badslittlemuffin

Latest Posts by badslittlemuffin

Reblog if its ok for your moots to stalk your blog and interact with everything you've posted.

The person I reblogged this from is awesome as fuck.

i miss his annoying ass

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

Hii!! If you can, can you write Katsuki x fem reader where reader is scared of being intimate with Katsuki because she's very insecure about her body and Katsuki reassures her? It can be both comfort and smut!! XOXO

To Worship

Katsuki wasn’t stupid. He could tell when something was off, especially when it came to you.

He noticed it in the way your body stiffened whenever his hands wandered beneath your shirt. The way your breath hitched, not from pleasure, but hesitation. The way you pulled back just before things went too far.

It pissed him off—not because you weren’t giving in, but because you were holding yourself back. From him.

Tonight was no different. You were straddling his lap, lips swollen from his kisses, body warm and trembling in his arms, but the moment his fingers slipped beneath your top, you tensed.

"Oi," he muttered, pulling back to look you in the eye. "The fuck’s goin’ on?"

You shook your head quickly. "Nothing."

"That’s bullshit." His crimson eyes burned into yours, sharp but not unkind. "Talk to me."

You swallowed hard, trying to look away, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Y/N."

Your chest ached at how soft he said your name.

"I just…" You exhaled shakily. "I don’t want to disappoint you."

His brows furrowed, irritation flashing across his face. "What the hell does that mean?"

You bit your lip. "I’m not… perfect, Katsuki. My body isn’t—"

"Don’t you dare finish that sentence." His voice was rough, but his touch was gentle as his hands moved to your waist. "You think I give a fuck about that?"

Your vision blurred with unshed tears. "I don’t want you to see me and—"

"Tch." Katsuki scoffed, then leaned in, brushing his lips over yours. "You’re fuckin’ perfect to me."

You gasped softly as he kissed you again, slower this time. His fingers traced over your skin with a reverence that made your heart ache.

"You don’t gotta hide from me, baby," he murmured against your lips. "Lemme show you how much I love every damn part of you."

Your breath stuttered as he guided you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. His hands, usually rough and calloused, worshipped your curves, tracing over every dip, every scar, every so-called imperfection like they were something sacred.

"God, you’re beautiful," he muttered, voice thick with want. "Can’t believe you ever doubted that."

Heat pooled in your stomach as he kissed his way down your body, worshipping every inch of you with lips and tongue. The tenderness in his touch made your insecurities feel so small, so insignificant.

And when he finally pressed into you, stretching you so perfectly, he held you close, his forehead resting against yours.

"You feel that?" he groaned, voice shaking. "That’s how much I fuckin’ love you, baby."

A soft whimper escaped your lips as he moved, slow and deep, his hands gripping yours as he made love to you like he had all the time in the world.

No rush. No shame. Just him showing you, over and over again, just how beautiful you were in his eyes.

And for the first time, you believed it.

Katsuki moved with a kind of intensity that left you breathless—not the usual rough, explosive passion he carried in everything he did, but something deeper. Something unshakably devoted.

His hands never stopped moving, mapping out every part of your body with deliberate care. When your breath hitched as his fingers traced a soft curve or a spot you weren’t fond of, he lingered there, pressing firm, open-mouthed kisses to your skin as if to tell you, I love this. I love you.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pushed deeper, hips rolling slow and deliberate. “So tight… fuck, baby.”

Your legs trembled around his waist, pleasure sparking through every nerve as he kept you close—chest to chest, fingers tangled with yours. His pace never faltered, never rushed, stretching the moment between you like something precious.

A whimper slipped from your lips, and Katsuki was on you immediately, capturing the sound with a kiss, swallowing it down like he needed it to breathe.

“S’okay, baby,” he whispered, thumb brushing over your cheek as he kissed you again, softer this time. “You don’t gotta hide from me. Ever.”

You let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you—like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and Katsuki’s expression softened, his thrusts slowing to a near stop as he cupped your face.

“Shit, baby,” he murmured, brushing his lips against your eyelids, kissing away the tears that slipped free. “Didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s… it’s not bad.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned in, his voice dropping into something rough and tender all at once.

“You believe me now?” he asked, hips shifting just enough to make you shudder.

You gasped, fingers tightening against his as heat coiled deep in your stomach.

“Katsuki—”

“Say it,” he rasped, his other hand slipping down your waist, pressing into the flesh there like he was grounding himself in you. “Say you believe me.”

You swallowed hard, body trembling beneath him, pleasure crackling through your veins like wildfire.

“I—” You gasped as he pushed deeper, hitting the spot that made you see stars. “I believe you.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest, his grip tightening. “Damn right, you do.”

His pace picked up just enough to steal your breath, his lips never leaving yours as he guided you to the edge with slow, deep strokes that left you unraveling beneath him.

“Let go, baby,” he murmured against your mouth. “I got you.”

And with one last roll of his hips, you shattered, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Katsuki followed right after, burying himself deep with a groan, his grip unrelenting as he spilled into you.

For a long moment, all you could hear was your own heartbeat, the slow, steady rise and fall of your breaths mingling with his.

Then, Katsuki shifted, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

“You ain’t ever gotta doubt yourself again,” he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion and something softer.

You curled into him, chest aching in the best way, and whispered,

“I won’t.”

love in the margins | t. iida

a short, slow-burn library romance, ft. one blueberry muffin, exactly zero jokes, and a boy who takes flashcards way too seriously. (4597 words)

you meet tenya iida under circumstances that can only be described as tragically collegiate: a peer-led study group in the furthest, quietest corner of the campus library, surrounded by half-dead fluorescent bulbs and the palpable despair of students on the brink of burnout.

it's the third week of the semester, and you're already floundering.

you hadn't intended to be. in theory, you were going to stay on top of things—read the chapters early, color-code your notes, maybe even start a study group of your own. but somewhere between sleep deprivation, an avalanche of discussion posts, and the mysterious black hole that is the university's online portal, you fell behind. hard.

introduction to public policy has been your academic nemesis from the start. the textbook reads like legal jargon swallowed a thesaurus. the professor talks in dense, circular metaphors. every quiz is a minefield of trick questions and ambiguous phrasing. you are, in every sense of the word, academically drowning.

so when a brightly colored flyer promising a "collaborative review session" caught your eye on the bulletin board outside the lecture hall, you didn't think twice. you showed up. desperate. caffeinated. terminally underprepared.

and now you regret everything.

the room smells like dry-erase markers and nervous sweat. a whiteboard at the front is covered in illegible graphs. someone has already spilled a latte on the floor. the guy leading the group talks fast and loud, his explanations full of buzzwords and gestures but lacking anything remotely useful. you suspect he's just regurgitating the study guide at a slightly faster pace.

the other students seem to agree.

one by one, they start to trickle out. a girl leaves with the excuse of "office hours." a guy mutters something about dinner. another just quietly packs up and disappears, not even bothering with a pretense.

by the end of the hour, only two people remain: you, clinging to a futile hope of salvaging your gpa... and him.

he sits across from you with the kind of posture that makes your back ache just looking at him. tall, composed, and absurdly polished—like someone who writes essays three days early and carries a spare pen in case someone forgets theirs. his navy-blue sweater is wrinkle-free. his glasses catch the dim library light. his notes are not just color-coded—they're thematically organized, annotated with footnotes and marginalia in tiny, immaculate handwriting.

he hasn't spoken once. he hasn't needed to.

he radiates competence like it's a moral obligation.

"you're still here?" you ask, more surprise than judgment.

the boy looks up, blinking as if surfacing from a well of deep concentration. he adjusts his glasses with a practiced motion.

"yes," he says, voice clipped and oddly formal. "you are as well."

you arch an eyebrow. "no offense, but... are you actually getting something out of this?"

his expression doesn't change, but he tilts his head slightly—almost like he's assessing you.

"of course," he replies. "engaging in structured group review enhances cognitive retention and contextual understanding. it's an effective method for consolidating knowledge prior to a high-stakes assessment."

you blink. "so... yes?"

he doesn't hesitate. "yes."

you snort—audibly. it escapes before you can stop it. and to your surprise, a faint smile flickers across his mouth.

"i'm tenya iida," he says, extending a hand across the table with the kind of precision reserved for formal introductions at university mixers.

you stare at his hand for a moment, then take it. his grip is warm. steady. confident in a way that makes you sit up a little straighter.

"y/n," you say.

his smile grows just slightly. "it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

he releases your hand and immediately pulls out a second set of flashcards from his folder. of course he has a second set.

"would you like to quiz each other?" he asks, dead serious. "alternating questions could be a mutually beneficial method of review."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

something about him—the earnestness, the posture, the complete and utter lack of sarcasm—disarms you. it's like he's the living embodiment of academic sincerity. you're not sure whether to laugh or agree.

you do both.

"...sure."

you don't know it yet, but that's the beginning.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't plan on seeing him again.

it's not personal. it's just that study groups are the social equivalent of jury duty—temporary, miserable, and best forgotten. you assume tenya iida is one of those hyper-dedicated overachievers who only exist within the academic ecosystem. he probably recedes into a cloud of flashcards and moral fiber as soon as the library closes.

you are, however, proven categorically wrong the following wednesday at exactly 8:03 a.m.

you enter the campus café half-awake, mildly hostile, and fully dependent on the idea of caffeine as a substitute for sleep. the plan is simple: grab something with enough espresso to make your eye twitch, stare blankly at your phone for fifteen minutes, and pretend the crushing weight of institutional learning isn't slowly hollowing you out from the inside.

but fate—or perhaps syllabus-based divine intervention—has other plans.

because when you step inside, there he is.

same posture. same glasses. same stupidly crisp button-down like it didn't just come out of someone's laundry but graduated magna cum laude from it. he's seated at a table by the window, surrounded by highlighters arranged like soldiers, reading the textbook that has been your personal tormentor since week one.

and next to his coffee?

a single blueberry muffin.

you hesitate, caught in that weird space where it's too late to pretend you didn't see him, but also too awkward to walk past without acknowledging him.

before you can make a decision, he looks up—and smiles.

not just a polite, "ah yes, i recognize you" smile.

a real smile. brief, but sincere. like he's actually glad you're here.

he waves you over.

you hate how quickly your legs respond.

"didn't expect to see you here," you say as you slide into the seat across from him, instantly aware of how tired you look in comparison to his perfectly combed hair and terrifying punctuality.

"i study here most mornings," he replies. "the ambient noise level is consistent, and the natural lighting is optimal for focus."

you blink. "that is... alarmingly specific."

he inclines his head. "i find that consistency breeds productivity."

you want to tease him, but the truth is, it's kind of admirable. alarming. but admirable.

he gestures to the pastry between you.

"would you like half?" he asks. "it's fresh. and i believe we have, at this point, established a cordial enough rapport to justify the sharing of breakfast items."

you stare at him.

"do you always offer muffins to people you've only studied with once?"

he doesn't even flinch. "only when they look tired enough to deserve one."

your mouth twitches.

"you've been saving that line, haven't you."

he looks mildly offended. "no. though i could annotate it in my planner if you'd like."

you laugh—genuinely this time—and accept the muffin. it's warm, sweet, and annoyingly perfect. just like him.

you don't pull out your flashcards. not immediately. you sit there in companionable silence, splitting the muffin and sipping your drinks like it's something you've always done. like this is normal.

you tell yourself this isn't a date. obviously.

it's too early in the day for romance. you're both clutching textbooks like weapons. he hasn't even made a single joke. (you're not sure he knows how.)

and yet—

when he leans in to show you a section he highlighted—carefully annotated with footnotes and marginal notes that are somehow neater than your typed essays—your shoulders brush. you don't pull away.

he doesn't, either.

later, you realize that you don't even remember what chapter you reviewed.

but you remember the sound of his voice as he quietly explained it. the way he passed you the last bite of muffin without saying anything. the way his fingers curled ever so slightly when he set his pen down between you.

you remember thinking, with a strange flutter in your chest: this could be something.

not yet.

but maybe.

⋆˚✿˖°

you tell yourself this is still just about school.

you repeat it like a mantra as you meet him at the library every tuesday and thursday without fail, settling into your now-permanent seats by the windows like assigned partners in some ongoing group project that no one else remembers being assigned to. his bag always lands on the table first, followed by a reusable water bottle the size of your emotional baggage. he brings extra highlighters now — plural — and starts leaving a green one near your elbow like he’s not even thinking about it.

you, in turn, stop pretending to study anywhere else.

because the truth is, you don’t concentrate better when he’s around — not even a little. he’s distracting in the worst possible way: tall and tidy and terminally composed, with a voice like a podcast host and a smile that you pretend not to notice every time he glances over at you with something like pride in his eyes.

and the worst part?

it’s working.

your grades are going up. you understand policy terminology now. you caught yourself referencing a case study unprompted in another class, and the look your professor gave you made it feel like you’d just been knighted.

you’d thank him for it — sincerely — if he didn’t look so smug every time you nailed a quiz.

