idk how ppl don't get that izuku being a teacher is actually the PERFECT ending to his story. that's literally what it means to be a HERO to him!!!!! his favorite hero - FUCKASS ALL FUCKING MIGHT - was his TEACHER. his whole story has been marked with SAVING and INSPIRING kids EVEN SINCE HIMSELF WAS A KID!!!!! his whole fight with shigaraki was about finding tenko, a kid that needed help, inside him. being teacher is being a hero. that's what izuku was learning all along.
I was one of the people who was a bit frustrated at the ending — not too much, and I gotta admit it came mostly because of the whole "denying to join Bakugo's agency and leaving it at that" (although I do understand it's an epilogue, it doesn't mean I have to be happy with it). But I've seen a lot of people defending the time skip and I was already starting to change my mind. I think this point of view is the nail in the coffin. It condenses the little bits of reason I saw on every other argument. I might reread the epilogue under a new light again.
the times he waited for you and the time he didn’t have to
featuring: sugawara koushi
warnings: none, sfw, fluffy, time skips
sugawara koushi x g/n reader
a/n: I started this fic forever ago and finally got back to it. never written for sugawara before! I can’t tell if it’s decent or dookie </3 I think I’m proud of it, I think…
masterlist
the end of waiting
how long was too long to wait outside for your coworker after work?
if sugawara had known the answer, maybe he would’ve left by now. maybe he would’ve been home, changing out of his trousers and laying on his couch. maybe he would’ve been relaxing and putting off final grade adjustments until later in the weekend. maybe he would’ve been soaking up his air conditioning. that last one sounded really nice. especially as he sat outside of the school willing his body not to sweat through his button up shirt.
maybe he would’ve been home. alone.
it was that thought that kept him rooted in place. if sugawara had known the answer, maybe he would’ve stayed until long after the lights in the parking lot came on. maybe that version of him would know that you’re worth the wait. he hoped he was that one. so he waited for you, like he always did.
waiting as: mr. sugawara
a knock prompted his entire classroom to fall silent, staring at the door. he looked up from his desk and gestured for the principal to come inside.
“hello mr. sugawara, so sorry to bother you in the middle of a class but we have a new teacher joining us. they’ll be teaching the same grade level as you, so I just wanted to introduce you.”
his eyes flitted to the doorway where you stood, looking at his class before sheepishly turning to him and waving with a smile. he barely heard the principal say your name as he looked at you.
he was already out of his seat, stretching a hand out to you with a smile. you stared at him for a moment and hastily shook it, “ah sorry, nice to meet you, mr. sugawara.”
he brushed off the apology, “lovely to meet you.”
his hand lingered as he waited for you to pull away.
waiting as: sugawara
the hallway was empty, but he could hear the chatter of students in your classroom packing up. he stood to the side as they rushed out, their goodbyes to you transitioning to hellos to him. he didn’t have half of these students in his class but they had learned his name within a week of you teaching.
a minute later, you were clambering out the door and locking it. you turned to him and breathed out, “sugawara, I told you that you don’t have to wait for my lunch period. yours was an hour ago!”
he only smiled and let you grumble as you both walked to the teacher’s lounge, steps syncing together from routine and familiarity. he wouldn’t tell you that he actually waited longer than that, choosing to walk to your classroom a few minutes early. he would stand in the hall and watch you teach through the door window. you were always too engrossed in your lessons to notice, but he kept his phone in his hand as a backup just in case he got caught one day.
he hummed as you reached the lounge and held the door open for you like always, “and I told you that I have a free period and can eat lunch whenever I want.”
you rolled your eyes and shook your head, holding back a grin. you stepped inside, “you’re impossible, you know that?”
he shrugged and walked in behind you, “I try.”
waiting as: koushi
he sat with the other teachers that had come out for drinks, finally wrapping up their night. after much arguing about the check, everyone had fallen into their usual routine of heading outside to split apart. sugawara stayed put, standing at the table with your bag over his shoulder and coat in his arms. he gestured to it and they all understood immediately, giving him knowing looks. they called out as they left, “say goodbye for us.”
he waved with a smile, glancing over to the bathroom where you were. you had winked at him when he caught you stopping to pay for both of your portions of the bill while everyone argued. he had narrowed his eyes as you mouthed, “gotcha.”
he couldn’t help laughing as he remembered your face of victory before scurrying to the bathroom. next time. next time, he’d beat you to it. he waited patiently, looking around the bar until he felt a tap on his shoulder.
