Hazyspells - Hurt/comfort Enjoyer ♡

Ugly Crier (Vil)

In which Vil is acting a bit... odd.

Event request for @gerako8bit ! The prompts you chose were really fun to work with, it was great trying to piece them together, and I’m rather happy with the outcome.

2.9k, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, more pining because why not, there’s a smidge of noncon kissing but it’s addressed

Original prompt: “Are you crying?” + wiping away tears + lipstick + bubbling, pink potion

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Rook: Je suis désolé, mon ami! I am so sorry!

You blinked and rubbed your eyes, trying to make sure you were reading Rook’s text correctly. Nope, you were sure, that’s exactly what it said. More than a little worried, you hurried to text back.

You: for what??? what’s wrong????

Rook: C’est le Roi de Poison… Ahhhh, je suis désolé!!

Okay, now you were even more freaked out.

You: what?????? what’s wrong with vil???????

You waited for a moment after you sent the text, and sure enough, the little receipt marking that he’d opened and read your message popped up. Yet, a few more minutes passed, and he still didn’t respond.

Epel paused and turned around to look at you, curious as to why you’d stopped walking. He immediately took note of the furrow in your brow and hurried over, peering over your shoulder to look at your phone and read what you’d been typing.

“...Vil? What’s up with him?” He asked. “He was fine this morning.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” You chewed your lip. “Something tells me magic was involved, and from what it sounds like, it’s less than ideal.”

The familiar clacking of high heels against the tile floor approaching made you both look up. Epel let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank the Seven it’s you, Vil,” he said. “We were getting worried.”

Vil stopped in front of you and cocked his head. “Worried? Why ever so?”

“We got this really weird text from Rook,” you explained, showing him the screen. “He didn’t give us any context, so we really didn’t know what was happening.”

To your surprise, he took a long stride forward until you were practically chest-to-chest, and you stumbled back. He leaned over you, smirking. “You were so worked up over me? How touching…”

With gentle fingers, he caressed your jaw, tilting your chin up gently and staring deep into your eyes. You shot a panicked side glance to Epel, who looked equally as freaked out as you were at Vil’s sudden touchiness.

“Uh, are you sure you’re okay, Vil?” You asked. “You’re not usually this… affectionate.”

Your words made him frown and he immediately reeled back, eyebrows pinching and looking positively wounded. “You don’t like it…?”

“No! No,” you rushed, wanting to see the pained expression gone from his face as soon as possible. “It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Like a switch was flipped, Vil stepped back up to you and snaked a hand around your waist with a small smile. “Oh, thank goodness, darling. You had me scared for a moment.”

‘Darling’? You looked at Epel who simply shrugged, wide-eyed as he watched the scene unfold.

Vil suddenly tugged you until you were pressed flush against him, as if you two weren’t close enough in proximity already. He put his lips next to your ear, voice unusually breathy and sensual. “May I walk you to class?”

You had to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine. “Uh, sure, I guess.”

He wasted no time in tugging you along, taking a glance at you as he walked every few moments or so. When you looked closer at his face, you saw that he was wearing a bit more makeup than usual, the most prominent being the deep pink lipstick.

“Is something important happening today?” You asked.

He looked at you, confused. “No, why?”

You shrugged and looked at the floor, wanting to avoid the sheer intensity of his gaze. “You just seem a lot more done-up than usual. I mean, not that you usually aren’t, but I guess today it really stuck out to me.”

Vil blushed, a shade of pink almost as deep as his lips. It was so unlike him; he looked downright bashful. “It’s always important if you’re involved. I want to look my best for you, after all.”

Holy shit, what is happening? You screamed internally as you tried your best to keep yourself calm and composed. “O-oh, thank you, Vil, but you didn’t have to. I always think you look amazing.”

He suddenly stopped, staring at you. “...Really?”

“Yes, of course, I-” you were cut off as Vil suddenly pushed you against the wall, being careful enough not to knock your head. Your voice caught and you looked up at him, wide-eyed. He was so close, you could feel his hot, sweet breath fan across your cheeks.

“God, the things you do to me,” Vil murmured. You gulped. He closed his eyes and leaned in to press a slow, sensual kiss onto your lips, and a small ‘eep!’ of surprise escaped your throat. His lips were warm, and they moved softly and purposefully as he moved to press kisses to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your jaw…

“Vil! What are you doing?” You whisper-shouted, lightly pushing against him to no avail, self-conscious of any student that would possibly pass by and catch you two in this compromising situation.

He stopped, and you let out a sigh of relief. His eyes were-half lidded, and you could’ve sworn you saw a tinge of pink outline his irises.

“Forgive me,” he breathed, never breaking eye contact. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“Um, forgiven?” You squeaked, still incredibly confused by the whole ordeal. Then, as if nothing had happened, Vil pulled back and continued to lead you down the hall to your next class. Before he departed, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, whispering in your ear about how he’d be there to pick you up when the bell rang. You watched him walk off, dazed and confused.

“MC? Oh, thank goodness,” Epel, who was slightly out of breath, ran up to you. “That was super weird. I wanted to make sure you got to class okay.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, still trying to piece together everything you’d just experienced.

Epel squinted at you. “...Um, I think you have something on your face.” He pointed to his cheek, and you wiped at your own face. When you looked at your hand, you saw a bright smudge of pink lipstick. You scrubbed furiously at your face.

“Did I get it all?”

Epel grimaced. “Not even a little bit.”

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The rest of the day was… eventful, to say the least. Vil spent every waking moment he could by your side, stealing cheek kisses every now and then and leaving your face cumulatively stained by the pink pigment. You suckered Crewel into letting you out of your last block early (sometimes, it really pays to be a teacher’s pet) so you could make your hasty escape before Vil could corner you after class and subject you to more of his unwarranted affection. Not that you necessarily disliked it; you couldn’t deny your growing interest in the Pomefiore housewarden, but in the back of your mind you’d always assumed he was far out of your league. Under different circumstances, you’d embrace his kisses and gentle touches. But this was so sudden, so excessive, you couldn’t help but feel you were taking advantage of whatever magical influence he was under.

Yeah, you weren’t stupid. You’d been around the bend enough times throughout your stay at NRC to put two and two together; from Rook’s cryptid message and Vil’s odd behavior, you assumed some sort of magical mishap had gone down. By the time the bell rang to dismiss class, you were tucked away in a far corner of the Botanical Garden, hidden beneath the foliage of the temperate zone and praying Vil wouldn’t wander over in his attempts to look for you.

“Why hello, mon cher. I thought I might find you here.”

The sudden voice made you jump, but you relaxed and let out a sigh of relief when you saw it was only Rook, peering over you from one of the perennials.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning, by the way,” you caustered. “I’ve been trying to get Shoenheit off my trail all day. The man’s a bloodhound.”

“I appreciate the analogy,” he commented, stepping out from behind the greenery and going to sit next to you. “And really, c’est vrai, I apologize for his… behavior. You see, this morning we were working on individual projects for potions, and I had attempted to brew Verunudum.”

Your brows furrowed. “The truth serum? Isn’t that, like, super potent, not to mention super high-level?”

“Of course it is.” He threw his head back, hand on his forehead dramatically. “But at Pomefiore, we excel at potions. So imagine my surprise when I messed it up!” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial containing a bubbling, pink potion. He handed it to you, and you turned it over in your hand, inspecting it.

“It definitely looks like Verunudum,” you said. “Just the wrong color.”

You handed him back the vial, and he tucked it back into his coat. “Precisely, and it works similarly, too. But instead of targeting your thoughts and baring it for the world to see, it enhances and magnifies your emotions.”

You tapped your chin, mulling this information over. “So… Vil accidentally drank it?”

“Oh heavens no!” Rook cried. “If he did, it’d be at least a month before the effects wear off with how concentrated the dose was. No, he just happened to inhale the fumes.”

