thinking about that headcannon abt katsuki where people say he smells like caramel because of his quirk… jus imagining he tastes like it too, cause im a freak <3
you love to kiss up and down his shirtless body, pressing hot, sloppy open mouth kisses against sweat drenched skin. katsuki thinks you’re weird, truly, for being so turned on at the stench of him coming home from the gym, but you just can’t help yourself, he just smells, and tastes so fucking good.
you wanna eat him up. you tell him this too, all the time. admittedly it’s one of the things you say to katsuki that gets him the most worked up; knowing you’re so attracted to him in any state, but especially his most disheveled state; staring at him with hungry eyes, practically undressing him the second he steps in the door, tired and sweaty from a long day at the office. there’s nothing more that he wants than a shower; except maybe you yanking at the waistband of his slacks, teeth nibbling softly at the skin of his neck as you beg for him to just fuck you already <//3
you love to put his fingers in your mouth, using em like your own personal lil lollipop suckers, and katsuki loves to watch you suck em <3 gets him so fucking hard so fast, you’ve got maybe a minute or two maximum before he’s yanking them out of your spit pooling mouth, forcing it on his dick instead
but his favorite sight to see is you mewling and moaning around his cock, genuinely salivating over the taste and weight of it in your mouth. it’s so lewd, and so fucking hot for him to see you staring up at him between his shaking thighs, tears pooling down your blushed cheeks as you choke harshly on his member. he almost has half the mind to pull you off of him n ask if you’re okay; but katsuki knows you well enough to know that those tears are ones being shed from your pleasure, not pain <3
synopsis: Katsuki wants to know why you only want to fuck in the dark
“What did you just say?”
“I -don’t. I just d-dont think I’m that attractive” you whimper as his pace grew more calculated, more precise. Each thrust jolting you forward while you lay on your side. Panties still hooked around your left knee
He spreads you open and it makes your gummy walls squelch around him. Your insides leaking essence of your overwhelming arousal. You moan his name
The next thing you feel is him holding the back of your thighs and rolling in one swift motion to where he’s now on his back with yours pressed firmly against his chest.
His cock still inside you, his legs spread to anchor himself as he snakes his arm around the back of your neck clasping his fingers together. He’s got you in a Full Nelson
“Alexa turn on lights”
Your eyes flicker as they adjust to the brightness. They scan the room. From the mirror above you and the one in front. You’re so open and exposed it has you feeling embarrassed so you look away
“COME ON OPEN YOUR EYES” he demands
“Look how sexy you look impaled on my cock like this” his voice so pungent with need, heat, —lust. It causes goosebumps to erupt all over your body
When you turn your head again, your eyes were locked in on the parts where you’re both connected. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you watch your juices smear all over your pussy, around the base of his cock and down his balls
He thrusts and you watch as his thick veiny cock slide its way inside of you. Your hole oozing and clamping down on it it makes him grunt
“Fff-Hear that?”
Your juices only adding a slicker, messier effect to the way he’s fucking you for you to see
“That’s perfection”
It’s like you were hypnotized at sight, the clapping of skin representing the ticking of the hands on a clock. Your pussy only welcomes him more and more. Stretching so deliciously you couldn’t help but abandon your shy nature.
“—morreee please”
and when both your eyes meet in the mirror above. Your mouth is slack with drool almost halfway down the corner -looking like you were high off some type of drug.
“Yeah that’s it! -keep sucking me in just like that” the way he licks over your ear right after causes you to moan “m-gonna cum so hard daddddy!”
That got him
“You -ah —you fuckin’ —little shit” he pants. Unable to stop himself from shooting his hot gooey load inside you. Your pussy keeps spasming on his cock milking him more and more making his pants only get louder.
Trying to catch your breath as both your juices leak from every direction of your greedy hole. He rolls you swiftly on to your tummy and puts your legs together
“You -Fuck —I’m not done with you!” he says as he positions the tip of his leaking cock between your pussy lips and slides so deep in your mouth hangs open
Doing the TikTok ‘Hear Me Out’ trend with Bakugo except he crashes out every time you put something down.
“Okay, my first hear me out is Sans from Undertale.”
That sends him into a frenzy. Bakugo immediately snatches the paper from you in hopes that it will let him forget what you just said.
