odilesgrimoire

[odilesgrimoire]

🔞forbidden desire/inappropriate thoughts

Nanami Kento was a man of routine.

Up at 6:00 a.m. sharp. Coffee brewed. Shirt pressed. Tie folded just right. His subway ride took twenty-seven minutes, and he liked that. Predictability. Control.

He didn’t hate his job. He didn’t love it either. It kept things structured. Safe.

You were part of that safety.

You were quiet, smart, efficient. You didn’t overshare. You kept to your tasks, occasionally joked with the team, but never crossed lines. Nanami appreciated that.

He thought that was the extent of it.

Until Gojo texted him late one Friday:

"Come drink, boring man. One beer won't kill you (yet). 😘"

Nanami went, reluctantly.

The bar was loud. Crowded. Everything he disliked. He was already planning his exit when he saw you.

─────

At first, he didn’t recognize you.

You were on the dance floor, laughing, moving. Glowing. Your silk slip dress clung to your body like it had memorized it.

Backless. Short. Effortless.

You rolled your hips like the beat lived under your skin.

You were alive in a way he’d never seen.

You looked nothing like the person in his mental filing cabinet.

Not the efficient assistant. Not the desk-neighbor.

Not this.

His drink went untouched. His pulse ticked too loud. He tried to look away. He failed.

And then you saw him.

Just a glance. Just a smile.

Not flirty—just warm. Like you were surprised to see him too.

But something in Nanami’s chest caved in.

He left before midnight. Mumbled something about an early morning.

Truth was, he had to leave before he did something irrational.

─────

On Monday, you walked into the office like nothing happened.

Hair loosely tied. Soft strands framing your face. Your usual blouse—though somehow, it looked tighter now. Or maybe it had always fit like that. Maybe he was just noticing now.

And he hated himself for noticing.

“Morning, Nanami,” you said, placing a folder on his desk.

He looked up too quickly. His eyes caught on the faint pull of a button. The soft line of your chest beneath the fabric. Something floral and sweet hung faintly in the air—your perfume.

He swallowed.

“Good morning,” he replied, too stiff.

His pen stilled in his hand.

You smiled, oblivious. “I highlighted the messy parts. Figured you’d like brutal honesty.”

He didn’t speak again until you walked away.

He didn’t exhale until the door shut behind you.

─────

That night, he made a mistake.

He hadn’t meant to.

He was just thinking about how close you leaned over his desk.

About your perfume.

About how the dress at the bar looked like it could be pulled off with one lazy tug.

His hand moved before his thoughts caught up.

And when it was over—when silence rushed in and the heat faded into guilt—he stared at the ceiling with clenched teeth.

The shame sat heavy in his gut.

─────

He couldn’t even look you in the eye on Tuesday.

₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[odilesgrimoire]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ nanami accidentally finds your small, anxious-but-sincere vlogs and quietly falls for you through the screen. and when you meet, he becomes a gentle, faceless presence behind the camera—helping you grow, and loving you all the while.

tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this was so fun to write

nanami doesn’t really use youtube. it’s too loud, too cluttered, too full of people trying too hard. he’s more of a quiet reader or podcast listener—he likes his content slow and thoughtful. but sometimes, during quiet lunch breaks or sleepless nights, he finds himself scrolling, searching for something simple to fill the silence.

the first time he sees your face, he skips the video. it’s nothing personal. the thumbnail just seems… ordinary. a soft smile, a blurry background of what looks like a street food stall, and a simple title: “trying something new today (๑•́‿•̀๑)”. he doesn’t think much of it.

but youtube, in all its persistence, keeps putting you in his recommendations.

every few days, your face reappears. new title. new blurry background. another small smile. there’s something oddly comforting about it, even if he hasn’t clicked yet. eventually, curiosity wins. one night, half-asleep and curled up on his couch, he taps on a thumbnail without thinking.