“And just that was enough to turn him into… Whatever he is right now?”

Rook nodded. “Fortunately, the effects should wear off by tomorrow morning, thank the Seven.”

Something clicked into place. “Wait, so he didn’t drink a love potion?”

“No,” Rook said. He tilted his head at you. “What gave you that idea?”

You could feel your face begin to heat up. “Wait, hold on, the potion just amplifies emotions, right? So that means… He actually has a thing for me?”

Rook looked at you like you were the stupidest person in the world. “Um, yes?”

“What?!” You screeched. “Since when?”

“Since forever.” Rook rolled his eyes. “Mon dieu, such un imbécile…."

“Stop speaking Baguette at me,” you growled. “Alright, okay, we need a game plan. You said the potion effects will only last until the end of the day.”

He nodded. “They’ll wear off completely when he goes to sleep.”

“Okay. Yes.” You took a deep breath, running through the calculations in your head. “I just need to avoid him for the rest of the day.”

Rook smirked. “And when will you confront him about his feelings, little lovebird?”

You glared at him. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

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You awoke groggily the next morning to the incessant pinging of your phone. You groaned, fumbling around enough to turn the ringer off, and collapsed back into bed.

The entirety of the rest of your day yesterday was spent tactfully avoiding the Evil Queen himself. It was difficult, given how smart Vil was; he had been staked out at all of your regular spots, waiting. If it wasn’t for Rook, you would’ve for sure been caught and smothered with more cuddles and kisses than you could handle.

Your phone started vibrating. Someone was calling you. You groaned again and peered at the screen. It was Rook. You swiped to accept his call.

“Hello?”

“You need to get down here!” Rook exclaimed so loudly that you had to pull your phone away from your ear. “It’s an emergency!”

At the urgency of Rook’s voice, you sat up, now fully awake. “What happened?”

“It’s Vil.” You sucked in a breath as Rook continued his rambling. “He won’t come out of his room. I’ve been trying all morning. He hasn’t even come out to do his morning skincare routine!”

Okay, this is bad, you thought, pulling yourself from the bed and haphazardly pulling on your clothes and shoes. Vil would certainly scold you for a half-done tie, but today, he was just going to have to deal with it.

You rushed to the hall of mirrors with the speed of a Spelldrive star, all but hurling yourself through the Pomefiore dorm mirror. You stumbled onto the other side, and you had hardly regained your balance before Rook was pulling you down the hall.

“Rook, what’s going on?” You asked, tripping over your own feet in an effort to keep up with his frantic pace.

“I have no idea,” he replied. “But this is so unlike Vil. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

You screeched to a halt outside the grandiose doors of the Housewarden’s room. Rook knocked on the door. “Vil? Are you there?”

“Go away!” Vil shouted from behind the door. “I’ll come out when I want to!”

Rook gave you a look as if to say, ‘You see?’ You gulped, stepping up to the door. You gave a light knock.

“I told you to leave me alone, Rook!” Vil exclaimed. You shot a pleading glance in Rook’s direction, to which you received a shrug in response. You jiggled the handle. It was locked.

“One moment,” Rook said. He disappeared down the hall, only to reappear a few seconds later with a set of keys. He handed them to you, sticking out one large, golden key in particular. You raised a brow at him, and he simply shrugged again. “For emergencies.”

You decided not to question him, and slipped the key into the keyhole, turning until you heard it click. Slowly, you creaked open the door, stepping in fully, only to be immediately met with a pillow hitting your face with a whump.

You snatched the pillow from your face and held it to your side, closing the door behind you with your foot. Vil had his back to you and was curled up with his knees to his chest. His shoulders were shaking.

“Get out!” He wailed, not turning to look at you.

“Vil? It’s me,” you tried, making your voice as gentle as you could. He whipped his head around to look at you, and promptly let out a shriek and dove under his covers. In the glimpse that you’d caught of his face, you could see there were black streaks of mascara running down his cheeks. You took a hesitant step forward. “...Vil? Are you crying?”

“No!” He replied, followed by a hiccup.

Well, you thought, this is going to be a challenge to navigate. You walked over to sit at the foot of his bed. Vil—or, you supposed, the lump under the comforter that was Vil—flinched when you sat down.

“Vil…,” you said, making sure to choose your words carefully so as to not upset him further. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?!” He suddenly sprang up from underneath the covers, seething. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was red and puffy. He glared at you. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I am.”

You furrowed your brows. “I don’t follow.”

“The little stunt I pulled yesterday,” he sniffled, bringing the heel of his palm up to wipe at his cheeks. “I can’t believe you can still look at me. I-I let Rook’s potion get the better of me, I kissed you without your consent… It wasn’t supposed to go like this!” He buried his face in his hands. You dared to scoot closer, placing a feather-light hand on his trembling shoulder.

“It’s alright, Vil,” you cooed. “I know that it wasn’t your fault. And besides, I didn’t mind you kissing me.”

He hiccuped. “...You didn’t?”

“I didn’t,” you repeated. “Was I a little surprised? Sure. But I certainly didn’t mind it.”

He tentatively peeked up at you through his hands. “...My confession was supposed to be so much better than this…”

“Well,” you said, “either way, I accept.”

“Of course you do, I’m gorgeous,” he sniffled, and you had to stifle a snort. He looked at you fully, bottom lip trembling. “But I never wanted you to see me like this. I’m an ugly crier.”

His eyes were red and swollen, his skin was splotchy, mascara and eyeliner smeared in dark, wet smudges around his eyes and on his cheeks. A tear escaped the corner of his eye. You reached a hand out to swipe it away with your thumb.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, being truthful. “I always think you’re beautiful.”

Before you could pull your hand away, Vil leaned into it, nestling his cheek into your palm like it was made to go there. “You’re too nice to me. I’m kind of an acquired taste as it is.” He swallowed. “I’m not usually this… messy. I don’t think Rook’s potion has worn off completely yet.”

You distinctly remember Rook saying that the effects should last twelve hours maximum, but you decided to hold your tongue and spare him his pride.

“It’s alright,” you said, rubbing your thumb back and forth against the side of his face. “Do you want to start getting ready for class?”

Vil scoffed. “There’s no way I’m going to class. Not even the best sheet masks can fix me up at this point.”

“And that’s really an excuse to skip?”

“I’m the Pomefiore housewarden, I must appear in perfect condition at all times.” He shrugged. “I’ll just tell them I’m sick, besides, it’s not like my grades will go down by simply missing a day or two.”

Always finds a way to sneak in a brag, huh? You thought to yourself.

“Will you stay with me?” Vil asked, looking at you with ‘please’ written all over his face. “Just this once.”

You sighed, smiling at him softly. “I suppose. Just this once.”

The both of you knew there was no chance it would be ‘just this once,’ but neither of you said anything.

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Event requests are still open! Check here if you’re interested :)

cw. gn!reader, flighty!reader, reader works in forensics, prohero!katsuki, aged up (around mid 20s)

a/n. this was fun to write lmao. this is definitely not self-indulgent :0 again, would surely appreciate reblogs and comments <3

You’re a runner.

And no, not in the dystopian, getting-out-of-a-manmade-maze sense.

You run from feelings.

And that happens to include the kind when someone gets a little bit too close for comfort.

But you also do run in the literal sense.

In fact, you just did.

Panting, you round the next corner of your office building’s hallway, what was once a sprint (at least, the type that was possible in a crowded skyscraper in Tokyō) now faltering into a light jog.

Huffing, you chance a peek behind your shoulder, a sigh wracking your body when you conclude that the man of the hour is finally out of sight.

“What’s up with you?”

The man’s red-headed best friend quirks an amused eyebrow at you when you halt at the sound, startled.

He slows down in his steps as he appraises the mess that you currently are; from the looks of it, he’s heading in the direction you’re desperately trying to run away from, and for a split second, you’re half your mind to drag him with you to the elevator and vanish before the man could spot the both of you.

