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#todoroki x reader
luxthestrange · 15 hours
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BNHA Incorrect quotes#7 Too tired for this-
KFC Worker Y/n does not care if you are a hero, villain, civilian, or whatever no one is safe from their annoyance...Hawks is just sitting sipping his soda with shades on inside to hide his heart eyes as you work around-
Chisaki*Coming in* Im sorry can I just have another kid's meal?
KFC!Y/n*Sees the well-behaved young girl with a tiny horn, taking out the kid's toy and handing it to her looking at the masked man* You again?NAW, Not this time love
Chisaki:...But I just walked in?*Confused at them*
KFC!Y/n: Yeah, and you walk into Cole's, Buy some groceries LIKE A NORMAL FATHER -COOK DINNER ASSHOLE?!
Chisaki:😦
Eri*Smilling holding her toy*...
Cue You now cleaning the tables with orchestra music
RandomHero*Coughs into a fist*
KFC!Y/n*Sprays him with an antibacterial spray bottle*
RandomHero*Jumps and looks as they leave confused*!?
RandomHero2*Watched as his friend was sprayed just as confused*??
-
Dabi*Coughs into hand in his civilian disguise*
KFC!Y/n*Sprays him with an antibacterial spray bottle in the face with an annoyed look*
-
Shigaraki*Also In a civilian disguise, Eating messily at his table, stuffing his face with food and mouth open and chewing as he plays his mobile game*
KFC!Y/n*Who was moping the floor with a disgusted look*...YOU EAT LIKE THAT AT HOME?
Shigaraki*Stops chewing with bites of fries hanging from his mouth*??
KFC!Y/n: HUH?-Ya animal! Close your mouth when ya eat you fuckin scumbag!*Glares at him, disapproving tone*CHICKEN LITTLE IN YOUR BURGER HAD MORE MANNERS THAN YOU!?
Shigaraki*looking down, feeling called out*...
A couple tables away from you lecturing Shigaraki is Hawks and Dabi...
Hawks*Happily seeing you kick out rowdy people*...arent they great?~
Dabi*Who is cleaning the cleaner of his face, eyes stinging and glaring at him*...out of all the models, actresses/actors galore...you're choosing that-
You are kicking a homeless person out of the restaurant and even fanning the air to get rid of the stench with a grossed-out look
youtube
sequel to:
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uravichii · 1 year
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pov: you're drop-dead gorgeous (and they don't know how to deal with it)
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character/s: bakugo katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, kaminari denki, todoroki shouto
genre: fluff, crack (?), them hyping u up like there's no tomorrow, uhh reader wears makeup 🤕
notes: this is for all u pretty mfs aka all of u whether u believe it or not YOU ARE PRETTY AMD HOT AND AMAZING 😡‼️ also disclaimer: the boys love u not just for your face. they think you're so cool for being beautiful inside n out and this is just them appreciating the out 🧎‍♀️
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bakugo katsuki thinks you're so pretty that his only response to it is to be angry. he'd watch intently the way you'd smooth your clothes down and cutely fiddle with your hair in the mirror as if there's even anything to fix. he'll cup your pretty face in his hands and squeeze your cheeks together (cuteness aggression probably), "tell me why you're so fucking pretty all the time? what are you so pretty for, huh?!"
bakugo katsuki would always watch you do your makeup and hair and then slip into the prettiest clothes only you can pull off and he's just mesmerized by the whole thing.
"katsuki, please stop drooling and get dressed. we're gonna be late."
his only response is: "fuck off."
because he can never deny nor hide the fact that he constantly admires you every chance he gets. he storms his way to you and snatches a shimmery eyeshadow from your makeup bag. "tch, you don't even need any of this shit."
"you don't like it, katsuki?" you stare up at him doe-eyed, easily making his heart skip a beat.
"h-hah?! i didn't say that!" he shoves it to your hand, "now do this glittery shit next!"
and you just ditch whatever plans you'd made and spend the rest of the night trying on different makeup looks. he'll insist that you sit on his lap while you doll yourself up just because, and you gladly do so but then you both end up wearing a full face of glam makeup 🧍‍♀️ he doesn't know how he just let it happen but he's like, "whatever makes you fucking happy, y/n."
he then proceeds to tell you that, "every one of those ugly extras should grovel at your feet, worship the ground you walk on, and then beg for your forgiveness."
"forgive them for what?"
he stares blankly at you. "for breathing the same air as you."
bakugo katsuki's not active on social media at all but on his instagram, his first and only post is a photo dump of just youー the selfies you took on his phone, your date outfits, candid photos (by courtesy of bakugo katsuki) of you smiling at a stray cat, the power nap you took on his shoulder, and his favorite one by far: a photo of you wearing his black tank top that completely swallows you up, holding up two little peace signs on your cheeks.
and of course, he captions it, "u and ur ugly ass wish u were y/n."
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shinsou hitoshi is convinced he's dating a model. he doesn't know how it happened, but he is a little proud of whatever the hell was in him that managed to rizz you up.
he thinks you look amazing in absolutely anything. so when you go clothes shopping together, he casually picks up all types of clothes from the racks until there's a whole pile of them in his arms.
when you shoot him a questioning look about it, he only says, "think you'll look amazing in these, babe."
he also picks up some accessories and just wears them on youー hats, sunglasses, hair pins, and you just let him because each time you let him accessorize you, he gives those little comments like, "amazing." "cute" "this one's tacky; i put it on you as a joke but you pull it off for some reason." "yes. slayed." he made you wear cat ears one time and he just melts right there, immediately taking a photo of you for his new lockscreen.
it bothers shinsou hitoshi a lot when people stare at you even when they can clearly see his hand on the small of your back. he'll slide closer to you and kiss the top of your head all the while he gives them a death stare he wishes he could do more.
he squeezes your waist a little to call your attention.
"hm? what's up, hitoshi?"
he looks at you blankly, taking in your features in awe as if for the first time again. then he stuffs your face into his chest, your legs staggering as you grab a hold of his forearms.
"hey, what are you doing?" you giggle in his chest. he's relieved you can't see his flushed cheeks. "hitoshiii"
"you're too good for this world, y/n. i need to start gatekeeping you."
what blows shinsou hitoshi's mind the most is how you're probably unaware of your effect on him, no matter how many times he's called you all synonyms of the word, 'beautiful'
he's sat on the couch, a tiny smile of adoration tugging on his lips when he sees you running up to him. your eyes brim with excitement as you call his name, truly the prettiest ones he's ever seen.
"something happened?ー" he pauses when you lean your face so close to his. he sinks back into the couch as the tips of ears start to turn red.
it takes a moment until he realizes that you're showing off the purple eyeshadow you had done on yourself, batting your eyelashes at him as you wait for his response bc right now he's just staring at you like 😦💘‼️‼️‼️
"it's the one you picked out from the mall yesterday. is it pretty?"
"y/n." his hands slowly find their way to your waist, "i don't believe you're real sometimes. you are possibly the most beautiful person i've ever seen."
"really?"
"god," he pulls you by the waist until you're sat on his lap, your legs straddling him. "you have no idea."
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remember how bakugo said all those extras should be groveling at your feet and worshipping you? yeah, it's kaminari denki. he worships you.
he thinks you're beautiful and he's LOUD about it.
he's constantly bragging about you to his friends and showing off your photos (if you're comfy w/ that), "oh this? oh yeah, this is is y/n, the coolest, funniest, drop dead gorgeous, most ethereal person on earth and they're dating ME."
and bakugo would just grab his phone and knock it against his head with a thud 🤕, "WE FUCKING GET IT. NOW, SHUT UP, DUMBASS."
he'll rub his head while cackling, "whatever, i'm dating Y/N. who cares about anything if you're dating y/n?"
kaminari denki doesn't love you just for your beauty though. you're not just some eye candy to him. if someone ever called you one though, you bet he's zapping their ass and with the whole bakusquad by his side because somehow they feel obligated to protect you now too. 🧍‍♀️ (denki's effect)
and just as much as he compliments your beauty everyday, he never forgets to let you know how beautiful your heart is too. in fact, he calls you 'angel' because how could someone be this beautiful and be so kind and caring to him at the same time?
"sometimes.." he looks up pensively from his lap where you lay your head, "i feel like i've been blessed by the heavens when i got to date you.
"denkiー"
"don't even think i'm exaggerating, y/n!" he pokes your cheek when you turn your head to look at him, "you're amazing. i don't know what i did for you to give me a chance."
there are times though when a part of kaminari denki feels a little insecure because he thinks he looks quite stupid next to you, and it doesn't help either that the bakusquad never lets him hear the end of it 😔
"denki, you don't look stupid because you're next to me. you do that on your own."
