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sweetnans · 1 month

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Stuck in the moment || Bakugo, K. (pt.7)

Pairing: fuckboy Bakugo/hopelessly romantic fem. reader

summary: You made a mistake, a huge mistake. You fucked the most cocky, annoying, bastard, fuckboy you knew. Bakugo Katsuki. And that fact was against all your beliefs. Now, after the rumor (truth) spread like a pandemic virus in college you'll have to live with the stormy consequences of your acts and whatever trash was brought with it.

a/c: Hey, it's me again. Here we are in a new series I plan to continue. I really hope you enjoy it. I put my favorite man in action (bakugo) being a selfish bastard that you would love eventually and I couldn't help to put another "trope" I'm a sucker for (guardian/father figure Aizawa) I'm so sorry if that bothers you. Once again, I'm sorry if I misspelled something, English is not my first language. (Not proofread yet)

Smut ahead, minors do not interact

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6♡

m.list

The date with Todoroki was breathing inches away from your neck, and your ankle was far away from being completely healed. Recovery girl was making all her efforts to put it back in place, but the swell and the red were difficulting the process.

"Tell me you can fix this," you begged to the woman.

"Don't worry, I'll have it done before you know it, lay down and relax, it'll make it easier" She said smiling warmly at your state.

You slept the equivalent of four hours in the span of two days. You were beat, so the sentence lay down and relax was sent from heaven.

You did lay down and relax for six hours, and when you woke up, your ankle was wrapped in bandages and a certain someone was by your side.

"How was the date?" He asked.

"There's no respect anymore, I just opened my eyes," you joked, stretching your arm for a glass of water that you knew Recovery Girl left in the table. He grabbed the glass and handed it to you. "Thanks"

"So?" He was eager to know.

"Well, aside from my ankle, it was pretty nice. He behaved like a gentleman if that's what concerns you. " You gulped the water down your sore throat.

Aizawa watched you carefully. Since almost 5 years, he turned from teacher to a father, but it was a daily challenge mantain two young girls that were in different stages in their life.

"Mrs. Bakugo called me to congratulate me for having a really nice and well-mannered daughter. I know she wasn't talking about the unhinged teenager busting my windows with indie music. " He smirked playfully, and you rolled your eyes.

"That's odd," you said, accommodating yourself in the bed. "Since when does she prefer indie music?"

"Nice try on making me forget about the elephant in the room," he stated, leaning on his chair a bit. "So, are you going to tell me what happened? Or do I have to find out from someone else, like when Mrs. Bakugo told me that my daughter sprained her ankle at her party?"

"There's nothing to explain, actually. We were about to go home when a slow dance crossed in front of us, so he said hey one last dance? And I said yeah, why not? And then tragedy, " you puked your words out.

"Yeah, that matches the description" he hummed in response.

"What description?"

Talking to Aizawa was always so cryptic. You just had six hours of sleep. Your head fetl like a feather, and he started to play around with hidden clues and schemes of secrets.

"Oh, before I forget, your phone is off, Bakugo started calling non-stop, and he was getting in my nerves,"

He said like he was parting ways, but he didn't lift or move a single muscle to get up of his seat. It was a trap.

"Why didn't you pick up?" You asked fetching your phone to turn it on. Jirou would definitely be there with hundreds of texts unanswered.

"Oh, I didn't have the chance before he appeared at the door," he shrugged, pointing at his back with his thumb

You were so mesmerized by the logo of your phone and disoriented that you felt like you didn't catch exactly what he said.

"Come again?" You squinted your eyes at him. "What did you just say?"

"Bakugo and me had a very pleasant chat"

Oh, he was enjoying your suffering. What was happening to the world that all of a sudden, it was the funniest thing to mess up with you?

"You didn't," you said at the same time that he was nodding.

According to what he said, when he saw you in the dress the day before, you were actually pissing yourself to know, but the thought of it came with an immeasurable amount of denial. What could they have talked about? Did you or did you not want to know?

"Relax," he said, stopping the cartwheels in your head. "He told me how it happened." he glanced at your now normal ankle. "And that he was very sorry that he couldn't stop it. That's why I said it matched the description, what you said, and what he said, but do you know what doesn't match the description?"

You were almost afraid to ask. He had his purpose, and you led him exactly where he wanted you. Being a parent wasn't easy, but Aizawa knew damn well how to play his cards when it came to his daughters.

You looked at him, waiting for him to continue the interrogation. He sighed defeated.

"Eri told me about your date with Todoroki, I thought that maybe she was confused, but then I realized when Bakugo told me that he invited you at the last minute, that there wasn't any chance for Eri to know that piece of information even as nosy as she is"

Busted.

After what Jirou said that morning and with Aizawa looking at you, not with disappointment eyes, more like with I don't understand eyes is that you realized that you were in fact betraying at yourself.

You wouldn't lie. Last night, you were just a twisted ankle away to kiss him.

You were madly in love with the concept of love, and even though all this Bakugo mess started like a mistake, it suddenly evolved to something else. You were catching feelings for the bastard. And you couldn't deny it anymore.

He also played his cards very well, being the stubborn asshole who eagerly wanted to get to know you to the point of pushing you out of your comfort zone to in fact, have a good time to him. The one night stand was surely a mistake, your first time doing something so reckless and so unlike you. You wanted to get rid of him because he was the walking reminder of something that didn't describe you at all, but then he turned it in a way you didn't see coming.

Does he feel the same for you? Doubtful. It wasn't a secret that he was used to those encounters you wanted to avoid. The adamant behavior of getting your attention was just the ego boost he needed after you completely flicked him off.

You liked him. As a friend and with real and not so friendly feelings, but you weren't sure that his acts towards you had the same meaning.

"I know what you're thinking, and you're totally right," you said. There was nothing to be ashamed of exploring your options. Todoroki was hot. He was kind, but you had your mind wrapped around another man, and it wasn't fair for him.

"I mean, he's a nice guy, but after my secret conversation with Bakugo, it seems he's not playing around when It comes to you"

You rolled your eyes, and his brows furrowed.

"Just because he wanted to be heroic doesn't mean he's into me. Isn't that the purpose of this school? Acting like heroes when someone is in distress?"

"Yes, it is, but believe, calling the victim twenty times in one hour doesn't seem like the school purpose to me"

Oh, the world was ending. He was delusional too.

"He felt guilty because he handed me the heels," you murmured, trying to convince him and yourself that he wasn't into you that way.

"I'm just pointing at the facts," he stated, smacking his palms on his knees. "About the Todoroki date, are you sure you want to go in that state? You can always say I didn't let you go"

That state had different meanings. One of them was about the now normal but partly healed ankle, and the other was about your train of emotions that was ready to crash.

Dadzawa always setting the bar higher and breaking the daddy issues.

"It's okay. I can't leave him hanging, and besides, I can always turn a romantic date to something completely platonic. I'll give it another try when I get hold of my feelings again, " you smiled through the tumultuous feeling of something breaking slowly inside of you.

You were stuck. Stuck in the moment where you don't know what to do with your feelings, and also, you don't want to hurt somebody else for the sake of it.

...

Bakugo had a rough night. He woke up several times at night wondering of your state. He paced through his bedroom, feeling extremely guilty for not taking you straight to the emergency room. At the first light, he started texting you. The double check stared at him but never changed its colors. Shit.

He started calling after it. The first times the waiting tone received him and made him curse under his breath, and then after what it felt like the twentieth time, the call didn't even get past the first beep. Disconnected.

That was the sign he needed to get his jacket, put on some trousers and go to your room.

"Oh my god, stop it," Jirou spoke through the cloaed door inside, annoyed with the loud knocking that reverberated in the hallway. "What do you want?" She said before realizing that Bakugo was in front of her.

"Where is she?" He asked, gasping for air. He ran from his building to yours and took the stairs in both of them.

Jirou was visibly asleep before he came. She had a lousy shirt and she was barefooted.

"Uhm I took her to recovery girl, and she swore that she would be fine," she said, glaring at the windows. "But now that you mention it, what time is it?"

"It's almost nine," he said, grabbing his phone to check the clock.

"Jeez, I took her at six this morning. She hadn't texted you?"

Jirou walked inside the door, and Bakugo followed. Your bed was made, and there were wrinkles on the duvet. He realized that you didn't catch an eye last night and felt guiltier than ever.

"She didn't text me either"

The state of Jirou was the same as you. Barely three hours of sleep did its damage on her face, and the bags under her eyes were really showing it.

"Don't worry, I'll go check on her, and I'll text you. Go back to sleep ears. " He threw the nickname to level the kindness so unlike him.

Jirou raised her eyebrows at him, very surprised and now surely convinced on what team she was.

The way to the infirmary was long enough to gather his thoughts about you, what to say, and how to approach the fact that you almost kissed last night. He was head over heels over you, and even though he was known to be a full player who liked to mess around with chicks, the gossip about it wasn't totally like that. He never had the need to dissipate the rumors because he realized that if he'd say something about everything that people invented about him he would spend all his college years trying and convincing the people to believe him and that wasn't who he was. He acted by instinct, he made the rules, and he would never follow a bunch of assholes who got nothing better to do than to spread useless information about him.

He never felt the urge to see someone in a desperate way that he was feeling at that moment. He was basically running to get to you through the crowded hallways, bumping into people's shoulders.

How did this happen? A week ago, you were just a pain in the ass, a little and invisible splinter in his skin that bothered more than hurt. He didn't know you very well, but when it came to you, he felt overprotective, he felt like he needed to see you more, to know every little piece of information about your life, damn he didn't even know your backstory aside from stripes of details that people said about you but nothing else, he wanted more and he would do anything to guarantee his stay in your life.

"Bakugo"

The voice of the man who was his teacher on his annoying ages startled him. He was outside the infirmary, his arms crossed over his chest and with the same exhausting look on his eyes.

"Mr. Aizawa" Bakugo felt like all the air of his lungs was pulled out.

"She's fine. She's resting" straight to the point like always. "Her ankle is healed too"

"That's very good news, sr," he said, stuffing his hands on his pockets.

"Yeah," Aizawa nodded. "I was wondering why you didn't tell me"

Damn. The man could be frightening even for Bakugo.

"I don't have any excuse," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "She told me she'd be fine and Iet her, that was so reckless of me." The last part was more for Bakugo than Aizawa. He should've grabbed you and tossed you on his shoulder to the emergency room.

"She's so stubborn" Aizawa stated rolling his eyes and eyeing you from the outside. You were still deep asleep. "She wouldn't have let you, don't be so hard on yourself"

"Yeah, but it was the right thing to do," he said, looking at you too. Your face was relaxed, and your mouth was slightly open to let the air get out of your system. He felt his stomach flutter.

"Your mother called me this morning and told me what happened, I'm glad she was with you." Aizawa was trying not to scare the boy, but it was difficult when you were the one injured. He wanted to say thank you without saying it just to mess with Bakugo. He hoped the poor guy was smart enough to read his intentions. "Before you picked her up, I went to her room, and she was happy, I haven't seen her that happy in a long long time"

He left the "thank you" hanging, but Bakugo knew damn well what followed the last sentence. His cheat puffed out, and he was motivated enough to tell you everything when you woke up.

"I'll stay with her until she wakes up, go to class, I'll tell her to reach for you once she's fine"

Bakugo nodded, and even though he didn't want to leave you, he needed to gather his feelings to come up with the best idea to actually confess.

...

The day went by, and you lingered in your room, watching three outfits laid in your bed. Three different choices, and you liked all of them. That was the first reason why you felt like the date with Todoroki suddenly, and because of your feelings, was turning slowly into something very, very friendly and platonic. You had three choices, and you liked all of them. If the said date was something with relevance, you would be losing your mind over it and in reality you were feeling very chill about it.

You picked a white top and some baggy jeans. It was casual. Todoroki sent you the address at lunch, and you knew the bar very well. Many students went there to watch games or to cry about academic failures.

He didn't pick you up. Instead, you walked alone to the place. It was crowded, and plenty of people were there enjoying themselves, sipping beer and cackling about dumb jokes.

You found your date in the corner of the room in a booth, he was mindlessly scrolling through his phone when you approached.

"Hi," you said, smiling brightly at him.

He did the same and returned the greetings.

"I thought on waiting for you outside your building, but I was coming from the opposite direction," he excused himself the minute you got a seat.

"Don't worry about it," you discarded his apologies. "I completely understand, and besides, the air is warm enough to stay in the open"

"You're right." he played with the napkin under his hand.

The ambient didn't change one bit. It was awkward like the two of you knew that it wasn't going to work or regretted the date right before it happened.

It felt like a huge weight in both of you. Gladly, the drinks appeared not much after the awkward silence, so you jumped into the opportunity of letting go a litte of that enormous tension in the air.

After a sip or two of your drink, you let your tongue take the upper hand of the conversation. You talked about the agency of his father, about some other heroes, college stuff, and people. He told you about his years in UA high school, how class 1A behaved, and how Aizawa was as a teacher.

"And Bakugo, he was the most annoying prick of all, but I liked him, I discovered that pretending and calling him my friend was funnier than to try to ignore his attitude, he changed tho, after the war"

Todoroki was matching your drinking speed, and the date turned into a hangout between two longtime friends.

You laughed about him being so oblivious about people, and he laughed at you very subtly about your stories. You two got along very well, and you felt relaxed when the date lost its label.

"God, I'm really having a good time, you know, I was pretty nervous when you asked me out, and then something changed, and I almost bail, I'm so glad that I didn't"

You speaking more than you should was so you when it came to drinking. You stopped at the third, you weren't drunk just a little tipsy, very aware of your surroundings but not very in control of your mouth.

"I felt the same, don't misunderstand this, you're very pretty and you always caught my attention but yesterday I was scrolling through media and I saw a picture of you and Bakugo at some sort of gala. The date felt wrong after that"

The comment didn't hurt at all. You felt sorry.

"It was so unexpected," you said without trying to justify yourself.

"I heard the rumor, and I remember talking with Midoriya that Bakugo needed some grounding. You humbled him, you're our heroe"

Despise the fact that your act was very public and spoke out loud. You nodded, raising your glass and waiting for him to cling his against yours.

"What a nice surprise, what are we celebrating guys?"

The noise of the glasses clinging died under the voicr of Bakugo, who was suddenly standing beside your booth.

You wanted to die.

"What are you doing here?" You blurted in a messy way.

"I was just passing by," he answered curtly. "Icy-hot I haven't seen you in ages"

The way your eyebrows almost went to the back of your head because of his lack of manners was above you. He ignored you completely to engage a conversation with your so-not date. You were confused and staring at him while he made a huge effort to forget you were right under him in the booth.

"Excuse me," you said, moving his big and bulky body out of your way to go to the bathroom. You pointed to the restrooms to Todoroki, and he nodded, Bakugo leveraged the momentum to scoot himself in your seat.

Your head was buzzing, and suddenly, the effect of the alcohol was banished. You took your phone from the back pocket of your jeans and dialed Jirou's number.

"You're speaking to Denki. Who's there?" You never thought you would be so happy to hear your friend's voice.

"Thank god, put it on speaker," you waited for a moment and then continued. "Bakugo's here talking with my fucking date"

"WHAT?"

The sound of Jirou's drumsticks hitting the floor was loudly enough to have you to take the phone far from your ear.

"I know, I don't know what to do," you said, looking at yourself in the mirror' stall.

"Did he say something?" Jirou asked.

"No, he completely ignored me"

"He's pissed," Denki added, laughing. You heard how Jirou smacked his arm through the phone.

"I texted him earlier about my ankle, but he didn't answer me back. It's not like I could possibly have told him about the date which, just so you know, turned into a not date"

"I'm going to ask for the latter later, where are you hiding?" Jirou said concern dripping from her voice.

"I'm in the bathroom hiding. This sucks. I feel like I have to explain myself, but again, why? I'm not doing anything wrong, and we are nothing and-" you mumbled.

"What about the kiss?" Your friend interrupted and Denki gasped.

"What kiss??"

"There wasn't a proper kiss. It was just the impulse. " You tried to dissipate the chaos.

"I say you go back and tell them you threw up and want to go home, we can pick you up if you want"

You were gathering your options. They were just a few and one worse than the other.

"I'm fine. I'll hold it until Bakugo decides he wants to leave and then everything will be okay again"

Jokes on you. Your date evolved into a threesome.

Todoroki, Bakugo, and you were sharing drinks and awkward conversations where the main topic was something that completely left you out. You were shrinking in your seat, hoping to disappear.

"And then he forgot to pull the lever." Bakugo laughed above the music. He had several drinks on his body, and you were fully sober by the time he decided to stop.

A weird and sudden silence fell amongst yourselves, and you knew it was your chance to finally end your torture.

"Oh my god, how late is it?" You widened your eyes watching your phone and locking it immediately, if someone dared to ask you the time you would have no idea. "I'm going to call it a night, but you two can stay and enjoy, please don't let me stop you"

You urged Bakugo to step the hell up for you to run the far away and as soon as possible.

"You're right. It's been a long night. Since we're heading to the same point, I should walk you home, or do you want to do it, Todoroki?"

Always so polite. And so uncalled.

You could feel the headache forming in your head.

"It's fine by me, I'm going to stay for a while anyways, Midoriya is ending his shift at the agency, so we're going to meet here for some beers" he looked at you. "Is okay with you?"