Why the fuck are you acting like this?

“I—Was just wanting to—” At this point, you’re severely out of breath. And you’d chalk it up to the physical exertion you definitely aren’t used to, but you know it’s more than that.

The warmth of your cheeks seems to suggest that, too.

“Hold up.”

You look up at Kirishima, one hand still on your hip to help keep you upright despite the exhaustion.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with Bakubro?”

Even just the mention of his name triggers your fight-or-flight response.

It also happens to send a flood of longing right through you.

“Yeah,” you rasp, before checking over your shoulder again. Coast: still clear.

“What are you—” Kirishima starts, eyebrows pinched in confusion, before what looks like realization and amusement flash across his features.

“Did he—”

“Yeah,” you cut him off before he could say it.

Apparently, being confessed to out of the blue by the man you’ve been in love with for a year cuts your sentence-formation capabilities to not more than one worded ones at a time.

Just as you expected, worry dances its way across Kirishima’s face.

“Are you running away from him?”

You choke on your spit.

“Hey, easy, Y/N,” Kirishima says while awkwardly rubbing your back as you cough your lungs out.

You stand upright when you finally gather your bearings, ready to explain, or attempt to explain to Kirishima (but more to yourself) why you just fled the meeting room where you and Bakugou were discussing the forensics of his new case.

It’s not like you didn’t see it coming.

The feelings, not the outright confession.

Midoriya, Kirishima, and his other friends have made it pretty obvious with their background teasing that the emotionally constipated blonde has taken a particular interest in you.

(Background because the aforementioned blonde would indubitably kill them if he found out they were teasing you, let alone about him.)

You just couldn’t bring yourself to believe it and hell—start to hope—until a while ago, when the Bakugou Katsuki himself slammed his fist on the table, spitting out the three words you’ve been dreaming to hear from him since you first worked on that gory ass mission together.

Well, four. If you count the curse slotted among the ‘I like you’.

But as it turns out, the reality of it all—Bakugou’s vulnerability, mutual feelings, and possibly dating a Pro Hero—scared you.

And so you ran.

And you were about to confess all this to poor Kirishima when a booming voice echoes through the hallway, effectively triggering your (definitely) flight response once more.

At that, you bolt to the elevators, leaving behind a speechless Kirishima.

Luckily for you, Bakugou has always been good at chasing what he wants.

“ their love languages ” [ bnha ]

╰┈➤ pairing: bakugou, deku, kirishima, shouto, shinsou, sero, denki, tamaki, hawks, dabi, shigaraki, iida, mina, momo, jirou x gn!reader

╰┈➤ warnings: gn!reader, wanted to get one of these out before valentine's day! i added shigaraki for @/veenxys only. febuary's gonna be a post-heavy month because i have three more collab fics to post!

— BAKUGOU:

acts of service, physical touch. katsuki might not be very good with his words, but that does not stop him from displaying his love for you. he always makes sure to keep you away from the street when walking, keeping you safely pressed into his side and anytime you're in pain- he's there to tend to you, waiting on you without complaint. he loves taking care of you, cooking every meal he can, picking up any chores you don't like and always making sure to help with housework. katsuki is also so observant, always noticing when something's troubling you and silently making the moves to fix it. he wants to make your life as easy as possible, scoffing anytime you press a kiss and thank you to his lips. he gets so casual with physical affection the longer you're together, always throwing an arm over your shoulder and tugging you against him. he refuses to leave for work until you cup his face and litter his face with kisses. he might be stubborn, but he takes every step he possibly can to make you know how much you mean.

— MIDORIYA:

acts of service, physical touch, words of affirmation. izuku wants to be able to help everyone around him, you included. you mean so much to him and he just wants to make your life easier. he always draws you a bath when you mention that your day had been rough over the phone or asks you if you need anything when he leaves for the store. he also makes sure he takes over your least favourite chores like the dishes or taking out the trash. once he gets comfortable around you, izuku gets so touchy. he likes laying together when you watch tv at night or ensuring that your thighs touch when you sit in a booth together- little touches throughout the day. he's always been very good at communicating and so he always tries to ensure he tells you how much you mean. he wants you to feel appreciated and loved, even if it takes a while to find the words, he makes sure to say them.

— KIRISHIMA:

words of affirmation, physical touch. eijirou has never shied away from showing everyone how much you mean to him. he has hands on you everywhere you go, holding hands or an arm wrapped around your waist. loves having you wrapped up in his arms, head pressed to his chest. you can't go more than ten minutes without him kissing you. he's also not shying away from saying everything he loves about you. always there to cheer you on or just cupping your face and whispering all his love- how pretty you are, how much you improve his day, everything- to you. he doesn't leave his praise to just you though, everyone around him knows how much he loves you. he just can't shut up. he calls you once a day to tell you he loves you and you've heard from everyone in his agency knows your favourite food. bakugou's patience is running thin.

— TODOROKI:

physical touch, gift giving, quality time. shouto is touch-starved. he's never really liked people getting close to him... touching him, but he finds himself aching for you. he has his chin resting on your shoulder whenever he's sitting next to you and always leans into every kiss. his favourite part of his day is coming home and being held by you. shouto loves getting to spoil you, no excuses needed. every time he comes home from patrolling, he has a new trinket for you. sometimes they're smaller things like your favourite chocolate or sometimes it's an entire jewellery set. he buys you flowers once a week, always a different arrangement. he's also someone who's never liked draining dates- doesn't see the point. he's perfectly content in spending every free moment with you, even if it's just watching you study or curling up on your couch for a nap.

— SHINSOU:

quality time, gift giving. hitoshi really loves existing together. he's not someone who likes really high energy dates, not that he doesn't plan more complicated outings. it's just he prefers really casual date nights: coffee dates where you can spend a quiet evening pressed together doing two separate things, planning a day to drive somewhere less polluted so you can have a picnic while star-gazing. afternoon dates where you go out to eat, usually some small hole in the wall cafe he found while on a walk one time. he likes being able to put all of his attention onto you, undivided and undisturbed. he also loves to be able to touch you. he's not picky about it, but there will be numerous movie marathons spent facing each other and not the screen, legs tangled together and running hands through each others hair.

— SERO:

physical touch, quality time. hanta just really loves touching you. he's always holding your hands, the feeling of your palm against his just makes him so happy and calm. every time you're close enough and your hands are empty, he's taking it. he hugs you all the time, catching you in his arms and spinning you around. he takes every opportunity to kiss you, pressing a kiss to your cheek every morning and always kisses you on your forehead and lips before leaving. hanta also considers his time to be one of the best ways to show how he loves you. he loves anytime he gets with you, usually spent just curled up on the couch and talking lowly or doing chores together. he likes the simpleness.

— KAMINARI:

physical touch, quality time. denki has always been a very hands on person and affection's no different. he's always touching you. it's just how he's wired, how he reacts- his first instinct when he feels any emotion is to latch onto you. physical touch is his way of making the best of bad emotions and sharing his good ones with you. if he ever feels excited, you're the first person he finds so he can cling to your shoulders. he has to have you close all the time, pulling you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist, hands locked with your own, anything he can get. he also relies on touch to recharge, hooking a leg over your hips and nuzzling into your neck as you card through his hair. denki values any time you get together so much, so he takes extra care in ensuring that it's exciting. he spends days, sometimes weeks, before dates planning. he loves to see you happy.

— AMAJIKI:

quality time, physical touch. tamaki has never been the most articulated person, no matter how hard he tried, and he's never been good in high social situations. he hated it for a while, not being able to give you a proper date- but quickly adapted. he likes the little inside dates: curling up on something soft to watch a movie, making dinner together a little too late at night, or just sitting shoulder to shoulder while doing two completely different things. he also likes to be subtlety touching you too, though. a hand intertwined with yours or his head resting against your shoulder, small things that help remind him that you're together. after really taxing days, he comes how and curls into you, tucked away into your neck.

