Unfinished. Lazy. Cringe. I’m Just Gonna Drop This Here And Run As Fast As I Can.

there’s a power pulling me back to you || monoma neito

imagine having a quirk that makes your body work like a magnet. and when monoma copies it without a second thought, your bodies smush together. your heads bonk against each other, and you’re pretty sure your teeth clank from the impact (your lips may have touched, too).

you push him by the shoulders, your arms shaking due to the strength the movement requires. you see his face—shocked, frozen in place. you squeeze his shoulder, repeating “earth to monoma,” when he takes too long to respond. he suddenly deactivates his quirk, causing your bodies to part.

he doesn’t make a single sound, eyes still wide. you think yours widen too at some point, because the expression he’s making is so... new. you never thought you’d see him so caught off guard, even if you tried. and it looks strange on him— uncharacteristic. before you can hold it in, you burst out laughing.

he seems to calm down after hearing that. he was afraid he made you uncomfortable, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. he mutters a quiet apology, his usual smile returning. when your laughing fit doesn’t end anytime soon, he crosses his arms and gives you an unimpressed look.

you hold your stomach and cover your mouth, trying your best to stop laughing. why on earth would that happen? well, you know why, but it’s way too ridiculous. you feel warm all over, like your body’s about to fall apart. your giggles slowly die out. you breathe in and out. “it’s fine,” you say. “who could’ve known?”

“none of us, it seems,” he replies. “you clearly enjoyed it, though.” he gives you that teasing smile you hate.

you open your mouth to reply—but then, what can you even say? deny that you enjoyed it? claim that he liked it even more? none of those are accurate, so you shut your mouth. after a moment of thought, you murmur, “I guess I did,” with a shrug.

his smile drops—he wasn’t expecting you to admit it. his arms fall to his sides as a thousand different responses race through his head. before he can decide against it, a mocking laugh escapes his mouth.

“haha! no wonder you did! I’d give you a chance if you begged for it, but I bet you’re too shy to ask for another time! what a—”

before he can finish his sentence, you step in and grab his tie, pulling him down to your level. you stare directly into his eyes. “can you do that again, pretty please?” you ask.

he breathes out slowly, taking his time. then he raises a hand to the side of your face, leaning in. you tilt your head and nod in approval. in a flash, he crashes his lips against yours, activating his quirk just in time. your bodies stick to each other yet again. he drapes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly, his other hand burying itself in your hair. you hug his shoulders, a cold hand brushing his neck, causing him to shiver.

for the first time in your life, you thank whoever blessed you with this quirk—as your bodies slot perfectly together.

you part to catch your breath, but your quirk immediately forces your faces back together. his reflexes cause him to pull your hair to keep your noses from crashing against each other. you let out a suspiciously pained noise. he leans in to kiss you again, then again.

hi! fyi i have ZERO idea what i’m doing. wanted a friend to read this and all she said was “not bad.” so i guess here we go!

'___' means the event happened in the past

“___” means right now

if you mind the grammar mistakes and such please keep on scrolling. this may not be for you.

ocd (or ocpd) coded sunday warning!! sorry if this is somehow offensive.

the thought keeps replaying in your mind, with him in your arms, fully asleep. your senses are filled with his scent, his softness. you squeeze him a little more, your heart aches with love. he feels too soft, you wonder how it’s possible for someone to be tender in every part of his body.

one thing about sunday... is that he smells like heaven.

perhaps, he’s not human, but angel.

he doesn’t like getting called that, you note, ‘angels are saints, something I lost my chance to be.’ he usually insists, still, it’s hard not to compare him to one. not only due to his appearance. sure, his wings and halo are of help but... there’s more to it. you take a deep breath, the smell of clean clothes, clean sheats, and honey? must be the shampoo he uses, take the shape of your lungs. somehow you feel like you now breathe easier.

at some point in your life, the term 'fresh' started to remind you of him. you notice his dedication for hygiene, which is good, you love a clean man. then you get to know, it might be something to worry about.

‘dirt, filth, grime... just imagining makes me uneasy. it disturbs me so much... to the point it becomes all I can think of until I get rid of it.’ he informs you, folding the shirt perfectly symmetrical. your gaze snap back to the one in your hand, not as trim, also wrinkly (did he somehow iron his? how did you not see it? is there even iron around here?) you feel slightly ashamed. ‘i need everything tidied.’ he continues, in order, he doesn’t say aloud, yet you hear it.

ever since he admitted so, you become aware of your surroundings, of how sparkly and new they seem to be. everything smells like flowers, with a hint of cleaning supplies. not a single bug would want to live here, you think, relief comes after.

you watch as he slumbers, moonlight illuminating his beautiful face, unable to get enough of him. suddenly, he wakes, eyes fluttering, he opens them slowly, lazily, directly making eye contact with you. they widen, not expecting to see you awake, you smile. he considers shortly, trying to find his voice. you wait patiently, you always do.

“couldn’t sleep?” he asks in a hushed voice. “hm... maybe it wasn’t a good idea to eat dessert before bed.” you answer. you both did, actually. knowing his sweet tooth now, you constantly try out new recipes, desperate to return his care and devotion.

because you know why he woke up so suddenly. he does every night, multiple times, to make sure you are still there, all well, he tucks you in again if you kicked the blanket off in your sleep. ‘I would hate it if you got sick’, he simply explains if you catch him in middle of action. ‘you’d hate the germs,’ you joke, though you know he only cares about your condition. sometimes he frowns at your ungratefulness, sometimes ignoring it completely. he never gives a response, he’s aware you are messing with him, that you know his intentions.

“are you sure that’s the case?” he inquires, he can see through you, with or without the blessing of harmony. odd, you think, you feel at much peace with a man knowing everything there is to about you. you nod, no nightmare could keep you up at night, not with him right next to you.

“would a lullaby help?” there goes your favorite question. you nod eagerly, akin to a kid. he clears his throat, then begins humming a song softly, you recognize it, not sure of the name. exhaustion fills your senses, with your heart full, you drift off to sleep.