the video is quiet. not silent, but there’s no obnoxious background music or jump cuts. just you. talking a little nervously to the camera, explaining how you’ve never tried this kind of food before, how it makes you anxious to eat alone in public but you’re doing it anyway, for yourself. you pause a lot. laugh at yourself. your editing is minimal—sometimes you just leave long clips in where you sit there silently, debating the next bite.

and nanami… stays.

he doesn’t mean to. he thinks he’ll just let the video play in the background while he dozes off. but he finds himself watching. then clicking on another one. and another. you talk to the camera like it’s a friend. you say things like “i know no one’s really watching this, but…” and “this was scary for me, but i’m proud of myself anyway.”

there’s no performance. no show. just you, trying. trying to live a little braver. trying to make the world a little softer for yourself. and even though your videos have only a few thousand views at most, and a comment section with maybe ten or twenty kind words, nanami can tell you read every single one. you reply with gratitude and sincerity. you sign your replies with hearts and “thank you for watching!!” even when someone just says “nice vid :)”.

he doesn’t comment for a long time. he watches quietly, always late at night, a silent companion to your small adventures. his favorite video becomes one where you try to bike through a park trail you’ve never been on before. the camera shakes the entire time, the sky is gray, and you end up getting rained on halfway through. soaked and breathless, you laugh and say, “this was a disaster. but i don’t regret it.” and something about that sticks in his chest.

he comments on a video one day. it’s short, awkwardly formal:

“i admire your courage to keep stepping outside your comfort zone. thank you for sharing.”

a few hours later, you reply.

“thank you so much!!! i get really nervous about posting sometimes so this means a lot ;; i’m trying my best!! ♡”

nanami reads that reply more times than he’d like to admit.

—

he doesn’t think he’ll ever meet you. you feel like a little glowing orb in his private world. something precious that lives on his phone, just a click away, not real, not tangible.

but then, he’s at a weekend market. the kind of place you’d probably vlog, actually. he’s just there to buy fresh bread, enjoy the quiet, maybe grab a coffee. he’s walking past a stand selling handmade keychains when he hears a familiar voice.

soft. a little unsure. asking for the price of something.

he turns.

and you’re there.

you look just like your videos—maybe a little shorter, bundled in a cardigan despite the warmth, your bag too big for your frame, holding a small camera that’s not even recording. your hair’s a little messy. your eyes bright, darting around nervously. you’re alone.

and suddenly, nanami is nervous in a way he hasn’t been in years.

he debates not saying anything. he could let this pass. keep you as a digital secret. but then you glance in his direction, and smile—just polite, a brief flicker of recognition for another passerby—and nanami finds himself stepping forward before his brain catches up.

“…excuse me,” he says, and your eyes widen a little.

“yes?” you ask, voice soft.

“i’ve… watched your videos,” he says, and you freeze for a second. “they mean a lot to me.”

you blink. your mouth opens a little in surprise, then closes. and then you smile.

“really?” you say, a little breathless. “you… you actually watch them?”

“yes,” he says simply. “i think you’re brave.”

your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes darting away. “oh my god,” you mumble. “that’s—thank you. that’s so nice. i didn’t think anyone recognized me. my channel’s tiny.”

“doesn’t change the impact,” he says, and it’s honest. the way he always is.

you talk for a while after that. awkwardly at first—your nerves, his reserved nature—but slowly, something soft and lovely builds in the air between you. you laugh a lot, mostly just nervous. he listens a lot, mostly because that’s just the way he is. he tells you his name is kento. you tell him you were scared to even leave the house today, but you’re glad you did. he smiles.

before you part ways, you ask, very shyly, if he’d be okay with you filming just a little. not his face, of course—just his voice, his presence. he agrees.

that night, a new video goes up.

“a tiny adventure at the weekend market ✿ i made a new friend today…”

nanami watches it from his bed, and when his offscreen voice appears—gentle, amused, offering to carry your bag for you—his heart does something strange in his chest.

