She/Her || My Ao3 Account || Masterpost
“Beautiful means ‘full of beauty.’ Beautiful is not about how you look on the outside, beautiful is about what you’re made of. Beautiful people spend time discovering what their idea of beauty on this earth is. They know themselves well enough to know what they love, and they love themselves enough to fill up with a little of their particular kind of beauty each day.”
Request: “I loved your last Bakugo story! Can you write a Social Media AU with the reader as a Pro-Hero partnered with Bakugo and the news just WONT stop hounding them and thinks that they're dating (which they actually are and are just hiding it?) LOVE YOU!“
T/W: Mentions to objectification by the media, descriptions of hypothermia and frostbite.
Summary: “After a fight that leaves Bakugo and Hero Partner severely injured, the media starts to pick up on the hints of a forbidden romance. Both Pro-Heroes insist that they’re grasping at straws, but the longing looks they share seem to tell a different story.”
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Your phone had been blowing up for hours before you even knew what was going on. You had been a tough fight, one that left you with the wounds to show. Katsuki had gotten out of it mostly in one piece, mostly thanks to you and your complete disregard for your personal safety.
You had been in the bathroom, carefully patching yourself up for the better part of an afternoon. Your left arm was frostbitten like nobody’s business, fingers stained a deep purple, your veins a matching ugly shade of lavender. Your quirk had this nasty habit of freezing you from the inside out, leaving you a permanent shade of lilac. You had been gently re-warming your frozen body most of the afternoon, starting with a freezing cold ice-bath as you gently introduced more warm water. You couldn’t risk shocking yourself and further damaging the already fragile skin.
You were lying on the bathroom floor, arm submerged in steaming water with your phone abandoned on the sink. For most of the afternoon you had been too worried about not losing your damn arm to notice the constant vibrating and pinging of the device.
What pushed you to action was the constant ringing of Mina calling you, the phone going as far to vibrate itself off the counter – also deciding that death was better than the constant annoyance of your best friend prying into your life. Assuming that she’d only call for something important, you reluctantly pulled your arm from the water and hobbled over to your now cracked phone, swiping up to accept her call.
“Babes!” She was overly chipper as always, an affront to your dulled and overworked senses. “Have you seen the news?” You let out a sigh of relief and dropped back down, leaning against the porcelain wall of the bath as you held the phone to your ear with your good hand. Your body creaked with exhaustion, bones aching and hands still shaking. The fight had ended in the late hours of last night, both you and Katsuki dragged from your respective homes by the sounds of screaming and general mayhem that only a villain could bring.
You hadn’t bothered to check any reports from the fight; you had seen them all countless times. News agencies would report the fight, praise your fighting and condemn the acts of the villain, all while trying to cast the blame onto someone else. You didn’t need to see them to know exactly what was being said, still your curiosity was peaked. “No, what’s going on?”
“You know how you threw up that Ice shield to protect him?” You looked down at your arm, the frozen limb still numbly throbbing in the tepid water. It hadn’t so much created a shield as used your body as one. You’d frozen close to half your body to absorb the blows, your arm receiving the worst of the treatment. You were still thawing out and beginning to worry that you’d done irreversible damage.
“Acutely,” you mumbled, your arm throbbing at the thought. “Why?”
“Well, he was kind of… staring at you like you had hung every star in the sky?” She said, almost questioning herself with a slight wince. You hummed to yourself. It would have been nice to see that.
“That’s sweet,” you said, thinking back to your boyfriend. He was always a softie, even if he hated to admit it. You’d take a hit for him any day of the week, even if it did nearly cost you an arm each time. “What’s the fuss?”
“Well, half the nation watched that fight, more specially his reaction.” It took you a minute to catch on, you chalked it up to your still recovering mind. When it finally clicked you shot up, muffling a scream almost immediately as your arm loudly clunked against the porcelain walls of the tub. You heard Mina wince at the sound.
“Oh shit,” you said, cradling your arm. “Is it bad?” You had to imagine it was.
“Pretty,” She responded, confirming your worst fears. She wasn’t one to sugarcoat, and she rarely called for no reason. “People are on damage control, but it’s kind of hard to excuse that kind of look as just ‘platonic work affection’. The agency is asking for you to say something in response, maybe condemn the network’s coverage of the fight?”
“I can try, but I don’t really know what there is to say,” you said into the phone, hobbling out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to re-boil some water. You couldn’t just run the bath, having to have acute control over the temperature, and that only came by slowly adding water at your own pace. Thawing oneself out was always a tedious process.
“Y/N you’re still in your apartment, right?” She asked, her voice distant. You could hear interlaced voices in the background, no doubt surrounded by your mutual friends.
“Yeah, my arms still pretty banged up,” you answered. You tried flexing your fingers and twisting your arm, your elbow still well and truly frozen in the protective position you’d taken all those hours ago. You could slowly twitch your thumb and forefinger, which you saw as progress.
“Talk about that. People are harping on about your love life and not even considering the fact that you risked your life and safety for them. Call them out for it, rip them a new one. You’re severely injured and none have even asked about your health because they’re too busy wondering if you’ve sucked Katsuki’s dick yet.” You grimaced; you were grateful you’d get to come across those articles.
“You’re right,” you said, taking the kettle from the stovetop with a hobbled shuffle, your leg still not entirely mobile. “What do you think I should say, exactly?
“I’m always right. Remember when Momo created that massive tent to shield people from falling rubble? She saved close to two thousand lives, but all the news talked about was that for a split second you could kind of see her nipple. It’s not fair! You’ve always been mouthy; you should be the one to rip them apart!” You remembered that day vividly, the embarrassed hot tears Momo had cried onto your shoulder and the vile comments that filled her timeline. It wasn’t until other women stood up for her that it stopped. People spread the false rumour that it was a blurred piece of her hair. Agencies paying news sights to spread the information like wildfire. She hadn’t heard about it in years. You were grateful for that. She didn’t deserve to be objectified for the risks she took to save lives.
With anger pumping through your veins (the ones that were thawed, at least) you scrolled through your phone, opening your social’s with narrowed eyes, and pointed glares. “That’s it, I’m getting twitter.”
“Hell yeah! You go!” You mumbled a thanks and hung up, typing as fast as you could with your good hand. Your anger grew with the more you typed, watching as the notifications flooded in from the top of your screen. Intrusive questions, disrespectful comments, you saw it all as you furiously typed, never going back on a word you said. You let your anger flood out into your words, you sent off the first tweet, staring at the likes that flooded in.
You had intended to stop at one, but reading the comments people only seemed to take your words and twist them. If they wanted something to talk about, you’d give them something to talk about. Bakugo had always called you dramatic for a reason. Typing out your newest thread, you didn’t hold a single thing back, years of anger and frustration flooding out. When you reached the end, your fingers seemed to move on their own as you scrolled through your photo albums, lilac finger gently hovered over the one image you held most dear.
You clicked on it slowly, pulling up the precious memory you had been aching to share with the world for months. You could remember the night so vividly, the emptied bottles of wine and whispered confessions, the way you had danced around the apartment to the hummed tones of your boyfriend. The way he pulled you close and promised to never let go. The sensation of cool metal sliding against heated skin. The world was awaiting your reply, thousands of replies flooding into the incomplete thread you had been crafting.
You hit send, and closed out the app, putting your phone on do not disturb. You sent a quick text to Katsuki asking him to come over before you closed your phone and lied down on the cool tiled floor of your bathroom. You felt lighter than you ever had before, the warmth in your heart outweighing the freezing shivers that echo through your body.
You knew the world would be freaking out, but for once it wasn’t something you cared for, your eyes focused on the ring that sat snugly on your finger.