“What the fuck? A skeleton?” Red eyes glare into yours and you swear he looks as if he’s about to kill you.
You just chuckle, “He won Tumblr Sexyman!” You explain, as if that one sentence justifies everything. It doesn’t. Who still uses Tumblr, anyway?
Bakugo rolls his eyes and turns back to your phone, now awaiting his turn.
“My hear me out is my partner, y/n.”
Your eyes widen at his nonchalance, as if this is the most reasonable thing. As if dating you is that bad for him to include you.
“Katsuki, you’re supposed to pick someone that’s undesirable!” You explain, hoping that this was just a misunderstanding, he was never the best at TikTok trends anyways.
He shrugs, “Yeah and I’m sure my choice is justified once everyone hears what you just picked.”
You scoff and look away, which makes him smile.
“Also, I don’t have any ‘hear me outs’ so.” He begins softly, a small like forming, “The only one I want is you.”
You turn to him and gush, “You’re so sweet.” A hand comes up to wipe a fake tear, and he’s almost proud of what he just did
But that pride is quickly forgotten.
“Anyways, my next pick is Bill Cipher!”
“A triangle? Are you fucking joking?” He yells, his quirk activating. It’s safe to say that the cake was quickly destroyed soon after.
bf!kirishima hcs | implied fem reader 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯’
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - the golden retriever boyfriend
༄ his confession was an absolute HOT MESS.
he stood in front of you with his usual grin cracked into something nervous, faltering at the edges, stretching and slipping into something nervous. the usual sparkle in his eyes dimmed to a tentative flicker.
in his hands, hands that could easily shatter concrete at his grasp, a ridiculously oversized plush bunny trembled ever so slightly, one ear bent askew awkwardly where he’d been gripping it too tight, trembled slightly in his hands, and a small box of your favorite sweets peeked out from his pocket, the wrapping crinkling every time he shifted his weight.
his usually optimistic composure was hanging by a mere thread as a wave of ‘uhh’ and ‘oh’s tumbled out, his nerves swallowing his overly practiced confession through.
luckily for him, you were able to understand and even admire his attempts of impressing you; you quickly caught the tremor in his tone, the way his shoulders hunched a fraction too far forward, and you felt a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.
you couldn’t help but find it endearing how much he kept stumbling over his words with you, especially with the massive plushie he had nervously placed before you, along with your favourite sweet treat as a heattfelt gift!
his sentimental gestures were rooted from nothing but genuine affection, with his unwavering kindness radiating from every bone in his body, leaving you with a warm flutter in your chest.
he let out a relieved, boisterous laugh, the hardening on his hands melting away into a warm, relaxed grip on yours, clutching like never before.
༄ on your first date, he would definitely brace himself for how breathtaking you’d look when dressed up, and to avoid being tense and blurting out any thought of you that comes to his mind.
he tells himself he’s ready. braces for it, even.
“okay. cool. cool. normal. you’re gonna be normal about this,” he mutters under his breath, pacing back and forth for what has to be the tenth time, hands clapping together once like he’s hyping himself up before a match. “it’s just her. you literally see her all the time. no big deal.”
there’s a pause.
“…she’s gonna look amazing.”
he groans, dragging his hands down his face.
“don’t say that out loud. don’t—don’t say anything weird, man…”
which is probably the reason why he shows up a whole hour early.
he tells himself it’s to “scope the place out,” but really, it’s because sitting still anywhere else feels impossible with how fast his heart’s racing.
“oh—hey! you—uh—hi!” he starts, voice a little louder than he meant to be, then immediately winces. “i mean—”
he cuts himself off, laughing awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
“you look… really good,” he settles on, softer this time. more honest. his grin returns, a little shy around the sides. “like, really good.”
“wait! I got you something—well, two things—hold on—”
he fumbles slightly before holding out a bundle of your favorite flowers, a little more carefully this time, aware of how important they are.
“and this—uh—” he adds, pulling out a small keychain, pink and sparkling all around, turning it in his fingers for a second before handing it over. “it just… kinda reminded me of you. I saw it and didn’t even think about it, I just—yeah, had to get it.”
he laughs under his breath, a little embarrassed now.
