#and the feeling can go away at literally any second

[sonarspace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆STUDY BREAK (FT. GOJO)

꒰ synopsis. being in the same class as gojo satoru was bad enough; having him as the professor’s insufferably smug assistant made it worse. content. college au. nsfw. (teasing. slight praise kınk. fıngering. oräl. p in v. multiple ōrgasms.) wc. 5.3k. an. to clear up any confusion 😭.. satoru’s a senior student + the professor’s assistant in the course you’re both taking. (fic is kinda all over the place so idk if this works but let’s pretend like it does).

there’s something about gojo satoru that drives you insane. not in the fun, heart-fluttering way that comes with a secret crush or the thrill of banter. no—this is the kind of insane where you want to hurl something, preferably at his stupidly smug face.

“class,” he drawls, leaning lazily against the desk at the front of the room, his shirt slightly rumpled like he doesn’t give a damn—and he doesn’t. “these papers? a mixed bag. some of you really impressed me. others… well.” his lips curve into a smirk. “let’s just say the recycling bin was hungry.”

you groan inwardly, already sensing where this is going. he’s done this before, holding your work hostage like it’s part of his routine entertainment.

“and here,” he continues, brandishing a paper like a prop. your paper. “is a prime example of someone… almost getting there. strong ideas, decent execution, but the conclusion? oof. fell harder than my GPA sophomore year.”

a few students laugh. your jaw tightens, the heat in your chest bubbling up into something sharp and biting. he doesn’t have to name you; everyone knows exactly whose paper he’s waving around.

“anyway,” he finishes with a shrug, tossing the paper onto the desk like it’s disposable. “there’s potential. keep at it.”

you don’t even wait for class to end before your resolve solidifies: you’re going to kill him. maybe not literally, but metaphorically? absolutely.

you don’t plan on storming to his dorm room. it just… happens. one moment, you’re replaying his smug grin and the way his eyes gleamed when he mocked your paper, and the next, you’re standing outside his door, your fist raised to knock.

he answers quickly, and the sight of him makes you falter. his hair is damp, sticking out in soft tufts like he just got out of the shower, and his plain white t-shirt clings to him in a way that’s almost—no. you shake the thought away.

“well, this is unexpected,” he says, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that’s all teeth. “if you wanted private tutoring, you could’ve just asked.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you snap, brushing past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

he whistles low under his breath. “feisty tonight. to what do I owe the pleasure?”

you spin to face him, your hands clenched at your sides. “what is your problem with me?”

he blinks, his smirk faltering for a fraction of a second before returning full force. “problem? sweetheart, i don’t have a problem with you.”

“you humiliate me in class,” you say, your voice rising. “you make these comments, you single me out—what, are you that bored with your life?”

“humiliate?” he echoes, feigning a wounded look. “i think you mean ‘motivate.’ you’re one of the smartest people in that class. if i don’t push you, who will?”

“that’s bullshit,” you fire back, stepping closer. “you don’t ‘push’ anyone else.”

“because no one else is as fun,” he replies easily, his grin tilting into something sharper. “the way you react, the fire in your eyes—it’s addictive.”

your breath catches, the heat in your chest spreading to your cheeks. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet, here you are,” he says, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between you feel heavier. “in my room. alone.”

“because you drive me crazy,” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

his eyebrows lift slightly, as if he’s genuinely intrigued by your outburst. “good crazy or bad crazy?”

he takes a step closer, too close. the kind of close that makes your pulse stutter and your instincts scream at you to step back—but you don’t. instead, you stand your ground, your jaw clenched as he waits for your answer, his gaze steady and almost daring.

“what does it matter?” you mutter, your voice quieter now, the heat of your earlier anger ebbing into something more uncertain.

“it matters,” he says, his voice low as his eyes flicker to your lips. “because I need to know if I can do this.”

before you can ask what he means, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. but you don’t. his hand finds your waist, tugging you closer as the kiss deepens, his mouth hot and insistent against yours.

it’s like a dam breaking. weeks—months—of tension and unspoken words all come crashing down in a rush of heat and urgency. his other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head to kiss you deeper, and the sound you make in response is embarrassing and needy, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

you should stop this. you should push him away, tell him he’s crossed a line. but the way his thumb brushes against your waist, the way he tilts his head just right, the way he kisses like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have—it’s addictive. you can’t stop. you don’t want to.

but then reality slams into you like a cold gust of wind. what are you doing? your chest tightens as the weight of it crashes down all at once, the heat between you dissolving into something sharper, more terrifying.

you pull back abruptly, your breathing uneven. “i can’t.”

he blinks, his expression softening from one of heat to confusion. “what?”

“this—this is a mistake,” you stammer, backing away. your hands feel clumsy as they fumble behind you for the door. “i shouldn’t have come here.”

“wait.” his hand reaches out, almost instinctively, but you’re already opening the door, your chest tight and your mind racing as you step out into the hall. you don’t look back, even as the warmth of his touch lingers on your skin.

────

you avoid him after that. in class, you sit as far from him as possible, claiming a seat in the back corner, close to the door. the usual tension he brought to the room—his teasing remarks, his piercing gaze when he caught you rolling your eyes—feels conspicuously absent. he doesn’t call on you, doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t even acknowledge you.

it’s been weeks since that night in his dorm, and as the semester nears its end, the distance feels heavier with every passing class. his silence, once the thing you desperately wanted, now presses on your chest like a weight. you wonder if he regrets it, if he’s just as caught in the what-ifs as you are—or if he’s already forgotten.

the final project looms, deadlines creeping closer, but the distraction isn’t enough to stop the quiet ache that’s settled in your chest. you remind yourself it’s for the best. boundaries were crossed, a line you know you shouldn’t have stepped over. it doesn’t matter how he made you feel, how his kisses left you breathless and yearning. none of it matters.

and yet, every time you leave class, you rush, head down, praying he won’t stop you. and every time he doesn’t, the ache grows.

when class ends today, the air feels heavier than usual. your peers chatter around you, their voices blending into background noise as you pack your things quickly, eyes fixed on the door. if you can just slip out unnoticed, avoid another day of walking the tightrope you’ve been balancing on since that night—

but then a hand wraps gently around your wrist, warm and familiar.

“you’re avoiding me,” he says, his voice low and steady. there’s no edge to it, no teasing grin or smug undertone. just quiet certainty, like he’s stating a fact.

you freeze, your heart thudding in your chest. it’s been so long since he’s said anything to you that the sound of his voice directed at you feels foreign.

“i’m late,” you mumble, tugging your wrist weakly in an attempt to free yourself. “let me go.”

“you don’t have any classes after this,” he says, his grip loosening but not letting go. his eyes meet yours, calm but resolute. “i checked your schedule.”

your jaw tightens, irritation flashing through you. “you shouldn’t have access to my schedule.”

“probably not,” he admits with a shrug, a hint of the old satoru creeping into his voice, “but i’m me.”

you open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to back off, but he cuts you off first. “come have coffee with me.”

you blink, caught off guard by the casual offer. “what?”

“coffee,” he repeats, his tone light, as if this is perfectly normal. “you like coffee, don’t you?”

“that’s not the point,” you snap, yanking your wrist free from his grasp. “what is this, some weird apology?”

“it’s not weird,” he says, his smirk faltering slightly now, his expression open and strangely earnest. “it’s just coffee. with me.”

you stare at him, struggling to find the right words. “gojo,” you begin, your voice heavy, “you and i are not friends.”

his face falls, the shift so quick and unexpected that it makes your stomach twist. you see the way his shoulders tense, the way his gaze drops for just a moment, but you force yourself to look away. without giving him a chance to reply, you turn and push past him, your steps quick and unsteady as you leave the classroom.

the ache in your chest grows with every step, and even as you round the corner, out of sight, the image of his expression lingers. there’s no relief this time. only guilt.

────

you don’t know why you’re here. no, that’s a lie—you know exactly why you’re here. the memory of his expression, the slight drop of his shoulders at your retort, has been looping in your mind, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

your feet carry you down the familiar path to his dorm, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step. before you can talk yourself out of it, your fist is already knocking on the door.

it opens almost immediately, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs. his white hair is a mess, sticking up in chaotic directions, and his glasses are perched crookedly on his nose. there’s a faint crease on his cheek, like he’d been leaning against a book, and his shirt hangs loosely off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep or hours spent working. he looks… soft. disarming. almost painfully cute.

“coffee,” you say, holding up the cups like a white flag. “can i come in?”

his lips twitch, a hint of a smile breaking through the haze of surprise as he steps aside. “bribery, huh? didn’t think you had it in you.”

his dorm is as cluttered as you remember—papers and notebooks sprawled across his desk, a blinking laptop shoved precariously to one side. you set the coffee down on the edge of the desk, your gaze catching on the scrawled notes and dense blocks of text.

“grading?” you ask.

“research,” he replies, dropping onto the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. his hand rakes through his already-messy hair, making it stick up even more. “finals prep. you know, glamorous TA things.”

you hand him a cup, your fingers brushing against his as he takes it. the simple contact sends a jolt up your arm that you stubbornly ignore. “thought you could use it.”

he hums as he takes a sip, his lashes fluttering briefly before he lets out a quiet sound of approval. the noise is so low, so soft, it makes your stomach twist. you glance away quickly, your grip tightening on your own cup.

“about the other day,” you start, the words quiet and tentative.

he glances up, the coffee still in his hands. his expression is unreadable, but his fingers still against the cup, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “you don’t have to explain,” he says, setting his cup down on the desk. “if you don’t want this—if i got it wrong—just say so.”

“it’s not that,” you blurt, the words tumbling out too fast, too raw. warmth floods your cheeks, creeping down to your chest. “i just… i don’t know what this is.”

he doesn’t respond immediately, doesn’t fall into his usual teasing deflection. instead, he stands, crossing the small space between you with deliberate steps. his gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you can’t control.

“let me show you,” he says softly, his voice low, uncharacteristically serious.

he’s so close now, his hand brushing against yours, his touch light, almost hesitant. and then his lips are on yours, and everything else fades away.

this kiss is nothing like the first. there’s no uncertainty, no restraint. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moves against yours, hot and insistent. your grip on the coffee slips, the cup hitting the floor with a dull thud as your hands find his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

when his hands slide under your shirt, the roughness of his palms against your bare skin makes you shudder. he guides you backward, his body pressing into yours until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. you sink down, the weight of him grounding you as he follows, his lips trailing fire along your jaw and down your neck.

his hands are everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, brushing the underside of your ribs, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch of you. when he pulls back to look at you, his lips are curved in a wicked, breath-stealing grin.

