Gunshots - Blog Posts

Gi-hun’s life truly is miserable because imagine losing people you love in such horrific ways, winning a death game, harboring some of the worst trauma imaginable, and desperately looking for the person responsible for all of it for three years.

then when you finally do find him, he is basically just an unhinged homosexual pretending to be some guy to manipulate you, and when he realizes you won’t let him hit he fucking kills your best friend. crazy!

Chapter 03.

♡ twenty three

♡ rivals to lovers / fake dating

♡ cw / tw : sort of angst at the end? moment of panic attack though it's minor

You pressed the doorbell and stepped back with a pleasant hum. “I don’t know why you bother ringing that shit. I always barge in whenever I have to fucking come here.” Bakugo grumbled as you both stood in front of the door to his mother’s studio. 

You looked back at him and scoffed. “That would be the nice thing to do Bakugo. You wouldn’t know.”

“Being nice is for pussies.”

“And here comes the attitude.” You mumbled under your breath.

Bakugo whipped his head around and glared at you, “Do you really wanna go? We can go right here right fucking now don’t test me-”

The front door swung open and a middle aged blond woman stepped out, offering you a soft smile, “Oh so you must be my son’s partner please please! Do come in! He never stops talking about you my dear- oh and shoes at the doorstep darling, are you hungry? Thirsty? Anything my son can get for you? Katsuki! Be a good boyfriend and help your partner out!” Mitsuki Bakugo shouted as she pushed the door open wider, ushering both of you inside her studio.

“God fucking damnit you hag! Shut the actual fuck up! You know we’re not actually dating! And they can handle themselves! I don’t gotta do shit for them!” Bakugo shouted at his mother as he tugged off his shoes.

“Bakugo!” You whipped your head around and glared at him, eyes narrowed into slits. “Watch your fucking language when you speak to your fucking mother goddamn it! I’m not risking losing an opportunity like this all because you couldn’t keep your fucking mouth shut you dumb piece of shit!” You hissed back at him.

Bakugo stared at you.

Mitsuki smiled.

Bakugo grumbled as you stepped into the studio, the tips of his ears flushing a soft red as his mother nudged him and grinned. He rolled his eyes and followed behind you, crossing his arms across his chest and looking around.

The studio was unfortunately - or maybe it was fortunately - the same as he remembered it when he was younger; and throughout all the different parts of his life. 

His mother’s desk was placed in the same shitty corner, and those creepy looking mannequins were still standing in every corner that they could possibly be placed without being knocked over - each one was covered in some sort of fabric, some of the outfits were finished, some were still a mess of stitching and needle work. 

There were things on the floor, scraps of fabric and tape measures and the whole place smelted of baked goods, like the oven had just been turned off and if he squinted - he could see a small Katsuki and Izuku, reaching for the caramel and chocolate chip cookies behind Mitsuki’s back - before two simultaneous wails would break her out of her thought. She would have to end up putting her needle down and pulling her glasses off her face before tending to the two boys, one whom she scolded and the other whom she carefully doted over.

That particular memory brought a small smile to Bakugo’s face.

He looked around more before his eyes met a small area in the back of the studio which he had dubbed “The hero’s corner” as a child. 

When he was younger he would sit on the floor and play with his action figures. When he started school the toys were replaced with notebooks and pens. He remembered one instance, during first year of highschool, where he was perched in his chair, furiously scribbling in his journal, (He was much too prideful to call it a diary) about you. Pages upon pages wasted as he ranted about how much he hated you. 

The strangest part? 

He had a nagging feeling that he really didn’t hate you-

Nope. Not going down that train of thought today. Thanks a lot Eijirou for putting that idea in my head in the first place. I hope you’re hit by a fucking train shitty hair.

“Katsuki are you even listening!” Mitsuki shouted at Bakugo who snapped back to reality, whipping his head back around and glaring at his mother.

“Shut up you hag! I don’t even know why the fuck I’m here! You already have all of my fucking measurements from when I was fucking born why do I gotta be here for?” He snapped back, fists clenched. Every moment he spent with you in his general vicinity was fucking torture and he felt like he was drowning. The smell of your perfume or shampoo or whatever the fuck you were wearing that he was smelling was slowly killing him here. 

"Y'know what fuck it I'm stepping outside for some air. It smells like shit in here. Open a window or something." Bakugo sighed, shaking his head as he stepped outside, sitting on the stairs.

He ran a hand through his ashy blond hair.

“Fucking shit Shitty Hair.” He hissed under his breath.

-

"This is going to suck so much ass." You sighed.

"Yep."

"Why do I gotta do this shit with you?"

"I'd be damned if I knew." Bakugo mumbled.

Your outfit was stunning and damn, did you feel stunning. Mitsuki really outdid herself when it came to the outfit. It was such a shame that it had to be used on Bakugo of all people. You nervously wiped your hands down your outfit, you had been to a few of these gala’s in the past - hero work tended to come with a lot more rubbing shoulders then you had been led to expect. “How long do we have to be doing this?” You whispered, turning to meet Bakugo’s stern gaze as he stared straight ahead. He clenched his jaw and shrugged. 