Internally, you were begging for him to invite Bakugo to stay too. In the outside you shrugged.

"I'll make sure she's safe and sound." he passed his arm behind your back and started moving you towards the exit.

What the future had for you was nothing else than a long and bizarre trip back home.

The walk back the buildings was silent. You shrugged under his arm because of the cold breeze that penetrated your bones.

"Here," he took off his jacket and handed it to you.

"Thanks," you muttered.

You could tell that he was pissed as Denki said. The audacity of the man and the act he played was beyond your own imagination.

You made a mistake. That was something obvious, but he came out of nothing without knowing the entire context. Besides that, he crashed your date without any explanation because you could definitely have your ideas of it, but none of them were fully confirmed.

"My building is over there," you said when suddenly he was walking you towards his building instead of yours.

"I figured that if we are already out this late, maybe we should prolong the night a bit"

His gruff voice did nothing to hide the fact that he felt jealous because of the scene he found in the bar. He went there to have a whisky or too just to cool off his predicament of how to say to you what he actually felt for you. He wasn't very kin to verbalize his emotions, and there was always a chance that they came out wrong. He wanted to avoid that.

Bakugo guided you to his room. For some reason, you were feeling the need to say something about the date with Todoroki to explain yourself. But you were torn inside. What if he didn't care and you were making everything you thought he felt up?

You carried your feet along the stairs without even caring about your ankle. Your mind was clouded with racing throughts that were scrambling your brain.

Without noticing, you were inside Bakugo's room. He turned on the light and started picking up things he had scarred on the floor.

After he picked up a shirt, you took your chance to sit on the marron carpet underneath your feet.

"There's a chair behind you," he said side eyeing you from his spot in front of his bed.

"I need to reconnect with the earth." You tried to joke around, but he didn't even return his gaze at you.

After he folded his clothes and rearranged his closet for what it felt an eternity, he took a seat in front of you on the floor, his back against his bed.

At that point, for you, even if the alcohol was gone, the silence was unbearable.

"Fine, you want me to say it, I'll say it," you sighed. "What you saw is not what you think"

"I didn't know you were a mind reader. Tell me what I think"

The scowl on his face grew deeper by the second. If he wanted to pretend that he wasn't bothered, he was doing an awful job.

"It started as a date. He asked me out before...you know and I said yes and-"

"Why didn't you say no after we went together?"

You knew it was the booze talking. He had a couple of glasses back in the bar, and you were absolutely, one hundred percent sure, that he wouldn't say the things that he was saying fully sober.

"I didn't want to be that kind of person." You shook your head at the sound of your words. You didn't want to be someone who stood up another, but you were willing to be the kind of person to ignore your own feelings.

Bakugo was silent in front of you. He was realizing that he had no right to be mad at you because he still hasn't made the courage to confess properly at you. You were walking on eggshells disguised as assumptions.

"Just so you know, he saw our photos and he wanted to bail the date too"

You played with your fingers, waiting for an answer or some sort of reactions. Your eyes were stuck on the movement between both of your hands that you didn't notice when Bakugo smiled sufficiently.

"Tsk," he called your attention. "The balls of that poor little bastard shrinked because he saw you with me? Pathetic"

You said those words before because you thought that it would mend what was broken. You didn't think it would inflate something that was already full. His own ego.

"I can't stand you," you said, rolling your eyes at him while he smirked across of you.

That cocky bastard. He was the only one who could possibly turn an excuse into something about him.

"Says the one who went out with another guy after almost kissed me," he blurted with a plastered smile on his face. Oh, now he was enjoying it.

"I didn't kiss you." You crossed your arms over your chest and launched your boobs up. Bakugo felt the drool pooling on his mouth.

"That's why I said almost"

The tension was palpable. He had to move from his spot to rearrange his clothes without you noticing. Change of position with a very subtle movement on his Jean's sipper.

"For what I recall, you were the one who tried to kiss me"

You were oblivious to his acts. Lookin straight to his eyes because for one reason or another, the staring contest was on, and you weren't ready to lose.

"It was mutual," he answered, pointing at you from his seat. "I think we should try again, just to see if it was worth it"

He looked at you. Your physical language changed a lot since you two entered his room. You were gorgeous playing dumb when he could see through you and notice that you were almost as horny as him.

"Shut up," you exclaimed. "You ruined my fucking date you don't deserve shit"

"Uh, we are using bad words. It seems like it really got twisted in your panties"

"The only thing twisted in my panties is you"

You noticed about your mistake right after you blurted the words out. The change in the atmosphere had you gasping for stolen air. There wasn't any chance that he would let your mistake die.

"I wish," he said. His tone was completely even. "Just so you know, I like you in jeans, but I prefer you in skirts, I like your legs," he tried to dissipate the tension, but it did exactly the opposite.

"Oh now we're talking bodies?" You quirked your brow at him, and he scoffed.

'If we are talking body..." he raised his arms in defense just to add "l like your boobs"

"I like your hands." You followed his game.

"You have a great ass"

"I really enjoy watching your back and when you flex your arms"

"You do have nice hips, and don't get me started about your lips"

The intensity of his eyes on you were making havocs on your body. You were visibly flushed because of his words, and apparently, you had any will to stop.

"I lied when I said your dick was small.' You licked your lips. He found it the hottest thing he'd ever seen.

"Yeah?"

Only a mumble.

"Yeah, and I lied when I said I never wanted to see it again"

He was looking at you across the room with such an intensity that you didn't realize that you were launching yourself to him until you were straddling him. His hands were quick enough to grab your ass and to reposition your body against his, your core hitting his growing bulge.

His eyes were half lidded, looking up at you. You sunk a little on him to be at the same height. Crimson eyes right in front of you. Full of lust, desire, and just for him to know, a little bit of love.

"Are you going to give me my kiss?" He whispered right above your lips. "Or do I have to do it myself?"

The tone of his voice did something inside of you. It was like electricity running through your system. Forget the alcohol and the adrenaline of being in a battle, this was ten times better.

"I'm starting to think that the only thing you do is talk," you gasped.

His lips tightened closer yours in what it felt like a smile. His upper lip was touching yours, a faint caress spoiling you on what was about to happen.

Instead of the mutual belief, you were the one who connected your lips. The kiss was hungry, adamant, like you were chasing something you couldn't fully reach.

His tongue swept your lips, gaining its entrance to your mouth. Both tongues collided in a war that left you completely breathless.

His hands were groping your ass and swaying your hips to generate some sort of friction on your lower parts. You were definitely turned on by that.

Looking for some air to get inside your lungs, you backed off a little. A tiny string of saliva connecting the two of you leaving trace of what happened.

"Can this get any more messy?" You said, steadying your breathing.

Your hands were fisting his shirt, trying to find some balance between your chest going up and down and your aching core.

"Let's find out." he wasn't drunk because of the whisky anymore, he was drunk because of you. Your smell, your taste, he wanted more.

"I don't want to get fucked on the floor, I'm not eighteen anymore" you said avoiding the embarrassment of being so vocal.

The first time you did what you were about to do, you weren't sure about your decisions, and your senses were lacking direction. Now, the scene was different. You wanted him more than ever.

"Noted," he grabbed you firmly by the back of your thighs and walked you to the bed like if standing up with lifting a body was as easy as lifting a feather.

"I want to be on top," you said when he started to put you under him.

The sudden request caught him by surprise. A good surprise. He couldn't contain the excitement showing on his face.

"Oh, don't let that get over your head, please," you rolled your eyes at him.

"How can I not?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Your wishes are my commands, princess"

He was quick to put you in the same position you two were on the floor. He kissed you this time. Sloppy and slowly. Your hands went up to touch the nape of his neck while his hands grabbed the underside of your breast.

The kissing escalated fast enough that you didn't realize when he was kissing and marking your neck while grabbing your full breast with his left hand.

You wanted to press your tighs together and get rid of your jeans and his. You needed skin to skin contact.

Taking the upper hand on the undressing matter, you latched your neck off his lips and took away your top, leaving your boob in display for him to see.

Bakugo's mouth watered at the sight of them. The first time he had you, he had you underneath him with the lights off. Now he was watching at your body flushed against him right in front of his eyes.

"Shit" he muttered.

"What?" You asked, grabbing his shirt too and urging him take it off. He did.

"Nothing, you are gorgeous, that's all" he said nonchalantly.

You whined and smacked his arm.

"You're gorgeous, that's all," you mimicked him. "You said that like it was nothing, I am fully naked for you, and that's what I get? The only thing you missed was shrugging your shoulders"

He cackled at your dramatic antics and denied it several times before grabbing your lips between his.

"You are more than gorgeous," he muttered against your lips.

"That's better." You smiled and continued kissing him.

It didn't last long before his mouth was over your breast, taking your nipple between his teeth prolonging the ache in your body, you moaned, and he shivered.

The clothes disappeared quickly after that. You were sitting on top of his dick that was hard on your warm core.

He stretched his arm to find something in the drawer. You stopped him mid motion.

"It's fine, we are fine," you said, your fingerpads touching his huge bicep.

"You sure?" He was calm, but on the inside, he was buzzing to the mere chance of taking you raw again. This time fully conscious.

"Yeah, I mean only if you are fine with it, too," you said, and he turned it as a sign to align himself towards your entrance, pushing the tip inside of you. "Shit"

"You okay?" He asked, slowing a bit. You nodded, grabbing his arms that were firmly pressed at your side. "I have to tell you something"

"Yeah, sure, kill the moment"

"Dumbass," he rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smirk. Damn you loved that side of him. "What you heard about me, about my extremely and overwhelming ginormous experiences with girls? Half of them aren't true"

That was something you didn't see coming. You were expecting something less relevant like he was those types of guys who didn't last long.

"What?" You said stopping his sinking a little.

"Yeah, I let the rumors spread because I didn't care about what they said about me. I cared about my friends and no one else, about what they think, I mean " he said, caressing your hair and intertwining his fingers in your locks. "That was until you appeared claiming I had aids or something"

"Don't remind me, please," you tried to cover yourself, but he didn't let you. He wanted you fully exposed at him.

"And just so you know, you are actually the third girl in my life," he said with a playful smile on his face.

"Oh, don't make me feel too special," you joked back at him. "I don't care about what they say either," you mumbled, taking advantage of his state and giving him a slow peck.

The process of not caring about what people said was hard for you. All of this started because you were afraid of being in everyone's mouth because of the naked man in front of you. You didn't care about his body count or about the rumors. You cared about the moment.

After the conversation, he remembered what he was doing before the chat. He sank his member in you, not breaking eye contact in any second. He wanted to see your face, how your brows knitted together, and how your mouth slightly opened.

"Fuck" you said. "I didn't remember it was this big"

That was a boost for his ego and gas to the pedal for him to keep moving. When his dick was situated inside you, Bakugo had to take all his strength to not nut in you.

"Are you ready to-

You interrupted his words with your motions. You started bouncing on his cock the minute you found it comfortable enough. Your knees were deep on his bed, steadying yourself to lift yourself up only to sink down.

"Fuck, princess" he mumbled in the crook of your neck. He started bitting right after that with you moving up and down his member.

You picked up speed, your clit finding the friction it needed to build up the intense wave that threatened to bust.

"You're doing it so good," he purred under your ear, his right hand on your hip moving you and his left hand squeezing your breast. You wished you could talk but the only thing that came out of your mouth were whines and moans.

"Let me hear you," he demanded. His voice gruff and strained.

The same ball of pleasure that you were building on the inside, he was containing it to not spill. He wanted to get you off first, and you weren't so far of his goal.

"Does that feel good?" he said, and you moaned in return. He was moving exactly in the way you wanted it, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that had you curling your toes because of the pleasure. "Use your words, princess"

"Yes," you breathlessly moaned. "Yes, Katsuki, keep going"

The sudden use of his first name got him grabbing you tightly than before. His steady pace evolved in something fast and uncoordinated that had you clenching around him.

"Katsuki, I'm about to -" You moaned through your orgasm, your nails marking his back, and his hands firmly groped at your ass joining your bodies at the point that there wasn't a breeze that could pass through you two.

He spilled his seeds right after you, grunting and going rigid against your arms. You were a sweating mess, and he was, too. Beads of sweat coating at his hairline.

Katsuki watched you trying to calm your breathing while your body still trembled because of the powerful orgasm you two shared.

You sighed in defeat. You were beat.

"Let me take a sip of water, and I'm ready for round two" you whispered.

He laughed against your forehead and left a kiss on it.

"Next time I'll eat you up," he grunted.

You were beat, but not that beat to waste the opportunity.

Katsuki cursed himself on his mind. There wasn't anything to hide anymore. He was genuinely catching feeling for your ass.

(Not proofread yet)

When I said before monday I meant monday, giggles.

End note: Ok, but blame the jackass of my ex-boyfriend for this big fat delay! He's the worst anyway, here it is and babies I have to say that this is getting to an end...there's like one more chapter left :( the great news is that I'm working on something to don't leave you like castaways because I really love your reactions and comments.

A penny for your thoughts about this (not really but express yourself)

taglist: @kiridagremiln @aefillor @screechingfangirlaf @chuugarettes @gold24fish @dreamcastgirl99 @andyetshewrote @budibbly @candiiee @linkfromskywardsword @galaneiaeris @fantasynerd05 @big-denki-energy @3thr3al @marsbars09 @whatswrong7 @scaranthropy @cc1306 @junehasnotbeenfound @jeanbabygirl @pirana10 @sappho-the-kitten-tamer @ahbeautifulexistence @polarbvnny @th0tformikasa @surprisemodafakas @xxjesshuxx @katsuisbaby @azzo0 @atashiboba @azzo0 @berryvioo @hiimsaraandyou @bizzybkd @regrexx @justsinri @slut-4-gojo @bexxs @lemuhr @monkeycheeks-lvl26 @tsukikoxo @sikuthealien @mia-luvs @dondeh-zedonutqueen @the-queen-yn @stardream14 @pretty-sparkle-bomb @itzjustj-1000 @m-atcha-tea @liluvtojineteyam @shosuki @v3n7s @yoyolovesdaiki @jenna-sakura @femi12hhf @aejabba @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere

taglist continues on the comments.

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shotorozu · 1 month

Note

ooo i saw your pick me girl hcs from awhile back and loved them! can i request something similar for ashido/kirishima/kaminari but with the reader encountering a “nice guy” instead? thank you <33

NICE GUYS DO FINISH LAST

characters . . .

ASHIDO MINA, KIRISHIMA EIJIROU, KAMINARI DENKI, BAKUGOU KATSUKI, TODOROKI SHOUTO

notes . . .

a quick one because i was getting overwhelmed with writing this one request for my comeback 🧍‍♀️ (a lil sneak peek: it’s todobakudeku as ex husbands)

female! reader

MINA is actually offended that this guy thinks it’s going to work. like.. calling you short (even if you might not be), trying to compare hand sizes with you, the self deprecating humor— she’s actually going to throw up in her mouth… 🤢 though, she already clocked this guy’s tea iykwim… she has interacted with guys like him before, and she knew from the very beginning what he wanted— especially when he tried to replace her. the wicked witch and the audacity of this bitch…

“she’s not gonna pick you… if you’re really that nice, you’d stop being so sad… 😹”

if the advancements didn’t stop, she’d basically do whatever she could to make sure he knew that your ass was a fruitcake and not interested… even if it was laughable on her end.

“let’s go my scissor sister!!”

“girl??”

EIJIROU is an actual nice guy… he doesn’t need to say it for it to be known, so maybe that why he knew exactly what was going on the moment he heard this guy flap his lips… he was ashamed that this guy actually labelled himself as a “nice guy” because honestly it was even starting to confuse him like… what if he’s the one that’s not nice for thinking this way? he’s literally gaslighting himself at this point 😭

but because EIJIROU’s so nice, he’d actually pull the dude aside, speak to him from one man to another man, and tell him that he doesn’t need to do all of this because you’re just not interested (oh, and y’all are dating!!)

“hey man… i’m telling you this because i thought you’d want to know, but she’s not interested. might never be, so like… quit it, dude.”

but when the dude pretends the conversation never happened, that’s when he starts getting visibly angry… he’ll be more firm when it comes to telling him off, and he’ll get in between y’all. if you wanted to tell him off yourself, then he’d be right behind you with his arms crossed.

DENKI laughs because he thinks this isn’t a serious thing at all like… there’s no way somebody actually acts like this, right? this is all fiction. he quickly realizes that this is in fact NOT fiction, and this dude is dead serious— and this is when DENKI starts to panic. he alternates between laughing (because not even mineta is that ridiculous) and being gobsmacked at this behavior. it has him lowkey paranoid, because he wonders if he has ever acted like that towards anyone, even if he meant well.

similar to kiri, DENKI is the type to pull the guy aside and tell him what’s up. except, he’d do it so casually, the guy would probably think he’s joking. now, DENKI’s scared because the guy was trying to rope him in his shenanigans (even though he’d never resort to such tactics!!)

he’ll try to joke that being a “nice guy” is out of style (except he’s not really joking) and because this guy genuinely freaks him out, he’d just focus on creating distance between you and that dude.