“you’re infuriating,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as his eyes rake over you, drinking in every detail.

“you’re worse,” you manage, though your voice is barely more than a whisper.

his grin widens, and his laugh is warm against your skin as he dips his head, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re already so worked up. it’s cute.”

“shut up,” you snap, though the way your hips arch into his touch betrays you.

“make me,” he challenges, his lips brushing against yours before descending lower, kissing down your collarbone and tugging your shirt higher with every inch. his hands roam greedily, tugging the fabric over your head and tossing it somewhere behind him without a second thought.

his mouth is back on you immediately, nipping and kissing along the swell of your breasts as his hands work the clasp of your bra. when it comes free, his lips part in a satisfied hum, his hands kneading your soft skin like he’s savoring every second of this.

“so fucking perfect,” he mutters, his voice husky as he leans back slightly to take in the sight of you. his gaze is heavy, filled with something dark and hungry that makes your stomach twist in the best way.

“stop staring,” you grumble, though the heat in your cheeks betrays the sharpness of your words.

“can’t help it,” he says, his grin tilting into something softer, more genuine. “you’re gorgeous.”

before you can respond, his mouth is back on you, his tongue flicking over your nipple as his other hand trails down your stomach, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your pants. your breath hitches as he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“can i?” he asks, his voice quieter now, his expression serious.

you nod, and he wastes no time. his fingers hook under the fabric, tugging your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. the cool air against your bare skin makes you shiver, but the warmth of his hands is there immediately, coaxing you to relax under his touch.

“look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick as his hands part your thighs, his gaze drinking in every inch of you. “so fucking pretty.”

your cheeks flush, and you try to turn your head away, but his hand cups your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. “don’t hide from me,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “not tonight.”

his other hand slides between your thighs, his touch featherlight at first, teasing. when his thumb brushes over your clit, a jolt of heat shoots through you, and your hips buck involuntarily.

“sensitive,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a wicked grin. “i barely touched you, and you’re already squirming.”

“shut up,” you snap, your voice shaky as your fingers clutch at the sheets beneath you. but the way your body reacts—arching into his touch, chasing the pressure—makes it clear that his teasing isn’t far from the truth.

“you don’t really want me to, do you?” his voice is low, almost a growl, and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. “i think you like when i talk to you like this. when i tell you how good you’re doing, how fucking beautiful you look right now.”

your chest heaves as his fingers dip lower, sliding through your slick folds with infuriating slowness. every movement feels deliberate, calculated, like he’s savoring every second. when his fingers finally slip inside you, the stretch makes your head fall back, a gasp tumbling from your lips.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his thumb circling your clit as his fingers begin to move, slow and deliberate at first. “you feel so fucking good, baby. so perfect.”

your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes your vision blur. “oh my god—gojo—”

he tuts sharply, his fingers pausing inside you, his thumb stalling its maddening rhythm. your head snaps up, breathless and confused, to find him staring down at you with a dark look, his lips curving into a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“no,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding as he tilts his head. “say satoru.”

“w-what?” you stammer, your heart racing as his fingers remain perfectly still, the tension building with every passing second.

“not ‘gojo,’” he says again, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his. his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, his grin sharpening. “say satoru.”

you hesitate, your breath hitching as your body trembles beneath him. he presses his fingers deeper, curling them just enough to make your toes curl, and your resolve shatters.

“satoru,” you gasp, your voice breaking on the syllables.

his smirk widens, something dark and triumphant flickering in his eyes. “good girl,” he murmurs, his thumb resuming its slow, torturous circles on your clit as his fingers pick up their rhythm again, harder this time, deeper.

your head falls back against the mattress, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure builds again, higher and hotter than before. his name tumbles from your lips like a mantra, breathless and needy as he drives you closer to the edge.

“that’s it,” he coaxes, his voice dripping with praise as his free hand slides down your body, his touch possessive. “just like that, baby. let go for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens to the breaking point, and when he curls his fingers just right, pressing against the perfect spot, it snaps. your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and overwhelming, and his name spills from your lips in a broken moan.

“satoru—fuck—”

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval as he works you through the waves of pleasure, his movements slowing but never stopping until your body goes slack beneath him, trembling and spent.

he pulls his hand away slowly, his gaze fixed on you as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a deliberate, satisfied hum. “even better than i imagined,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance, his eyes gleaming as they roam over your flushed, trembling body.

you blink, your breath still uneven as his words settle over you. “wait—” you say, your voice catching slightly. “you’ve thought about this?”

his grin widens, slow and deliberate, and he leans down, bracing himself on his forearms so his face is just inches from yours. “oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “you really think i haven’t?”

your cheeks flush even hotter, your pulse racing as his words sink in. “you’re—” you stammer, at a rare loss for words. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous?” he repeats, feigning offense, though the wicked glint in his eyes never falters. “i’d say i’m a man of focus. you’ve been in my head for weeks, driving me insane with that sharp mouth and the way you look at me when you think i don’t notice.”

“i don’t—” you begin, but his lips curve into a knowing smirk, cutting you off.

“you do,” he insists, his tone softening just slightly. “and every time you glared at me, every time you rolled your eyes or bit back some little retort, all i could think about was how much i wanted to shut you up. like this.”

his lips capture yours again, and this kiss is slower, heavier, laced with an intensity that makes your toes curl. his hands roam, sliding over your bare skin with a reverence that feels almost out of place against his words.

when he finally pulls back, his gaze is still on you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “and now that i’ve got you,” he says, his voice dipping into something darker, “i don’t think i’ll ever get enough.”

the weight of his confession leaves you breathless, and before you can respond, his lips are trailing down your body again, his hands parting your thighs as he settles between them.

“what are you—” you start, but his eyes flick up to meet yours, and the look in them steals the rest of your words.

“relax,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a soft, almost mischievous smile. “i’m not done tasting you yet.”

his hands slide to grip your thighs, pulling you apart with ease as his lips descend, brushing over your inner thighs, teasingly slow. his tongue flicks out, hot and wet against your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you again, you feel your body arch instinctively, your breath leaving in a sharp, unrestrained gasp.

he’s relentless. his tongue drags up your folds in a languid stroke before circling your clit with maddening precision. his mouth is hot, the slick, wet sounds mingling with your soft moans, and his breath—warm and uneven—fans against your skin with every movement.

his hair brushes against your thighs, soft and messy, and your fingers thread through it again, tugging sharply enough to make him groan against you. the vibration of it sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core, and your hips buck against his mouth.

“satoru,” you gasp, but it’s barely coherent, your voice breaking as he latches onto your clit, sucking just enough to make your toes curl. “oh my—”

the cold press of something against your inner thigh pulls you out of the haze, just barely. it’s sharp, unfamiliar, and you glance down—his glasses. they’re still perched on his nose, slightly crooked, the metal frame fogging faintly from the heat of his breath. he’s so lost in the moment, so focused on the way his tongue works against you, that he hasn’t even noticed.

your hand drifts down, brushing against the cool frame, and you slip them off without a word. the absurdity of it—the way he’s been eating you out with his glasses still on—makes you want to laugh. the corners of your mouth twitch, and a soft sound bubbles up in your throat, but then his tongue presses flat against your folds, dragging up in one slow, deliberate motion, and the laugh dissolves into a sharp moan.

your head falls back against the pillow, your hand tangling back in his hair as you toss the glasses onto the bed with the other. the noise they make as they hit the mattress is faint, drowned out by the obscene wet sounds of his mouth, the low hums of satisfaction he lets out as he devours you.

“fuck,” you whimper, your thighs trembling as his tongue flicks against your clit again, faster now, more insistent. your body arches instinctively, chasing the pressure, and his hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you even closer to his mouth.

he growls against you, the sound low and rough, vibrating through you in a way that makes your toes curl. his tongue dips lower, teasing your entrance before sliding back up, and the sharp scrape of his teeth against your swollen clit has you seeing stars.

“so fucking sweet,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your slick skin. “can’t get enough of you, baby.”

you can’t respond, can’t think. the only thing you can focus on is the way his tongue works against you, precise and relentless, building the heat in your stomach until it’s unbearable. your fingers twist in his hair, pulling harder, and the groan he lets out in response sends you spiraling.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, breathless and broken. he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, his mouth dragging you closer and closer to the edge until you can’t hold on any longer.

your orgasm hits you hard, ripping through you in waves that leave your entire body trembling. your hips jerk against his hold, your moans loud and unrestrained as you ride it out. his tongue slows, working you through every aftershock until you’re left panting, boneless against the bed.

when he finally pulls back, his chest is heaving, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his hair is a mess, strands sticking up where your fingers had tugged, and his eyes—those impossibly bright blues—flick up to meet yours, gleaming with satisfaction.

“twice,” he says, his voice low and teasing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

he sits back on his knees, his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs as he takes in the sight of you—flushed, panting, your chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. his grin is lazy, self-satisfied, like he knows exactly what he’s done to you.

“you’re staring,” you mutter weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“hard not to,” he replies, his tone low and full of amusement. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, his touch soft, teasing. “you look so fucking good when you come.”

your cheeks burn, and you want to glare at him, to tell him to shut up, but the words catch in your throat as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. in one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side, the movement effortless and maddeningly confident.

your eyes follow the shift of his muscles, the way they ripple under his skin, lean and defined. a faint sheen of sweat glistens across his chest, catching the dim light, highlighting every sharp line and curve. your gaze drifts lower, down to the sharp ridges of his abdomen. the faint trail of white hair starting just below his navel draws your attention, leading your eyes further, until his hands move to the waistband of his boxers.

he doesn’t rush. he hooks his thumbs under the fabric, dragging it down slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tighter in your stomach. as the fabric falls away, your breath hitches.

he’s fully bare now, and your mouth goes dry.

his cock is… breathtaking. thick and flushed a deep pink at the tip, already leaking beads of precum that catch the light as they drip down the length. it’s long, the kind of length that makes your thighs press together instinctively, wondering how he’ll fit, but the heat pooling low in your stomach burns hotter, overriding any hesitation.

his hand wraps around it, and he strokes himself slowly, his thumb swiping over the head to collect the wetness there. the motion is deliberate, almost lazy, and the soft groan he lets out sends a shiver down your spine.

you’re staring—you know you are—and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked grin as his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your folds, slick and hot. “i’ll make it fit.”

his words send a shiver through you, his voice low and dripping with confidence. the weight of his cock against your folds, hot and heavy, is enough to make your hips twitch instinctively, chasing the friction. but he doesn’t push in right away—of course he doesn’t. instead, he drags the head up and down your slick, letting it catch on your clit with every pass, teasing you until you’re squirming beneath him.

