Really Wanted To Draw Toriel & Frisk Together!

Hi!

I want to play... 🛒 and 🎶!

heya, love! thank you for joining in and sending emojis :'> i hope you're doing alright!

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

OOOH this is a very interesting question. hmmm. aside from vocabulary that inevitably gets repeated across fics (especially since i'm writing so much for the 2k drabble event), i think one common thing is the yearning LOL. i think it's a staple for the characters i write for (& are attracted to) because they're not the most expressive. i also struggle with expressing romantic feelings, and i find that many people relate to that, so by incorporating the experience of yearning in my fics, i stay true to my characters and enhance the self-insert experience, y'know?

aside from that, i also like to incorporate pregnant pauses. i can flat out say there's a pause or instead describe in detail how the air went silent, but either way, i think these lines are important for the succeeding paragraphs to hit harder, and for the pacing to flow better as well. of course, i struggle with not making things repetitive, so i try to mix up how i deliver that there is a pause.

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

i generally do not, because i find that i can't focus well. if i do, though, and it's typically when i'm out in a coffee shop and they're blasting a song that i don't like (or is too distracting), i usually play lo-fi mixes of my favorite video games.

aaaand, i've been listening to this song as of late. it's by a singer-songwriter who i discovered on instagram <3

play with me: ˗ˏˋ fanfic writer emoji ask game ´ˎ˗

Do you kids know how hard it is to hyper fixate on shit as a goddamn adult?? Sorry boss I know you need those files done but I’m too busy giggling like a goddamn school girl over a fictional man

Congratulations, King

This isn’t half of the Kacchan’s I’ve drawn this year. Needlessly to say I love him very much.

Friends with benefits but the benefits are cuddling and watching how to train your dragon

High quality version of Katsuki from volume 42

bkg slowburn partners to lovers excellence

fyi: aged up, drinking, not beta'd, deal w it

Cupid's Chokehold (3.7k)

"I'm falling in love with you."

It rolls off your tongue without a second thought, and you relish the relief of your confession. Katsuki can't control his surprise, and you can read his answer off his face, and for a brief moment, you regret making your move.

The sting of rejection is quickly numbed purely by willpower, and you laugh airily.

"You have a terrible poker face," you tease lightly. You steel yourself for the next part by deeply breathing through your teeth. "You aren't interested in me."

"It's not like that," Katsuki mumbles quietly, his ears turning pink. "I need to focus on my career. We both do."

"Gotcha," you whisper, looking off into space, head turned away from him. "No, you're right." You clear your throat and begin to wrap up your trash from your forgotten lunch.

Katsuki seems to want to stop you, but he's silent as he watches you step out of your seat and make a quick visit to the nearest trash bin.

"Look, we're good," you assure him as you prepare to end this shared meal. "Nothing's changed. We're partners."

Katsuki raises a brow at you, remaining in his seat. "Then how come you're leaving?"

You respond with a dry laugh, fighting down the pit in the back of your throat. "Give a girl a second to wallow, Bakugo," you huff. Shrugging, you awkwardly shift your weight back and forth between your stance. "At least I won't be so distracted during patrols anymore."

It's your weak attempt to lighten the mood. Although, it's hard to commit when trying to come to terms with your rejection. Unfortunately, Katsuki doesn't find it amusing, and his expression remains a combination of surprise and confusion.

"I won't be as weird tomorrow," you brush off sheepishly. "Get home safe." With a single nod, you turn to leave before anything can stop you.

You feel like you can breathe again once you shut your door and feel your car engine rumble to life. Before you can shift gears, a wave of embarrassment and shame washes over you, and you throw your head back against your seat.

Pressing your hands against your face, you let out a sound of anguish, feeling like a fool. Raking your fingers back through your hair, you sigh.

"You just can't shut up sometimes, can you?" Your voice is quiet as it disturbs the otherwise silence in your car. "Brush it off. You're not dying." You shake your head and quickly note where the alcohol in your apartment is for when you get home.

-

Katsuki doesn't notice anything different about your dynamic in the days following your confession. You make eye contact easily and banter with him like nothing has happened. You're civil and, for the most part, stay on task during patrol.

You're the perfect partner, and yet, Katsuki can sense something has shifted.

"You're late," he grumbles, glaring at you as you stride to your desk with a compostable coffee cup in your hands.

"Would you relax," you dismiss him with a flimsy wave of your hand. You drop your bag onto your chair and start peeling off your layers. "We don't start for another ten minutes. I'll be right back."

You disappear to change into your uniform, and Katsuki takes this opportunity to invade your privacy.

"You don't drink coffee," he states skeptically after bringing your cup up to his nose and taking a whiff. The stench from the coffee is strong but not enough to cover up the scent of your lipstick coating the mouthpiece. He didn't even realize you wore makeup.

"Hey, don't drink my drink," you chastise as soon as you return, adjusting the sleeves of your uniform.

"You don't even like coffee," he accuses, setting your cup back on your desk. You respond with an incredulous laugh.

"No, you don't like coffee," you correct him. "I'm perfectly happy drinking coffee."

"Why would you need to drink it anyways? Didn't you get enough sleep?" Katsuki's glare softens as he gives you a quick scan, picking up the exhaustion clouding your eyes and the tentative way you handle your stationery. "Did you at least eat something? I don't need you passing out on me during a fight."

"You almost sound worried," you say with a dry tone, covering it up with a hollow chuckle. "Where's the trust, man?"

"There is none," Katsuki bites back quickly, but the humored glint in your eyes relieves him. "Are you almost ready to head out?"

"Can we ever just start when our shift starts?" You groan with a roll of your eyes as you return your stationery to their respective spots on your desk.

"Being on time is being late," Katsuki reminds you of what feels like the millionth time since he's met you.

He can hear you poorly imitate him behind his back, but when he turns to glare at you, you're inspecting your nails and obviously feigning innocence.

It's all too normal for his liking, and he's unsure why. He should feel grateful that you're not awkward after your confession and that you've moved past it and carried on your professionalism, but he's not. Not entirely, at least.

A little part of him can't stop hearing your confession.

"I'm falling in love with you."

Every time he meets your eyes, there's a brief pause, and Katsuki can't tell if it's imagination. You glow whenever you smile, even if it's not directed at him, and he can't look away from you.

You still grab lunch with him after your shifts, although now there's a thin blanket of tension veiling your conversations. And, outside of work, there's no contact from you.

