honestly with the b.a.p thing i get it like yeah they did go through a lot and it did hinder them since they were gone so well but that wont make people like em?? like yall b.a.p is genuinely...good like i get where ur comin from but focus on the fact that theyre here and theyre okay now!! theyd rather be know for their music and how good they are then the shit they went through if that makes sense? like they dont wanna hear pity? id rather here genuine like hey i like ur shit!!!
exactly!!!!!!!!!!!! they’ve not been sitting around making puppy eyes at people to beg them to be fans, so why should we act like it?
in the 1 year and 9 months since the hiatus, b.a.p has:
had 5 korean comebacks (released one full album, two mini albums and two single albums) + daehyun x jongup project album (solo debuts!!!) (+ yongguk’s yamazaki)
had 4 japanese releases (and a japan tour)
had 2 actual world tours
finally starred in their own show (one fine day)
been a guest on other shows (heyo tv’s private life, asc, hello counsellor, celebrity bromance, idol battle likes, etc)
had a go at hosting (youngjae at inkigayo, daehyun at idol battle likes)
kept us updated on social media, their v live channel and tsent’s b.a.p chalddeok
had one member make his acting debut (daehyun in the musical ‘napoleon’)
become even more self-sustaining, with yongguk producing and writing (and sometimes zelo too), jongup and zelo helping with choreographies, and all the members expressing an interest in creating their own music
experimented with different concepts and genres, whilst still maintaining their own distinct sound
continued to address social issues in their music
overcome numerous difficulties
yes, they’ve been through hard times and the lawsuit hiatus hit everyone hard blah blah, but some people need to stop confining b.a.p to just that! them having suffered isn’t a reason to like them. b.a.p are out there being badass and making a point. they don’t want pity, they want support and appreciation for their achievements.
If you feel like it, could you please continue to cling to canon and give us more of Sam and Dean and George the cat? Dean + cat is a perennial weakness of mine and I swooned over that little canon-compliant snippet.
It takes about three months of George living in the bunker before Dean fully capitulates. He doesn’t say anything, of course. No discussion about whether or not they’re keeping the damn cat. It’s just, one day as they sit working in the library, there comes the faint scratching sound from the electrical room as George covers up his mess in the half-a-cardboard-box with dirt in it that they’d rigged up, and Dean says, finally, not looking up from his laptop, “We ought to pick up a real litter box, that thing’s a pain in the ass,” and Sam blinks at him for a few seconds and says, “I could get one on Amazon,” and Dean grunts and keeps reading whatever he’s reading, and–well, that’s it. Sam puts a scratching post and a little cat bed in his basket, too. Red plaid flannel, soft-looking. Might as well keep George on theme, he thinks.
George never uses the bed, of course. He sleeps curled up on the classic cars in the garage and on the leather armchairs in the library and directly on top of Sam’s laptop (never Dean’s, and Sam’s starting to get suspicious about that). He shreds the scratching post in about three weeks, scattering little carpet tufts all over the kitchen floor. Dean props his hands on his hips and sighs, gives the cat a hard look where he’s sprawled on the table, but George only tucks his paws under his chest and starts up that contented rumbling purr, and so Dean can’t do much but sweep up. He makes Sam buy one of those weird ones made out of cardboard after that, though, leaning over Sam’s shoulder as they bicker about whether to order the one with the climbing tower or not (I’m not having a cat coming at me at head height, Dean says, and Sam thinks that Dean just doesn’t want to once again be the shortest person in the bunker, but he keeps that to himself).
They don’t sleep together every night, though they do more often than not. Another thing they don’t really talk about, not that they need to. They used to keep the door closed, too, until George came to stay. That first night, Sam picked his head up around two in the morning to insistent tiny screeches over metal, and Dean sighed into the pillow, and Sam scrubbed his hand over his face and said, if we give in once–, and Dean sighed and said, story of my life, and so it was left to Sam to get up and shuffle across the cold concrete and crack the door, and then a silvery little shadow coiled around his ankles in the dark and made a soft mrr, which Sam was going to pretend was an apology, and by the time Sam made it back to bed there was a fuzzy lump tucked in against Dean’s warm side, purring contentedly. No, Sam said, but when he took his spot back George just walked spiky circles around both of their legs and then turned into a loaf on the small of Dean’s back and started purring even louder. Dean sighed again, mumbled, this is your fault, and Sam rolled his eyes, but he scritched behind George’s ear, too. He’s a very soft cat.