“bro was gooning so hard 😭 that was not sigma 😹”

KATSUKI practically implodes, when he first sees it, but it’s such an expected reaction— the nice guy doesn’t even think twice about it. KATSUKI looks annoyed— pissed off, when this rando goes up to you and pats you on the head with his unwashed hand, but after the nice guy momentarily goes away, KATSUKI turns to you and tells you to ignore it. not because he thinks you can’t deal with the problem, nor that it isn’t worth dealing with appropriately, but because he doesn’t want you to worry about someone like him any longer. there are better things for both of y’all to worry about, and this will no longer be your problem.

KATSUKI doesn’t even give the dude the luxury of a warning, the next time he sees him and they’re ALONE?? he’s approaching him with such speed, it has the guy shaking in his boots. the nice guy literally regrets trying to be all nice to you for ulterior motives, and he makes it known— but KATSUKI doesn’t care anymore.

“i was just being nice! can’t a guy be nice anymore??”

“oh so you wanna die—”

“sheesh, okay! fine! i’ll stop. the bitch doesn’t deserve it anyway…”

“… say what.”

KATSUKI did in fact deal with it, and you never had to think twice about him again (excluding the times you laughed about it to him.)

“ngl i can’t believe he thought that’d work.”

“well he’s a fucking dumbass. focus on stretching.”

SHOUTO is so confused, because he can’t understand why anyone would actually act this way, and for ulterior motives too. he can’t understand lying about who you are to get something— especially if that somebody is you, and especially if someone just wants that attention. it’s one thing to have a crush on you, sure (he gets that because he literally does), but it’s another thing to make you uncomfortable in the process of trying to get with you.

SHOUTO looks puzzled— insulted even, when he sees this guy pat you on the head and call you short. not just because he literally touched you and made you uncomfortable, but also because he could’ve been wrong too 😭

SHOUTO wouldn’t try to hide the fact that he’s trying to get in between of you. he’s literally like a sturdy foundation, unable to be moved— even if the guy tried to push him aside (also… that’s certainly a choice..)

SHOUTO is blunt with it. he will try to correct him on your height— even if he doesn’t need to. nice guy probably already knows that you’re not actually that short, but SHOUTO needs to make things known.

“please get it right. she’s not short.” (he’d say, if you’re not)

“you’re quite wrong, she’s not that short.” (he’d say, if you are)

and he’d just watch the color drain off his face with secret satisfaction, and the room atmosphere would go awkward afterwards (but does he GAF, nope…)

“you didn’t have to annihilate him like that,” you’d tease SHOUTO later, and then sarcastically remark, “i thought he was a nice guy”

“they finish last. at least, according to a saying.”

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beautifulsenpai · 6 months

Note

I have a request if you don’t mind doing it!

Lovestruck Endeavor x Recovery Girl’s Grandson

Endeavor is deeply in love with Recovery Girl’s grandson that works with her in U.A, a quirk that is related to her, and has…some man tits. Endeavor would give the male reader presents like red roses with heart balloons attached to them, expensive jewelry and would bring male reader their favorite food every time he visits male reader in the nurse’s office to show his love for him. Male reader doesn’t feel the same way for some reasons, the age gap is a reason, Endeavor is 45 and male reader is 20 but male reader doesn’t want to hurt his feelings, so he has to go along with it.

You could add some parts as well, maybe non-con?

✧˚ ༘ ⋆HIS NURSE | LOVESTRUCK ENJI TODOROKI

endeavor has a pretty big crush on recovery girl’s cute young grandson.

tw/cw. male reader, age gap, dubious consent kissing and groping, reader is 20 in this fic, enji being a creep

senpai’s note. wanna request a fic, or headcanon? look at my requesting rules before requesting darling. sorry for taking a long break. rules/requesting, masterlists

(name) sighed as he plopped down onto the recovery girl’s office chair that he had taken over for the time being. recovery girl was taking a long-needed break, and (name) took the position to fill for her, since both of them have the same quirk. the job was going fine, even sometimes fun.

taking care of injured or sick students was a highlight of his day, it felt nice to see the kids get better, and it’s funny how flustered they can get when (name) has to give them a kiss to treat their wounds. it was truly nice until he met endeavor, the current number-one pro hero.

(name) had bumped into endeavor in a hallway in U.A. endeavor was truly memorized from his presence, from how (name’s) pouty lips were pink and plumped that looked so kissable to his nurse uniform that hugged his waist nicely, showing off his curves. neither of them didn’t say anything, (name) felt too awkward while endeavor was busy admiring his beauty.

after that encounter, endeavor couldn’t keep his eyes off (name) and wouldn’t leave him alone. every opportunity that endeavor had, he would visit (name) in the nurse’s office. he would bring him lunch, yummy desserts, or even luxury gifts. this surprised (name), especially when did endeavor to find out that he had a sweet tooth. endeavor even allowed him to address him by his first name.

later on, (name) figured out that the scary man had a crush on him, endeavor never told him that so he put the pieces together and the result is endeavor having a crush on him. (name) felt flattered, but he didn’t feel like it wouldn’t work. first of all, he thought that endeavor was a married man. second of all, (name) was still a young adult while endeavor was in his late middle age. lastly, he just felt uneasy around the man.

but, the kind-hearted man he was, he continued to let endeavor to do as he pleased, even if he had to suffer. back to the present, (name) rocked the chair side to side with a frown plastered on his face. the other pro heroes/teachers invited the nurse to have lunch with them since they’ve gotten along great for the past week.

that was a nice gesture, but he sadly declined. he didn’t want to see or interact with endeavor. endeavor would’ve most likely joined his comrades since he thought (name) would be there. he kept coming up with excuses for why he couldn’t join his new friends, and it was getting tiring. some were true, and some were lies.

(name) sighed once again as he looked towards his desk, eyeing the bouquet of roses lying there that endeavor purchased for him when (name) arrived in the morning. he recalled how endeavor told him that “the roses are as gorgeous as him”. the flattery and the gift did make his cheeks go red. (name) hummed, he should remind himself later to get a flower pot with water for the roses.

unexpectedly, there was a sudden knock on the door. (name) attention turned from the flowers to the door. was it a student? he continued to observe the door until he (name) finally responded, “come in”. he wouldn’t have spoken if he had known who was behind that door. the wooden door slid open slowly to reveal endeavor with a slight blush on his cheeks, while one of his hands was occupied with something.

he was wearing his hero attire, but the beard and mustache that were made of fire were missing, showing off his massive scar on his face. (name’s) eyes slightly widen as well as his mouth. he quickly stood up, accidentally knocking pens and pencils off the desk from the chair colliding with the desk.

“e-endeavor! hello! g-good to see you again! i thought you joined with the others for lunch!-”, (name) nervous stammering was interrupted. “i’ve told you to call me enji”, enji stated in his low voice that sent shivers down (name’s) spine. “r-right..”, (name) muttered while a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.

“i had heard that you weren’t joining with the heroes.”, enji spoke as stepped inside the nursery. he stood in front of (name), his tall figure hovering over his petite frame. (name) nodded, “yes, i have too much..p-paperwork to get done!”, he answered as he pointed back to the stack of papers that were sat on top of his desk.

he glanced at the stack of paper, and (name) was indeed telling the truth. enji nodded, he understood. enji stared back at the nurse as he lifted a pink cloth that wrapped around a bento box to (name). (name) eyed the bento box with a brow raised. he was hesitant to grab it, but he took it regardless. “fuyumi made it just for you”, enji added as he looked away his cheeks flushed red.

(name) knew fuyumi, well not exactly. enji had talked about his kids to him and they sounded lovely. the only child (name) who had interacted with him was shoto. shoto only came to him when he was wounded, and he hardly got to know him. shoto was highly serious and clear-headed, but there was some sweetness about him, and that is what made (name) take a liking to him.

(name) smiled warmly at the bento box, he wondered if enji had talked about him to his kids. “could you please tell her that i highly appreciate it, i’m sure it tastes delicious!”, (name) giggled as he smiled brightly at enji. enji eyes slightly widened and his cheeks burned brighter as he felt his heart beating loudly. “hm..”, enji hummed.

after that, enji left the infirmary to let (name) continue his work, and eat the food in the bento in peace. he was grateful, as soon he took a bite of the food, he thought he would die of joy. the food tasted delightful. if he ever met fuyumi, he would ask for some recipes from her.

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🎀 ⋅ ˚✮ 🧸

the sun has started to set, all the students went to their dorms while the heroes had their hero duties to attend to. (name) had already finished with his lunch, and it was delicious. (name) was busy typing away on the computer that was on the desk. papers, folders, pencils, and pens were scattered around the desk.

he was too invested in staring at the computer screen to realize the infirmary door slid open and someone walking in. footsteps were coming closer to him, but (name) didn’t notice, until two large hands grasped onto his shoulders. (name’s) typing had come to a halt, his eyes widened as he shuddered in his chair, and he felt his heart stop beating from the scare.

“relax (name), it’s me”, enji reassured him as he gently rubbed (name’s) shoulders to comfort him. (name) sighed in relief but he continued to be on edge. how enji was massaging his shoulders made him feel uneasy. he couldn’t just tell enji to stop his actions, that would just be impolite, after all, enji was just being affectionate.

“s-sorry, you startled me..”, (name) trembled as he tried not to focus on what enji was doing. his eyes looked somewhere else besides enji as sweat beads started to form. the awkward silence was finally broken. “i’ve bought you a gift”, enji stated with a hint of delight in his voice. (name) wasn’t surprised.

now and then, when they both bumped into each other or if endeavor visited the infirmary, he would have a gift in his grasp for (name). whether it be something thoughtful or something luxurious. (name) had told him many times that he didn’t want him to spend his hard-earned money on him, but enji was stubborn as ever and wouldn’t listen.

“you did wha-”, (name) didn’t even finish what he was going to say. the chair was turned around quickly by enji, making him release a shriek. (name) was faced with enji revealing a black medium-sized jewelry box that was topped off with a white ribbon. endeavor slowly opened the box, revealing a sparkling continuous oval diamond necklace.

(name’s) eyes widened, his mouth agape slightly as he stared at the gorgeous and expensive necklace. he couldn’t accept the lavish gift, but endeavor wouldn’t let that happen, (name) couldn’t refuse if he wanted to. enji saw how (name) was memorized by the luxuriant gift he happily bought for him, and he smirked with pride.

“here, let me assist you with placing it around your neck”, endeavor requested with a small smile present on his face. (name) hesitated, but agreed. “o-okay..”, (name) muttered as he slowly rose from the chair, and turned around for endeavor to have easier access to his neck. endeavor didn’t waste this opportunity to look at (name’s) backside.

he looked at his neck he desperately wanted to mark to his waist that he could easily snatch, and then to his plump ass that he extremely wanted to place his hands onto, he bet that it felt soft and squishy. endeavor pushed those thoughts away to focus on his task, putting on this gorgeous necklace around the most beautiful man he ever laid his eyes on.

endeavor carefully removed the necklace from the box, as he safely grasped it. he gently placed the necklace around (name’s) neck as he made sure not to accidentally harm (name) and then fastened the clasp securely. as the necklace was finally around the male’s necklace, endeavor smirked in pride.

knowing that his wealth would “impress” (name), and his money would take care of him for the rest of his life swelled him up with honor. the thought of (name) being his adorable househusband, taking care of the house while enji would shower with him luxury would make his face flush, and even sometimes a boner.

(name) reached for the necklace, his hands roamed the necklace carefully, fingers intertwined with the diamonds attached to the necklace. maybe..he was wrong about enji. (name) didn’t mention this earlier but he thought that enji was a weird old man that had an obsession with him.

it’s just a silly crush that enji would forget about. (name) smiled fondly, “thank you enji, it’s lovely-”. oh, how (name) wished he took those words back. endeavor craned (name’s) neck upwards to try to meet his face level as his lips met (name’s). (name’s) eyes widen in horror, his body flinches as his felt endeavor’s big hand gripped onto his hip.

endeavor’s eyes were shut as he focused on the kiss, he felt like he was on cloud nine. this was like a fairy tale, this was finally happening. how badly (name) wanted to push the man away, and slap him..but the outcome of it. call him selfish, but he doesn’t want to see the large man heartbroken, he wouldn’t live with himself if he was the cause of the endeavor’s depressive behavior.

the fear of the one interfering with the endeavor’s hero work. (name) shook those upset thoughts away as he hesitantly kissed back, closing his eyes. endeavor noticed it made his cheeks turn pink. (name) had finally fallen in love with him as much as he does with (name), that’s what endeavor has thought. (name’s) heart was pounding, and his knees started to feel like jelly.

endeavor realized (name’s) state. he quickly pressed (name) to the wall, trapping him. a grunt left (name’s) lips but that was swallowed up by the kiss. (name) tried to hold himself up. his hands grabbing onto the walls to prevent himself from falling. (name) felt disgusted with himself, he shouldn’t let this man take advantage of him, but he’s allowing him.

endeavor’s hands were placed on (name’s) hips, rubbing them up, and down as their kiss was getting heated. the intimate touches were making (name) hot and bothered, and he was whimpering from the sensation. endeavor’s hand continued to roam (name’s) body until his hands landed on (name’s) ass.

(name) gasped, and endeavor quickly invaded his mouth with his tongue. (name) was taken back by the sudden intrusion, but didn’t complain or even push the man off. tears threatened to spill from (name’s) eyes, endeavor’s tongue was a bit big for his mouth to fit in so he would gag at times.

their tongues tangled together fighting for dominance, but it was endeavor who was doing that crap, he wanted to take full control as drool leaked from (name’s) mouth. (name) was panting in the open-mouthed kiss, this will soon blow over, right? this silly “little” crush?

#x male reader #male reader #bottom male reader #x bottom male reader #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #my hero academia x male reader #boku no hero hero x male reader #endeavor x male reader #enji todorki x male reader

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andypantsx3 · 5 months

Note

Hi hi hi, andy! I also have a question abt wimym. I loved reading it sm!! Shouto was so so so soft with the reader I melted everytime they interacted

I wanted to know how Touya reacted to when they became a couple. Did he ever think of the possibility of them being together?

And Rei, when she smiled at the immediate yes from Shouto for the run when the reader said she'd go for the run. Did Rei know?

Ahhhh thank you to everyone who sent one of these asks, I am so overwhelmed and so very grateful. I had so much fun writing it and I'm so happy you guys liked it.

And I hope it's okay I grouped you all because you had a similar question!! One that I intend to answer with a drabble: What does the main character of our wimym universe Touya (lol) think of Shouto x Reader? ✨✨

(Fair warning the dabihawks shipper in me is at it again in this one).

You arrived late, thanks to Shouto.

It had been a monumental effort to even get out the door, with the number of times you'd been dragged back underneath Shouto in bed, pressed into the wall and kissed breathless just as you'd escaped bed range, and then followed into the shower as you'd tried to get presentable for Shouto's family.

It was lucky you'd known the Todorokis your whole life, as this was not the first impression you wanted to make as Shouto's life mate.

"They will understand," Shouto intoned as you knocked on the front door.

His breath ghosted over a mark on the back of your neck he'd diligently sucked there not a half hour before, and you shivered with the accompanying memory of his long fingers dipping into the underwear you'd only just managed to pull on.

Before you could respond, however, the door pulled open and you suddenly found yourself with an armful of Fuyumi.

"Congratulations!" she said, and you could tell by the sound of her voice that she was beaming. The sound instantly put you at ease, and you could feel some of the tension leak out of you. She was a fellow beta, not that much younger than you, and always had a way of calming you.

You'd been concerned that his family wouldn't take it well, your being mated to Shouto. But Fuyumi carried on like nothing was the matter.

"We're all so happy. Mom said it was about time, and Natsuo has been inundated with winnings from all the bets he's taken," she said, laughing, punctuating her words with a squeeze.

You blinked. Bets. Had Shouto's regard for you really been that obvious to everyone else, too, all these years? Your ears heated.

Fuyumi released you only to drag Shouto down into a hug too, reaching up nearly a foot to ruffle his hair and murmuring her congratulations to him as well. Shouto's eyes met yours over her shoulder, and he blinked slow like a cat. You could tell how pleased he was.

"Mom's made lunch, I bet you two are famished after everything," Fuyumi said, once she released Shouto.

Your ears went even hotter with the implication, and almost nuclear when Shouto intoned, "We are."

"Shhh," you hissed at him, as Fuyumi gestured you inside. The foyer smelled like her, a cold spring morning, with the undercurrent of Rei's wildflowers.

"They do know what a life mate is," Shouto told you, even as he took your hand in his. "And they are aware that I've had you locked away for days."

Your stomach lurched even as it fluttered with the memory of what those days locked away had been like. "We were playing checkers," you said to Fuyumi.

A pert white eyebrow being raised was all the reply you got as she led you into the kitchen, and you frowned. Todorokis.

In the kitchen, you barely got a glance at the lunch spread before you were immediately engulfed in a hug from Natsuo. Rei smiled at you and petted your hair fondly the way your own mother did, cupping your cheek and looking at you like she'd always sort of known.

A yank from Shouto, however, pulled you out of the way just as a fabric napkin came whipping at your face. You jerked around to find Touya leaning over the table, glaring between you and Shouto like he didn't know which one of you to be more disgusted with.

"That is my baby brother," he hissed to you before rounding on Shouto. "That is my friend."

Shouto's grip on you tightened immediately, eyes narrowing. His mouth pursed. "Y/N is mine, Touya."

You suppressed an eye roll, even as Touya growled. "You wouldn't even know each other if it wasn't for me, you little pervert—"

Well there it was.