you tilted your head, “everyone left?”
he nodded, standing up and automatically holding out your coat for you to slip into.
you adjusted the collar, turning over your shoulder to smile at him warmly, “thank you- for this and waiting.”
he chuckled, “of course.”
you both made your way out of the bar, walking down the sidewalk back to your place just like you did every week, your bag slung over his shoulder like it belonged there. he chided you gently for paying, your shoulders nudging each other with every laugh-filled argument.
when you finally got to your building and said your goodbyes, he smiled and carefully slipped your bag back onto you. “I’ll wait for you to go up.”
you rolled your eyes playfully, knowing you had tried to fight this particular fight one too many times to no avail. you gave him a hug, “thank you, koushi. I’ll text you when I’m inside.”
he watched you walk inside, giving him a final wave when the elevator opened. he waited until his phone buzzed, looking at it with a smile.
“I’m home. be safe <3”
he waited for his heart to calm down.
the end of waiting
he snapped out of his thinking as he heard you call his name. a smile immediately gracing his face as you jogged over. he met you in long strides, laughing at your heavy breathing. you clutched your knees, “sorry… a parent had a… question. last day stuff.”
he smiled, “that excited to see me?”
you beamed, standing up fully, “always.”
your answer caught him slightly off-guard, the heat finally proving useful to explain the pink in his cheeks. he walked alongside you as you rambled about grading and summer plans. you turned to him, “it’s finally over, are you excited?”
he nodded, a slight cold settling over his chest. maybe it was the sparkle in your eyes talking about it or the idea he wouldn’t have an excuse to see you. he didn’t want to think about it. he asked you about your trip, listening to you talk animatedly and letting that warmth fill him up again.
as you said your goodbyes, he pulled you into a hug, the last one he would get for a while, and breathed you in. he pulled back and grinned at you, “have a great summer. I can’t wait to see you again.”
even as he said it, he knew he could wait. that’s what sugawara did and that’s what he would always do for you.
he prepared to let you go for now, but this time, you wouldn’t be the one to come and go.
“koushi,” you said steadily, like you had been practicing it in every moment of time you’d been apart, “would you go on a date with me?”
despite his stunned silence, you did not falter, only looking into this eyes with a gentle smile, “tell me if you’re free no matter when it is. I’ll make time.”
a/n: fluff, pining, childhood friends to lovers, reader was in the same orphanage as wriothesley when they were kids, mild codependency (?)
happy wishing everyone! ≧◡≦
Amongst the hundreds of books stored in the Duke's office, none hold a place in his heart quite like the dusty old atlas you gave him when you were children.
It's old and worn, something aged with the faint scent of Tidalga wafting as the pages turn. To an outsider, the atlas almost looks like garbage, or rather, exactly what it is—the only crappy book in the entire vintage shop that you could afford with your terrible allowance.
He doesn't see it that way.
It's a precious commodity to him, something he holds in high regard (despite the way he's glued the spine together on nearly a dozen occasions with the amount of times he's flipped through it).
Wriothesley is not a sentimental man. Growing up the way he did taught him not to grow too attached to material belongings.
There are few things in the world he would consider treasures: his boxing gloves, for one, though that's a given. His growing tea collection that originally started as a treat he would spend coupons on, but somehow evolved into a hobby.
And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, the map of Teyvat you gave him in the orphanage you came from. Because it wasn't only a birthday gift, it was something infinitely more meaningful than that.
He remembers that birthday fondly: he was twelve and you were ten. You'd snuck into his room beyond curfew and lights out, sheltered yourself under his blanket, and shoved the poorly packaged gift bag into his hands.
The two of you spent the entire night going through the pages, amazed at how giant the world truly was outside the confines of your orphanage—imagined how freeing it would be to explore it with nothing but your pair of feet and each other.
"One day," you breathed with excitement bubbling in your voice, "We'll leave this place and travel all across Teyvat."
It wasn't just a promise to see the world. It was a promise to see it together.
For a boy who had nothing at all, what you offered him was like placing the universe itself in his hands. And even at twelve years old, with you and that book sitting between his legs and a blanket thrown over his body, he knew he'd found a dream.
The older he got, the more he clung to that.
You were the one he came back to when he was lost. The one who made the orphanage a home. The one who gave him a raggedy atlas of the world and whispered purpose into him.
Something to cherish. Something to protect. Something to love in this world when he had little to spare.