“sorry, that sounds kinda lame, huh?”
but he gazes at you anyway, hopeful.
because even if he’s nervous, even if he trips over his words, everything about it is genuine.
༄ he loves matching with EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING.
from phone cases, even if he had to dig through three different shops to find it, to pyjamas, and even hair colours!
mentioned offhandedly to him that you wanna dye your hair?
he’s already grinning ear to ear, questioning over and over which shade, insisting on dyeing a strip of his hair too.
bought a new co-ord? best believe, he is on his way to be finding matching jordans or a tee to the exact shade of yours!
you’d turn around just in time to see him standing there, staring like you’d just done something miraculous.
“pause. wait right here,” he said immediately, pointing at you like you might disappear. “don’t move. seriously. don’t move.”
“…kiri—”
“i’m serious!”
then he was gone.
you could hear him rummaging through drawers, something toppling over another, a muffled “not that one..—” followed by more commotion.
when he came back, slightly out of breath, he was holding up a shirt like he’d just made the greatest find of his life.
“okay—okay—this is close, right?” he said, stepping up to you and holding it next to your sleeve, squinting like the difference in shade was a life-or-death situation. “it’s, like, one tone off—but I think it works. wait—no, hang on—”
he leaned in closer, shoulder faintly brushing yours as he adjusted the fabric, completely absorbed in his fascination.
༄ he ADORES cooking anything for you, whatever the weather is like and whatever your mood is!
doesn’t matter if it’s pouring rain outside, or the kind of still evening where neither of you feel like moving from the couch. doesn’t matter if you’re buzzing with energy or barely managing to murmur a tired “hi..” when you walk through the door.
he’s already made his way to the kitchen.
“hey, you’re back! perfect timing!” he calls out the second he hears you, voice bright and warm as ever, with something sizzling loudly behind him. “don’t come in yet—seriously, I mean it! it’s not ready!”
let it be a lazy yet thoughtful cozy dish, or something overly extravagant for the two of you as a well done meal after the long week you’ve both had.
even though it isn’t gourmet, every bite tastes full of comfort and warmth.
༄ he is ABSOLUTELY the type to sleep talk.
it always begins the same way, subtle at first. just soft, uneven murmurs against your shoulder while he’s curled around you, one arm heavy across your waist, pulling you close even in his sleep as second nature.
you don’t even notice it at first.
not until—
“—c’mon… that’s not fair…”
his voice is rough with sleep, barely above a whisper, words slurring together as his grip tightens just slightly around you.
you startle, then blink, glancing over your shoulder.
“…kiri?” you whisper, careful not to move too much.
No response.
only a soft exhale against your neck—and then, quieter this time—
“…I said I’d carry it…
you have to press your lips together to stifle your laughter.
because of course he’s still being stubbornly considerate, even when unconscious.
your hand drifts up to his hair, fingers slipping gently between his soft spikes, and he leans into it instantly.
his brows pinch faintly, then smoothen, expression shifting for a second before smoothing out again, his hold on you tightening just enough to be noticeable.
his pitiful murmurs, that echo through your shared room whilst he keeps you tucked close always brings a warm beam to your face as you cherish how pure his tenderness is for you.
༄ he is nothing short of attentive towards you, as if loving you is second nature.
he is always considerate of your moods whenever and wherever, always reading the telltale signs of your face, shadowing over you whenever you feel overwhelmed each time you’re out in public or interlacing your fingers with his whenever you crave his warmth as an anchor, nonetheless making your heart flutter everytime ఌ︎’.
thank you for reading, please like and reblog (๑>◡<๑)ྀིྀི.
shouto always facetimes you when he's wearing a suit even if he has nothing to actually say, so one afternoon when you answer his incoming call and are greeted by the sight of his buttoned-down and lapelled chest, your face immediately feels hot.
"shouto?" you ask, your voice infuriatingly flustered even though you had tried your very best to choke it back. "what's up?"
and then he tilts the camera back up to its usual position—a little too high, so really it's just the bridge of his nose, his eyes, and the top of his head left at the very bottom of the screen. and simply he goes: "i'm wearing a suit."
"i can see that," you reply, resisting the urge to drag your hand down your face—equal parts frustrated and horrifically endeared to your boyfriend's familiar antics. "is that the reason you called?"