— HAWKS:

physical touch, gift giving. keigo loves with everything he has, once he gets comfortable with someone he's nearly obsessive. he's incredibly clingy and while he doesn't struggle with words- he tells you just how much he loves you plenty- touch is always his fallback. he refuses to start his mornings without a hug from you, pressing you tight against him and nuzzling into your neck and takes every opportunity to steal a kiss. he spends, much to his dismay, a lot of his time away from you and a lot of that time thinking about you. anytime he sees anything, literally anything, that makes him think of you he's bringing it home. he will not be letting you run out of jewellery, always insisting on clasping it onto you. you have a whole drawer at home filled with colourful rocks and shiny trinkets he's brought back to you. he blames the weirder ones on his "bird brain" but that rock just reminded him of your eyes.

— DABI:

acts of service, physical touch. touya loves so deeply and tenderly, even when he can't voice those feelings. he tries so desperately too help you, even if he blatantly refuses doing so. you mention off handedly that you need to do the laundry and find it done the next day. you know it's him, even as he rolls his eyes, by the contented little smile on his face. he also tries his best to take care of you- even if he can barely look after himself. he tries to cook dinner or breakfast and it's not anything amazing but you can tell how much it meant to him. he's very touchy, too, always finding an excuse to be pressed against you. follows you around when you're doing chores, anytime you stop he's knocking his head into your chin until you cup his face and kiss him.

— SHIGARAKI:

physical touch, quality time. tomura is desperate for touch, something he'd been deprived of for so long- now he revels in the plentiful attention he can get from you. if you're ever sitting down, he's draped over your lap, pushing his head into your hands to urge you to card through his hair. always pushes his face into your neck, nuzzling into the tender skin, when you cuddle. guides your wrist to his chin so you tip his head and kiss him. even if he needs to constantly be touching, he does like just being able to be in the room with you.

— ASHIDO:

words of affirmation, physical touch. mina loves you and will never let a moment pass which she doesn't remind you. she showers you with compliments, escalating throughout the course of the day in an attempt to fluster you. anytime you make even the smallest change in appearance, she compliments it. she'll tell you how good your new haircut looks, how the shirt you just bought is the best colour you've ever worn, how the way you've styles yourself brings out all your best features. she's also a very touchy person, it's also how she expresses her emotions and how she greets you. anytime you enter her line of sight, she's touching you- draping herself over your shoulders, littering kisses over your cheeks, or throwing your leg over her lap.

— YAOYOROZU:

gift giving, physical touch. momo sees you and thinks that you deserve every nice thing in the world. she's so casual in her gift giving- no matter how extravagant the object. she just sees something that reminds her of you and buys it. she brings you delicate rings, slipping them onto your fingers with a soft, "they made me think of you, lovely." anything you need paid for, no matter if you tell her or not, is being paid for. you see a shirt you really love in a store window? it's yours. you have more student debt than you know what to do with? she'll cover it. you go to the same cafe every morning? she always pays. she also loves to spoil you with affection, wrapping her arms around you whenever she sees you, dotting kisses over your face. anytime you're together, she has a hand on you. she just loves you so much and will do everything in her power to show you.

— JIROU:

acts of service, quality time. kyoka gets frustrated whenever she tries to voice her feelings for you. she feels awkward and gets hot all over, then she clams up for the rest of the day. she hates that she can't just tell you how much she loves you, that you make her happy- but she'll settle with showing you. she tries to think about you as much as she can: anytime she's getting something for herself- a snack, drink, hoodie- she's bringing you back one as well. she also keeps an eye on you and your needs, the slightest shiver has her tossing a jacket over your shoulders. she really values alone time with you, too. just simply existing in the same space, pulling you into her room so you can listen to a song that she was writing, bingeing a new series she found, or testing out a new cookie recipe.

‧₊˚✩ taglist + masterlist ✩˚₊‧

🏷: @veenxys , @mxgenderbender , @izukus-gf , @dinodumbass , @myaaki , @tipsyangels , @uwuthatshit , @akaakeijii , @rae-tenya , @sugarmaplewings-fics

It's so cute when kids get restless or excited then they start fiddling with their clothes HSHSHSHAHA

Stop it, Inko!! He’s already dead!

i kept snickering like an idiot while drawing this

— 1 missed call from [Name] —

Realistically, he knows he shouldn’t call you back. Ignore the missed call, head back to bed, and forgot you forever. Forget the romance you once shared and move on. Forgot all the words of love that ever left his lips. You are not his and he is not yours.

But he can’t. He can’t possibly ignore you when you’re calling him at 2AM, yearning for him in whatever way you do.

So he calls. Like the fool that he is, he calls his ex-girlfriend of one year back.

“Hello?”

“Tsukishima…” you trail, and your voice is distant. So far, so small, so fearful. He hears your hesitance from one word only.

He wishes you could call him your Kei again.

“Why did you call me?” Tsukishima responds with hostility, for that is all he knows. When he lost you, his ways changed and his heart turned to stone. It seems that anger is all he knows these days, a hard tongue made of venom and stone.

“I-I wanted to talk to you.”

You stutter. You stutter and Tsukishima knows that you’re drunk. You have a few habits whenever you’re intoxicated, and a stutter is always accompanied with the alcohol.

“You’re drunk,” is all he says.

“I know.”

“Talk to me when you’re sober,” he goes to cut the call, but a quick wait! is enough to halt his movements.

“God, I don’t even know why I even called you,” you whisper, as if speaking to yourself.

He sighs, “where are you?”

“Um, I’m not sure.”

“You went out not knowing where you’re going?” He asks, and it’s that condescending tone you hate. The one that pushed your relationship to its limit.

“It’s not like I wanted to be here,” you whisper yet again, a measly attempt at defending yourself.

Another sigh, another sign of disappointment, and Tsukishima finally speaks up.

“Go to the Maps app.” You mumble a small okay, and do as he tells you. “Now zoom in on your location and send it to me.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

You listen to him and soon after Tsukishima gets a notification. He doesn’t bid you goodbye, simply cuts the call and gets up from his bed. He heads for his closet, grabbing two jackets, and heads out the door.

He’ll see you for the first time in a year.

-

And see you he does.

You’re sat on the curb of the road, your knees pushed against your chest and your head resting on your knees. It seems as if you’re asleep, your eyes closed and body still.

He kneels beside you, whispering your name loud enough to wake you up.

“Huh?” You groan, turning your head to look at the man you can’t seem to let go. “Kei?”

There it is. It’s always sounded so sweet on your tongue, so sultry and intimate. It’s his given name, the one he grows to love each time you say it.

It’s bittersweet hearing it from you.

“Why are you just sleeping in the middle of the road? What if some pervert stopped by?”

“But nobody did,” you say, logic leaving you in your drunken state. You move closer to him, seeking his warmth.

You’ve always loved his touch. When you once called him yours, his body was always somehow attached to yours. Your skin on his, his heart in your palm.

He sighs, “get in the car, [Name].”

He pulls you up from your position, easily holding you as gently as he can.

“You never used to call me by my name,” you stop and lean into his shoulder. “I was always your baby.”

Tsukishima knows it’s the alcohol talking. That you’d never say this sober, and that there’s a possibility that you don’t mean any of those words. But his heart still hurts. It hurts so much that he feels as if he has lost himself. Lost all the progress he made to just get over you.

(But perhaps he never really stopped loving you, if he was so willing to pick up your call.)

He lays you on the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt for you. He drapes the extra jacket over your shoulders, and you remember it to be one of your favourites. You stare at him the whole time—eyes on his—but he refuses to look back. Not when he knows how easily his resolve could crumble with you around.

The car starts soon after, and you’re already asleep. Your head lays peacefully on the mirror, and Tsukishima wishes he could stay like this forever. In a world where he is yours and you are his.