Though time had changed everything in his life, he still found it hard to abandon the welded pieces of your conjoined hearts.
Unlike Wriothesley, you had chosen to return to the surface after you finished serving your sentence.
It was lonelier beneath the crushing pressure of the sea without you. He made sure you knew that, too, always bringing it up whenever you came by to visit in the most nonchalant ways.
The Fortress of Meropide was a home both of you had discovered after years of being without one. "Come home already," he used to complain when he was still just a regular inmate and you were dropping by with a care package. "I miss you."
Nowadays, he made certain you understood the gap in his heart without you by other means. Like, say, when he would invite you personally to his office for a cup of tea and some cake, which was a rare treat you missed out on as kids.
Once, you called him out for attempting to bribe you back down into the iron fortress which he, of course, denied with his chest. Still, you never failed to make the trip down despite your outspoken disinterest in being back in the prison, and his weak offer of sweets since you now worked at one of the most prestigious bakeries in the city.
You had initially greeted him this time with your hands all over him, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck in a hug that he could barely breathe. Sweet smiles and kisses pressed to his cheeks and fingers pinching his nose—every action endearing and a remnant of your childhood spent together.
Now, you're seething in the office at his simple question: how are things on the surface?
"... That's when I turned to Lady Furina and, get this, she somehow ate every pastry I'd brought in a matter of seconds!" You huff, pacing back and forth in front of Wriothesley's desk while you rant about your latest visit with the Archon.
Furina was often in your schedule in one way or another, and almost always she wanted you to bring along sweets from the shop you worked at.
Wriothesley finds humour in your woes, following you around in your pacing with his arms folded over his chest.
"You know, you could just show up to your audiences with her without treats."
"She would call high treason and toss me back in prison!"
The Duke just snorts, earning him a well-deserved glare. Even with the pull of your lips into a thin line and the narrowing of your eyes, he thinks you look like a breathing angel under the warm orange light of the office.
There was nothing in the world you could do that would make him stop loving you. Not even glaring daggers at him like he's your mortal enemy.
"You're exaggerating," he hums, trailing behind you once again as you pace around the desk.
He nearly bumps into your back when you suddenly halt in your steps, attention stolen from the conversation. The hands that were flailing around in the air to animate your anguish drop to your sides.
Wriothesley peers curiously over your shoulder at what has caused you to stop so abruptly.
Oh. Oh, Archons. He can sense the heat rising to his ears.
He feels as though he's been spotted in vulnerability, even though that isn't at all what has happened and that you would be the last person to judge him even if he was.
But he feels seen. Caught in the act of sentimentality just because you've picked out the book you gave him all those years ago when all you had was each other.
"You still have this?" You gawk, pulling the atlas from its prestigious position on his bookshelf. It's in a spot that he can always see as soon as he enters the room—in his direct line of sight, he has a part of you with him.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, I just thought..." You consider the words for a moment, tasting them in your mouth before admitting embarrassingly, "I just thought you'd have thrown it out for a newer atlas. You know this is out of date, right? Half the oasis in Sumeru is covered in sand now."
"Why would I ever throw it out?"
"It's old," you lament again.
"And?"
"And... you can't even use it?" Your statement comes out more as a question and he can't help but roll his eyes.
"I can still use it," he insists.
You raise a brow, slotting the book back into its regular spot. "Good luck. When are you ever going to have time to do that, oh great and powerful Lord of the Fortress of Meropide?"
He ignores your little jab, as he's gotten so good at throughout his life. There's a sense of familiarity that rises in his chest, a strange nostalgia that drives him to open his mouth once more.
"Actually, about that..."
You turn to look at him again, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. You always used to scold him for not taming it better. Now it seems permanently stuck as a fluffy mess.
"What is it?"
Your fingers graze his skin and he falls apart on the spot, feeling as though you had just tipped him over the edge of the cliff he's been too afraid to dive off of.
His hand catches yours, holding it just beside his cheek for a moment before lowering it to his side and tugging you just a little closer.
If he didn't ask now, would he ever?
"Let's leave this place," he murmurs, reciting the dream you promised him when he was twelve years old. "Let's travel all across Teyvat."
The silence that follows is so loud that it makes his ears ring. For a moment he falters, thinking he may have misread the situation and in turn whatever feelings he thought you may have harboured for him.
But then you take a daring step forward, nearly flush against his body. There's a look of wonder in your eyes that makes his heart race.