"i know you like when i wear them so i wanted to call and show you."
PROMPT. How they mourn when you were gone too soon. You did worry about getting old, didn’t you?
FEATURING. Midoriya I., Bakugou K., Todoroki S., Shinsou H.
NOTE. I’m testing the waters with angst content + formatting style for multiple drabbles—so forgive me if it’s not that good!
MIDORIYA IZUKU — Sees you in someone else.
Midoriya Izuku found passion in teaching. It’s a life-changing job that molds each and every student into the person they want to become with the help of people like him.
His students, vibrant and full of life, were so much like his old classmates—and among them was Takashiro Ayane, her laughter light and melodic as she teased one of her friends about their clumsy landing during training.
It reminded him of someone. Someone close.
You.
And the thought always came to him, even when he didn’t mean to. Even at the most random times.
Ayane’s resemblance to you was uncanny. It wasn’t just her kindness or the gentle way she spoke; it was in the way she held herself, her subtle but unwavering resolve. Midoriya could see flashes of you in her—the friend who had once been a constant source of warmth in his turbulent journey at U.A. High.
As Ayane reached up to adjust her headband, smiling brightly, Midoriya felt a pang in his chest. The sight was like a memory brought to life, a reminder of your soft-spoken encouragement and the way you always stood firm despite your fears.
God, it felt like seeing you all over again.
“Sensei!” another student called out, pulling him back to the present. “Did you see that move? I think it might actually work in combat! Or support, if I feel like it.”
Midoriya blinked, shaking off the haze of memories. “Y-Yeah, it looked great!” he replied, mustering enthusiasm. “Your timing’s improving a lot—keep it up!”
He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the here and now, but it was no use. The resemblance was too striking, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You were gone, after all. Gone too soon.
As the students broke into laughter again, something about the carefree sound and the dynamic of his students triggered a reflex. Without thinking, he spoke, his voice soft yet audible enough to be heard.
“[First Name], I—”
Your name left his lips before he realized it, and the world seemed to freeze. The students fell silent, their laughter replaced by curious stares. Ayane tilted her head; confusion could be seen in her face.
Midoriya’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He quickly forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean Takashiro,” he corrected, craning a hand to the back of his neck.
“Sorry about that. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
The students exchanged glances, a few offering polite chuckles before moving on. The moment passed, yet for Midoriya, the weight of it lingered. He stayed behind as the students began their walk back to the main building, his gaze fixed on the ground.
Everything came flooding in his mind. Like a relentless tide that swept him away. Your jokes, your laugh, and the countless little moments that had defined your friendship.
He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years, not since your passing. Now, saying it felt like reopening an old wound, one he had carefully avoided for so long. But he could only do so much avoidance ‘til he has to come to terms with it.
“Sensei?”
The gentle voice startled him, and he looked up to see Ayane standing a few steps away. Her expression was concerned; her head tilted slightly as she studied him.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”
Midoriya hesitated. The words caught in his throat as he wrestled with how to respond. How could he explain to his student that she reminded him of his dead friend?
What kind of teacher would he be if he were to say that? The awful, grieving kind, he bets.
“I’m fine, Takashiro,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know how these long training sessions can be.”
She didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. “If you ever need to talk, Sensei... we’re here for you too. Fighting!”
“Midoriya, grow a spine! Fighting!”
Her words hit too close to home.
“Thank you,” he could only murmur.
Ayane lingered for a moment before turning to join her classmates. He remained there, rooted to the spot as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The golden light bathed the empty training grounds, and the silence felt heavier than usual.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried to move on, but I see you everywhere. In everything. In everyone.”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a mix of regret and longing washing over him. “You were right about so many things,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I just wish you were here to see it—to see how far we’ve all come.”
But you weren’t here anymore, and that’s the problem.
Bakugou Katsuki — Mourns you longer than he’d known you.
Cemeteries never brought discomfort to Bakugou. Not until you died, that is.
The place stretches out in solemn silence; the faint rustle of leaves in the hedges are the only sounds he heard as he trudged along the familiar gravel path. His boots made dull, deliberate crunches against the fallen leaves, the heaviness of his steps matching the weight in his chest.