"Wow, lunch looks soooo good," you intoned over both of them, turning to Rei with a deliberate flourish. "You always take such good care of me, I am grateful."

Rei's smile was soft, in contrast to Touya's angry growl. You pretended like you were suddenly deaf to that corner of the room.

"Shouto has been in love for a long time. I am happy to know it is someone we all love dearly too," Rei said.

Your face heated, and Touya made another disgusted sound. "And you, what happened to not wanting some knothead idiot?" he demanded over his mother.

Shouto blinked and leaned back, apparently not as fussed with the accusation of being a knothead idiot as he was with the implication that he had to share you with anyone else.

You had to bite down a smile, knowing that would only enrage Touya further.

"I am hungry," Shouto said, ignoring his brother now entirely. "Next time I will make a larger portion for leftovers."

Your skin prickled guiltily. The two of you had worked up an appetite like you'd never had in your life over the past few days, decimating the leftovers and then all the snacks Shouto had packed away for you in his cabinets.

It was honestly only the promise of more homecooked food that had finally lured the two of you out this afternoon, after which you'd make a stop at your mother's and then grab Shouto's bodyweight in groceries before returning to—well, certain activities.

"Next time?" you prompted Shouto, eyebrows raising.

"My rut," he said, and bolt of heat went through you like lightning. You had not thought of that.

Touya made another noise like he was repulsed.

"I would love to not talk about that in front of your family," you said to Shouto, mortified.

"I would love to not be a part of this family," Touya said darkly from the table.

Fuyumi cast him a stricken glance, but before she could say anything, there was a knock at the door. You watched a strange expression overtake Natsuo's face, the same one that came over Shouto's when he was trying not to look too smug.

When Fuyumi returned, it was with a familiar blonde alpha in tow. Keigo grinned around her, leaning forward and giving you and then Shouto a fist bump.

"Had to be here for the celebration," he drawled, his tone airy, wiggling his eyebrows. He looked as at home in the kitchen as he had a lanky preteen, come out to play for an afternoon. "And Rumi's on her way too. Congrats, lovebirds."

You noted Touya's corner was suddenly a fraction more subdued, and your eyes darted to Natsuo again, a brow raising. He watched you back, tucking his cellphone into his pocket with deliberate focus.

You managed to steer Shouto towards Natsuo's side of the table while Keigo threw himself down eagerly next to Touya. Touya bristled like a cat over a bath, grumbling something, but it was drowned out by Keigo helping himself to Touya's personal space, an arm draping behind Touya's chair. Touya shoved him off, swearing.

But beneath the white mess of his hair, you thought the tip of his ear was a rather telling shade of pink.

"Called in reinforcements?" you asked Natsuo as you settled in next to him.

Shouto glanced over, frowning that your attention was elsewhere. You slipped your hand into his, almost melting with the way his thumb stroked over your skin, barely resisting the urge to pinch him for how cute he was.

For his part, Natsuo smiled, patting his pocket pointedly.

"That," he said, returning his gaze to his older brother as he squawked about Keigo's proximity, all dismay with you and Shouto forgotten. A smile pulled at Natsuo's mouth. "And I might have one more bet to win."

#ask andie

445 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 8 months

Text

what now?

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking

words: 8.8k

It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.

Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.

You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side.

Yet.

It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you.

“Touya.”

He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons.

It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.

“Hmm?”

“That’s my real name. Touya.”

“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Todoroki Touya.”

Oh.

“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”

“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”

And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on.

He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you.

But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.

The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame.

Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.

He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.

He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer.

The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.

You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips.

“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.

“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”

“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”

Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.

“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!”

Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.

“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!”

“Shouto?”

“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.”

His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling.

“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”

“Oh, I can only imagine…”

…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.

“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!”

“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull.

“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”

Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors.

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.

“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”

“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”

You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.

He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him.

And your heart sinks.

New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye.

“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.”

“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.

“And you’re hurt.”

He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!”

“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”

“But it isn’t even painful.”

“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.”

Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.

Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech.

And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute.

He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.

And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.

What now?

It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten.

What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process?

Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?

Does Dabi even care? Does Touya?

You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him.

You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly.

You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times.

You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man.

So what now?

“He tried to cool me down.”

The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw.

“What?”

“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.”

His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder.

The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.

“During the fight?”

His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once.

“I was overheating, and he…”

Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.

“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours.

Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice.

Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.

“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”

It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—

“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.

“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”

“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.”

You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…

What now?

It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat.

Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.

You refuse to steal this moment from him.

“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”

It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.

Always for him.

And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.

Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.

“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?”

The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face.

“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?”

“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.”

Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin.

“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”

“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.”

His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever.

It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you.

Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.

You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it.

You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.

But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.

Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much.

He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine.

“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.”

Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face.

The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh.

The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up.

Sicko.

His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.

Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.

His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams.

Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.”

A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth.

He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin.

His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.

Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt.

It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.

You need more.

“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction.

“Uh-huh?”

“Touya.”

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?”

Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.

“You want something? Huh?”

Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think?

“You know.”

He does, of course he does.

But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.

“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.”

Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.

Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny.

“W-Want your cock.”

His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring.

“That’s not asking, sweetheart.”

Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.

“Can I please have your cock? Please?”

“Please what?”

And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.

An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action.

He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.

As expected.

“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”

Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.

“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”

Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.

The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full.

And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.”

“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”

“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”

A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.

“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?”

“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips.

Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.

“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?”

The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him?

The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.

“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!”

Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.

Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.

“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”

God, you hope not.

“Please, please—”

And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar.

Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.

But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.

“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”

Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips.

Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.

It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything.

“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”

A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs.

“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.”

And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him.

And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.

It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.

Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.

“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.

Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.

It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.

“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul.

Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable.

“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”

“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.

“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”

Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues.

“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.”

“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!”

The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.

“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”

Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.

You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock.

“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.”

A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.

“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!”

“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.”

Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue.

His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat

It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!

“Gonna—gonna—!”

A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls.

“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?”

Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues.

“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.”

“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly!

Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat.

“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?”

He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue.

“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples.

He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction.

Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you.

“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!”

The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords.

“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?”

“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”

“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.”

Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.

The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact.

He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails.

No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit.

Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.

You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling.

“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively.

“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.

Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.

“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”

The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone.

He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking.

Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips.

“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.”

In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.

You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin.

Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.

His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt.

Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more.

So cute.

Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips.

It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.

Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole.

It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal.

A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis.

“Fuck, f-fuck—”

His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.

Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch.

Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever.

The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name.

But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm.

“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum.

“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!”

A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.

“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!”

And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix.

He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs.

You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one.

Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs.

“What now?”

You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.

What now?

They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin.

His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.

What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?

What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?

“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.”

You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob.

“The dream, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.”

A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.

“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.

He does.

You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude.

You know.

But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.

You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.

And you hug him tighter.

You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him.

#dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #dabi angst #bnha smut #bnha x reader #happy belated birthdaaaay dabi i love you so much #eeeeee feel free to let me know what u think!!! i hope u enjoy it!!!

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shibaraki · 2 years

Text

TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

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]

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?”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader

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skymar13 · 2 months

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Helping 1A with the post war effects

:angst/comfort

Bakugo

When bakugo started to lose his hearing you thought it’d be ideal and give him some reassurance to learn sign to be able to freely communicate with him as well as help him interact with his classmates as well.

Izuku

Izuku had always had scars on his body but now they had almost tripled to the point his body was more scar than skin. When yall would cuddle you’d lightly touch his scars whispering how beautiful they were making him feel less insecure and grounded.

Denki

When Denki came back his brain was fried and he’d have random spells where he would just blank out. The rest of the class made jokes about it but when this happened you’d rub his back waiting for him to come back to reality and when he did he’d js look at you with sorrowful eyes.

Kirishima

Kirishima thought he was unbreakable but when he started falling apart during the war and was actually getting marked up he couldn’t help but feel useless. You stop by to change out his bandages and make him food since he refused to leave and for this he thanked you to no end

Mina

She had carefully manipulated her quirk all the time. Mina had never gotten chemical burns until the battle. Now she had to deal with painful light pink marks across her body. (I have vitiligo so I relate to the insecurity) she hated them thinking they were disgusting and she tried to hide them until you’d kiss each one carefully complementing their shapes and color.

Iida

His engines had blown and were terribly sore it hurt to walk. So you never let iida walk not even to fetch his water bottle that was across the room. You’d taken care of him u til he healed without a question and for this he was forever indebted.

Sero

His arms had been sore and he was all banged up from the falls he’d endured. Sero sat on the sink letting you change his bandages and lay kisses on them afterwards. He leant in to kiss you lips hissing in pain.

Ururaka

Poor had been vomiting all day. Ururaka couldn’t even stand straight without getting nauseous. And even if it was gross you held the bag or pulled her hair back and brought her water and liquid ivs or snacks to make sure she wouldn’t get sick.

Tsuyu

Her tongue had been sliced up to the Gods blood constantly spilling from her mouth. Every time you noticed tsu beginning to bleed you brought her hydrogen peroxide and cleaned her wounds.

Jirou

Her ears had been ringing all day none stop causing her so many head aches. Jirou had experienced too many loud sounds for way too long. The best way you could help was be her quiet you brought her noise canceling headphones and watched 1950s silent movies.

Todoroki

He’d had freezer burns and regular burns all over his body. Todoroki was constantly shaking from the pain he couldn’t touch anything before his nerves would flare up. You’d brought him some aloe Vera and Tylenol you wouldn’t touch him but you stayed with him and that’s all he could ask for.

Tokoyami

He had gotten pretty beaten up back there and shadow hadn’t helped. Tokoyami had barely any control over dark shadow to the point he stopped trying. Luckily you were able to patch him up and calm dark shadow with your words of love and treats.

Hitoshi

He had so many head aches from over use of his quirk. So you stayed in hitoshis dorm making it dark and quiet with just the tv playing as you let him nap with Tylenol on the bed side waiting for him.

Momo

She’d almost completely wrecked her whole body. Momo had felt weak for a while after barely being able to walk across her room without feeling dizzy and nauseated. You brought her some medicine and food and kept her entertained u til she felt better.

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mx-pastelwriting · 2 years

Text

MHA Heroes HC - How They'd React Bruises on Reader after a night.

Heroes x GN! Reader

Summary: Heroes reaction to bruises on reader after a night of sex.

Warnings: Light Mentions of past sex acts, Bruising on Reader, Fluff, Established Relationship

Characters: Endeavor (Enji Todoroki), Gang Orca (Kugo Sakamata), Eraserhead (Shota Aizawa), Vlad King (Sekijiro Kan), Fat Gum (Taishiro Toyomitsu)

Minors do not interact!

Endeavor (Enji Todoroki)

-Wouldn't notice until the morning, when you are still sleeping off the night's events.

-When he does notice them, he softly traces them; he kind of likes them, though he quickly changes his tune when you groan at the pain when you start to wake.

-You had bruises on your hips and thighs; some might have some surface burn as well, as Enji can get a little wild.

-Aftercare he takes very seriously. He makes sure you're comfortable in bed and gets you ice packs wrapped in a thin towel.

"Thank you," you say quietly, the pain lessened by the coolness. Enji hadn't apologized, but you didn't want him to because the night had been incredible and there was nothing you could ask him to do differently.

You did appreciate that he took the day off to cuddle you in bed, just in case the ice packs were too much. "I love you," he whispers into your shoulder skin as he lays his head. You place yours on top and say, "I love you too", His arm is wrapped softly around your waist so as not to disturb your nerves. Furthermore, you knew he was somewhat sorry for putting you in pain, but the imprint on your skin made his mind swirl with heat.

Gang Orca (Kugo Sakamata)

-Would notice as he's getting ready for work and him taking care of you would wake you.

-Apologizing every minute as he places an ice packs on your hips and arm.

-Would ask if anything else hurts; if the answer is yes, he would melt into the floor with guilt, but after reassuring him you're not dying, you would both laugh it off.

-He would call off work against your wishes; he would take care of you the whole day, helping you to the bathroom, but you reminded him you weren't glass.

"How badly does it hurt, angel?" Kugo gently asks his hand to hold yours. You smiled and shook your head; you weren’t dying, but he made it seem so. "Kugo, it's fine." "It's not fine, Angelfish; I hurt you." His voice was filled with guilt. "Yes, but you didn't mean to." Trying to clam him was an easy task, but you placed your hand on his face, hoping to get him to drop it. "Okay, but let me know if you need anything," he says, snuggling closer to you. He pulled you gently close to him, having you lay on his chest and hear his now calm heartbeat.

Eraserhead (Shota Aizawa)

-Would notice after he gets home from work and sees you walking funny.

-Asks if you're okay, and you show him his work on you, he goes into caring mode, asking if you’re okay and why didn't you tell him.

-After explaining yourself, he would have you sit down to rest, he would cook dinner, and have you resting up with blankets cuddling you.

-Going to bed, he would gently cuddle you, wondering if he should call into work tomorrow to get the day off, but you begged to have him decide in the morning.

His hand gently wraps around your shoulder to your back, not wanting to touch the bruises that mark your waist and thighs. "Tell me if anything hurts," he whispers, but all he gets from you is a quiet hum. You dig your head into his chest, hearing his soft heartbeat and breathing.

Through the night, you wake up to his phone ringing. Aizawa groans as he shifts, bumping into your thigh. You whine at the pain, causing him to jump up and say, "I'm sorry, where did I hurt you?" He says in a panic, "It's fine, just answer the phone." You grumble, though you're not upset at him, just at the ringing noise of the phone. He answers and gets up shortly after ending the call, and you watch with tired eyes as he's getting ready. "I'll be back in an hour, I love you, and don't move," he says, giving you a quick kiss and heading off, leaving you to fall back asleep in a now cold bed.

Vlad King (Sekijiro Kan)

-Would notice getting ready for work; as soon as he sees the bruises that litter your hips and shoulders, he wakes you with cries of asking you if you're okay.

-Yes he was rough in bed, but he always made sure you were okay. Seeing this made him a puddle on the floor.

-As you wake, you have to reassure him you're okay, just sore, but before you can say you'll be fine while he's gone, he calls into work.

-He would make you breakfast, fluff up some pillows to make you comfortable, and run you a bath after you eat.

"Thank you, love," you say in a tired voice as you take the small table of food in your lap. "And I'll run you a warm bath after too," he says, sitting down next to you and having his own food. "Can you join me?" You ask, but his face says something other than excitement: "I'm afraid I'll hurt you, hon." His voice sounded like he was fighting back tears: "It's okay, you will make me feel better, please." He thinks it over for a minute and nods, going back to his breakfast.

All Might (Toshinori Yagi) -Works for small & big

-Would see in the middle of the night coming back from the bathroom.

-He would lay back in bed but keep his distance, then call into work to get the day off. He's never done this before, so he's a bit scared.

-When you wake up, you notice the bruising on your hips and ribs. The pain would come every time you moved, but Toshinori was there to help and bring food.

-He would have helped you change into something decent as of last night had you not. A lot of apologies would have been given, but your words calmed them down.

Toshinori moved with panic as he took the empty plate from you. "Thank you, Toshi," you say warmly, but he just gave a small smile before his eyes went to your bruises. Noticing you cover them up with the blankets, you didn't mind his getting rough in bed; maybe you even liked it, but you hated how he looked at you like you were broken.

"Come sit" You say he's patting the bed; he slowly sits, but far from you. You painfully move closer to him, but he still keeps his distance. "Please come closer; I feel like I'm the plague," you say with a hurt laugh. He does gently put a hand on your thigh, letting you put your head on his shoulder and watch TV.

Fat Gum (Taishiro Toyomitsu) -Works for big & small

-Would notice as he comes in with breakfast in bed for you, the covers are moved, letting him see them in the morning light.

-It covered your hips and back; he woke you gently, but he was about to cry seeing you groan in pain.

-Putting the table on your lap like he always does on his day off. He asks if you're okay and points to the bruises that you now notice.

-He would cuddle you up with blankets while you and him ate to enjoy your morning shows, though he would keep a close eye on you.

Eating your food, you would feel Taishiro's eyes on you; it made you squirm where you sat. Looking at him, he smiles at you as you take another bit of his food. "Is it that bad?" you ask with a worried look on your face, but he quickly turns into protective mode. "No, not at all. I just never thought I would go that hard on you." He sighs, you go soft, "I enjoyed last night, please; I don't want this to stop you." You reassure him, and he smiles, "It's not, sweetheart, but if you like it that way, then does tomorrow night sound good?" He flirts, you blush, and you give him a kiss.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their work being copied, translated, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

#endeavour x reader #enji todoroki x reader #gang orca x reader #kugo sakamata x reader #eraserhead x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shota aizawa x reader #vlad king x reader #sekijiro kan x reader #all might x reader #toshinori yagi x reader #fat gum x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #mha headcanons #mha heroes x reader

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serosluv2 · 9 months

Note

obsessed bf x pretty gf trope hcs w sero & shoto pls & ty 😁😁 (seperately pls)

It’s only 7 months late but here u go anon 😘

a/n: I wrote this in an hour in the bathtub so if it is shit- don’t tell me bc I’m just getting back into writing 😭😭

Shoto Todoroki

He fits this trope so well.