"aww, thank yー hol' up." 🤨
he's pouting but you immediately wipe that off by apologizing and peppering his face with kisses, ending it with a loud smooch on his lips with a "mmmwah!"
kaminari denki now can't remember what you're even apologizing for in the first place.
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you and todoroki shouto are so beautiful, the visuals are blinding 😩 you'd walk to your classroom together, him opening the door for you and you smiling at him, lovingly squeezing his arm as a silent 'thank you,' and people just stare with their mouths agape, not knowing who exactly to be jealous of.
shouto definitely stares the most though until it concerns midoriya, "t-todoroki-kun, you haven't moved in three minutes. are you okay?" because he might as well have drawn hearts on his eyes and stab an arrow to his heart with the way he looks at you.
todoroki shouto always kisses your eyes, nose, cheeks, hair, and your lips, of course, just to let you know how beautiful he thinks they are.
he thinks whatever you do or wear is so pretty, hence, the many, many photos of you on his phone. his lockscreen changes every 2 days because everyday he just gets a prettier shot of you, and he always shows them to you and to his friends and siblings ☹️ because everyone, including you, should appreciate what a beauty you are!
"this looks great! you'd make a great photographer, shouto" you lean in to kiss his cheek, immediately sending a flush across his face.
"well..." he looks to the ground, the feeling of your lips still lingering on his right cheek. "that's all you... you're beautiful. i don't know how it has anything to do with me, but thank you."
and then he leans closer, tilting his head to the side to silently ask for another kiss. you laugh softly at this, and when you cup his cheeks in your hands and start planting kisses all over his face the way he does to you, shouto confirms it in his mindー y/n is an angel.
todoroki shouto would get a little overboard with the photos though because he'll spam that button and keep every single one. when you ask why keep the blurry ones, he explains, "that's still a photo of you. why would i delete it?"
he also has a photo of his point of view from when he was laying his head on your lap. he said he wanted to capture "the happiest moment of his life." you convince yourself it's sweet but it's literally just a photo of your chin in a weird angle.
"shouto, that's just my chin."
he looks at you dead in the eye. "y/n, you have a lovely chin."
you call him a weirdo, which surprises him a little, but then you drape your arms around his neck and pepper kisses all over his face again because who else in the world would say that to you?
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kirbyskisses · 1 year
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cw: breeding
dabi who practically explodes when you call him his real name while fucking. the revelation that it’s not just the villain you love - it’s all of him - the villain, the tortured child, the man who loves you - every part of him.
your mouth lets out a weak “touya” while he’s inside you and suddenly he loses all control - hips rutting ‘nd bucking into you like a dog. he practically cums on the spot, shaking and grunting loudly through a world-shattering orgasm.
then, he’s practically drooling; doing and saying anything to hear it drop from your lips.
“say it again, babygirl. c’mon, say my name.” he moans - dick as deep as it can go, before sliding out all the way to the tip and shoving back in, kissing your most plush, sensitive spot with every stroke.
“t-t-touya~” weakly rolls its way out of your lips as white cream from just before spills out of you onto the sheets below with every thrust.
“no, louder baby, c’mon… say it for me”
“t-touya-”
“that’s it. who’s making you feel good?”
“you are, touya~” you squeal, his hands gripping the meat of your thighs to push you further into a mating press.
“whose pussy is this, doll?”
“yours, touya. it’s j’st for you!”
“that’s right. all mine. and i’m the one you love right? i’m the whose baby you want - whose cum you need, aren’t i?” his blue eyes stare down at you in a mix of possessiveness, love, lust and desperation.
“yes. yes it’s you, touya - I love you, touya. want you, touya. want to have your baby, touya.”
dabi touya swears he’s never cum harder in his life.
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roaron · 1 year
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MHA boys getting caught masturbating
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authors note : hello all, I know ive been writing a lot of MHA related stuff lately, but do not worry. that isn’t all I wrote about LOL, im just in a MHA mood. if you want me to write for any other characters just go ahead and ask, saves me time instead of me having to think of different characters to write for. cheers :)
characters - (izuku midoriya, shoto todoroki, katsuki bakugo)
warnings - nsfw obviously
minors don’t be doing no funky shit, get lost or just hide in the shadows idc
enjoy !
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Izuku Midoriya
- when you initially walk in on him his head is flung back, legs spread, naked chest heaving, and his hand on his cock. what a sight.
- he doesn’t even notice you until after he cums, so when he finally looks forward and sees you staring at him he screams and grabs a pillow to try and hide his dick.
“Y/N !!!???, OMG IM SO S-SO SORRY”
- he refuses to look at you until you move towards him and sit at the corner of the bed.
“want some help ?”
- he looks at you absolutely shocked but nods shyly nonetheless
Shoto Todoroki
- notices you straight away and immediately looks away from you, his face completely red and his fire side raging out of control.
“y/n… please knock next time..”
- he still refuses to look at you, the duvet brought over himself in an attempt to hide his erect cock spewing cum everywhere.
- you both stay there for a while until you decide to speak up and break the awkward silence.
“shoto, would you like me to help you finish ?”
- he snaps his head towards you and stares at you wide eyed before hanging his head low in embarrassment.
“…yes please”
Katsuki Bakugo
- the second he notices you his eyes blow wide and he starts saying curses under his breath. he finally looks at you after about a minute of silence, cheeks dusted pink.
“enjoying the fucking show ? hurry up and get out.”
- you decide to ignore him and keep staring at his naked figure, nipples perked and abs flexed under a glossy sheen of sweat. your mind runs wild as you catch you bottom lip between your teeth and play with the bottom of your skirt.
- bakugo notices your change in behaviour and let’s out a chuckle before sitting up straight and crossing his legs, cock still on display.
“for gods sake, stop eye fucking me and get over here”
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trueshellz · 1 year
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Having Dabi's kid, him leaving without you being able to tell him that you're carrying his child until one day he comes back, watching you from the sidelines while you're both at the park. Your son is a spitting image of his dad, bright blue eyes and red hair with streaks of yours interspersed. He's loud and boisterous, a bit clumsy and always tripping over his feet. He babbles and laughs so hard especially when you tickle him, arms and legs flapping when you push him on the swing.
And Dabi actually feels his heart stop.
His own childhood running through his mind, the training with his dad, the trauma and abuse he endured. The way he was ignored, his life deemed useless when a newer, updated version came about with the right quirk his dad desired. He doesn't even realise he's crying until he feels the blood running down his cheeks, small drops on the floor by her booted legs.
"You know, he's just like you."
And then you're there.
The same girl he was always too bad for, not worthy or enough for. You were the light to the darkest part of his soul, the only thing that kept him sane some days and probably the only person who loved him unconditionally. There was nothing about you he didn't love... and then the words sink in.
"W-what?"
A huff of laughter as you bounce the baby on your hip, Dabi can't help but stare as his own blue eyes stare back at him. And then he has to stumble forward as the bundle reaches for him, jumping out of your hands. If it wasn't for his quick reflexes his son, oh my god his son, would have face planted onto the ground.
And then there's a little hand on his face, the scarred bits he had to learn to live with. A light slap as the small palm connects and Dabi can't help but smile as the baby starts gurgling and smacking his lips together.
Follow up HERE
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ghostbeam · 11 months
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casual | dabi/touya todoroki
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“My mom wants to meet you.”
It’s a sentence uttered as Touya pulls the T-shirt he’d discarded earlier (while he was pushing you toward your bed and sucking your tongue into his mouth) over his head. It comes as a shock, lying in your bed completely bare, still struggling to catch your breath. It shouldn’t make you feel excited in the way that it does, not when Touya has been more than clear about the nature of the relationship between the two of you. Nothing serious. No commitment.
Casual.
notes: hiiiii so this is just something I’ve been working on for a bittttt it’s inspired by causal by Chappell roan it’s nothing special but I just couldn’t get the idea out of my head so yeahhhh sorry for the severe lack of smut in a friends with benefits fic btw ahsjsjsjs thanks for reading hope u enjoy!!<3
warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, no quirk au, oral f!recieving, friends to lovers, friends with benefits, the todorokis are healing, dabi is called Touya throughout literally the entire thing
words: 4.1k
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“My mom wants to meet you.”
It’s a sentence uttered as Touya pulls the T-shirt he’d discarded earlier (while he was pushing you toward your bed and sucking your tongue into his mouth) over his head. It comes as a shock, lying in your bed completely bare, still struggling to catch your breath. It shouldn’t make you feel excited in the way that it does, not when Touya has been more than clear about the nature of the relationship between the two of you. Nothing serious. No commitment.
