at the collar of his shirt. katsuki looked as dashing as ever. it’s been three months since you last saw him, but summer had done him good—he’s a little more tan, a little more muscly, and a lot more handsome—something you avidly showed your appreciation for as your eyes roamed up and down his form.

“hi,” katsuki replied simply. he lets you kiss him, your hands still wound tight around his collar. he gestured towards the car once you were done making sure he knew just how much you missed him and his lips, peppering happy kisses all over his face.

nothing much has changed.

he’s replaced his air freshener with a new one; previously mint and now strawberry, and it’s obvious from the shining windows and freshly waxed seats that he got his car cleaned before driving over. in fact, katsuki looked all cleaned up as well in his starched white shirt and new shoes, face void of stubble. or any expression, for that matter, but he’s never been very expressive.

the thrill of seeing him again, alongside the refreshing strawberry scent that wafted through the car, had you positively bouncing in your seat.

maybe it’s weird to be this happy seeing your fuck buddy again, but hey—it’s been a long summer, and as much as you’re excited to be getting milkshakes with him right now (my treat, he’d bitten out gruffly), you’re just as excited to unzip his pants and get down to business.

but first, milkshakes.

the familiar sights of your little town—the automobile repair shop katsuki worked at last summer, a cheap pizza buffet you like, a quiet playground—whipped past you quickly as katsuki exited your neighbourhood.

“notice anything different about me, katsuki?” you asked hopefully, not-so-subtly fluffing your now-shorter hair in the rearview mirror.

katsuki catches your eye briefly, a curious eyebrow raised. a quiet moment passes. he pulls over at a red light, eyes still trained steadfastly on the car in front of him. your stomach flips nervously when he takes a heartbeat too long to answer.

“you cut your hair.”

“yeah, i did!” there was little you could do to conceal the eager squeak in your voice which you cringe at inwardly. “it, um, got really hot during the summer so i chopped it all off.” you braved a glance at katsuki. his eyes looked vacant. “what do you think? d’ya like it?”

“...long hair looks better on you.”

a pout forms on your face. “no, it doesn’t. i like my shorter hair so much more.”

“that’s good.”

no, that’s weird.

katsuki’s being surprisingly… normal today. why isn’t he tugging on your hair or making fun of your haircut or poking fun at your clothes? on a regular basis he’d have all these items, and more, already ticked off his annoy-my-fuck-buddy checklist. but today he’s unnervingly quiet, and you wonder if he was mad at you or just tired from his half-day journey back by car.

green light. katsuki steps on the gas and the car lurches forward. a faint sense of insecurity buzzes in the back of your mind, and it leaves behind a gross, tacky, tartness in your mouth, akin to that of a melted sour lolly forgotten in one’s purse.

you relaxed slightly in your seat when the distinct red and yellow arches of your favourite fast food joint swing into view. as per usual, katsuki leans his head out the window to order. despite the strange tension, you marvel at the way the bright mid-afternoon sunlight falls onto him, encasing his bright blond hair in a ring of light that resembled a halo. his tight shirt did little to hide how broad and defined his shoulders have become over summer break, a sight you were more than appreciative of.

you fight the overwhelming urge to grab him by the collar and plant kisses up and down his thick neck when he hands over your strawberry milkshake. the urge only grew stronger when katsuki pulled into a nearby parking lot so you two could sip on your drinks in peace.

and by peace, you meant total, complete silence.

“so…” you start, stirring your goopy milkshake and suddenly feeling very awkward. “how was summer back at home?”

“good,” katsuki mumbled back straightforwardly. he stared straight ahead. you realise then how he hasn’t really made eye contact with you, or even looked at you today.

“got my car fixed,” he continued. “went hiking and swimming, met up with some childhood friends. and… ate lunch with my first girlfriend. the old woman invited her over, so i couldn’t say no.”

you could feel your eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

katsuki’s first girlfriend? this is new. he’s never really talked about his love life, or even his personal life, really, though you suppose that wasn’t very necessary when the two of you were always focused on fucking each other’s brains out most of the time—and this milkshake date, outing, hang-out, whatever, was a considerably odd exception.

maybe he’s finally opening up to you.

maybe this is the chance you’ve been waiting for, to learn how he likes his coffee, which grandparent is his favourite, what makes his heart sing. and a part of you hopes that maybe he wants to know all these things about you, too.

it’s been three long months of summer, after all. and they do say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“how is she? what’s she doing?” you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. then a quieter, hesitant blip that you couldn’t stop in time. “is—is she pretty?

katsuki slurps his milkshake noisily. “she’s alright. finishing up her degree in vet science or something.” then, after a moment of hesitation, “more cute than pretty to me, though.”

your surprise only heightened. that’s the longest sentence he’s said today.