“satoru,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. you’re not above begging at this point. “please.”

his grin widens, his head dipping to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “what’s the rush, baby? we’ve got all night.”

“satoru,” you repeat, more insistently this time, and he groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his cock twitching against you.

“fuck,” he mutters, his voice tight now, losing some of that smug edge. “you sound so pretty when you beg.”

he lines himself up, his hand still wrapped around the base as he presses the head against your entrance. the stretch is immediate, a sharp, overwhelming mix of pleasure and pressure as he pushes in slowly, inch by inch.

“holy shit,” he breathes, his voice rough as his head falls forward, his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’re so fucking tight.”

your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your breath catching as he sinks deeper, the fullness stealing every coherent thought from your mind. he pauses halfway, his free hand sliding up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“you okay?” he asks, and there’s something softer in his voice now, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

you nod, your voice shaky as you answer. “yeah. just—keep going.”

his jaw tightens, and he exhales slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he starts to move again. every inch feels impossibly deep, your walls stretching around him, and when he finally bottoms out, you both pause, your breaths mingling as you try to adjust.

“fuck,” he groans again, his voice strained as his hips twitch against yours. “you feel so good. better than i ever—” he cuts himself off with a shaky laugh, shaking his head. “shit, you’re perfect.”

you can barely respond, the stretch and fullness leaving you trembling. but then he starts to move, pulling out almost entirely before sliding back in with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips. the drag of his cock against your walls is enough to have you moaning, your head falling back against the pillow.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and approving as he sets a steady rhythm. “good girl. taking me so well.”

your hands trail down his back, your nails scraping lightly against his skin, and the groan he lets out sends a fresh wave of heat through you. his movements quicken, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, and every thrust has him hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, making you cry out.

“satoru—” his name falls from your lips again, and he leans down, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrusts harder, deeper.

“you’re gonna make me lose my fucking mind,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he drives into you. “you feel so good—so fucking perfect for me.”

the coil in your stomach tightens with every roll of his hips, the pressure building higher and higher until it’s unbearable. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight circles that make your vision blur, and your moans grow louder, more desperate.

“come for me,” he demands, his voice rough and low in your ear. “let me feel you.”

the command sends you over the edge. your orgasm rips through you, your body arching into his as you cry out, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. your walls clench around him, and the sensation makes him groan, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release.

“fuck—” he gasps, burying himself as deep as he can go as he comes, the heat of him spilling into you, thick and warm. his head falls to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin as he rides out the last waves of pleasure.

the room is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the air thick and charged as he finally pulls back, his weight pressing into you as he collapses onto the bed beside you. his arm slides around your waist, pulling you against his chest as he presses a soft, lazy kiss to your temple.

“told you i’d make it fit,” he murmurs, his voice still rough, but there’s a hint of smugness there, his lips curving into a small grin.

you can’t help the laugh that escapes you, your body still trembling against his. “you’re such an asshole.”

“yeah,” he agrees, his tone light, teasing, as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “but you like it.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat to it, your lips curving into a faint smile as you bury your face against his chest. “shut up, satoru.”

“never,” he replies, and the warmth of his laughter vibrates through you, grounding you as your breaths slowly even out.

an. gojo with glasses... *hnnggghh*

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[alchemistc]

Part One

Oh, I've got plenty to be thankful for

I've got eyes to see with

Ears to hear with

Arms to hug with

Lips to kiss with

Someone to adore

-bing crosby

He keeps waiting for someone to say something. To accuse him of lingering where he doesn't belong, or remind him he'd never actually made it all the way in. To tell him to go home, maybe get a halfhearted promise to let him know how Buck is at some point.

Maddie lays an exhausted head on his shoulder and Bobby sneaks him a slice of pumpkin pie he's apparently been hiding in the tote at his feet. Hen tosses him a power bank with a lightning cord and Karen makes a joke about his holiday attire.

When the coffee comes, Howie takes the trip to the lobby with him, pulls out his wallet and does his damnedest to strong arm Tommy into letting him tip the haggard looking girl another twenty bucks on top of the fifty Tommy'd figured was appropriate for having to balance a literal stack of hot beverages from the parking lot on Thanksgiving. She eyes them both with a smile and Tommy is more compelled the grab the drink carriers from her tired arms than stop Howie.

They're halfway back when Howie purposely slows his pace, and Tommy fights the urge to pick his up and avoid whatever's coming down on him. "So. Was this the wake up call you needed, or can I expect Buck to order a freezer on a Black Friday deal for my garage to store more baked goods?"

He doesn't know what that means.

He can extrapolate, though. "He's been baking?"

"Tommy, I cannot stress enough exactly how much he's been baking."

He'd tried his hand at a few things here and there, but Tommy's used to experimental chef Evan Buckley, not baking Evan Buckley. To be fair, if he'd seen Evan working a KitchenAid, apron tied loose and flour on a cheekbone, Tommy doubts he'd have actually had the time to finish whatever he had planned. That was then, of course.

"What was he doing on that trail, Howie?" That, too, he could maybe extrapolate. He doesn't want to, but he could.

Howie eyes him. Uses his free arm to elbow Tommy in the ribs. "You were the first person he ever invited to a 118 Thanksgiving, you know. My guess? He wasn't in the mood to be reminded of it while there was no room in the oven to bake away his feelings."

Yeah.

Jax had been over the moon when Tommy offered to take his shift, no trades necessary. What would the point have been, when Christmas and New Year's would be unbooked too?

Evan had bribed like six different people to ensure they'd be able to swing dinner on the day. Hobbes had sounded so thrilled to hear Tommy asking for the time off that he'd approved it without even looking at the shift.

"I'm just warning you in advance. The grovelling process is gonna involve eating your weight in loaves, most likely."

And that's that, apparently. No heavy handed warnings, no suspicion about why Tommy hasn't fucked off yet. Like it's some foregone conclusion that Tommy's not gonna panic and bolt a second time. Nothing has changed, yet Tommy gets the feeling they're all expecting some tearful reunion and a return to TommyandBuck.

Tommy slips the tea into Maddie's hands and watches her sniff it in distaste, which is an interesting nugget he'll have to revisit later if -

If.

There's no guarantees, here. That Tommy will be able to articulate how fucking terrified he is, that Evan will understand it. That the two of them will find a way through it together. All he has to go on is a solo hike on a day Evan should have been with family, an apparent bakery full of feelings spread between the 118, and the quiet calm that had washed over him when Eddie prompted him to make a decision.

Feet to the fire, he'd stayed.

---

Maddie's pregnant. It hits him between the eyes right around hour three of sit-and-wait. He's not an idiot, or a fool, and he hasn't spoken to any of these people in weeks so he's not going to announce it to the world, but somewhere in between the sporadic naps on Tommy's shoulder and the way she is attempting (failing) to power through her now cold tea makes him think. She and Bobby had driven here, and it's clear everyone else had been indulging. Maddie's no lush, but he's seen her knock back half a bottle of wine before when she's got nowhere to be.

She excuses herself to the bathroom for a third time, looking a little green, and Tommy ends up locked in a staring contest with Howie that only ends when Tommy mimes zipping his lips.

He still hasn't gotten the story about Eddie and why he's not here.

Bobby and Athena are apparently closing in on a new house.

Howie is less than a year away from having a second kid.

Athena's kids are apparently at Howie and Maddie's, attempting to keep Mara and Jee from destroying the house in the absence of adults.

And Tommy wants.

Wanting has never really been the problem, though. Wanting is the easy part. Wanting doesn't get him over the hurdle of knowing he's not enough. For Evan, for this family he's built that just keeps growing bigger and bigger. It'd been a relief, those first few days after, not to have to wonder which member of the 118 would land in the hospital next, not to have to rearrange something else on his schedule because Evan was convinced he was cursed, or Eddie'd had another shitty call with Christopher.

The relief hadn't lasted. A week in, he'd stayed up all night demolishing the half-bath off his dining room, because he'd been putting it off for months and he'd nearly texted Evan something that was startlingly revealing and left him exposed on all sides. Two weeks in he'd finished grouting the backsplash in his kitchen. And in between, he wondered how Eddie was doing, if he'd made any progress with his son. He'd wondered if Maddie enjoyed the bottle of wine they'd brought back from a spur of the moment trip to Napa. He'd wondered how Nash was doing, if he was readjusting to having his crew and his station back. He wondered how Hen and Karen were, how many things Denny had already gotten stuck in his cast trying to ease an itch.

He'd wondered, and he'd sat in it, and then he'd rewired the shoddy work an electrician had done in his spare room that he kept telling himself he'd get around to.

The wanting never goes away. He just finds new places to put it when he starts to care too much.

"Kinard and Buckley?"

Maddie's still in the restroom. Tommy - has no fucking clue why the nurse is staring at them like they'll just materialize the right people. She sucks in her lips and gives him a dead eyed stare before her eyes dart to his chest. More specifically, the nameplate on his chest.

Tommy blinks.

---

The having is where he's always floundered. Things are temporary. People are temporary. He's always been borrowing. Borrowing time, attention, affection.

For a few months there, he'd really started to think he could handle the having. That he'd get to keep it.

---

"I'm Buckley, he's Kinard," Maddie says from somewhere over his left shoulder, and he turns in time to see her adjusting her jacket, wiping at her lip. She stabilizes, looking unfazed, and stands tall. As tall as she can, at least. "You have news about my brother?"

The nurse glances around the room. No one is bothering to pretend not to be listening. Maddie hovers a wave behind her.

"Ignore the audience, we're all waiting with bated breath to see how obnoxious my brothers going to be. It depends entirely on whether or not he gets pie tonight."