He is THEE resident pretty boy of UA so it makes perfect sense that he has the prettiest girl in all of Japan. (The world)

He is the teeny weeny ist bit dense on like how to take proper photos of you for the ‘gram but trust that he WILL be searching up everything about lighting and angles and exposure and zoom- all that nonsense.

If you’re a social media girly he may leave like one or two comments. He isn’t the best about being outwardly obsessed with you, he is all about those private small moments. Not being able to take his eyes off you anywhere. Always needing to be beside you. If he can’t be with you then trust he is texting you at every free moment and expects a response within 5 minutes.

He loves shopping with you and helping you pick out outfits or jewelry or how to style your makeup that day. He has no real opinion on what looks better tho he just loves seeing you get all prettied up. (Yk that tiktok where the girl is trying to decide on a dress color and her bf is just like “wtv u want mama u look breathtaking in both” ?That’s him.)

I feel like he doesn’t really buy you anything in the beginning of your relationship bc he doesn’t really see the point/value or something in that BUT all it takes is for kaminari to get you some product you’ve been wanting for a while for secret santa and seeing how touched you were by the gesture sends him into over drive:

“OH MY GOD! KAMI!!” You exclaim- wrapping your arms around him. “How did you know? I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” Shoto notices how big your eyes got and the slight blush on your cheeks from excitement and he feels, something unpleasant. Jealousy? Envy? Possessiveness? Whatever it is he doesn’t like how grateful you’re acting toward the blonde. I mean sure, he got you something nice you’ve wanted but that’s not his job (he just so happened to get you for secret santa so he kind of had to get you something) he’s not your boyfriend only your boyfriend- HIM- should be gifting you stuff. Then he kinda has a “ohh.” Moment and realizes he has never really gotten you anything just because.

Anyways after that whole interaction he is getting you anything and everything you look at for more than a second. You keep looking at some necklace at the store? Bought. He sees you liking tiktoks about girls getting flowers? Now you’re getting a bouquet every date night. Does he himself have money? No, but that No.1 hero daddy sure does. And let’s be honest he kind of owes shoto for making his childhood - for lack of a better word- awful.

In conclusion, Shoto loves his pretty girl and will do anything she asks of him without question.

Hanta Sero

Clawing at my cage for this man.

Now sero has been… infatuated with you since he first laid eyes on you one faithful morning. You were ordering at some coffee shop he passes by on his way to school and just one glance had him stopped dead in his tracks. The way your hair framed your face perfectly, your face in general because holy shit- you were gorgeous. Straight out of a magazine. He quickly took notice of the little embellishments you made to your uniform.. uniform? The same one Mina has. OH MY GOD YOU GO TO UA AND HE HAS NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE?

He literally cannot stop thinking about you and boom you appear again in the halls. Your going the opposite direction has him with your friends and he sees you all have a little cafe cup. Did you buy them all a drink before class? So you’re stupidly gorgeous and nice. Great, he, for sure, has no chance with you now.

But oh that’s where he is wrong.

When you guys start dating he actually cannot believe it. He is very guarded at first because- now it’s my personal hc that sero is a bit insecure- he can’t fathom how you, YOU, would actually want to date someone like…him.

But once those walls come down he doesn’t shut up about you. Seriously all his friends are so annoyed:

“Good god soy sauce if you mention your little girly friend again I’m hurling you across the city.”

“You’re just mad you don’t have a girl as pretty as mine- don’t worry baku-man, I’m sure one day some poor person will take pity on your soul.”

Sero did in fact get hurled across the city that day.

Now where he differs from Shoto is that this man is a GOD with a camera. He has that artistic eye and is able to capture you being your baddest/cutest/authentic self.

Literally ya’ll

He also has a good sense of style. He never thinks you look bad in one thing versus another but he will take into account the vibe of where you’re going and what’s you’ll be doing and give his opinion based on that. Because he grew up with sister and knows how to get around the “which one looks better?” Type question without hurting you.

Now sero doesn’t have money to spoil you senseless but what he does have is the forever lasting instinct to put your comfort above his own. It’s freezing and you didn’t wear a jacket because “a hoe ever gets cold”? Don’t worry sero will give you his and be visibly growing icicles on his body to keep you warm. Feet hurt from those impractical shoes? He’s caring you all the way home even if he is still terribly sore from a killer arm workout the day before with kirishima. A no a mudy puddle and you’re wearing your new white shoes :(! Well sero is laying his jacket down over it or simply caring you over the puddle. He isn’t the type to roll his eyes at how “ridiculous” or “spoiled” you’re being. You are y/n freaking l/n. He’ll do whatever you need to make sure nothing in your life goes wrong.

He also is the type to spam comments in your TikTok or Insta post and makes all his friends do the same. Not that you need it- he just loves fueling your ego.

#woohoo first day back after my 6 month leave #not that any of yall care #also I started watching jjk (yeah in late I know)#sero x reader #sero hanta #mha headcanons #hanta sero #hanta sero x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto torodoki

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08luvmailz · 9 months

Text

⌨︎ ⁩◞ HERO FANBOY — ! ❪shoto todoroki❫

SYNOPSIS ୨୧ ! which a certain hero from ua crushes (hard) on a idol ! headcanon, ooc shoto

FANBOY SHOTO! He wasn't interested in kpop activities, heck he hardly known anything about kpop in general.

He started knowing about them because of his brother natsuo who bought a heck ton of albums and blasting music in his room.

He side-eye his brother when he's screaming because he got your WINK-PHOTOCARD, as he keep screaming " omg! ITS SO SPARKS "

he saw the photocard and he was like " oh she's pretty " but disregard it afterwards BUTT

DIDNT KNOW HE WOULD FELL THAT HARD

he saw one of your recent comebacks on tv because his brother is streaming it and gahdam ur fucking SPARKLING ON STAGE.

At first he started knowing your group, YOU FIRST then streaming your group songs, your debut solo, collabs. streaming your group shows and music bank AND ALL THOSE

started buying albums too with natsuo. FINALLY HE HAVE SOMEONE IN THE FAMILY WHO WILL BE IN DEPT FOR LIFE BUYING ALBUMS

Natsuo asked who is his bias without hesitation he said your name, bro was smirking so bad at his lil bro BECAUSE YOU ARE THE MAKNAE OF YOUR GROUP, also half japanese and same age as him.

Bro was blushing whenever the camera pans at your face and smirking and doing that HE WAS GETTING HOTTER THAN HIS QUIRK

have a well known kpop stan twitter account who always make short comment about you but ICONIC because of how pure and sweet it is

doesnt know it but actually fell inlove with you NOT BECAUSE OF UR FACE (its a plus on him) but because of your determination and hard work, humour and personality is just CHEFS KISS

no one knows about his obsession welp it almost slip up when he accidently unplug his wired earphones to his phone AND SUDDENLY BLASTING Nobody knows by your group.

he lied he is just a casual listener

defends you on twitter, he looks like a soft boy but damn he is a beast on roasting BUT FAILS CAUSE HE CAN ONLY CUSS AT THEM

dedicated to buy front row tickets when your group finally have a concert there at your hometown

BRO WAS FIGHTING FOR LIFE AT THE POOR CONNECTION

bro brought the vip tickets for him and his big bro (with his dads money ofc, not like his father would know)

bro brought the 2 tickets for each day

won a fancall with you once but DAMN IT HIS HERO STUFF IS GETTING ON THE WAY

poor bby sulked the whole day that he missed the call, he was practicing his lines and tone for you

brought many batteries for his lightstick

make sure he is lookin good (not like he isn't good looking)

bro wake up early asf he want to be there as fast

bro became popular fan after one pictured him as the guy from the (group name) concert at jpn

he didnt know he bacame popular, he just saw his face 3 days after the concert on stan twt

BRO WHEN YOU TWO MAKE EYE CONTACT HE HAS HEART EYES

BRO WAS WHIPPED ASF

you are one stubborn fuck saw this cute guy with a scar and went through the barricades even though security was trying to get you back in stage cause its just a sound check and your safety too

Bro you came closer to him and saw his instax reaching for you. MADE A HEART CHEEK AT HIS FACE AND CAME CLOSER TO HIS FACE

bro almost want to faint right then and there.

you went after that he was kinda sad but happy he got a selfie WITH HIM

making this his lockscreen and making a frame of this treasured photo

You kept stealing glances at him and interacting with hand language, asking if he already eat lunch or just blantly flirting with him

LUCKIEST FAN

natsuo kept pushing his shoulders for every interaction at their section BUT MAINLY YOU ARE FOCUSED ON HIS BROTHER

bro when he came back from school BRO WAS BOMBARDED WITH QUESTIONS LIKE

" I DIDNT KNOW UR A FAN TODOROKI! " " WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME UR A FAN, I WANT TO BUY TICKETS TOO " " i didn't know todoroki listens to kpop " "BRO DID U HAVE PICS AND VID OF (your leader name) "

was now known as poker face but listens to puppy love by (groupname)

After that twt post of him being a handsome fan THEN PEOPLE STARTED SAYING HE WAS THE KID FROM UA, ENDEAVOR SON AND ALL THOSE SHIT

have an article of him now being the hero fan boy

boy he didnt give a shit about them, he just wanting to chill

but that didnt start there

your member posted on weverse a video of you taken, watching the sports festival and chanting HIS NAME AND BETTING THAT HE WOULD 1st PLACE

bro became the luckiest fan alive

saying he is the luckiest fan and hero and all of those then actually GONNA MEET YOU

you have a campaign like a collab with a hero AND THAT IS HIS DAD

participating on a event JUST TO SEE YOU

he did and boy was he nervous

he kept stuttering at the end of his sentence

then because actually friend with you, a little bit touchy side BUT HE IS A GENTELEMAN just subtle glances and touches

got your number and him posting a selfie of you two on twt (he made another acc just to post boast that picture)

after that he was well known as the hero fanboy who will soon in the future marry his idol

that woud be a story in another time <3

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nnnyxie · 5 months

Text

dabi, hawks, bakugo, & kirishima with a civilian s/o

requested by @crimsonredlotus

“I would like to do a request!

Head canons for Dabi, Hawks, Bakugo, and Kirishima, with a civilian lover/partner?😩🫶 Maybe you could also add on how their friends react? I think it would be funny.👀

Plus any other you might wanna throw in <3”

pt. two

dabi / todoroki touya:

⤷ him having a civilian partner is so….. interesting.

⤷ i think you’d have to really sympathize with him or just be completely oblivious. i just can’t really see him being with a civilian considering his status.

⤷ but if he was with one— it was possibly because you treated him like a human being despite how he looks/who he is.

⤷ dabi would definitely make sure your relationship wasn’t known to any rivals or pros, as they could weaponize you against him or take you to jail for being an ‘accomplice’.

⤷ if the LOV (pre season 6) found out he was dating a civilian, there’d be mixed reactions—

⤷ toga, twice, and compress would be supportive. at least that’s what i think.

⤷ kurogiri and spinner would be very cautious and on edge.

⤷ and shigaraki would hate it. he feared you’d end up becoming a liability but!! thanks to much convincing (from dabi and most of the league), he let it pass.

⤷ anyways.

⤷ i think he’d be more careful with a civilian partner.

⤷ like— when you both go out, he takes a lot more precautions. he covers up more than he usually would and he doesn’t steal as much or at all.

⤷ he’s not a good partner at first, he didn’t have the best example growing up. his views are warped.

⤷ but he grows and learns (and gets scolded by toga), he becomes a good bf!

hawks / takami keigo:

⤷ had to subside my hatred for him to do this request…

⤷ anyways,

⤷ hawks having a civilian s/o just makes sense.

⤷ he likes the normality you bring him after a long day of hero work.

⤷ he appreciates his fans, he really does— but, it gets tiring being the ‘mellow, happy’ hero all the time.

⤷ and the emotional toll that comes with being a pro— he just needs that comfort. that safe warmth you provide at the end of a long day.

⤷ he never intended for your relationship to become public.

⤷ one day, it just sort of happened.

⤷ he saw you while on patrol and on instinct he went to you.

⤷ normally it’d be seen as a cute fan interaction but before he left he said “see you at home” and everyone lost it.

⤷ it surprised his fans that he’s with a civilian but to his colleagues, they weren’t shocked at all.

⤷ when the talk of relationships found their way into conversations, he would always mention how he’d want a civilian partner.

⤷ they already knew of you, obviously. you always attended any gatherings with him.

⤷ i think he’s very attentive but he has those moments where he gets completely sucked into work and accidentally ignores you.

⤷ him ignoring you is never intentional but when he realizes that’s what he’s doing or when you communicate that with him, he snaps out of it and does his best to make it up to you.

⤷ he likes buying you things— that’s definitely his love language. even if it’s something small, he’ll get it cause it reminds him of you!

⤷ he wants to treat you the best he’s able to—

⤷ he wants to give you everything he can.

bakugo katsuki:

⤷ i think bakugo having a civilian s/o is so cute bc it’s so out of the ordinary for him.

⤷ like— you’d never guess he’d ever look at anyone that regard, let alone a civilian.

⤷ but the first time you both had met— it was the sweetest thing. it was as if love at first sight was real.

⤷ you probably caught his attention by warding off a villain on your own or something of the sort.

⤷ hence, the love at first sight.

⤷ i think he finds your quirk super useful and sometimes berates you for not becoming a hero.

⤷ of course he respects your choice not to— but, still. he thinks you would’ve been a badass pro.

⤷ i don’t think his friends would find out about your relationship until he casually mentioned having them over to meet you. (he loves his friends and wants their approval)

⤷ now— when the public finds out about the relationship, all hell breaks loose!!

⤷ it’s on every headline. ‘pro hero dynamight spotted with secret lover!’

⤷ the two of you end up sitting down and talking about this for hours— deciding to confirm and reveal your relationship.

⤷ once that happens, he’s a openly affectionate with you.

⤷ he’s very big on dates, absolutely loves to take you out on them—

⤷ so now that your relationship is public, he’s so happy bc he can take you to more places.

⤷ he’s a bit of a worry wart, believe it or not.

⤷ he knows that you can handle your own but, still. he needs to know you’re safe at all times.

⤷ he’s big on acts of service so he’s always doing something for you. whether it be organizing something you’ve been putting off or learning to cook your favorite meal.

kirishima eijiro:

⤷ i don’t think anyone would be surprised that he has a partner that’s not a hero.

⤷ he doesn’t care about status or things that most (superficial) heroes do.

⤷ he’s the classic ‘personality first, beauty second’ type of man and we love that!!

⤷ i think he’d be very open about your relationship!!

⤷ i picture him being with a childhood friend— he just screams ‘childhood friends to lovers’

⤷ his friends are very aware of who you are. he talks about you as if you are a god(dess).

⤷ he practically worships the ground you walk on!!

⤷ the media definitely tries to spin your relationship but he never lets that shit slide. he always calls out their bullshit!!

⤷ there are points where he gets a bit too aggressive with them so you have to reel him back and help his pr team out a bit. (he’s just a silly fella!)

⤷ he’s like,,, the dream bf.

⤷ attentive, patient, gentle (with you), kind, etc etc

⤷ weaponized incompetence? never heard of her!! he’s willing to do anything and everything for you.

⤷ he learns about all of your favorite things— shows, movies, music, etc. he wants to like what you like (though sometimes he just can’t).

my hatred for hawks is justified!! i cannot forgive him for what he did to my pookie bear…………

#/ᐠ - ˕ -マ works — ♡︎#my hero academia x reader #boku no hero x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi x reader #hawks x reader #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader

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sweetnans · 3 months

Text

Stuck in the moment || Bakugo, K. (pt.4)

Pairing: fuckboy Bakugo/hopelessly romantic fem. reader

Trope: Enemies/friends to lovers.

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3♡ -> Pt.5

m.list

Is there anything better than privacy?

Nope.

Bakugo had a room for his own. His roommate bailed from college right after the first class. He had an awakening about his future or something like that he had said before taking all his clothes and leaving. Bakugo felt some sort of relief that lasted...ten minutes? His friends used to invade his space quiet often. When he came to his room after seeing your flirting with Todoroki (from afar according to him), Kirishima and Sero were there talking about a game. They noticed in an instant that something was happening to his friend. He had his usual scowl on his face, but his brows were knitted together. A bad omen.

"Hey dude, what's up with that face?" Seemed like Sero was the one who grew a pair overnight.

Bakugo only grunted on his way to the closet. He needed to change his clothes to go to the stupid party you were attending. He made sure of that.

What if he sees you with Todoroki? Was it going to make his stupid stomach churn again?

"Hey man, we were talking about the party," Kirishima said, gaining part of his attention. "We were thinking about staying here, playing games, drinking our secret stash-"

"Fuck no" he didn't even stutter.

The reaction from Bakugo set an alarm to both of his friends. They knew about how casanova Bakugo could be, but he never, ever, showed that much, the fact that they were almost certain, after what happened with you just a week ago, that his friend's response was going to be a solid yes.

"Why so eager?" Sero asked.

"I just need the distraction," Bakugo shrugged while picking and searching the proper outfit.

He was vane most of the time, but he never took more than five minutes to choose a plain shirt and baggy jeans. Kirishima knew very well what was going on.

"Sero, why don't you go knock Mina's door and tell her about the change of plans"

Kirishima tried to be subtle. Man, he tried. Fortunately, Bakugo was so busy trying to decide between a white shirt and a black shirt that he didn't notice the exchange of looks that his friends were doing right under his nose.