“you’ve clearly been applying yourself,” he says one evening, looking over your annotated notes like they’re some kind of sacred text.

“i’ve been applying your study methods,” you reply, then instantly regret it, because the smile he gives you in return is devastating.

and that would be fine — annoying, but fine — if it weren’t for the fact that he’s started sitting closer.

not drastically. not inappropriately. just... close.

close enough that when you both lean in to look at something on the same page, your shoulders brush. your knees knock. his hand lingers near yours when he passes you a pen, and he doesn’t move away quickly. sometimes — and this is particularly evil — his thigh rests against yours under the table for minutes at a time, and you’re too proud (and too panicked) to say anything.

you’re not flirting. not really.

you’re both too stubborn for that.

but something is happening. you just don’t know what to call it.

one thursday afternoon, the sky is gray and heavy with the threat of rain. the windows in the library fog up slightly, making the whole room feel smaller, softer, somehow more intimate. your shoes are damp. your brain is fried. you’re barely holding onto your focus.

but he’s already there, sitting at your usual table with a mug from the downstairs café and a folder labeled “legislation review: week 5.” there’s a muffin. of course there’s a muffin.

he looks up as you approach. smiles. “you’re early.”

you blink. “so are you.”

he shrugs. “anticipation is efficient.”

“what does that even mean?”

he hesitates, like he’s genuinely considering it. “it means i enjoy this.”

your heart does something stupid.

you take your seat before your face can give you away.

thirty minutes in, your brain stops processing information entirely.

you’re trying to focus. really, you are. but his leg is pressed against yours and you swear it’s getting closer every time he shifts. it’s not even the contact itself that’s distracting — it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice. like it’s just normal. like this is how he always studies with people.

(does he?)

(no. he can’t.)

“y/n?” he says, and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

“hm?”

“i asked if you’d like to walk through the case brief again. you seem... distant.”

you clear your throat and try not to sound like someone whose brain has just been wiped by a thigh. “yeah, no, i’m fine. just tired.”

he nods solemnly. “understandable. your coursework has been particularly intensive.”

he says it like he knows your schedule better than you do — which he might. you’ve seen his planner. you’re pretty sure he’s memorized the entire academic calendar, national holidays included.

you try to return to your notes.

you fail.

eventually, you lean back in your chair and exhale.

“okay,” you say. “i need to ask you something.”

he looks up, immediately attentive. “yes?”

you glance around — no one’s within earshot — and lean in slightly.

“this thing we do.”

he blinks. “studying?”

“no. i mean yes, but no.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this. the muffins. the flashcards. the... sitting so close i can smell your laundry detergent.”

he goes still.

“i’m just trying to understand if we’re, like...” you hesitate. “is this just a really intense academic friendship or are we... flirting?”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

then, carefully: “i hadn’t realized my proximity was making you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not!” you say, too quickly. “it’s just... confusing.”

“confusing how?”

you fidget with the cap of your pen. “because we do things that feel... date-adjacent. and i don’t know if that’s just how you are with people or if i’m—” you stop yourself before you can say not imagining it.

his brows draw together, faintly perplexed. “i apologize. i didn’t mean to cause confusion.”

you blink. “so you are flirting?”

his ears go pink. just slightly. “i wouldn’t define it as flirting. but i do enjoy spending time with you.”

you squint at him. “that’s not a no.”

he hesitates. then, quieter: “it’s not.”

oh.

you stare at him. he stares back.

and then — like the universe can’t stand unresolved tension — your knees bump again.

but this time, he doesn’t shift away.

and neither do you.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don’t call it a date.

not out loud.

not even in your head, really — not technically. because you’re not dating. you haven’t kissed. there’s been no confession. there’s been no moment of clarity where either of you has stood dramatically in the rain and said i think about you all the time, which, honestly, is a bit disappointing.

but you still change your outfit three times before meeting him for coffee on saturday.

you still hesitate in front of the mirror, adjusting your sleeves and second-guessing your hair, muttering get a grip under your breath like it’s a prayer.

you still pause at the door to the café, one hand on the handle, and remind yourself — again — that this isn’t a date.

you’re just meeting up. casually. like friends.

friends who sometimes sit with their knees touching under library tables. friends who share muffins and steal glances and somehow always find reasons to linger a little too long in doorways.

friends who, if they weren’t so emotionally constipated, might’ve figured this out already.

but you push the door open anyway, and the little bell overhead chimes bright and familiar.

he’s already there.

of course he is.

tenya iida is punctual to the point of pathology. if you told him to meet you in the afterlife at 3:00 p.m. sharp, he’d be there early, holding a clipboard and a fully prepared powerpoint.

he’s sitting near the window, back straight, hands folded politely in his lap. his hair is a little messy from the wind outside. his sweater is navy — clean, simple, a little oversized in a way that makes you stare longer than you should.

he sees you and stands immediately, which is both adorable and completely unnecessary.

“you’re early,” he says, voice warm.

“so are you.”

he doesn’t reply, but the smile he gives you is soft around the edges.

you order something with too much caffeine and not enough nutritional value. he offers to pay, like he always does. you decline, like you always do. it’s a silent tradition now, a ritual of stubbornness. he lets it go with a quiet nod, but not without giving you that look — the one that says i was raised right and this physically pains me.

you find a booth in the corner, a little more secluded than the rest. the sun spills in through the window in soft golden streaks, and for a moment, it feels like you’re somewhere outside of time.

“i’ve never seen you wear that color,” he says as you sit down.

you glance at your shirt. “yeah? too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. it suits you.”

your mouth goes a little dry.

you recover quickly, leaning back and sipping your drink like it doesn’t mean anything. like the warmth crawling up your neck is from the coffee and not the compliment.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat. “what’s on the agenda for today? rigorous academic analysis? philosophical debates about economic ethics? impromptu pop quizzes?”

he tilts his head. “i thought we might take the day off.”

you blink. “from... studying?”

“from everything.” he shrugs, a little sheepishly. “i realized we’ve never spent time together without a textbook between us.”

your heart does something strange.

“you mean like... just hang out?”

“yes.”

“like friends.”

he hesitates. just barely. “yes. like friends.”

the words hang in the air between you — awkward, uncertain, but not unkind.

you nod, slowly. “okay. yeah. we can do that.”

and you do.

you talk. not about school, not about deadlines or group projects or the upcoming midterm. you talk about dumb childhood stories and weird food preferences and the fact that he once tried to start a recycling initiative in his middle school and was very upset when no one followed the sorting chart correctly.

you tell him about your obsession with terrible reality TV. he listens with the seriousness of a man taking notes for a thesis.

he tells you about his older brother, and how much he looks up to him. you tell him about the stray cat that used to follow you home in high school, even though you never fed it.

he laughs — really laughs — when you tell him about the time you broke your nose in gym class trying to dodge a volleyball and ran straight into a bleacher.

“i’m sorry,” he says between gasps. “i don’t mean to laugh at your pain.”

“no, you do,” you say, grinning. “and it’s okay. i would too.”

at one point, your knees bump under the table again. this time, neither of you pulls away.

it’s later than you mean it to be when you finally leave the café. the sun is dipping low, the sky tinged with lavender and orange. the street is quiet, and the wind bites just enough to make you zip your jacket up.

you walk together. not toward the library, not toward another class — just aimlessly. like people who have nowhere else to be.

it’s peaceful.

and weirdly... intimate.

you’re not talking. not really. the silence between you is comfortable now, lived-in. every so often your hands brush, and you wonder — wildly, stupidly — what would happen if you just reached out.

but you don’t.

because this isn’t a date.

it’s not.

except maybe... it is.

“this was nice,” you say, when you finally reach the crosswalk where you’ll part ways.

he nods. “i enjoyed it.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“we should do it again,” you say. casually. like it doesn’t mean anything.

but he looks at you like it does.

“i’d like that,” he says. and then — “you’re very easy to be around.”

your breath catches.

you want to say something. you’re easy to be around too. i think about you when we’re not together. i don’t know if i’m imagining this but i hope i’m not.

instead, you say, “you’re weirdly charming, you know that?”

he blinks. “i— thank you?”

you grin. “it’s a compliment. mostly.”

he laughs. soft. pleased. “i’ll take it.”

he takes a small step back, like he’s about to leave — but then pauses.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“if this had been a date...” he clears his throat. “would that have been... agreeable to you?”

you stare at him.

then, slowly — carefully — you nod.

“yeah,” you say. “i think it would’ve been.”

he smiles. it’s small. tentative. but it lights up his whole face.

“then maybe next time, we won’t pretend.”

you feel like you’re floating.

“deal.”

he nods once. then, with a strange, lingering sort of hesitation — like he’s not ready to go yet — he turns to leave.

you watch him go.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel... hopeful.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't know what you're expecting.

when he texts you the next morning — same time tuesday? not for studying this time. if you're free. — you stare at it for a good ten minutes before responding. not because you’re unsure of your answer (you’re not), but because the implication hits like a freight train.

not for studying.

not as friends.

just you. just him. again.

this time, it’s a little different.

this time, he’s calling it what it is.

you don’t overthink your reply (for once). you just type yeah. i’m free and throw your phone face-down before your heart can beat out of your chest.

and when tuesday rolls around, you are twenty minutes early.

you tell yourself it’s because the weather’s nice and the walk was shorter than usual and you didn’t want to cut it close. but the truth is, you’ve been ready since noon.

you’re wearing the sweater he said he liked once, months ago, after a study session where he handed you a highlighter and your fingers brushed and you both paused like the world might end. it’s not even your warmest or your nicest sweater. it’s just... the one he looked at a little too long.

you don’t want to admit what that means.

you sit in your usual seat by the window. a small table, worn edges. your coffee in hand. no textbooks. no flashcards. just the sound of the café around you and the low simmer of anticipation in your chest.

he walks in three minutes early, which is basically scandalous by iida standards.

you glance up, and the second your eyes meet, he smiles.

it’s not his usual polite, committee-appropriate smile.

it’s something else.

something softer.

he sits down across from you like he’s been doing it his whole life.

you stare at him for a second too long.

“you’re early,” he says, like it’s a fact worth noting. his voice is gentler than usual.

“so are you.”

“a rare occurrence.”

“should i be concerned?”

he laughs — quietly, warmly. “i thought you might say that.”

you both go quiet.

not awkward quiet. just... full.

full of everything you’re not saying.

you sip your drink and hope your heart doesn’t explode.

twenty minutes in, you realize you’ve forgotten what time it is.

again.

you’re talking about something stupid — a professor you both silently hate but never speak ill of in class — and he’s mimicking their voice in a whisper, hand shielding his mouth, and you’re laughing.

like genuinely, honestly laughing.

like you don’t have a hundred things weighing you down.

he always does that. makes everything feel easier. lighter.

it’s dangerous, how much you like it.

how much you like him.

you haven’t said it. not out loud. not even to yourself.

but the truth is: you’re in trouble.

deep trouble.

because tenya iida has the power to wreck you in a way no one else ever has.

not because he’s dramatic. not because he’s charming (though he is, in that annoying, understated, golden-retriever-with-a-perfect-credit-score kind of way).

but because he’s steady.

because he means things.

because when he looks at you, it’s like you’re someone worth understanding.

and you’ve never been loved gently before.

not like this.

you walk out together.

neither of you mentions how long you stayed. it’s dark out, but neither of you cares.

you walk close, side by side. your hands brush once, then again. his fingers twitch toward yours, and you pretend not to notice — not because you don’t want it, but because you’re not sure what happens if you reach back.

you talk about nothing. and everything.

he tells you about the time his older brother accidentally dyed his hair blue with a shampoo prank and how no one in their house was allowed to mention it for an entire year.

you tell him about the time you accidentally set off a fire alarm trying to microwave leftover curry in a dorm that very explicitly prohibited strong-smelling food.

“you’re a menace,” he says, laughing.

you bump your shoulder into his. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he glances at you. “i didn’t say that.”

you both stop at the crosswalk — the same one where you stood days ago.

the same one where he asked if this had been a date...

you’re not pretending anymore.

and yet.

you don’t know what to say.

you just look at him, the wind brushing through your sleeves, your fingers cold where they’re shoved into your pockets.

he looks at you.

longer than before.

long enough that your heart stumbles.

and then — quietly — he says, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “of course.”

his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. careful.