BONUS:
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Want this continued or have another story idea? Request here: Link!
Request: “Can you do a Bakugo x Reader with the song ‘Heather’ by Conan Grey?”
Song prompt: Heather by Conan Grey [Link]
T/W: Minor references to insecurity and self-esteem issues. Angst with a happy ending!
Summary: You had always filled your Diary with your thoughts and feelings, it was an extension of yourself. The lined pages were covered in scrawled writings professing your love for your classmate, outlining your future together in graphic detail. Never did you think you’d have to write about him planning it with someone else.
~~
“This Diary is a witness to all my failures – that is how drunk I am in love with you. Page after page filled, immortalising my thoughts of you,” You read your diary aloud, fingers tracing over the inked words, it had been your first entry, something you often read back on for posterity.
You could read through each page, watching your life back in chapters. You could remember each pen stroke, each emotion that washed through you in waves. You knew each word, each comma, each hesitant stoke as you fought for what to say. Love unfolded within the pages of the book, a tale of when like became love, when friendship slipped into more. You could see it all, watch your feelings develop into what they were now.
You were hidden behind the school, pressed up against a faded, dilapidated wall. The paint was chipped in places, small grooves had formed in the cement, etched away by years of rain and sun. The pavement was covered in grime and moss; the concrete cracked in the places where plants had begun to re-grow. It was a private area, a place you could be alone with your thoughts. You slid down against the wall; your mind comfortably blank.
You sat with your diary open and splayed out across your lap. Pen in hand, you thought of the right words. You underlined the date again, fiddling with the fountain pen as you thought of what to say, where you could possibly start. “Dearest Diary,” you mumbled to yourself, pen dancing across the lined paper, “Monday was a mess, I’m happy I have you to talk to.”
The morning was uneventful. English was boring, and Math was even worse. It was a day for revision, so we didn’t do much but study for our exams. The teachers were there to answer questions, but they didn’t really do much either. Everything was fine… until lunch.
I was sitting with the usual offenders, Jiro, Mina, Momo – the gang. We were talking, I can’t remember what about. That was when Uraraka walked past. She had her usual radiant smile, waving at everyone she came across. Her laugh was angelic. She had everyone wrapped around her finger. She’s the kind of person who could take your breath away without so much as a passing glance in your direction.
You could still so vividly remember what she looked like. She was one of your best friends; she was a friend to all and an enemy to none. Her eyes held comfort, her smile, life. There were a thousand eyes on her, hundreds of people longing to know who they were, to live in her world. She smelt of daisies and peaches; you smelt of the smoke that slipped through the cracks of your soul, hints of the all-consuming fire that burnt inside.
She wasn’t what took my breath away, not that day. She had forgotten her sweater at home or something. She had been complaining about it that morning during training. But she skipped through the hall, an oversized sweater hanging from her thin frame – it wasn’t hers; anyone could tell at a glance.
It looked good on her. So good. It was oversized, but still fitted her perfectly. She was drowning in the fabric, but I was the one struggling for air. Everyone knew it wasn’t her sweater, only I could tell that the sweater was—
“Katsuki’s.” His name slipped from your lips before you could stop it. Your hand was frozen in place as the ink bleed from his name, it ran down the page in thick lines, blackened tear streaks that soaked into the page and covered everything it touched. You swallowed deeply and turned the page, then another. It soaked each page through, the once perfect and crisp paper wet and heavy with ink. A tear slipped down your cheek, diluting the ink as it continued to slip from the pages. You tore out the stained pages, crumping them to throw over your shoulder. Six pages were destroyed before you found one you could write in again.
A breeze rolled through the field, the crisp afternoon air tossing countless autumn leaves into the air. You watched as they danced on the wind, wishing the wind could take you somewhere safe. One leaf drifted down from the tree-tops, carried through the wind before and carefully dropping onto your book. You turned it over, the delicate ruby-red leaf mocking you, staring at you like the eyes that haunted your dreams.
You crushed it in your hand, the dried frond crumbling like ash. You opened your hand and allowed the wind to blow to the shards out of your hand, watching through broken eyes as it drifted around you in ribboned twirls.
I knew it was his sweater, how could I not? I had worn the same sweater days prior.
You could still feel the warmth, the thick layers of polyester still protecting you from the wind, even as your bare arms laid exposed to the elements.
The broken zipper, the scuffs and tears, the stains and worn sleeves. It felt like a second skin, something that belonged to me, something that joint the two of us together. I knew it better than I knew my mind. Whenever I wore it, I could feel him around me. His cologne would soak into the fabric; it was always cinnamon and cardamom. The edges were burnt, from where he set off explosions with little care. Sometimes I could even smell the burnt caramel.
Do you know what hurt the most though? It wasn’t the smile on her face or the ignorance in her eyes. It was him, the thought of him. Uraraka didn’t understand what she was doing… how could she? Katsuki leant her a sweater, that’s all she thought. That’s all she should have thought; It should have ended at that.
She had waved at you when she walked into the cafeteria; the sweater pooled around her wrists, mocking you as she smiled and called your name. You had smiled back, cracking what smile you could while your body splintered. She didn’t seem aware of the sweater in the same way you were; you doubted she even realised she was wearing it.
To me, it was so much more. It was him laying claim, almost courting her. I’m in love with Katsuki, he’s in love with Uraraka, and she’s in love with Deku, and. What a sad bunch we are, right?
I can count on one hand how many times he’s let me wear his sweater – four, just in case you can’t remember – but there she was, wearing it like it was nothing but an article of clothing. I supposed that’s all it really is, a mess of loose strings and ripped polyester. But we already know how much that mess means to me.
Last time he gave it to me – the third of December, at 11:38am – he said it looked better on me than it did him. He said he’d prefer for me to have it. My heart soared; the butterflies that made their home in my stomach haven’t left since. Can you believe how gullible I was? To believe that it meant anything to him.
That I meant anything to him?
You could still hear it; still feel it. How his breath fanned out against your neck, the rumble in his chest as he hugged you close, whispering that you should keep his sweater. You fruitlessly rubbed away the tear that ran down your cheek, spreading it across your skin with nothing for the droplets to soak into. You cried silently, only a few tears slipping down your cheeks and onto the page below. You wiped them off as soon as they landed, but the damage was already done. The paper was stained in spots, grey shadows cast across the page. You kept writing, hoping the paper wouldn’t rip.
I can’t know what he wants, if his sweater means as much to him as it does to me. Maybe he knows what he’s doing, maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know what to think, I can’t think. Not with the image of his hoodie strings caught between her lips, not with that playing constantly in my mind.
She’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met, if he was going to love her, I can find peace somewhere in myself. I want to hate her, I really do. I want to be angry, to call her horrid names and scream into the sun, but I can’t.
You had been avoiding both of them like the plague since the incident. You skipped out on your shared classes, claiming a stomach ache – which wasn’t entirely false, given the way your stomach had been twisting itself into knots for days. It had been days since you’d spoken to Katsuki and he had asked about you, his eyes searching the halls for you between classes. You’d see him walking the halls, and you’d dive into a classroom, staring through the windows until he was out of sight.
I love Uraraka, she’s sunlight given form. If I love her, how could I be angry at Katsuki for doing the same? He wants someone like her, someone who can dance in the rain, who can run at his pace.
I’ve seen how he looks at her, the way his eyes light up whenever she enters the room. He’s tried to hide it, but I know him too well. He can’t ever take his eyes off her; I always have to force myself to look away before my heart really falls out of my chest.