-

There are not many things that Tsukishima regrets.

He prefers to live in the present and let the past be the past. What has happened is unchanging, so why worry? Why worry about what he should’ve done, when all he has is the now?

There are not many things that Tsukishima regrets. But he will always regret leaving you.

He knows that now, as he is in your bedroom, trying to find a way to change you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear.

You’ve always been a heavy sleeper, unmoving in the midst of all noise. That trait carries on to now, as he struggles to get your top off your body.

You squirm as he touches you. “Kei,” you whisper. “Why’d you pick me up?”

“You called me.”

“But you picked up,” you slur, “you could’ve ignored me. You were good at that when we were together.”

He winces. He knows you don’t mean it. You’ve always been far too kind to respond with such malice, especially towards him. Even when your relationship was walking on a tightrope, you never once yelled at him.

“Why were you so mean, Tsukishima?” It’s a rhetorical question, he knows it, but his heart burns the more you speak.

“I loved you so much, but you didn’t love me at all.”

“Don’t,” he immediately interrupts, “don’t say I never loved you.”

“You never showed me,” your voice is small, and he knows you’re about to cry. (Even after all these months, your habits remain in his mind.)

“I love you. So much more than you’ll ever understand,” he speaks with so much passion, that he forgets his confession.

He loves you. His heart will always belong to you.

“I love you too,” you cry, and a single teardrop grazes your cheek.

“You never deserved me.”

“I get to decide that,” you grab his delicate face with your rough hands. He always fit so perfectly in your palms. “I get to decide who is good for me.”

He pauses, resting in your hands and cherishing every moment he has with you. And it’s in your calloused palms where Tsukishima realises what he misses. He misses your presence, your love, you. Every habit that made him love you so deeply, he misses.

He will be yours again, he decides, as you hold him close. Somehow, someway, he will win you back.

everybody starts somewhere

they get super flustered when you tuck their hair behind their ear. they stutter over their words and their face flushes a pretty red. it’s the cutest thing in the world, you do it randomly to catch them off guard.

kageyama, atsumu, hinata (both!!), oikawa, yamaguchi, sakusa, tsukishima, goshiki, tendou, koganegawa (he’s the cutest TT), kyotani, & yaku

same thing but instead they do it to you. they do it when you’re super focused on something or when you’re talking passionately about something. they don’t do it to get you flustered or anything (well maybe a little bit), they just really love to admire you.

akaashi, iwaizumi, kenma, kuroo (def both), bokuto, matsukawa, makki, ushijima, osamu, suna, aran, semi (maybe both??), & komori

note: ik some ppl’s hair might not be long enough to tuck but i just love the gesture itself SM !!

Clumsy love — katsuki bakugo.

In which…

katsuki is cooking in the kitchen, and you accidentally surprise him, he turned around to quick and hit you :( ..maybe it’s a good thing though.

Pairing; Katsuki Bakugo x Afab!reader

Content contains; fem!reader, angst/comfort (but mostly comfort), Prohero!katsuki, sweet kats, maybe a little ooc (sorry..), use of “babe, baby, doll, ‘kats’”, swearing, cheesy cheesy love stuff, mentions of blood, reader getting hit (on accident).

Word count; 1.4k

a/n; this feels rushed but I think it came out pretty cute — I also rewrote like ALL of this it went from 1.0k to 1.4k with my edits to the story..I’m scared to post this pls tell me y’all fw it 🙁 if smb already wrote this IM SORRY I don’t have an @ or anything, I cant remember if I took inspo from someone or was creative for once 😢

katsuki was stirring a pot over the stove, the boiling water and smell of the delicious stew he was cooking wafting through the air. Katsuki always loved to cook for you, no matter how tired he was. He’d cook a million times a day if it meant he got to see you light up at his thoughtfulness, not to mention he’s practically a 5 star chef.

He was pacing around the kitchen to grab various seasonings, vegtables, and other simple things. You wanted to show him some silly video off your phone, so you walked from your shared bedroom and approached him from behind, I suppose he didn’t hear you coming until you were right behind him, tapping him on the shoulder excitedly.

“kats, look-“ but your words got cut off with a mean ‘smack!’, the back of his hand making instant contact with your nose, your hands instantly reaching up to cup you’re now bruised nose as you squeak out an ‘ow ow ow!’

“holy shit!,” he exclaimed. “babe, I’m so sorry.” he drops everything, the spoon dropping into the pot, water splashing lightly with a ‘plosh’. He rushes over, grabbing your wrists lightly; a worried mixed with guilty look on his face.

“it’s- mmm fuck!” you grit out through bared teeth. “it’s fine, not ur fault kats—“ you hiss out, eyes squinting and ur brows furrowed from the sharp pain stinging in your nose. He was a pro-hero, and strong obviously, so when you startled him, he hit you with a lot of might. (all might reference.)

“no no—shit!- that’s not fine babe..lemme see cmon.” he stutters around, searching for the right words. you could tell by the glint in his eyes, and the way they softened, by his brows and the way they softly perked up and furrowed, by the tiny pout on his face, just how absolutely worried and awful he felt about himself right now. He slowly went to move your wrists from your face, careful to be gentle with you. You let him move your hands away from you’re poor injured nose slowly, tears stinging the corner of your eyes from the pure pain that spiked through you.

“aw fuck, y’r bleedin babe, cmon…” a unfamiliar gentle—? no…soft? yes but no—….worried? tone? yeah. worried. He knew you were okay, it wasn’t broken although it might feel as bad as one for a few minutes, nonetheless he hurt you.

his rough fingers wrapped around one of your wrists gently, guiding you to the bathroom, your other wrist still clutching your nose, trying to not let the gross metallic blood drip onto your nice clean floors. also to keep pressure on it, though it certainly wasn’t making it feel any better.

he sat you down gently on the lid of the toilet seat, both of your hands now cupping around your leaking nose, he settled on grabbing some toilet paper for a quick fix and wrapping it around his calloused hand. He rested on his knees to look up at you and get a better view to clean the blood. yet all you could think about was katsuki bakugo, was fucking kneeling on the ground for you. of course this didn’t even cross his mind in these conditions, all he could think about was the fact he did this, mistake or not, it was him. he tilted ur head back gently, his finger tips resting under your chin. He cleaned the blood spewing from your nose with softness and delicacy as if you were a porcelain doll. It was uncharacteristic of him to be so soft and gentle with you, of course he was a sweetheart to you, and he had his soft touchy moments, but it was still quite early in your relationship and katsuki was always a closed off person. Safe to say you knew he felt fucking awful.

“kats, ‘promise I’m okay, don’t feel bad, ‘ts not y’r fault.” You reassure him with a raspy tone considering ur head was tilted back, your vocal cords pressing closer to the front of your throat. you were still in pain and reassuring him. how could you be telling him it’s okay? reassuring him? he should be reassuring you.

“no no—fuck shhh, don’t say none of that shit..” he grumbles out, still focused on your nose, the bleeding was slowing down to a halt which made him grateful, he gently pulled the tissue away and threw it in the bin, he stood back up; his knees popping, (~~he’d kill you if you brought that up any other time~~.) hand gently caressing and looking at your nose, rough finger tips softly rubbing around and up and down your, now, less bloody nose.

when you look up at him with your big teary eyes and pouty lips, he can feel his heart shatter impossibly further. Once he deems your nose worthy enough to stop being catered to, he looks down at you with a big sad face and caresses the side of your head, cupping it with his big coarse palm, the weak look in his eyes just about broke your own heart into a million tiny pieces. you can’t help but melt into his touch, extending out a hand to carress his face aswell, cupping eachothers cheeks with the harsh cool lighting of the bathroom, the dried up blood still partially down your nose; the color of your skin turning a purpleish-blue around the area.