—

the first time nanami appears in a vlog, it’s his hand passing you a coffee.

you call him “a friend i made recently,” and giggle when he corrects your pronunciation of a pastry. he’s never shown — not fully. a shoulder here. the back of his head. your viewers are very curious. you just smile, almost bashful, and say, “he’s camera-shy, but he’s very sweet.”

you start mentioning him more in your vlogs. he’s still off-screen, but you’ll glance his way and smile. say something like “he helped me set this up,” or “he picked this place,” or just “he’s here with me.”

you don’t have to say his name. he stays a faceless figure in your videos. your viewers start to notice something more.

you never confirm anything. you just smile, cheeks pink, and say, “he’s really sweet. i’m lucky.”

nanami doesn’t need the spotlight. he’s happy to carry your bag, offer a steady hand when you’re nervous, and hold the camera when you want to capture something new. he’s happy to be the one encouraging you behind the scenes, whispering that you’re doing great when you doubt yourself.

you film together more and more. he goes with you to bookstores, little food stalls, quiet museums. he carries your tripod. holds your coat. gives you gentle encouragement when you freeze up in public and smile too hard when it’s over.

he falls in love with you quietly. over time. he doesn’t say it at first. he lets it bloom through little gestures — buying the tea you liked, learning how to edit videos just to help you with cuts, leaving voice notes when you’re too anxious to leave the house. he listens. he supports. he stays.

and he’s happiest when, in a quiet clip near the end of a video, you look off-camera and say, “i think i’m a little less scared of the world lately.”

he squeezes your hand off-screen. you smile at the touch.

and your viewers never hear the softest part—how, when the camera stops recording, you lean into his side and whisper, “thank you for finding me.”

nanami, who never believed in fate or chance or algorithms, just kisses your cheek and replies, “thank you for being found.”

[odilesgrimoire]

I Can’t Sleep Unless You’re Here

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Tags: fluff, dramatic boyfriend behavior, clingy Gojo, soft cuddles, established relationship, long-distance (but only for one night)

Summary: Gojo Satoru has survived cursed spirits, assassins, and political meetings—but Gojo Satoru has known suffering.

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

He has faced cursed spirits the size of buildings. Watched friends die. Carried the weight of the strongest on his shoulders since he was fifteen.

But nothing could have prepared him for the bone-deep agony of spending a night without you.

9 hours and 36 minutes. That’s how long it’s been since he left for Kyoto.

His hotel room is too quiet. Too sterile. The sheets smell like laundry detergent instead of you. The thermostat is set to the perfect temperature, and yet he’s freezing. Inside.

He lay spread-eagled on the bed, silk robe, damp hair, sunglasses on. The shower hadn’t helped

The group chat with Nanami and Shoko is left on read. He’s already called you twice. You said you were going to sleep. You sounded tired. You sounded adorable.

He replays your voice in his head like a junkie going through withdrawal.

“I miss your dumb face.”

He clutches his chest.

“You better be resting and not seducing the entire Kyoto branch.”

He lets out a soft whimper.

“Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

He rolled over and screamed into the pillow

12 hours in. He can’t do this.

He sends you a photo of himself dramatically laying across the bed, captioned:

“Empty. Like my heart.”

No response.

He texts again:

“If I die tonight, know that I loved you with all the passion of a thousand suns and the recklessness of a man who’s seen your thighs in shorts.”

Still nothing.

He leaves a voice message.

“Hey… it’s me. Again.”

“I just… I tried. I really did. I fluffed the pillow. I cuddled the hotel robe. I even sprayed your perfume on a towel and slept beside it… like some lovesick stalker. Nothing worked.”

“It’s not the bed. It’s not the blanket. It’s you.”

“I can’t sleep unless you’re here. And that’s not even the worst part.”

“The worst part is that I did sleep. For five minutes. And I dreamed you were holding someone else’s hand. And when I woke up, I cried. Real tears. I saw a bellboy. He looked concerned.”