Casual. 
“What?” You aren’t sure how you should respond, or what the right answer is. He shrugs, buttoning his jeans.
“You don’t have to. Just promised her I’d ask.” He says, turning around to dig through your dresser. He pulls out one of the shirts he’s left there and a pair of underwear for you, tossing the items your way. You change, covering yourself up before moving to sit in the middle of the bed, legs tucked underneath you. 
“You’ve been talking to her about me?” You question. You know it’s not what he wants to hear. 
“I’ve mentioned you.” He tells you. He’s still standing, staring down at you. Your question should have been teasing, but you were sincere. You’ve met his siblings before. You know you’re not a secret to his family, but the mention of his mom feels entirely too serious. It makes you feel hopeful. You don’t want to feel hopeful.
“Oh, yeah?” You grin, your last ditch effort at turning this back on him, to show him that you can handle casual, that you like casual. He rolls his eyes.
“It’s not a big deal.” He shrugs. “She’s met all my friends.”
“Friends like me?” You ask him. You aren’t even sure what you mean by it. Touya was your friend long before the two of you had sex. That doesn’t really make you different from the others in any real way. 
Touya is your friend. Sometimes, you wish he wasn’t.
“Friends like you…” He trails off. His eyes flicker from yours like he’s thinking about it. “No, I guess she hasn’t.”
You hum, nodding your head. You don’t want to read into what he could possibly mean by that. But, truthfully, Touya doesn’t have any friends like you.
“Whatever. I tell my mom about you. You write about me in your little diary.” He speaks, leaning down so he’s at eye level with you. He kisses you once, long and hard before pulling away. “We’ll call it even.”
He stands up straight, grabbing his keys from the top of your dresser and picking his jacket up from the floor on his way out of your bedroom. He turns back to wink at you once before disappearing through your doorway.
“It’s not a diary!” You call, but he only chuckles in response. 
wear that one dress read 7:42am
the blue one with the flowers read 7:42am
does ur mom like blue? sent 7:43am
?? read 7:44am
no i like blue read 7:44am
and i like you in blue read 7:45am
ok maybe sent 7:45am
You do not wear the dress. 
Touya chuckles when he sees you, like he knew you wouldn’t and opens the passenger side door for you. Your sweater is blue, though. 
Rei lives near the shore in a house that’s all her own. Touya tells you that he and his siblings visit as much as possible, that his sister thinks she might get lonely out on her own, but he knows she enjoys the solitude. There’s a freedom to it, the choice. Touya can understand that. 
The road is long, and once the two of you get out of the city, there’s not much to look at. You watch the weather change out the window, blue skies above slowly shift into damp overcast and Touya rests his hand on your thigh. 
He’s done it more times than you can count. It’s not unusual for Touya to touch you. He’s clingy like that. But in the car, driving two hours out of the city to meet his mother, it feels different. It is different. You want to believe that. 
She stands at the front door as the two of you pull in. Her presence is a surprise to you when you know Touya hadn’t used his phone once the entire car ride. She looks small, delicate, almost, with a strength that settles in her shoulders, her chin tilted up slightly. You see now, how much of her is in him. 
“She does this every time,” Touya speaks. “I have no clue how she knows.”
“Mother’s intuition.” You shrug. 
“It’s creepy.” 
“I think it’s cool.” You say. He flicks your forehead. 
“You would.” He squeezes your thigh once before getting out of the car. He jogs to your side and lets you out. You feel his hand brush against yours as he leads you up to the house, but he never intertwines your fingers like you wish he would. 
Rei introduces herself warmly and embraces you in a tight hug. Touya has to bend down a bit to allow her to hold him around his shoulders. She ushers the two of you inside and runs a hand through Touya’s hair, murmurs something about a haircut, but he shakes her hand off of his head and insists that he keeps it this way because you like it. You’ve never told him you liked his hair before. But it’s enough to get Rei off of his back about it because she sends you a knowing smile as you follow her into the living room. 
The visit is a standard one as far as meeting the parents goes. Touya’s favorite food has been prepared and the three of you eat as Rei asks you questions. She’s understanding when the topic of your future comes up and you aren’t sure how to answer. She’s engaged when you tell her about your hobbies. At some point, you forget you’re here with Touya until you’re reminded of his presence when you turn your head in his direction and notice an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face. It confuses you, and it makes your stomach flip. You can’t ignore the feeling of his eyes on you for the rest of the visit. 
When Rei pulls out a photo album, Touya stands up and says he’s going outside to smoke. You know part of it is because of embarrassment, old photos of such a young innocent thing, him in matching clothes with Natsuo, photos of all his bad haircuts. You also know that part of it is that he’d rather not think about that time in his life, even though his father is cut out of all the photos Rei shows you.
Rei speaks after a while, flipping through the pages of the album, “you’re good for him.”
You don’t look at her, eyeing one of Touya’s school photos from long ago. 
“What did he say I was…to him?” You question. 
“A friend.” She speaks, “But I think it’s obvious that it’s more than that.”
“Not really. I am his friend. I mean, I’m not a girlfriend or anything like that.” You try to explain. “I can’t really be good for him.”
“I think you can. I think you are.” She continues to flip through the photo album, and you continue to check the back door in case Touya walks in on your conversation. 
“It means a lot that you say that. I really care about him.” You admit it to her even though she already knows because it feels right to. You want her to know that you could love her son if he let you, that you would in a heartbeat. It’s just more complicated than that. 
“I can tell you do. And he cares about you, too. He’s just stubborn.” She pauses. “And scared.”
“Yeah.” You sigh. “Me too.”
Touya walks through the door a moment later. “We should go soon. I wanna leave before it gets dark. And I don’t need you two spilling any more secrets about me to each other.”
You freeze for a moment, wondering if he heard your earlier exchange, but the teasing tilt of his voice tells you he didn’t. 
You say goodbye to Rei, and she makes you both promise that you’ll visit her again soon. When she hugs you, firm and tight like before, you feel sad to go. Touya guides you to his car with a hand placed on the small of your back. He doesn’t open your door for you, but he holds your hand the entire way home. 
should we open a cafe read 2:22pm
what sent 2:25pm
or a bookstore read 2:26pm
what are u talking abt sent 2:27pm
both at the same time read 2:28pm
???? read 2:28pm
u wanna be business partners on top of being sent 2:29pm
whatever this is sent 2:29pm
fuck buddies read 2:30pm
ew sent 2:30pm
dont call it that sent 2:30pm
lovers???? read 2:32pm
pls stop sent 2:33pm
what shld we name the cafe/bookstore read 2:34pm
?? read 2:40pm
“Touya!” You cry, head thrown against the foggy car window as he stares up at you from between your legs. You run one hand through his hair as he runs his tongue through your folds. You whine. “Oh, my god.”
He pulls away to let out a breathy laugh, eyes finding yours as he kisses your thighs. You shift your hips forward, missing his mouth against your cunt. It’s cramped in his car, your back uncomfortably pressed against the door. Touya’s contorted in a way that allows his long body to fit in the back seat with the door closed. His comfort is an afterthought while in between your thighs.
“Don’t stop.” You cry, wiggling your hips. He grins, bringing his hand up to run two fingers gently over your clit. It’s not enough. You can barely stand it.
“Poor baby.” He coos, rubbing agonizingly slow circles over your most sensitive spot. “Were you gonna come?”
“Fuck you.” You speak through clenched teeth, moving your hips to try and grind against his fingers. 
“Not yet.” He teases, before attaching his lips to your cunt once more. His movements are hurried, making a mess of you in his backseat as he runs his tongue over your clit over and over again. You feel his hand reach up to grab your wrist, bringing it back to the top of his head. You tug on his hair, grinding against his face, understanding exactly what he wants from you. He groans against you, reaching down to touch himself through his jeans. 
“I’m close!” You whine. Every flick of his tongue is controlled, his only goal being your pleasure. His fingers dig into one of your thighs, and the feeling of your hips twitching against him drives him insane. 
“Come for me, baby.” Touya pleads, releasing his grip on your thigh and rubbing a soothing hand over the spot. “You look so fucking pretty when you come. Let me see it.”
With one last swipe of his tongue, you're pushed over the edge, legs shaking around his head as he continues movements against you. He pulls away, leaving kisses against your thighs, moving up over your stomach, your chest, your neck. He pulls you forward with one arm so that you're pressed against him. 