“why me?”

you blink. “what?”

“why... this?” he gestures gently between you. “i know i’m not the most exciting person. i’m not particularly funny or... spontaneous.”

you frown. “iida.”

“i’m just trying to understand,” he says. “why you keep showing up.”

you want to say because i like the way you talk when you’re tired, or because your laugh makes me want to listen to every dumb story you’ve ever told.

you want to say because i’ve never felt so calm next to another person in my entire life.

instead, you say, “because when i’m with you, i don’t feel like i have to be anyone else.”

his expression shifts.

his jaw tightens. his eyes soften.

he takes a step closer.

“i don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“you’re not.”

“i don’t want to misread it.”

you exhale, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “you’re not.”

his hand lifts, hesitates — then lands gently against your cheek.

you stop breathing.

“may i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod before your brain catches up.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you may.”

and he does.

it’s not rushed.

it’s not fiery or desperate.

it’s patient. reverent. like he’s memorizing the feeling. like he’s been waiting for the right moment and this, finally, is it.

his lips press softly against yours, and your hands lift automatically to his jacket, holding on, grounding yourself.

when you part, he leans his forehead against yours.

you’re both quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

you smile. “i could tell.”

“was i too obvious?”

“painfully.”

he laughs, arms sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this is still new,” he says. “i know that.”

you nod.

“but i’m willing to take it slow.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be patient.”

“okay.”

he pauses. “and i’d like to take you to dinner. an actual dinner. with reservations and menus and probably overpriced appetizers.”

you grin. “are you asking me on a real date?”

he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“yes,” he says. “i’m asking.”

“then yes,” you reply. “i’m saying yes.”

you walk home hand-in-hand.

you don’t have to say anything.

it’s not pretending anymore.

and for once — finally — that feels like enough.

hip hip hooray

Reblog In 5 seconds for good luck

Unmasking the Heart

Y/N and Shoji share a quiet romance, built on trust and unspoken affection. After witnessing a passionate kiss between two students, Y/N realizes how much she craves the intimacy she's never had with Shoji.

Tags: First kiss, Insecurity, Private Relationship, Affection, Mild Suggestive Themes (18+), GN! Reader, Light Angst

W/C: 1.8k

~Hey everyone! I've been writing for a while, but this is the first story l'm posting here. I actually wrote it months ago on a different platform and just now decided to share it. If y'all like this one, I have tons of other stories sitting in my drafts that l'd love to post-let me know what you think!~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The polished floors of UA High echoed with the soft murmur of students transitioning between lunches. You and Shoji were walking outside the corridor during lunch, opting to enjoy the nice day. There was a spot you two enjoyed occupying on days like this—a shaded area behind a tree that provided some privacy from other students.

A comfortable silence hung between you two, your steps in sync as you walked side by side. You’d been dating for a couple of months now, but neither of you made a big show of affection in public. Only those who paid close attention could see the depth of your connection—something more than just friendship.

As you turned toward your usual spot, your peaceful moment was shattered by an unexpected scene. Just ahead, two students stood locked in a kiss, completely lost in each other. Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks. Despite them being the ones engaging in PDA, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed witnessing it—almost as if you were the one who had been caught.

A gentle tug on the sleeve of your sweater pulled you from your daze. Shoji was quietly signaling for you to leave. When you glanced up to meet his gaze, you were surprised to see a blush creeping up from beneath his mask, the pink hue deepening across his cheeks. Shoji, who was usually calm and collected, rarely letting others affect him, was blushing? It was a small detail considering his mask was hiding his cheeks, but it didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Without a word, you both walked away. Yet, the image lingered in your mind, making it difficult to pretend you hadn’t seen the kiss. An awkward silence settled between you as you hurried to find another spot.

That night, as you sat at your vanity, brushing your freshly washed hair, the thought of the kiss haunted you. The carefree way they were able to show affection, so natural and unguarded, replayed over and over in your mind.

Something stirred deep within you—an ache you hadn’t realized was there. You and Shoji hadn’t had your first kiss yet. And for that to happen, he would have to take off his mask.

You knew about Shoji’s insecurities—he had confided in you about his scars, the ones he kept hidden beneath the fabric. He had told you how he felt his face made others uncomfortable, how he wore the mask more for their sake than his own. The thought of him feeling the need to hide himself from the world hurt more than you could put into words. You boyfriend was too selfless.

But you never pushed him. You understood his hesitation and respected his boundaries. Still, you wished he could see himself the way you saw him—strong, kind, and so much more than just his appearance.

Days passed in a blur of classes and training, but the quiet ache remained. The deeper your bond with Shoji grew, the more you yearned to be closer to him—not just emotionally, but physically. You wanted to erase the lingering doubts you knew still resided in his heart.

One evening, as you sat together in your dorm with textbooks and notebooks scattered around, Shoji noticed the distant look in your eyes. He was always observant, attuned to even the smallest changes in the people around him. You weren’t acting withdrawn, but your mind was clearly elsewhere.

"Y/N," he said gently, his voice soft with concern, "Is something bothering you?"

His question caught you off guard. Your heart skipped a beat. The words you had been struggling to say for days were suddenly on the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t find the right way to express what you felt, so you averted your gaze, twisting the fabric of your sweater.

"It’s nothing," you mumbled, forcing a smile, but your eyes didn’t meet it.

Your boyfriend didn’t buy it. He stayed quiet for a moment, giving you space to speak if you chose to. When you didn’t, he tried again, his voice steady and full of reassurance.

"Y/N, you can talk to me. Whatever it is, I want to understand."

His words settled over you like a comforting weight, grounding you. You swallowed hard, breath catching in your throat.

""It’s just been on my mind lately," you admitted, voice faltering. "Ever since we saw that couple, I…" You hesitated, unsure how to put it into words.

You took a shaky breath. "I’ve been thinking about kissing you," you finally murmured, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment.

You could feel the flush creeping up your neck. "I don’t want you to feel pressured," you added quickly. "I know it probably sounds stupid, and I…" You trailed off, watching his expression.

Shoji went still, caught off-guard by your confession. He had always admired your straightforwardness, but now it was his turn to be at a loss for words. His hands tightened on the table before him, his face flushing a soft pink before he took in what you had said. He knew you meant no harm, but a part of him felt scared. He wanted to say something, to reassure you, but he couldn't get the words out, the insecurity drowning him.

The silence stretched on, and you could see him battling within himself. You watched him closely, your heart sinking as hesitation flickered in his eyes. That look—the way he seemed to shrink into himself—made your chest ache.

"I don’t want you to hide from me," you said, your voice now firm. "Not from me, Mezo."

Gently, you reached out, resting your hands on either side of his face. "I need you to hear me," you whispered. "I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I care about you—all of you. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do."

Your thumbs brushed over the fabric of his mask. "You’re the most selfless, strongest person I know. And I swear, nothing could ever change the way I feel about you."

He was still, so still, but you felt his breath tremble, his resolve wavering beneath the weight of your words.

"Y/N, I… I don't want to lose you," he murmured, his voice thick with fear. "I’m used to this happening, but it’s different with you. What if you don’t feel the same way anymore?"

Your heart clenched at his words. You gently brushed your thumb across his masked jawline. "Mezo," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I love you with the mask, and I’ll love you without the mask, with scars, without scars. I love all of you. You are beautiful to me, inside and out."

Shoji’s eyes glistened, tears threatening to spill as the weight of his fears—of the rejection he had braced for—slowly began to lift. Your love, patient and unwavering, reached the wounds he had kept hidden for so long, healing him in ways he never thought possible.

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against the fabric of his mask. It wasn’t the first kiss you had imagined, but in this moment, it meant something deeper. It was a quiet vow, a promise that nothing about him could ever push you away.

He exhaled shakily, his hand trembling as it covered yours, the warmth of his touch an unspoken acknowledgment. Then, with careful movements, he removed your hands from his face and sat up straighter, tension coiling in his posture.

"Close your eyes," he murmured.

You obeyed without hesitation, squeezing them shut. You listened as he undid the clasps of his mask, the soft rustling of fabric as it fell away.

His hands reached for yours, guiding your fingers to his face. As your touch met his skin, you felt the contours of his scars—the raised ridges, the uneven texture—each mark a roadmap of his past, now yours to explore.

Your fingertips traced along the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his cheek, the depth of each scar. You could feel his tears, warm and unguarded, slipping down his face.

Your hands moved to cup his cheeks with a tenderness meant to soothe. "Mezo," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering love, "You are so beautiful."

Slowly, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, then deepened with the weight of months of unspoken emotions finally breaking free. It was raw, full of quiet devotion, a silent reassurance that nothing had changed—only strengthened.

When you finally parted, you opened your eyes, drinking in the sight of him. His expression held a vulnerability you had never seen before, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But there was none. You took in every curve, every mark, every beautiful imperfection—memorizing him, loving him, just as he was.

Damn. Your boyfriend is hot.

The thought hit you so suddenly that you barely had time to process it before you were leaning in again, drawn to him like gravity. This kiss was different— more desperate. You just wanted to feel him, to drown in the warmth of his touch. Your fingers tangled in his white locks, giving a gentle pull that sent a shiver through him.

Two of Shoji’s hands gripped your waist, hesitant yet firm, while the others hovered uncertainly, as if unsure where they belonged. Slowly, you shifted closer, straddling him, feeling the sharp hitch in his breath against your lips.

The kiss grew more fervent, months of unspoken feelings, stolen glances, and quiet longing spilling into each movement. You gasped softly as his hands tightened around you, grounding himself in the moment. When you accidentally bit his lip, a low, unexpected moan escaped him, sending heat coursing through your veins.

The room was filled with the sound of ragged breaths and quiet moans as your hands explored every contour of each other’s bodies, committing them to memory. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a silent vow—one of trust, of love, of something deeper than words could ever convey.

When you finally parted, foreheads pressed together, your chests rose and fell in sync. Shoji swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you, Y/N."

Your heart soared, and a soft smile curled at your lips. "I love you too, Mezo."

She grim on my born 'til I viggo

If ghosts were real—well, Bakugou didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist—they lived in the spaces people left behind.

And you happened to have left behind too many.

It wasn’t just the obvious things. Not the clothes still folded in your drawers, untouched. Not the way your books still sat on the shelves, the spines cracked from overuse, the pages filled with notes in the margins. Not even the stupid coffee mug you always used, the one you once swore made everything taste better, still sitting exactly where you left it on the kitchen counter (because it had his and your face printed on it).

No, the spaces you left behind were quieter. More insidious.

Like the empty seat across from him at the dining table, where you used to sit, eating straight from the pot that one night because, “Why dirty another dish?”

Like the sound of the bathroom door not opening in the morning when he’s actually using the toilet—dammit, you didn’t even have the care in the world to give your boyfriend some privacy—the absence of your muttered complaints about how the water took too long to heat up.

Like the other side of the bed, cold and untouched, where he still reached out in his sleep, half expecting to find you there. Anticipating to hold you closer to him.

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

It wasn’t like pain. Pain was easy. A broken rib, a busted lip, the sharp sting of impact—those things, he knew how to handle. You grit your teeth, you clench your fists, you keep moving. That was what you did. That was the kind of man he was.

But grief wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t a punch he could take and shake off. It was a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible but suffocating. It was the silence of an empty apartment. It was the echo of your voice in his head, the way his brain still filled in the blanks in conversations you should have been part of.

It was standing in the grocery store, staring at the shelf, reaching for the brand of tea you liked before stopping halfway, fingers hovering in the air, before dropping his hand back to his side.

What was the point?

He hated how much space you had taken up in his life. Hated how even in your absence, you still lingered, threading yourself through his routine, his thoughts, his goddamn muscle memory.

But more than anything, he hated how much he wanted it to stay.

Because if ghosts were real, then maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely gone.

He hadn’t cried. Not when he first got the news. Not when he stood at the funeral, jaw locked so tight it ached. Not when he walked through your apartment alone for the first time, every corner of it filled with your presence, your things, the remnants of the life you lived.

But tonight, he was exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. It comes down on him like something tangible, something inescapable—all at once.

And for the first time in a long time, he spoke into the silence.

“…This is fucking stupid.”

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse.

Nothing answered.

Of course, nothing answered.

Still, Bakugou exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’d be so pissed at me right now.”

The quiet stretched.

Bakugou let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. But look at you. Still haunting me, huh?”