"Sure," Sero winked to Kirishima and left the room.

Kirishima didn't know how to address the topic. His friend would definitely deny it, and they would be doing a full circle with yes and no that would end up in Bakugo just answering with noises.

Bakugo couldn't stop touching the fabric of his clothes. Was it too soft? Was it too white? What if there was a theme he didn't know about?

"You're panicking." Kirishima crossed his arms while leaning on his desk chair. He wouldn't lie, the scene was comical to witness. "You know you can talk to me"

The friendship between the two of them was something that most people didn't understand. Kirishima was always smiling, talking to everyone and telling jokes, while Bakugo, well, he had a permanent scowl on his face, rarely showed any other emotion than bored superiority and the only events that people saw him interacting with other people was with only one purpose, to state that he was better than everybody else. He was considered a private man and someone who had a police tape that said, do not cross.

"I don't know what's happening to me," he said, exposing his heart. He wasn't going to start naming or counting details. It was implicit, and Kirishima understood very well.

"You know what, man, you need to clear your head a little. This week had been rough. What about a beer pong to drain some stress off?"

Bakugo nodded to himself without even glancing at his friend. He needed a distraction, and he was almost sure that a party was a good place to find it.

...

"I can't believe that you, the queen of punctuality, is late" Jirou was losing it with you, the fact that you left her on read after she sent that demanding text and that you were also taking your time on getting ready.

"I'm sorry, Aizawa asked me to feed his cat, and you know how she is"

Blaming your non-biological dad was the ultimate movement in your pocket, so gen z of you.

"Oh yeah, Denki told me about the rizz in your training class. How did it go?" She asked you while picking her nails looking uninterested but you caught her side glancing you.

You slid your black leather skirt on your legs and shrugged.

"Well, you can see the burn marks on my legs here," you pointed above your left knee. "And here," you pointed your right mid thigh.

"Ugh, did you put something on it? That's gonna leave a nasty scar, " you denied, shaking your head.

She was right, but you didn't have anything to tend the wound.

"Does it hurt?" She asked this time, getting close to your leg.

"Yeah it does, like a motherfucker" you giggled. "But it's okay, it's a one-time thing, Aizawa is coming back and I would never ever ever have to sparr with him again"

There wasn't a pun intended in the mention of the one-time thing, but still, you really hoped that you would never have to be in that situation again.

"Well, at least this time was something professional"

You nodded, putting your boots on.

"Oh, but then, when I went to feed the cat, he was there, waiting outside Aizawa's door"

"He was where?"

Denki, as always, appeared out of nowhere, startling the shit out of you. Thank god he was outside the room this time and not hiding in the closet or under the bed.

"I'm pretty sure you heard me right," you said, putting some gloss on your lips. They stayed quiet, urging you to follow the story. "I finished my chores as a good daughter, and when I opened the door to leave Aizawa's apartment, I stumbled against him"

"What was he doing there?" Jirou asked with a quizzed look on her face.

"I don't know, he didn't tell me," you shrugged and turned around. Both of them were looking at each other with suspicious eyes. "What?," you inquired.

"I mean, not because we are your friends and we have to be delulu for you, but it's weird, don't you think?" Kaminari said and looked straight to Jirou for support.

"In a normal situation, we would be feeding you with improbable situations, but right now, I'm even intrigued with Bakugo and his behavior towards you. He seems like he's always trying to bump into you"

You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"Wait a minute, we don't know why he was there. We haven't seen each other in a week less talk to each other, he's not trying anything, maybe he was lost or-"

"Yeah, right, lost." Jirou rolled her eyes sarcastically.

"I know the guy better than you two, and I think that Jirou is more on the correct side than you," Kaminari mumbled.

"Thank you!" Jirou stated, hoping off the bed.

"I think you're both wrong. He's not behaving in a way that's unnatural for him, he's just being obnoxious because what I said to him the other day, he's gonna leave me alone in a couple of weeks and move on to the next" you grabbed your jacket from the hanger and pointed to the door to get them going.

"You're basically saying that he's in fact following you." Kaminari dropped one of his heavy hands in your shoulder to keep you steady on the way to the party.

"She just proved my point without even meaning it." Jirou winked at you while you shook your head.

...

The lights inside the house were faint, a dim glow of absence in the middle of a considerable amount of bodies dancing at the rhythm of the music that was blasting through the speakers.

Jirou and Kaminari were the first ones to get lost inside the crowd, and it was perfectly fine for you. You weren't the kind of friends that were attached to the hip all the time. You respected each other spaces and you knew that eventually, you would find them slightly drunk, and you would hang with them again.

The party was situated inside of someone's home. A person you clearly didn't know. At that point, seeing nothing but unfamiliar faces, you started to doubt that Kaminari knew the owner of the house too.

You poured a transparent liquor in a red cup. You knew that you said earlier that you weren't going to drink, but just a drink won't hurt you.

You were looking at everything, trying to spot someone familiar or a thing to do. You wouldn't consider yourself socially awkward. In fact, people always found you easy to talk to, but you didn't make the first move. Between hi's and hey's, you recognized the characteristically two color bush of hair.

Todoroki was for you, an acquaintance. You knew him for a few classes. He always greeted you back when you raised your hand at him saying hi, but there was always something more. He was handsome and quiet, the mysterious pretty boy full of secrets that every girl wants to conquer. You weren't sure if you were one of them or if it was his vibe and mismatched eyes that always lit a little sparkle inside of you, tingling in your stomach with curiosity.

Well, you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat. Your only job was maintaining the cat alive, so for the sake of that...

"Hey," he said when he saw you approaching.

"Hi," you elevated your voice because of the music. He mimicked that he didn't hear you because of the speakers, so you leaned a little to his side. "Sorry, I didn't know you were into this"

The music, the flashing colored lights, the high pitch of voices from people trying to talk to each other. You included.

"It's friday night. What else can I do?" He shrugged hiding himself a little.

He was still a ball of cotton.

After everything that happened after the war, everyone evolved into a new facet of themselves, forming new angles, new emotions, and new personalities trying to rationale the traumas of the past into something positive.

He suffered a lot, and the fact that his suffering was being broadcast and watched by everyone in the world hurt a thousand times more. He lost all his privacy and the right to deal with the sorrow in his own way without staying in the public eye.

"I can relate to that." You sipped your liquor and scrunched your nose a little. "What are you drinking?" You glanced to his cup, but it seemed to only have water inside.

"It's vodka," he swung the cup in his hand and then gulped all the content down his throat in one go.

"It was vodka," you stated, quirking a brow. That was unexpected. And sexy. "Take mine, I don't like plain vodka"

You gave him your cup, and he accepted without second guesses.

"Do you want me to make you a drink?" He said.

It was subtle. There was no hint of flirtatious intentions. He was soft and friendly but unintentionally.

"Do you know how to make drinks?" You were surprised by his confidence. You doubted your capacities daily, so it was uncommon for you seeing this kind of demeanor, let alone in him. You were projecting.

"Yeah, there's this barman who always appears on my for you page"

He didn't laugh when he said the most mundane thing on the world, so you didn't laugh either.

"Sure, show me what you got"

You followed through the people, and in a moment where everyone was stuck like glue with everybody he grabbed you by your wrist to not lose you.

His fingers were warm, so you could bet it was his left hand. You wouldn't lie to yourself. The pads of his fingers carresing your pulse point in a firm, but soft grip made your cheeks turn red, but there was no chill in your spine or butterflies in your stomach. It was pure tenderness.

Once in the kitchen, the sound of the music lowered a little because of the close doors and the panels of ceramics doing their jobs, preventing the outside.

He moved through the kitchen, hesitating every step he took.

"What do you have in mind?" You leaned in the counter, forgetting you were wearing a slutty top that propelled your boobs almost to you neck.

He side eyed you, and after a peak to your neckline, he became more clumsy.

Your boobs were firm. They weren't big, but they weren't small. Your ex-boyfriends or past flings had always said to you that they were perfect. You knew that tits were tits for them, and the mere concept of boobs was attractive for every straight man.

Lifting your hand without making much fuzz over it, you pulled the top covering the skin.

"I-I," he stuttered, opening and closing a few drawers. He cleared his throat, regaining his confidence again, and showed you a couple of lemons. "Kaminari said once that your favorite drink was Cosmopolitans"

You were surprised by two things. The first was Kaminari talking about you. You needed the context of that conversation, the why, the who, and the how. The second thing was him remembering that unimportant fact about someone who didn't even talk to.

"Yeah," you came back from your stunishment.

Completely, contrary to how he moved in the kitchen fetching all the ingredients, he showed that he was a total expert making drinks, or at least he was good pretending to know how to make them. He used his hands graciously to pour all the things into a shaker he found, and then he poured the most delicated drink you ever saw.

You were used to Kaminari and Jirou mixing all the ingredients stirring them with a straw but that was different.

"Here you go"

The glamor ended when the drink touched the red cup, but we are going to skip that detail.

In your mind, you cursed yourself from the past, the one that swore that would never drink again because after sipping just a drop of that elixir, you couldn't help but want more.

"You shouldn't be moaning like that in front of everybody"

His gruff voice coming from behind made all the hairs in the nape of your neck react.

Of course, the only one that could ruin the perfect moment with the perfect drink and the perfect company was nothing more and nothing less than Bakugo Katsuki himself.

Oh, beloved earth, could it please swallow you already?

...

Bakugo meshed well because of his friends. They were talkative enough to supply the lack of social rudeness of him.

After they arrived at the party, he planted himself in a giant group of men playing beer pong. He played a few rounds and then got bored because everyone was wasted, and for him, it was no fun watching them stumble and laughing at the most stupid things.

His friend helped a little with that. They were talking with Sato and Shoji about some game and some fighting techniques that Bakugo was more than pleased to show interest and even help them with their doubts.

They engaged in a conversation that evolved to many topics that he actually enjoyed. He was fully focused on them when a glance of the color of your hair and the characteristically smile of you dragged all his attention out of the group.

You were wearing just a top and a tiny skirt with black boots that made him want to be stomped on.

Bakugo excused himself of the group. His friends were too busy to realize what was happening and why he was so exalted.

You weren't alone.

You were following that half n' half shithead.

He was the opposite of idiot. He knew how to play his game and how to act when he was committed to spying on someone. He observed from the slight opening between the frame and the door how Todoroki reacted to your presence and vice-versa.

He had a great view of your ass in that skirt. You were leaning on the counter with your ass popping up, and he could notice that Todoroki had a nice peak of your tits. He saw you covering yourself quietly after he became the stupidest person of all times acting distracted and awkward.

"Fucking icyhot," he thought.

Bakugo needed to do something quick, and for one moment, his lack of reasoning won over his structure and square shaped mind.

After that one sentence that drew your attention completely, he saw the change in your posture, the way your smile faded, and how suddenly all your muscles were rigid against every part of your skin that you were showing because of your outfit choice.

He felt intrigued because of the sudden change of your demeanor in response to his presence, and he also felt satisfied with that.

"Oh dear," you sighed, turning around to face him. He never showed any particular emotion, but this time, he couldn't hide the little smirk that appeared on his lips.

"I never expected to see you here," he continued.

You were about to answer when you realized that it wasn't directed to you. He was talking to Todoroki, ignoring your presence in front of him.

"Yeah, I'm not a fan of this kinda stuff," Todoroki said impassive.

"I can notice that," he said with superiority and because of the silence he added. "So what's going on in here? Are you having a little party for yourselves?"

Bakugo knew very well how to play the who can be more annoying game. In a matter of competition, he always won. This wasn't an exception.

"Todoroki was making me a drink, and that's all, now if you excuse us -" you said, opening your eyes and directing them to the door so he could read the room.

"Cool, what'cha drinking?" He didn't wait for your answer and grabbed the drink that you left in the counter taking a giant sip.

The tension in the room was palpable, and you were dying of embarrassment. The booze in your system was not the sufficient amount to get you through what was happening. You wanted to die.

"That's a little too acid for me, but it's good, sure you did a great job"

The way he was saying things was taking you to the verge of lightning him up with your quirk. You looked at Todoroki. He was more than used to weird interactions, but he was looking at Bakugo in a way you couldn't decipher.

"I have an early training at my dad's agency tomorrow, I have to go." Todoroki voice was plain, but when he looked at you, you could see the pity in his eyes. "Maybe next time"

Your entire body was saying sorry, but the words never got to your mouth. You only nodded. He was a good guy and someone that you were actually interested in getting to know, but there was the other bastard ruining everything again.

Both of you saw Todoroki leaving the kitchen, and if someone was looking at the scene from outside, they could've seen how Bakugo puffed out his chest and how the pure rage invaded your body.

"Look what you just did!" You smacked his bicep, and he smirked wider, making you regret smacking him so lightly.

"What? He was totally shitting on himself with you here. I saved his ass. " he pointed towards the door that was still moving with the tandem of Todoroki storming out. "I bet he wouldn't have made it to the second base with you"

"Jeez, that's for me to decide," you whined like a little girl.

"I just did what I had to do"

"Oh my god, what's gotten into you lately?" The bravery made only by the alcohol in your system took control of yourself. "You've been following me and riling me up just for the fun of it. It's been a fucking week I thought that what happened between you and me was more than over, what do you want from me?"

Just as the booze took over your system, Bakugo had his own little thing commanding his decisions. He wasn't sure of what it was.

"I want us to be friends"

You were taken by surprise.

He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't do friends, he didn't need a friend, he had enough but you, what was the deal with you? He found exhausting the feeling of you feeling repulsed by him, the avoidance game that you played very well.

Damn he felt intrigued by your lack of excitement when it came to him. Excitement? The euphoria that tagged along with having the experience with him, people talked about his stamina in bed very often, and that was the clear answer in his head. Was he good enough? Yeah, he was, but it seemed that he wasn't enough for you.

He always knew that his attitude was bad and people loathed him because of it, and it was alright for him. He could definitely still live knowing that. It made sense, at least, hating him for something bad like his demeanor...but sex? He thought he was one of the dudes that the girls wanted more of, the type of guy that the girls will speak of with their friends, the type of guy that would be top tier in a chick's list, well, that really happened before, many times, but what was the problem with you? Why did everyone else he sleep with do that but not you?

He didn't expect the sudden feelings that came along with the concept of you.

Rage. He remained calm in the most stressful situations, but you, with the snap of your fingers and your smart mouth, did everything to put his world upside down, and that wasn't fair for him.

Jealousy. Seeing you flirting, talking with other people when the number of times he had ever spoken to you were almost close to zero than to ten.

Even dependency. He wanted to be close to you so much.

And...confusion, why? why was he feeling so out of control out of nothing?

That's how it felt being pussy whipped?

"Friends?" You snapped him out of his senses.

"Yeah, friends is a word that means -"

"I know what friends are, you stupid asshole." You rolled your eyes at him who was still standing there with superiority after destroying your moment with Todoroki.

"So?" He urged. He was calm even when his mind was racing at the possibility of you saying no.

"What's in for you?" You were suspicious. You knew very well the closed circle of friends he had, only four at best.

"Nothing, I found you not a total waste of space," he said nonchalantly. If you were expecting him to shower you with compliments, you were wrong.

You knew how he was. Always believing he was the best, that his position in the world was above the others, how he called 'extras' the people that were surrounding him but not fulfilling his expectations or even near his expectations, well, if he had one because most of the time people weren't worth his time.

You were exactly the opposite of him. You never had the need to test people out. You never had the need to prove yourself against others. You lived your life day by day, almost unnoticed. You needed to be smarter than him.

"Fine," you conceded. "But, there's one condition"

He scoffed, clearly enjoying and making fun of you for thinking you had the position on making conditions.

"We are not fucking again"

You drew the line.

You've had your friends with benefits before because you knew them. Bakugo was a completely different scenario for you.

He wouldn't lie. He, in his men mind, thought that maybe offering his friendship to you would be the easiest way to get inside your panties. You were not just a pretty face. You had brains.

"Sure, you don't see me fucking with raccoon eyes" he rolled his eyes pretending to be offended.

"Then we have a deal." You smiled tensely at him. He extended his hand for you to take it. "That's how you normally make friends? Like you are selling something?"

"Shake the damn hand"

He used the opportunity of you closing your hand in his to pull you closer to him, stumbling against his broad chest.

You looked at him squirming your eyes, waiting patiently for the moment he decided to fuck everything up. He looked closely at your face, the smuged marks of your eyeliner under the corner of your eyes, the way your lashes curled up and marked more the shape of your eye. He was perplexed by your beauty.

"You left some hair on my pillow, " he said with his voice hoarse, tugging a string of your hair behind your ear.

"We said friends, didn't we?" You smacked his hand far away from near you and he smirked.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know how long this is going to last"

"What do you mean?" You asked, taking the remaining amount of drink in your cup.

"Don't get me wrong. Im a man of my word, but I don't know if you would be able to keep up with our promise"

You laughed at him. You've seen the man naked. You had him on top of you. You didn't need anything from him.

If he wanted a challenge, you would be more than happy to comply.

"Yeah, of course," you scoffed, "I have so little control of myself that I won't be able to keep my hands to myself."

The tone in your sarcasm was rich. He found it amusing.

"Laugh all you want, but I'm not going to be the one suffering because of this dumb decision of keeping us as only friends"

The seriousness on his voice sent a chill up and down through your spine.