“C’mere.” He whispers, pressing his lips tenderly to yours, far too sweet for casual. He slips his tongue into your mouth, and you reach down to touch him over his jeans. He bucks his hips up, letting out a moan against your lips, when his phone begins to ring. He ignores it, pulling away to kiss your neck. You thumb the button of his jeans open, reaching down to touch him again, when the ringing of his phone interrupts yet again. Touya lets out an annoyed sigh, reaching into his back pocket to pull the buzzing device out. 
“What.” He speaks, voice laced with anger. When the voice on the other end of the line speaks, you know it’s Tomura. 
Touya met Tomura a few years after he met you, and you liked him. You did, but he always found a way to get under Touya’s skin at the worst times. Every comment he makes about the relationship between the two of you leaves Touya with far too much to think about. It usually pushes him away from you for a week at most, replying to your messages with short answers, canceling plans. You figure that now that he’s picked up the phone, your fun in Touya’s backseat is over. 
Touya speaks to Tomura as you pull your shirt back over your head, not bothering with your bra, just wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible. You search for your skirt, spotting it halfway underneath Touya while he tells Tomura he’s not free until Saturday night. You try to pull it out from under him, but it won’t budge.
“You’re sitting on my skirt.” You speak softly so you don’t interrupt his call. He notices immediately, lifting his hips for you to grab the piece of clothing. He mutters a quick sorry as you pull it over your legs, and you can hear Tomura question him over the phone. 
“Huh? It’s no one.” He speaks, and though you know that you’re nothing more to Touya than a “friend” as he puts it, you hoped you were more to him than “no one”.
You pull your clothes on and exit the car, not wanting to hear the rest of the conversation. The car sits on a ledge, high on some mountain that overlooks a lush forest below. Touya showed you this place years ago while you were still just friends, somewhere that was just his became yours together. Back then it meant a lot to you. Now you know it probably meant nothing to him. 
Touya exits the car a couple of minutes after you, eyeing you as you stare down over the cliff. You don’t notice when he comes up beside you, a hand on your back. He says, “you okay?”
“Mhm.” You nod your head, hands crossed over your chest. “I’m tired. Can you take me home?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” He presses a kiss to your temple before walking towards the car. On your way home, when Touya’s hand begins to creep towards your thigh, you cross your legs and move your stare towards your window. When he drops you off at home, you don’t kiss him goodbye.
come over read 8:18pm
cant sent 8:30pm
why not read 8:31pm
im studying sent: 8:34pm
study here read 8:35pm
no sent 9:00pm
you’re distracting sent 9:00pm
what are you doing read 1:22pm
fuyumi wants me to invite you to lunch read 1:24pm
tell her im sorry but i have class right now sent 1:30pm
u dont have class right now read 1:32pm
?? read 1:32pm
where have you been read 11:11pm
i want you read 11:11pm
come over read 11:12pm
please read 11:12pm
wanna kiss you read 11:16pm
need u read 11:30pm
sorry read 10:02am
stole a bottle from natsuo read 10:03am
i wanna see you though read 10:20am
...
Touya texts…a lot.
Your excuses are weak, especially to the man who knows you better than anyone in the world, someone who’s committed your schedule to memory for the better part of two years. But you try because it hurts, because despite agreeing to casual, you cannot continue to pretend like you aren’t in love with Touya. And you can’t continue to pretend that he’s in love with you too. 
You write a lot to try and process it all. You write in your “little diary” as he called it, page after page about him and his pretty eyes, and his stupid hair, and his fucking tongue. It’s hard not to miss him. 
You screen most of his calls when you can get away with it, but he texts you after each one you miss. He has no problem with double, triple, quadruple texting you because it’s you. There’s no pressure to impress or feign disinterest with you. You know this isn’t about the sex. Touya wants his friend back.
Only the thing is, you can’t be his friend. Not now, not after crossing every single possible line with him. You’ve fallen for him. This much you can admit to yourself, but you’ll never admit it to him. 
So your only option is distance, which hurts you just as much as it hurts him. You want to send him cats you see on the street. You want to ask him to see the newest horror film with you. You want to lay in his bed and trace the lines on his face and wake up with his head buried in your neck. 
What you want is to be his girlfriend. You want him to love you back. 
You don’t know if it’s worse to be with him or without him. 
r you busy rn? read 5:44pm
yeah  sent 5:45pm
ok read 5:45pm
There’s a knock at your door at six pm on the dot while you’re thirty-seven pages deep into some cheesy romance novel you picked up to try and mend your broken heart, fill the void that you created by pushing your best friend (and the love of your life) away. 
It doesn’t help that you’re wearing one of his shirts. 
You open your door and peek through the crack. Touya stands there with a six-pack in one hand and the leather jacket he knows you love on him so much hung effortlessly over his shoulders. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. He looks like a model and you’re wearing his T-shirt.
He doesn’t say hello, just pushes his way through and kicks his annoyingly loud boots off, setting them by the door. He places the six-pack on the counter before muttering, “Cute shirt.”
He’s teasing you. You want to strangle him.
“What are you doing here?” You ask him, an annoyed huff leaving your lips as you cross your arms over your chest as if it’ll hide the shirt that he’s already noticed. 
“Um, well.” He shrugs, strolling over to your couch where you left your romance novel and fuzzy blanket. He picks the book up and looks at you. “You know, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” You stomp towards him, snatching the book out of his hands. “You’re the worst. Why don’t you ever say what you actually mean.”
You know why, though. Because Touya is unknowable, or at least he thinks himself to be. That’s why he doesn’t tell you anything real but allows you to see his apartment, allows you to see him naked with all of his scars and make love to him with the lights on. He won’t say that he loves you, but he’ll leave you thirty missed calls and show up at your apartment when he doesn’t get an answer. He won’t say that he’s worried, but he is. You know that he is because you’re the only person who’s ever really known him, even before the sex. Touya has always been yours. If Touya thinks you know nothing, at the very least he thinks you know this. 
“Yeah.” He says. “You know, it’s funny cause, all of a sudden my best friend stopped talking to me. Not exactly not talking because she does answer my texts, still. Sometimes she answers my calls, but not really. But, I haven’t seen her in person in weeks. I miss her, and her stupid face, and her giant comfy couch.”
“Touya–” You begin to speak, but you don’t even know what you’re going to say. You’re definitely not going to explain yourself. You’re not going to confess to him wearing his t-shirt like some sad ex-girlfriend. 
“Where did you go?” He asks. His voice breaks and it's like a blade in your heart. “Did I do something? Did I say something?”
“I didn’t go anywhere, Touya. I’m here. I’m here, I just–” you pause, trying to find the words to explain it all. “I don’t think we can do this anymore.”
“Do what?” He asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. He knows what’s coming.
“Sleeping together. I don’t–I can’t–” You try again, but it’s fucking hard to talk to him. You want to kiss him. You want to fall into his arms. You want him to make you forget.
“Done.” He says. He doesn’t hesitate, and it hurts. “We can stop, we can–I just want you back. I want you with me. We can be just friends again, but please, please don’t leave.”
Tears fill your eyes at his words. He’s finally talking to you, finally saying something real, baring his soul, and you can’t tell him that you’ll stay. You love him so much, but you’re selfish. 
“We can’t be friends either.” You choke, staring at the floor. If you look into his eyes, you’ll break. 
“Why?” He shakes his head, “Talk to me, what’s happening? What changed?”
“Why do you care so much, Touya? I thought I was no one.” The words leave your lips before you can stop them. 
“When did I say that?” He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember and it’s the one thing you’ve been agonizing over for weeks. 
“What is it about Tomura that makes you shut down around me?” You ask him. Realization falls across his face. “Every time you talk to him you…pull away. I don’t know what to do with that.”
“I don’t pull away.” He argues.
“You do.”
“Is that what you’re doing? You’re trying to get back at me or something?”
“I’m trying to fucking–get over you!” 
There’s nothing but silence after your confession. Your eyes fall closed in defeat, admitting the one thing you never wanted him to know. 
“I can’t do casual. I am not casual. I tried to be cool. I was really good at it for a while, but now it just hurts.” You speak, voice shaking as you gain the courage to say everything you need to. “The thing is, I love you. And not how I’ve always loved you. I’m in love with you. So it sucks when, you know, I know you’re not in love with me.”
“Who told you I’m not in love with you?” He asks.
“You’re mean.” You say, glaring at him for the unnecessary question. No one told you. You just know. “It’s obvious.”
“Yeah? Is it?” He asks. “You think I bring anyone to meet my mom? You have half of my wardrobe here. You have a toothbrush and all of your stupid skincare shit at mine. I hold your hand in public. I text you good morning and shit.”