"Just you and me?"
"Just you and me." Just us.
There's a heavy implication behind that and you both know it. More than a proposal to chase a dream of bygone days, it's starting to sound like a confession. In his own roundabout ways, of course.
He can see the hitching of your breath, the subtle widening of your eyes, and all he wants to do is laugh at how seriously adorable you look.
"And what about the Fortress?"
"People here are less problematic nowadays than you may think."
"Won't the paperwork back up?"
"I can deal with it whenever I come back."
"Why me?"
Another silence.
"You ask too many questions," he says quietly, dodging your interrogation. In reality, he already has an answer. It's instantaneous, resting comfortably in his mouth but never leaving.
Why would it ever be anyone else?
He's having trouble focusing on anything right now with your chests so close together and his thumb running along your knuckles.
"Wriothesley," you say his name and it sounds like honey, the sweetest thing in all of Teyvat. And the look you're giving him, so touched and melting into nothing but a smiling mess—he isn't sure his heart can handle this. "I can't believe you remembered that."
"You kiddin'?" He laughs, slowly closing the distance between you. "It's all I've thought about my whole life."
He watches you carefully as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your hand squeezes his and that's when he knows he's got you. You kiss him and he can feel the curve of your lips, the ever growing smile on your face meeting his. His knees are on the verge of buckling by the time you pull away.
"Surely you'll miss this place in your absence. This is your home now, isn't it?" You tease.
"Well, you know what they say." He gives you a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle. "Home is where the heart is."
It didn't matter if you were braving a sandstorm or the rainforest or the depths of the sea.
Wherever you were, you would be his dream. You would be his home, too—just as you always had been for as long as he could remember.
I also hate the “deku can’t cook” allegations. You think an only child with a single mom has never helped her out in the kitchen before ? You think he can’t at least follow a recipe ?? He doesn’t have to be a master chef but to say he can’t even boil water.. don’t piss me off..
synopsis : through every universe, every cycle of rebirth, he will always find you. in which kazuha loves all versions of you; in every timeline, every universe, every breath or non-breath he takes. ╱ word count : 1.7k
characters : kazuha x gn!reader
categories : fluff. mild angst. yearning. royalty au. country x city trope. hospital au. modern au. apocalypse & post-apocalypse aus. idol au. inanimate object / nature au?? lot's of aus. 8 + 1 fic.
warnings : rusty writing (it's been a hot minute my bad-). brief major character deaths. mention of blood / injury / violence / drowning. illness in characters + family members. fire. zombies. mentions / vague descriptions of death in general.
dedicated to : @yuomizuu, from your stellaronhvnter secret santa :3c when i saw kazuha on your list, i jumped for joy; he’s one of my top genshin characters & im so happy to have an excuse to write for him! // playlist i was listening to while writing // art by @.mayu_mey on twt
In one universe, Kazuha bumps into you on the street.
Bundles of scrolls and parchment spill from your arms, delicate writing muddied with dirt as the commotion on the street barely comes to a halt. Onlookers scowl and grumble, moving past without a second thought as you scramble to collect your things from the footpath, movements hastened by the spear-tips aiming your way.
Cape a deep crimson with delicate fur trim, the Kaedehara family crest is embroidered on the back in gold thread. Kazuha always thought it was unnecessary to flaunt his status, preferring respect of the family name over awe of his wealth. But being a gift from a dear friend, he wears it more often than not. In cases like these, he wishes he hadn’t. Your eyes catch the glint of his garments, and you freeze, petrified.
Lowering to a crouch, Kazuha waves away his guards with dimmissive hand, gloved hands working to collect fallen sheets.
“Are you alright?” he asks, voice kind and with a smile. He holds out a scroll for you to take back. Your fingers brush his.
“Yes…” you mutter back, somewhat sheepish. You quickly rise to your feet and offer him a bow. “My apologies, Your Highness.”
“No need for it.”
He offers to walk you to your destination. You decline. He insists. The two of you both make it to the library in quick succession, the others on the road making way the minute the red of his cape is seen.
“This is quite unnecessary, Your Highness.” Kazuha looks over at you. You smile when he meets your eyes. “It was I who bumped into you. There was no need to escort me back.”
“Ah, but I wanted to.”
It’s when you’re inside, the door closed behind you, that Kazuha stops to stare at where you’d once stood. His cheeks are rosy with warmth.
“Are you alright, Your Highness?” one of the guards prods, hesitant. “You seem a bit… flushed.”