Tonight, Sam wakes up with a start, heart pounding in the back of his throat as he tries to gulp down air. It takes him a moment–but no, he’s in the bunker. Four in the morning, six years after he got away, and it was just a nightmare. Everything’s as fine as it always is. He scrubs a hand over his face, laying there alone in the dark. He went to bed early, not long after dinner, and it turns out Dean didn’t join him. No big deal, though at the moment he kind of wishes–but, no. Doesn’t matter. He’s just cold, that’s all, and he didn’t work his brain hard enough before bed. Might as well get up now, though, even if he’s groggy, because–well, because.
He trips on the cat immediately, soft fur stretched out in front of his bedroom door. “God–” he says, and there’s a skitter as George bolts away, his tail probably trod on, “goddamn it, cat.” A little sharper than he meant, a little louder, something trembling weirdly under his skin. Fuck.
He’s sitting in the library, just one of the lamps on, holding his coffee against his chest. The warm of it, the smell, it’s–good. He breathes. Wonders how long it’ll be until Dean gets up. He could go for a run, kill some time, only it’s raining outside, enough that he can hear it even down here, and it just sounds so… miserable. He’s staring, at nothing, and he has no idea how long it’s been when there’s a nudge against his shin, and then George hops up onto his lap, needle-claws sinking immediately through his pajama pants. He hisses, but he still feels bad about earlier, and he just stays still, trying not to wince, while he’s kneaded into submission. It’s only a minute or so before apparently he’s the right consistency and George winds himself into a circle, all twenty pounds and plumy tail wrapped up neatly with his heavy little head tucked against Sam’s knee. Sam lays a hand on his wide soft back. “Hey, cat,” he says, quiet, and George starts up a steady rumble in response, warm and constant as one of those stupid Magic Fingers mattresses Dean always used to love.
When Dean finds them, later, Sam has finished the coffee and is just sitting, content to be a cat pillow, at least for now. Dean squints at the two of them. Sam tries to smile at the pretty epic bedhead Dean’s rocking, but Dean obviously sees something a little different because his expression changes. He comes over and runs a hand through Sam’s hair, eyes narrow. Sam shrugs, then lifts his face up. Dean kisses him, close-mouthed and obedient, and he smells good, familiar. When Dean pulls back he runs a strong calloused thumb around behind Sam’s ear, and then he crouches and scratches the back of George’s neck, his fingers brushing against Sam’s where he hasn’t moved his hand. “Hey, cat,” Dean says, voice scratchy, and Sam smiles, for real that time. “You wanna give up my brother?”
“Nah,” Sam says, propping his head on his free hand. “I’m leaving you. George and I are gonna travel the country, taking care of–uh, mouse hauntings, or something.”
“Oh, okay,” Dean says, and stands up, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I guess you don’t want another cup of coffee, then. Or, I’m thinking maybe some bacon.”
“Hm,” Sam says, and picks George up with a discontented mrr. “Throw in some pancakes and I’m in.”
Dean rolls his eyes and scoops the cat out of Sam’s hands, tucking him under his arm football-style to carry him out to the kitchen for breakfast. “This is what I have to deal with,” he says, apparently to the cat. “What kind of man can’t live on bacon alone? I gotta make little cakes, too? Come on.”
Sam grins, and brushes the cat hair off his legs, or tries to. It’s going to be that kind of morning, he thinks, and then goes to stop Dean from feeding their cat Sam‘s share of the bacon.