“So that means you’re in love with me?”
“Fuck, I thought it did.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. His roots are grown out, you notice. Have you really been gone that long?
“I don’t understand.” Touya is in love with you. Is that what he’s getting at? 
“I love you.” He shakes his head, remembering your words from earlier. Not how I’ve always loved you. “I’m in love with you. That’s–Tomura knows. He knew it before I did. He says some dumb shit about it every time I talk about you, and it scares me, so I pull away. I didn’t know it felt like this. I’m fucking miserable.”
“When did you know?” You ask.
“Honestly? I think I always have been. I think that’s why I brought up sleeping together. I wanted to be closer to you without all of the commitment. But it was when you came to dinner that time when my dad showed up.” He walks toward you slowly as he speaks. He’s becoming more sure of himself, open. He’s done hiding. “And when we left, you were so fucking angry. You just ranted about him the whole way home, and it clicked. We were at a stop light and you were moving your hands all around and I thought ‘fuck, please don’t fall in love with this girl’, but it was too late and I knew it.”
“I think this is the most you’ve ever said to me.” You say dumbly. Touya just confessed his love to you and this is what you say?
“That’s not true. I never shut up. You know that. You tell me that all the time.”
“I mean–not, like, about music, or books, or someone who came into work. I mean real, raw, ‘fuck, don't fall in love with this girl’ shit.” You explain, a sly grin falling across your lips.
“You’re a dick.” He chuckles, wrapping his fingers around one of your wrists, and dragging you toward him. 
“Yeah, but you’re in love with me.” You shrug, smiling up at him. 
“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He says before he leans down to kiss you. It feels right, familiar. It is like all of the others because there’s always been love. It’s always been there. He’s always been yours. Touya knows you know this. “Please don’t…pull away again.”
“Okay.” You agree, resting your forehead against his. 
“Cause I’m just gonna chase after you.”
“Yeah? Gonna show up at my apartment with beer I don’t like?” You tease, and he rolls his eyes. 
“Fuck you.” He says with absolutely no venom behind it.
“Yeah, maybe you should.” You grin. 
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ramonathinks · 8 months
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EREN, GOJO, GETOU, TOJI, DABI
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uravitypng · 1 year
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dabi masturbates in another room as he hears you moving around in the kitchen and the idea that you might walk in on him turns him on more than he already was. he pictures fucking you so roughly, with you on your hands and knees, your back arching as he hits that sweet spot over and over again, as you can't contain the gasps and noises that come out of you. he imagines the harsh slapping noises that would happen every time your bodies would connect, your ass jiggling with thrusts. he would visualise holding onto your love handles, feeling your soft pudgy skin in his hands.
he starts getting close and he knows he needs to see you, to help him get over the edge and when he does he thinks about how glad he is to have walked over to you. you're wearing one of your long comfy tops, and you look absolutely delightful, he just wants to sink his fingers into you. from what he can see you're not wearing a bra, making your nipples slightly visible and when you move he can see your breasts move freely.
dabi starts getting closer and closer as he looks at you, he knows he's going to cum in a second. he walks up behind you and grabs your waist as he fucks into you, groaning. you gasp in surprise and hold onto his arm. you thought you'd be getting a surprise fuck but you feel him spill inside you, warmth filling you as his dick twitches. you feel him breathing on your neck but as soon as you focus on it and become more aware of him and his presence, he leaves your body, pulling out. "that felt good, didn't wanted to make a mess babe, such a good cumdump for me." he says before walking off while grinning.
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zeke-best · 1 year
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dabi: i don't care about my family
dabi when he thinks about his family:
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apollostears · 1 year
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𝑂𝐻 𝑀𝐼𝐶𝐾𝐸𝑌, 𝑈𝑅 𝑆𝑂 𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑬 #︎!︎
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❤︎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) + 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲. 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟. 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐞*𝐣𝐢, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤!𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐨
❤︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
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❤︎ college!natsuo who excels in all his medical classes and is beloved by all his professors. he runs a study session every mon, wed, and sat for fellow nursing/medical majors
❤︎ college!natsuo who notices you the first day you show up to one of his sessions. it looked like you had just gotten done with classes, a tired look stretched across your face as you searched for him
❤︎ college!natsuo who can’t help the lovesick look in his eyes when you find him and come up to him like he’s the answer to all your problems. like he’s your hero
❤︎ college!natsuo who listens to your complaints so dutifully, you’d of thought he was the one complaining. he swears to tutor you so you can pass your finals. even offers after-hours sessions
❤︎ college!natsuo who isn’t sure how this happened but he isn’t complaining when he finds himself tongue deep in your pussy. the both of you locked away in one of the study rooms in the library commons
❤︎ college!natsuo who laps at your wet cunt like a man thirsty for water. you’ve long forgone being quite as the white-haired male brings you to your second orgasm
❤︎ college!natsuo who groans and damn near cries when he finally enters you. the sounds of your sobs and moans make him feel delirious as he urgently fucks into you
❤︎ college!natsuo who helplessly drops his head in between your breasts when he gets too overstimulated from fucking you. you had already came and was on the brink of your fourth orgasm when natsuo came deep in you. a shuddering cry came from him that had you squeezing his cock as another orgasm tore through you
❤︎ college!natsuo who makes you swear that your pussy was for him only. that he was the only one who could make you feel good, his hips winding slowly as he lazily thrusted into your pussy.
❤︎ college!natsuo who kisses away your tears when you cry that it’s too much. but to natsuo, that’s just nonsense. you were made for him. there’s no such thing as too much
❤︎ college!natsuo congratulating you on passing all your finals by fucking you stupid in his father’s bedroom while he was away. it was the best sex he’d ever had and it was worth the disgusted look on his father’s face when he caught the two of you fucking in his bed. you were too busy cumming to notice
college!natsuo is so hot 🥺
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𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @kennyackermanswhore @chaoticevilbakugo @indiecursor @gabzlovesu @desiray562 @brownmochii @knjkitten @sweeneyblue1 @namjoonswifeyy @nyxeclipse @rubinocore @somerandompipzsxh @dabilovesme @histarean @hannas16 @caribbeanwifey19 @emonaculate @po3ticb3auty @waka-umm @wilsonsbuck @ctrlstar @jealousfuckingcunt @savagemickey03 @dukina @saintblk @sisnot @littlemochi @hoohoohope @ruubric
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carleycore · 11 months
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he loves coming inside, in fact, the only other place he'll come is on your pussy.
it doesn’t matter how you feel, its the only way he knows.
And if he's feeling generous he'll eat both of your cum out of you leaving you squirting and moaning hysterically
he’ll never say he has a breeding kink, but the way he waits for his cock to go limp before pulling out is all you need to know.
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T O J I, Gojo, Ushiwaka, Usui, IWAZUMI, eren, Laxus, gajeel (bro has kids alr) Erwin, shinichiro, Geto, YAMI YAMI YAMI, Meliodas, KURAPIKA, Todoroki, ace, shinsou, Terushima, (hear me out but kaido…)
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kleftiko · 1 year
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❦ PRO HEROES/VILLAINS FAVOURITE POSITIONS
cw: mature, gn!reader
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—aizawa
you on top. 100%. no debate. not only because he’s always tired, but because he wants to look up to you like the deity you are. he wants you to take control, use him to make you feel good. he does not think he deserves you, but he would do anything to keep you happy and satisfied. that’s his favourite position, but if you want anything else, he moves in a snap.
—hawks
missionary. now, this position is incredible when you’re in love, for hook ups its meh. despite his flirty attitude, he absolutely adores you. he wants to hold you close, admire your pleasure stricken face, and kiss you all over. he wants you all to himself, all day, every day. and when your fingers trail up his back, dragging across his shoulder blades and wings meet, it has him shaking.
—dabi
doggy style. man has trust issues, commitment issues, intimacy issues, you name it, he has it. he can’t look at your face, the haze in your eyes from pleasure and love are too much for him. give him time, be patient, and he will come around. but there’s nothing like the jiggle of your ass as he thrusts into you that will always hold the title of his favourite thing.
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rishiguro · 1 year
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“YOU’RE BLEEDING” - DABI
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a/n: i love him so much it hurts
warnings: major character death. dabi‘s real identity. blood. mention of fire. desperate!dabi. implied murder. injury gets cauterized. 2k of angst.
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“if you close your eyes, i’ll fucking burn you to a crisp” dabi‘s voice was stern as he talked, eyebrows furrowed with his teeth clenched. “you hear me?”
you blinked multiple times, trying to get your eyes to focus on the blurry person in front of you. why was it so bright? you tried lifting a hand up, shielding your face from the sun, however your arm felt too heavy for you to move it even an inch.