Katsuki misses the days when you'd message him in the morning before your shifts, asking if he wanted anything from the shop that you stopped by for quick meals. He'd never take you up on your offer, but now he'll see you walk in with a to-go cup and wonder if you forgot to text him. He knows the truth, though.

You're trying to get over him. He can see right through your efforts, no matter how subtle you're trying to be. Katsuki notices the way you freeze up whenever he brushes his hand against your arm or grabs at you to check for injuries.

Every time, without fail, you'll clear your throat and yank yourself away from him, avoiding his accusing glare.

"I'm fine," you grit out, holding your arm that's obviously in pain. "I'll be good. Thanks."

Just let me take care of you, Katsuki will think bitterly to himself, watching you stagger away and doing nothing about it. You never used to be this difficult when he was just trying to do his job.

You'd argue that caring for you wasn't part of the job, and he'd find every fiber of him disagreeing with you.

"What are you doing this Friday?"

You're obviously surprised once you comprehend what Katsuki is asking towards the end of your patrol. You look flustered and waging an internal battle in your head.

"My idiot friends are having their monthly get-together," Katsuki explains, uncharacteristically mumbling. "They asked if you wanted to join."

"What?" You laugh, amusement washing away your nerves. "You're inviting me? What are they holding over you to do this?"

Katsuki glares at you, irritated that you guessed correctly. Mina threatened him to invite you, otherwise, she'd show up unannounced at the agency and introduce herself.

Normally, he'd go unphased by her threats, but ever since your confession, Katsuki's felt a shred of anguish that you'll disappear one day.

Even if he couldn't give you the relationship you hoped for, he wanted to provide for you somehow. And, if he had to expose you to his personal life a little more, then he was okay with that. As long as it meant you'd stay with him.

"They threatened to ambush us during a patrol if I didn't."

You fail to stifle your laugh, and Katsuki hopes to elicit more of that from you.

"I appreciate the offer," you eventually answer, and Katsuki feels elated at your initial positivity. It quickly dissipates when you reject his invitation. "I have plans this Friday, actually. For once." You laugh at your deprecating allusion, but Katsuki maintains his aloof expression.

"Suddenly, you're too good for my friends?" It was meant to be a joke, but his abrasive tone reveals his vulnerable ego.

You visibly hesitate to respond, and Katsuki wonders what you're fighting yourself on. What are you holding back from him?

"I have plans already," you repeat with more force, finalizing your explanation, and Katsuki feels irritation bubbling in his stomach.

You didn't make plans that required you to leave your apartment often – Katsuki knew this. You lived with your best friend, so most of your time outside of work was spent at home. Whenever you managed to come across real plans that involved wearing nicer clothes than sweatpants, you'd normally chat Katsuki's ear off about your anticipation.

"Do you have a date?" He blurts his question out before he can comprehend the thought, and he can feel the tips of his ears get warm with embarrassment.

You can't fight back the surprise from reaching your face, and Katsuki knows the answer before you nod.

You laugh sheepishly at getting caught, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear – a nervous habit Katsuki has caught on to after two years of working with you.

"Yeah, I do," you murmur, looking everywhere but at him. "My roommate set it up with her boyfriend's friend."

How come you didn't tell me, he wants to ask, but he already knows. "Is he nice?"

"Yeah, he's..." He watches your eyes glaze over as you get stuck in your head before clearing your throat. "He's nice. Why?"

Katsuki shrugs, feigning indifference. Inside, he's frustrated, but he knows he shouldn't be.

You're his partner. His work partner.

As long as this random head that's taking you out doesn't distract you during your patrols – when you're with him – then he can't shouldn't complain.

"Will you tell me how it goes?" His question is quiet because he's embarrassed to ask, but he wants to know. He knows not knowing will bother him, and he can't explain to himself why.

"Um, sure," you hesitate to answer, almost questioning yourself.

You keep details of your date private from him after Friday comes and goes. The curiosity eats at Katsuki whenever he catches you glancing at your phone or smiling at yourself at your desk, but he keeps it to himself.

-

Your shift today was harder than usual. A few minor misdemeanors followed up with a villain attack.

You could tell that Katsuki was frustrated throughout the whole time, keeping quiet and growling to himself more often than usual.

After, when you were packing up your things to leave for the day, you noticed Katsuki sitting at his desk with his head hanging low. His arms are relaxed against the chair handles and you think he looks defeated as people walk past him without a glance.

"Trying to get food?" You pipe up, sliding past him to lean back against his desk. You keep your demeanor light, resting your hands against the surface and keeping your chin up. "I'm starving."

"You head out without me," he mumbles, flicking his hand.

"Nah," you hum, smiling at him with encouragement. "Come eat with me."

"Wouldn't that make your boyfriend uncomfortable?"

Boyfriend? You frown at your partner, tilting your head with a curious look.

"My nonexistent boyfriend would probably be more concerned with my obnoxious partner giving me attitude when I'm hungry."

Katsuki finally looks up at you, and you widen your eyes in exaggeration.

"Oh my god, finally," you rasp, holding your hand against your chest. "I was planning on getting you a vest for your birthday to help you with your posture."

"You don't even know when my birthday is," he answers with a sneer, but it doesn't phase you.

"Of course I know when your birthday is, Bakugo," you tell him. "Now, can we please go eat?" You bounce off of his desk and pat his bare shoulder, shortly relishing the satisfying warmth that emits from his body.

Katsuki catches you by surprise when he holds your hand against his arm, squeezing gently.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, knowing what his answer will be but hoping for a rare moment of vulnerability.

"Just tired," he mumbles, not looking at you. You smile softly, understanding where his exhaustion might be coming from, and use your other hand to pat his spiky head.

"You're working hard," you remind him with sympathy. "You did a good job today."

Katsuki doesn't say anything, just responds with a nod.

You start to pull away, but he holds you in place for another moment. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you're hit with a familiar wave of infatuation that you've been desperate to avoid.

"We did a good job today," he finally says. "We're partners."

"I know, Bakugo." As badly as I want to be more, we're just partners. "You're not getting rid of me, unfortunately."

You're forced to yank your hand out of his, avoiding his glare when he turns back to look at you.

"Let's head out already," you plead, creating some distance between you before checking back to see if he's following you.

You can't fight back your smile when you find him out of his seat and pacing over to you.

-

Katsuki hates seeing you in Mina's apartment. It's like his worlds are colliding, and he's still not mentally prepared after a week.

He's grateful you let him pick you up and take you instead of finding your way there. He's also quietly pleased that you're glued to his side because you don't know any of his friends.