"You are so full of yourself." You laughed again, but this time, it was a nervous laugh.

He put his hands up in redemption while walking backward toward the door and then left you all alone in the kitchen with your thoughts.

Was he drunk, too?

He was, only ten minutes after you accepted on being his friend, in fact, suffering because of your quick answer and condition to not mess with each other. He needed strategy, thinking logically to make you make the first move with him.

He didn't know what was the thing responsible for him being so stubborn when it came to you. He didn't know if it was like those occasions when you became obsessed with the things that were out of your reach. The negative of you about being even near him again. He didn't understand a thing about what was going on. But he did know that he was Bakugo Katsuki, and when he had something - someone in this case - in mind, he didn't give up until he had it in his hands.

(Not proofread yet)

End note: I'm working late cause I'm a writer. I tried to make it longer because I made you wait a week for it, so enjoy! Todoroki making us our favorite drink? We know that since he discovered youtube shorts and reels (not tiktok because he is half boomer and socially awkward) he's been stuck with watching short videos every day, cocktail videos and house projects are his favorite, I have no doubt about that.

A penny for your thoughts about this (not really but express yourself)

taglist continues on the comments.

957 notes · View notes

bakugosatoru · 10 months

Text

My Hero Academia Boys in Bed

Male Characters

Requests Open!

Warnings: Explicit (Minors don't interact) Genre: Smut Fic Type: Headcannons Fandom: My Hero Academia

Authors Note: I am MORE than happy to write these for other characters so please send requests on who you want to see! I'm trying to write a longer Hawks x Dabi smut fanfiction but its not coming together like I wanted so this is my way to at least share something so I don't loose my mind!

Izuku

If he's the dominant one:

- All he cares about is your pleasure - Prefers positions where he can see your face as he loves peppering it with kisses while he thrusts deep inside of you. - Foreplay, foreplay, foreplay - If he gets the time, he will tease you for hours. - All he wants is to get you whining his name. - The aftercare is next level, baths, snacks, movies, you name it, he's got it ready. - "That's it baby, you take me so well, so good for me."

If your the dominant one:

- Whining - Wants more than anything to be a good boy for you. - The biggest praise kink in the universe. - Loves to cry and beg while you make him feel good. - Gets overstimulated so easily but loves it. - Afterwards all he wants is cuddles and to be told he did a good job. - "Fuck baby, it feels so good... you make me feel so good. Wanna be your toy, be so good for you"

Bakugo

If he's the dominant one:

- He is BIG - The first time you slept together, he was barely able to get it all the way in. - That doesn't stop him from fucking you into the mattress though. - Hard Dom, but massive on communication, so you bet all your kinks are talked out before AND after. - Favorite position is Doggy, he loves to see the moment your arms give out and you fall face first into the mattress so he can fuck you even harder. - Loves to see you cry in pleasure. - He loves wiping your tears as he roughly fucks you, knowing he's the only one who gets to see you like this. - "Does it feel that good baby? Feel how fucking deep I am? You can take it, I know you can"

If your the dominant one:

- The biggest brat in the universe. - Loves to rile you up until your forced to pin him to the bed and put him in his place. - He is LOUD - Loud as in 'Shove his face in a pillow to muffle his moans or you'll wake the whole dorm' loud. - Will never admit it but loves to be edged. Being pushed to the edge of cumming over and over and having to beg to finally cum. - Loves it when you tie his arms behind his back so he's fully at your mercy. - "Baby fuck- please. It hurts please can I cum, i'll be good, i'll be so good please."

Todoroki

If he's the dominant one:

- Rope bondage fiend - Loves NOTHING more than having you tied up for him. - Will spend hours, weaving intricate harnesses and suspension set up for you. - While he does that he is the softest, most doting boyfriend in the world, making sure none of the ropes are too tight and that your comfortable - But after he's finished? He goes feral - Fucks you so roughly, sometime you can barely walk the next day. - Leaves bruises on your hips from gripping so hard and litters your neck in hickeys. - "You look so good tied up for me honey, just made for me. You were made for me..."

If your the dominant one:

- Just wants to leave everything in your hands - Is willing to try anything you think he might enjoy, he loves nothing more than to be totally at your mercy - For such a quiet person, he babbles mindlessly when your in control - All he wants to do is cry your name and tell you how amazing it feels. - You gagged him once, but you missed his pleading so much you quickly decided you preferred to hear his voice. - "Oh my god angel you feel amazing, I love you, I love you, it feels so good please don't stop. Don't stop"

Denki

If he's the dominant one:

- I don't even know if we can call him dominant - This man does not fuck, he makes love and nothing else. - All he wants is to hold you tightly while he fucks into you. - Missionary with him is the most loved you've ever felt, his arms around you, him whispering in your ear how much he loves you while he slowly thrusts himself deep into you. - But don't get me wrong, he will go rough if you ask him too. - He loves to make you ride him, before grabbing your hips and thrusting up into you until you collapse onto his chest. - "God your so beautiful, i want to stay inside you forever. You feel like heaven baby."

If your the dominant one:

- Just wants to be pegged - Seriously, you want to make him happy? Let him ride your strap on while telling him how good of a boy he is. - He wont actually short-circuit but god will it look like it. - His eyes glazed over as he whines helplessly, desperate to cum. - You usually end up taking pity on him and flip him so he's under you so you can fuck him until he finally cums. - "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me please baby, need to cum so bad, wanna cum for you. Please?"

Kirishima

If he's the dominant one:

- The biggest out of all the guys. - Took you three separate attempts to get it all inside and it felt like it was splitting you open. - Kiri held you and kissed your forehead as you adjusted to him. - "Shh, I know honey, just relax, i'll go slow I promise" - When he finally got it all in, he was gentle, making sure to check in as he slowly fucked you, rearranging your organs in the process. - He kissed away your tears and helped you get used to the stretch. When you finally got used to it and gave him the okay, he started to fuck you slowly and hard. - He will not cum unless you have cum at least twice before him. - He will also happily go down on you for as long as you like to help you relax or just prepare for his size. - "How the fuck are you so tight angel, god your squeezing the life outta me"

If your the dominant one:

- Loves to be tied up - Will absolutely loose his mind if you tie him up and just slowly ride him - He loves begging to touch you, or for you to touch him. - Always wants to be holding you, so if you want to punish him, just don't let him and he will melt in your hands. - "Please baby, I just want to touch you, please... fuck you feel so good"

Hawks

If he's the dominant one:

- If you dont end up quivering from overstimulation by the end of it, he wont be satisfied. - He loves to use his wings in the bedroom. Whether his feathers are ghosting over your skin or holding you down, he knows exactly how to use them. - He always want you to sit on his face, he loves to squeeze your hips as you whimper and rock back and forth, riding his mouth. - The best at dirty talk, this man is loud in the bedroom, moaning in your ear, telling you how good you are for him. He can't help it. - Another big fan of missionary, loves to cup your face as he thrusts into you, whispering about how amazing you feel. - "Fuck baby, this pussy was just made for me huh? You like how I feel inside you?"

If your the dominant one:

- After a long day of having to be a confident, powerful hero; all he wants is to be taken care of by you. - He will happily sit, his hands cuffed to the headboard as you slowly ride him to make him feel good. - A slut for overstimulation. Make him cum until he cries and he'll be like putty in your hands. - Wants nothing more than for you to take him apart, break him down to the bone, and put him back together again. - "Fuck baby its so much, I don't think I can cum again, god you feel so good around me... shit-"

#mha x reader #mha smut #bnha smut #bakugo smut #mha headcanons #mha imagines #kirishima smut #hawks x reader #hawks smut #bnha x reader smut #hawks headcanons #bakugo headcanons #NinesWritings

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scary-grace · 2 months

Text

the crying game - a shigaraki x f!reader oneshot

You gave up on love a long time ago, but you keep getting invited to weddings, and after eleven receptions spent at the single's table, you're almost at the end of your rope -- until first-time wedding guest Shigaraki Tomura asks you to show him how it's done. (5.7k words, modern AU, no quirks.)

This fic is for @arslansenkai, who saw my milestone post and requested the prompts ‘holding hands’ + ‘listening to the other’s heartbeat’ + ‘whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin’ from this list. Thank you so much for the prompt! I really enjoyed writing it and I swear all three of your prompts made it in here or there.

You hate weddings. You don’t remember when you started hating them, but you know why you started – right around the time when you realized that you’d never have another one of your own, that you’d always be attending someone else’s, and doing that all by yourself, too. Add in the cost of a new dress and new shoes (God forbid you wear the same thing twice in one year) and travel accommodations and a wedding present, and weddings become a big, expensive, depressing waste of a weekend. No matter how much you like the people who are getting married.

And you do like them, this time, even though they’re the twelfth couple from your department at Ultra, Inc. to get married in the last three years. Ochako and Himiko are the kind of couple who shouldn’t make sense, but somehow do – the kind of against-all-odds couple who’d make you believe in love if you didn’t know better. You were rooting for them, you’re glad they’re together, and getting their save-the-date still made you want to drown yourself in the toilet. You opted to drown in vodka instead. You need help.

You need help, and you’re going to get it. After this wedding. So you can figure out how to say no the next time you get an invite. Because out of all the indignities about going single to a wedding, getting stuck at the same table at the wedding reception as the other people who couldn’t snare a date is possibly the worst.

Most couples have at least a few single friends, but Himiko and Ochako are the last of their respective circles to couple up. Or almost-last. The singles table at their wedding included exactly five people at the start of the reception. You, an older woman named Magne, a guy your age whose place-card says Todoroki Touya but insisted that he goes by Dabi, another guy your age whose place-card says Takami Keigo but insisted you call him Hawks, and one more guy your age whose place-card says Shigaraki Tomura and who barely looked up when you introduced yourself.

It wasn’t the worst singles table you’d ever sat at, at the start. Then Magne bailed to sit with somebody she knew at a different table, and Dabi and Hawks hit it off and then snuck off to God knows where, and then it was just you and Shigaraki sitting at your table in the far back corner of the reception hall. That’s how it’s been for an hour, and the only interaction the two of you have had is when you’ve passed the table’s bottle of champagne back and forth, filling your glasses and then draining them out of sync. It’s depressing. After going to eleven weddings in two years, you can hang in there with the best of them, but you’re pretty sure you’re about to crack.

Your glass is empty, and when you reach for the bottle, you find that it’s empty, too. You want to get more, but you’re not going to look like a lush in front of your weird tablemate. “Hey,” you say, and Shigaraki looks up from the screen of his Switch. “This is empty. I’ll go get more if you want it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shigaraki says. You raise your eyebrows. “This will suck just as bad whether I’m wasted or not.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “But then you’ll be able to pretend it sucks because you’re wasted, not because you’re stuck at the singles table yet again.”

“Yet again? Sounds like you’re projecting,” Shigaraki says. You shrug. It would hurt more if you hadn’t heard the same thing from at least one person at the last three weddings you went to – usually towards the end of the reception, usually when everybody’s getting weepy and ridiculous. You’re ahead of schedule this time. “Sure. I’ll take more.”

Two tables over, a group of happy couples have abandoned their champagne bucket in favor of the dance floor – or the photo booth, or something. You swap your empty bottle for their full one and come back over, hoping Shigaraki will have gone back to his game and forgotten you existed. No such luck. He’s sitting up, watching you, as you sit down, fill your glass, and slide the bottle back across the table to Shigaraki. “Yet again,” he repeats. You down half your glass in a single swallow. “I’m only halfway through the first one of these stupid things I’ve been to and I’m already done. How many times have you put yourself through it?”

“Eleven,” you say. Shigaraki’s red eyes widen. “No, that’s just people from work. If I count friends from school, it’s, uh – sixteen.”

“If you’re this miserable, stop going.”

“Is that what you do?” you challenge. “When your friends invite you to celebrate the happiest day of their lives, you just don’t go?”

“My friends know better than to invite me to shit like this.” Shigaraki copies you and drains half his glass in one go. “I wouldn’t have come to this one, except Toga critical-hit me with this guilt trip about how we’re her family and she needs her family to be here –”

You did notice a conspicuous lack of parents or relatives on Toga’s side of the aisle. “And I said I’d go if I didn’t have to go alone,” Shigaraki continues. “Dabi was supposed to be doing time with me. Figures he’d score a hookup and bolt.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” you say. They barely talked when Dabi was sitting here. “How do you know Himiko?”

“Juvie,” Shigaraki says, and you’re not sober enough to keep the surprise from showing all over your face. He snickers. “Not what you expected?”

You shake your head. “Is that where you know Dabi from?”

“And Spinner,” Shigaraki says, pointing out a purple-haired guy at a different table. “And Twice. Magne was a peer counselor or something. If I hadn’t met them I probably would have killed myself in there.”

You can’t stop your surprise from showing this time, either. Shigaraki grimaces. “Don’t read into that.”

“No promises,” you say. Shigaraki snorts and lifts his glass partway, then drains it. “So you’ve known each other for a while.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re friends with the girlfriend. Wife.” Shigaraki refills his glass again, but leaves it alone for the time being. “How long have you known her?”

“Work,” you say, then facepalm. You’re lucky you manage to do it with the hand not holding your glass of champagne. “Two years or so. I already worked there when she was hired. I kind of watched the whole thing with Himiko from the sidelines.”

That’s how you always watch relationships play out at work, or anywhere, really. Pretending to be happy, really being happy, and still feeling like you’re pulling a tarp over the sinkhole in your chest. “So the wife invited you and you showed up even though you knew you’d hate it,” Shigaraki concludes. “You’re crazier than me. I’m never going to another one of these things again.”

“Not even your own?”

“Do I look like the kind of person somebody marries?” Shigaraki finishes his whole glass in a single swallow. You were thinking about trying to keep up with him, but if you try that, you’ll throw up all over the dress you had to buy, which is probably dry-clean only or something worse. “I don’t get why anyone goes to these things.”

“They’re supposed to be fun,” you say. You feel bad picking on Ochako’s wedding. It’s not Ochako’s fault that you’re single, bitter about it, and this close to drunk on alcohol she paid for. “But they’re usually only fun if you go with someone.”

“I went with somebody. He ditched me to hook up with a guy who named himself after a bird.”

You snicker at that. “I meant a date,” you clarify. “If your date ditches you to hook up, then you’ve got bigger problems than whether you’re having fun at a wedding.”

“He’s not my date. I’m not gay.” Shigaraki looks up. “Did you think I was gay?”

“I really didn’t – think,” you admit. You didn’t come to the wedding looking for a hookup. If you had, you’d have tried to put a move on Hawks before Dabi could. “The activities are more fun with a date.”

“Activities?” Shigaraki asks. “Like games?”

“Uh, sometimes,” you say. You know Ochako set up lawn games outside, and the sun won’t set for a while. “Sometimes there’s an art project you’re supposed to do for the couple, as a keepsake or something. I went to one last year where you were supposed to write a good wish, fold it into a paper crane, and then hang it off a branch of this tree they’d bought.”

“Too much work. What else?”

“Dancing,” you say, although you felt like that was pretty obvious. “And Himiko and Ochako have a photo booth.”

Shigaraki’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“As a keepsake for the guests, I guess,” you say. “Again. More of a couple thing.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki pours half a glass this time but still finishes it in one swallow. Then he stands up. “Let’s do it.”

You freeze in the act of pouring yourself another glass. “What?”

“I’m never coming to another wedding. You’re bored and drunk –”

“I’m not the one who’s been treating glasses like shots.”

“So let’s do it,” Shigaraki says, like you didn’t say a word. “If this is the last one I go to, I want to get my money’s worth. Do you have something better to do?”

You were this close to taking out your phone and opening up Tinder. You shake your head. “Finish that,” Shigaraki says, and you finish the half-glass you just poured and get to your feet. “Where’s the stupid photo booth?”

You lead the way. Even in heels, you’re faster than Shigaraki – he’s meandering a little bit, possibly due to all the champagne. You reach out and grab his hand to pull him back on course. He jumps, stumbles into an empty table, and glares at you. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted the wedding date experience. Holding hands is included.” At least you think it should be. If you had a real date you’d want to hold hands with them. Shigaraki follows you a little more closely than before as you make your way up to the photo booth. “It looks like they have props. Should we use them?”

Shigaraki hasn’t let go of your hand. He picks up a fake mustache on a stick. “Who would use this?”

“Me, maybe?” If you had a wedding date, you’d want to be spontaneous and fun. You lift it out of his hand and hold it up to your face. “What do you think?”

“No.” Shigaraki takes it away, puts it back, and picks up a flower crown. “Here.”

“No, that’s for you,” you say. Shigaraki argues, but you pluck it out of his hand and settle it on his head anyway. “See? It looks great.”

“If Dabi sees me wearing this stupid thing –”

“He’ll be jealous,” you say. The crown would look stupid on Dabi’s spiky black hair, but the pastel shades of the flowers look nice with Shigaraki’s blue-grey hair. “Okay. Now you can pick one for me. I’ll even do the mustache.”

“No,” Shigaraki says again. He sorts through the props and comes up with a headband with bunny ears. “This one.”

You two are going to look ridiculous. It’s hard not to laugh, and you haven’t even seen the full effect yet. You put on the headband, thankful that you went for a low-effort hairstyle that’s easy to fix, then pull the curtain on the photo booth and wedge yourself into it. Shigaraki follows you in.