“I think I’m unraveling. Come back. Or let me come home. I swear I’ll behave. I’ll even stop stealing your chocolate… Even the fancy ones you hide behind the cereal box.”

He stares at the message, debating whether to delete it.

He doesn’t.

You blink awake in the dark, glance at your phone, and roll your eyes. He’s lost it. Fully lost it. You set the phone back down—and smile.

God, you love that idiot.

18 hours.

He cracks. He packs his things in a flurry. Leaves a note for Nanami:

“Tell them I had a curse emergency. (The curse was my loneliness.)”

Nanami will kill him.

He doesn’t care.

He books the earliest train, dressed in your hoodie and yesterday’s sweatpants, looking like a sad anime protagonist halfway through his redemption arc.

4:36 AM.

You open the door to find a very tired, very clingy Gojo Satoru standing in your hallway with a suitcase and a 7-Eleven bag of snacks.

He stares at you like you’re salvation. Like you’re sunlight. Like he’s been through a war zone made entirely of cold pillows and too much silence.

You blink. “Satoru…”

“I came back,” he says. His voice cracks. Cracks.

“You… left the summit?”

“I almost died,” he says solemnly. “I was slipping into madness. I heard voices. One of the hotel pillows whispered your name.”

“…Are you on drugs?”

“Only the drug of love.”

You drag him inside.

He throws himself into your arms like a soldier returning from war. Clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Smushes his face into your chest and lets out the most pitiful groan you’ve ever heard from a grown man.

“I’m never leaving again,” he mutters. “Not unless you come with me. Not even to the convenience store. We’re attached at the hip now. Fused. Merged.”

“Satoru, it was one night.”

“A lifetime. In heartache years.”

You collapse into bed, and he’s on you in an instant—arms around your waist, legs tangled with yours, his entire 6’3 frame practically melted into your body like a clingy marshmallow.

You run a hand through his hair.

He lets out a breath. “See? That’s it. That’s what I needed. Your fingers in my hair. Your breath on my neck. Your weird little sleep grumbles. That’s home.”

You smile, soft and sleepy. “You’re such a drama queen.”

“I’m your drama queen.”

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ───

The next morning, your phone buzzes.

Shoko

“Tell Gojo the elders are putting together a formal complaint. And Nanami wants to punch him.”

You glance over at your boyfriend—passed out, hugging you like a body pillow, one sock missing, face buried in your shoulder.

You text back:

“He says it was worth it.”

And then he rolled over and said he dreamed of me holding his hand at our wedding.

So. Worth it.

₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[odilesgrimoire]

You Bake When You're Anxious

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader

Tags: fluff, emotional comfort, slight angst with a soft landing, baking as a coping mechanism, nanami being the love of your life.

Summary: You’ve had a bad day. One of those days. Your brain is spiraling, your chest is tight, and the only thing you can control is the oven. Nanami comes home to find the kitchen full of cookies and the person he loves falling apart behind a smile.

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

The first batch was snickerdoodles.

They were innocent enough—warm, cinnamon-sugar, a childhood comfort. You told yourself it was just a little baking therapy to take the edge off the day. You even put on music. Lit a candle. Pretended everything was fine.

The second batch? Chocolate chip.

You didn’t even remember cracking the eggs. By the time you were halfway through oatmeal raisin, your chest was so tight you didn’t notice the tears starting to prick at the corners of your eyes.

And now it’s 7:47 PM.

The kitchen is full—countertops, stovetop, even the dining table covered in cooling racks. Your hands are dusted with flour, sticky with gingerbread dough. You’ve been running on autopilot for the last hour, barely thinking—just doing.

That’s when the door opens.

You freeze.

You hear it.

The sound of Nanami’s shoes, the rustle of his coat, the soft thunk of his briefcase against the wall.

Then silence.

“...Sweetheart?”

You turn around slowly. Your heartbeat stumbles into your throat.