“huh?”
with heavy eyelids you decided to give it up, wanting nothing more than to succumb to your body‘s cries for sleep. it wouldn’t hurt, right? just a couple of minutes maybe?
you hummed, content with your decision, letting your eyelids drop.
“you’re going to stay awake and look at me with these dumb eyes and you’re going to listen to what i say” dabi‘s harsh voice made you rip your eyes open again, vision slowly clearing and allowing you to look at his face. “understood?”
you studied his face slowly but carefully. it felt like the first time you had seen him and you took your time to examine him.
your eyes wandered upwards from his chin, however halted the moment you looked at his eyes and the purple scars underlining them.
dabi‘s scars weren‘t red, were they?
“dabi,“ you tried, your voice weak but filled with concern. you had to tell him. what if something bad had happened to him?
“shut the fuck up,“ dabi insisted harshly, his jaw still clenched to the point where his words were barely comprehensible, “you can’t talk right now” the villain knew he had to get you out of here somehow, this area wasn’t safe for you anymore. you couldn’t move, you couldn’t defend yourself.
he was pretty.
“dabi”
didn’t you hear what he had just said? he grew impatient, couldn’t you just listen to him for once? it took everything in him to not yell as he looked around, assessing the situation the both of you were in. the alley was dark, only a dumpster shielding the two of you from the street if it wasn’t for the blue flames burning behind it. a charred heap lazily kicked away, ashes dirtying the cold floor even further. at least he couldn’t hurt you any further. “i said shut up”
cursing loudly, he took off his jacket, grabbing the hem of his white shirt and roughly pulling at it. the tearing of the fabric was louder than you could bear, ears starting to ring in pain.
“touya,“ you whispered impatiently, mentally praying for him to just listen.
“be fucking-“
“you’re bleeding,“ you interrupted him, not paying any attention to the way his head snapped back at you and how he was fully ready to cuss you out.
“the hell have i just-“
“why are you bleeding?” you asked, concern filling your voice. “are you hurt?”
whatever it was that dabi believed you would‘ve said to him, it certainly wasn’t this.
him? hurt? were you serious?
dabi couldn’t help but huff at your questions, rolling his eyes. “you’re one to fucking talk”
“now just—“ he stopped briefly, assessing the state you were in. he had to act quick, do something. “just lay still and don’t fucking talk”
you however didn’t pay any attention to what he was saying, instead carefully lifting your hand to his face, thumb rubbing over the scarred skin.
blood.
“i’m gonna get you out of here,“ dabi promised. he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. you grew weaker by the minute and he for sure wasn’t skilled enough to save you right then and there. but he had to do something. anything.
“i’m tired,” you whispered, your heavy eyelids close to shutting again.
“no you’re not,” dabi replied, skillfully dismissing you.
“don’t you dare to close your eyes,“ he continued to threaten you, a warm hand grabbing your face and turning you towards him again, “keep looking at me. you hear me? you’re not going to go now”
you didn’t like how his voice sounded, so rough and hoarse, almost like he couldn’t speak properly. it was a rare sigh for you to see, the villain was hunched over you, his breathing flat and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. you couldn’t see what he was doing and you didn’t have the strength to lift your head, even if you wanted to. but something about him was so raw, so vulnerable.
he was hurt, dabi was bleeding, his blood still adorning the tip of your fingers, and yet he kept talking to you, letting you hear him and telling you to just listen to him, do as he told you to. that’s the least you could do for him, wasn’t it?
you groaned, opening your eyes again, even though everything in yourself protested against it. you were so tired. “that’s it, keep looking right at me, you’re doing so good for me”
“you’re pretty” dabi froze, his eyebrows furrowing, before shaking his head, dismissing you again.
him and pretty?
“you’re seeing things,” he muttered, throwing his head around and searching the area. the blue flames burning multiple feet away, shielding the two of you from the streets slowly started to dwindle. dabi could hear the commotion that was going on on the other side of it, the bright fire attracting the attention of civilians. it wouldn’t be much longer till a hero would come around.
he had to get you out of here, move you to a safer location. dabi cursed as soon he looked back at you. you were pale, too pale, and your breathing was barely audible. he didn’t even know if you were breathing properly. “i’m gonna pick you up now. it’s gonna hurt,” he warned, trying to shove his arms underneath you to support your body and carry you away.
“don’t,” you pleaded, looking at the villain with a scared look on your face. he couldn’t do that now, he shouldn’t. he was hurt, he was bleeding. you had to take care of him, you had to make sure he was safe, but you were too weak to get up. why were you so weak?
dabi’s jaw clenched, shaking his head at your protests. why couldn’t you just listen to him for once in your life? “this is really not the time for you to pick a fucking argument with me, so shut up and let me get you out of here”
weakly you shook you head, fully aware that you weren‘t strong enough to stop him in his doing anyways. “no, you’re bleeding,” you insisted. why wasn’t he listening to you?
why were you so stubborn? digging his fingernails into his palm, dabi fed into the flames shielding you from the public before he turned back to you. his mind was racing as he desperately tried to come up with a solution, a way out of any kind. “i fucking know, but so are you so please just—“
why was he so adamant to get you to agree to him? why couldn’t he just move? why couldn’t he just do as he wanted?
“you shouldn’t be bleeding,” you stated.
you shouldn’t be bleeding either, dabi thought, and yet here you were.
“for fucks sake, just please shut up,” dabi grew more and more agitated by the second, feeling the anger rise in him, skin slowly heating up. why was it so hard for you to listen, just for once? dabi cringed as he looked down at your torso, your shirt soaked in blood that by now has started to spill on the ground underneath you, your face drained of all color. dabi could hear how hard it was for you to talk, how your voice was nothing more than a pained whisper, a plea for him to listen to you. “stop talking, you’re only making it worse,” he chided, now not caring anymore about the potential pain he might cause you. he cursed, ripping a hole in your top, only to immediately shut his eyes in defeat as he assessed the damage.
this was bad. there was no way he could get you away in time.
turning your head away from him in shame, you muttered a small apology. you always managed to make things worse somehow.
truth to be told, dabi didn’t pay a lot of attention to what you said. instead he carelessly pulled on his own white shirt again, to the point where he ripped the hem of it. fisting the fabric he pressed it against your open flesh, watching as it turned crimson way too fast. “you should be. shit, it won’t stop”
you couldn’t help but smile weakly at his snarky comment. “you’re an asshole”
“doing my best, doll,” the villain replied, his lips curved upward too. however his smile fell immediately as he tossed the bloody fabric away.
dabi pulled at his hair in frustration. this wasn’t working, he wasn’t helping. he couldn’t just helplessly watch as your life force drained away, flowing right out of your body.
his stomach turned at the thought of his head, the only way he could try to save you right now— but he hated it. he didn’t want to do it, he didn’t want to hurt you even more. but what more could he do? if he cauterized the wound maybe then he could get you away, to safety, maybe then someone could patch you up, somehow.
maybe you could be kept alive then.
dabi swallowed, closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath. “i need to stop the bleeding, this is gonna be very hot but i need you to take it“
he didn’t wait for your reply till he pressed his palm against your wound, heating it up as soon as he came in contact with it. dabi turned his head away in shame as you cried out in pain. the smell of burned flesh filled the villain‘s nostrils, making his stomach turn in disgust.
when he turned back to you, after moments that felt like an eternity, he was horrified as he saw you with your eyes closed, your chest barely moving. were you even breathing anymore? “keep your eyes open,” he commanded sternly, hand against your blood-stained cheek.
but you barely moved. only now did he notice how cold your skin felt against his hot hands. eyes wide in terror, he grabbed your shoulders, slightly shaking your body. “fuck, stay with me”
“please, don’t do this to me,” dabi pleaded, pulling your form into his lap.
“look at me,” he continued, shoving a hand underneath your knees and lifting your body off the ground. he pulled you close to him, hoping that his own warmth might heat your body up a little.
“listen to me”
dabi ran faster than he ever has, pressing you against his chest. he had to run faster, be quicker, get you away from here.