"I hope your friend likes this wine," you nervously babble in his ear, and it makes his skin vibrate with how close you are. "How do you not know what alcohol your friends like?"

"Cause I don't care," he bites back, arms crossed over his chest and sending you his normal glare. "And you shouldn't either. Not like they're your friends."

That was obviously not the right thing to say, and Katsuki immediately regrets it when he watches your expression fall.

"Then, why did you invite me?" You sound frustrated and lean away from him slightly. "What am I doing here?"

"Saving me from a night of nuisances."

Katsuki thinks he hears you mumble "Typically," but doesn't respond because Mina and Eijiro approach.

"Hey, Bakubro," Eijiro greets with a wide smile, clapping a hand against Katsuki's arm. "And hello to you too!"

You give them your name with a polite smile and present Mina with your gift. Katsuki has to fight the urge to put his arm around you – to protect you from his friend.

"I didn't know what to bring, but I hope you like this wine."

Mina squeals in delight, taking the bottle from your hands and inspecting it before throwing herself at you. Katsuki's skin prickles at the sight.

"I love wine!" She cries with glee. "You're so considerate! Bakugo never brings me anything."

"When do you ever bring me anything?"

"When do you invite me over?"

The glare Katsuki sends Mina is fatal, but she's unbothered, much to your apparent satisfaction.

"Let's open this right now!" Mina drags you away by the arm, and your panicked expression is enough to bring a soft smile to Katsuki's lips.

"So, she's the partner?" Eijiro takes your spot next to Katsuki and nudges his arm. "Think she's into you?"

The question makes Katsuki scoff, sending his friend a silencing look.

"She is? How'd you find out?"

"She told me," he answers gruffly. "Over a month ago."

Eijiro's eyes almost bug out of his head with how surprised he is.

"Why didn't you say anything? That's awesome, dude."

"Why would that be awesome?"

"Because it's obvious you're into her too?" Eijiro's brows furrow as he looks at Katsuki, who feels a burning fire in his chest light up.

"Excuse me?"

Eijiro sighs, scratching the dark scruff under his jaw. "Come on, man."

"What?"

"You invited her to Mina's shindig," Eijiro points out. "You've been her partner for, what? A few years now, and you're finally bringing her around to meet us?" Katsuki just glares at him.

"Maybe you should mind your business," he tells his friend.

"You're defensive because you know I'm making a good point."

"When have you ever made a good point?"

Eijiro feigns offense when he puckers his bottom lip out in a pout. "I've been known to have good insight occasionally."

"This isn't one of those occasions." Katsuki notices you reappear from the kitchen with Mina, carrying four glasses of wine between you. He clears his throat obnoxiously, successfully silencing Eijiro with a look this time around.

"Hey, here's a glass," you tell him, handing him one from your hand. Katsuki takes it but isn't sure what to do with it.

"I didn't ask for this," he mentions as Mina hands Eijiro his glass.

"He means, 'thank you'," Eijiro answers for him.

"You don't speak for me," Katsuki barks, but your soft laughter kills his irritation.

"Don't worry, I know how he works," you tell his friends as you sip your drink. "He's actually holding my second glass for me."

Mina giggles at your statement, but the smile on your lips tells Katsuki that you aren't joking.

A short while later, after Mina moves on to her other guests and Katsuki has resituated you and him on the couch, you swap glasses with him.

You're invested in a conversation with Sero, angled away from Katsuki, but your legs are curled under you, and the fabric of your socks flick against his legs.

"I'll be back," he mumbles as he rises to his feet, empty wine glass in hand.

He finds himself in Mina's kitchen, a few guests lingering around and chatting. He comes across the wine you brought, empty in an ocean of half-drunk bottles.

Before returning to the couch, he refills your first glass with another wine he finds himself hoping you'll like. You're alone and on your phone by the time he comes back.

"Decide to join in on the fun?" You ask with a beaming smile once you realize he's returned. Katsuki finds himself pleased at the sight of you dropping your phone into your lap without hesitation as he falls into the cushion next to you.

"For you," he says plainly. "For when you finish that glass."

You frown at him playfully, taking another swig from his original glass. "You trying to get me drunk?"

"God, no," he exasperates. "Wanna make sure you're having a good time."

"Good call filling up another glass then," you laugh.

I know how you work too, he finds himself thinking.

"I am having a good time, though," you confess, resting your hand on his leg and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you for inviting me. I like your friends."

"I think they like you more than they like me."

"Everybody likes me more than they like you. That's how our dynamic works."

Our dynamic. Everything you tell him comes out more meaningful than he assumes you intend. Katsuki doesn't know when that started to happen.

He cherishes the dynamic between you, and for the first time, he's worried that it's in jeopardy. That it's been strained since you confessed to him, and, right now, he's on borrowed time with you.

"Thank you," he tells you. "For coming. You didn't have to."

"I did, though, " you correct him. "Mina tells me she would have shown up unannounced at the agency if you kept me from her any longer."

"Well, she's an idiot."

You give him a knowing smile, leaning against his arm. "Then, you're an idiot by association."

"Shut the hell up."

Your gentle laughter is muffled by the wine glass against your lips. You finish your drink in a single sip and immediately hold the emptied glass to Katsuki. He wordlessly switches your glasses.

He watches intently as you take an experimental sip from the wine he chose for you, and the satisfied hum you release tells him you approve of his choice.

"This is really good. Nice choice," you tell him, holding it out for him. "Did you try it?"

"I'm driving us, remember?" He glares at you for your ridiculous question, but you roll your eyes.

"It's a sip, Katsu-" You stop yourself midway, and Katsuki notices the flush in your cheeks, but not without actively searching for it. "it's just a sip, okay? Try it."

You're shoving the rim of the glass to his lips before he can call you out on your mistake. He reluctantly takes a little sip and his face twists in disgust.

"I don't like wine," he tells you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after you spill some against his face.

"Well, that's a shame," you sigh dejectedly, throwing back the remaining wine with a few swigs. Even Katsuki knows wine isn't chugging alcohol. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

And when you return a few minutes later, Katsuki notices you curl up in your seat a little further from him.

an: wrote this for @/sarahlovesseb ♡

TITLE: lights will guide you home

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, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

STATUS: Ongoing; 9 of 14

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Musutafu’s streets are just waking up around you, stores barely opening and the roads devoid of many cars. It’s early, so it isn’t crowded just yet. You spot a couple teenagers on their way to school across the road. You cross paths with a few harried-looking adults clearly in the middle of their commutes to work. But people are far and few between, and the sky is still the palest blue, barely tinged by the sun’s yellow rays, so you enjoy the peace alongside your morning drink. 