I wish I was her. I wish that for once he’d look at me the same. Just once, I want to consume his ever-waking thought like he does mine, to trade away this pain in my chest. Tomorrow is another day; I have to smile like I always do. I’m going to grin and bear it. I’m going to laugh at his jokes and pretend that I can ignore this feeling. If I can trick him, maybe one day I can trick myself—
You didn’t get to finish your thought as loud voice boomed through the empty garden. “Oi! Dumbass, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” You looked up to see Bakugo standing before you, arms crossed as he tapped his foot against the pavement impatiently.
You shot up, preparing to make a run for it, but he was by your side before you could take a single step, hand clasped tightly around your wrist. “Where have you been?” His eyes demanded an answer, set sharply on you with a glare. Your heart hammered dangerously in your chest at the tone. His eyes were set on you and you alone as he loomed above your frame; uncomfortably close and uncaring of the tension that hung in the air.
You shivered under the attention, ready to buckle at the knees. You were all too weak around him, especially with the way your mind ran wild knowing that you were alone with no one watching. “Around,” you answered vaguely, pulling on your trapped arm. He didn’t let up, nearing you with a predatory glare. The clearing had never felt smaller, the air never thicker.
“Around? That’s hardly an answer, why haven’t you been in class?” He demanded again, nearing you like a lion descending on a gazelle. You let out a shaky breath, taking a few wobbly steps back until you backed yourself up against the wall of the school, hands spread out against the concrete and eyes widened in fear and expectation. There was nowhere to run, not this time.
“Didn’t feel like it…” You mumbled, refusing to meet his eye.
“Didn’t feel like it — Are you serious?” Your answer only seemed to anger him more, one hand coming to slam against the wall behind your head. The smell of burnt caramel coated your senses, your vision coloured a light grey by the smoke that wafted through the air. “I know you’re stupid, but this a new low for you,” He hissed through clenched teeth. His arm folded against the wall, his entire body resting on the fore-arm that dug into the concrete, his nose almost touching yours.
Your breathing stopped, heart leaping into your throat as you stared, “It’s none of your business, anyway.” You gathered what confidence you could, steeling yourself against his irresistible charm. You glared and pretended to be unaffected, as if heat of your skin didn’t speak volumes.
“Like hell it isn’t!” He shouted, other hand clapping against the concrete when you shifted to move away. He had you trapped with no intention of letting go until he got an answer. “You can’t just skip classes because you feel bad. You’ll get yourself expelled and then goodbye Hero work!” Minor explosions crackled under his hands. “Fucking dumbass!”
“It isn’t any of your business!” you repeated, cocking your head forward. The tension was palpable as you stared, both glaring and panting in anger. You weren’t prepared to give him an answer, to crumble under his fiery gaze and bent to his will. You refused to explain your choices, not to the man that had forced you to make them. “Why do you even care what I do?”
It was rhetorical. It was a challenge, a way of asserting yourself above him. He didn’t seem to notice; the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than your brain could process. “Because I love you, you idiot!”
The world fell silent, his voice a scream above the whispering rustle of leaves and chittering of animals.
“Y-you what?” You struggled, mind running blank.
He cussed under his breath, “I didn’t mean to say that,” he explained, his voice muted against the racing thoughts in your head.
Your facade cracked a little, fracturing under the weight of hope. “You didn’t mean to say it… or you didn’t mean it?” It was an important clarification, one you feared the answer of. Neither outcome was one you expected or knew how to react to. You were scared that he didn’t love you; but you were terrified that he did.
“I’m not a liar, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.
Your heart skipped a beat, thrumming against your ribcage. You started dumbly ahead, a stuttering mess as the words refused to come. “So, you—” You tried, voice cracked and breathy.
“Yes,” he answered quickly, interrupting you before you could get the words out. “Just don’t say it, it’s embarrassing.”
You were too caught up in your own tsunami of thoughts to register his silent plea, “You love me?”
“I just asked you not to say it,” He mumbled, cheeks flaming red, “But, yeah, I do. You’re like, less annoying than the others and you’re not particularly bad to look at.”
The excitement and anxiety of it all was dizzying. You couldn’t even begin to hide the smile on your face. “I’m not bad to look at? Katsuki, I didn’t take you for a romantic,” you laughed, biting back with whatever remark you could. It was hard to find the words, hard to find the courage to even speak. Romance had always been a far off concept, something you could dream about lying in bed or waiting on the bus, faced with the reality of it all, you were about ready to pass out. There was a tension in the air, an understood shift that there was no going back from this point.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” he laughed, flicking your temple. It was all too late; your ego had already inflated to the size of a hot-air balloon at the insinuation that Bakugo ‘I’m too good for anyone’ Katsuki found you attractive. “So, what about you?”
The question was vague but didn’t need clarification. His eyes did all the talking. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you thought of what to say, how to possibly get across the thousands of thoughts that ran through your mind.
It clicked within the second, your eyes widening as the grip around your notebook tightened. “Here,” you said, your voice still a little reluctant. You handed over the Diary, knuckles tensed over the leather-bound book. “This should explain things.”
He took it with a quirked brow but didn’t say much, eyes landing on the diary. He flipped it open and began to read. You smiled to yourself and watched him intently; he was always so gorgeous whenever he read. His bottom lip would jut out slightly, almost pouting as he mumbled to himself – he’d read aloud, inflecting how the characters in a novel would. He’d fall into a story faster than you fell in love with him.
“Wow, I’m flattered,” he said, finishing the passage with a satisfied grin. He was a quick reader; he had always bragged about that.
“Huh?” you questioned as you cocked your head to the side.
“This one section,” he said, pointing to the paragraph he was reading, “it’s very well written, I’m surprised you think that of me.”
“Think what?” Had he really not picked up on the constant longing stares, or the lingering touches? You had assumed you were obvious with it all, god knows the rest of the class noticed.
He smiled boyishly, the kind of grin Kaminari would give the girls in the halls. He began to read, a shine if mischief behind his eyes, “I’ve been training with Katsuki the past few days, it’s a part of the school program – Aizawa thinks we’ll work better in partners, he’s an idiot for assuming that.” Your stomach dropped, eyes widening when you realised exactly what he had read. “Maybe with anyone else it’d be fine, but I keep getting distracted. He takes his shirt off whenever he’s training, he claims that it’s at a risk of burning because of his quirk, I really doubt that. The asshole knows what he’s doing, with those dumb abs and tight—”
“Okay, stop! I get it!” You shouted, reaching to tear the book from his hands. He laughed and held it higher above you.
“Hey, I think it’s cute – in a creepy obsession kind of way,” he teased, shaking the book in the air above you. He was laughing, it was the kind of laugh that seemed to echo around your head for days. It was genuine and real. It was distinct in how he was unabashedly himself as he snorted and choked on air. It was the most beautiful thing you’d heard in a long time – your name on his lips was always a close second.
You jumped and ripped it from his hands with a satisfied shout. “You’re reading the wrong page anyway, moron,” you said as you flipped over a few pages, passing it back over on the newest entry. He smiled; he always seemed to smile around you. The nerves seemed to fade away as you joked together, slipping into your usual dynamic of casual insults and fake resentment. Your heart slowed in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as you took in his calming aura.
He took the book and turned it over in his hands. You watched him take care in the way he held your diary. Whenever he read, he’d trail his finger down the page and track his finger with his eye – he had always said that it helped him read quicker. When reading your diary his fingers only tightened around the spine of the notebook, saving the still drying ink from any smudging. He’d pause every few seconds to wipe his hands on the sides of his pants, taking extra care to ensure no nitro-glycerine slipped onto the pages. He was gentle in a way you hadn’t seen, treating it like the treasure you knew it to be.