Edo-Gratsu is really cute, right? Actually my favorite FT pairing ever is Gray x Natsu in any form. They’re the only pairing I’d usually call OTP. It’s already a blessing that a lot of people like them too! ^^
The whole university probably knows of how fervently Aomine (the typical drop-dead sexy athlete on sports scholarship) is pursuing you (the typical smart student with nothing less than an A in your results) as a love interest, thanks to his not-so-subtle methods. You’ve been giving him the cold shoulder since the start of his pursuit because he seems like one of those dangerous boys that is going to give you the greatest time of your life, only to leave you in the dust later on. You’ve been there before—you sure as hell are not going there again.
That proves to be an exceptionally hard task, however. Aomine is the epitome of god-like physique and ensnaring personality. You’re a mere mortal who’s easily seduced by sinful delicacies like him, but your strong will is commendable, at the least. Aomine probably has a strong sense of smell akin to a goddamn beast—he somehow knows you’re attracted to him and that’s probably what keeps him going.
It’s no surprise to the whole student body that you’re pinned against the lockers by said boy one fine day; they’re all used to this kind of events happening ever since Aomine has his eyes on you. You’re also already rather accustomed to being ambushed from behind your back every day or two, and you no longer react with a shocked gasp while dropping your stuff all over the floor like the first time he did this to you. Instead, you sigh, turning to find Aomine with a smug smirk on his face and a hand resting on the locker beside your head.
Funny. Three months ago, other students passing by would’ve gawked in surprise at what’s happening between Aomine and you, but now, after their initial 0.1s shock of his hand slamming against metal, they proceed to go on with their lives. The two of you are ignored.
“How can I help you, Aomine-san?”
“Good morning, ___________,” he purrs, the richness of his voice like dark chocola—NO. YOU DID NOT JUST THINK THAT.
“…good morning.” You begrudgingly reply. “If you’re just dropping by for a greeting, then please excuse me, because—”
“Now, now,” he lightheartedly say as he blocks your attempts of escape. Narrowed eyes stare at him, conveying the well-masked anger you have for him and his behavior. “It’s still early, and your class starts in half an hour, right?”
It slips your mind how he manages to memorize your schedule. You sigh again.
“You know I’m not interested, Aomine-san.”
“I came to meet you to present a new bargain,” he counters.
“Like I said, I’m—”
“Once you’re mine, I’ll treat you just like my homework.”
As if it’s a natural reflex, you scoff at his face. Aomine? Homework? Imagining him talking about homework is something as impossible as putting an elephant into a beer can. Preposterous. Silly!
“Which is what?” You snarkily reply. “Ignoring me for weeks on end and copying from someone else’s when the deadline is close?”
He brings his other hand against the lockers with such agility and power that another loud slam resounds right beside your ear, and this time you are more than surprised. A pinch of fear seeps into your blood as you realize that Aomine has trapped you between his arms and his face is really close. Your breath hitches when he dips his head down to position his lips against your ear.
“No,”he breathes, and at that moment you can feel your legs growing weak at the sensation of cold air against your skin.
“I’ll slam you on the table and do you all night long.”
With that, Aomine leaves a peck on your cheek before pulling away to wink raunchily at you.
“Bye, sweetheart,” he smirks, walking away from the scene to god knows where, leaving you alone in front of the lockers as you watch his retreating back. You’re flushed and your face is red hot in a mix of embarrassment and anger, but for the first time in three months of Aomine’s pursuit, your heart feels like it’s pounding out of your ribcage.
Could you write a fic where it's Snape who meets when the Dursleys are staying in Cokeworth?
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel
on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds
and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the
windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering…
Like shootin’ fish in
a barrel, son!
His father’s words rang in his head as he strolled from the
pub. He hadn’t intended to fleece the
group. Not like when he was younger, and
was cajoled by his desperate father.
This time, mired in guilt, he threw the last few hands, and pretended
his winning streak was over.
The men commiserated his loss with good humour and camaraderie,
but Severus didn’t need to use Legilimency to read their relief. There had been at least a fortnight’s wage on
the table, and he wasn’t entirely convinced that any of the men were still
working. Gambling was no laughing matter
in a backwater pub in Cokeworth.