He’s standing in the doorway, his tie loosened, rain still clinging to the hem of his coat. He blinks once. Twice. Eyes sweeping over the… situation.

“You baked,” he says, voice neutral.

“Yeah,” you say.

Too fast.

“Just felt like it.”

You give him a smile. It doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Nanami tilts his head slightly, “You usually bake when something’s wrong.”

You force a laugh.

“What? No. I’m fine. Just... had a weird day. Thought I’d be productive, y’know?”

Your hands gesture vaguely to the cookies. You try to make it sound normal, casual—not like your chest feels like it’s caving in.

“I made your favorite,” you add, softer. “Chocolate crinkle. They’re over there.”

He watches you—too quiet, too still.

“You’re shaking,” he says gently.

You glance down.

Damn. You are.

“I’m not,” you lie, gripping the edge of the counter. “I just—got cold. It’s raining.”

He takes a step forward. His voice drops, low and steady.

“Darling.”

You stiffen.

“You made five dozen cookies. The oven is still on. You haven’t sat down.”

Your throat closes. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I love you,” he says, “enough to know when you’re lying.”

Your lip trembles.

Damn him. Damn that soft voice… and his stupid, kind eyes and the way he says things like I love you like it’s just a fact, like it’s breathing.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you whisper.

A pause.

“Everything felt too loud.”

Another breath.

“I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe.”

Your hands tighten on the counter.

“So I baked. Because it’s all I could control.”

Silence.

Then, arms around you.

Firm. Steady. Warm.

He pulls you in, presses you close, and breathes like he’s anchoring both of you to the ground. His shirt smells like rain and sandalwood. One hand cups the back of your head, the other rubs slow circles against your back.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs into your hair.

“You don’t have to control everything. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You break.

Quiet sobs against his chest.

Body sinking into him like he’s the only solid thing left.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out.

He kisses the top of your head.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re curled up on the couch, wrapped in Nanami’s hoodie, a warm mug of tea between your hands. The air smells like sugar and cinnamon and something softer—safety, maybe.

Your cheeks are puffy from crying, but your chest feels light. Finally.

Nanami is calmly organizing your Cookie Meltdown into neat containers.

“You’re really gonna bring those to work?” you ask, voice small but amused.

“Yes. I’m feeding the entire Tokyo tomorrow.”

“Even the burnt batch?”

“Especially the burnt batch. Those are for Gojo.”

You smile, sipping your tea.

“I love you,” you say suddenly.

He pauses.

Turns.

“I know,” he says simply. “I love you too.”

You press your lips together.

“Next time I have a breakdown, will you still hold me like that?”

He walks over. Bends down. Kisses your forehead.

“Next time,” he murmurs, “I’ll hold you before the third batch.”

You laugh softly. Wipe your cheek.

“Deal.”

⊹ ࣪ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ๋࣭ ⭑⊹ ࣪ ───

The next morning, Gojo posts a story on Instagram:

📸 A plastic tray full of chaotic cookies in the break room.

Caption:

“nanamin bakes when he’s in love 😭😭 he’s such a babygirl actually”

Nanami sighs as he reads it.

₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮⊹.₊⋆⭒˚𓇼.‧⋆⊹⋆.✮𓇼✩‧₊˚₊✮

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[odilesgrimoire]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (end)

Midoriya is patient.

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t rush. He only ever makes sure that you are comfortable.

He’s been doing that since the beginning. Since the first time he found you alone in the class, your eyes swollen from crying, forcing a smile. He never asked what happened. Never forced you to explain. He just… sat beside you, asked if you were okay.

And now, months later, when his feelings for you have deepened into something real, something undeniable, he still waits.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he tells you one day. It’s quiet, the sun setting in the distance, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. “But I also don’t want to pretend I don’t feel this way.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, then relax. “I really like you.”

Your breath catches. You knew this moment would come. You knew Midoriya had feelings for you. And you like him too. You know he’s different from Bakugo, so much different. But still…

You hesitate.