He’d pause as he read, eyebrows furrowing or raising. He was impossible to read, occasionally mumbling inaudibly under his breath. You knew he was nearing the end; you could tell in the way that his eyes flicked across the page quicker, his mumbling growing louder as he made his opinions known. It was a lot of insults thrown in your direction for being a dumbass, some were honest thoughts, peaks into his psyche as he searched through yours.
When he looked up at you, his words were blunt, “Well, I have a few problems with this right off the bat.” At first you thought it was him rejecting your confession, but he continued, “I didn’t give her my sweater, I lost it the other day. She probably pulled it out of lost and found, I doubt she even knows that it’s mine.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, if I had known that she had it, I probably would have taken in back from her. She probably thinks it’s a spare or something, she wouldn’t be wearing it if she knew it was mine.” He shrugged and closed the book, handing it over to you with a grin.
“God, I’m an idiot,” you mumbled as you slapped your forehead.
“Yes, yes you are,” he said, patting you on the head mockingly, “And with all the comments about Uraraka and my reaction to her, have you ever considered that maybe you’re always sitting next to her?” Your eyes widened. He wasn’t staring at her during classes, he was staring at you. He’d look away when caught, just as you would with him. Uraraka was his escape, a way to feign ignorance whenever you looked his way.
“Would it be weird if I kissed you?” You asked before you even realised you had, you didn’t bother backtracking, your eyes flitting from his lips to the eyes that widened at the statement, “It’s just that, I don’t know I’m emotional and that seems like the next st—”
He pinned you against the wall again, but not with the same anger he had before as he finally kissed you. And it was magical. It was everything you had ever dreamt of or wrote about — your fogged mind wondered if he had been taking notes while reading. Your lips moved together like you had been doing it your whole lives, a give and take of passion. He pushed, you pulled, and the fire in your soul grew to a roar, smoke seeping through the cracks as he pushed you harder against the concrete wall.
Your hands moved to his hair, tangling in the soft strands like you had so often dreamed and written of. His hands moved from your face to one on your back, one in your hair, holding you like you were so dear he couldn’t bear to let go. You knew the feeling. You pulled him closer, held him tighter, tried to breathe through your nose so you didn’t have to pull away just yet.
Bakugo was the first to retreat. For a moment you followed blindly, eyes still closed, like you could chase the kiss further. But he gently stopped you, whispering your name against your skin. “You need to stop talking for once,” he told you. He kissed your cheek. Jaw. Neck. His words were almost angry. His lips hard against your skin, like he could permanently imprint the marks there if he pressed hard enough.
“If you keep doing that to stop me talking, I might never shut up.”
You spent the rest of the day hidden behind the school, this time not alone. Bakugo stuck by your side — literally. He refused to let you out of his sight, even less so his arms. You rested your head on his shoulder, your back pressed against his chest as he traced circles up your arms. He’d talk above you, his words lost in the breeze as you focused on the rumbling of his chest and the warmth of his body against yours — you didn’t need that dumb sweater after all. Uraraka stared out the classroom window, taking in the sight with a warm smile. Looking away from the window, she checked that Aizawa was still occupied with his mountain of paperwork before pulling out her phone to send a text.
>> Thanks for stealing the sweater for me, Hagakure. The plan worked.
You all asked and I delivered, the story is now up on Ao3, I hope you like it!
~~Magical Link to take you to Ao3~~
Summary:
“Meet anyone special?”
“What, you writin’ a book?” Bakugo snapped. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I met a guy.”
–
To the students of U.A high, Bakugo was known for breaking bones, rules and hearts. He was a leather wearing greaser who cared for no one but himself.
To Kirishima, he was known as Katsuki, the mysterious boy he had falllen for over summer break. When summer romance spills into school, Kirishima has to face the reality that Bakugo might not be the same man he was at the beach.
The first pride was a riot, more specifically a riot against police violence. Trans women of colour like Marsha P. Johnson paved the way for the celebration of pride today. You cannot celebrate your pride this month, or any month if you aren’t also supporting Black Lives Matter and the riots going on against police violence right now. Us white LGBTQ+ need to stand up for our black siblings and their rights, their struggles. We need to amplify their voices and show any support we can.Hey! Better yet, reblog this version:
Extensive BLM Google doc including places to donate to, education resources, etc
List of 75 things white people can do right now
Simple way to donate to the cause if you have no money to
Tumblr.... please... stop moving the ‘read more’ links to the top of the post... it ruins my formatting... and makes the story inaccessible... I spend hours on this my dude
All one shots are published on my Tumblr and Ao3 account exclusively, if you see them anywhere else please tell me as that means they’ve been stolen. <3
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Beelzebub x Reader
Song Request: Perfect By P!nk
Summary: She’s the strongest girl the brothers have ever known, completely confident in herself and her abilities. After hearing gossip in the hallways, Beelzebub comes to understand her past and just how strong and resilient she really is.
Hii! I saw that you are taking song fic requests and I always wanted to try it, so I hope it's not too troublesome.. 😅 Can I request Asmodeus and/or Beelzebub x reader with Perfect by Pink with reader who has no confidence in herself, because she has never been in a relationship before and boys talk to her only when they need something? And she's even scared to try to talk someone because she thinks she's ugly and childish? Thank you and luv you! 👉🏻👈🏻
You’re not being troublesome, don’t worry! This is a super cute idea and I’ve always loved this song. This story is just straight wholesome, don’t be worried by the Trigger Warnings, I just over tag to be safe -- I want to keep you all happy! :)
The second story with Asmodeus should be posted soon, so keep an eye out for that!
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Song Prompt: Perfect By Pink (Link)
T/W: References to past self-hatred and insecurities/self-worth issues. Ambiguous health issues, left vague for the purpose of self insert.
Summary: She’s the strongest girl the brothers have ever known, completely confident in herself and her abilities. After hearing gossip in the hallways, Beelzebub comes to understand her past and just how strong and resilient she really is.
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Mistaken,
Always second guessing,
Underestimated,
Look, I’m still around.
Small, weak, fragile, childish.
Born premature with a broken body. A weak girl with countless “defects” and a happy-go-lucky attitude that people so desperately tried to destroy.
Broken yet undefeated, that’s how everyone described you.
You’d been dealt the short end of the stick from the start. Your life was never easy, even when ignoring the whole ‘literally living in hell’ aspect of your existence. Making friends was never your strong suit, keeping them even less so.
You were used to being alone, and that was okay. You couldn’t run long distances or play with your peers; you couldn’t frolic through fields of flowers at fear that you’d have an allergic reaction. Your life was different, but not bad.
You were used to it; it was your normal. Sure, it hurt, being labelled defective because you chose to live differently, but you had learnt to ignore them long ago. In that regard, you guessed it wasn’t that surprising that they chose you to live in Devildom. Any other human would have broken at the mere sight of the demon brothers, but you, so used to adversity and struggle? It was a walk in the park, just another day.
Change the voices in your head.
Make them like you instead.
The brothers didn’t know much about your past. You were sure Lucifer knew the basics as he was directly involved in the selection process, but you kept most of your past to yourself. It wasn’t for a lack of trust or reluctance, but you rather just preferred to keep the past in, well, the past.
To them, you enjoyed being the cheerful human that brightened their day. A friend to talk to and confide in, not a broken girl they had to pity.
You had long since accepted yourself and were doing fine – great even. The once mocking voices that kept you awake a night, compiling extensive lists of everything that was wrong with you – they were friends. Every night you’d still lie awake, not in fear, but to relive the day and go over your accomplishments.
Beel was actually the one to give you the advice. Rather than berating yourself for ever small mistake, praise yourself for every small victory. Every morning you got out of bed and faced a new day, that was a win in your book.