“kats…” you pout at his sad defeated look. “I’m okay, I promise. It wasn’t even your fault, I jus’ caught you off guard. don’t blame yourself baby..” you attempt to reassure him with a soft gentle tone. katsuki wasn’t used to this, someone being so soft around him, speaking to him in a sweet tone. He couldnt even begin to know what to do. The consistency of your thumb rubbing back and forth softly over his cheek, everything was to much.

“I know—I know but I hurt you baby. me, I did. I never wanted to do that, and I did. I can’t believe myself an-“ you could tell he was going to start a pointless ramble about himself, so u cut him off with a gentle shush, your delicate fingers draping over his lip in a playful manner, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You didn’t wanna hear him say such mean things about himself, especially when it truly isn’t anybody’s fault.

“shhh…katsuki.” he listened. as he always did to you. “don’t beat yourself up over this please..” to him your voice was like honey. sweet and smooth, just the right consistency. “things happen. I’m fine, the pains already getting better,” a small weight lifted off his shoulders as you reassured him the pain was already starting to fade.

“I love you.”

oh. you guys were dating but you’ve never went that far. he feels his heart pick up in speed, freezing, you were starting to worry you made him uncomfortable. why can’t he speak? why can he feel himself sweating? his hands are getting clammy, and he feels like the world is crashing around him.

“…I love you.”

he said it. you didn’t expect him to but he did. you didn’t make a big deal out of it, instead just smiling brightly up at him, your eyes crinkling as it always did, it was truly his favorite sight to see. He would never admit it, but he’s truly down bad for you.

“and I know you’ll still love me even if I’m all bloody and bruised.” you joke with him lightening the mood, he lets out a airy laugh pulling you into his chest gently, tilting your head so your cheek is smooshed against his chest as to be careful of your nose. maybe it’s a good thing katsuki hit you, maybe if he didn’t you wouldn’t of said I love you. maybe he wouldn’t of gotten vulnerable. The terms are silly of course, and it will be a funny story to tell down the line.

maybe katsuki does seriously love you.

“yeah. I will, doll.”

A/N guys I’m shaking before I post this

heaven can't help me now

summary: Suna x Reader. dating on a bet but it's ethical

word count: 4.4k

cw: a lot of kissing, cheating (not done to reader or by suna), humor to ??? to angst to ???, no joke this is all over the place, friends to dating the school player on a bet to fake dating to friends to

a/n: shh

“This is the stupidest situation I’ve ever been in,” you say, surveying the mostly-empty early morning grounds of Inarizaki High. The only noises are the breeze rustling through the trees, birds chirping musically, and the grunts of every student athlete running through their morning workout.

“No it’s not,” says your best friend, the demonic entity who put you in this mess.

“No, it’s not,” you agree sadly. “Alright. Let’s get this over with.”

Getting this over with actually entails waiting until the end of the school day, because you don’t want to face the consequences of your actions and would rather hide at home than suffer publicly in school.

One in thirteen people die via vending machine every year, you remind yourself as you approach the contraption warily. You should be so lucky.

Tragically, the vending machine doesn’t kill you; worse, everything goes according to plan. At 3:23 p.m., Suna Rintarō approaches for his pre-practice snack.

I’m gonna throw up, you text your friend. She leaves you on delivered. You hate her.

“Hey,” Suna says your name, effectively cutting off all trains of thought.

“Hi,” you say. You nearly chicken out, but your pride is on the line. You have to do this. You can do this. You are a badass.

“Thanks,” says Suna. Oops. Your mouth clamps shut involuntarily, so you stare mutely at him while he chuckles to himself, focused primarily on scanning the plethora of processed food the machine offers.

About three things you are absolutely positive. First, Suna is a heartbreaker of the highest degree. Second, you are trapped in a dare to prove otherwise. And third, the way his blazer drapes over his frame and he smiles at you like he’s letting you know a secret makes you feel like a dandelion being blown into the blue sky on a sunny summer day.

Like having butterflies, but instead of merely letting them flutter around your innards, you ascend into the weightlessness of fluttering flight.

Fucking insects.

“Funny story,” you say abruptly, making eye contact with Suna. “I was dared to date you. For over three months. I don’t think I was supposed to tell you but it didn’t seem ethical not to on the off chance that you would, y’know, say yes, against all known laws of physics and aviation—”

Suna laughs. His nose scrunches up when he does it, and his eyes nearly close, and the flush on his face is the same shade of pink all the French lovers wrote about, probably. You bounce on your toes in agitation.

“I know it sounds like a joke but I just really need you to give an answer so I can report back because if I don’t ask you they threatened to dye my cat purple.”

“Isn’t your cat black?”

“I have two cats,” you say. “I knew I shouldn’t have defended you. Asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he waves it off. “Let’s do it. Could be fun.”

“Are you joking?” It’s your turn to laugh.

“No,” he says simply, stepping just into your personal space so he can reach out and brush a piece of your hair back. “Not even a little.”

“Excuse me a moment,” you say, and turn your back to him to message FUCK in the groupchat with unsteady fingers. You are all too aware of his sharp eyes watching over your shoulder while you type the four-letter word three times until it’s spelled correctly. You tuck your phone back into your pocket and face him again with squared shoulders. “Cool. Sweet. Should we shake on it?”

He stretches out his hand. You take it, gripping it firmly to indicate that you will be a reliable and firm business partner.

“Is there money on this?”

“5000 yen from six people each if we last through the three month mark,” you say seriously. “I can give you fifteen percent of the winnings.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty,” he says, and you shrug. “But I’m still gonna call it off if I get bored, just so you know.”

“Oh, I know,” you say. You’re still holding his hand.

He changes his grip so your fingertips are barely touching, drawing your hand up to brush a kiss over the knuckles. You want to punch him in the mouth a little bit. It’s not right for someone to be so romantic in an entirely unromantic situation. It’s confusing and upsetting.

“Signed and sealed,” he says. “Walk home with me on Friday, okay?”

Friday goes well. At first, you feel clumsy and stupid, your mind entirely consumed by the fact that you’re fake-dating him. Your friends hadn’t bought that he’d said yes (they didn’t know you’d told him about the bet) until he’d interrupted your morning briefing with them the next day, hair endearingly limp from volleyball-induced sweat and grin sharp and wide. He’d slung an arm around you while you shrieked and tried to get out from beneath him, aggravated by his moistness, and he’d finally put an end to your wriggling by spinning you face to face with him, brushing his nose against yours and telling you to be good.

That had shut you up for, like, ten minutes.

It’s easy to fake it around your friends, playing off an inside joke with him that reads as chemistry to outsiders. One on one, though, you panic.

“So...” Suna says, hands in his pockets and posture slouched while you stew in anticipatory embarrassment. “What do you think of Englebert Humperdink?”

“What?”

“What?”

“You’re weird, Suna,” you bump into him purposely, bouncing off with the efficacy of a tennis ball hitting a brick wall.

“I told you to call me Rintarō,” he bumps you back. “And you’re the one being weird.”

“It’s just weird,” you say indignantly. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Well, I’m weird too,” he shrugs. “No big.”

Weirder, it’s like a ton lifts off your shoulders when he says that.

“At least you’re weird cool,” you offer. “People like your weird.”

“I don’t really care, though,” he says. “People like you, they don’t like you, it doesn’t matter. You’re still weird.”

“Are you talking about you or me? Or the ambiguous you?”

He only offers a mysterious smile in response.

Your first date with Suna — Rintarō — is five days of walking home with him plus the weekend later. He picks you up fifteen minutes late, has a toxic green energy drink in hand, and refuses to tell you where he’s taking you no matter how you beg, threaten, or bribe.

It’s a classic: the movie theater. By the time you’ve finished reading all the possible movie titles on show tonight, he’s brandishing two tickets to the latest in a series of corny action flicks, smirking lazily at you.

“I wanted to see the one with the assassin romance,” you say while he pays for movie snacks, mocking you relentlessly for your choice of filler food.