“I’m more than alright.”
The kingdom falls before he can see you again.
Flames engulf houses and shops; fire starved and ravenous, it becomes a glutton as it licks up the side of the library. His horse whinnies and backs away when the heat gets to be too much, but Kazuha can’t seem to pull himself away from the sight. He needs to leave. He needs to leave. Run. Run. Run. Run—
Some part of him hopes you made it out unscathed, heart heavy as the shouts of enemy troops chase after him. You would’ve liked the palace archives, he thinks, salt trailing down ash-stained cheeks as the ruins disappear in the distance.
—
In one universe, you’ve just moved from the city to the countryside.
As your new neighbour, Kazuha took it upon himself to welcome you. The rest of the area had heard about your reasonings: a relative of yours who owned the house you’d be staying in has fallen ill. You’re here to keep things in order while they receive treatment.
Basket full of fresh fruit from his own farm, he stands outside your door with a nervous frown. His heart beats erratically in his chest, pulse ricocheting off the bones of his ribs. It’s never like him to be so jittery when greeting others. Readjusting his grip, Kazuha sucks in a breath and knocks.
You shout back, “Just a sec!”
There’s a brief moment where Kazuha debates leaving, dropping the basket and running. He digs his heels into the ground. The door opens with a click. You smile and—
Oh.
He’s been here before, hasn't he?
Cheeks turning a soft pink, he grins back, holding out the basket.
“A little welcome gift,” he says, “from your new neighbour.”
You take the basket from him; your fingers don’t touch his. Is it weird that he wishes they did? Kazuha comes back the next day, handing you a bunch of mail and a package. You invite him to stay this time.
Kazuha swears he’s seen you before, that you moving wasn’t a coincidence judging by the butterflies that eat at his stomach lining. Whatever it is, you don’t remember him like how he thinks of you.
You return to the city months later, leaving the confession on the tip of his tongue.
—
In one universe, you are the wind that greets him every morning.
The hospital room is stuffy, void of colour except for the stack of “Get well soon!” cards and deflating balloons shoved by his bedside. He misses the farm, he decides, the vast openness of the trees and fields. The smell of medicine had stung his nose at first; now it’s barely there. Kazuha stares out at the sunrise, smiling to himself when a familiar breeze slips through the crack of his window. Bathed in gold with the sun speckled in his hair, he strains an arm and grasps onto a well-loved notepad and pen.
“One day,” he murmurs, voice airy as he jots down the date, “I’ll be out there too.”
—
In one universe, you’re a birdhouse and he’s the bird.
The seeds are kept well stocked; the shelter you provide is always dry. You both get swept away in a windstorm.
—
In one universe, he is a star.
Rubble and debris from what were once towering builds block any type of path you may have been able to venture. Despite the lack of them, the stench of walking death still permeates the air.
“Shouldn’t have taken that shortcut,” you mumble, grunting when your foot catches on another root.
The trees grow thicker and you swear you’ve passed this part of the woods already. You grumble a string of profanities, plopping down to the forest floor and leaning against the bark. You look up.
“You’re here at least.” The words are soft, much too gentle for the atmosphere. Kazuha doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. “You’d scold me for scavenging this late. I know it.”
The star grows brighter, as if laughing.
—
In one universe, Kazuha’s flesh can be tasted on your tongue.
Tied up in the corner, your arms pinned behind your back, he sits about two metres away in front of you on a broken crate. The gun lays loaded in his lap. Eyes closed with his head down, fingers resting on the cool metal, Kazuha’s lips stretch into a thin line.
“It’s not right,” he mutters, mainly to himself as you thrash in the corner, desperate to reach him. “It’s not my right to rob you of life.”
You snarl in response. Eyes bloodshot and crazed, he wonders if you can still understand him. Would you plead for him to shoot you? Would you beg to be spared? Could he bear to do either? He’s going to be sick.
“It’s not right,” he repeats, shaky hands curling in his lap. “It’s you and me. We haven’t come all this way just to end.”
The world has taken enough from him. Kazuha refuses to let it take you too; not without him.
He stands in front of you. The gun lays off to the side.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screams at him not to fold. They wouldn’t want this, it wails, clawing at the walls of his skull. Another tells him, Do it. And so Kazuha undoes your binds, kisses you, smiles tearfully when your nails claw into his skin. Blood runs down his back, stains his tattered clothing. He hugs you. Your jaws clamp down on the junction of his neck and shoulder. His nose brushes against your jaw.