She gives them all a disapproving look. This must not be one of their normal nurses.

Christ. They have normal nurses.

"Well, no pie tonight, but he should be able to eat a sandwich in the morning."

He's fine. He's fine.

Tommy knew going in that most of his injuries were superficial. The ribs had been a concern but with the pain meds and the collar he hadn't really had a chance to exacerbate those injuries. There's no reason he should feel quite so relieved to know that Evan will have a few annoying splints to work around and he'll probably need to rehab his ankle for a couple weeks once it's healed. The concussion isn't ideal, and he'll need help for a few days, but he's fine.

Tommy can feel the tears building.

"He'll likely be out for a few more hours, but I'll let you know when he's set up in a room. Two visitors at a time," she warns. "The concussion will effect his response time. Don't be surprised if he doesn't remember much, loses his train of thought."

Hen shifts somewhere behind him. It feels a bit like she's being held back from correcting the nurse about the normal side effects.

Things move on around him. The nurse leaves, Hen passes a Stanley cup around that definitely isn't filled with water, the normal sigh of relief is released while Maddie drops into the seat next to him with a groan, the team has a strange competition around him to battle for visitor position.

Tommy breathes.

I should go, Tommy thinks to himself, as half the people in the room raise their phones.

His own phone vibrates against his thigh.

A message from Howie, time stamped two minutes - Tommy squints to make sure - two minutes ago, an update on Evan. Another from Eddie reminding them all to give Buck a patent Eddie look from him while they were giving him shit. A selfie of Eddie, with Christopher somewhat reluctantly bending into the picture over his shoulder.

In another thread, he's got three messages from Eddie.

If I have to remove you from this group I'm sending my kid after you with his crutches.

You guys hiked Griffith Park for your Not-A-One-Month-Anniversary-We-Swear date, right?

Send Buck my love. Not like that, though.

Tommy sends back: When the fuck did he add me to his emergency contacts? and then decides he doesn't want to know anyway so he turns off his phone.

---

Maddie goes alone, and Tommy spends the time alternating between tapping his foot against the tile to distraction, and clamping his hand over his knee in an attempt to stop the tapping.

Bobby and Athena go next, then Hen and Karen. Then they're pulling on jackets and promising to save a plate for Buck.

Howie slips away for a few minutes and then returns, looking amused. "You think everyone else got the same greeting?" he asks his wife, who grins tiredly at him, pats his wrist. Her gaze turns to Tommy.

"Should we stay?"

That's a trap of a question. That's an assumption Tommy doesn't have a clue how to handle. He clears his throat. Shakes a few curls loose.

"What makes you think he'd want me to?"

Maddie's perfected the unimpressed eyebrow. It must be a parent thing.

Tommy barely holds in the sigh. "Go enjoy your meal."

---

Evan's been watching the door. It's clear the moment Tommy makes it to the threshold - he presses up, winces, tips sideways just enough to peek around the corner.

"Tommy," he says, and his expression melts.

Tommy's heard some iteration of that name a million times. Tom, from his dad. Tommy, fond and quiet from his mother, who'd never really learned how to speak up before she was gone. Thomas, in school, from teachers annoyed that he wouldn't just apply himself.

He was Kinard, to teammates, then fellow soldiers, to the firefighters he'd worked alongside for a decade before he ever let any of them know him.

No one says his name with quite so much reverence as Evan Buckley. He's convinced himself, over the last few weeks, that he'd been hearing adulation in that tone. But now it just sounds...relieved. Happy.

Evan slumps back and tries to cross his arms in a pout. There are too many cords and wires attached to him for it to work. "I'm pretty sure I'm mad at you," he says, and Tommy steps over the threshold.

---

Hobbes sounds fucking thrilled to find out he's going to be down a pilot for five days.

Evan throws a fit when he finds out Tommy's plan is to sleep on his own couch for the short duration of Evan's stay. Evan wins the proceeding argument and doesn't even complain that Tommy hadn't argued too hard

Bobby brings over enough leftovers to keep them in turkey sandwiches for a week, and Tommy doesn't think to ask how he got Tommy's address.

Tommy breathes. Tommy thinks. Once Evan can hold a train of thought for more than five minutes, Tommy talks.

Evan listens.

---

"So no Christmas," Evan pouts, and Tommy wants to bite it. "And no New Year's."

Tommy shifts a hand over his shoulder, tucks his chin over top of it so he can't see the pout anymore. "We were both already working those anyway."

"Do people do anything to celebrate Presidents Day?"

"Evan."

"Tommy," Evan mocks, and pulls far enough away to catch his gaze. "In the interest of transparency that was mostly a cover so I didn't ask about Valentine's Day."

"Is this you not asking about Valentine's Day?"

His smile is deceptively sweet. "I need help with my sandwich."

Tommy's seen him balancing a glass of water, his phone, two books and a takeout bag in his one good hand. He's absolutely full of shit.

Tommy leans forward to grab the sandwich off Evan's plate for him.

---

"You should stay," Tommy says, an hour after midnight two days into the new year. He's tipsy on his second glass of cheap champagne and he can't think of a reason to keep this in, anymore. Evan crinkles a brow at him.

"I... wasn't planning to go?"

There's a gold crown perched in his curls, and Tommy still hasn't taken the cheap plastic 2025 glasses off. The house is quiet, and there'd been shockingly few fires started by fireworks this year, so he's less tired than he'd expected to be.

"I meant -." Tommy starts, and then pauses. "I meant permanently. You should live here."

Evan laughs. Takes a bite out of his cake, and rolls his eyes, and then...stops. His entire body stills. "What."

It's ridiculous. The very thing that had pushed Tommy up out of his seat just a few months ago, sent him out the loft door with wet eyes and a heaviness in his heart.

"Tommy," Evan prompts, and Tommy catches the hand frozen on the countertop. He'd planned to hold this back, wait until something significant or poignant. But Evan had baked them a red velvet cake and argued with him the entire drive back from dinner about the proper way to fold a towel, and Tommy's tired of denying this isn't everything he's refused to let himself want for decades.

"You don't have to say yes just to confirm you're not breaking up with me," he tries to joke, and it falls flat.

"Tommy," Evan murmurs, quieter but more insistent.

"I'm serious. I want you here. I want -."

"Yes," Evan says, and squeezes his hand before he ducks his head bashfully. "Sorry. Continue."

"I want a life with you." The tears tickle at the back of his throat. He's gonna fucking cry, again. He'd always fucking known opening himself up to this was just an invitation for more tears in his life.

He can't quite convince himself the rest doesn't make them worth it.

"Yes. Again. Tommy, of course." He tips his chin. Purses his lips. "If you're sure."

Tommy swallows down the lump in his throat. He's never been more sure or more terrified of anything in his life. So he tells him so.

The words are like knives, but he works his way through the soreness, fights up past the fear that he's not sure will ever completely go away, and claws past the reminder that it's been a blink of an eye since Tommy walked out on this.

"Well. You can't walk out of your own house," Evan points out when he's finished, and of all things, it's that that snaps the tension of for once in his life prioritizing something other than fucking survival. He tips a grin, curls his elbow to bring their entwined hands to his lips. "It's gonna take years to coordinate another Thanksgiving with everyone," he bemoans, looking suspiciously watery-eyed himself as he holds Tommy's own wet gaze.

Tommy can extrapolate from that.

[potchi-fics]

break in (part two of attention)

i | ii | iii

      jingling keys fill the hallway, shakily putting the key into your apartment. you cant help but berate yourself for the mess you've caused earlier: what the fuck am i doing. after a few seconds, you let out a breath of relief as you finally step inside your home.

"oh my god," you shrug your coat off, hanging it. "thats the last time im ever doing that."

      you make your way into your living room, noticing how everything looks the same but yet different-- you take a look around: the lights are off, the rug is untouched, and my couch is..

shit.

"surprised?" her familiar rough voice sends chills up your spine, "nice place you got here, topsider."

you carefully but slowly grab your slightly tainted with blood dagger, "leave."

      a scowl forms on your tired face, eyebrows furrowing, and your stance tensing up. leisurely, she rises to her feet; you just barely see the smoke she puffs out. her height is a bit intimidating, you admit. her mechanical arm is glowing in the dim room, and her muscular back. god, she looks so solid. 

her muscular back?

your train of thought gets cut off when she turns to finally look at you, her stupid mouth turning into a smirk. right then and there, you think to yourself that you already hate her.

she stubs out her cigarette on your table, "what were you-"

"are you serious?" your face morphs into anger now, "thats a very expensive table."

      sevika's shoulder slumps at what you said, but you paid no mind to her. only pushing her aside to get the cigarette and clean the ash, patting the remnants of the cig rather furiously. she tries again, only to get cut off again by you suddenly turning your heated gaze at her.

"look, i dont know what you want from me," you step towards her, dagger in hand. "but have some respect."

      before you can lecture her again, she swings her fist at you, which you swiftly dodge. she tried to grab you using her mechanical arm. however, you batted it away with your right hand-- throwing a slash of your dagger right back at her, successfully making a small wound in the corner of her lip. you attempt to combo with a hook to her rib, but you aren't so lucky this time because she evades, grabbing you and pulling you close: she smells like wood and cigarette. 

she puts her face close to yours, "you sure youre just an engineer, topsider?" you grit your teeth, "you sure know how to fight."

"let me go," using the element of surprise; you headbutt her, "what do you want from me?"

      you dont miss how she stumbles back, you also dont miss how she smirks at your actions. 

you roll your eyes, "you into that shit?"

"only if youre into it," sevika throws back. "look, im not here to fight, topsider."

sevika almost laughs at how your jaw drops, "girl, fuck do you mean im not here to fight? you literally threw a punch first."

      she smirks once more, pissing you even more off. sevika gives you a shrug before plopping down on your newly washed cushions, her dirty boots finally stepping on your rug.

"you know what, you may be sevika, silco's righthand woman," you march at her, "but dont be putting your dirty clothes on my shit."

sevika ignores you, "what, you scared im gonna dirty your shit?"

"yes, thats exactly it, sevika." you deadpan.

      you take a sit in front of her, using the other couch-- still wary. you take this time to stare at her again. assessing what she's wearing; to see if she has any more weapons, of course. your eyes roam from her thick thighs up to her waist, and finally reaching her face. christ, those cheekbones and jaw-- the things you would do. but a spark from her mechanical arm catches your arm. you tilt your head, analyzing on why thats happening.