In his hands, he carried the usual offerings: a bouquet of red spider lilies tied neatly with a ribbon, a box of your favorite sweet treats—melon pan today—and the incense sticks he always lit with care. It had been years since your passing, but for Bakugou, the loss felt as raw as if it had been yesterday.
He approached your gravestone, its surface polished and pristine, just as he always left it. Your name was etched into the stone with delicate precision, the sight of it both grounding and crushing. As if to remind him that you weren’t coming back because you’re just here, waiting for someone to visit you.
Bakugou knelt, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though even now he couldn’t fully accept your absence. Why can’t he accept it?
“Yo, dummy,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lilies from their wrapping and placing them carefully at the vase near the gravestone. He adjusted them twice, three times, until they looked just right. His eyes lingered on the name etched into the cold stone, a bitterness creeping into his tone.
“Brought your damn flowers again. Hope you appreciate it.”
The sarcasm in his words was thinly veiled; beneath it lay the unmistakable ache of someone who had loved and lost far too deeply.
He pulled out the incense sticks next, lighting them with a practiced flick beneath his palm. You would’ve loved to see him do it in person; maybe light up a candle or two when the power goes out during your high school dorm days. The smell of sandalwood quickly mingled with the damp earth, and Bakugou leaned back on his heels, staring at the curling smoke.
“Another week down,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Another round of saving people, making headlines, being the ‘Great Dynamight.’ ” He spat the title out like it was poison.
“It’s what you always said I’d do, isn’t it? Go big; make my mark. But, damn it, [Last Name], none of it means anything without you here to see it.”
He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as the familiar wave of guilt and frustration washed over him. His head dipped as he let out a long, ragged breath.
“I thought time was supposed to make this easier,” Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. “It’s been... what? Seven years now? And every damn day, it still feels like you’re just gonna show up out of nowhere, like you’re gonna annoy the hell outta me with one of your stupid jokes.”
The thought made his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, though it was laced with sadness. He could almost hear your voice—that gentle yet persistent tone you’d use whenever you tried to drag him along to something.
“C’mon, Bakugou, I’ll need someone to bail me out of jail! You’ll regret it if you don’t come along.”
And you were right. He regretted it now. Every single refusal, every grumbled excuse, every moment he could’ve spent with you and didn’t.
“You were annoying as hell,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you were... you were good. Too good.” His fists loosened, his hands falling limply to his sides.
“And you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to go like that.” Bakugou remembers the time he almost stained his conduct by almost killing the villain that got to you.
It’s unfair, isn’t it? The villain got to live behind bars, while you lost yours.
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees above. Bakugou tilted his head back, glaring up at the overcast sky as though it were to blame for everything.
“They don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts,” he said bitterly. “To lose someone like you. They don’t tell you that the longer it’s been, the harder it gets, ‘cause every year just reminds me of how much more I’ve missed. How much quicker I could’ve been.”
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. It was yours, something your family had found amongst your belongings after you passed. They wanted him to have it since his name was always frequently mentioned. The edges were frayed, the pages creased from countless readings, but it was his most treasured possession.
Bakugou would rather die than even let a single drop of water meet one of its pages.
Flipping it open, he scanned your handwriting, some neat and some looking as though you couldn’t be bothered with basic penmanship. He stopped on a page that always gutted him.
Life’s short. Spend it with the people who matter. Don’t let moments slip away! :P
His thumb brushed over the words, his jaw tightening.
“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, you know. I get it. Too late, but I get it.”
He placed the notebook on the gravestone, letting it rest there for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. His hand lingered on the cold stone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters of your name.
“You were supposed to stick around,” he said softly. “Supposed to keep bugging me, keep dragging me out of my own damn head. Now I’m stuck here, talking to a rock, and it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”
The clouds began to part, a faint beam of sunlight breaking through and casting a soft glow over the gravestone. Bakugou stared at it, his eyes unreadable. He’s thinking.
“I’ll keep coming back,” he finally said, his voice steadier now.
“Every week, every month, every damn year. You’re not gonna be forgotten. Not by me.”
He stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Adjusting the incense sticks and flowers one last time, he stepped back, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“See you next time, dummy,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t forget about me or whatever, wherever you are.”
As Bakugou walked away, the wind carried the faint scent of incense and the quiet promise of a man who would mourn you longer than he’d ever known you.