His eyes flickered to the couch, where you used to sit cross-legged, laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to listen to whatever bullshit he was ranting about while actually getting work done.

A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in his chest.

“…You remember that time you swore up and down that ghosts were real?” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I told you you were full of shit.”

Silence.

His fingers curled into fists. “Kinda wish you were right.”

No answer. No sign. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the city outside the window.

But in the quiet, he thought—just for a second—he could hear it.

A breath. A whisper of movement. The sound of something shifting just out of sight.

He knew it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

But still, Bakugou closed his eyes, exhaled, and let himself pretend.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

Unfinished. Won't finish.

im alive! surprise!!!

anyways, this trend but with shoji :3

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲? 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. • 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐣𝐢 × 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

contains: mention of sucky parents, shoji's horrible village, scars, CUTENESS, FLUFF, shoji being a cutie patootie, mwah mwah kissy kissy

ENJOY!

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

The rain poured down onto the pavement as I trudged across the grounds. I had forgotten my umbrella once again, and I hadn't expected it to start storming just as I was heading home. Well, as much as a home it could be. 

I had no money for the bus or train, my phone was dead, and even if I could call my parents I knew they wouldn't come to pick me up. They had never cared much for me, even once I got accepted into UA, they gave me the cold shoulder.

The sound of feet slapping against the wet pavement pulled me out of my pity party. I glanced up to be met with black eyes. Shoji. He held out an umbrella, covering my trembling form, "want me to walk you home?" His deep voice startled me, my eyes widening slightly. "Oh no, you don't have to..." He shook his head, his gaze searching for mine, "I don't mind."

Turning to the side, I averted his gaze, "my house is pretty far, I don't want to make you walk so far." I stepped closer, "again, I really don't mind. I could use the walk anyway." His eyes were piercing, and I looked away quickly, nodding slowly. "Alright..." The silence was thick and tense, one of his arms holding the umbrella over me, the other two resting idly at his side. His firm but gentle voice dragging me out of my thoughts, "Are you... scared of me?" his voice trembled ever so slightly. My head snapped up, "scared? Of you? Why would I be scared?" He shook his head, "Sorry that was stupid... it's just, you always act so nervous, I was worried it was because of me."

My cheeks darkened as I realized what he was talking about. I had had a crush on Shoji ever since I met him. His strong form, and gentle words always managed to put me at ease. "I could never be scared of you, Shoji." His gentle gaze met mine, and I swear I could see hints of red peaking out from his mask. He cleared his throat, looking back down to the pavement. "I'm glad." 

It was silent again, save for the splash of our feet hitting the ground, and the thoughts racing in my head. Why would he ever think I was scared of him? Who could ever be scared of such a gentle person like Shoji? These questions tore against my mind, and before I could stop myself, my lips were moving. "Why would you think I'd be scared of you?" He stopped dead in his tracks, and I turned to face him, my hands fiddling nervously in front of me. His dark eyes met mine slowly, before swerving away.

"Most people are. Or disgusted." His voice was low, wavering, and my hand involuntarily reached up to grab at one of his free hands. Our fingers laced together, his eyes meeting mine once again, an unsureness I had never seen before settled in his dark gaze. "I could never be disgusted by you, Shoji," I spoke quietly, tentatively. "Mezo. Please." I smiled gently at his words, "Mezo." I tried the name out, it sounded foreign yet somehow... right, on my tongue. "Thank you..." He spoke lowly, almost nervously.

My eyebrows scrunched in concern as he didn't meet my eyes. Something was still wrong, and I was unsure what to do. "What's wrong?" He shook his head, "nothing." "I know you're lying, Mezo." I could feel him shiver slightly, and whether that was due to the cold or my words, I would never know. I looked up at the sky, the rain still poured down, and we were still quite far from my home. I looked back to him, his face hung low, his silver hair sweeping over his eyes, the pale blue mask covering his other features. I had never asked why he wore the mask, but suddenly, I had the strong urge to know what lay beneath it.

I stepped closer, his form looming over mine, my free hand moving from my side to his face. I gently trailed my fingers over the edge of his mask, his face jerking up to see me better. "Why do you wear this mask?" I questioned, my voice holding only curiosity. His eyes held a slight fear, so I retracted my hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" "No, please, it's... I... don't mind." His voice quivered, and held an emotion I couldn't quite place. Longing? I didn't know.

I rested my hand on his shoulder, waiting patiently for his answer. "It's... it doesn't really matter..." I shook my head, "please, I want to know." His gaze uncertain, his shoulders tense. He sighed, "my village... doesn't exactly like heteromorphs. You don't need to hear my sob story but... people were afraid of my face, so I covered it. Hoping people would be less afraid of me if I wasn't so scary looking." His hand that was interlaced with mine trembled slightly, I rubbed my thumb soothingly against the back of his. "You're not scary," he chuckled humorlessly, "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I looked like." I took a breath, "then show me."

His eyes widened, "w—what?" "Show me, Mezo, I want to know what you look like. Then I can determine how scary you really are." I grinned slowly, he shook his head, "no—no I don't want to lose you—" I laughed at the thought, "Lose me? That will never happen. I swear by it. Even if I'm frightened, I won't leave you, ever." His gaze was wide, unbelieving, hopeful. He looked away. "Are... are you sure?" I nodded.

His hand dropped from mine. He wordlessly reached his hand up, hesitating over his mask, before hooking his finger in and pulling it down. My jaw fell as a small gasp escaped my lips. Scary? He was beautiful. His lips were long and thin, scars trailed over just about every inch of skin I could see. Once again I wondered how anyone could be scared of him, and for the first time I wondered, 'What happened to him?' He looked at me nervously, his hand fiddling with the fabric of his mask. I was snapped out of my daze as he opened his mouth to speak, scarred skin pulling at his lips, and revealing his perfectly white teeth, "Y/N...?" He had never said my name before. He had never spoken to me with his actual mouth. I felt a sudden surge of affection for him, my heart twisting painfully. 

Suddenly I was moving, wrapping my arms around his neck and crashing my lips into his. He startled, dropping the umbrella, causing the rain to hit me once again, drenching our bodies. I pulled away, "I'm sorry—I—I shouldn't ha—" He cut me off, his lips crashing against mine once again. All of his 6 limbs wrapped around my smaller form, his main two coming up to my neck, holding me gently to his face as his lips moved against mine. Another pair wrapped around my back, hands caressing and tugging, at my hair, on my back; the last pair fit snug around my waist, his thumbs gently brushing against the skin of my stomach that had been revealed.

It was overwhelming, yet oh so wonderfully him. I melted into his touch, my fingers entangled in his hair, running across the scars on his neck and his face. He hummed against my lips, his touch gentle and yet bruising at the same time. I tilted my head to the side slightly, his lips moved feverishly against mine, the kiss deep and warm. We pulled away from each other slowly, gasping for air. I rested my head against his chest, his strong arms pulling me flush against him.

I was suddenly aware of the rain pouring down, my hair and clothes soaked through. "My apartment is right around the corner, stay with me? At least until the rain stops." I nodded, grinning up at him. His face turned red as he pulled a hand from where it rested on my neck to cover my head from the rain. I ran my hand through his soaked hair, and our lips met again. Slow and gentle, nothing like the first one which was hot and quick. I smiled against his lips, pulling away slightly. "You could never be scary, Mezo. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

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1.4k words

i am a FIRM mezo shoji lover, he has my heart forever and always. he doesn't get enough love (cept for you blair-vvitch, ily) so I HAD to write something for him. everytime I see his little face I get horrible cuteness aggression so I attempted to showcase that in this. hope you liked it heehee

Kintsugi

Shoji x reader, meet-cute feat. angst

(warnings: harassment, heteromorph discrimination, past abuse)

The station was nearly empty. It wasn't unusual, out in the boonies of Fukuoka. But after living in the city for so long, the quiet had become unfamiliar.

Anywhere else, Shoji would have found the fresh air and birdsong peaceful. But out here, it just felt like waiting for something bad to happen.

He didn't even tell his closest friends the real reason for this trip home. If he did, they'd insist on supporting him. They would mean well, but it was easier this way, not having to look out for anyone else. Who knows how the villagers would react if he came back with more freaks.

And, it's not like Mezo really needed his friends there to share in his grief. This was more for closure. When he cried at his grandfather's funeral, the tears were borne of relief, much to his shame.

The wounds on Mezo's face still ached when he moved his mouth to talk or chew. So, he learned how to make more parts with his quirk. Instead of just making mouths for fun or company as he had when he was very little, he added vocal cords, then a rudimentary esophagus. It was difficult, a lot of trial and error. But the payoff proved it had been a worthwhile use of his time.

Mezo sat at the dinner table with his family. The mask his parents had given him covered the more substantial bandages. He resented knowing that it was there so no one had to look at those reminders of his torn visage. At the same time, there was an undeniable comfort to wearing the thing. A shield between himself and the hateful world.

The stitches pulled when he smiled under the mask, but he couldn't help the feeling of elation at eating solid food without pain for the first time in weeks. Unfortunately, the sight of his new, unorthodox method of mastication had mixed reactions.

Mom pointedly ignored it, ever reluctant to disturb the peace. Grandpa was quietly side-eyeing the display, giving a difficult to read scoff and turning back to his plate with a smirk when Mezo nervously glanced over. Dad took the longest to notice, pinching the bridge of his nose when he did. "Geez, Mezo."

"Sorry. Hurts less," he explained, hoping that would be the end of it.

Surprisingly, it was Grandpa who jumped to his defense. "Let him eat that way son, I think it's great!"

Mezo looked at his grandfather with utter shock. That cheerful statement was easily the kindest thing he had ever said about his grandson, whose birth had been a curse upon the family. Mezo had half a mind to thank him for standing up for him, until the old man spoke again.

"I can almost look at him while eating, now that the face is covered up. Can't you get the lil monster to wear sleeves, too?"

"...M'not a monster, o-jiisan."

It was the first time he'd spoken up like that. The adults all looked shocked by Mezo's soft utterance of self defense. Until shock twisted into anger on the old man's face, and then-

Shoji's hand subconsciously went to his side, remembering the welt from the cane, the scolding from his mom not to backtalk grandpa. She always did that, always tried to appease him, to make him forget his suspicion that the dirty blood came from his daughter in law straying, even though his own quirk was extending arms.

Trapped deep in thought, Mezo didn't notice anyone sneaking up behind him until it was too late. Two boys, mid teens by the look of it, ran past suddenly, bumping into him on both sides, whooping excitedly. There was a tearing sound as Shoji's mask was suddenly ripped down. "OOPS!"

His heart was racing instantly, the pounding of blood in his ears making the laughter and comments sound eerily distant. "Ho-o-oly shit what's wrong with your face?!"

He froze. Shoji's legs felt glued in place, and for a moment he suspected the use of a quirk. Until he realized, it was just his own mind forcing a panic response.

Any other day, any other place, Mezo was sure he could have reacted more heroically. Calm, cool, collected. Perhaps spoken to them, or at the very least, gathered himself and remained dignified. But all of his emotions were already so raw, a feeling like rope burn from old memories binding in this place. This was just salt in the wound.

Finally, he forced an arm to move, shoving the mask back up. The second he let go, it started slipping again. His fingers brushed a huge tear in the fabric. Did he have a spare? He had to have a spare, it was probably in his bag, was he going to tear through his luggage right here and now, they were still talking, why couldn't he move?

Then a new voice chimed in, one that held no laughter as it barked, "HEY!" Still giggling, the pranksters skittered off before the risk of consequence could catch up. Firm footsteps drew closer, before finally stopping beside Shoji. "Little jackasses...hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, fine." He barely glanced at the woman who had jogged over to check on him, too embarrassed by the need for a rescue. Taking a deep breath to ground himself, he tried to put on a stoic mask. "Sorry for troubling you."

You scoffed. "You didn't do anything." His eyes finally found yours. Anticipation roiled in his belly as you curiously looked at his face, at his hand pulling the blue fabric tight over his skin to keep the halves together. "Did they do that?"

You thought a moment, then hesitantly spoke. "...I've got a sewing kit in my bag. You can sit with me during the ride."

"The mask, yeah. It's fine, it's just a thing. I have another." Yet, when he took his bag over to a bench to dig through its contents, the spare was nowhere to be found. It was probably sitting somewhere in his parents' house. Well, might as well consider that one lost forever. "Damnit... Nevermind, this is my only one."

It took a moment for Shoji to recognize the offer for what it was. "...oh! I don't want to impose."