It’s a really tight fit. You were pretty sure the photo booth was a couple activity, but now you’re sure – you love your friends, but you wouldn’t want to end up most of the way into any of their laps. You have to stop holding hands to try to get situated, and while you’re still trying to figure yourselves out, the photo booth takes the first picture. Shigaraki grimaces. “Wait. That probably looked stupid. Where –”

The booth takes the second picture while he’s talking, and you snort. There’s about a ten-second interval to get positioned correctly. You manage to face front in time, but your elbow lands on Shigaraki’s thigh as you’re trying to steady yourself, and he flinches away. You drop out of the frame as the booth snaps the third photo, and it occurs to you that the only part of you visible in the picture will be the bunny ears. Based on the location of the ears in relation to Shigaraki’s body, it’s going to look pretty compromising. You hope no one sees that picture. Ever.

Shigaraki’s snickering as you sit up. “Nice one. I want a copy of – hey!”

You’ve elbowed him on purpose this time, just in time for the fourth photo. The fifth photo’s probably going to be blurry. You’re both lightly shoving each other, trying to get each other out of your personal space without pushing either of you out of the photo booth itself. The sixth photo’s probably the only one that’s worth anything, and it won’t be very good, either – Shigaraki’s flower crown is off-kilter, and you’re pretty sure your headband’s falling off. The printer begins to whir, and the two of you sit in silence as the booth prints out two sets of photos. You pick one up. Shigaraki takes the other. A second later, you’re both laughing.

The photos look even worse than you thought, and somehow that makes them better. The photo where it’s just your ears in the frame features Shigaraki staring down into his lap, looking all kinds of startled, while the photo where you’re pushing each other is blurry enough to be a still from a found-footage horror movie. In your opinion, the first photo is the funniest. “We look like that meme with the cat,” you wheeze. “The one with the loading circle over its head.”

“The last one looks like a mug shot,” Shigaraki says, his laughter so raspy that it borders on a witch’s cackle. “After a bar fight –”

The idea of getting in a bar fight in your wedding outfit sets you off. You slump sideways at an angle and end up with your head against his chest for a few seconds, surprised that you can hear his heartbeat and surprised at how fast it’s beating. “Which of us won?”

“We both lost,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. The two of you look disheveled as hell, and not from anything fun. “Number two is the worst one. You look good and I look like a dumbass.”

“You just had your mouth open,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’re probably smearing your makeup, but who gives a shit. You didn’t do that good of a job on it anyway. “Anyway, that’s the wedding photo booth experience. What do you think?”

“I want to go again,” Shigaraki says. This time, you manage to turn to stare at him without throwing any elbows. “For good ones. No way do people’s girlfriends let them leave with just the stupid ones.”

You would, but then again, there’s not a big enough difference between how you look in bad photos and how you look in good ones for it to matter. “We can do one more,” you agree. “Let’s lose the props.”

Without the flower crown and bunny ears, the silliness factor drops significantly. Now you look less like a couple of drunk clowns pretending to be a couple and more like two people who could actually be together. It weirds you out, but you promised the whole wedding date experience. In the seconds before the first flash goes off, you tilt your head onto Shigaraki’s shoulder.

Shigaraki startles, and as soon as the flash goes off, he pushes you away – but only so he can tilt sideways. He’s taller than you, enough so his cheek rests against the top of your head. Four photos left. When you glances over at Shigaraki, you see that his tie’s crooked, so you fix it for him, burning another photo in the bargain. The fourth photo is Shigaraki shifting the neckline of your dress to cover your bra strap, which is weird but plausible for a couple’s photo booth experience. He has a birthmark just below the right corner of his mouth. You aim for it when you kiss his cheek quickly for the fifth photo.

Shigaraki startles again, and you sit back – but not too far. You’re still close enough that Shigaraki only has to lean forward a few inches for his lips to meet yours.

You weren’t planning to kiss him. It’s not much of a kiss, and it doesn’t last long, but your heart is still racing as the booth spits out your second sheet of photos. You’re almost scared to look. Shigaraki’s hesitant, too, and when you both flip the sheets over to check, he says exactly what you’re thinking. “Shit.”

The first set of photos were a joke. The second set – either you and Shigaraki are really good actors or you’re both really drunk, because they look way too plausible for comfort. The ones where you’re fussing over each other’s clothes are probably the worst offenders on that front, but you’re most alarmed by the last two. You’re smiling as you kiss his cheek. You can see the corner of your mouth turned up. And you didn’t see where Shigaraki’s hand was when he kissed you, but the photo’s preserved the evidence. It’s right by the side of your face, curved like he wants to cradle your jaw in his hand.

Exactly sixty seconds ago, the two of you were screwing around in here. Now it feels like there’s static running back and forth between you, and you scramble out of the booth in a hurry, almost tripping over your feet. Shigaraki gets out, too, leaning against the booth to steady himself. Without a word, he takes both of your sets of photos and tucks them into his suit jacket along with his sets, then fills your suddenly-empty hand with his own. “Now what?”

The static shock is between your hands now. “My hand is humming,” you say, like an idiot, and Shigaraki tightens his grip. “Um, I think there are some games outside.”

“Fine.”

It’s warm outside, but getting cooler as the sun begins to set. There are a lot of games, and most of them are being ignored in favor of a bunch of the goofiest guys from your office playing cornhole while their girlfriends/boyfriends watch. You determine instantly that you’re not coordinated enough for anything that involves throwing something, which leaves you exactly one option. “How about that one?”

“Jenga?”

“Jenga XL,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “My hand-eye coordination’s too bad right now for a throwing game. This will be safer.”

Whoever was playing the oversized Jenga last left the blocks in a heap. You and Shigaraki can’t hold hands while you stack them up, and as you do, your assumption that Jenga would be safer than something else gets tested in the most embarrassing way possible – and of course Shigaraki points it out. “You’re short. If this thing falls on you it’ll flatten you.”

“It won’t fall,” you say with more confidence than you feel. “I’m good at this.”

“Go first, then, if you’re so good at it.”

You get a block out without trouble, but you have to rely on Shigaraki to re-stack it for you, which he does, wearing a really frustrating smirk. “You should have worn taller shoes.”

“I can’t walk in taller shoes,” you say. “Or dance. Are you going to want to dance?”

“If it’s part of the wedding date experience, yeah.” Shigaraki carefully extracts his block and sets it on top of the tower. He’s not all that much taller than you. If the game goes on long enough, he’ll have trouble re-stacking. “They don’t exactly teach dance classes in juvie.”

“It’s not that kind of dancing,” you say. Shigaraki looks relieved. “If it’s going to be that kind of dancing, they warn you on the invitation. A friend of mine who got married last year only played swing music at her reception. She sent out a certificate for free lessons with her save-the-date.”

“Control issues?”

“I think she just wanted stuff her way,” you say. You ease another block out of the tower and hand it over to Shigaraki. “Hers was nice. Everything ran on time, and she sent out thank-you notes six weeks after the wedding.”

Shigaraki stacks your block, then pulls out one of his own. You realize with a jolt that he’s missing the index and middle fingers from his left hand. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever been to?”

“Um.” You don’t want to say this. You really don’t – but you drank too much, and you should be honest. “Mine.”

“You’re married?”

“Divorced,” you say. “Three months after the wedding. I didn’t have the ring on long enough to get a tan line.”

Shigaraki doesn’t say anything. The tower is getting unstable, so you’re careful as you wiggle out one of the side blocks on a row about halfway up. You keep an eye on Shigaraki’s shadow as you do it, bracing yourself for him to walk away. Would you walk away if he told you he was divorced? No, but you’re divorced, so it matters less to you. “Three months,” Shigaraki repeats. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re lucky you aren’t asking me that six years ago,” you say. “With how much I drank tonight, I’d have gone off.”

“Go off. I want to hear it.” Shigaraki actually looks interested. “Anyone who fucks this up deserves it.”

He’s gestures at you. You don’t know what to make of that, and you’ve got a block halfway out of the tower. You go back to work on it. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“I know,” Shigaraki says. “How’d it happen?”

“This is pathetic,” you warn. Shigaraki gestures for you to go on. You sigh. “We were together since high school. Midway through college I got a bad feeling that we were drifting apart and I couldn’t take the suspense, so I tried to end it. And he popped the question. We got married six months later and three months after that he knocked up my cousin.”

“Damn,” Shigaraki remarks.

“They’re still together,” you say. “The kid’s in primary school this year. And every year around the holidays my aunt and my cousin pick a fight with me about how I need to be nicer to him, because we’re all a family now.”

You finally manage to extract the block, and Shigaraki takes it from you before you can offer it to him. You can’t read his expression, and just like when you sensed things with your ex were falling apart, you can’t take the suspense. “Pathetic?” you prompt.

“Your ex is a loser.”

“You haven’t seen what my cousin looks like.”

“He’s still a loser,” Shigaraki says. He pulls out a block. “I get it, though.”

Your stomach clenches. “What do you mean?”

“If my girlfriend was leaving me because I was dicking around, I might do something like that, too.” Shigaraki sets his block on top of the tower. Your options for blocks to pull are getting slimmer by the turn. “Popping the question. Not knocking up your cousin.”

“I have other cousins,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “I thought you said you weren’t getting married.”

“I said nobody was going to marry me,” Shigaraki corrects. What’s the difference? “Your turn.”

You’re out of blocks at shoulder height. And chest height. And waist height. You crouch down instead, doing your best to balance in your heels, and start trying to wiggle a block loose on the fourth level up from the ground. Shigaraki’s voice follows you down. “If you were ready to ditch him, why did you say yes?”

Now you’re at a real risk of crying. Six years of intermittent only-when-you’ve-got-the-money counseling hasn’t made a dent in this one thing. You remind yourself that Shigaraki can’t see your face and work on keeping your voice steady. “I was the one who asked him out in the first place, back in high school. I always had this weird sense that we wouldn’t be together if I hadn’t. So when he proposed I thought it meant he was choosing me, like I chose him. Which was a stupid reason to say yes.”

You wanted to believe. You wanted to believe so badly that you were worth it, and now you’re divorced at twenty-eight, barely talking to the half of your family that took your cousin’s side, going on a grand total of one real date in the entire time since then that you got up and left partway through because you couldn’t fake hope or excitement for one second longer. The kiss you planted on Shigaraki in the photo both was the most action you’ve gotten in two years, and you’ve put more effort into the fake wedding-date experience than you have into even looking for a hookup. You’re pathetic. This is pathetic. You should be embarrassed, and you are.

But you got your stupid block out. You straighten up and hold it out to Shigaraki, who stacks it for you. You can’t read his expression, and you’re a little too dysregulated to be anything but blunt. “That’s my tragic backstory. What’s your damage?”

“What, going to juvie doesn’t count?” Shigaraki crouches down to pull a block from the opposite side of the same row you just weakened. He’s doing it right-handed; he’s waving his left with its missing fingers at you. “This doesn’t count? The fact that I don’t have eyebrows doesn’t count? Your problem is being a dumb kid with a shitty family and a shitty ex. My problem is that I exist. We’re not the same.”

He straightens up and drops his block on top of the tower. You can see that he’s tenser than before, and you can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound patronizing. “I didn’t notice about the eyebrows until you said something.”

“Great.” Shigaraki won’t look at you. “Your turn.”

You crouch down again. The row below the row Shigaraki just knocked down to one block seems like the safest bet. You start pulling at it, frustrated at the way it sticks. “Careful,” Shigaraki says after a second. “If you don’t watch out –”

The tower topples. You’re crouched down, with no chance of getting out of the way in time, and all you can do is sit there, stunned, while three dozen giant Jenga blocks crash down around your head. The corner of one catches your temple, digs in, and you flinch. But the blocks are light. You’re startled, and humiliated, and possibly bleeding a little bit, but you’re fine. “Are you okay?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up, and he crouches down next to you. “I don’t believe you. You look – shit, your face is bleeding.”

“I’m good,” you say. “It’s a good thing we took pictures already. This is not part of the wedding-date experience.”

“I’m done with that,” Shigaraki says, and your heart sinks. Even though it shouldn’t. Even though none of this mattered to begin with, even though you know better, you hoped. You weren’t hoping for anything much – just to keep having fun, just to not spend the rest of the wedding alone. “You have a purse, right? Do you have napkins in there or something?”

“Your suit comes with a pocket square.” You pluck it out of his pocket and press it to your temple. “I’ll pay for cleaning it.”

“Don’t bother. It was my dad’s. He doesn’t have much use for it in solitary.”

Shigaraki helps you up while you’re still processing that one and tugs you away from the wreckage of the Jenga tower, onto a bench. The view of the sunset is really good from here. Further down the lawn, you can see Himiko and Ochako and their photographer doing a last round of pictures, and you slide your feet out of your shoes. It’s that point in the wedding. You’ll probably stay here for the rest of the night.

“Do you need ice?” Shigaraki asks. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe the fact that the sinkhole in your chest is eating the tarp you put over it just hurts more. “Do you still want to dance?”

“You said you were done with the wedding date thing.”

“Yeah. I’m done with the part where it’s fake.”

Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought you did. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Shigaraki sounds annoyed. “I let you put a flower crown on me.”

“Is that some kind of mating ritual in juvie?” The instant you say it, you feel bad, but Shigaraki laughs. “If you’re trying to say something, say it. I don’t do very well with ambiguity on my best night and I’m still kind of drunk.”

“Same here. Otherwise I’d sit on this, and my friends would spend the rest of their lives listening to me bitch about how I didn’t ask out the girl from Toga’s wedding.” Shigaraki’s hand lifts from his lap, rises to his neck, then falls back. “I want to dance with you. Toga and her wife are having an after-party at their place, and I want you to come to it with me. And I want your number so we can hang out again sometime when we’re not wasted. Because I like you.”

You must have hit your head really hard. “We met three hours ago.”

“So? Toga said she knew she was going to marry the wife the first time they made eye contact,” Shigaraki says. That sounds like something Himiko would say. You’ve met her a few times at work parties and she’s always struck you as a little intense and a little off-the-wall. “Do you want to dance or not? Make up your mind.”

You want to say yes. What comes out is something really stupid, so stupid that you can’t look at him while you say it. “This is the kind of thing that happens to other people.”

“What, meeting somebody who asks you out?”

It sounds stupid when he says it like that. You keep his dad’s pocket square pressed to your temple and try to explain. “The whole thing where you meet somebody when you weren’t expecting to meet anybody and things click, at least on your end, and since you know it’s just on your end you try not to get your hopes up – but the other person tells you that it clicked for them, too –”

“That’s dumb.” Shigaraki doesn’t sound like he’s being mean. You could almost call it affectionate. “Forget who it happens to. I’m asking you out. Do you –”

Screw it. If this is some kind of hallucination, you want to enjoy it. If it’s real, you don’t want to miss out. You turn back to face Shigaraki. “Yes.”

He grins, and you notice a scar over his mouth, too. “Good. Now what?”

You think about kissing him. You decide to try hugging first, which involves getting at least as close to him as you did when you were in the photo booth, on purpose this time. Shigaraki isn’t particularly tall or bulky, but when you hug him, you’re surprised to notice that he’s hiding some muscle underneath his suit jacket. Kind of a lot of muscle. Huh. Shigaraki notices that you’re investigating a little bit. “What?” he asks, his mouth against your ear. “Did you think all I do is game?”

“I don’t know what you do all day,” you say. “We didn’t get to that part yet.”

“We will.” Shigaraki draws back from you, and you loosen your grip even as his hand rises to cradle your jaw. This time you see the kiss coming from a mile away, and this time, you lean in.

Everything’s different this time, except the thing that startles the two of you apart – the bright flash of a camera going off. “Tomura-kun!” Himiko squeals from somewhere nearby. “I told you you’d have fun at my wedding. Who is that? She’s so cute!”

For a second you’re worried Shigaraki doesn’t know your name, but he must have been paying more attention than you thought he was when you introduced yourself, because he introduces you to Toga without missing a beat. “She’s one of my coworkers,” Ochako explains, smiling at you. Even through the smile you can see the incredulity on her face, and you know you’ll be getting a lot of questions about this when she gets back from her honeymoon. “I’m so sorry we had to put you at that table. I wanted to put you with everybody from work, but they all had plus-ones –”

“It’s fine,” you say faintly. Himiko’s photographer takes another picture, this time of all four of you talking. “It worked out.”

“She’s coming to your party,” Shigaraki informs Himiko. “I invited her.”

“Oh, good!” Himiko turns her attention to you. “It’s going to be so fun! We have games and movies and we’re going to stay up all night.”

“You should come inside now,” Ochako says. “There are mosquitos out here, and we’re supposed to have cake soon –”

“And we’re going to do the Time Warp. I put that on the playlist for you special, Tomura-kun,” Himiko says. She glances at you. “It’s the only dance he knows.”

Shigaraki flushes, grimaces, but you tilt your head against his shoulder again, lacing his fingers with yours for the third time tonight. You don’t know what he does all day when he’s not at weddings he doesn’t want to go to. You don’t know if what he said about his dad being in solitary confinement was a joke or not. You don’t know what happened to his hand or where he got his scars, or even where his eyebrows went. But you know he likes you. You know you like him enough to give things a shot, at least for tonight, and that’s better than you’ve felt in a long time.

And you know he can dance, even if it’s only the Time Warp. For right now, you don’t need to know any more than that.

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