“stay with me,” he pleaded, trying to catch his breath.
you however didn’t seem to listen, to even hear him and his cries. no, you didn’t move in his arms. you almost looked like you were sleeping peacefully.
too peaceful for his liking.
dabi clenched his teeth, muttering curses under his breath. “are you deaf, you’re gonna keep your pretty eyes open and you’re gonna stay right here with me,” he commanded coldly, trying to mask just how desperate he was.
you could barely hear what the villain had just said. it took you everything to open your eyes again, to look at him. was he always this blurry? “i don’t feel so good, touya”
“i know, fuck, i know,” he answered, turning around to see if someone had been following him. hiding between some dumpsters in the outskirts of the city, he carefully placed you down again, grabbing your hands to get your attention. “but you’re not gonna leave me now, forget it”
dabi sat down in front of you, grabbing your shoulders as he noticed you slumping. “i’m not letting you,” he insisted, pulling you into a tight embrace. you couldn’t leave him, you couldn’t just go and leave him behind. he needed you. he wanted you by his side, he had to have you by his side. “you’re not fucking leaving me”
you meant so much to him that it hurt, and now you were practically at death‘s door, and dabi couldn’t help but feel like you wanted to leave him. if you didn’t, why weren’t you fighting harder? why weren’t you staying awake? why couldn’t you hold on for him just a while longer?
you only managed to sigh in his hold, your eyes now too heavy to keep open. it wouldn’t hurt to shut them, right? you were so tired, so, so tired.
dabi stayed like that, holding you close to him, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. you were going to be okay, you had to be. you couldn’t leave him. “hey, open your eyes”
so why didn’t you respond? why were you so still? “i said open your eyes”
why were you so cold? why were you so pale? “fuck, open them”
why didn’t you move?
“doll, please,” the villain begged, pushing you away from him to take a look at you. you‘re eyes were shut, your mouth slightly opened, almost like you were just about to say something. you were, weren’t you? “just look at me, you can do that, can’t you?”
but why didn’t you do anything? why were you so still? you were supposed to open your eyes, to reassure him, to tell him you were here with him, that you listened, that you wouldn’t leave him. that you‘d never leave him.
“open your fucking eyes!“ he demanded now, violently shaking your still form. a loud, pained cry burned his throat as he threw his head back.
“you said you wouldn’t leave me!” he cried, yelling at you accusingly, like he was expecting you to answer, to justify yourself. how could you just leave him behind like that, how could you just go like you didn’t care how he felt about it. “i told you, you can’t!”
dabi pressed you against his chest again, curling your body in his hold, rocking the both of you back and forth. “i need you, please”
as he looked down at your face, he noticed small drops of crimson falling onto your skin.
dabi was bleeding.
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reblogs are appreciated
5K notes · View notes
bea-does-stuff · 1 year
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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 (𝐦𝐡𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)
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𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧
𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 294
𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘦
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₊˚✩彡 𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐈
He looks at you with an expression that can best be described as confused and judgemental “What…the fuck was that?” he tilted his head “i booped you!” you smiled widely, dabi scoffed in response, but he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath
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₊˚✩彡 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐊𝐒
He stares at you for a few seconds, almost confirming what just happened “what was that for?” he chuckled “I felt like booping you” your response makes a smug grin appear on his face “Well, i should get my revenge then~”
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₊˚✩彡 𝐃𝐄𝐊𝐔
His eyes widened in shock “W-what was that?” his embarrassment makes you giggle “I booped you silly~” his face only becomes more red at your response, but he does find the whole situation adorable 
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₊˚✩彡 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐔
He’s very confused on why you poked his nose like that, but the cute way you go “boop!” when your finger touches his nose makes his cheeks heat up for some reason. He doesn’t question your action, he just rolls his eyes with a smile and continues what he was doing
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₊˚✩彡 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎𝐔
“The fuck was that?” he spits out, you only giggle before attempting to boop him again, however, this time he manages to grab your arm “Quit it” he doesn’t let go despite your attempts to escape “Your no fun” you pout, he rolls his eyes “whatever”. Though in reality, he tries his very best to hide the smile on his face
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₊˚✩彡 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐈
He tilts his head “Hm? What was that” you chuckle “A boop” he narrows his eyes, looking even more confused than before, good job, now you have to explain what boops are and why people do them, cause he won’t let you go unless you explain to him this mysterious yet cute action 
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5K notes · View notes
shibaraki · 1 year
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TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO
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synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.
tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage
wc: 14K+
a/n: I wrote a little bonus sequel for this au about their first date which you can read here !! [+4K]
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Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.
You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.
Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?
It feels awfully lonely.
Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.
Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.
“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.
“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.
“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.
“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.
Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.
“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”
You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.
“It wouldn’t be a problem”.
Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.
But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.
After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.
You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.
Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.
Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.
Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.
But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.
Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.
You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.
There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.
The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.
When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.
His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.
As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.
Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”
Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.
Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.
“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.
“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.
You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.
Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.
The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.
“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.
“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.
“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.
Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”
“The day after, then”.
“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.
You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.
You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”
Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”
“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”
He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.
The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.
You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.
“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.
“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.
The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.
“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”
“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.
You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.
The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.
“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.
“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.
“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.
“But I don’t want you to”.
You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.
Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.
“Way to rub it in”.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.
The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”
“Thirty”.
You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”
“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.
“…Fine”.
Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.
The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.
It made sleeping difficult.
You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.
Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.
The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.
Things started to change.
A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.
You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.
Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.
You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.
shouto : 1 minute ago
There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.
You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob. 
Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it. 
shouto : just now 
ヾ(=^・ェ・^)
Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline. 
you : delivered 
aren’t u supposed to be on patrol? 
The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever. 
shouto : just now
Divine intervention. We should get a cat. 
The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent. 
An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay. 
When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”. 
“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”
“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”. 
Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.
Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.  
shouto : 4 minutes ago
An older cat would be nice. 
shouto : just now
Should we order tonight? 
My treat. 
Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out. 
you : delivered 
it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง
The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be. 
“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change. 
you : read 
be safe ok? I’ll see you at home. 
When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours. 
Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense. 
You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility. 
Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch. 
Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend. 
Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this. 
Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon. 
You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds. 
Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers. 
You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers. 
Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings. 
When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote. 
You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat. 
Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area. 
You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body. 
There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple. 
“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second. 
The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table. 
That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece. 
Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come. 
The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click. 
You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep. 
That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out. 
Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse. 
After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way. 
Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour. 
The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway. 
Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?” 
You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white. 
“Did something happen?” 
The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief. 
He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”. 
“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”
The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”. 
He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide. 
You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words. 
“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”. 
“You blame yourself”. 
Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat. 
“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”. 
You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”. 
His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks. 
“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.
Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight. 
“You know what I think?” 
He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs. 
“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”. 
The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze. 
“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?” 
“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place. 
“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down. 
“What is it?” 
“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”. 
Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font. 
“Mug cake?” he repeats. 
“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!” 
“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours. 
“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?” 
Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together. 
Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”. 
You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle. 
“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand. 
“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.
He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”. 
You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?” 
Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing. 
“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”. 
You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle. 
Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in. 
You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?” 
“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”. 
“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”. 
“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”. 
The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better. 
“Did you hear me?”
You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”
“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”
“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”. 
Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling. 
“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”. 
“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?” 
The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout. 
A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped. 
“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”
“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”. 
You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote. 
“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?” 
“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.  
“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”. 
Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”. 
In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips. 
You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them. 
Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy. 
Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs. 
After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks. 
“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”. 
You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”. 
“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”. 
Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear. 
“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”. 
“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”. 
“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”. 
“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?” 
He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”. 
You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him. 
“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”. 
You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”. 
“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind. 
Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”. 
“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”. 
Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?” 
“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.
A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?” 
You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”. 
His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks. 
You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say. 
Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise. 
The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe. 
Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear. 
Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.  
“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”
You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. 
Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 
“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy. 
Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”. 
“Hm?”
“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”
Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away. 
When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow. 
Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie. 
“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”. 
The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray. 
“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?” 
It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”. 
“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness. 
He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”. 
“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at. 
Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur. 
Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite. 
“Are you not leaving for work?”
Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects. 
Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”. 
Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it. 
“There’s a secret ingredient”. 
You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”. 
Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks.  The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”. 
Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him. 
Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”. 
Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”
You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.  
Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself. 
“I’ll text you, then”. 
The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready. 
Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.  
You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.
The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere. 
People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in. 
Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing. 
You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses. 
Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music. 
“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”. 
Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright. 
“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”
You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view. 
You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless. 
“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room. 
Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over. 
The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation. 
You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention. 
Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said  he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency. 
“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand. 
“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”. 
You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”. 
The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs. 
“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”
“Fuck do I look like to you?”
“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human. 
Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.
“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?” 
The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you. 
“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave. 
“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often. 
You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window. 
He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins. 
Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”
“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?” 
He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”. 
You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls. 
Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”. 
“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.
The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck. 