You’re glad that for today, at least, you’re not joining the ranks of those in routine. You have a different agenda today: you’re on your way to Bakugou and Kirishima’s agency. 

As you come to a stop just outside the building, out of the way of foot traffic, you pull out your phone and dial Bakugou’s number, humming a little under your breath as you wait. He picks up after a single ring.

“What?” he snaps, sharp and quick, and you’re taken aback at his tone. 

“Oh, um. It’s me,” you say hesitantly. Maybe you’ve caught him at a bad time? 

Tension colors his voice as he says, “What’s wrong?”

“What? Oh—nothing’s wrong!” It is pretty rare for you to call him so early in the day. Usually, your phone calls are in the evenings. Maybe the deviation from the norm is throwing him off and that’s why it feels like he’s on edge. “I was just wondering, are you at your agency right now?”

“Why?”

But he just sounds so terse, and his words are clipped, like he’s half a mind somewhere else. Your excitement fizzles out, like a sparkler running out of fuel, and you’re left feeling like an annoyance, a bother. 

“Sorry… you sound busy. I’ll just message you later,” you say. 

“The fuck? Just—”

You hear Bakugou exhale deeply, though it’s faint, as if he’s pulled the phone away from his face. 

Voice even, he says, “It’s fine. What is it?” 

You look down at the sidewalk, scuffing the pavement with your shoe. Maybe it was a bad idea, coming here. 

“No, it’s nothing.” You glance at the drinks carrier in your hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Just spit it out,” Bakugou says, and you can practically hear his gritted teeth. “And don’t you hang up.”

Suddenly, you hear your name being called. You raise your head, looking around. Grateful for the distraction, you turn. 

It’s Kirishima, in civilian clothes, and he’s coming out of the agency, jogging up to you with a grin on his face. “Hey, I thought that was you! What’re you doing here?”

He notices the phone at your ear, and his eyes widen. 

“Oh!” He lowers his voice, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“Gotta go,” you say quickly into the receiver. Bakugou’s voice peaks across your phone’s speaker, as if he’d shouted something, but you hit the end call button before you can hear what he has to say. 

As you put your phone in your pocket, you bite your bottom lip. You really hope Bakugou didn’t hear Kirishima. You want to slink away before he figures out you’re here. 

“All good. I was just wrapping it up,” you tell Kirishima. 

He hesitates for a moment, considering you, before nodding and flashing you a grin. “It’s good to see you! How’ve you been?” 

You smile back instinctively, feeling yourself relax. There’s just something about Kirishima that makes you feel at ease. 

“Good!” you tell him. “Work’s been okay, can’t complain, and the kittens have tons of adoption queries! I’ve been excited for them to find their forever homes.”

“That’s great! I’ve seen the pictures you took of them and Bakugou. They look so soft.” He holds his hands up, cupped, as if to call to mind a soft kitten nestled there. 

You laugh. “They are! But how’ve you been? It’s been a while, and I can never get Bakugou to tell me how you are beyond ‘He’s the same,’ which is very unhelpful.”

Kirishima grins. “He’s always been like that. Uncooperative! I think he does it on purpose. But he’s not wrong—I’ve been good! Same old, same old.”

His eyes slide down to the drinks carrier in your hand. One of the cups, clearly yours, is empty. The other is full, still warm.

“Is that for him? Are you here to visit?” Kirishima asks, eyes bright.

“Oh, um!” You falter. You could lie and say it’s for a coworker or something. But you’re not exactly in work attire. Maybe you could say the barista’d made a mistake on your first order so now you had two after they’d remade it? Whatever—you’d make something up, even if you feel bad about lying to Kirishima. You really should get going, anyhow. You’ve lingered too long already. 

“Hey!” 

You stiffen as you hear your name called for the second time in the span of ten minutes. Except this time, the voice is a familiar rasp that’s furious. Heated. A glance behind you confirms who it is: Bakugou, coming out the agency doors, a thunderous expression on his face. 

His eyes lock with yours.

You panic.

You turn to Kirishima, shoving the carrier into his arms, saying, “That’s for you, actually, congratulations! Gotta go, bye!”

“Wait—” Kirishima starts, but you’re gone, you book it, heading in literally any other direction as long as it puts distance between you and Bakugou.

“What the fuck!” you hear Bakugou snarl behind you, and you speed up, gulping. 

You have the presence of mind to be conscientious of attracting unwanted attention, so even though it slows you down, you swerve into an empty alleyway that you know leads out into a quieter street. You chance a quick glance behind you, praying you got away. 

To your relief, Bakugou’s nowhere in sight. You slow your pace a little, sighing. 

You turn back to face forward, but you slam into something—someone. 

“Big fuckin’ mistake, brat,” you hear Bakugou’s voice rasp in your ear just as you feel an arm wrap around your waist and you’re suddenly shooting up, up into the air, the crackle of combustion muffling the strangled scream you let out. 

You clutch onto Bakugou, holding on for dear life as he angles towards the roof of the building to your left. 

Once your feet are on the ground, he releases his grip on you, only to get in your face, crimson eyes blazing.

“Why the fuck were you running?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaim. Your hands are up in front of you, held up defensively. He’s so close they’re almost pressed against his chest. “I panicked, I don’t know. You ran after me!”

“Only because you ran first!” he snarls. 

“What was I supposed to do? Stop?” 

“Yes, fuck! You’re so—” He makes a choked sound of anger and runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth. 

Fuck, he’s right. You don’t know what you were thinking. You just—you really didn’t want to see him so soon after that conversation on the phone. But it was a really dumb move to run away, and just recalling Kirishima’s face as you took off makes you want to pull out a shovel, dig, and lie down in the hole you’d made.

Bakugou’s arms are crossed tightly over his chest, biceps bulging, and he’s scowling ferociously. He isn’t even in his hero suit, just in joggers and a shirt, but that does nothing to diminish the enormity of his presence. You have a little more respect for the villains in this district, for having the courage to still attempt crime when Bakugou’s around. 

You inhale deeply, then reach out and touch his arm. “M’sorry. I was dumb. I shouldn’t have run.”

Bakugou grunts, looking down at your hand and away. You retract your hand quickly, hoping he wasn’t bothered by the gesture. He looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“You can say sorry by telling me what the hell you’re doing here and why you called me.”