And him, a well-paid teacher. He could afford to lose ten times over. He should’ve known better.
But old habits die hard, and he could almost hear his father’s
greed hollering in his ear. He never
threw a hand back then, not when losing a hand could mean the household
starving for the rest of the week. He still
couldn’t eat stew as an adult, no matter how upmarket the offering was. Gourmet stew, indeed. He could almost feel the oily, watery broth that
had coated his fingers as he scooped a bowl from the cauldron; no chunks of
meat to be found, and merely vegetable peel for flavour.
No. He never threw a
hand back then.
It was only the time his father had seen any worth in
magic. Comin’ down for a pint, eh, son?
I’ll stand yer one. And then
he’d lower his voice to a whisper so Eileen wouldn’t hear. And
bring that witchy mind readin’ brain of yers with yer. Don’t think yer just goin’ to sit quiet in
the corner with a bleedin’ book.
He kicked angrily at a stone on the pavement. “Why d’yer do this to yerself, Sev lad?” he
muttered. His accent was stronger in
these streets. He shouldn’t have had that
last pint. He always got maudlin after
one too many. He always got maudlin in
He turned a corner, and followed the main street out of
town. Spinner’s End was in the other
direction, far from the train station, far from civilisation – but Severus
always walked to the outskirts, and then Apparated to his house. He preferred to arrive directly in his
bedroom when he’d had a few pints; he could collapse straight into bed, and it
saved exchanging trivialities with the neighbours. It took all of his effort to remain polite
during the day – with a few Muggle pints in his system, Severus wasn’t quite
sure of what he might say.
He glanced up. The
stars weren’t visible – too much light pollution. Too much pollution full stop.
And then he saw him.
Four storeys up, his face pressed against the glass of a dirty window.
James fucking Potter.
Severus stopped, and turned.
His spin was rather less impressive without his voluminous teaching
robes, but despite his alcohol intake, the movement was smooth. He took several steps back and peered at the
window, where a small boy with glasses, and messy black hair was peering right
back at him.
He wasn’t going mad.
It wasn’t James Potter.
Not with that distinctive scar.
Severus’ heart thudded in his chest. He stared at the boy for a long moment, and
eventually, timidly, the boy raised his hand in the slightest of waves.
After a few seconds, Severus nodded, and continued on his
Harry silently watched as the thin man with long, straight
hair hurried down the street. He glanced
back over at Dudley, who was still snoring loudly, and sighed.
“I thought he lived in Surrey,” Severus shouted, banging the
door as he strode in, incongruously dressed in his Muggle attire.
“All right, Severus,” Minerva said, sharply. “I’ve heard quite enough.” She opened the log of which letters had been
sent to which student, and her jaw dropped as she flicked to Harry Potter’s record.
Most children had a single entry next to their name: Draco
Malfoy – letter sent by OWL, RSVP received.
Harry James Potter didn’t have just one entry. He had thirty nine pages.
Severus stood behind Minerva, and peered at the pages with
her. “Don’t you check these?”
“At the weekend. It
gives families chance to send confirmation,” she said, defensively. “There’s usually no need to chase anyone up. These are all pureblood and halfblood
families, Severus, remember?”
“Halfblood he might be,” Severus harrumphed, “but he lives
“Muggles who know fully well what he is,” Minerva
corrected. “Dumbledore did suggest he’d
send Hagrid to retrieve him if there was any trouble,” she added, but Severus
wasn’t really listening.
“The address keeps changing,” he said, pointing at the
page. “What does this mean? Cupboard under the stairs? The smallest bedroom?”
Minerva gave him a horrified look. “The addresses are automatic.”
“Hundreds of these,” Severus said, flipping the pages. “And now, look! Tomorrow’s entry – Railview Hotel,
Cokeworth! That’s where I saw him.”
“Perhaps they went on holiday?”