TODOROKI SHOUTO — Learns things that reminded him of you.
Todoroki knows that he’s been busy. It’s in the way the white camellias he brought you months ago are now wilted, showing their dried-up state. His fingers brush against the wilted petals, lingering as if to apologize for not visiting sooner.
“I still remember the last thing you said to me,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. “It wasn’t even anything serious—just you scolding me for not eating enough during lunch. You were always so good at taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
He glanced down, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. The image of you—scolding, your hands on your hips as you tried to hide your worry—was etched so vividly into his memory that he could almost hear your voice.
Todoroki’s gaze traveled to the offerings he had brought with him: a fresh bouquet of camellia, a neatly folded scarf he had knitted in one of his new hobbies that he took up classes for, and a small pack of your favorite matcha-flavored sweets. “I know you’d laugh at me for picking up knitting,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But... it’s calming. I think you’d appreciate that. You always said I needed to find something that made me happy outside of being a hero.”
The scarf was simple, a pale green color that reminded him of the shade you loved wearing. He had spent hours perfecting it, thinking of how you might have joked about him for being so precise yet ultimately praised his effort.
“I hope you’d like it,” he whispered, setting it down carefully beside the gravestone. “I thought about giving it to someone else, but it felt wrong. It’s yours.”
Todoroki draws in a breath, closing his eyes, letting the stillness of the place envelop him. Yet in the quiet, his mind raced with so many thoughts all at once.
“I also learned how to cook,” he tells you—he tells your grave. “It’s not as good as yours, but Bakugou’s been helping.”
He thought of your childhood, how you had been his only light during the dark days of his father’s strict training. How you had been this bubbly girl that the teacher often praised, how you had stood by him when he was still new to making friends at the nursery, offering him a hand when he thought he didn’t deserve one.
“You were the best person I knew. And I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that, [Last Name]. You were my friend when I didn’t know how to be one back.”
The pain of those words hung heavy in the air, and Todoroki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had spent years replaying your interactions, wishing he had done things differently. If he had done things differently, you would’ve been here, probably teasing him for taking up chopstick-making classes.
“I was so angry back then,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the gravestone. “At my father, at myself, at the world. And I took it out on you, the one person who never stopped trying to help me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, but... I needed you.”
Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away, frustrated by the way his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was the Number Two Hero now, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Yet here, in front of you, he felt like the lost, broken little boy that longed for his first friend.
“I need you now, please.”
The sound of a bird chirping nearby pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting a hue that reminded him of your warmth.
You did like sunsets, didn’t you?
“You’d probably scold me for crying,” he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice still wavered. “You always hated seeing me upset. But I think it’s okay this time. You’re worth crying over.”
He knelt down again, his fingers brushing over the engraved letters of your name.
“Shoucchan! You can’t cry! We can be partners—the best partners!”
Yes, partners. The best partners for as long as you’ll have him.
“I’m trying to live the way you wanted me to,” he continued. “To find happiness outside of being a hero. To be someone you’d be proud of. But it’s hard, [Last Name]. It’s hard without you.”
He stayed there for what felt like hours, speaking to you as though you were sitting beside him, as though your gentle presence could somehow reach across the veil of death. He told you about his hero work, about the classes he was taking, about the little moments of joy he tried to find in a life that often felt too heavy.
Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from kneeling for so long, but he barely noticed.
“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears that still shimmered in his eyes. “And I won’t let you wait so long again. Next time, I’ll bring something better than just a flower. Maybe one of those awful paintings you always said I should make.”
As he turned to leave, he hesitated, glancing back at the gravestone one last time. As if you’d be there with open arms, waiting for him.
“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that only you could understand.
He walked away slowly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the stillness. The cemetery grew quiet once more, the only reminder of his visit the small offerings left behind—silent testaments to a bond that even death could not sever.
SHINSOU HITOSHI — Avoidance by all means necessary, until he finally caves in.
If you were to ask Shinsou what his prized possession was, he’ll tell you that it’s a shoe box. A shoe box that seemed to hold the world—your world, with remnants of a friendship that had lasted his entire life—a lifetime with you.