“It’s ok,” he whispers to ears that cannot hear reason, hold tightening, “we’ll be ok.”
—
In one universe, you two never meet. Not face-to-face at least.
Kazuha smiles at the camera, holding up a peace-sign, before the view switches to another member on stage. The clip goes viral very shortly after its creation. You come across it one day.
“An idol, huh…” you mutter.
You scroll away.
—
In one universe, he’s stuck behind a screen, a watcher to your world as you go through the motions of life.
Fate isn’t his, but he can’t seem to mind. When his splash art first coloured your screen, when he first witnessed that giddy look in your eyes, Kazuha knew he was smitten.
Even if you ult at the wrong times, run out of stamina in the middle of climbing, skip dialogue, Kazuha is there beside you. For every beginning, end, every plotline in between, he’s a staple of your team.
One day, you stop logging in. It was gradual at first; daily tasks, some resin here and there, you’d skip a day then come back the next. A day turned into two. Then three. A week. A month. Kazuha still waits. It’s funny how his world comes to a standstill when you do. He hopes you’re doing well.
—
In one universe, he is a leaf and you are a river cutting through the forest.
He drowns in your embrace, waterlogged and swept away as you carry him down stream. If he had a conscience, Kazuha would do it again.
—
In this universe, it’s finally Kazuha and you. (There is no need to say he loves you when his name is already beside yours.)
Kazuha watches as you pack up your things. He stands from his spot next to you, bag slung over his shoulder as he waits. Other students are already leaving the lecture hall, milling about as he admires you from this short distance.
In this universe, it’s been Kazuha and you since birth. Friends since forever, it surprised no one when both of you confessed. It would be nice if every universe were like this.
“You’re staring.”
He blinks, hand finding yours automatically. You squeeze back.
“It’s hard not to when you look like that,” he teases back.
“C’mon, the winter festival is starting soon.” You roll your eyes.
Foot catching on the chair, Kazuha steadies you before your books can fall out of your hands, giggling when you’re quick to apologize.
“I had a weird dream last night,” he blurts out once you’re back to standing.
“About me falling?”
“More than that.” He traces your skin with his thumb, lost in thought before speaking again. “I’ll walk you back to your dorm. Drop off your stuff and all.”
“Nah, I can just meet up with you.”
Would it be nice if every universe were like this? That’s silly, he thinks with a smile. No world could make me love you less.
“I insist.”
notes : inspired by multiverse concepts, including “everything, everywhere, all at once,” arcane, the "do you think we're together in every universe?" trend, and this one poem i read that i can’t remember. this ended up being shorter than i thought it would be, but there are a lot of parallels between scenes and such so i hope those were caught! apologies if the prose doesn't flow too well TwT
Tbh I'm ok with Izuocha being heavily implied to be canon, bc I've never cared about my ships being canon, so I will never stop shipping Izuku with Katsuki or wtv.
I ship to have fun, its not so serious to me. Idk why but I think in the recent years, fandoms are way too obsessed with their ships being canonized or not. If one of my ships is canon, great! But most of my ships are fanon and I still ship them.
Just have fun and ignore the drama and the content from ships you don't like.
“But friends don’t look at each other like we do.”
Kuroo is right. But he shouldn’t say it.
You keep your eyes pinned on the essay in front of you, one hand of yours hazily brushing over your eyes to keep the tears from falling. At midnight, in the silence of the room, you can hear your own heart break, shatter even, but you’re holding it together. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? When everything inside of you is crumbling, you pick yourself up again, a puppet on a string dancing to the sound of the cries you never dare to let out.
Under the kotatsu Kuroo’s leg is touching yours and you’re afraid he’s gonna fade away too if you pull away. So you hold perfectly still, letting his warmth seep into you, dreaming of a life where the thought of being seen doesn’t make you want to run.
His hand reaches over the table, gently peeling the pen from your hand and putting it down on your scattered notes. Fingertips dancing from your palm to your wrist, his thumb rubbing small circles over your pulse point. The same spot where you once sprayed a perfume tester, quipping something about how perfume is to be worn where you want your lover to kiss you; and Kuroo who brought your wrist to his lips with a tenderness that almost made you cry. Idle hands wrapped around each other, unspoken promises of never letting go.
“Please.”
It’s the sound of Kuroo’s voice breaking, pleading, that draws your eyes back to him.
Please, look at me.