"done staring?" you roll your eyes for what feels like a thousand times now, "i need you to fix my arm. did my research on you, and i know youre capable of fixing my damn arm."

you give sevika an are-you-fucking-kidding-me look, "why would you break into my home for that? you couldve gone to my shop."

      she only replies with a lazy shrug, annoying you again. the world really is testing your patience. you thought you'd be scared of the woman in front of you; never did you think that you'd be annoyed instead. 

      she only replies with a lazy shrug, annoying you again. the world really is testing your patience. you thought you'd be scared of the woman in front of you; never did you think that you'd be annoyed instead. you still dont trust her, still mad that she broke into your home, started a fight, and is making herself at home.

"if i fix it, will you leave?" she nods, not saying anything. "fine. stay here, dont even move an inch."

      you hurriedly get your toolbox, desperate to get rid of her. you come back to her still on your couch; she's basically taking up all the damn space in it. she looks at you as you pull up a chair beside her whirring arm. you take another look at it, and from the looks of it, the damage is most likely inside, seeing how it is perfectly fine: a few dents here and there, but overall fine.

with hesitation, you ask the zaunite, "may i?"

"go for it, topsider." she offers you her arm.

you scoff at her, "please stop calling me that."

      you begin to unscrew the tiny screws using your electric screwdriver, putting the screws aside, you pull the cover. the wirings are a mess. you asses it for a few seconds before going to work again; you grumble a few curses out because of the messy wiring, saying how can anyone be so careless.

"y'know, instead of punching me," you plug the loose wire back into its place, "punch the bitch who made this mess."

      a snort escapes from her, not expecting your vulgarity. not one word is said after that, and you let it stay that way; breathing and the noises of your tools are only heard in your quiet apartment, finally relaxing while rebuilding her arm. minutes pass and youre screwing the last screw into her arm before patting it.

you tell her, "all done, im not expecting any payment since its just a loose wire."

"not bad, topsider." sevika takes a look at her brand new-ish arm.

      you stand up and wordlessly point to your door, wanting her to leave as soon as possible because, at this point, you just want to sleep. you just want to feel your soft pillows and soft mattress. 

"oh," she walks to your window instead, "i didnt enter there."

    i hate you so much.

[thatturtleleon]

TFP Panic Attack Help (x reader)

quick note: personally i experience both panic and anxiety attacks, theyre vry scary, but they always pass. i hope this offers some comfort to anyone reading!

Optimus:

i feel like he gets them too

imo he definitely has anxiety and with the stress of being the leader/a prime, its gotta be overwhelming

he notices your sudden change in demeanor

grows concerned seeing you become pale and shaky

and asks if you are alright and if he should get Ratchet

if you can't speak or refuse his offer to get the medic, he'll stay with you

he's concerned but has a good idea of whats going on

if you're experiencing derealization of some sort or have a hard time focusing, he's very patient

will definitely know at least a few grounding techniques

does them with you too

worried but overall very calm and will say with you until you're feeling better

Ratchet:

100% knows how to deal with panic attacks

that being said, you're human and he's not as confident with his medical skills with humans

he's not just gonna sit there and do nothing though

very concerned, scans you, makes sure you're sitting down in a safe spot

once he figures out whats going on he's focusing on calming you down and grounding you

reassures you're safe multiple times

once you've calmed down he'll ask questions on what triggered the attack, if you have a history of them, what he can do to help better, etc.

a bajillion questions but also makes sure not to cause you any more stress

makes sure you at least got some water afterwards

Arcee:

yupp she knows whats happening too

still a little panicked herself at first thinking you're sick or injured

once she realizes whats happening she helps you sit down

grounding exercises and reassures nothing is going to hurt you

if you're ok with it, she'll begin talking about stories, good memories, anything that might distract you from your current condition

i think she'd range from talking about funny moments with the team to giving a heartfelt story of her and Cliffjumper

once you've calmed, she tells you that you did a good job and she's always there for you

she'd wanna know if there was a specific trigger or if these tend to just happen

if its PTSD related, she understands and later researches some techniques and healthy ways to cope for humans

Bulkhead:

he lowkey thinks you're dying and freaks out, but keeps it as calm as possible on the outside

if Ratchet's there he goes to get him and still stays with you, but if not, he makes sure you sit down first

depends how severe it is, but if you're hyperventilating he's focusing on getting that taken care of first

stays with you the whole time and doesn't leave for a second

he'll hand you any comfort items, water, etc. literally ANYTHING that'll help you feel better (he may spill the water but its ok because he's trying)

talks about times with him and Wheeljack or Miko as a distraction

even after you're feeling better, he's staying with you and making sure you're ok, and if you're not, thats ok too, he's still there

Bumblebee:

he probably freaks out the most out of all of them, but he understands what's happening pretty fast

helps you sit down and stays

offers to drive you around (as long as you find it relaxing)

mainly sits there with you quietly offering his support, but if it's to the point where you genuinely need someone's help, he goes to get Ratchet or someone (he still stays with you tho)

if you need a distraction, he'll chat away about something or turn on the TV in the base

of course he lets you hug him if you want to, he'll never step away first, letting you be the one to let go first

[dylsstuff]

Deku’s Guide to Accidentally Dating your Enemy: An Irritating Bargain

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Midoriya Izuku/Bakugo Katzuki

Word count: 5,750

When Bakugo steps in to help Izuku out of a situation, neither of them imagine they’d be accidentally thrown into a relationship. Now they have to keep up their facade. The question is; Can they?

AO3

A Fake Dating, University, no quirks AU

CW!: Some creep mildly harasses Izuku in this chapter

Chapter One

“Are you coming to Denki’s place on Friday?” Ochako said out of nowhere.

They were in the university library where Izuku was up to his ears in books. He had an essay due next week. In his mind, he had to know everything about his chosen subject matter by later tonight. Locking himself in his room, the only contact being his housemates coming in to leave food and water on his desk silently whilst he worked. Making sure he didn’t neglect his bodily functions in favour of working. If they put food in his vicinity he would eventually eat it because it was there for him to see. He was forever grateful that his friends kept him alive. 

So here he was, four books laid open before him and a few piles next to him as he ferociously wrote in his notebook for this class. 

Izuku looked up at Ochako who was typing on her phone as she looked at him expectantly. 

“Huh? What’s happening on Friday?” He honestly had no idea what was happening or whether it had been brought up to him before now. He had an overwhelming feeling that he probably should know what was going on by the look on her face which screamed ‘Seriously?’. 

“You’re literally in the group chat.” She waved her phone in front of his face so that he could read what was on it. 

The title read, “Sick ass party ppl” with a bunch of emojis. It looked like there were a lot of members in the group. The memory of being added to the group chat came to him in a flash. The memory of when he muted it because he was overwhelmed by the vast amount of messages and notifications he was getting also came to mind. ‘Ah’. He’d wiped it from his memory whilst he had been prepping for his essay. The reading he was doing right now was overkill but it wouldn’t hurt, right? 

Right?!

Anyway, the party had completely been wiped from his brain until just this second. He really had to do this essay. He planned to have it done by at least Thursday, which was a few days away now. The 3 weeks of reading he put on himself to plan his essays around would surely help. He’d have it done by Friday that’s for sure.

He had been mumbling under his breath as he weighed up his options. Typical of him but his friends didn’t mind but it left all of his thoughts out in the open. Ochako was looking at him with a polite smile waiting for him to respond to her question. She knew that he preferred people not mentioning his muttering and pretending he just didn’t do it at all. He was grateful that all of his friends understood this so he didn't have to be embarrassed. 

“I’ll be there!” He finally responded by handing her phone back to her. 

“Great! We can all go together!” She says enthusiastically with a bigger smile than before, going back to texting on her phone. He assumed she was making his coming known to the group chat to confirm with their hosts. “Iida said he wanted to sit this one out but that he’d join the next game night we have over there. Shouto is coming with us though!” She says as she types. 

He nods, going back to writing his notes in silence as she keeps him quiet company for the time being. 

The next two days consisted of him being locked at his desk, eyes glued to his computer as he typed. There were moments he had to be ripped away to use the bathroom, anything else he needed his housemates brought to him, careful not to disturb him as they left plates of food on the empty part of his desk that didn't have any notes or paper on it. They also filled up his water bottle for him to ensure he was hydrated. Later they came in to take the empty plates out for him. 

He was done. 

Every time he finished an essay or project he had this weight lifted off of his shoulders. Like he could finally breathe after weeks of stress, now he had a couple of days to kill before the next one he had to worry about. Thank God. Not that he was religious. 

He stretched out in his chair immediately smelling the stench radiating off of him. Gross... he stretched out after being a hermit for two days during which he stayed in the same clothes and didn’t shower or put on deodorant. He breathed in deeply. 

K.O’d. 

The smell hit him like a tonne of bricks and he fell backwards on his chair. He always had a flair for dramatics. Accepting his fate, he let himself hit the ground with a loud thud. 

Well, this is where he will live from now on. This was his place in the world. Who was he to argue with the great beyond? 

His door flew open suddenly, Iida, Shouto and Ochako breathing heavily as they barged in, basically falling themselves. He simply looked up with a smile. 

“Hey guys!” 

“Don’t fucking ‘hey guys’ us we thought you died or passed out or- what the fuck Izuku!” Ochako yelled frantically.

Iida looked at her shocked, flailing his hand in front of him.

“Ochako please refrain from using such language!”

“It’s 3 am right now and we heard a huge bang come from your room. We thought you passed out from exhaustion,” Shouto added to Ochako’s outburst. 

Now that Izuku looked them over they were all in their sleepwear. Oops. 

“Ah- So sorry guys! I just finished my essay and I leant back on my chair too far. Well, you can guess the rest.” He explained, “Wait, did you say 3 am? What day is it?” 

“Thursday, don’t worry you have plenty of time to catch up on sleep and shower before tomorrow.” Ochako says, “Get up off the floor and go do your thing. We’re very proud of you for finishing your essay but it is 3 am, Jesus Christ I am pooped.” She says with a yawn, she waves at him and retreats out of the room. 