Because you remember what it was like, to love someone, to give them everything, only to receive nothing in return. You remember what it felt like to be ignored, to be led on.

And Midoriya sees the hesitation in your eyes. He doesn’t panic, doesn’t get upset. He just smiles gently.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” he says, voice soft. “Take your time. I just… I just wanted you to know.”

And so, you do.

You take your time. You allow yourself to feel, to process, to understand that Midoriya isn’t Bakugo.

And when you’re finally ready, you take his hand and hold it tight.

And Midoriya?

His whole face turns red.

------------------------------

Dating Midoriya is easy.

He’s nervous at first, always checking in, always making sure he’s not overstepping. Even something as simple as holding your hand makes him ask for permission.

When you say yes, his fingers slip between yours, warm and firm. And when you walk into the cafeteria together, hands intertwined, Midoriya looks like he might explode.

It’s cute. It makes you laugh.

But Bakugo isn’t laughing.

He’s watching from his seat, fists clenched, jaw tight. The soda can in his hand crumples under his grip, a twisted mess of aluminum.

He doesn’t like this.

As time passes, you and Midoriya grow closer.

Training together. Studying together. Laughing together. You’re happy. You’re moving on. You’re no longer waiting for someone to notice you.

But Bakugo… he notices.

And he hates it. At first, it’s just little jabs,

“Dumbass Deku, stop acting like a lovesick idiot.” “Tch. Can’t believe you’re actually dating this loser.”

You and Midoriya ignore it. There’s no point in responding.

But it doesn’t stop.

In class. In the cafeteria. During training. It gets worse.

Until, one day, Bakugo goes too far.

You’re walking past him in the hallway, Midoriya’s hand loosely holding yours, when you hear it.

“Tch. What a joke. You really think he actually likes you?”

You freeze.

Midoriya stiffens beside you. He turns, brows furrowed. “Kacchan-”

But Bakugo isn’t looking at him. His eyes are on you.

“You’re pathetic,” he sneers. “Jumping to the first guy who gives you attention. Guess it doesn’t matter who it is, huh? Even if it’s a weakling like Deku.”

Silence.

It’s sudden. Heavy. Suffocating.

Your stomach twists, your chest tightens. But you don’t say anything.

Neither does Midoriya.

But the entire class hears.

And Bakugo doesn’t stop.

“You’re desperate,” he spits. “Always clinging to someone. First me, now him. What’s next? Gonna throw yourself at Todoroki if Deku gets bored?”

The words cut deep. Not because they’re true, but because Bakugo knows exactly where to hurt you.

He knows exactly where your scars are. And he’s tearing them open.

Nobody speaks.

Not Kirishima. Not Kaminari. Not Uraraka. Not even Iida

But then-

BAM!.

The impact is sudden, brutal—a fist colliding with a jaw, the thud echoing through the hallway.

Bakugo stumbles back, eyes blown wide, hand clutching his face.

Midoriya stands in front of you, fist still clenched, body shaking.

But his voice? His voice is steady.

“You don’t get to say that,” he says, low and firm. Angry.

Bakugo snarls. “What the hell-”

“You don’t get to talk about her like that,” Midoriya cuts him off. His green eyes are ablaze, more furious than you’ve ever seen them. “Not after everything you did.”

Bakugo’s breath catches.

Because Midoriya isn’t just saying things anymore. He knows.

He knows what happened. He knows how Bakugo let you believe you had a chance, only to throw you away.

“You knew she liked you,” Midoriya says, voice sharp as a blade. “And you led her on.”

Bakugo flinches.

“You let her think you cared.”

His hands curl into fists.

“You let her give you everything, and you gave her nothing.”

And for once, Bakugo has no comeback.

Because Midoriya isn’t wrong.

Midoriya takes a step forward.

“She moved on. She found someone who actually cares. And now you want to tear her down?”