“cool. cool, cool, um.” in a bid to shut up as quickly as you could, you latch your lips onto your striped paper straw once more. a big sip of your milkshake had a sizable chunk of strawberry flying straight into your trachea. eyes watering and head pounding from the oncoming brain freeze, you could barely breathe as you coughed aggressively into the crook of your arm.

“you—fuckin’ hell, dumbass. drink slowly.” katsuki slaps open his glove compartment and pulls out a wad of napkins that he shoves into your lap. even with your blurry vision, you don’t miss the way he pulled back quickly—as if he’s afraid to touch you.

throat now scratchy and eyes still watering, you put your milkshake down for a quick break. save for the soft hum of the air-conditioner, a tense silence falls between the two of you, filled with unanswered questions.

why is katsuki being so cold today? the gruff, grumpy exterior is one thing—something you’ve inevitably gotten used to after months of falling into bed with him, but he’s never distant, not in the way he is now. and why did he choose to bring up this vet-science-girl, of all things? is she important to the conversation? is she important to him?

this isn’t the reunion you’ve been looking forward to, after three long months of being apart from each other. three long months of missing his touch; finger pads rough and dry, but always purposeful and reassuring. three long months of missing him.

you can’t bear the weight of silence any longer.

“listen, katsuki—”

“i think we should stop seeing each other.”

your blood ran cold.

he sighs. “seeing her again… fuck, i guess i just i never got over it. her, i mean.”

you stare at your fingers, hands suddenly ice-cold and not from your drink.

“i’m not going to try and commit to someone while we’re still fucking— it’s— it’s just fucked up. so…” he trailed off, staring hard into his milkshake. “you can leave the car once you’re done with your drink.”

a blaze of anger coiled deep inside of you, juxtaposed with the cold strawberry milkshakethat sits uncomfortably in your belly. red starts dotting over your vision. it took a moment for you to realise you were struggling to breathe, your face numb all over.

the tension that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

then something in you snapped, and you found yourself boiling over with pure rage.

“fuck you, katsuki. i’m leaving now,” you spat, unbuckling your seatbelt hastily and reaching around to grab your purse from the backseat. katsuki’s still staring into his drink as if he was hoping his eyes would burn a hole through the bottom. you hope they would, and that he’d have the hardest time washing peanut butter out of his bermuda bottoms.

you exited the car as gracefully as you could, slammed the door as hard as your dwindling strength allowed you, and stomped away without another word, wanting to put as much distance between you and your now ex-fuck buddy as possible.

two cars down and a quick glance at your reflection in the shiny hood of a silver car—eyes shiny with unshed tears, wind whipping your hair about, the strands sticking to your sweaty skin—had you making a u-turn.

you weren’t leaving this place until you got an answer.

with one single question clawing its way to the forefront of your mind with no mercy, you find yourself knocking aggressively on the window of katsuki’s car before rational thought could catch up.

katsuki rolled down the window immediately. his cup is noticeably empty now. there’s no hole in the bottom like you wished, no unsightly, shitty brown stain on his bottoms, but the mouth of his straw is now noticeably kinked, bitten.

you took a long, deep breath. “did she have long hair?”

he blinks—once, twice. “yeah, she did.”

you threw your milkshake in his face.

“suck my ass, katsuki. have fun paying off your girl’s student debt. and you’re never going to meet someone as good as me ever again—” you’re stomping off now, throwing two middle fingers high in the air, “—so i hope you regret this forever! eat shit!”

then summer ended.

you did not see katsuki again.

a/n: lyrics taken from NOW I’M ALONE by honne ft. sofía valdés / inspired by the summer i got my heart broken. it’s been a year and i still hate milkshakes. also, i’ve become lactose intolerant, so that’s probably a sign

(masterlist) (read on ao3)

#sorry if this was bad or anything btw this has been rotting in my drafts since march #posting it now so i don't have to think of this ever again <3 #also i was thinking of a part 2 to this which is why this ended abruptly but @_@ i honestly don’t know #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha angst #yuna writes #hyyh: the notes series

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