“Goodnight Izuku!” Iida says with a nod of his head, “Very well done for finishing your essay. You worked really hard for this one!” He smiles with a thumbs up. 

“Well done Midoriya,” Shouto says with a small smile as he leaves with Iida leaving Izuku alone in his room, who decided to sleep. 

Friday came quickly, having slept through all of Thursday through Friday morning. When he decided to finally shower and partake in some self-care, like changing into clean clothes and making himself something to eat. 

So here he was chowing down on his cereal. 

“He lives!” A voice from the kitchen doorway says. Izuku turns his head to see which of his friends are here to bless his day with their presence. Ochako!

“Hey! Yeah- finally up, moving and ready for the day!” He laughs as she comes in to sit in her spot on the counter. She sat here whenever Izuku, Iida or Shouto were in here so she could talk to them without being in the way. 

“That's good! Are you prepared to get your party on later?” She asks moving her shoulders up and down, a move many probably would call dancing. It makes him let out a light chuckle, nodding in response. 

“Of course! Denki always makes sure we all have fun and we haven't seen them in a while so I'm looking forward to it!” 

Ochako nods in agreement, “Have you got an outfit picked out yet?”

“Not yet I was gonna pick something later.” 

“Oh no no, we're going up there right now because if I leave it up to you you're going to just do it last minute.” She says jumping off of the counter. “Come on!” 

Finding clothes and putting them on should not take more than thirty minutes. 

Yet, here they were. Two hours deep into a search on what he should wear. TWO HOURS. It turned into Shouto sitting in his desk chair giving his opinions too whilst Ochako went from sitting on the end of his bed to rummaging through his clothes to asking Shouto if she could raid his closet too. He declined and she respected his privacy whilst invading Izuku's personal space whilst she tugged and ruffled things on his person. Izuku hated thinking too hard about things like clothes when he thought too much about everything all of the time. His essays, his interactions, his friendships, his family. The list goes on and on and on. It was annoying but the last thing on his mind was what he was wearing. Sure he liked dressing nice for events but this seemed too excessive even for him. 

God he hated his life. 

“Do you really need to be touching my hair so much?” 

“If we want to see what vibe we’re going for when I style your hair later! This is an important part of the process Izuku!” She says simply as she did something else to his hair. It was a little hard to make his ruffles look neat but pretty easy to make it look intentionally messy. According to Ochako that was. Apparently, intentionally messy and unintentionally mess was a thing but that just kind of went over his head as his friend worked around him while she went on her spiel about hairstyles and clothes and something about how it was always a nice finishing touch to an outfit to style your hair as it brings the ‘outfit together’. Whatever that means. 

This was going to be another long couple of hours.

Surprisingly they got to Denki's house on time despite the FIVE hours that it took for Ochako to decide what to dress Izuku in. He felt like a pampered show dog. In the end she did a pretty good job. His mullet was styled into loose curls that were made to look intentionally messy. Again he didn't know what that meant but alas she and Shouto said he looked good. Still he thought it was a bit much for it to have taken five hours to decide on it.

The outfit that had been decided was a pair of his ripped, light blue skinny jeans, he had nice legs so Ochako said he should show them off with tightly fitted jeans. She raided Iida's closet in the end for his shirt. Which ended up landing on a loose fitting vest that had larger holes for his arms, so from the side people could see his torso. He was told he'd be irresistible when people saw him in the chosen outfit which he supposed was nice. He really just wanted to hang out with friends but Ochako is someone who enjoys romance and matching all of her friends up.

It was not the first time that she had tried to set him up with someone. She meant well and was just trying to be a good friend to him, and help him find happiness. He did think that she went over the top sometimes. 

Izuku figured that she was just bored, perhaps finished her TV shows and wanted something exciting. Like setting her friends up as a wing-woman. She did understand boundaries after some mishaps of overstepping but she was a lot better these days. 

When they got to Denki’s house they were met with people outside drinking various things, some were dancing to the music blasting from the house, others were just talking. 

It had quite a big garden for a student house, and Izuku was the first to comment on how good of a deal Denki got on this place. It was a big detached house, that had a great Wi-Fi connection no matter the weather. Plus a front and back garden. The cherry on top was that this place cost the same amount he and his housemates were paying. He was jealous, to say the least. They got the best deal in housing and Izuku didn’t blame them for throwing a party to show it off. There was plenty of room. 

As they walked into the house Izuku made a note that it seemed like they were earlier than most, considering that they could still roam around the house without a crowd of sweaty bodies stopping them in their tracks. That is typically how Denki’s parties went. That was also around the time Izuku’s buzz would be helping him not want to rip his hair out from the amount of people. Though he wasn't planning on drinking too much tonight after the last time he was here. Denki was a bad influence. 

Making their way to the kitchen, bag of drinks in hand they bumped into a few familiar faces, Ochako being left behind to discuss something with her fellow classmate. Something about their most recent assignment. 

As Shouto and Izuku crossed the threshold of the kitchen, they walked in on Denki and Kirishima laughing at the expense of one of their friends.

Just as Izuku was about to speak a red pair of eyes made eye contact with his stopping him in his tracks. 

Bakugo Katsuki. 

Someone with whom his relationship wasn't the best. From childhood friends to middle school bullies. Once in high school Izuku got to the point where he started retorting to some of the vicious words spouting from the blond's mouth. Katsuki was almost impressed. Now they were in University and ran in the same friend groups, so they were civil often with some back and forth. At least there wasn't as much tension as when they had been younger. 

Still, though, that didn't mean they were ever happy to see each other. 

Which they weren't.

“Deku.” He sneered.

“Kacchan,” Izuku replied with the same energy. 

“You've shrunk.” 

“Your heads gotten bigger.” He retorts without missing a beat.

Katsuki's eyebrow twitched, amused almost. If he was amused he didn't say anything, just took a swig of his drink he had in hand, giving a grunt that sounded kind of like ‘shitty Deku’ pushing past Izuku through the door. With not a single look back at the blond he smiled at his friends, ready to catch up with those he hadn’t seen for a while.

Izuku didn't like drinking too much, usually he just nursed his first drink most of the night, swapping it out for a non-alcoholic soft drink. That didn't stop him from enjoying himself though. He liked hanging out and dancing with his friends mostly on nights like these.

He loved dancing. The way he could just let go of any tension and move without being embarrassed because everyone else was too drunk to care. 

At some point he needed to break away from his friends to use the bathroom, pushing past a lot of drunk people on his way. He also kept getting stopped by people who he'd been briefly introduced to in the past. 

God he just wanted to piss. Not on Denki's floor so he had to cut all of the interactions short. Making a mental note to stop past on his way back from the bathroom to have a proper conversation. That would have to wait though, his bladder was practically screaming at him. 

After getting past the thick of the crowd he was finally at the stairs and he let out the biggest sigh of relief he could manage as he jogged up them. He saw the door to the bathroom open as he came around the corner and silently thanked the gods that he got here before he pissed himself.

As he was about to shut the door behind himself he heard a thump and the door wasn't closing. Weird. He looked down and saw a foot wedged preventing him to close it. Even weirder. He opened it and saw a taller guy, oh— 

It was someone from his class who he's spoken to a few times. He's made a few eyebrow raising remarks towards him in the past but nothing Izuku took note of or too seriously. They were the kind of comments slimy men said trying to flirt with women. 

"Midoriya!" His voice came out loud and excited. His breath heavily smelled of alcohol. 

"Ah- Uh can I help you?" He was trying to work out what he may want.

"I've been watching you allll night." Creepy but okay. "In class-" anything else that was coming out of his mouth fell on deaf ears. 

'What on earth is this guys name?' 

"Izukuuu, I'm trying to talk to youuu~" He stumbles closer, making Izuku step back into the bathroom on instinct. 

"Sorry! You seem very nice and maybe we can talk more when you're sober?" He says with a small smile.

Izuku breathed out a small panicked laugh, holding both hands up as the creepy guy took another step forward, making Izuku step backwards, back hitting a wall behind him. 

“Come on, Izuku~” He slurred, movements sloppy. “I've been so good to you. All I'm asking for is one night.” He reached out to grab Izuku's wrist. 

“Who said you could put your grubby hands on him fucker?” a gruff voice demanded from behind them and in a flash a hand was grabbing the slimy wrist that was trying to grab him. 

He recognised that voice. For some reason not even knowing who the voice was from gave him a lot of relief already. Probably because no matter who it was they were saving him from whatever this freak was trying to do. 

“Who the fuck are you? His boyfriend?” Before Izuku knew what was happening the guy in front of him was being pulled away from him in one swift motion and all he could do was stand there in silence and watch. 

“So what if I am Extra?” Izuku blinked. ‘Extra’. He blinked again. Looking up he saw the back of a spikey blonde as he got in between them both. 

The creep scoffs. “You're his boyfriend?” 

“Yeah and who the fuck are you?” 

The next time the creep laughs it's in a way that would convey he was literally shitting his pants. 

“Look buddy, I'll just be on my way. This doesn't need to go any further.” 

“I asked you a fucking question. Who are you?” 

“Kacchan, let him go.” Izukus's voice came out a little quieter than he would have wanted but he had his hand on the blonde's shoulder. He felt his body tense under his touch but Katzuki opened his hand and the creep wasted no time escaping the room. 

There was a silence that surrounded them. It wasn't uncomfortable but it was definitely tense after the altercation. 

Izuku opened his mouth to say thank you but the other interrupted as per usual.

“Did you even piss?”

Blinking slowly the smaller one just looked at the blond. 

What kind of question is that? He was shaken up and that was the first question that just came to mind. He wanted to say but he didn’t. 

Instead, he said;

“Huh? What-”

“You came in here to use the shitter- did you piss before fuckknuckle came in?” Eloquent as always. 

“Ah- no-”

“Piss.” 

Izuku just stands there staring at the back of the bathroom door after Katzuki leaves the room. Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck. 

What even was that?! 

That didn’t feel real in the slightest. From getting harassed to Kacchan coming to his aid and now he was in his friends' bathroom having a crisis. Story of his life. What the hell was he going to say to that guy in their next lecture? Was he going to spread this around? What was he meant to tell his friends? 

Great now he is pacing instead of pissing. 

Kacchan was probably just.. Doing him a solid. Of course! That was absolutely the reason! Why else would he say something so absurd? 