Silence.

“You’re a coward, Kacchan.”

The words sting. You can see it in the way Bakugo’s face tenses, in the way his eyes burn with something unreadable.

And then, Midoriya turns back to you. His gaze softens instantly.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, but your hands are still shaking.

Midoriya doesn’t hesitate, he takes you, holding you tight.

Then, without another glance at Bakugo, he leads you away.

And Bakugo?

He just stands there.

Alone.

Deku didn’t just take you away, he gave you something Bakugo never could. And that’s why, in the end, Bakugo was the one who lost. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[odilesgrimoire]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ About me;

Hey, I'm Xiel (or whatever you wanna call me). I write stuff—mostly BNHA and JJK, maybe One Piece or whatever else comes to my mind. I post at random times.

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Random fact: I really, really like milk 🥛. Probably too much.

(ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ If you enjoy my writing and wanna support me (or my milk🥛 addiction), I’m on [Ko-fi], writing and sipping milk!

[odilesgrimoire]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (end)

Bakugo doesn’t notice it at first.

Not until one morning, when he walks into class and sees you sitting at your desk, head resting on your arms. You look tired. More than usual. Dark circles under your eyes, the slight puffiness, like you had been crying.

Something twists in his chest. He likes it.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you like this, vulnerable, affected, satisfies something deep inside him. It means you still care. That even if you’ve been ignoring him, even if you’ve been acting like you’re fine, you aren’t.

And that means… you haven’t moved on.

The thought settles in his mind, dark and selfish. He should feel guilty. Should feel bad that you’re clearly hurting.

But instead, he feels something close to relief.

Because it means you still think about him. That even after everything, he is still the one lingering in your mind. Not anyone else.

Him.

And for now, that’s enough.

But then—

"Are you okay?"

Midoriya’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

And just like that, the relief turns to rage.

Bakugo watches, eyes narrowing, as Midoriya crouches beside your desk. His brows are furrowed in concern, his voice soft, too soft. And you? You look up at him, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just didn’t sleep well."

Liar.

Midoriya doesn’t believe it either. He pulls something out of his bag, his notebook. "Here, I copied the notes from yesterday. You missed a lot."

You blink, surprised. Then, a genuine smile blooms across your face.

And Bakugo hates that.

Hates the way Midoriya makes you smile. Hates the way he’s looking at you, like you’re precious. Hates that you’re letting him.

It doesn’t stop there.

At lunch, you sit with Midoriya and the others instead of the usual squad. Bakugo doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Except he can hear you laughing. Can see the way Midoriya nudges your tray closer when you barely touch your food. Can see how you lean into him when he whispers something to you.

And worst of all, he sees the way Midoriya looks at you.

It’s the same way you used to look at him.

The rumors start soon after.

"Did you hear? Midoriya might like her"

"I mean, have you seen them lately? They’re always together."

"Honestly… kinda cute, don’t you think?"

The words slip through the classroom like a slow-moving poison.

Bakugo isn’t even trying to listen, but the whispers reach him anyway, each one pressing into his skull like a dull, persistent ache.

His fingers twitch. Then curl. Then clench into fists so tight, his nails bite into his palms.

Why does it bother him?

Why does his jaw tighten every time he sees you together?

Why does it feel like a punch to the gut when you walk into class and don’t even look at him?

Why does it piss him off so much when he catches Midoriya blushing because of you?

—

The breaking point comes on a normal day.

Bakugo’s already irritated, he doesn’t even know why anymore. Everything just pisses him off. The way Kirishima laughs. The way Denki’s chewing too loud. The way you are standing so damn close to Midoriya near the lockers.

Then, Midoriya reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small gesture. Barely anything. But it makes something in Bakugo snap.

Before he even realizes it, he’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you away.

"We need to talk."

You stumble but quickly regain your footing, yanking your hand out of his grip. "What the hell is your problem?"