“Until the press gets what they want I guess.” He mumbled. He didn’t know how long it would take for them to get here - or when they would leave. When they drain us of our blood. For fuck’s sake. I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be at home right now. Or at the gym. Or god knows where.

Bakugo clenched his jaw, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he forced himself to stare straight ahead. It was suffocating being in here. He thought the studio was bad? His sports car was a million times worse.

You were so fucking close. If he turned his head just a little bit to the side he would be able to point out and count each individual blemish on your face. 

The car reeked of whatever you were wearing. 

Again, not in a bad way. But shit - Bakugo was drowning.

Like he had been caught up in a rip and he was trying so fucking hard to swim to the sides - to safety but you were there and you were smiling at him, looking at him with those eyes and you grabbed him by the leg and forced his head under.

The worst part was that he knew it was going to get worse for him.

And it was all Kirishima’s fault. He was the one that planted this stupid idea in his head in the first place - if he had kept his big mouth shut Bakugo wouldn’t be here worrying about mending a broken relationship.

Shit.

You were going to be the death of him.

He sighed as the sleek sports car pulled up the venue. “Let me get the door for you.” Bakugo mumbled.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “What a gentleman.” You muttered under your breath as your ‘date’ stepped outside and pulled the door open for you. He reached for your hand but you slapped it away, throwing a glare at him.

“Don’t. I can handle myself.” You hissed under your breath.

Bakugo scoffed and pulled away, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in. “Did you forget? We gotta put on a show for these blood hungry demons society calls paparazzi. I don’t wanna be doing this shit either but it’s not like we have a fucking choice anyways. So pull that fucking stick out of your ass and take my fucking hand.”

You sighed defeatedly and debated your options, mulling a few thoughts in your head before you reached for Bakugo’s hand, holding your piercing glare as he intertwined his fingers with your own. He met your eyes and a silent understanding sparked between you both.

An hour. Tops. In and out. Give the press what they want so they can bump up our image. And then get the fuck out of there.

“Glad to see we agree on something…” Bakugo mumbled under his breath as he led you up the stairs, the flash of the cameras blinding him. A deep scowl etched into his face as he huffed.

You nudged him softly, meeting his gaze. “Smile.” You whispered as you both stepped up against the doors. “And stop stepping on my shoe.” You hissed. 

Bakugo rolled his eyes. 

You both smiled as the cameras flashed away, draining you of your essence. Of what made you both - fundamentally - you.

By the end of the night you would be a piece of gossip. An image on the newspapers. The name rolled off the tongue of a jealous fan. The name whispered in adoration of an obsessive stalker. A name.

A title.

Bakugo’s eyes flickered to your face for a moment before his arm snaked around your waist and gave you a soft squeeze. I’m here for you.

“Are you good?” Bakugo whispered as he led you inside. “You looked kinda out of it.” 

“I hate the paparazzi.” You mumbled as he led you up the stairs. 

“Yeah well. You don’t gotta worry about em too much in here.” He shrugged, letting his arm drop when the flashing lights were out of view. “Chill out with your friends, do whatever I dunno. I’ll text you at eleven to pick you up and go home. Alright?” Bakugo gave you a one over, eyes flickering from your face down to your body and then back up to your face.

The stare made you slightly self conscious. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

You huffed, raising your arms to your chest, nodding as you averted your gaze.

Bakugo stared at you, a small frown tugging at his lips. “Right uh.. Be safe I guess.” He mumbled.

You nodded. “Yea… uh you too?”

-

“You’re out here? Shouldn’t you be inside?” Bakugo’s voice came out as gruff as he stepped out onto the balcony. You didn’t bother turning around as he moved to stand beside you. You took in a deep inhale of the fresh night air.

It was biting against your arms.

“Yea… I got tired of being there. My social battery is a little low today so y'know? I just needed the space.” You mumbled, not bothered to explain your reasons for staying outside to the likes of Bakugo.

He merely nodded as he wordlessly stared up at the sky. “Can I ask you something?” 

“You already did.”

“Something else idiot.”

You snorted, covering it up with a cough. “Yea go ahead.” 

“You hate me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation. 

You hated Bakugo. 

You hated his ego. 

You hated his pride. 

You hated the way he made you feel like a pebble in his path to success. 

You hated his anger. 

You hated the way he had changed. 

You hated how he tried to remedy things. 

You hated the way his eyes sparked. 

You hated the way he spoke to you - so soft and delicate, like a flower losing its petals.

You hated him.

A chill ran up your arms, and you rubbed them softly. Did I forget my coat in the car? I got so worked up over the whole gala I forgot my coat!

You were about to curse out loud at your stupidity - but before you were able to, you were enveloped by a soft caramel scent mixed with something spicy? Cinnamon?

“You’re shivering.” Bakugo pointed out. “You left your coat in the car.”

You huffed, pulling his suit jacket closer. “Thanks…” You mumbled looking up at the sky. “Do you… like the stars?” You looked over at Bakugo who was staring up at the inky void. The light pollution was annoying, you could barely see a thing, but the small little dots that you did see would lift your spirits anyways.

Even if most of them were dead.

“I do.” He nodded. “You didn’t answer my question.” He turned to you. “Do you hate me?”

You went silent for a moment, pulling the jacket closer and looking back up. “Yea.”

“Yea. I think… I hate you.”

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