You shrugged. "It's kind of a long trip, this'll give me something to do."

~~~

Mezo waited until the two of you were situated on the train to give up on the vain effort to hold his mask together. Pulling the torn garment over his head, he meekly passed it to you.

Your eyes briefly lingered on the scars, but Shoji was grateful when no questions followed the look. Instead, you focused on looking the fabric over to determine what exactly needed to be done. "...It looks worse that it is, I'll be able to tack it no problem. It's a clean tear, just in a bad spot. Want me to try and match the color and hide it, or you want it to pop?"

"Pop?"

"Yeah, like, make it a decoration, like a kintsugi thing. Use a bright color to make a line of stitches. It's gonna be a few hours, I could even try a little embroidery."

"You don't have to go through all that trouble, really, as long as I can wear it again that's enough." He felt bad enough, that you were fixing the consequence of him not paying attention. He felt strangely worse when he noticed the slightly disappointed look in your eyes as you selected a matching thread to hide the wound in his mask.

Silence found the two of you as you began the delicate operation. Uncomfortable silence, from Shoji's perspective.

"...what's kintsugi?"

"Hm?" You acknowledged without pausing your work.

"Kintsugi. You said it before."

"Oh! It's a ceramic technique where you use a gold paste to repair broken pieces. Instead of trying to hide the cracks, it draws attention to them, emphasizing them as something beautiful."

Shoji felt himself smile as he half joked, "if only that worked with real scars." His own words instantly made his stomach sour. Why would he say something like that to a near stranger? It was unbecoming to act so vulnerable. Couldn't he just keep that self pity inside, where it belongs.

Only, you didn't seem bothered by his spontaneous vulnerability. "I dunno. It's like body hair and birthmarks and cellulite, if you forget what you've been told about what's supposed to be attractive, then they're objectively very beautiful." As he considered the implications of your words, you went on. "Scars are really wonderful if you think about it. They're how your body shows its love for you, building you back stronger if you get hurt. Like, 'hey we're not done, let's get back out there!' I think that's lovely."

"It is, isn't it?" His eyes fell to the hidden repair on his mask. "...think you could do an octopus?"

You looked up at him then, excitement quickly overtaking your features. "I can try. And if it turns out looking godawful you only have to deal with it for a little while."

It didn't matter if it turned out poorly, he thought, nodding. He had already decided two things. One was that he'd wear it anyway, and keep it like a scar. So that when his friends asked how his trip went, he could show it to them and tell them about how he met someone so kind on the ride home.

The second was, when the time came to disembark, he would ask for your number.

~~~

Ultimate fantasy of being emotionally supportive to the blorbo go!

Just wanted to put this out there.

Izuku, loves chubby girls.

🌸

Masterlist

Entering middle school, Izuku would always be teasingly askwd what his type was, where the assholes in question would say things like “he’s definitely gay.” And “he’s into blind girls cause they’re the only ones who’d date him!”

He always just rolled his eyes at these comments and questions, but as he got a little older, and his hormones started to shift him from a boy to a young man, he started to actually wonder what his type was.

Izuku would often find himself on the internet, scrolling through different modeling sites, looking at the different girls showing off hero merch or other clothing. He knew it was a bit perverted, but he blamed it on his curiosity.

However, none of them ever caught his eye.

It wasn’t that they were ugly, they were gorgeous women, but none of them really set him off.

Fast forward to UA, and our green eyes king is meeting some new people, making friends, busting his ass to become a hero.

About one semester of school in, and Aizawa announces the school’s transfer student program.

Awesome! Another student to add to the amazinf list of quirks and personalities? Izuku can’t wait to meet them!

The day eventually rolls around when this mystery student is supposed to be moving into the dorms; the class had made dinner and set up some fun games to get to know each other. It was going to be fun!

Izuku and the rest of the class had waited, Izuku excitedly rambling to Iida and Uraraka about potential quirks, nationalities and really anything he could think of.

However, when he sees you walking next to Aizawa with a few bags, his heart drops.

You were..gorgeous.

His eyes were instantly drawn to your thick thighs, with no gap between them as they filled out your jeans, the slight pudge of your stomach that made you look so soft and warm, how your arms filled out your sleeves, and your round, baby face with chubby cheeks.

Izuku had no idea what to say as the rest of the students welcomed you to their class. He felt a bit bad for blatantly staring at your plush body, but god-damn he couldn’t help it.

He managed to choke out a greeting after everyone else, making your eyes land on him.

You noticed his eyes stuck on your body, and you smiled a bit, his bright red blush not lost on you.

Fast forward to graduation, you’d gotten pretty close with Izuku.

He was the boy you’d consider your best friend, sweet, affectionate, shy, and everything you could ask for in a friend; you trusted him, and he trusted you.

At the graduation party, Kaminari and Mineta had spiked the drinks there, a cliche thing do to, especially for fresh out of high school graduates.

You had a single cup from the start of the party, but after Mina had a few cups and ended up getting drunk, you decided to stick to water instead.

Poor Izuku on the other hand, was probably a few cups deep himself, and he was wasted.

When you found him, he was drunkenly crying, clinging onto Bakugou and whining about how much he loved you.

When you finally got over your shock, you walked over to Izuku, who lit up when he saw you.

“Baby!” He slurred out as he stumbled over to you, hugging you tightly “h-how is my gorgeous girl?” He mumbled into your neck as his hands rested on the rolls of your back.

You flushed bright red, stammering out some syllables.

Izuku giggled and cupped your cheeks with his calloused and scarred hands “look at your cute face~” he slurred out with a dopey grin, “s-so prettyy..”

You melted into his touch and looked up at him with hooded eyes..damn him and his stupidly adorable features. Damn him.

You don’t even know how you got here, laying in your bed with Izuku on top of you. Your shirt was nowhere to be found, and his hands were traveling your torso so softly and slowly as he pressed little kisses to your soft stomach.

You gently combed your fingers through his hair, watching as he gently kneaded the soft, warm pudge of your stomach, the way he smiled and rested his cheek on your chubby belly making you both vulnerable and incredibly shy feeling.

“Y-you’re so..pretty..” he said as he placed a kiss on one of the stretch marks on your stomach. “These are so c-cool..like..like lightning..”

You laughed a little at his dopey grin, seeing him so enamored with something you’d previously been insecure about, and he was lavishing your body with kisses.

When Izuku eventually did fall asleep, his cheek on your stomach and hands holding your sides, you simply pulled up the blanket over his shoulders and looked up at your ceiling, smiling a little and feeling weirdly appreciated by your drunken best friend.

My point is, Izuku has a thing for chubby girls. He loves the cellulite covering your thighs, your stretch marks over your stomach and thighs and arms, the way your cheeks rounded when you smiled- he couldn’t get enough of your soft body.

Izuku loves you for who you are, but it helps that you happen to be his ideal body type.

~~

Felt like writing this randomly, I started it yesterday when my mom and I were watching MHA word Heroes’ mission, but finally finished it today. Wanted to write some fluff for all of my fellow chubby girls out there. <3

young shoji and reader hcs from when they were raised in the village? i can almost imagine a bambi and faline scenario 🥺

(OMG yes, you mean the scene with them in the reeds right? Always loved that sequence, so cute! (Unfortunately, this quickly devolved past HCs...))

Fireflies

When Shoji meets his only childhood friend again after a decade apart, the reunion brings a flood of memories with it.

(ANGST/comfort, feat. fluff; tw: blood, heavy angst, Shoji's childhood in general))

~~~

Few would consider themselves fortunate to find themselves next to a collapsing building. Villain attacks like this were becoming fewer and farther between. Random outbursts and pale League imitators, like the aftershocks of the great earthquake that had been All For One.

Tentacole was just about to finish up his patrol when it happened. Lucky he was there, he thought, as he and a handful of other nearby heroes went in without hesitation. It seemed Grand was dealing with the culprit, his vibration quirk perfectly suited to cancelling out the villain's ability to generate localized tremors.

For the best, Shoji thought, pouring all of his energy to removing civilians from the wreck, and administering first aid until paramedics made it on scene. His quirk was brilliant for this sort of work, easily detecting those who needed help and communicating with other heroes, while also being able to lift immense weight to free those trapped beneath the rubble. No wonder he was slated to become one of the youngest heroes to break the top ten.

Carefully moving aside rebar and chunks of concrete, he pulled another from the crumbling carcass of the building. The young woman looked to be near his age, silent and trembling from the shock. Of greater concern was a head injury. Small, but, could never be too careful with these things. He spoke gently in hope of easing her shredded nerves.

"Hey there, you're safe now." Shoji saw her eyes go impossibly wide when she looked at him, heard a startled gasp, but focused on the cut just above her right eyebrow. "I'm going to help you, okay? You're bleeding, but it doesn't look serious."

She neither answered nor pulled away, continuing to stare like a deer in the headlights as the hero pulled a sterile gauze pad from his med kit.

"How do you feel? Can you speak?" As one hand lightly held the pad against the cut, another gently lifted her brows to check pupil dilation. It was then, staring into her eyes, that the sense of familiarity began to set in.

The look was familiar enough. Fear, to be expected from someone who had nearly been crushed by a building. He noticed the personal element too, possibly from being alarmed by his appearance. Again, familiar. It wasn't until he recognized the look of guilt that he realized it.

By what twist of fate could it possibly be you? It couldn't, he tried to tell himself at first. But the longer he stared, the more his hope became undeniable truth.

"...is that really you, ___?"

~~~

He first met you in late spring, shortly before the rainy season hit Fukuoka.

Knowing today could be one of the last pleasant days before the summer rains made the river swollen and violent, Shoji went there to catch catfish. He had no gear for proper fishing. Rather, he would lay on the bank, hanging an arm in the water close to shore, and simply wait for a fish to mistake his fingers for prey.

At the first nibble, he would move suddenly, usually successful in grabbing the slippery creature without cutting himself on the sharp fins. He was proud to return home with a catch. A bucketful of tasty fish was one of the few things that earned him praise for using his quirk.

Sometimes he caught nothing, but even those days were pleasant enough. He could spend all afternoon like that, rotating which arm he used as they went numb from the cool water. Peaceful (boring). Unbothered (lonely).

This proved to be a rare day. When Mezo felt the first nibbling sensation, he lunged two more hands in to help grab, all for nought. The fish slipped away, breaking the surface, splashing dramatically before making its final exit.

Shoji huffed, wiping some water out of his face, absentmindedly watching as his reflection danced on the disturbed water in a distorted blob. As he peered into the water, a second blob began to take form. And as the water settled, it became a face.

"Hi there!"

Mezo jumped, turning over to stare wide eyed at the newcomer. A child, probably close to his own age, who he had never seen before. Not that he knew the other village children very well, but, he was quite certain he would recognize them if they were standing half a meter away.

Your expression was an unfamilar one. An eager smile which barely faltered as you crouched closer, earnestly repeating,"I said 'hello'!"

"...h'lo," he mumbled, hardly audible against the brook babbling in the background. Still, it proved to be more than enough encouragement for this stranger.

"What's your name? I'm-"

~~~

"You don't have to hang around, Mezo." You readjusted the ice pack against your forehead. "Orrr am I supposed to call you 'Tentacole' while you're in uniform?"

He was still in costume. There was no time to change; he hadn't left your side the whole way to the hospital. Besides, it was a good excuse to keep his mask on. No need to compound your guilt.

"No, you can just call me by my name-" I missed how it sounds in your voice- "And it's fine, really, that was my final patrol," he excused. It was true that he had nowhere to be anyway. And honestly, he may have dropped any prior commitments anyway, if it meant holding on to your presence a little longer.

~~~

"-so yeah, that's why I'm living with my aunt and uncle here for a while."

Shoji watched over his shoulder curiously as you followed him like a baby duck, holding a too-big umbrella aloft in a failing effort to shield both of you from the persistent drizzle that had fallen on the town. You kept finding him, talking to him like it was normal. You didn't seem to understand that you really weren't supposed to talk to him.

"You don't talk much. Are you shy?"

"No, just, not used to people talking to me I guess," he mumbled, hardly convincing you that he wasn't shy.

"Oh? Me neither. The other kids around here are jerks! I don't think they like out of town folks. Plus I'm quirkless."

"...yeah, they have a problem with anybody different."

"Whatever, it's boring being the same! Way cooler to be a lone wolf. We should be lone wolves together Mezo-kun!" He flinched when you excitedly patted his back. But there was no pain. And your tone immediately shifted to concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you have sunburn or something?"

"No, you just-" shouldn't touch me, we'll both get in trouble, "-startled me."