Through everything, Beelzebub was there by your side. He was your opposite, strong where you were weak, popular where you were alone. There was an unspoken magnetism between you, you were as alike as you were different. He had a kind soul – even if you weren’t completely sure he actually had a soul.
He was the person you needed all those years ago, strong, protective, and kind. Someone who could defend you, yet never see you as a weakling – his attractiveness didn’t exactly hurt either. Whenever he worked out, he never failed to offer for you to join, seeing past your surface for the capable person you were – the person few every bothered to see.
It was a late night when you finally told him about your past, about your life on earth. You’d come back from a run – the usual one where you ran for 500 meters and he carried you for the other 19.5 kilometres – and you were on top of the world. Thanks to him, you were making progress. Each day your lungs grew stronger and your will more ironclad. You were becoming the person you always dreamed you could be, and it was all thanks to him.
That’s when you passed a group of Devildom students.
Done looking for the critics, ‘cause they’re everywhere.
They don’t like my jeans; they don’t get my hair
Exchange ourselves and we do it all the time.
You had paid little attention to what they said, but the words stuck into your knives. Brutal reminders of the life you left behind that ripped through your flesh.
“What is he doing with her? Doesn’t he know she’s a waste of time?” One girl had whispered, earning a round of giggles and hums of agreement from her peers. You lived with the gossip. It was a part of befriending the most eligible bachelors in all of hell.
“Can’t she like not breathe or something? She’s such a freak,” Another girl spoke, not even bothering to mask her intentions behind faked whispers. Your eyes met as she spoke, a glare mixed with her hissed words. “She’s not even pretty either, a complete waste, that one.”
You looked at her with a quirked brow. You didn’t mind, they could say whatever they wanted about you – you knew the truth. When you turned to your left, all hope drained from your face. You had forgotten Beel was beside you.
What you couldn’t live with was the idea of Beelzebub hearing it. He had never seen you as anything but yourself – the true you, the one so few saw. You tried to keep him away from the rumour mill, to protect him from the harsh words that were slung at you – lest he agree.
The way his eyes snapped to you and his jaw clenched, his expression said all that needed to be said.
He had heard.
Your heart dropped into your stomach. You grabbed his hand and desperately pulled him out of the courtyard and back towards the house of Lamentation, praying that he’d forget what he heard. You looked forward, blinking tears from your eyes as you speed walked through the maze-like halls and corridors of the house, ignoring the confused shouts of a few of the brothers as you passed. You pushed Beelzebub into his room and followed, slamming the door behind you with an angered shout.
“Are you--?” You didn’t let him finish, collapsing on the floor in a broken heap. You weren’t as sad as you were humiliated, you couldn’t – or at least didn’t – want to imagine what he was thinking right now.
“Yeah, I just needed to get out of there.” You didn’t even try to explain that he was the one you were trying to remove from the situation.
“You know, those girls just love to gossip, they didn’t mean anything by it,” He said. You couldn’t ignore the
You smiled weakly up at him, “Believe me, I know. We’ve got the same in the human world.”
“Then… what’s wrong?” Beelzebub asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“I—” You started, words failing as you rubbed at your wrists. “I’m used to hearing that kind of stuff, I’m okay.” You genuinely were, you were long past caring about what strangers thought. “I just didn’t want you hearing what they were saying?” It came out as more of a question that you intended.
Beel’s face melted into something soft. “Why are you worried about me?”
You laughed, “Well, not you specifically. It’s hard to explain,” you said.
Beel stood up without a word, walking towards his bed before patting the space next to him. “We’ve got time.”
You felt like crying on the spot.
You stood up and walked to him; the bed bouncing under your weight as you joined him. There was a moment of awkward silence as you collected your thoughts, trying to find a way to explain your life in the least depressing terms possible.
“My whole life, I’ve been treated as weak and fragile.” Nice one, that’s a great way to start what you want to be an upbeat and wholesome conversation. Good job. “I was born different and people have treated me different ever since. It’s not something I can control, so I try not to beat myself up about it. It’s a part of who I am.”
“Then what’s wrong?” He asked yet again, the worry clear on his face. Your heart skipped a beat.
“I’m getting there,” you said with a laugh, shoving him to the side. “When I came here, it was a chance to reinvent myself, to live outside of the labels I had come to accept in the human world. I wasn’t some broken girl, just… me.”
You looked down at your hands, which were delicately folded in your lap.
“You’ve always seen me as the person I really am, strong, independent… worth something. When those girls started talking about me, I was worried you’d agree with them, that you’d learn the truth and decide I wasn’t worth your time.”
With that, you laid all your cards on the table.
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel,
Like you’re nothing,
“Why would I ever think that?” You had expected a lot of reactions. You had prepared five different reactions for rejection, six for disappointment and three for a general lack of interest on his behalf. You didn’t know how to respond to that.
“I—What?” You tried to string together a sentence, but nothing came to mind, eyebrows furrowing as you stared at the boy in front of you. Your response was less of a genuine question and more just… general confusion.
Beel hadn’t stopped smiling, always wearing that signature grin that could light up any room. Still, his grin faltered, the corners of his mouth twitching. It was forced, you could tell. There was a sadness in his eyes, poorly masked behind faltering layers of contentment.
You recognised the face; it was the same he always wore when talking about his own past. You hadn’t seen it as often since Belphie began reconnecting with his brothers. It pained you to see it again.
“Why would I ever think that you’re not worth my time?” He said, eyes narrowed. His expression morphed, sadness replaced with anger and discontentment. “Those girls have no say in my life. I get to decide who I think is ‘worthy’—” You could tell the word tasted sour on his tongue. “—And to me… that’s you.”
Just like how you couldn’t fight the bubbling exactment, you couldn’t ignore the creeping sense of insecurity. “I’m not perfect, you know.”
“Well, yeah,” he said with a laugh and roll of his eyes.
“What?!” You shouted, almost falling off the bed. That wasn’t what you expected.
“You’re not perfect,” he repeated, “You’re loud, brash, frankly annoying at times, you always hog the blankets, you never replace toilet rolls and don’t even get me started on what you put on pizza.” With every aspect of yourself he listed off, his smile grew – a genuine one.
You opened your mouth to retort his claims, but before you could say anything Beel interrupted you.
“You’re a pain in the ass, but that doesn’t make you unworthy of anything. I love everything about you, even if to others those sides of you are unpleasant.”
“Everything?” You asked, fighting not to cry in front of your long-term crush.
“Everything. I wouldn’t change anything about you, because then that person wouldn’t be you. They’d be a poor imitation, someone who wouldn’t be worth my time. You’re incredible.” You couldn’t describe the look in his eyes if you tried. You hadn’t seen anyone look at you with such adoration before.
You collapsed into his arms at those words, a mess of muffled ‘thank you’s and choked sobs. He rubbed your back, allowing you to cry your feelings out without judgement. After what felt like hours of bottled emotions spilling over, you fell asleep in his arms, surrounded by a warmth you had never known.
For the first time, Beelzebub missed dinner and didn’t even so much as complain.
Was super excited for the song fics!! Could I get Miritama with Sweet Tooth by Cavetown? Thank you~!
Cavetown, hell yeah! I love his music so much! Writing this was so cool, trying to work a story around song lyrics was so much fun. I hope you enjoy it!
Unrelated, but whenever I write MiriTama, I unconsciously base their relationship so much off me and my girlfriend?? Whenever I read back for editing I’m like ‘’oh shit, that me”
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Song Prompt: Sweet Tooth By Cavetown (Link)
T/W: None! Just pure and unadulterated fluff
Summary: Tamaki explores his newfound Relationship with Mirio and coming to terms with the sensation of being loved. Falling in love with Mirio means loving himself and that’s something entirely new.