"What the hell is yours?" Bakugo snaps back. His eyes are burning. "You and Deku. Why the hell are you always with him?"

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business."

"You—" He grits his teeth. "You don’t even wait for me after training anymore. You don’t—"

And that’s when you laugh.

It’s bitter. Cold.

"Bakugo, are you serious?" Your voice is steady, but your eyes, there’s something sharp in them. "You knew I liked you, didn’t you?"

He freezes.

You tilt your head, studying him. "You knew. And you let me believe I had a chance."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Did you ever care?" you whisper.

Bakugo doesn’t answer.

Can’t.

Because the truth is sitting in his throat like a stone, too heavy to swallow.

You watch him, waiting. Just hoping a little that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something that makes this all worth it.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, fists clenched, teeth grit, jaw locked too tight and, nothing.

And that’s when you know.

You exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. More like… exhaustion. Like the last bit of hope you had has finally withered away.

"That’s what I thought."

You turn to leave, but for a second, just a second, you hesitate. Like you’re waiting. Like you’re giving him one last chance.

But Bakugo stays silent.

So you exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. Just exhaustion. Then, you walk away.

Bakugo doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t say a damn thing.

Just stands there, watching as you disappear down the hall, watching as you walk out of his reach.

And this time, you don’t look back.

This time, you won’t come back.

[odilesgrimoire]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (end)

It was always Bakugo.

The one who answered your late-night texts, even when he complained about it. The one who scolded you for staying up too late but never told you to stop talking to him. The one who threatened to block you, yet never actually did.

He tutored you when you struggled, insulting your intelligence but never abandoning you. Dragged you along whenever the squad hung out, letting you sit close, steal his food, take up his space. Never pushing you away. Never correcting you when you got too comfortable.

When you got sick, he stayed by your side. Pressed his hand to your forehead, frowning when you burned up. Called you an idiot for not taking care of yourself, then made sure you ate, made sure you rested. Made sure you felt cared for.

So, of course, you thought he liked you. Of course, you thought you had a chance.

And he knew.

He saw it in the way you looked at him. He heard it in the way you talked about him to the others. And he never stopped you.

Because it was easy. Because it was fun. Because he never had to give you anything real.

You started giving more. You waited for him after training. You brought him water ‘cause you knew he’d be tired. You texted first, always. And he always responded. Always took whatever you gave.

One time, you asked him, “Do you think you’ll ever get a girlfriend?”

And he had laughed. Laughed.

"Tch. What for?"

And it was stupid. So damn stupid. But you believed it meant something. Believed it meant you were enough.

Then, one day, he started skipping hangouts. Started ignoring late-night texts. Started pulling away, just slightly. Just enough to make you wonder, to make you chase.

And then, he walked in with her. His arm draped around her shoulders. Introducing her as his girlfriend.

The squad barely looked at you. They couldn’t, because they already knew. They had seen him with her before. Had watched it happen in real-time. Had kept their mouths shut because… what were they supposed to say?

And just like that, everything made sense.

The way he had been busy. The way he had slowly started pulling away. The way he had let you believe you had a chance.

Your hands felt ice-cold. Your heart pounded so hard, it hurt.

But you smiled. Looked his girlfriend in the eye and greeted her like you weren’t breaking inside. Like the past few months of your life hadn’t been a lie.

Your voice was steady when you made an excuse to leave.

And Bakugo?

He didn’t even notice.

Maybe from now on, you wouldn’t act the same around him anymore. Maybe from now on… he wouldn’t even notice.

That night, your phone buzzed.

Bakugo: Oi. Why’d you leave so fast?

You stared at the message.

Read it once. Twice. Three times.

And for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t reply.

The next morning, you weren’t waiting for him after training. You weren’t carrying an extra water. You didn’t even look at him when he walked into class.

And that’s when he noticed.

That’s when he frowned, eyes narrowing at you across the room.

And that’s when, for the first time, Bakugo knew what it felt like to be ignored.