You feel your cheeks warm and close your eyes briefly. You really don’t want to tell him why you came here. But there’s no getting out of this; you literally have nowhere to go. 

“I… I got you coffee,” you admit. “You mentioned that one place on the corner last time we talked, so. I wanted to surprise you!” 

He’s just been looking so tired, recently. You recall the slope of his shoulders the last time you saw him, in his apartment—weary. Like a heavy weight rested upon them. 

You rub your arm and continue, “But you sounded so annoyed on the phone, I figured you were busy. Didn’t want to keep bothering you.”

He regards you with an unreadable expression. You try to maintain eye contact, but it’s hard. You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. 

“Dumbass,” he says, finally, dropping his arms to his side. “Sounds like someone made stupid assumptions and then ran away, like a loser.”

You frown, eyes sliding away, but don’t protest. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

He rolls his eyes and reaches out a hand, flicks your forehead. You put a hand to the spot, making a face at him, and he gives you a mean little grin that makes you want to pinch him. 

In the early morning sun, his lights are soft, blending with the warm hues that gild the world around you. Gold mixes with orange, and the ebb and flow of color lulls you with its familiarity. 

You’re conscious of your body relaxing. You didn’t realize how tense you were. 

After a beat, Bakugou asks, “Don’t you have work?”

“Nope,” you say, and smile a little. “I requested the day off! I needed it.”

Now that you have the chance to look at him, he doesn’t look any more rested than the other day. Worse, maybe. You can see that the shadows under his eyes have deepened, that there’s a furrow in his brow that wasn’t there the last time you saw him. Your hand is reaching up, fingertips lightly brushing against the skin under his eyes before you know what you’re doing. 

“You look like you need a day off too,” you tell him. “Take care of yourself, okay? Let me know if I can do anything for you.” 

He stares at you for a long moment. You gaze back at him. 

You want him to know that you mean it. You want to be there for him. Bakugou doesn’t talk about work often, and when he does, he paints things in broad strokes, no details. But you get the sense that he’s busy with something, and it’s weighing on him. 

Even if there’s nothing you can do about his workload, you want him to know that he can lean on you, if he wants. Whatever that’s worth. 

Bakugou reaches out an arm to you. He telegraphs his movements and gives you plenty of time to step away. 

You don’t, curious to see what he’ll do. 

He wraps a hand around your head and pulls you against him. Surprised, you stumble a bit, a hand coming up to grasp at his shirt for balance. His hand slides down your head to the back of your neck, coming to a rest there. 

He’s gentle with you, despite the initial jostling. You catch a whisper of whatever that scent is, his body wash, his cologne, and inhale. He’s so warm against you. 

“You’re so fucking dumb,” he growls, and you can feel the reverberation of his words against your face, your chest—everywhere you’re touching. “Don’t pull this running shit again, y’hear me? And no more squirreliness.”

“Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight,” you say, voice muffled against his chest. 

Bakugou huffs a startled laugh, raspy, and you grin against him. Part of you wonders what would happen if you looked up, tilted your face towards him. 

But you don’t. He lets you go. The moment passes. 

“C’mere, I’m taking us down.” He walks to the edge of the roof, and you go to him. “And if Shitty Hair drank my coffee, you’re getting me another one.”

You laugh. “That’s fair.”

He guides your hands to grip him so you’re secure when he brings you both down off the roof, and just as his arm comes around to brace you against him, a thought occurs to you.

“Is it okay if I come by again? Bring you coffee sometimes?”

Bakugou pauses, looking down into your face. He’s so close, pressed against you. It’s necessary for the descent down, but you suddenly wish you’d brought this up later. It’s too hard to think, this close to him. 

“The hell? Don’t needa ask my permission for that shit. Why wouldn’t it be okay.”

You make a face at him. “Won’t people start to notice? If I start coming by to see you? Like your employees, or more people randomly taking pictures.”

His expression grows stormy. 

“I’ve been involved in the hiring processes of all my agency’s employees. No dumbasses are gonna work for me,” he says. 

While you’re reeling from this revelation that Bakugou’s a control freak who manages the impossible, because who has that kind of time on top of being a pro-hero, Bakugou continues. 

“They got better things to do than gossip. And know better, too.” His expression darkens further. 

“If they don’t, they’ll be looking for another job faster than they can press that damn button to take a goddamn picture.”

You shiver at the look on his face. You believe him. 

So coffee becomes a regular thing. Bakugou gets around your concern of paparazzi or random people taking your picture at the agency’s entrance by giving you a pass that lets you enter through the secured and patrolled back entrance. You’re careful to make sure no one follows you, still a little paranoid. 

“Is this allowed?” you ask as he presses the key card into your hand.

Bakugou rolls his eyes.

“I own the damn place,” he tells you.

It’s indicative of how much you like your soulmate that at least twice a week you wake up an extra thirty minutes in the morning to get his coffee and drop it off at the agency before heading into work yourself. You aren’t always able to give it to him personally, sometimes just having to leave it with the front desk receptionist whose name you finally find out is Takahashi. 

“Call me Aiko,” she says with a bright smile. She’s a sweet girl.

But most of the time, Bakugou makes an appearance around the time you arrive. He usually spends a couple minutes with you, asks about the kittens in a roundabout way, demands to know what you’re eating for lunch that day if he hadn’t pre-prepared bentos for you that week. 

The first time you bring a smoothie for Kirishima from the same place, attempting to hand it to Bakugou to pass along, he makes a face.

“The hell is this?”

“It’s a smoothie for Kirishima,” you say. You gesture for him to take it, but he curls his lip at it.

“He doesn’t want this shit. Just take it with you.”

“What?” you say, furrowing your brow. “How would you know?”

“He’s got one of those fancy-fuck blenders at home. Don’t waste your money on ‘im,” Bakugou says, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh,” you say, crestfallen, frowning down at the cup in your hand. You rub your thumb up and down its side, spreading around the condensation that’s built up on it. 

“I just wanted to do something nice for him, because he’s always so nice to me,” you say quietly. Sighing, you move to put the smoothie back into the drinks carrier the cafe had given you. Maybe Kirishima would like coffee? You’ll try to bring him coffee next time. 

You don’t notice the flash of emotions that cross Bakugou’s face. He makes a disgusted sound and snatches the cup from you. 

“Fine! I’ll give him your stupid smoothie. Now go or you’ll be late for work.”