Severus snorted. “Nobody goes to
Cokeworth on holiday.”
“You were there. This
is your holiday.”
Severus gave her a scathing look. “I had the misfortune of being born there.” He tensed.
“They’re running from it. They
think they can outrun the owls.”
Minerva polished her glasses on her sleeve. “You don’t seriously think those awful
Muggles would keep Harry from attending Hogwarts?”
When she put her glasses back on, he’d gone.
They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast
for breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel
came over to their table.
“’Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got
about an ’undred of these at the front desk.”
She held up a letter so they could read the green ink
Mr. H. Potter Room 17 Railview Hotel Cokeworth
Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked
his hand out of the way. The woman stared.
“I’ll take them,” said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and
following her from the dining room.
Vernon’s heavy footsteps stomped down the hallway, and
Severus slipped in through the door. He’d
sat in Vernon’s place before anyone even realised he’d entered the room.
“Mornin’,” he said, cheerfully, and picked up Vernon’s
half-finished cup of tea.
Petunia was so horrified, she couldn’t speak. Her mouth kept forming the same strange ‘o’
shape. Dudley clouted her on the back,
assuming she was choking on a cornflake.
Harry’s eyes widened.
“You’re the man I saw last night,” he said.
“I am,” he said, leaning his head down to Harry. “And I have a very special letter for you.”
“Oh!” Petunia finally spoke, and Severus straightened up.
“Where’s my letter?” demanded Dudley.
“You don’t want one of those horrid letters,” Petunia
snapped. “And neither does he, Snape!”
Harry didn’t think it was possible to be more shocked. “You know this man, Aunt Petunia?”
“Off to your room, Harry,” Severus said sternly, passing him
“You know my name!”
“-and keep that letter safe.”
Harry gave a sharp nod, and fled to his hotel room. Dudley moved to go with him, but Severus’
slender hand gripped his upper arm. He dropped
his Cokeworth accent, and slipped back into his most impressive schoolmaster
tone. “And where do you think you’re going?”
Dudley swallowed hard.
Ordinarily, he’d scream and shout, and stamp his feet – but the man’s
black eyes were unnerving. He slid back
onto his seat.
“Not my son, Snape,” Petunia whispered, horrified. “You can take the other one, but please, not
“Nobody wants your Duddy,” Severus sneered.
“Fine,” she snapped. “You’ve-”
“Obliviate. Stupefy. Muffliato.”
Petunia’s scream was high pitched, and she lunged for the
thin man. “What have you done to him? My Duddikins!
Duddy!” She looked around helplessly,
amazed that nobody else had moved an inch.
“What have you done?”
“No-one can hear you,” Severus said, in an almost bored
tone. “I merely wiped the boy’s memory
of events. He will wake shortly, and he
won’t have any knowledge of this meeting.”
Petunia calmed, and sniffed.
“I think it best that both you and Harry remember what
happened here.” He flicked his wand,
lifting the Muffliato spell. “Send
Dudley up to pack in five minutes. It’ll
give you time to decide what to tell that oaf of a husband of yours.”
Severus rapped on the door.
The door slid open, and Harry beamed at him. “Is this true? Is this all true? I’m a wizard?
Are you a wizard?”
Severus nodded, and ushered the boy through the door.
“Do you work at the school?” Harry asked, excitedly. “Can we go now?”
“We cannot go now,” Severus intoned, “for Hogwarts has
broken up for the summer. But yes, I
work at the school.”
“What do you do?”
“I teach Potions.” At
Harry’s puzzled look, he smiled. “It’s
like Chemistry. Only magical.”
“Are there forms?”
“I went to the open day at Stonewall High,” Harry explained. “And they put you in a form. Mine was-”
“We call them houses,” Severus interrupted.
“Yes, that’s it!”
Harry looked cheered, and then turned back to the letter. “It doesn’t say which house I am going to be
“Nobody knows until you turn up.”
“Oh.” Harry thought
for a moment. “What’s your house?”
