gross but hard to leave

Bullrush // Tokyo Ghoul Fanfic, Kirishima Ayato/Fueguchi Hinami

for ayahina week day 3! i wrote this for the family prompt. hope you’re having a good day~

~1300 words. this fic is part of this au. and contains…uh, mostly a lot of Sasaki and Hinami interaction (just so no one is disappointed). excerpt:

His handwriting is just as clean as Onii-chan’s.


“Christmas has already passed?” Hinami gasps, and Sasaki stops writing.

“Yes,” he answers, finally, completing the heading. “It has.”

Her pulse picks up. It’s been a while, then, that she’s been in here — much longer than she thought. She was supposed to spend Christmas with Ayato. They had found a scraggly little tree in a lot and were going to uproot it and put it in a nice pot and decorate it with popcorn and those pretty spirally candy hooks.

“Of course I’ll decorate it with you. It’s not like that corn shit or whatever is useful for anything else,” Ayato had scoffed.

Did he decorate it on his own? Or did he not bother at all, without her?

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Schooled: Part 6--Fight Song

And here it is, finally, part 6, written for the SoMa week prompt feisty. Not even a week late! Hopefully, part 7 is soon to follow.

Thank you @makapedia for looking it over–you’re the best!

You can also read this on FFN here and on AO3 here.

Other days can be found here:

Day 1 / Day 2 / Day 3 /  Day 4 / Day 5 /

Jolted awake by the sharp rap on his door, he glanced at the glaring green numbers flashing 5:30 on his alarm and groaned, burying his head under his pillows.

“Soul!” her voice called from the other side of the door, followed by another sharp knock. “Time to get up–we’re meeting Blake in half an hour.”

“Screw Blake,” he muttered.

He heard the door open and shut and suddenly he was cold as the covers were yanked away.

“Not my type.” Maka pulled the pillow from his head. “Now get up. Those legs aren’t going to tone themselves!” She poked his soft inner thigh for emphasis.

“‘M I your type?” He grinned sharply at her. “There’re other ways to tone my legs.”

“Don’t be gross.” She slammed his pillow back into his middle hard enough to leave him winded, then shook her head. “You have ten minutes. I’ll have eggs ready.”

She was gone a moment later, the memory of her retreating backside serving as a blazing advertisement of just how toned it was possible to get. With a sigh, Soul rolled out of bed to shuck on some sweat pants and a ratty band tee, then shoved some work clothes in a bag and exited his bedroom to join his roommate for breakfast.

Some scrambled eggs, toast, a glass of orange juice, and a short motorcycle ride later, and they were in the school gym, doing squat lifts with Blake. Maka always did emphasize the importance of leg strength. Ignoring the snickers of the nearby wrestling team who were engaged in morning practice, their amusement over the fact that the lithe girl next to him was squatting a lot more weight than he was really not worth a second glance, Soul focused the really bad pop playing from the boom box in the corner and remembered that this would be over soon enough. But man oh man did he hate leg day; his thighs would burn later.

At least he had the sparring portion to look forward to. Because he lived for the sparring portion.

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