He stomps off before you get a chance to say goodbye, and you’re left standing there, bewildered.

One day, a Saturday, you linger at the receptionist counter, and ask Aiko if Bakugou’s busy, or if he’s available for a quick chat.

“If you don’t know, no worries,” you say as she tilts her head. 

She glances at the protein shake in your hand that’s very much not for you. You’re not sure how Bakugou can drink these things; he’d let you sip from it once and you made the ugliest face at the taste. He’d laughed at you. 

“I’m not familiar with Dynamight’s schedule, but his manager is! Let me call him and double check for you,” she says, picking up the phone and pressing a button on it before you can protest.

“Hi!” she says into the phone. “I have Dynamight’s P1 here in the lobby, and we were wondering if he’s available for a quick meeting?” 

P1? You eye her. What does that stand for? You make a mental note to ask later.

There’s a quiet moment as she listens to the reply, and then a longer pause as she’s seemingly put on hold.

You wince, thinking about the inconvenience you’re being. You really should’ve just waited until after Bakugou’s done with work today to talk to him. You could drink the shake yourself, even though personally you think it tastes like dirt. 

“Okay! Thanks so much!” Aiko says into the phone, and then she hangs up. She raises her gaze to yours.

“Dynamight’s actually mid-workout right now! His manager says that you should come up to the third floor, and Dynamight will be in the second gym. The room numbers are next to the doors.”

“Oh! Okay, thank you for your help.” You pause. “Do you mind swiping the elevator for me again? Sorry to make you walk over.”

She blinks at you. “I was told you have a key card?”

“Yes? But I just use it to get inside from the back entrance.”

“May I have a look?”

You hand it over. She taps a couple keys on the keyboard and taps it against a scanner. Glancing at the screen, she smiles and hands the card back to you.

“That card’s high clearance!” she tells you. “You have access to most things in the building, like the elevator, the break rooms, the gym… And if you have any trouble getting into other areas, I’m sure Dynamight can adjust your access!”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” you say hurriedly. “Thank you, Aiko. I can take it from here.”

She waves as you scurry over to the elevator, scan the card, and push the button for the third floor. 

You stare at the key card in your hand like it’ll bite you. What on earth was Bakugou thinking when he gave this to you? What if you lose it? 

This thought prompts you to store the key card in your wallet, instead of chucking it carelessly into your pocket like you have been for the past two weeks. You’d almost washed it with your laundry a couple days ago.

After some poking around, you find the second gym Aiko had mentioned. You dither at the entrance for a moment, unsure whether to knock or not—but that’s weird, right? Who knocks on the door to a gym? You shake your head and walk through the doors.

Bakugou’s back’s to you. He’s at a piece of equipment, hanging onto a bar intended for pull ups. He’s in the middle of pulling himself up, biceps and lat muscles taut against the sweat-soaked shirt he’s wearing. He lowers himself slowly, and repeats the motion, every movement intentional and clean. 

A little frisson of attraction runs through you, and you swallow. Sometimes you forget just how handsome he is. 

Your eyes shift away from admiring him to the mirrors spanning the far wall, and you find that he’s watching you in them. 

Your eyes meet, and your heartbeat picks up. You feel warmth rise to your cheeks. Had he noticed you looking at him? God, you hope not. 

He drops, reaching for a towel laying on a nearby bench to wipe his face. 

You breathe in and exhale. After regaining as much of your composure as you can, you walk towards him. It’s easier to push away the flustered feelings once you remember why you’ve come to see Bakugou today. 

When you reach his side, he raises an eyebrow at you. You hold up the shake in your hand.

He ignores it. His eyes immediately narrow, zeroed in on your face. “What’s wrong?”

Startled, you furrow your brows. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, pushing the shake at him. 

Bakugou takes it, but he raises his free hand, reaches up, and pinches your cheek. 

“Ow,” you say, and he lets go. 

“Don’t lie,” he says, and your eyes widen. You’re not sure how he’s able to tell you’re upset when you’ve tried your best to cover it up. 

You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can you go back to working out? I didn’t mean to interrupt. I promise I’ll tell you when you’re all done. And don’t rush.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Don’t needa tell me that shit. I don’t rush.”

But he seems to accept your promise. He places the shake down onto the bench, and you sit beside it as he returns to his sets. 

You get lost in his rhythm, eyes watching but mind elsewhere. You miss his entire cooldown and don’t even realize he’s finished until he’s stepping up next to you, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“Alright, enough,” he says. The crimson of his eyes is so bright under these lights. He’s flushed with exertion, sweaty. 

He’s such a comfort to see. You resist the urge to press your face into his hand. 

“What’re you thinking,” Bakugou says as he draws his hand back.

Nothing you want him knowing, at least of your thoughts of him from the past minute. You give him what your promise owes, instead, tell him what’s got you feeling so off kilter. 

“Yuzu was adopted today,” you say softly, looking down at your hands.

After a moment, Bakugou moves the shake aside and drops onto the bench next to you. He’s radiating warmth like a furnace, and he grabs a fresh towel from his bag to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck, his face, his arms. He waits.

“I didn’t think I’d be so sad,” you tell him. You feel a sting in your eyes and will yourself not to cry. Ridiculous. 

Bakugou flexes his hands. Looks at you. 

“Well, what’d you expect? You had the fleabag—”

“Bakugou.”

“—furball for months. You got attached.” He glances at the slope of your shoulders, the downward tilt of your head. The unhappy curve of your lips. “They good people, the extras who got ‘im?”

“Yeah. This guy and his fiance adopted him. They fell in love with him, and as they should! Yuzu’s such a sweet boy. They sent me videos of him, and he was purring up a storm.” 

You get a little teary-eyed once more. You’ll never get to hold Yuzu as he purrs ever again. 

Bakugou sighs and shifts in his seat so his shoulder rests against yours. 

“You did good,” Bakugou tells you when you look at him. “You took care of ‘im until it was time for him to go, and you made it easy for him to find a place to go. You did good.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

You close the sliver of space between you until he’s a line of warmth all along your side, from shoulder to hip to knee. Slowly, watching him for any signs of displeasure, you nudge your hand against his. He watches you. You take the leap and thread your fingers through his. His hand is so big around yours. 

His hand squeezes yours softly. 

Sighing, you lean against him and let your eyes drift closed for a moment.

The next few minutes pass, just like this. Your pounding heart slows. It’s hard not to imagine that his hand in yours, a kindness, means something other than friendship. Hard not to want it to mean more. You really, really like your soulmate. 