"Hehe sorry, didn't mean to scare you! I'm sneaky when I wanna be! Oh my gosh this one time, I-"

A little smile finally tugged at the corners of his lips. He decided he liked that you were so chatty.

~~~

You were so, so quiet. Maybe he'd made a mistake, accidentally pressured you into this. Although you sat just across from him in the booth, you looked far away as you prodded at your meal.

"So, uh, are you seeing anyone?" He could have kicked himself for that.

"Nah."

Before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out. "Why not?"

You smiled a twisted, bitter smile. "Dunno. Probably has to do with getting nervous about physical affection, yanno?" You laughed with no humor, only nerves. God you were so different.

~~~

The rainy season came and went, leaving the earth and air damp, and the river all abuzz with new life. Shoji stood, staring out over the vibrant green of the growing reeds, waving with the wind. Accustomed to being alone, he found comfort in this peaceful observation of nature.

Distracted by the hovering dance of several dragonflies, he didn't notice as his recent acquaintance approached. Until-

"HI MEZO!"

Startled by the sudden greeting, Mezo turned too fast, slipping down the slight embankment and disappearing into the tall reeds. There was a splash as he landed hard on his rear end, and he grimaced at the soggy sensation seeping into his ratty clothes.

As he tried to find his bearings, the first haunting giggle sounded somewhere to his left. He looked that way, but before he could stand, the sound returned on the right, and he lost his footing again.

So it went for a while, his head whipping around, trying to follow the giggles, not knowing whether the rustling of the reeds came from you or some animal or the wind. Once he thought he had you, turning to look back, only to feel a cheeky little kiss on the side of his face.

Narrowing his eyes, Shoji took a deep breath, focused all of his senses, and waited. The next time you poked your head out, you found yourself face to face with a single huge eye, courtesy of his quirk. You gasped.

"Got you!" Mezo roared as he finally found his feet, launching after you. It was easier to follow you now, the constant shrieks of delight as you raced through the tall grasses. He tore after you, grinning madly as the unfamiliar sound of his own laughter rang out.

~~~

You were more relaxed at his apartment. Without the public eye potentially glaring at your rekindling friendship, it seemed you could finally breathe, as the two of you sat side by side on his sofa.

"I'm honestly surprised you turned out so altruistic," you mused. "I mean, you were always kind, I just...I was afraid that-"

"That the world would make me mean?"

"I don't mean that as a dig against you."

"Hey, it's okay. That happens to a lot of people." Memories of the fight outside the hospital flooded his mind, until Shoji shook his head. "But saving people, making use of my gifts, makes me feel grateful for this form."

"I always was pretty jealous of your quirk." Your smile was softer now, as you fidgeted with a loose thread in your shirt.

It almost made him regret wanting to tell you why he chose to become a hero. But, it was something you should know. You of all people. "...Do you remember the river, near the village?"

~~~

The trees provided a natural barrier between the river and the village. A veil to hide the two of you, letting you play freely. Two pairs of sandals sat on the riverbank, baking in the summer sun while their owners waded in the stream.

Hardly a day went by that the two of you didn't meet here, making a game of catch and releasing the local wildlife. You had started the sport, as usual, recruiting Shoji to help you capture some frogs. Soon salamanders and crayfish were added to the lineup, and a points system invented. One for frogs, three for crayfish, five for the elusive salamanders and newts.

That is, until the day Mezo wrangled a giant salamander the size of his torso, sparking a fierce debate on whether that constituted five points or fifty. All the while, the slippery beast wriggled and fought against the six armed prison it had found itself in.

After that, the game lost its competitive element, returning to the pure, peaceful practice of simply admiring the creatures before returning them to nature.

It was why, when the other children captured fireflies to stick in paper lanterns on clear summer nights, the two of you simply caught them in your hands, giggling at the ticklish feeling of six tiny feet creeping along a finger before taking off again. It wouldn't be fair to interrupt their lives like that. They'd just die in the lanterns, and too soon.

It was better, you mutually decided, to simply admire their glow. To catch a handful, releasing them into the sky or, if you were feeling playful, onto one another's hair. Shoji was especially good at this, filling six hands with insects, then opening his palms so they could burst free all at once like a solar flare.

~~~

"I'm so sorry."

He knew you would say that. "It's alright, it's not like it was your fault."

"It is my fault, though," you insisted, voice cracking. "I tried to tell someone what happened after I got away from there, anyone. Family. People at school. Most of them acted like I was embellishing a story. Or they did believe, and still brushed it off like oh how terrible, well that's just how it is in some places."

"That was out of your control, though."

"Yeah but what happened before that wasn't!" Your hands dragged down your face, leaving an angry flush. "It was, looking back, ugh, I was just so stupid and careless and naive-"

"We were supposed to be naive! We were ten! We were supposed to play and be stupid and not worry about those things." Mezo's gaze fell. "It's something we were supposed to outgrow slowly, not have it taken away all of a sudden. Not like that."

~~~

"Omochio Tsukimasho Omochio Tsukimasho

Petanko, Petanko, Petan Petan Petanko

Konete Konete Konete Konete Konete

Ton Ton Ton Ton Ton Ton..."

No one had played the clapping game with him before. It was almost a shame that none of the other kids from the village would join the two of you. It might have been fun, he thought, to try to play against two or more partners.

You at least made a valiant effort to keep up with all six of his hands. It started with just two, of course, until he added another pair. Just as a joke, at first, but then you played along. And now you were both giggling, mimicking the motions of mochi making and trying not to smack each other's arms too much.

"How do you keep track of so many hands?!" You tried to sound exasperated, but couldn't stop laughing as you were tripped up by the extra limbs once again.

Mezo couldn't hold in his laughter either. "How can you not keep track of only two?" he jabbed, prompting a gasp from you.

"Gah! You're so mean to me!" you cackled, giving up on the game entirely in favor of grabbing for his many hands. The scuffle was rather one-sided, with the much taller boy ruffling your hair and poking your sides and easily keeping his hands well out of reach.

Finally, you managed to jump up and get hold of one of the duplicate hands. He didn't resist, still chuckling as you laced your fingers with his, beaming up at him with a triumphant smile. "Got you!"

"Mm-hm." No one had ever held his hand, either, much less one made with his quirk. His gross, monstrous quirk. But you didn't think so. Even when you finally let your tired arm fall, your hand remained clasped with his.

There, as he held your hand, Mezo's young heart was alight with affection. You two could grow up together and he would be your dearest friend, until he was your boyfriend, until he was your husband, until you both passed on. He'd be your friend in the next life too, he thought, let's be fireflies and find one another's light and spend that life together too.

Anywhere else, it might have happened like that.

Anywhere else, you might have been childhood sweethearts. The adults would have found your puppy love adorable. Old ladies would pinch your cheeks and joke about living to see the wedding. The other kids would wail about you sharing cooties. Your families would tease you about your little friend, but be welcoming and happy for you both.

Anywhere else, it may have been different. But they were here. And a sudden sharp voice shattered that pristine fantasy

"Hey! What do you think you're doing to her, monster?"

~~~

Of all the things Midoriya had asked about his quirk, Shoji was grateful that his inquisitive friend never questioned how he was so certain that his severed limbs would grow back.

It wasn't a memory so much, at least, not a coherent one. He knew there was a wood chopping block, but he couldn't remember how his hand looked on it, held fast by a much bigger hand around his wrist. Nor the pain of the severing. It was like his brain censored the worst bits, trying to protect him like no one else would.

He remembered how light he felt. How loud his blood, pounding in his ears. Even louder were your panicked, shrieking protests. Your face, your eyes, so wide, crying, tears and snot and drool. He saw your teeth dig into the arm of your aunt when she tried restraining you.

He heard later that that's why you were sent away, for biting your guardian. You weren't the one to tell him. In the time between the incident and your leaving, you didn't speak to him at all. You didn't even look at him.

~~~

"I don't blame you for any of that, but, I'm not not upset," he tried to explain, pinching the center of his brow. "I wish...I wish you'd talked to me after. Or kept in touch somehow! You could have messaged me, we could have stayed friends!"

"You still...wanted to be friends?" Your voice was crumbling with caution as you stared at him in stark disbelief.

As if it could hold you together, Shoji took your hands in his. "Yes! I still want us to be friends now! Or, something, whatever you want to be!" Another hand cupped your cheek. "I've missed you."

You were staring at your joined hands, and he could feel them trembling. "-even after what I did?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he insisted in a soft but stern tone, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "You were my friend, that's what I remember best. What they did to me, to us, wasn't our fault."

"What do you mean to 'us'? You're the one who got hurt, I just watched, I didn't-" a high gasp escaped you as Mezo pulled you into his secure embrace.

"It's so much harder to explain scars when they're inside," he murmured, his voice soft against your skin.

"...All I wanted, was to keep being close. But I thought that would be selfish, to put you at risk like that. Even now, just this, it feels like we're doing something wrong, and if someone saw, it could happen all over again."

"Shhh, it can't, it won't," Mezo promised.

You were still, malleable as he moved to lay on his side with you still cocooned in his arms, your back pressed flush to his chest. The tears flowed freely now, as you shivered and clutched at his forearms tight enough to leave marks.

"Nothing's going to hurt me. Nothing's going to hurt you. We're safe. We're together." He could feel your breath even out as he murmured that mantra against your ear.

"O-okay. Okay." Your grip loosened, but you didn't let go. Instead your fingers unfurled and swirled and fidgeted, gently stroking his sun kissed skin in a way that made him relax, too.

"Can you say it back? I...I need to hear it, too," Shoji added truthfully. You nodded.

"We're safe. No one's going to punish either of us for this. That's gone. You're here now. I'm here." Your arms curled up around his. "...I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he sighed, burying his face into the back of your neck.

You kissed the palm of his hand, the same one you'd seen taken all those years ago. By the time you went to kiss it again, the hand had morphed into a pair of lips.

~

(I'm so sorry I was going to just do fluffy HCs but then I was possessed by Satan and it turned into a series of drabbles about childhood trauma please forgive)

Oh yeah there's a part 2 of the horse desensitizing that I love.

🐎: Hey what's with that tiny predator, the one you're hold- WOAH WHAT THE FUCK WHY IS IT UP SO HIGH

Im a sucker for angsty fwb Bakugo and messy feelings.

!! Major spoilers for the manga btw !!

The two of you almost never meet like that. It’s almost pushing it to ten times a year in a never ending circle of non commitment and broken promises, words that are only exchanged during intimacy that none of you can’t help but utter and trutfully tonight shouldn’t have been different.

But he agreed to let you stay at his place for the night—you think it’s because he doesn’t want to drive you home and you settle on the couch, in a corner, not even wanting to wrap yourself up in a blanket. He takes none of it, preaching about how he’s not going to let you crash on the couch, that you can sleep with him in his bed.

As you’re given a change of clothes to sleep in and a toothbrush, you avoid looking right into his face. 

You know better than anyone why he doesn’t want to commit to you, he doesn’t want you to really see him, he’d rather shut himself away from you. You’re not someone he considers an equal, you’ll never even be close to leveling up with him. You know he hates that about you. That you’re weak. That you gave up on being a hero after the war because of everything that happened.

“Bathe and we can sleep” he says and he gives you a towel and a pair of his boxers.

He already had his shower, he already smells like that orange blossom shower gel and bitter almond shampoo that he has, he already smells like clean laundry and you reek of sinful non committal, casual sex.

You enter the shower and the water running is so hot that it could scorch your skin. You like it that way, feeling the water pierce like fire needles through your skin, stripping away everything in its collision with flesh. 

You try not to burst into tears— he’d think it’s bad manners, lecture you for it and you’re not in the mood for any of it. It’s overwhelming  and self distracting to think of him that way— your therapist says that you should make an effort to understand him and you really do, you do understand why he acts like he does but it doesn’t leave you with anything to do about it. 

You just want to go home, in your clothes, in your bed. The feeling in your heart is unbearable.

But your therapist has repeatedly told you not to sweep the problem under the rug; just talk to him. Don’t just sit in the comfort of the scent of his shower gel and his clothes. Confront him. Tell him you love him and that you’ll stick by his side no matter what.

And it all sounds perfect in theory. Really, it does. Except for the part where you can’t even look at him.

When you look at him, even almost ten years later all you can see is his lifeless fucking body laying under Best Jeanists hands.

So Katsuki knows better than anyone why you can’t accept him, why you can’t commit to him and it drives him absolutely insane.

He is always clothed around you, during sex, during coffee dates to catch up; he puts in the most exquisite effort to avoid showing you his scars. 