Severus smiled. “I
was put into Slytherin.” He smiled more
broadly again. “I am very proud to say
that I am the Head of Slytherin.”
“Slytherin? That’s a
Severus gave a tight smile.
“Isn’t it just?” He patted the
small boy on the shoulder. “Enough now,
Harry. You need to pack your things before
your cousin comes upstairs.”
“It won’t be long until you’re at Hogwarts,” he said. “For now, just keep yourself out of trouble.”
“Sir? Do you think I
could be in Slytherin?”
Severus paused for a long moment, and then shut the
door. He pulled out his wand and spun on
his heel. “Obliviate! Stupefy!”
He picked the stunned boy up, shocked at how light the limp
child was. He gently rested him on the
bed and sighed. “Your mother was in
hi!! i was wondering, do u perhaps know any other writers that have a similar style in writing as yours? i rarely find them in the svt fic community, so maybe u could help me :D
hello!! i hope you’ve been having a good day! as for your questions, i don’t think so? as far as i can tell, the svt fic writing community is really diverse in styles which is super cool imho!! so while i can’t rec authors who have a similar writing style to me since i can’t think of any, i can rec people i adore reading and would scale a mountain for!!
me spreading love n fic recs beneath the cut aka WALLS OF TEXT AND RAMBLES also note: i’ve read so many things and i almost always forget to like them rip
Heya! I was wondering if i could req a scenario for kuroo, oikawa and semi where their s/o kinda ignores the crap out of her birthday b/c she really doesnt like it. She's had some shitty experiences with her bday in the past; people either completely forgot or didnt bother and now she feels like she doesnt matter
This is a coincidence that I would be answering this the day before my own birthday, especially when I’ve been driving my boyfriend crazy about how I don’t want to do anything for it this year.
He had asked her every day for the last month and got the same answer every time:
“I don’t really wanna do anything for my birthday.”
Kuroo wasn’t exactly happy with this answer, especially considering this day was to celebrate the life of someone he cared very deeply about. And a celebration of life was never something someone should just not do anything about.
It had taken quite a bit of begging on his part in getting her to come along with him. She complained the whole time, questioning where they were going and what they were doing, because, “come on, Tetsu, I have homework to do.” But he ignored it all, told her that they were almost there and that it was important. And it was one hundred percent completely worth it when she walked through that door to the room beyond.
The sweeping streamers and balloons that littered the space caught her attention first, then there was the wave of people that had made themselves present with a roar of ‘happy birthday!’ that caused her to press back into Kuroo’s chest. He laughed, his hands rising to link his fingers with hers. She looked shocked - which was the point, really - but she wasn’t saying anything at all in response. Like, anything?
“You like?” he questioned lightly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“This is the first party that’s be thrown for me,” the words were small, surprise still carried in her tone as she finally drew her eyes away from their shared group of friends to him.
All he could do was smile and swoop to press their mouths together, ignoring all the ooh’s and whooping from the others in the room. “Better get used to it.”
Oikawa didn’t care what she said about not doing anything for her birthday, he wasn’t just about to let this day slip by like any other. He had been thinking about what to do for weeks now, trying to find the perfect gift for someone who brought so much happiness to his life. Was there really a single thing out there that he could put all of his feelings into?
Finally, he grew quiet about it, she wasn’t going to be providing him with much help anyway, not when she wasn’t expecting anything. He planned silently, bombarding only Iwaizumi’s ears because he was the only one who could keep a secret out of them. Because he wanted it to be a surprise, wanted them to realize that they were important enough for this kind of recognition on the anniversary of the day they were brought into this world.
So when he had walked into that classroom with the biggest bouquet of her favorite flowers that he could find, he was quite pleased with the more than shocked look that rewarded him with. Walking straight up to her, he handed them to her, grinning widely as she took them with her jaw dropping open to say something, but he was speaking first. “Happy birthday, love,” he spoke softly as he pressed a rectangular box onto the surface of her desk and opening it to reveal the silver necklace. “It’s soundwaves,” he explained when he saw her brows furrow slightly at the sight of the grouping of sharp angles, “‘I love you.’”