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Try as hard as I can,
Guess I must be satisfactory,
You said you love me exactly the way I am.
“I like you.”
Tamaki blankly stared forward, the world around him muted and colourless. His mind raced to catch up to his heart, which was threatening to beat out his chest. He opened his mouth, reaching for something to say yet nothing came. His hands clammy and his mouth dry, he simply stood there blankly.
The distant sound of the birds disappeared as the world spun around him. The kids that played on the swing sets and the teens that ran down the beach ceased to exist in his mind. All that existed was Mirio and the blinding sense of confusion that coloured his every thought.
“Are you okay?” Mirio asked, a faint blush still painting his cheeks as he waved his hand in front of his friend’s face. He took the care to look after Tamaki even as said boy left his declaration without an answer.
His heart skipped a beat for a reason his mind was yet to process, his mind trapped in the past as he desperately tried to process what was happening.
“Why me?” Tamaki suddenly asked, words tumbling from his mouth as his brain caught up, slamming his body to a screeching halt. His blood ran cold, hairs standing up on edge as he fought off the urge to pass out in a tizzy.
“What do you mean, why you?” Mirio asked, tilting his head to the side with an amused smile. “You’re pretty amazing, if you haven’t checked.”
“Amazing?” Tamaki asked again, a laugh working its way into his choked breaths.
“Yeah,” Mirio said with a smile and shake of his head. “If you want, I can explain everything I like about you, but we’ll be here a while.”
“Dude, no—” Before Tamaki could finish his thought Mirio clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes shining with amusement
“All right!” He shouted, pretending not to hear Tamaki’s muffled shouts of protests. “So, you’ve got a great smile, beautiful laugh, pretty face, gorgeous eyes, you’re strong – physically and mentally, you’re kind and—”
“Okay, I get it!” Tamaki shouted, pushing Mirio away with a laugh. “Jesus, you’re such a sap.”
“Only for you,” Mirio said with a wink, not so subtly trying to draw an answer from the boy in front of him.
I like you,
Say it back,
Say it back.
Tamaki swallowed deeply, the words only barely coming to him with a shaky sigh of, “Me too.” He looked down at his feet, his fingers twisting together as he bounced from one foot to another, shrinking further into his jumper with every second that passed without a response.
“What?” Mirio said, at a loss for words with his lips ever so slightly parted. Tamaki could see the comprehension in his gaze, the confusion stemming from disbelief.
Tamaki’s lips tightened into a pout, eyes flitting around the park with a desperate blush. “I like you too, or whatever. You know, I feel the same way… about your smile and stuff,” he said, breaking off into a mumble. Mirio broke out in a smile almost immediately, running toward to scoop the smaller boy into his arms before planting a soft kiss on his cheek.
So, they went on a date.
Then another.
Then five more.
Then Tamaki stopped counting, lost in the waves of ecstasy that washed through him every time Mirio so much as smiled in his direction.
A sweet tooth for you,
I’m wide awake,
The Sugar went straight to my brain.
Dating Mirio was a high like no other, a constant sugar high that never crashed. He woke up with a skip in his step and fell asleep with a smile, spending day in and day out with his best friend and now boyfriend.
Their worlds had always been intertwined, going to the same school and gunning for the same career left them interconnected, but now their lives were perfect mirrors. Tamaki left class for lunch and Mirio was right by his side, if he decided to use the school gym late into the night and Mirio would have already beat him to the punch. Like a comet pulled from orbit, he helplessly followed Mirio wherever they went, their lives interlaced for better or worse.
He didn’t know if he believed in soulmates or the inherit planned nature of ‘fate’, but he knew that so much of his life had been made possible by Mirio. He gave him the strength to try, the courage to push himself out of his comfort zones. Mirio never made the decisions for him, only serving as the match to light a spark within him.
Mirio had an unspeakable effect on him, never pushing but somehow giving Tamaki the power to change himself into the person he longed to be. He learnt how much of a relationship was just that – learning. Drawing lines, communication and hardships and trying to be honest no matter the circumstance. Still, they treaded the lines and explored their relationship together. They fought, and they made up. There were days Tamaki wanted nothing more than to ignore his boyfriend and Mirio had countless days when he felt the same – still, they worked through it and learnt from their mistakes.
Never had a cavity,
Never had nobody as sweet as you,
Smooth around the edges, good as new.
“You up for the movies, tomorrow?” Mirio asked in a hushed whisper, leaning across the isle with a grin, his chair balancing on a single leg. Tamaki rolled his eyes, pen grazing across his bottom lip as he stared forward, idly taking notes as the teacher lectured from the front.
He had stopped listening half an hour ago, the words going in one ear and out the other and he transcribed from muscle memory alone. “Yeah, of course,” he whispered back. “Now, pay attention or we’ll get detention again.”
Mirio’s chair hit the ground with a loud clang when he dropped back in front of his desk, happy with the response he received. The lesson went by at a snail’s pace, both boys practically vibrating with excitement at what the afternoon held. Sitting in the silent classroom was torture, forced to at least try to by attention to whatever Midnight was rambling about as she messily scrawled on the chalkboard.
When the school bell loudly ripped through the empty halls, Tamaki and Mirio were out the door before the teacher could even dismiss them. They ran through the school with their backpacks collected in their arms, pieces of paper and textbooks messily sticking out from the opened zippers. Neither bothered to slow down for the seconds it’d take to properly pack a bag. They laughed and weaved past their peers; the school was rather used to their antics.
The movie was some classic blockbuster; the plot was predictable but enjoyable all the same. Neither were there for the movie itself. Hands interlaced on their shared armrest, loudly sipping at the cherry coke they shared, Tamaki decided there was no place in the world he’d rather be.
They walked back to the dorms together, loitering outside their respective rooms, not quite wanting to call the night off yet. They were neighbours, yet the paper-thin walls that separated them couldn’t have felt thicker. Still, with a kiss on the cheek, they parted ways. Their hands lingered as they walked into their respective rooms, fingers barely touching before their doors shut behind them.
Tamaki walked to the bathroom, stripping off the tight jacket and jeans he had been wearing. His oversized pyjama shit laid crumbled on the floor. Glancing around, as if someone was watching, he shrugged and put it back on to wear for the third night.
With the shirt slipping off one shoulder as he stared into the mirror. His hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles from where fingers had carded through it minutes before. Crickets chattered outside the window, the distant cries of birds echoing through the night air as the sun lay on the edge of the horizon. Stars shone brightly as orange disappeared from the sky, the world slowly leaving another day behind.
He yawned loudly and turned on the tap, splashing his face with a groan. His eyes, half lidded, took in his form. A smile played on his lips, taking in his appearance. The person in the mirror was unfamiliar, unsightly flaws replaced with natural imperfections. He carefully brushed his fringe out of the way, tucking the stray strands behind his ear with an inquisitive furrow in his brow. Eyebrows furrowed, he stared at the boy in the mirror.
A warmth, usually reserved for Mirio, filled his chest as he stared into his own indigo eyes. Love really was contagious.
This is an idea I’ve had for a while, and I’m so excited to actually get into taking your requests!
I’ve always loved listening to music when writing, so, why not combine the two?
The basic idea is you give me a song, and I write a story based on it.
It’s simple, but I think it could be a lot of fun!
✨ Here are the boring rules ✨
Characters/Fandoms: Anyone from BNHA, Voltron, Steven Universe, Obey me: Shall we date, The Dragon Prince, Miraculous Ladybug, She-ra or Marvel. Requests can be both x reader/self insert or ships. I’m happy to write for all ships.