And when he can’t just hide the one on his face, you respond by not even looking him in the eye. That, as a fact, pains him more than anything. 

Frankly, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to bear it.

But tonight— tonight he’s gonna do it — he’s gonna tell you that he loves you. And then his own feelings will be your problem.

When he hears the shower stop running, he sits on the edge of his bed, one leg bouncing in anticipation; is tonight the right time? Should he do it? And if not now then when? Can he really just let you slip away, or will his confession make you force yourself to be with someone you can’t even look at.

Why are the two of you even involved at all if you think he is so repulsive?

The bedroom door creaks open before he has time to actually process a sequence of words to tell you— and you step out, your hair damp, clinging to your neck in heavy strands. His shirt swallows you whole, draping over your frame, and his boxers sit awkwardly on your hips, a poor attempt at comfort that neither of you will acknowledge. You still don’t look at him.

Of course, you fucking don’t.

Katsuki clenches his jaw. His leg keeps bouncing—until he forces it still, pressing his palm hard against his knee. He’s getting sick of this. Sick of watching you shrink into yourself, sick of the way you refuse to meet his gaze, sick of the ghosts that sit between you, molding the shape of your relationship into something that barely resembles one.

You tug at the seams of his T-shirt to hide the scars on your neck and the ones on your stomach and torso sit hidden, snuggly, underneath the cloth of it.

He knows what you’re doing because unlike you, he is looking at you.

“…Come here,” he mutters, voice gruff, barely above a whisper.

You hesitate. You fucking hesitate. But he wants to kiss you. He wants to sit you on his lap and kiss your lips, your neck, your chest. He wants to kiss your scars, no matter the fact that they’re spread all over your body.

This is the first and most major difference between the two of you and that’s what pisses him off the most. He accepts parts of you you don’t accept about yourself or him.

But eventually, you move, each step slow, reluctant, as if walking toward him is some great act of suffering. You sit on the bed—on the very edge of it, like you’re prepared to run, not on his lap like he wants.

You play out of the premeditated scenario he’s crafted in his head for this moment.

Katsuki feels something inside him snap.

His fingers twitch, nails digging into his palm, the words crawling up his throat like acid, burning to be let out.

You won’t even look at him.

And yet—you still come back to him, time and time again, you come back.

“Sit on my lap” he says, patting on his thighs with one hand, coaxing yours with his other. “Want you close so we can talk”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer, just follow his lead and hover your legs over his, as you crawl your way onto his lap.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asks, his voice quiet, sharp and cutting through the thick silence between you. 

“M not doing anything” you mutter in response.

“That’s the problem”

Yet, he cradles you, the problem, into his arms, big, strong biceps pressing you close to him, holding your head right into his chest. 

His heartbeat is loud— too loud for someone who once died, too real. Technically there’s nothing you should be scared of, he’s here with you, holding you and all you want to do is run away. Something inside you screams at you to run home, that this isn’t real. That he died and wasn’t saved, that you’re imagining all this.

But right underneath his shirt is his scar. And the ones on his forearm are visible now that he’s wearing a T-shirt.

“Should I go ahead and laser remove the scars?” Katsuki asks while the two of snuggle against each other.

“Huh? Why?”

“Cause ya don’t like looking at em, I’ve noticed. So would you look at me then?!”

Your stomach twists at the mention of the words, even if they’re so soft spoken and without thinking, your eyes dart down—just for a second—before flicking away again. Just the thought of it, the way the skin is raised and uneven, makes your throat tighten.

You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of his shirt. His fingers trace circles on the skin over the band of your -his- boxers.

“That’s not—” You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. “I just…”

“You just think im ugly and you’d rather leave, that’s what you want to say isn’t it?”

“I don’t handle… that kind of stuff well.” You don’t say the word. You don’t want to. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl. “It makes me feel sick to my stomach. And thinking about how you got them—” Your voice catches, and you look down again “It’s too much.”

Silence.

Then, Katsuki scoffs, but it’s weak. “Figures.”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“Real fuckin’ great, huh?” He curses “I wanna tell you that I fucking love you and you’re here telling me I make you sick— what the fuck is wrong with me?”

You break free from his bear-like hug, only to stare at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering. You hate seeing him like this—hunched slightly, fists clenched, looking at his reflection in your eyes like it’s something disgusting. Like he’s something disgusting.

He isn’t though, he’s strong, he’s beautiful, he’s anything and everything you can’t lose. Nobody ever tells him, you don’t either, you just act like he’s made of glass and then leave as if he can’t or won’t shutter.

He just told you he loves you.

You love him too. You’re in love with him. 

Does he even want to hear it after the shit you just spurt at him?

You grab at his face like it's instinct and press your nose to his, locking your eyes into his, breath hitched in the back of your throat. You avoid making any noise, scared that you’re going to ruin this by just existing. 

If it’s been so many years and he’s still alive, you shouldn’t patronise his feelings because of your own trauma.

He’s here. He’s alive and he loves you and the pad of your thumb brushes over the scar on his cheek.

Your stomach still churns at the thought of his injury, but you force yourself to step forward, reaching out carefully. “Katsuki.”

Silence. 

It’s just like he wanted. His love for you is your own problem now. He can only beat and scar himself further over the fact that he said ‘I love you’ like a curse. 

Your stomach twists for a completely different reason now. “Katsuki, I love you too.”

Your lips brush against his, softly. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even stop you. 

He wants to kiss you. Lips, skin, soul. Everything that is yours he wants to put his lips on.

And he does. 

His mind goes blank the moment your lips touch his. It’s like a surge of electricity floods his body, short-circuiting everything logical, everything that was screaming at him to hold back, to keep his mouth shut, to not want this more than he already does.

But he does want this. He always has.

Your lips move against his—hesitant at first, unsure, like you’re still trying to convince yourself this is okay. That he’s okay. And that hesitation guts him. It rips through his chest in ways that no explosion ever could, because it reminds him of the truth:

You love him. 

You’re not afraid to keep your eyes open and he isn’t afraid to keep his eyes open too.

The two of you probably look like lunatics, kissing with your eyes open, but it’s only because you can’t get enough, it’s never enough, even when you kiss just to have sex it’s not enough.

Katsuki wants to melt into you, he wants to disintegrate into one person with you. He feels like his heart will combust— no, he fears that his heart will combust and he’ll leave you scarred forever.

But he’s done that once already.

His fingers tighten their grip on your waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground himself. You’re warm. Real. Sitting right here, on his lap, wrapped up in his clothes, wrapped up in him. It’s a fucking miracle.

He kisses you deeper, almost desperately, parting his lips to taste more, feel more, take more. Your hands are still on his face, trembling slightly, but you don’t pull away. Not yet. And he clings to that like a dying man, pouring everything he can’t say into the way he mouths at you, the way his tongue flicks against yours, the way he tilts his head just right to fit against you perfectly.

His heart is pounding—too fast, too loud. He wonders if you can feel it, if you notice just how much he’s shaking. Because Katsuki does not tremble. Never. He does not doubt himself. He does not need.

Except with you.

With you, he’s terrified.

He’s scared you’ll push him away after this, that you’ll realize just how broken he really is, that loving him is more trouble than it’s worth. He’s scared you’ll come to your senses and run.

Because deep inside he’s convinced himself you’ve been keeping your distance because you think he’s ugly. Disgusting. A byproduct of a rotten hero society.

So he kisses you like he can keep you here. Right in his arms. Like he can erase all your doubts, all your hesitations, all your pain. He kisses you like an apology, a plea, a confession—because maybe it is all of those things. 

Maybe it’s all of these things.

And when you don’t stop him,when your hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right here in your arms, he swears he could cry like a newborn.

“I know it’s stupid,” you say, breaking the kiss, only for him to whine against your lips, “but I can’t stop feeling like if I look too long, if I think too hard about it, it’ll happen again. I— I get panic attacks for hours when I remember the way you laid there, lifeless. Katsuki I don’t ever want to see that again. Im scared.” 

You don’t have to pull away to continue, you need him as much as he needs you. And so you speak against his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to look at you. I'm scared that if I look at you for too long you’ll stop being real. I wanna be with you always, I want you to be here so bad. All the time.”

Katsuki is silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know what to say. His fingers twitch again before he finally, finally moves, cupping the back of your neck and tugging you against him, sealing your lips in another kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you press your face into him.

His grip is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from his lap. “I’m here,” he mutters into you, voice soft. You’re not to be fooled with that patchy ass voice he pulls for everyone else “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But I still hate this scar,” he continues, whispering “Hate what it reminds me of. But if it means I get to stand here with you, get to hold you” He swallows thickly. “Then I’ll keep it.”

Your heart lurches.

A shaky breath leaves your lips, and without thinking, you reach up, gripping his face between your hands again. His skin is warm, slightly rough, chapped by the sudden change of weather, but real.

You don’t look at the scar this time. You don’t have to. Instead, you look at him as a whole; his furrowed brows, his slightly downturned lips, his tired, burning eyes, his blond lashes that you used to make fun of in high school.

It all makes sense now.

His breath stutters. His hands slide down to your waist, gripping you tightly, and before you can say anything else, he crashes his lips onto yours again.

It’s desperate. A little too messy. Like he’s trying to pour every ounce of regret and relief and love into it all at once. You gasp softly against his mouth, your hands tightening around him, and he groans low in his throat, pulling you impossibly closer.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. And you kiss him back just as fiercely, because you need to remind yourself that he is real. He’s not going anywhere but here.

Katsuki’s breath is heavy against your skin, his forehead still pressed to yours, his fingers still gripping you tight. But something shifts. It’s something sharp, electric, crackling in the space between you.

He’s teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your own breath shudders as he exhales, hot and uneven. You’re still pressed against his chest, against the scar that used to make your stomach twist, but right now, all you can feel is him.

And then, he moves.

In a blur of motion, Katsuki grabs your thighs and yanks you, throwing you and himself into the bed before you can even process it. You gasp, hands flying up to steady yourself against his shoulders, but he doesn’t give you a second to think.

His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, nothing like before. The trembling kisses from earlier can’t even compare to this one. This one is feral.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment to break and go berserk.

A muffled sound escapes you as his hands roam, gripping, squeezing, pulling you closer like there’s still too much distance between you. His fingers dig into your thighs, sliding up under your shirt, palms rough and searing against your skin.

You barely have time to process before he’s tilting his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping against yours in a way that makes your stomach twist and turn.

He groans, low and hungry, and the sound sends a sharp, molten heat straight through you. Katsuki has always been intense, but this—this is something else.

This is unrestrained.

This is him. Losing control. And you’re the cause.

His hands move again, gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward, fingers brushing over your ribs. His lips break from yours just long enough to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—teeth scraping, tongue soothing, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, breathless, gasping, barely able to keep up with the way he’s touching you like a starved man.

He doesn’t just kiss you any more. He’s devouring you whole.

His breathing is ragged, his pupils blown wide, his lips red and swollen. His hands are still on you, still gripping you tight, but he doesn’t move or push any further. He just looks at you, like he could burn you, melt you into goo with his gaze.

And then he pleads, “Say it again?”

Tell me you want me. Tell me you love me and it’ll all stop being an amalgamation of emotions.

The unspoken words hang between you and all you can do is lay there, on your side, and watch him watch you like you’re a rough diamond in the making.

You don’t deny him of anything. You speak the words as if your life depends on them.

“I'm in love with you”

He tightens his arms around you, pressing you so close that it’s almost suffocating but he can’t help it. He needs you like this, needs to feel the warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the proof that you’re being for real as it’s written on your palpitating heart. That this isn’t some cruel dream that’ll slip between his fingers the second he wakes up.

His lips ghost over yours again, desperate, frantic. His breath is ragged, shaky, and his hands roam—your back, your sides, the dip of your waist—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, burn the shape of you into his palms.

“Say it again,” he hears himself crack as he speaks, and he hates how wrecked his voice sounds, how utterly pathetic he must seem right now. But he doesn’t care. He needs to hear it.

You hesitate, and that hesitation guts him. But then your fingers tighten in his hair, your lips brush against his cheek, over the scar he thought you couldn’t bear to look at.

You do something he never, not in a million years, could even allow himself to imagine. You kiss his scar.

And right now he doesn’t even think he can see anymore.

“I love you.”

He lets out a shaky breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His heart is a fucking mess, erratic, wild. His grip on you tightens, like if he just holds on hard enough, he can keep you here forever.