“The one who pays picks the movie,” he sing-songs.

“That’s not a rule. And I could’ve paid.”

“It is for me, and I wouldn’t let you do that, because I’m a gentleman and a great time.”

“You chose a movie with four prequels I haven’t seen. I don’t think you qualify for either of those.” He shrugs.

“The tickets are bought. No choice now.”

You get back at him by making snide comments throughout the movie, pointing out every plot hole and snickering at the saddest scenes.

“You are a demon and I never should have agreed to this,” he points at you once you’ve walked out of the theater.

“Aw, no, baby,” you say, pouting exaggeratedly at him. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“Not a chance,” he laughs. “No fucking way.”

It turns out that being in a couple can be really good for your social life. You get specials at restaurants, so you go out to eat more. You like pissing off your friends with your success, so you invite them to hang out and bring your boyfriend along. You get to know the infamous volleyball team, who are a lot less intimidating when they run around hitting each other with towels than they are on the court.

Sure, the Miyas seem like they’re constantly laughing behind your back, but you can tell they’re bouncing between making fun of Rintarō and of you equally.

“He’s gonna break up with you, ya know?” Says the gray-haired one to you one day, completely unprompted. You blink up at him, caught mid-soup sip.

“Don’t make fun, Samu,” says the blond. “He’s too in loveeeeee to do that.” He tilts his head coquettishly and flutters his fingers around his face. “He told us you’re not like his exes. He actually said that.”

“I think he says that to all his dates,” Osamu muses. “Male manipulator.”

“Male manipulator my ass,” snorts Atsumu. “Yesterday he saw one of his ex-girlfriends and hid behind me until she went away. The man is a simp.”

“Maybe he still has feelings for her,” muses Osamu, staring at you with laser focus. “Does that worry you?”

“No?” You say, then take a loud slurp of soup.

“You’re borin’,” says Atsumu. “Maybe s’why he likes you so much. Bye.”

“Bye,” says Osamu.

“Bye.”

You’re on your fifth date, getting a special two for the price of one taiyaki deal when you actually bump into his ex, standing behind you in line.

“Hi,” she grins at you. “You know he’s a piece of shit, right?”

“Yes,” you say confidently, at the same time Rintarō says her name pleadingly. You sense suddenly that there is history here you don’t want to make light of.

“As long as you’re clear,” she says, taking your hand and squeezing it. Her fingertips bite into your skin. You look at Rintarō, surprised he’s not making any smart quips, but the gray shade of his skin tells you everything you need to know about the situation.

“The vibes,” you say, suddenly. “They’re arsenic.”

“What?”

“Rintarō,” you grab his hand and tug on it. “We have to go.”

You pull him out of the line, stumbling as he goes and giving her a small, pathetic wave as you storm away.

He doesn’t regain his color until you’re in your room, sitting on your bed while he drapes himself over your desk chair.

“So is there a reason why your ex makes you catatonic or should I make one up?”

“She’s fine,” Rintarō says hoarsely.

“Yep,” you say. “She killed your childhood horse.”

“What? No, you’re insane. She cheated on me.”

“She cheated on you?” You launch yourself to your feet, suddenly filled with the power of a thousand burning suns to strike her down.

“No, no, no,” he says. “Sit down. Sit down. It was my fault, anyway.”

Rintarō’s not a particularly loud guy, but he sounds so quiet now that you nearly ask him to speak up.

“How can her cheating possibly be your fault?” You arch a brow.

“I wasn’t a good boyfriend,” he says. “I was really, uh, neglectful.” He holds a hand up when you open your mouth. “It was worse than you think. She tried to reason with me a bunch of times and I wouldn’t listen. We had a pretty big fight and didn’t talk for a couple days, and when we were talking again, she had... Well. And then it was over.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. So, I dunno, I don’t blame her or anything. Plus, I went on a streak of fucking, uh, flings afterwards so I’m not faultless, either.”

“Bullshit, but okay,” you snort. “None of that is grounds for sleeping with someone else as revenge for upsetting her.”

“It wasn’t revenge—”

“It kinda was,” you point out. “And I don’t think you hooking up with a bunch of people after she hit you in the heart with a golf club is really the same thing. If anything, it sounds like you were just... trying to get over her, which isn’t a crime in anyone’s book, really.”

“It wasn’t hooking up,” he protests weakly.

“You’re running out of arguments, Rintarō,” you say. “Anyway. Um. Sorry for being all in your business. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t know,” he says vaguely, staring into space.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders dropping. “Sounds good to me.”

You spend the next hour with him in near silence. Halfway through, you ask if he wants to sit on the bed with you, which he gladly accepts. The only noise in the room is the sound of the both of you tapping at your phones and occasionally clicking on a video and playing it out loud. You wonder if your parents would be angry that you had a boy in your room if they walked in and saw the two of you doing absolutely nothing.

“Sorry,” you say, just before he leaves. “Again.”

“No, you’re good,” he responds. “It was nice. Really, really nice.”

Impulsively, you hug him. It takes a second for him to unfreeze, but you eventually feel hands patting your back.

“Night,” you say once you’ve pulled back. “Sleep tight.”

“Hope the vampires bite,” he says, smiling toothily at you.

That’s when you become best friends with your boyfriend.

You can recall the nearly physical feeling of the click of things into place, of the way the universe shifted just slightly so you could see so much more clearly. Dates blur into one long Suna session. Suddenly, you find your afternoons consumed with sitting on the bleachers, even if you're not actually watching practice. You no longer need to invite Rintarō to gatherings; he's there when the plans are made. You text incessantly during class and he sits in your desk chair, playing games on his phone, while you ponder your homework, waiting for you to finish so the two of you can binge dramas together.

"This means we probably would've had more fun if we'd watched the assassin romance instead of General Godzilla 5: Part 2," you say snidely.

"Fuck you," he responds eloquently.

He does the dishes for you when your parents ask you to, and you wash his laundry when you visit his house. This must be what it means to be in a partnership. The two of you encounter new problems and adapt, improvise, overcome.

"Have you and Suna... you know? Yet?" Asks one of your friends.

"No," laughs your best friend (the one you're not dating). "Have you two even kissed yet?"

"Yes, of course we have," you answer extremely truthfully. "Excuse me."

Rintarō opens his front door half an hour later. You promptly scream for fifteen straight seconds. He understands.

"We just need to orchestrate a kiss and get more comfortable with PDA," you reason later, sitting cross-legged across from him on your bed. He nods seriously, fingers steepled and expression wise.

"We can do that. Have you ever kissed someone before?" You throw a pillow at him.

"Of course I have. Just because it doesn't turn into schoolwide gossip doesn't mean it's not happening."

"Low blow, but okay."

"Wait," you pause. "Maybe you're right. Not factually, but spiritually. Do you think we should practice?"

"Maybe," you watch him swallow. "Yeah."

You both scoot slowly toward each other, laughing nervously every time the bed creaks.

"So are you..." You start, throat dry. "Um. Am I or are you gonna—"

Ungracefully, his lips land on yours. Your eyes slam shut and you reciprocate enthusiastically, cupping the back of his neck with one hand to brace yourself. Despite the jerky start, you can tell that he's a good kisser, a really good kisser. He sucks hard on your lower lip, drawing a noise you're embarrassed to hear out of your mouth, which prompts him to shift around and put a large hand on your back, kneeling so he has a few inches on you and can pull you closer. You kiss him harder, desperate to drown out the intensity of your own reaction.

Too hard. You think you black out.

When you come to, your hands have migrated into his black hair and he's pulling away from your neck, which you suspect is freshly marked. He stares down at you with wide eyes, and you suspect the expression is mirrored on your face.

"Do you think that was enough practice?" You ask carefully, unsure of what the correct answer is.

"Probably," he says, leaning back. "It'll be fine. Unless you get performance anxiety and drool on my face or something."