Shinsou sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hovering over the box as though touching it might shatter him. He had been avoiding this moment for weeks. The funeral had been a blur, the condolences—a cacophony of words that didn’t mean anything because he knew that they couldn’t possibly understand how it feels. Everyone seemed to know the right things to say, except him.
All he had wanted was for you to be there, to laugh at how awkward he was with the whole ordeal.
Now, it was just silence.
With a deep breath, he finally reached into the box, pulling out the first item: a knitted scarf, a rich shade of violet. It was slightly uneven, the handiwork amateur at best, but it was one of the first gifts you’d ever made for him. He could still remember your smile when you handed it over during your middle school years.
“I thought it’d look good on you,” you had said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Don’t laugh! It’s my first try. Nuh uh, I’m taking this back—Hitoshi!”
He hadn’t laughed. Ok, maybe just a quiet chuckle, but he had worn it every winter since.
He leaned forward again, staring into the box. Inside were the tokens of a life intertwined with his—handmade crafts, small souvenirs, and letters tied with ribbons in colors you knew he liked. Each item was a story, a piece of you you had given him, never expecting you would be taken away so soon.
He gently picked up a small ceramic cat figurine, its paint slightly chipped. It was from one of your family trips abroad.
“I saw this and thought of you!”
Younger Shinsou blinked, confused.
“Me?”
You nodded. “You’re like this cat. All serious, but secretly soft and comforting.”
Shinsou chuckled softly at the memory, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He had teased you for it back then, calling it tacky, but it had ended up on his desk at home. Now, it felt like a sacred relic.
Setting the figurine down, he reached for another item. Shinsou pulled out a small, framed photo of the two of you at a summer festival. He was scowling at the camera while you grinned beside him, holding up two sticks of cotton candy. It was one of the rare times you had dragged him out, insisting he needed to “experience life beyond his walls” when he just wanted to sleep in.
He’d go to every summer festival in the country—even if it meant losing sleep—as long as he gets to do it with you.
The frame trembled slightly in his grip as he swallowed the lump in his throat.
He pulls out a well-worn journal. It was yours. He hesitated, knowing that opening it would feel both comforting and unbearably painful. After a moment, he gave in, flipping through the pages.
Inside were your thoughts—notes about school, sketches of the two of them, and half-finished poems you had written during quiet afternoons.
The prince has been so stressed lately.
I wish I could take it all away.
He deserves the world, but he won’t let himself believe it.
Maybe one day he’ll see himself the way I do.
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been like that—putting everyone else first, even when you had your own struggles. He closed the journal and held it to his chest, his breath shaky.
“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you how much you meant to me.”
The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as he sat there in the coming twilight. He thought back to the nights they had spent stargazing, sharing their dreams and fears. You had been his constant, his answer, his light, even when he didn’t know he needed one.
His phone buzzed again, a reminder that the world kept moving even when his had stopped. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from his secretary.
Meeting tomorrow at 9, Sir. You told me to remind you.
Shinsou scoffed bitterly, tossing the phone aside. Work didn’t matter right now. Nothing did.
He looked back into the box and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He had almost forgotten about it. It was from your high school years, during a particularly tough exam season.
“This is for luck,” you had said, carefully handing it to him with an awed expression. “And if it doesn’t work, at least it’s cute, right?”
He remembered stuffing it into his pocket, too embarrassed to admit how much it meant to him at the time. Now, it felt like a lifeline.
As he unfolded the crane carefully, a note inside revealed itself. The ink was slightly faded, but your handwriting was unmistakable.
You’re going to be amazing. Always.
A choked sob escaped him, and he clenched the note tightly in his fist. You had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself. He wished he could’ve seen this sooner.
When it got dark, Shinsou didn’t bother turning on the lights. The silence felt appropriate—a space for his grief to exist without judgment.
“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t even know how to keep going without you.”
He glanced at the small collection of gifts and letters spread out on the table. Each one was a reminder of the life you two had shared—a life you had enriched with your thoughtfulness and love.
Though the pain was overwhelming, Shinsou knew he couldn’t let your memory fade. You had given him so much, and the least he could do was honor you by living the way you would have wanted—fully and without regret.
“I’ll keep going,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to you. “You’d probably get mad if I slept in.”
The room remained quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. But for Shinsou, it felt as though you were still there, your presence lingering in every corner of his heart.