While she wasn’t able to speak then, she would later tell him how she had never received anything so beautiful in her life.
The surprise on her face when she found Semi at her door was everything. He smiled at her, hands pressing a single flower - her favorite - into her hands. She turned to him, the question of why he was there was on her lips, but he was speaking first. “Better get ready,” he told her, enjoying how her brows furrowed, “ we have places to be.”
It was then she noticed how nicely he was dressed, the slacked pants, the pressed shirt. Giving a smile of her own now, she invited him in while she ran upstairs to ready herself. She had been the one to tell him that her birthday was just like any other day and while he had objected on the spot, he didn’t fight her very hard. Since then, he had been quiet about the subject, choosing to keep his plans quiet in order to avoid her further protesting.
“Where are we going?” she asked, descending the stairs nearly an hour later as she pushed an earring into her lobe, purse tucked under her arm.
Semi smiled, leaning to finally kiss her before taking her hand. “Be patient,” was his simple answer before they were making their way out the door.
His plan unfolded slowly throughout the night. A dinner out - nicer than any place they had gone before - followed by a small concert of street performers on their way to their next destination. There they were able to sit in a wide expanse of grass, his arm and a blanket wrapped around her, their eyes towards the sky as glittering stars above them flew through the sky. Really, most of the night was just coincidence. He had planned on the dinner and stargazing. The band and the meteor shower that came along with them were something he felt he was being graced with and he wasn’t about to deny it if she had given him credit.
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, body snuggling closer. “This is the greatest birthday ever.”
I HEARD THAT ASK BOX IS OPEN?! anyways coughs i've missed you so much, how are you? i hope you're doing well! for my request, how about midorima cheating on s/o while she was pregnant (but he doesn't know that)? like he just fell out of love w s/o but he didn't want to end things with s/o but he still cheated no matter what. i hope it's not confusing lol! good luck! :)
hi, love! sorry this was so late! thank you for the send! I hope this was okay. xoxo
You could hear the squeaking of the rocking bed even before you entered the hall. You expected a warm welcome, coming back from your two week business trip, instead you were greeted to strewn clothes and shoes and a rather racy lingerie. Heart heavy with each step you took, and the more you got closer, the stronger the scent of sex and betrayal. It was surprising how messy this was; knowing him, he could have hidden this dirty secret from you as long as he wanted to.
You weren’t sure whether to be offended at the thought of him wanting you to find out, or finding the blonde partner in your new pair of lingerie. The woman failed to notice, too busy sucking off the cum off Midorima’s cock, but he had seen you and let her continue his ministrations. You cleared your throat, catching the blonde’s attention. She squeaked, pulling the covers to herself as if she had some shame. He fixed his hair and put on his glasses and made his way towards you. For someone who was just caught cheating suddenly, he was composed and collected.
“You’re home.” You took a moment to respond, eyeing the woman curled up in your-their bed.
“Yes, I wasn’t expecting any guests.” How shameless could that person be? Curling up in a stranger’s home and fucking a stranger’s boyfriend. You look back to Midorima, expecting rage to flood your senses, but is relieved to find only disappointment. Why waste your emotions on someone who could care less? Maybe you were expecting this outcome. He had been unusually distant and aloof more than usual and it might have been a matter of time before you two fell apart.
“I’m sorry,” Those words were disgusting. The audacity of him to even give you those words had left you confused and dirty, as if sorry was ever going to help. It was a pity response; no one was ever sorry that they had cheated. Those words existed to guilt the person into giving the cheater another chance or to ease the tension.
“Don’t be. I’ll be out by the morning. Happy Birthday, Shintaro.” You placed his lucky item of the day by the door and left the building, pulling the suitcase you came in with. Midorima stared at the object, a flood of anguish inundated his mind.
The only thing let that reminded him of you was that ceramic frog that held a little banner. It smiled back, tauntingly, like it was laughing at his unfortunate situation. “It’s a girl!”