They hadn’t had a conversation one-on-one, in something stupid like 10-plus years ago when their friendship came to a drastic halt. He still wasn’t even sure why anymore. Katsuki went through a stage of bullying him to not talking to him at all and when they went to the same University, making friends with the same people their relationship was just civil, never saying more than a few retorts to each other in their hangouts. 

Now… he’s stuck up for him against someone he didn’t even know. 

Maybe he was thinking too much about it. It could literally just be Katsuki being nice. He knows if the roles were reversed he would have done the same and stepped in. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. 

“J-just a minute!!” he hadn’t realised how long he had been in the bathroom for. He was sure Ochako was worried about him taking so long but then again she might have seen some other friends to catch up with by now. 

Finally he got chance to pee and it was the best piss of his life. 

Opening the door he gave a quick apology to whoever was waiting as he walked past them. 

How could he be in the bathroom that long and only just piss? That was embarrassing. They probably thought he was people having sex. He really had to figure out how to get himself to stop his brain from going at a million miles per second when anything small happened to him. 

As he was turning around the corner he was stopped by someone grabbing his arm. Looking up he expected the same creep as before but he was met with crimson eyes peering down at him. Oh.

“I’m taking you home,” Katsuki says simply. 

There’s a pause as Deku blinks slowly.

“I can’t just leave I have-”

“Text them.” That was a good point he could just text them... Why didn’t he think of that?

He nods as he follows Katsuki out of the house, pushing past drunk and tipsy people in the hallways. He was getting knocked around by the sheer amount of bodies that had turned up to the party. There was a moment that he was sure he was about to lose Katsuki in the crowd and as if he read his mind his wrist was grabbed by the other as they moved.

The cold air hit him as soon as they were outside the party. Honestly, it was refreshing. His wrist had been let go of as soon as they got through the door. He assumed that was because he wasn’t at risk of getting lost in the crowd.

Katsuki was already making his way to his car at a fast pace that Deku had to jog to catch up with him. 

“What’s going on? How much did you have to drink? Can you even drive right now?” Izuku asks nervously as he follows along.

Katsuki just grunted, “I haven’t drunk anything idiot. Why else would I offer to take you home?” He opened the driver's side of the car pausing as he looked at Izuku who had the most baffled look on his face. “Fuckin- just get in the stupid car Deku.” 

He didn’t need to be told again, there was a look in the other’s eyes that Izuku couldn’t quite pinpoint but he relented and got in the car. 

Streetlights past them by as they drove down the street. The air in the car felt a lot thicker than the air outside. It almost was unbearable as they sat there in silence. They haven’t been alone since they were kids. What was he even meant to say? 

Katsuki was the one who spoke first. Which was the second biggest relief of the night that he brought Izuku. 

“So who was that Extra?” 

Never mind. All he feels is dread. Curses. 

“Ah- Uh- No one really!” He says, “ He’s just this guy on my course. I don't even know his name.” 

Katsuki was staring ahead as he drove, the lights from the city lighting up his face. He almost looked ethereal from this angle. In retrospect, it could just be the dark making him look this way to Izuku but if he was being honest he knows Katsuki is attractive to basically anyone with eyes. Well, until he opened his mouth. 

“Just some guy huh?” He hums, eyes still locked ahead of him. “It certainly didn’t seem that way. Does that fucker often act all handsy with you without your permission?” 

“N- No! That was literally the first time Kacchan.” He didn’t look like he believed him so Izuku doubled down. “okay, he’s a little weird! But that isn’t a bad thing! I mean sure, he like spam messages me sometimes and sits a bit too close- okay it- it does sound bad.”

“Yeah, no shit Deku. If a red flag was humanised it’d be that slimy fuck. How long has this been going on for?”

“About 6 months.” 

“You let it go on for six fucking months? Does round face know?”

Izuku shook his head sheepishly, “I didn’t want to worry her.” 

“Fucking stupid,” Katsuki says through gritted teeth. “You're fucking stupid, Deku.”

There were a few moments where neither of them spoke. 

“Thank you for stepping in. I’m sorry that you had to go that far though.” 

“What?”

“With- I mean, when you said you were my… boyfriend? You didn’t have to say that but thank you it really helped.” 

“Oh. That.” Katsuki grumbled. 

“Hey don’t worry! I can explain to people that we’re not dating if he does tell anyone! I know that's probably the last thing you'd want-”

“Actually..” Katsuki cut him off mid-thought. There were a few beats of silence, it seemed he was heavily debating on his next words but he continued anyway. “What happens if it gets back to shit for brains that you aren’t taken? What would stop him from pulling another stunt like he did tonight in the future?” 

Oh. 

That was a good question. Izuku would hope it wouldn’t come to that but he was almost in a lot of trouble in that bathroom tonight. 

“I have a family event soon. The hag wants me to bring a partner to introduce to everyone. This..” Izuku wasn’t sure where this train of thought was going but Katsuki looked almost worried about saying any of the words that were threatening to spill out of his mouth. That really wasn’t like Kasuki, he was always the first to say exactly what was on his mind and not care about taking any consequences. “.. listen, we don’t fucking like each other, to be frank. I think you’re a useless nerd and your voice grinds my fucking ears off.” He says as a matter of fact. “However, I did you a favour, saying I was your boyfriend to get that slimy fucker off your back.”

“You want me to come to your family event as your boyfriend to get Auntie off your back?” 

“The hag fucking likes you or some shit. I don’t know. Forget it. It’s fucking stupid.” 

There were another few moments of silence, Izuku could tell Katsuki was getting a bit antsy. He always got a little fidgety when he was unsure or nervous, not that it happened often but he remembered what Katsuki was like when they were kids just before he feigned confidence in an activity. He remembers the distinct way the blond picked at his hands, shifting his weight from side to side before they tried the monkey bars for the first time. Right now he was biting the inside of his cheek and started shifting in his seat whilst he drove. Nothing much but it was noticeable to Izuku. He never wanted to look scared in front of him but he could always tell in the micro-ways that Katsuki held himself in those moments. 

He took a breath before he spoke his next words carefully. 

“I think this arrangement could work,” Izuku states. Katsuki took his eyes off driving to look at him for a split second almost flabbergasted. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, I mean it wouldn’t really be hurting anyone and I guess we’d both be benefiting from it in our own ways…” Izuku trailed off. “I can’t really say what our friends will think but if we’re going to do this it has to be believable.” He says, “As you said ‘we don’t fucking like each other’ so to make this look believable we have to convince our friends too. It might get back to ‘shit for brains’ if we don’t.”

Katsuki nods, “I fucking hate to agree with you. Shitty hair can’t keep his mouth shut to save his sad fucking life.” 

“This’ll seem really out of nowhere to everyone..” Izuku hums to himself as he thought of a reasonable explanation to say to his friends. “Would they really believe that we’ve been in a secret relationship for years and have been trying to keep up a facade by hating each other so openly?” 

The blond considered this momentarily, “It isn’t a stupid idea. You're still a fucking idiot though.” 

“Yeah, yeah I’ll take that one.” Izuku laughed sarcastically.

“Maybe they’ll believe that I took pity on you for being a fuckin’ sad loser no one else would date.” 

“Or maybe they’ll think you’re too hot-headed you can’t find anyone else to put up with your bullshit.”

“Touché.” Izuku could swear there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he spoke. However, it was difficult to tell in the lighting of the street lights and passing cars. 

"How are we going to play this?" He asks, "because I don't know if we can just say that we just got past our differences can we?" 

"I don't see why not. Who cares if they believe it, it's our word against theirs idiot." Bakugo had a point. "What are they going to say? That we're not together? That makes them shitty friends." 

That would make them shitty friends. 

"I don't know how you can just do that." 

Bakugo just grunted in response as he took a left.

"Have that kind of i don't care attitude." He says, " You've always had that." 

Bakugo shrugs, "I don't see why I should waste energy on worrying over shit I can't control." 

Izuku hums, turning to watch the traffic in front of them. "So what will consist of our 'relationship'?" 

"What?"

"Well I feel like there should be some ground rules." He states as a matter of fact, "This will have to be believable, we will have to act like a couple like holding hands and affection. Will you, leader of the 'I hate Deku Club' and co-captain of hating love and affection, be able to do that with me?" 

Bakugo brings the car to a stop outside of his house, "We don't have to plan every little thing idiot." He says crossing his arms over his chest, giving Izuku a glare. "When it gets to it we'll cross the bridge alright? The next game night is next week. Maybe let the shitty extras know before then." 

Bakugo gets his phone out, clicks some buttons and holds it in front of them after turning on the light in the car. He sees that it's on the selfie camera and looks at him puzzled. 

"Fuckin- come 'ere." He uses his free arm to wrap it around Izuku, pulling him closer to him. "Smile, nerd." 

He snaps a few pictures in between Izuku's confusion but he smiles wide for the camera, tilting his head towards Katsuki. He changed his expression halfway through one of the photos and stuck his tongue out making the other scowl.

After the pictures were taken the blond moved away from him, typing some more.

"I've sent them to you, change your background and I'll change mine." He says, eyes still glued to his phone as he tapped. Izuku was still staring at him, a little wide eyed. "What nerd? Is this not what couples do? Change the phone background?"

"Well yes-"

"What's your problem then?"

"Nothing!"

"Then stop staring at me like a creep. You should put a heart next to my name or something too." Katsuki grumbled. "Now get out." 

"Okay, I'll text you later Kacchan." He says getting out of the car with a small smile. 

"Bye nerd." Is what Izuku heard before he shut the car door behind himself. 

He made his way up to his door, giving Bakugo a wave as he drove away. He turned the key in the lock. Iida often felt safer locking the door when his housemates were out, which he understood. It did get a little creepy when you were by yourself. The house was still and dark, he figured Iida was asleep already which wasn't uncommon. He did like his routines and a full 8 hour sleep schedule. Which Izuku couldn't fault him for. 

Sighing, he locked the door behind him before he made his way up to his room. Flopping on his bed after kicking his shoes off he opened his phone, Ochako hadn't responded to his text about leaving the party but Shouto had just sent a thumbs up emoji. 

Clicking back, he opened the messages from Bakugo. They hadn't texted much just quick updates about where each group of friends was if they were hanging out. Other than that it was bare. Now opening the messages he was greeted with the photos they had took less than 10 minutes ago. They did kind of look like a couple.