What I’m comfortable with: Almost everything. However, please do not ask for Non-con for personal reasons ❤️
Length: You can generally count on me writing between 1-2 thousand words per drabble. However, if I really like a prompt, expect a full fic because I have no self control.
How to request: send me an ask with the character/ship, the song title, the artist and any other information you’d like me to know. If you want to be extra amazing, a link would be perfect
Example: Tododeku with “My Type” by Saint Motel.
Example: Bakugo x Quirkless!Reader with “Outrunning Karma” by Alec Benjamin!! Soulmate AU too!!
Me, waking up to check trending: Oh boy! Miraculous Ladybug is trending, I wonder what has happened?! Hopefully it’s news on the upcoming season or new and exciting content!
This story makes me so soft; I think I might have a cavity now because THIS IS SO SWEET – much like you guys, AHHH such nice comments!!
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Prompt: “Is that my shirt?” and “I just need a cuddle.”
Summary: Mirio is out late, Tamaki is home early. They always miss each other, and sometimes oversized shirts are an easy substitute.
~~
Tamaki was used to his boyfriend coming home late. It was par for the course in their career. Work hours weren’t so much set in stone as they were guidelines – he could count on his hands the time Mirio had actually been home on time.
He was used to falling asleep alone only to wake up with a strong arm wrapped around his waist. He’d always leave dinner out of the counter for his fiancée and hope it wasn’t cold by the time he arrived home. A microwave existed for a reason.
He was his own person with his own career, but he slipped into the role of housewife (househusband?) with little resistance. It was nice, coming home after a long day at work, saving lives and living in the spotlight to do menial tasks. He’d cook dinner, clean the house and prepare lunches. It was nice. When in the walls of his home, he was Tamaki Amajiki, not Sun Eater. He was a soon-to-be-husband before a Hero.
But it wasn’t always so great.
You couldn’t save them all – that was the first thing he was taught when he started out. People would die, villains would get away. That was something he had to accept. Mirio was his rock, the one person he could tell everything and be met with nothing but understanding and love. So, it was always tough when his fiancée was missing on the nights when he needed him most.
He didn’t blame him; he knew better than anyone that the job came first. It still stung. After watching a boy – no older than three – get rushed to hospital in a critical condition, Tamaki needed a hug more than ever. He needed to cry, vent and fall asleep in comfort. It was one of the few nights falling asleep in an empty bed was next to impossible.
He knew deep down that the kid would be all right, and he was young enough that the trauma wouldn’t stick with him for long, but it didn’t lessen the pain. It was hard, facing the darkest aspect of humanity, only to come home to an equally dark and empty house.
As he stumbled through the house, flicking on every light he came across, a chill settled in through his bones. The first thing he did was shuck off his hood, discarding the dirtied fabric in the laundry without a second thought as he trudged into his bedroom. He stripped off his costume as he meandered through the house, feet dragging against the carpeted floor with a tired sigh. He ripped the first thing he saw out of the closet; he pulled on the oversized dress shirt as he fought to keep his eyes open. He vaguely recognised the comforting scent of his fiancée’s cologne. The shirt fell down to the middle of his thighs, the smaller boy practically swimming in the shirt that filled Mirio so perfectly. He rubbed his eyes lazily and fell onto the bed in an exhausted heap, bones aching and mind racing – it had been an impossibly long day. The house was a mess, piled dishes filling the sink and thick layers of dust collecting on the furniture. Yet he was too exhausted to lift a finger.
He didn’t bother to get under the covers of the bed, passing out splayed across the top of the bed like an overgrown starfish. His quiet snores filled the empty room, mouth parted in blissful peace. For a moment, it was if Mirio was there with him. The cologne wrapped his senses in a blanket of comfort, the anxiety of the night melting away in waves of tranquillity. His mind conquered the image of his fiancée behind him, home early for once with a smile that rivalled the sun.
His sleep deprived mind took the images and ran with them, his senses tingling as if his nerve endings were on fire. The weight of a pillow that had slipped from his grasp morphed into a comforting arm that held him tight. The soft breeze of the fan that spun above became warm puffs of breath that ticked the baby hairs on the back of his neck. A smile played on his lips as he turned in his sleep, shirt riding up his bare thighs as he snored.
The sound of a slamming door fell silent on his otherwise occupied mind, the sound of his fiancée calling his name melding perfectly into the vision of the fantasy fiancée of his dreams. He had been sleeping for an hour, maybe two, but his mind was already miles away, blissfully ignorant of the world around him. It took him a minute to work out what was going on, his languid mind pushing off the distant sensation of a warm hand on his shoulder. He slowly came back to reality, idly aware of the sensation of his body rocking back and forth. He hummed as he forced an eye open. Blue and gold.
He closed his eye and rolled back over, fighting against the pull reality had on his body. He was having such a lovely dream. “Tamaki, come on, wake up.” He groaned loudly and grabbed the pillow from behind him, wrapping it around his head in an effort to muffle the sounds.
“Shudup,” he mumbled, sleep clear in his voice, almost slurring as he spoke. No one dared to wake him up, all but one particular idiot who knew he could get away with anything, so long as he smiled. Tamaki hated that it always worked.
“Come on babe, I made dinner,” the familiar voice said. His stomach grumbled in response – traitor.
He forced himself to sit up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “What year is it?”
“2037, you’ve been in a coma for years.” For a moment, with the grogginess that he was still fighting off, it made perfect sense.
“Fuck off,” he mumbled, slipping off the edge of the bed. His legs wobbled slightly, his muscles waking up with the rest of his body. “What time is it, really?”
“It’s only around 8:30, I got off early and cooked you something, you’ve been working really hard lately,” Mirio said with a smile, running a hand through Tamaki’s hair. Tamaki leant into the touch and hoped he’d be able to fall back to sleep.
“No harder than usual,” he said with a yawn. He stood up and stretched, feeling the soft fabric of the shirt caress his thighs. He was eternally grateful he remembered to put on a pair of shorts before passing out.
Mirio went to say something in response, but his eyes trailed across his fiancée's body with a flush. “Is that my shirt?”
Tamaki looked down at himself, pulling the shirt away from his body to inspect it. He let go and gave Mirio a shrug, “I guess? I was tired, and it was the first thing I saw… plus, it smelt like you.” When Tamaki looked up, he realised Mirio was wearing the long pajama bottoms of the matching set.
“Jesus Christ,” Mirio said, running a hand through his hair. “Get your ass in the kitchen before I jump you.”
Tamaki laughed loudly and walked out of the bedroom, “What d'you make?”
“Takoyaki, I know it’s your favourite.” The familiar smell of Takoyaki batter drifted through the room, lying in the still sizzling Takoyaki pan was countless of his favourite octopus balls. God, Mirio knew him well.
His heart melted a little when Mirio sat down at the kitchen table and dished out dinner. Topping the balls with Worcestershire sauce and Japanese mayo. “Do you want Aonori and/or Katsuobushi?” Mirio asked, tilting his head to the side. Tamaki nodded and walked past his chair and ignored when Mirio held out a plate for him, instead wrapping his arms around his fiancée's waist and resting his head on his shoulder.
“What’s up, I thought you were hungry?” Mirio said, obviously confused. There were very few times Tamaki passed up dinner. The last time he didn’t eat, he was so sick with the flu he ended up in the hospital – and even then, he only passed up on food because the doctors ordered him to.
“I just needed a cuddle,” He said with a smile, “You’re too sweet, I love you.” Mirio turned his head to meet Tamaki, happily taking the kissed his fiancée littered across his face.