Please, let this be love.
Please, be gentle with my heart.
No, friends don’t look at each other like you do.
Not with this unfulfilled yearning in the vastness of his dark eyes, pupils blown out as his gaze lingers on you. Not with this hunger, the insatiable craving for something more than this, something bigger, something softer. Not with this paralyzing fear of letting go and inching closer, swaying around each other on tiptoes, never fully there but never fully gone either.
Kuroo slumps over the table with a heavy sigh, his eyes never leaving you. They never do. It’s like he’s drawn to you, the sea in love with the moon, a story as old as times. His fingers linger in your palm, idly tracing your heart line, as if your hands alone were proof enough that this love exists, that the stars aligned so you two could meet, against all odds.
“But I’m scared,” you confess, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can swallow them down again. Your fingertips graze his hand, spelling out the word stuck in your throat, the one clawing its way out even though it feels too big to do so. It’s what you always do; tumbling and falling and bursting at the seams, all the love for him you can’t contain.
“Then let me love you scared. Love me till the fear unravels in your chest, making room for something new. Just… let me.”
Kuroo’s voice is merely a whisper, a husky vibrato under your skin. You try and hold it back, but your love is spilling out like ink on the paper, staining your red string of fate in pitch black. Maybe you can learn to love him in the dark, somewhere his eyes can’t find you, only your fingers intertwined. Never letting go.
“But friends don’t look at each other like we do.”
Kuroo is right. But he shouldn’t say it.
You keep your eyes pinned on the essay in front of you, one hand of yours hazily brushing over your eyes to keep the tears from falling. At midnight, in the silence of the room, you can hear your own heart break, shatter even, but you’re holding it together. It’s what you’re good at, isn’t it? When everything inside of you is crumbling, you pick yourself up again, a puppet on a string dancing to the sound of the cries you never dare to let out.
Under the kotatsu Kuroo’s leg is touching yours and you’re afraid he’s gonna fade away too if you pull away. So you hold perfectly still, letting his warmth seep into you, dreaming of a life where the thought of being seen doesn’t make you want to run.
His hand reaches over the table, gently peeling the pen from your hand and putting it down on your scattered notes. Fingertips dancing from your palm to your wrist, his thumb rubbing small circles over your pulse point. The same spot where you once sprayed a perfume tester, quipping something about how perfume is to be worn where you want your lover to kiss you; and Kuroo who brought your wrist to his lips with a tenderness that almost made you cry. Idle hands wrapped around each other, unspoken promises of never letting go.
“Please.”
It’s the sound of Kuroo’s voice breaking, pleading, that draws your eyes back to him.
Please, look at me.
Please, let this be love.
Please, be gentle with my heart.
No, friends don’t look at each other like you do.
Not with this unfulfilled yearning in the vastness of his dark eyes, pupils blown out as his gaze lingers on you. Not with this hunger, the insatiable craving for something more than this, something bigger, something softer. Not with this paralyzing fear of letting go and inching closer, swaying around each other on tiptoes, never fully there but never fully gone either.
Kuroo slumps over the table with a heavy sigh, his eyes never leaving you. They never do. It’s like he’s drawn to you, the sea in love with the moon, a story as old as times. His fingers linger in your palm, idly tracing your heart line, as if your hands alone were proof enough that this love exists, that the stars aligned so you two could meet, against all odds.
“But I’m scared,” you confess, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can swallow them down again. Your fingertips graze his hand, spelling out the word stuck in your throat, the one clawing its way out even though it feels too big to do so. It’s what you always do; tumbling and falling and bursting at the seams, all the love for him you can’t contain.
“Then let me love you scared. Love me till the fear unravels in your chest, making room for something new. Just… let me.”
Kuroo’s voice is merely a whisper, a husky vibrato under your skin. You try and hold it back, but your love is spilling out like ink on the paper, staining your red string of fate in pitch black. Maybe you can learn to love him in the dark, somewhere his eyes can’t find you, only your fingers intertwined. Never letting go.
I think they would get relatively fair trials or as fair as the ones in the real world, at least
However, I do think it's probably way easier to convict a person of wrongdoing when there are things as quirks. Most people will have quirks that are exclusive to them (in a way) so if you have enough eyewitnesses you can probably have someone convicted not only because of their looks but also because of the specific quirk used to commit a crime.
The trials are the same, but there are other aspects to he taken into account in court.
I don't know if that makes sense, but the question got me thinking😅
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