You push those thoughts away and try to empty your mind; you don’t want to ruin this.

“Um, Dynamight, sir?” 

At the sound of a stranger’s voice cutting the silence, you startle, eyes shooting open. You sit up. You drop Bakugou’s hand. 

At the gym doors, a teenage girl stands, fiddling with her fingers. She’s doing her best not to look at either of you. 

Bakugou narrows his eyes at her, growling, “What?”

She shrinks back a little, then stiffens, ramrod straight. She says, “I’m here for patrol! Red Riot told me to come get you.”

Bakugou squints, giving her a mean look. “Go get suited up, kid. And tell Red Riot to fuck off.”

The kid squeaks out a reply, but it’s so high-pitched you can’t tell what it could possibly be, and she scurries off, the door closing behind her. 

“Who was that?” you ask after a moment, willing the heat in your cheeks to subside.

Bakugou runs his hands through his hair. He picks up the protein shake and sips from it before replying. 

“A dumbass UA intern Ei picked up.”

You squint at him. “Don’t be mean, Bakugou. Picking on teenagers is super lame.” 

He huffs. You tilt your head.

“Do you not like her?” you ask.

“...She’s got guts,” he says. “Potential or whatever. Saw her at the Sports Festival. It’s UA’s yearly event—”

“Oh, I know what that is,” you say. “Who doesn’t? I remember seeing the one from your second year. Looked fun.”

He scowls. “S’not fun. It’s a competition.”

“Competitions can be fun, Bakugou,” you say, rolling your eyes. A thought occurs to you, and you perch on the edge of your seat. 

“Well, maybe not for you, especially that year,” you say, the glimmers of a smile teasing your lips. “Since Pro-Hero Shouto demolished you.”

He lunges for you, but you’re ready for it, and you take off towards the far side of the room that’s free of equipment, laughing.

Bakugou catches you embarrassingly quick, lifting you up off your feet from behind, effortless. He really is so strong. 

“What’d I tell you about running?” he growls, and you shiver. 

“Not to do it,” you say, trying to act unaffected despite being a little breathless. He sets you down, a hand sliding down to circle your wrist, as if he thinks you’ll run again. 

You make a face at him. You add, “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Bakugou gets this glint in his eyes that you’re sure spells trouble. Prickles of anticipation rise in you and you get the urge to hold your breath. 

But before he can say anything, the door opens. This time, it’s Kirishima standing in the doorframe. His eyes immediately catch on the pair of you, and you step away from Bakugou, feeling like you’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar for the second time in the span of ten minutes. 

Kirishima grins and says, “Bakugou, stop flirting and get suited up! We gotta get going.”

Bakugou’s lights flare up around him, a true lightshow, and he spins on his heel and points at Kirishima.

“Quiet, Shitty Hair. Go wait with the kid.”

You’re glad Bakugou’s facing away from you, and that you’re mostly hidden behind him, because you’re sure your expression is embarrassingly honest. Flirting? Have you been flirting? More importantly—has Bakugou been flirting back?

“The kid’s right here!” Kirishima pushes the door open a little wider to reveal their intern, standing behind him, looking as if she’s trying to become one with the floor. Turning back to Bakugou, Kirishima puts his hands on his hips.

“We’re waiting on you, bud, so get a move on!” Kirishima chides. 

Bakugou growls, walks over to the bench to grab his things and the protein shake, and stalks towards the door. 

He halts mid-step. He turns halfway to look at you.

“I’m off at six today,” he says. 

“Okay?” you say. It’s good info to know, you suppose, since his schedule is rather erratic. You’re not sure why Bakugou’s shared it with you, though. 

Instead of clarifying, Bakugou resumes his march towards the door and pushes Kirishima out of the way with a hand on his face. Kirishima sputters, tripping backwards.

You cover your mouth to cover up your laugh as the door closes behind them. Their friendship really is so endearing. You’re glad Bakugou has such a wonderful friend. 

You’re home, clicking mindlessly around your computer, when an old urge arises.

You find yourself opening up a new tab, searching, like you’re thirteen again, trying to figure out why you can see Bakugou’s lights but he can’t see yours. 

But the articles tell you the same thing they’d told you those years ago. Soul-lights are an under-researched phenomenon and poorly understood; it’s been difficult to obtain empirical research that explains the exact nature of soul-lights—why soulmates exist and how they work. It’s worse, now, that with every generation they’re becoming rarer and rarer. 

Because only soulmates can see each others’ lights, descriptions of lights are subjective. Furthermore, descriptions of the nature of the relationships are subjective. No two soulmate relationships are the same. And though there have been instances of unrequited soulmate relationships, of those relationships, understandably, no one’s come forward to participate in interview-style studies for researchers to pick apart and analyze. At least not in any studies that you’ve been able to find. 

You close out your tabs, feeling frustrated. What does it matter? You’re running yourself in circles for no reason. Isn’t it enough that Bakugou’s in your life? That you’re happy he’s in it? Bringing up old dreams is pointless. 

Eerily, as if Bakugou somehow knew you’ve been thinking about him, your phone rings, his contact popping up on your phone. You pick up.

“Hey!”

“Hey,” he says. “D’you eat yet?”

You glance at the time on your phone guiltily. It’s a little past six. You have work tomorrow, so you really should get a move on if you want to make dinner and eat at a decent time.

“Not yet,” you say, and Bakugou grunts.

“Keep an ear out for the door,” he says.

“Oh?” You perk up a little. “Are you coming over?”

Bakugou exhales, and it crackles the line. “Can’t. Staying a little longer at the agency.”

“Oh.” You try not to feel disappointed. “Okay. You eat too, yeah? And don’t stay too long. Or I’ll text Kirishima and tell him to kick you out.”

He snorts. “Like he could. And you don’t have his number.”

“How would you know?” you ask. You hear the doorbell ring and a couple knocks at your front door echo through your apartment. 

“If it’s not you, who’s at my door right now?” you ask suspiciously. 

“Go find out,” Bakugou says and hangs up. 

You pull the phone away from your face and squint at it. The doorbell rings again. 

You hurry to the door. Upon opening it, you find a food delivery person standing there with takeout in his hands. Understanding dawns in your head as he says your name and you confirm.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the food from him. He nods and jogs back down the hallway.

You close the door and gaze down at the food in your hands. You can already tell from the smell that it’s from your favorite takeout place. 