“Leech”. 
“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”. 
“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!” 
Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically. 
Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”
“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”. 
You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter. 
“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction. 
“Everything alright?” 
Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”. 
For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?” 
“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up. 
Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.
“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”. 
“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 
“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”. 
“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”. 
“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”. 
Shouto blanched. “I can help—”
“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”. 
The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had. 
“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest. 
Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin. 
You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in. 
Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last. 
“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”. 
Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth. 
Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?” 
Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”. 
Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement. 
“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans. 
“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug. 
“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”. 
“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air. 
“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it. 
Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”. 
“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”. 
“Oi!” 
“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass. 
The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers. 
You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing. 
Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.
Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”. 
Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown. 
Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp. 
Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”. 
“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”. 
He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”. 
Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”. 
“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”. 
“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper. 
“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”
Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness. 
Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water. 
“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip. 
Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?” 
He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”. 
Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips. 
Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”. 
“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!” 
The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is. 
You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving. 
“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?” 
A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches. 
He seems so… guilty. 
“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”. 
Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears. 
“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?” 
You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur. 
He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?” 
What you hear is: will you be patient with me? 
“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”
Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”. 
That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”. 
You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.  
“He did?” 
“Yes,” he says. 
“So where is it?” 
Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”. 
You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this. 
“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”. 
The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”. 
Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones. 
From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty. 
Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture. 
The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest. 
You lie in bed waiting for him to knock. 
He doesn’t. 
Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow. 
There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all. 
Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing. 
Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that— 
You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled. 
Holy shit. Shouto was jealous. 
A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation. 
Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto. 
“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed. 
You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door. 
Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this. 
The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen. 
Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other. 
“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver. 
You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”. 
The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”. 
Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink. 
“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.
The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be. 
Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”
“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”
“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?” 
Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder. 
What had you been so afraid of? 
You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo. 
While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in. 
It felt like home. 
You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”
“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”. 
You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”. 
“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”. 
You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”. 
Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?” 
“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”. 
It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it. 
You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask,  “…Why?” 
A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”. 
You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take. 
Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”. 
“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”. 
“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.  
Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in. 
“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm. 
Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth. 
“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes. 
“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”. 
Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity. 
Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead. 
“Again,” he mumbles. 
The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own. 
“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold. 
“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?” 
He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do. 
At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.
“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”. 
Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle. 
“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?” 
Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing. 
“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.  
It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home. 
You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders. 
“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?” 
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xphntmhvx · 1 year
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‧₊˚ JUST THE TIP?
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࿓ ‧₊˚ ୨ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | mature nsfw content ahead. implied female reader, nothin’ but desperate, needy sex, work place sex (but it’s completely private), groggy morning sex, language warning, porn with barely any plot. wc. 1.2k 
༄ ‧₊˚ synopsis. the days have gotten longer and his touch has become more of a fantasy than anything else. but he’s going to make it up to you in the few moments he has to devote his everything to you.  ࿓‧₊˚ starring. pro hero!bakugo katsuki, pro hero!izuku midoriya, pro hero!shoto todoroki.
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Even as an adult, BAKUGO KATSUKI took pride in maintaining the best of his healthy habits, one such being his ability to come home and fall asleep no later than 10pm every day. Even on his worst days he could always be found in your arms, dead to the world with at least a few hours of sleep before the next day started. However, last night was one of those rare occasions where he'd let himself deviate from the norm. 
Between arriving back at home in the early hours of the morning and having to wake up at before dawn, the Bakugo Katsuki was running on a mere three hours of sleep. But he promised he’d make time for you, and he was forever a man of his promises.
You wake to the feeling of his lips on your neck, leaving soft, sloppy kisses on your warm skin as his hands push up your t-shirt. Rough hands paw at your sides and, even under the covers, Bakugo’s hands sear into the plumpness of your inner thighs. You barely have time to register the roughness of the pads of his fingers along your navel before they press into the wetness that soaked through your panties. 
“Mornin’, princess,” he coos, sleepiness deepening his voice as he slips between your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care a’ ya,” he sighs. “It’ll just be the tip, ’kay? Promise.”
His thick tip drags along the slick that pools from between your pretty thighs, pre mixing with saliva as he spits into his hand before wrapping it around his length. Broken pants and groans of your name fade into the blushing city lights that stream into your room between the blinds as he sinks into your warmth.
“’m so hard for ya, sweets,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut as his hand moves along his still-hardening length. “Fuck, ya feel so good, so tight for me, baby,” his mouth falls open as he trails off, mind now somewhere else entirely. 
It’s hard for him to remember that this isn’t supposed to be happening, that he doesn’t have enough time to properly make you turn weak underneath him before he heads off to work. But that doesn't matter now. He keeps telling himself, keeps reminding himself that he just needs a little bit longer, just a tiny bit more. But before long, he’s sinking into you, greedily indulging in the angelic sounds you make as he bottoms out inside you. Well, there’s no possible way he could keep himself from rutting into you now, the thought of fucking you full devouring him whole as the existence of time itself slips away from him. Work be damned, this was far more important. Besides, he'll have to make up for breaking his promise, yeah?
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Being the number one hero didn’t leave much time for self-indulgence, IZUKU MIDORIYA knew that all too well. But that didn’t keep him from spending every waking moment thinking about you. Even when his mind is plagued by the thoughts of battle and paperwork and the duties of a hero, he couldn’t help the way you permanently resided in the recesses of his thoughts. 
Especially now as dinner simmered on the stove, he couldn’t help but stare at the way his shirt swallowed your figure, thoughts of how perfectly your heavenly curves fit against him flooding his mind.
“Just the tip, I’ll be quick. Promise. Dinner'll be fine,” he purrs, his words rumbling in his chest as he his chest presses into your back, his large hands caressing your hips as you stir the ramen boiling on the stove. 
You only hum in response, having missed him far too much to let this opportunity slip away. 
“Love you, love you so, so much,” he murmurs, hot breath tickling your neck as his hands move along your sides. “Need this, missed you, baby.”
“Izu,” you purr, rocking your hips into his as your tongue drags along your lips, wetting them when you feel him press into your lower back. How could you possibly say no when Izuku was begging for you so nicely?
He wastes no time in ridding you of your shorts, smirking to himself at how easily you give him access to you. His arms trap you against the counter, his large frame enveloping you in a familiar sense of warmth and security as traces of birch and sandalwood fill your senses.
He doesn't even give you time to register his movements, hands ghosting along your hips as he pushes you further against the counter. A choked groan rumbles through his chest as he pushes himself in, silencing you with a heated kiss before his lips fall to your ear.
"So good, baby. Jus'... a li'l bit... more," he mutters, the roll of his hips against yours being the only thing needed to convince you both to let dinner go cold, forgotten on the stove.
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SHOTO TODOROKI knew all too well that work had been keeping him from you. Meetings and missions simply kept piling up, filling his schedule to the brim and working him to the bone. But at least he had enough energy for this. At least he was able to make enough time for you. 
His fingers roam along the plush of your thighs before digging into the meat of your hips. A deep, honey-coated growl gets stuck in his throat as he ruts his hips into yours. 
“’s so wet, pretty thing. All f’ me,” he groans, fatigue making his ministrations sloppy as his fingers dip into your wetness.
He pulls your panties to the side, his flushed, pink tip running along your slit in a way that pulls needy moans from both of you. Your knees weaken, even from the little bit of friction he’s given you so far, coaxing him to press your hips further into the cool wooden edge of his desk to keep you from collapsing.
“Please, Sho... hate when you tease,” the words slur together as they leave your kiss-bruised lips, and you already feel your mind beginning to slip away. 
The weight of his tip feels euphoric as he slowly, gently eases himself in. He’s barely even inside but the stretch from his tip alone has you seeing stars. Damn you missed this. His dual-colored eyes stay fixed on where you both become one, and he’s completely lost in the way your gummy walls flutter round him. 
“Jus’ the tip, jus’ the tip, jus’ the... tip,” the words tumble from his lips as if they’re the only thing keeping him from losing his sanity, and they might as well be by the way tears begin to line your lashes as a pout graces your lips. 
He only had a few more minutes. Just a couple more moments before he had to be back out on the job, in front of the dozens of people that awaited his command. That’s why he had promised you, swore that it would only be just the tip. But that didn’t matter. You were both already too far gone to register him sinking deeper and deeper into you, inch by inch with every syllable that fell from his lips. You just felt too good wrapped around him like this, so tight, so warm. What did you expect? Weeks with barely any physical contact between the two of you would most definitely take more than just the tip to erase, but this was a sweet, sweet start.
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