"You're so gross."

"You love me."

"Do I?"

You're half-asleep, walking out of your final period of the day when someone pulls you headlong into a dark classroom.

"Don't scream," Rintarō says. You scream. "Exactly. Thank you."

Then he's kissing you, barely brushing his lips against yours, smirking when you pinch his ribs. You chase him, kissing him fully and turning the both of you so that he's up against the wall, his hands loosely gripping your waist while your hands wander to his hair. He tastes sweet-and-sour, like home and like trouble, a contradiction wrapped in black hoodies and burning yellow eyes.

Someone's calling your name. Someone's calling your name, and the lights are on. You blink blearily at your best friend, who's laughing her ass off, and separate slowly from Rintarō. Your lips are wet and you can't seem to catch your breath.

"It's not what it looks like."

"God, imagine if I'd been a teacher," your friend howls and backs out of the classroom, beckoning you to follow. "Oh, the looks you guys gave me..."

"Remy," Rintarō whispers in your ear as he jogs to catch up with you, slinging his bag on. "You're like the rat in Ratatouille. Pulling me around by my hair."

"You are so, so bad at romance," you hiss. "See if I ever do it again."

"I mean, we weren't going to," he says. "But I'd like to."

You punch him lightly in the arm, but your heart's not in it.

Comparatively, PDA isn't hard after that. Your friends make fun of your hickey, which you shift up your collar to hide self-consciously (and which Rintarō pulls down constantly and secretly, for reasons unknown to you), and you hold hands without even thinking about it. You kiss him hello on the cheek and he hugs you goodbye, and you're starting to become hyperaware of the upcoming deadline.

Will everything change the way it did when you asked him to do this crazy, stupid thing with you? Will it all slip away, like a dream you can't quite remember by the time you wake up?

All these worries add up to something worse, you realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling. You're not quite sure you can make it to the three month mark without wanting everything that's been smoke and mirrors and espionage to be real.

Only two weeks, you tell yourself, checking over your calendar again and again like it'll make the days pass faster. Fourteen days, three hundred thirty six hours, twenty thousand and one hundred sixty minutes. Everything is fine.

He takes you to the movies again.

He buys tickets for a movie from the fifties, buys you your favorite snacks without having to be asked, wraps his arm around you when you shiver from the air-conditioned interior. He likes the seats in the middle, but you nod toward the back.

"Really?" He asks, voice strangely high-pitched. "Oh. Sick."

You don't remember much of the movie.

Your last date with Suna Rintarō ends on the train. The world is a smear of blue and gray in front of you; behind you, arms embracing you almost too loosely is him. You turn your head to speak into his ear.

"It's been good," you tell him. "Happy three months."

"Happy three months," he repeats, the words nearly foreign in his mouth. "And one day. We're gonna be rich."

"And one day," you smile, and reach for his hand, his bony fingers cold to the touch. "Should we stage a big breakup?"

"I've had enough of big breakups for a lifetime," he laughs. "But if you want to, let's do it. Could be fun."

"No, it's okay," you shrug. "They're gonna know we gamed them, anyway. No need to lay it on anymore."

"Yeah," he replies. "Does that mean this is it?"

The conductor announces your stop, one neighborhood before his.

"I guess so," you feel strangely light, a little out of body. "See you tomorrow, Rintarō."

You should kiss him, maybe. Something dramatic should be happening right now; at least an emotional embrace. That's not how the two of you operate, though, and it wasn't anything real, anyway, you try to remind yourself. He won't be losing any sleep over this, so neither should you.

You lick your lips and smile at him, giving a little wave. He lifts a hand, head down while he looks at his phone. You can close the book on your relationship, and it feels just right. The train starts to move, and you turn around and walk home.

This is the stupidest situation he's ever been in, Rintarō thinks to himself.

It's been two weeks since what should have been the easiest breakup of his life, and things don't feel easy.

At first they were: your friends were annoyed but good natured, handing out the money reluctantly but with knowing expressions on their faces. He'd become too much a part of your life to simply pull out, and vice versa, so things had stayed similar.

But he felt so different, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Good one," Atsumu crows when he hears the truth of your relationship. "Really had me fooled. 'Samu, too."

"Was not!"

"Yes, you were. You thought he was playin' a fling again, not us."

"They were playin' their friends!"

"Are we not their friends, too?" Atsumu asks, wounded. "Hey, since Y/N is single now— or always was, whatever, could I—"

"Are you joking? No," Rintarō says. "What kind of question is that?"

"A perfectly valid one," sulks Atsumu. "Hey, mine!" He dives after a stray volleyball, and Rintarō stares after him distractedly.

It's almost metaphorical, the way Atsumu's easily pulled away from the topic of you by the game. Would that happen to Rintarō again? If he put in effort, and he could tell you how he felt— that he was miserable like this, that he'd gotten addicted to the way you tripped over your words because they came out too fast and the way your room smelled entirely like you and to your all-encompassing presence and touch, and he needed it, needed you back the way he'd had you and hadn't even known it— and by some miracle, you accepted, would he take it for granted? Would he ever be good enough for you?

Would he lose even the half of you he held in his palms now?

He's losing his mind, he realizes. Metaphor? In his volleyball? Unlikely.

He casts a longing look at the bleachers, then shakes his head. He needs to get his head in the game.

It's a Saturday night, and he misses you.

hey, he texts you, after forty-five minutes of agonizing deliberation. do u want to watch something? i think there's a ghibli showing at the theater but we can just stream if u want

sorry :( You respond three minutes later. can't.

rip, he sends. You don't answer. He slams his phone facedown on his comforter and lies on his back, his hands shaking. It's not until he rolls over and feels wet fabric against his cheek that he realizes he's been crying.

You feel so distant and only now he knows what he's doing wrong.

Rintarō's fallen in love with you.

"I don't know," you're saying. "I think I prefer the little jelly strawberries."

He can't focus. Every time he's around you, he nearly works up the courage to confess, to spill out every bloody, messy feeling he's had since you broke up and pray that you'll bear with him for it, but he always talks himself out of it. He can love you like this, he tells himself. His emotions aren't any less real for not being validated.

"What do you think? Rintarō?" You're snapping your fingers in front of his face. He hunches his shoulders and leans away.

"I think about your mom," he musters. You peer at him, your face far too close to his. He imagines bonking himself in the head with a thick textbook several times to remain stoic.

"You're being weird."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Walk home with me today."

"Are t— what?" He shrugs. "Okay."

He sits a little straighter. He can make it another few hours. You got this, man, be normal.

He's pretty sure he fails miserably in that regard, but he recalls you looking at him with sparkling eyes and telling him people liked his weird. He hopes you were talking about yourself.

The sky is clear and he's nearly too hot beneath his school blazer. Beside him, your steps are light, taken to the beat of a song he can't hear. Cars honk in the street and dogs bark in their backyards. He bites his lip.

"Is everything okay?" Is somehow the way he chooses to open the topic.

"Yes," you say. "But I don't think it is with you. Tell me." He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them. What is he doing? He's not sure.

"It's really stupid," he says. "Well, not really, I just think it's kind of weird, maybe, and you might not like it. Or me. I guess that's the gist of it. I like you. I think I love you. And it hurts like we broke up for real when we weren't even dating for real. You're a really good friend, and I don't want to lose that, but," he flounders. "If you wanted to try dating, again, for real, I would love to try dating, again, for real, because I think I could... I don't think I did badly, but I want to show you that I can do better." He laughs, quietly, self-deprecatingly, and slows to a stop, turning to face you.

You stare at him, lips parted and brows raised.

In the eternity stretching between the two of you, he feels something inside him crack. It's not a clean break, either. He can feel shards of himself falling to the sidewalk while you look on, his usually icy demeanor revealing the lovesick boy beneath.

You take a deep breath, and he swears he can feel it inflating his own lungs.

"Oh."

+

part two here