Me And Toga - Velvet Ring C:

bakusquad <3333

sero is taking their picture btw

based on this reference image i saw on pinterest haha !!

por que no age in bio dawg?

i want to remain anonymous >:)

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.

Who do you simp for?

no one. i am beyond the mere mortal concept of simping.

(bakugo)

#chatdontcancelmeim15

miku binder thomas jefferson comfort fic

die 💜

i think the characters you had a crush on in middle school really shape your personality.

like why was i obsessed with karma from assassination classroom at age 11 😭

or like jd from heathers

or toga from mha like girl 😭

What are your otps/top ships?

i love this question ty!!

denki x jiro in mha (i love them)

okuda x karma in assasination classroom

bucky x sam in marvel (argue with the wall)

Gallavich (ian and mickey) in shameless

claire x alison in the breakfast club (i love making 80s movies gay in my head)

lumax in stranger things

neil x todd in dead poets society

solangelo (i was a percy jackson kid if you can’t tell)

nancy x robin in stranger things (idgaf it is real to me)

that’s all that i can think of rn

hello

hi. nirvana is cool. i like worms on a string. play welcome to wormtown when it comes out. its gonna be a fire game.

LOVERS ROCK.

ft. h. shinsou x reader

˖⁺‧₊˚ tags/warnings: fluff !! , reader has tattoos and piercings, eri and shinsou are aizawa's adopted kids, established relationship

note: my submission for @https-bakugo's event, congrats on 250 followers !! I got a little carried away with the "drabble" hehe

Shinsou wasn’t used to softness, to someone looking at him like he was worth holding onto. But then you came along and ruined that for him. Years later, he was still getting used to it.

Which was why, when you leaned down to kiss him, your lip ring cool against his lips, he still turned pink in the cheeks about it.

“God, you’re so in love with me,” you teased, voice low and amused.

Shinsou scoffed, trying (and failing) to will the heat from his face. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly subtle either.” His eyes flickered to where your fingers were absentmindedly tracing the veins on his forearm.

You hummed, unbothered. “Never planned to be.”

That was another thing about you, your confidence. It wrecked him. He had spent so long second-guessing himself, wondering if people wanted him around. And then you appeared, all pretty smiles, inked skin, and that ridiculous ability to know exactly what he needed.

He thought back to the early days, when your relationship was still new and awkward in that stupidly endearing way. Two friends navigating the space between them, learning each other’s rhythms, unsure of what was too much or what wasn’t enough. He remembered the first time he kissed you, the way his lips caught on the cool metal of your lip ring, the shiver it sent down his spine, how his hands instinctively gripped your waist. He’d never kissed anyone with a piercing before.

Then there were your tattoos. He didn’t know why they fascinated him so much. Maybe it was the way the ink settled into your skin, or maybe it was because he had spent so much of his life feeling invisible, yet here you were; bold, defined, and seen.

Tracing over them had become a habit. He couldn't keep his hands to himself for long and would find himself dragging his fingers along the intricate designs. He liked the contrast; his rough calloused hands against the smooth ink of your skin. Sometimes, he’d imagine adding to them, his own marks on you, in places only he could see.

Shaking his head at the thought, he swallowed hard. He avoided your gaze as his fingers trailed along the ink on your arm, watching the way your body instinctively leaned into his touch. “Still think you made a mistake?” he mumbled, only half-teasing, self deprecation slipping easily off his tongue.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “If I wanted out, don’t you think I’d be gone by now?”

That shut him up. Logic told him you weren’t going anywhere; it was in the matching marks on your necks, his faded band shirt slipping off your shoulder, the cosigned cat purring in his lap. But logic didn’t quiet the part of him that still felt like a kid, like the outcast who was too much trouble to be around.

Sighing, you tilted his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “I love you.” A kiss, pressed slow and deliberate to the corner of his mouth. “And I’m yours.” Another kiss, this time catching his bottom lip, lip ring clicking against his teeth. “So stop worrying about things that’ll never happen.”

He hummed, leaning into you, letting himself be wrapped in your warmth. Burying his face in your neck, he huffed a laugh as your fingertip traced over his chest, crossing his heart.

“Besides,” you murmured, amusement lacing your tone. “You’re hopelessly in love with me.”

He flicked your side, making you yelp. “Yeah, yeah.”

A few weeks later, while babysitting Eri, a thought hit him like a freight train.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, Eri perched in your lap, tiny fingers grasping colored markers as she carefully filled in the lines of a tattoo on your forearm.

Shinsou, half-dozing on the other end of the couch, cracked an eye open at the sound of your laugh. “Looks great, kiddo,” you said, smiling as Eri beamed up at you.

His heart clenched.

The domesticity of it, the way you cradled Eri so easily, the way she trusted you, the way you just fit into his world, it hit him all at once. And then his mind betrayed him, spiraling into thoughts of a future with you.

Later that night, you were curled up beside him, sprawled across his bed, your legs draped over his lap. You looked sleep-soft and warm. His fingers toyed with the charms on your anklet, his initials among them, a gift he’d given you. It made his throat tighten.

He felt stupid. You hadn’t even said anything, and here he was, acting like some lovesick idiot, giddy over the thought of having his mark on you, as if the ones that littered your neck weren’t enough.

You glanced at him, noticing his silence. “Toshi,” you murmured, linking your pinky with his. “You okay?”

Shinsou swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled. “Just… thinking.”

You squeezed his finger. “Good thoughts?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Something like that.”

You studied him for a second longer before deciding to let it go, tugging him closer until his head rested against your shoulder.

And just like that, the weight in his chest lifted.

He really, really hoped this was forever and judging by the sound of your quickened heartbeat, he hopes you do too.

© property of cyberesc 2025. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works and do not repost/copy onto any other sites.

i hate haters

i hate hypocrisy

i hate lists

i hate people who type in all lowercase

i hate irony

i hate donald trump (this ones fr guys)