The food is good, as it always is. But it would’ve been better if Bakugou had been here, eating it with you. 

I don’t know if we’re still in the age of Y/N L/N search-and-replace self-insert fanfics but can I just say there’s MASSIVE untapped potential for a Y/N L/N Death Note fanfiction if you just

if you just

hang on. This. Like this:

…

Light clicked his bedroom door shut, and leaned against it, and slid gently down. His attention was wrapped so wholly in the unmarked envelope in his hand. He slit it open, and unsheathed the documents like he was pulling money from a wallet. He was, in a sense. These documents had cost him. The private eye he hired had not been cheap.

But it HAD been worth it, Light knew with relief washing through his veins as he thumbed through the contents: birth certificate, social security card, medical records, vaccination history, school records, IDs with photos – mother’s name, father’s name, date of birth, eye color, hair color, blood type.

Light held in his hands EVERYTHING there was to know about the girl. And he basked in it, drinking it in, a name finally to attach to the woman who haunted him.

First name: Y/N. Last name: L/N.

Light cracked a grin, rib cage rippling with manic chuckles that bubbled to his lips and erupted, cackles, delighted trills. The sense of victory flooded him. That girl who knew he was Kira, that girl who had worked so hard to hide her identity, that girl who plagued him, followed him, haunted him every day, who he could never touch.

Finally, Light could kill her.

He rose, and walked nearly numb to his desk, and pulled out the scrap of Death Note he kept in the false bottom of the top drawer. He reveled in it as he wrote: Y/N L/N, dies alone at 11:48pm of a brain aneurysm.

The damnation felt so sweet.

…

She was waiting for him, early as the sun which crested behind her, all soft smiles and sweet squinted eyes. She was waiting for him as she did every single day. She stood there, as always - a thing of nightmares.

The blood left Light’s face once he opened the front door to her, feet and hands tingling cold, stomach in knots.

He’d been worried when he awoke to no news about his dead university classmate. And the confirmation of his every fear settled as a knot in his gut. Y/N L/N was alive, in front of him, just as she was every other day, smiling.

“You seem surprised, Light. Like you’ve seen a ghost?” Her wry smile was a mockery. Light loathed her more than anything.

“Y/N … L/N…” he muttered, through gritted teeth. “…Good morning.”

“Oh! You discovered my name. Good job good job, that was faster than I expected.”

“Why—”

“Aren’t I dead?” she titled her head and swayed a bit in place. “That’s how Kira kills people, yeah? Full name? And you’ve got mine. So why aren’t I dead?”

Kira. Light’s eye twitched. She did that. At every chance, dropping with such nonchalance that she knew. If he argued back, she would ignore him. If he defended himself, it would get him nowhere.

Ignore, deflect, probe, find a weak point.

“Is it a fake name? Is Y/N L/N a fake name?” It would be hard to believe; it would be beyond elaborate. Every ounce of documentation would need to have been faked, or else perfectly stolen, with a complete erasure of who the girl really was. Not a single piece of contradictory evidence. Enough to completely fool Japan’s most esteemed private eye. It was almost unfathomable.

“No, it’s not a fake name. That’s my name. My real name. You’re right.” She spun on her heel and walked forward, into the sun, toward campus, sunlight streaking through the wisps in her hair. “But you can’t kill me with it, Kira.”

Light refused to answer. He refused to concede. He refused to show his hand, and yet, maybe he already had… Maybe he’d already lost.

He’d try again tonight. He’d try again as many times as it took to eliminate her, this unfathomable girl, who appeared in his uni classroom claiming to be an old elementary school classmate of his, who followed him every day and spoke in hints that suggested she knew, and yet never revealed how, or why, or what she wanted from him.

He’d try again. He’d kill her this time.

“It won’t work, trying again, that is. If you want to kill me, you’ll have to use your own hands.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “But that’s messy, and suspicious, and too easy to solve, right? So you need the Death Note to do away with me. But it won’t work.”

Death Note, dammit, she really DID know.

“Hey Light, what’s my name?”

“Y/N, L/N,” he ground out, almost robotically.

“Say it again.”

“Y/N, L/N.”

“And what name did you write in the Death Note?”

Light hesitated. Did he stand any chance of keeping his hand concealed?

He locked eyes with her, and he knew the answer was no. She knew. He knew.

“Y/N L/N.”

“Doesn’t sound quite right, does it?” she asked. And with her words, Light felt some unsettled something thud in his chest. A disquiet. An unrest. A thinly veiled wrongness.

“My name, that name, Y/N L/N, how do you spell it?” she asked.

“Y…” Light paused. Y? No… That was almost certainly not right.

“First letter, second letter, third letter. Come on. I believe in you.”

A headache was building behind Light’s eyes.

“Y…. S-slash…. N…” No. That wasn’t a name. That wasn’t anyone’s name. And it wasn’t her name. Her name, her name was—

“You can’t spell it, Light. You can’t. And no one can. No one except an extremely, intractably lucky person could even guess what my name might be, at the time that all of this plays out.”

“What does that mean?”

“What do I look like, Light? The Death Note needs a mental image! What do I look like?”

And Light looked. He looked directly at her, piercing, probing, roving, studying, drinking her in. She looked exactly as he remembered, with H/C hair and E/C eyes and….

What color hair?

What color eyes?

What name?

“I’m not anyone, Light,” she offered with the same, sweetly saccharine smile that Light could not describe beyond those words. “Or I’m everyone, I guess. I’m every Y/N L/N who reads this, any one of them. And when the dust settles, and the story stabilizes, and those markers are replaced for real, it will be too late. Because that will not be the name you wrote in your Death Note. You’ll always have written Y, and slash, and N, and L, and slash, and N, and that will never be right. I’ll be someone else by the time it matters, every time.”

Light blinked through the stars in his vision. Looking at her hurt, his vision wobbling in and out of focus on the nothing, and the everything she was. The hair color, and the eye color, and the first name, and the last name, that were every potential quantum combination, and still none of them.

He shut his eyes.

“What do you want from me?” he asked. “Why are you following me? Why do you know who I am. What do you want?”

“Nothing. I want nothing. I don’t have a defined will. It’s not like I’m a person.” She stepped forward again, hands clenched to the bag behind her back. A normal school bag, a normal school uniform, trotting in step eastward toward the college campus. “I’m an insert. And that means I’m whoever they want me to be, every time. It’s not any deeper than that.”

THANK YOU, MAPPA!

呪術廻戦 S2 Ep. 12: Blunt Knife