Katsuki has never begged for anything in his life, but if you tried to leave now, he thinks he would. He knows he would. On his knees, sprawled all over the floor if he had to.

“Again” he exhales, sharply through his nose “I swear,” he breathes, voice rough and full of desperation “I’ll die if you don’t”

Your breath catches, and he feels it, the way you go still in his arms.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

He presses his lips to your temple, your cheek, your jaw. It’s feverish, aching, his heart is going to give up, caught between his greediness and insecurity. “I don’t wanna live in a world where you don’t love me back, so just say it”

It’s pathetic. Weak. Not the kind of thing he would ever say out loud. 

“I love you I love you I love you”

The moment the words leave your lips, the second you tell him you love him again, something in him absolutely breaks. He grabs your face with both hands, fingers digging into your cheeks, thumbs tracing over the curves of your jaw like he’s holding something fragile. Something irreplaceable.

Then he ruins you.

His lips crash into yours again, rough, needy, swallowing every breath, every little sound you make. But it isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough.

He kisses your lips, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your jaw. He presses frantic, open-mouthed kisses down your face like he’s starving—like he’s been denied of you for too long and now he’ll die if he doesn’t get to taste all of you.

“Love you,” he mutters between kisses, like the words are spilling out of him against his will. His lips drag over your nose, down your chin, along the curve of your cheekbone. “Love you, fuck—love you so much—”

He’s shaking. He can feel it in his hands, in the way his breath stutters against your skin. His lips find your temple, pressing there like a prayer, like if he kisses hard enough, you’ll understand—really understand—just how much he needs you.

He can’t stop.

He kisses the embers of the scar on your neck, then your forehead, then both of your eyelids like he’s blessing you. Then again, your cheekbones, your jaw, the corner of your mouth again—over and over, like he’s worshiping every single inch of you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, holding you onto him for dear life.

When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, his breath ragged. “Tell me you’re mine,” he rasps, voice thick with something desperate, something wrecked. “We’re together after this, right? No more fucking sex on the low and then I don’t get to see you for god knows how long”

"Say you're stayin’," he mutters, voice raw. His fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you’re wearing, pressing against your bare waist. His lips move to your ear, voice nothing more than a plea. "Tell me you’re not leavin’ me, baby."

Your heart clenches at the way his voice wavers, the way he sounds like he's afraid—like the very idea of you leaving is enough to unravel him completely.

“I’m staying,” you breathe, and before you can even finish saying it, his lips crash into yours again, cutting off whatever air was left in your lungs.

His eyes rake over you, wild and dark and fiery red and shaky, lips swollen and shiny from kissing you too hard. His hands are shaking as they run down your sides, like he’s never touched you before. 

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, as if he’s finally letting himself believe it. His hands slide under your shirt, palms pressing flat against your stomach, up your ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts. He swallows hard. “Mine.”

His kiss is messy, desperate, like he’s trying to fuse himself to you. Like he wants to crawl inside your skin and live there. And maybe he does. Maybe that’s the only way he’ll ever feel close enough to you.

“Katsuki” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin, voice wrecked, breath hot. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your head is spinning, body burning beneath his touch, every nerve alight. “Then take it,” you whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.

His breath stutters and he hisses.

A growl rumbles in his chest as he flips you, pressing you into the mattress before climbing over you, caging you in with his body. His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, pinning you in place like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He dips down, biting at your collarbone, at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, dragging his teeth over your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. A reminder. A claim. One he wasn’t allowed to make until seconds earlier.

You’re his to have.

You gasp, arching into him, and he groans at the way you react, at the way you’re coming undone beneath him.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters against your skin, lips trailing lower. “All mine.”

His words send a sharp, electric jolt through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Your hands roam his body in return, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, feeling the way he shudders beneath your touch. When your fingers ghost over the scar on his chest, he stiffens for just a moment—then exhales shakily, like he’s letting you in.

He wants you to touch it. To feel that he’s here. That he’s alive. This is a reminder too.

You press your palm flat against it, right over his heart, and his breath shudders. His gaze snaps up to yours, pupils blown, expression dark and desperate.

Katsuki is fire—hot and consuming, searing through every inch of you, making it impossible to think of anything but him. And he’s explosion too, nuclear and annihilating, swiping away every ember of fear you could feel at this moment.

And right now, you’re ready to burn and get blown into teeny tiny pieces.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

that feeling when you have a fire idea for a fanfiction but don't have enough motivation or writing skill to make it more than just your imaginary story you think about at night

miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @blu3-l0v3r @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever

CURRENTLY FANGIRLING CUZ THIS IS SO COOL

okay so Bakugo Katsuki, his kanji name being 爆ばく豪ごう勝かつ己き okay and everything abt it, is so cool. okay so 爆ばく豪ごう勝かつ己き means "explosive victory and self-defense" which is already cool, but as you take away stuff, its STILL cool. 爆 means "victory", 豪ごう勝かつ己き though not how you would write it, means "victory and self-sufficient", う勝かつ己き meaning "win and be selfish" つ己き meaning "self-reliance". so basically, his entire name just means explosion, win, and selfish, which PERFECTLY sums up his character and i just think thats super cool

Cute Aggression

Mezo Shoji x Reader

(mild suggestive content; utterly vile fluff)

Something about his face just drives you wild. Always has.

Even the first time, when you were at your place, and Shoji sat you down because he had something serious to discuss. You'd been going out for a while, and dating exclusively for several months. A part of you was terrified that 'something serious' meant something bad. But when he expressed a desire to show you his face, that anxiety turned to relief, then excitement. It was hard to hide your giddiness, but you wanted to show that you were taking this seriously.

Shoji could tell, he could always tell. Your boyfriend seemed to have a gift for reading people, or maybe just you. It made it all the more nerve wracking, knowing that your excitement would sour into shock or pity or disgust. But it seemed too far to go back now.

When he pulled down his mask, he was quiet, giving you a moment to process, maybe ask questions. He was ready to answer the usual 'what happened' or something about his natural features.

What Shoji wasn't prepared for, was your elated look, and you slowly reaching out your hands while asking, "is this okay?" You waited until he nodded his consent before cupping his face, gently and intently looking at his features.

"Mezo." You had straddled his lap, now staring him dead in the eyes. He swallowed. "You are really, REALLY fuckin' cute."

He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. You weren't hiding your giddiness now, and he wasn't sure how to react to this unabashed fawning. His already serious blush darkened as you asked, "can I kiss you? Here, on this mouth?"

The two of you had made out some, but always using a mouth on one of his dupli arms. He nodded, looking unintentionally coy as he closed his eyes. "You may."

You gently swept his bangs aside, still cupping his cheek with your other hand. Your thumb brushed over a pair of scars crossing his lips, but you weren't planning to ask about them now. If he offered the information, you'd take it, but there was no need to push. For now, you just wanted to love on his face, as much as he'd let you.

His lips had an intriguing shape in the front, tempting you to kiss there. As your lips softly molded to his, you felt him go tense, quivering a little. So you moved your hands to his chest, gently rubbing along the clavicle out to his shoulders, then back to center. "Relax baby~" you whispered against his perfect lips, and he obeyed instantly.

When you finally leaned back, Shoji looked happy, dazed, and positively love-drunk from the tender kiss. Then he said something that surprised you. "That was, uhm, my first kiss." He rubbed his neck with a nervous little laugh.

You took a moment to process, then gasped. "Ohmygosh why didn't you tell me, I could've lit candles or something, made it more romantic!"

Before you could stress too much, six muscular arms found their way around your torso, pulling you flush against him. "It was perfect."

~~~~~

"Mezo?"

"Hm?"

"You'd dated other people before me, right? So, why hadn't you ever...yanno? Before." It had been weeks since your boyfriend had first shown you his face, and you'd been wondering how you were his first real kiss.

"Kissed?" You nodded. He sighed. "I didn't show many potential romantic partners my face. As for the ones I did show, they weren't particularly enthusiastic about getting up close and personal."

You narrowed your eyes. "...just so you know, if you ever point out one of your exes to me in public, I will kick their ass."

"Noted. But please don't."

"Fine. Their loss anyway." You cuddled into his side, one hand reaching up to trace the scar tissue on the back of his neck.

Now it was Shoji's turn to blurt out something that had been lingering in the back of his mind. Ever since he told you about his scars, you seemed a little fixated on them. "So, these...they don't bother you?"

"Mixed feelings, I suppose. It makes me sad and pissed off that anyone would've hurt you like that. But at the same time, objectively, they give you kind of a rugged look? And knowing how you got them, it makes me feel kinda guilty that I think they're hot?"

Shoji turned his head to give you an amused, questioning look. "Hot?"

"Yeah, you're stupidly hot. Not just the face, the whole situation. But the scars, they make me just, wanna..."

You trailed off, getting up on your knees so you could reach Shoji's face while he sat. His fists balled up in the couch cushions as your lips softly caressed the scars running perpendicular to his mouth. You kissed along each one, going bottom to top, before moving to the corner of his mouth. Following the massive scar around his neck, you kissed as far as you could reach from your position, then gave it a small lick. He jumped and you giggled, nibbling around the raised flesh as he shivered.

Soon he was leaning into the couch, head thrown back, mouth open and panting while you kissed and adored and worshipped every inch of scarring around his neck and face. He hardly even moved as you switched sides, determined not to half ass your task.

At long last, you stopped, and Shoji started to compose himself and sit up. That's when you rested your chin on his shoulder, giving him doe eyes as you asked, "got any other scars that need tending?"

He stared at you for a moment. Then he started to remove his shirt.

~~~~~

Waking up to the sight of Shoji's face was divine, you thought to yourself. He lay on his back beside you, but his head was turned to the side. So when you woke up, you were met with his peaceful visage.

You sighed, softly stroking his sleep-mussed hair. You watched his pretty silver eyelashes twitch against his cheeks as he dreamed. He was smiling softly, evidently enjoying pleasant dreams.

When you leaned in, carefully attempting to deliver a small kiss without waking him, he mumbled something in his sleep. Mostly incoherent, but you were pretty sure you caught a little "love you" in there. You smiled, cuddled into his side, and rejoined him in peaceful slumber.

~~~~~

There was no point to this collection of drabbles, other than to say Shoji deserves nice things and also look at that face LOOK AT THAT CUTE FUCKIN FACE:

"can i still catch up to you, izuku?" yeah that one hurt

BCJBJEDKEKE DEKU VS CLASS 1A WAS SUCH A GOOD EPISODE AND BAKUGO??????? OH MY GOSH HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IS EVERYTHING I SOBBED

deku vs. kacchan pt.2 is such a good fucking episode oh my gosh; we get to explore their relationship and a more intimate part of bakugo and I think that's just really special. throughout their fight they grow to have a deeper understanding of each other, and in their own special way, respect each other and I think that's super important to the show and how it moves on(from my memory at least lol)

its seen more in the after credit scene where izuku and katsuki are vacuuming the common area and izuku asks bakugo for tips on his fighting. its not much but its a huge step from their prior relationship and I just really love that. you can also tell the way bakugo has slightly changed in his manor towards deku, yeah he still yells at him but like he does that to everyone, he actually communicates with him and respects him which is a huge step seeing as he only seemed to really respect kirishima.

i just love this show

i love my little loser who ends up becoming the most powerful hero in their world

gang i need help, i vividly remember an audio where a lady says "then why didn't you? why didn't you?" and I literally cant find it anywhere please tell me someone knows what I'm talking abt

there is no way you just called nico parker zendaya

So, really quick, I wanna talk about my opinions on Zendaya as Astrid. I am someone of Viking descent, and thus, I feel like my take on this situation holds a great amount of value. I find it a bit offensive that Hollywood would race-swap a character from a culture that is white specifically because her culture directly ties into her character. Like, I can excuse Ariel as there is no specific culture tied to her character. But this situation is incredibly different. Now, for the record, I hold no ill-will to Zendaya. She is a talented actor and deserves lots of love. My problem is with the producers. Apparently, misrepresenting a white culture is 100% fine to them. Who cares about the people of that culture /sarc. To me, this would be like if they white washed Moana. Just as offensive

how tf is my little pony real like wdym at 8 I watched twilight sparkle battle fucking satan with rainbows and the magic of friendship

YALL KNOW THAT ONE RACE TO THE EDGE EDIT WITH THE BEAUTIFUL CREATURES SONG??? LIKE AND IT HAS THE PARTS FROM THE LAST EPISODES WITH ALL THE DRAGONS COMING TO ATTACK THE DRAGON HUNTERS?? I CANT FIND THAT EDIT ANYWHERE AND IM SO SAD