“I love you too, now eat.” Tamaki placed one final gentle kiss on his cheek and walked around to the other side of the table, happily sitting down and promptly stuffing his face with as much food as he could get his hands on.
“God, I love when you cook,” he said through a mouth of half-chewed food. Ah, domestic bliss. What was love if not being completely and utterly disgusting around your partner? If you don’t know exactly what to do to annoy your boyfriend, you’re with the wrong person.
“Don’t talk with a full mouth, you pig,” Mirio said with a teasing smile.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Tamaki said with an overdramatic moan. They both laughed loudly at that, Tamaki almost choking in the process. “Food always tastes better when someone else cooks it for you,” he said, still fighting off coughs as he sipped at his water.
“You know, I’d cook more often if you’d let me,’” Mirio said, poking his chopsticks at his fiancée with an incredulous look. The only times Mirio wrangled Tamaki out of cooking was on their anniversary, birthday or occasionally when Tamaki was passed out and couldn’t fight Mirio for cooking privileges. Tonight was one such night.
Tamaki rolled his eyes, “and you also know I’m a control freak. I need to know what goes into every meal,” he said with a shrug, helping himself to seconds without much of a thought. “Plus, you know how much I enjoy cooking, it’s a nice break from all the hero work.”
“Speaking of, how was your day? Mine was pretty lacklustre.” His heart dropped into his stomach; he had almost forgotten about it.
Tamaki recounted the events of the day with a depressed sigh, his apatite suddenly gone. Mirio was at his side in a matter of moments, offering a shoulder to cry on and someone to vent to. Mirio understood exactly when Tamaki was tired of taking and they spent the rest of the night watching movies on the couch, hands interlaced in silent understanding. The movie ended just as they drained their second bottle of wine, legs interlaced under the shared comforter. Mirio helped him forget about his day and remain hopeful for tomorrow. They made promises while hidden under the shared blanket, silent plea’s that the outside world would never hear. Oh, if the walls could talk.
For the first time in a while, Tamaki fell asleep with his fiancée behind him. A strong arm around his waist and a warmth in his heart.
Heyyy, please gimme that good TodoDeku angst with prompt 95! :))
You want angst, I humbly deliver. Prepare tosuffer as I cry in a corner
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Prompt: “Sometimes, memories are the worst torture.”
Summary: The life of a Pro-Hero isn’t what Todoroki dreamed of and he’s lost more than just himself in the process.
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Being a hero meant sacrifice, to abandon what made you human for the sake of the greater good.
Todoroki had to abandon his privacy. From the day he uttered the words ‘Hero in training’ the press were breathing down his neck. Desperate for a scandal — to craft a story or to simply drag him down. He learnt he couldn’t go in public without people gawking or flat out stalking.
He had to hire a helper to do his shopping for him, to take care of the intricacies that gave life a sense of normality. She paid his bills, did his taxes, cleaned the house and shopped for whatever he needed. He felt bad, so she was paid handsomely for her efforts.
Still, he was deprived of the little things in life. He didn’t get to wander down shopping isles and simply browse, he couldn’t complain about the traffic or make small talk while in line at the coffee shop. Everything was done for him – his life was lived on his behalf.
He had to abandon the idea of tomorrow. In his line of work, it was never a guarantee. He had to treat every day as his last, every breath as the last he would take. The future wasn’t certain, the only thing he could do was living in the present.
He never made promises, and he never made plans. There was never a promise he could keep them.
He had to abandon his past. He wasn’t allowed to think about what could have been or what he should have done. To truly live in the present, he was to be left without the restraining shackles of memory.
Shoto Todoroki the person and Shoto Todoroki the hero were two different people. The person didn’t exist, abandoned along with the rest of his past. He could afford to keep track of old friends and contact his family, lest they become a target.
He finally understood why his father was so distant when he was a child.
He had to abandon his health. There was an idea that he wasn’t meant to exist outside of his heroic persona. He belonged to the public and no one else. He was to respond to their every beck and call, to bend himself over backwards to please their ever whim. He didn’t have time to maintain his own health. He couldn’t spend a night out with his mates or even so much as take a break. He was always expected to be working.
“Why weren’t you there?” Someone snapped from the forming crowd when he arrived at a crime scene a moment too late. The victim had been done away with and he wasn’t there to help. He had been across town, passed out on the couch after a twelve-hour patrol shift.
He stopped sleeping soon after that.
He couldn’t lie down without guilt clawing at his consciousness. He wasn’t allowed to relax when someone out there could be in danger. He wasn’t allowed.
He worked himself flat for days on end, only stopping when his body collapsed in on itself. He’d be out of commission for mere hours before he slapped himself back into work, chugging down whatever energy drink he could get his hands on before starting the cycle up again. His record was a week of straight patrol.
He lived off microwave meals because cooking too much time and he didn’t have the time. His house devolved from a home to a collection of walls long ago. It was a place he was forced to go to shower, shove food down his throat and pass out when his body couldn’t take any more.
He had to abandon love. Platonic, romantic, it didn’t matter. It was off limits. There wasn’t a set rule about it, but it was something all hero’s abided by. The first two generations of heroes had learnt the hard way that the significant others of heroes were the first targets in villain attacks. A generation of lives cut short, and every hero began to independently make vows to swear off dating.
Todoroki and Izuku had assumed they were different, that if they worked hard enough, they could make it work, like everything else in their lives. It didn’t work out, not for the lack of trying – they just simply weren’t meant to be.
He had to abandon himself. If his childhood self-looked at who he had become, it would disgust him. He was a hero, the person he had always dreamed to be, and yet he wanted nothing more than to abandon it all.
He wanted to come home from a long day of work, sigh about his nine-to-five job in the office and watch TV while his partner cooked dinner. He wanted to royally fuck up and have no one there to judge and gossip about it. He wanted to learn from his mistakes without having to draft a public apology and attend countless press conferences where he was publicly and violently ripped apart by complete strangers who felt entitled to his every thought as if it was their own.
He wanted to hold Izuku in his arms again.
Lying awake at night, his mind racing, he always thought about the green-haired boy from his childhood, his first, last and only love. The one that got away.
The now number one hero and envy of all, he could happily say that he knew Izuku before everything else. Is his troubles as the number three were already putting him under that much strain, he couldn’t imagine what it was like for his old classmate and lover.
Izuku hadn’t dated since the two of them broke it off two years ago – he hadn’t either. It was a mutual understanding. They loved each other more than they could ever really explain, but their careers were pulling them in different directions, and they couldn’t afford the added danger that relationships brought forward.
Longing after someone out of your reach was impossibly painful. Sometimes, memories were the worst torture. He told himself to stop longing after what could have been, but occasionally he allowed himself the small pleasure of sinking into the fantasies.
In his mind, everything was fine. He and Izuku were pro-heroes, partners, lovers and before anything else, themselves. He’d come home after a long day, beaten and bruised, and Izuku would be there to patch his wounds and support him through anything. Todoroki would be there to do the same, tending to his wounds, emotional or otherwise.
They’d share chaste kisses in public and heated ones after battles. They’d face the press together and go shopping in domestic bliss. Maybe he’d bake cookies on their anniversary – Izuku was always fond of chocolate.
A distant gunshot rung through the city and Todoroki sprung into action. He ripped the doors of his closet and pulled out the first thing he saw; it didn’t matter what, all he owned were carbon copies of his hero costume. He changed and rushed out the door without a secontd thought, fantasies abandoned on the dusty floor of his apartment.
Maybe he’d run into Izuku there. A smile graced his lips as he slid down the street on a shard of ice. There was always hope. They ran in the same circles after all.
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