He smiled as he scrolled through them, he landed on the photo where he was told to smile. It was a nice picture and Bakugo was also giving a small smile which was rare to see, if he wasn't smiling in triumph his face fell on a scowl. Which wasn't the most attractive face he could be pulling but Izuku figured it's still won him women over the years. Ochako mentioned something about girls loving bad boys and Bakugo looking like one. Now he's realising she was probably saying that because she is also attracted to him in some way. 

He decided that this was going to be his lock screen. 

Izuku figured he should probably change Katsuki's name whilst he was on their chat. Like he told him too before he left the car.

'Kacchan🧡'

[mrgrimreaper1]

Dude, I ABSOLUTELY DESPISE HOW SONIC IS HANDLED IN IDW SO MUCHHHHHH, specially in the issue where he has that whole monologue about his "no killing rule" towards people and eggman, because it literally has no reason to be there, outside of just the writers having to push back the sentiment the fan base was having back then, that issue happened specifically at the peak of people having frustration and hatred towards heroes with no killing rules, saying that they're unnecessary and pointless because thousands die because their no killing rules, specially thanks to batman, which btw is extremely justified to not kill the joker, batman has made it extra clear where he draws the line, he doesn't kill, he doesn't feel good about it, he feels uncomfortable doing it and he views life as sacred, people should be angry at Gotham's law system who for some reason, refuse to kill them and just puts them in an asylum.

Going back to Sonic, sonic having this whole rant about not killing feels so out of character because, first of all: he's being extremely mean and passive aggressive to surge for literally no reason, putting her feelings and points against him aside and pretty much completely disassociating while the whole conversation goes down, she was literally trauma dumping on him, and instead of being a shoulder for her to cry on, he's just extremely sassy for no reason, complete opposite of what he was in secret rings and black knights. Second of all: Sonic is extremely out of character in that moment, that whole thing felt extremely pointless, he's way of thinking is a lot more simpler than whatever that whole speech was, sonic doesn't kill eggman because he would literally die of boredom without eggman there, he knows he can stop eggman, he knows eggman is not gonna end him the easy way out and therefore is completely fine with letting him live, because he's confident he can stop him everytime, and against popular belief, in universe eggman takes a lot longer to actually start a scheme that he was planning, it's very rare that eggman starts a plan right after one failed, which means they get a LOT of time to rest and enjoy peace before eggman's messes everything up. Which brings me to the third thing: that whole speech is so pointless; it felt like the writers we're rushing to come up with reason as to why sonic doesn't just end eggman, so they just wrote something on paper and they just let sonic angrily read the text with no regards to his own philosophies whatsoever, and it is so pointless and unnecessary that you could reach the same conclusion that the writers want without ANY OF IT, if it was up to me, I would either make Sonic avoid the question or give a bunch of non answers, specially because he's trying to get surge to be on his side, which essentially leads to surge not siding with sonic because none of the answers he gave to her satisfied her, or if you want one where it causes the most drama, just make surge not give away her whole backstory right away to sonic, leading him to be blunt and give her an answer she doesn't like, he explains to her that he doesn't kill eggman because it would kill him of boredom later on, which pisses her off and gets her to leave. Fourth thing: stop treating sonic like he views himself as a hero, sonic does NOT view himself like that, sonic views himself as just some dude who showed up one day and said "dude, this egg guy sucks, imma slap 'em" he literally says so in sa2, "what you see is what you get, just a guy that loves adventures." Everyone around sonic may view him as a hero, but he himself does NOT view himself like that, in SA1 he literally just left everyone to clean up the whole city while he slept through the whole rebuilding, and this might be the last thing rn, I might keep going at the morning.

funny it’s called for the forgotten ones yet color, the forgotten one, is just killed off

[faultedloyalty]

✿

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends ( see other )  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other : [ my muse ] is the fake friend, [ your muse ] considers it real ; [ my muse ] comes to enjoy the company [ your muse ] brings

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other 

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other ; [ my muse ] comes to see [ your muse ] as a trophy child*

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous [ my muse to yours ] to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other 

[mirrortouchedsea]

(CW for Suicidal Ideation)

Hinata’s breath was heavy as he landed the final move of their act. The tinny music playing from their speakers went quiet and the audience clapped politely. It was always the same song and dance as the crowd moved on with their day. A few of them tossed some yen their way but otherwise it was time for them to regroup for their next performance. Yuta knelt down by the hat with some coins and bills sticking out of it, counting their earnings thus far. 

“Hey aniki! We might be able to eat well tonight! There’s like 3,000 yen in here!” Yuta exclaimed. The idea of a filling dinner made Hinata’s mouth water. Oh what he wouldn’t do for even warm noodles not from a cup. 

Hinata turned to grab the iPod from its place on the speaker, choosing the next song to play. He put the phone back and turned the volume up a little more to play over the evening rush. The music started and he and Yuta moved in unison around their little stage, taking in the crowd. There were some regulars that Hinata recognized, the businesswoman who was perpetually tired but always stopped for their performances and a few kids who looked up at them in awe as their parents were trying to usher them away. There were always new faces too, of course people traveled across the country all the time or took new trains or moved cities, but there was something different about the boy with the bright red hair at the back of the crowd. His sky blue eyes pierced straight through to Hinata’s heart and made him stumble when their gaze connected with his own. 

“Hey, aniki focus! We’re almost done, don't fail on me now!” Yuta whispered, carefully shielding Hinata from the crowd as he regained his footing. Yuta was always so quick thinking. Hinata got back to his position and finished up the routine, eyes looking for that boy he had spotted earlier. He half hoped the boy would come talk to them afterwards while they were packing up for the evening, but when he finally saw that shock of red hair, it was moving away with the rest of the crowd. 

Hinata sighed, disappointed. Maybe that boy would come back someday. There was something about him that drew Hinata in. 

Someone bumped his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts. “Hey, aniki, are you alright? You seem out of it today.” Yuta’s hand rested on his shoulder and Hinata couldn’t help but smile. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around, the older brother checking in on the younger one? 

“Hey hey everything’s fine Yuta-kun, don’t worry about me. I was just thinking about that delicious dinner you’re treating us too~” He playfully pushed back on Yuta, the red haired blue eyed boy all but forgotten now. 

“Hey! It’s technically our money so I’m not treating you to anything!” Yuta scowled but the smile in his voice was obvious to Hinata. 

“Hehe, then dinner’s on me! Say ‘thank you aniki!’” 

--- 

It was a week before Hinata saw the red headed boy in their audience again. He had all but slipped his mind, but those striking blue eyes were impossible to forget. Yuta was introducing their next performance which allowed Hinata to take a better look at the older boy who had made his way to the middle of the audience. He was tall and what Hinata could see of his outfit seemed ill-fitting at best, along with a headband holding his hair away from his eyes. 

Hinata scrambled to his position as the music queued up and let his instincts take over. Every so often he found himself glancing at the red haired boy, trying to see what he thought of their performance, but his face revealed nothing. 

Why was he so focused on this one boy? It’s not like they didn’t have strangers who watched them sometimes, and none of them had caught Hinata’s attention quite like this boy. He really couldn’t be much older than Hinata, maybe 17 at the oldest. Was he an older brother too? The boy’s eyes made contact with Hinata’s and it took everything in him to not look away. 

Once again however, Yuta snapped him out of whatever trance he had been in and everything was forgotten. 

“Are you really okay aniki? You’ve been out of it a lot recently…” Oh how it pained Hinata to see the concern on Yuta’s face. Nothing was even really wrong per se, but Hinata was distracted nonetheless. 

“I’m fine, Yuta-kun. Geez, can’t your older brother have some peace?” His mouth ran faster than his brain and he immediately regretted it. Yuta’s face flipped through several emotions; hurt, confusion, exhaustion. It wasn’t like him to hide things from his brother, so why was he doing it now? “Whatever, let’s get some dinner. My treat~” 

“It’s our money!” 

--- 

The boy continued to make appearances at the twins’ performances on the street, becoming something of a regular but disappearing before Hinata could flag him down. Hinata wasn’t even sure what compelled him to want to talk to the older boy, but he wanted to say something. He had even noticed that the boy seemed happier and his clothes fit a little better, not like they were just the first thing he grabbed out of a donation pile. 

Finally, after almost a month of trying to say something to the boy, Hinata saw him walk up to their hat on the ground and drop a few coins into it. 

“Thank you!” He said, walking up to the boy. “Hope you enjoyed the performance!” 

The boy froze as if he wasn’t expecting to be greeted like that. There was a slight flush to his face. “I-it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. You uh…you were great?” The boy seemed unsure of how to reply, though Hinata was happy with the compliment nonetheless. Maybe… 

“What brings you here? I mean--agh, sorry! I just mean…I noticed you don’t have a regular schedule?” The words were practically falling out of his mouth and Hinata wasn’t really sure what they were doing. “Like you show up a few days in a row but then go three weeks without stopping by at all!” He was just digging a bigger grave for himself! Great! 

“Ah uhm…I’m not from around here.” The boy scratched at the back of his neck. Maybe Hinata should back off. 

“O-oh, yeah of course. Duh. Are you visiting family or something?” 

“Not quite. I really should get going though. See you…later?” 

“Yeah, see you later.” 

“Hey Aniki, are you coming or not? The food’s gonna get cold!” 

“Coming!” 

---

It was almost a month before the boy appeared again. In the time between, Hinata had come up with a million different ideas for what his life was like. Was he a delinquent who skipped school to hang out on the street with gangs (how scary! But he looked strong enough to fit in)? Or was he a runaway from a city far away, somewhere Hinata only dreamed of visiting like Okinawa? Maybe he had a bad relationship with his dad and ran away, a thought that Hinata hated to admit had crossed his mind more than once. Or maybe he just passed through the city on the way to somewhere else. That seemed to be the most likely option, especially if he couldn’t come very often. 

When the boy did finally show up again, Hinata had to hold himself back from practically jumping him after the performance. Something looked…different about him though. His eyes seemed more tired? Like he hadn’t been sleeping well. Hinata thought of a fight he had with his dad a few weeks ago that made it hard for him to sleep and thought maybe this boy was the same as him in that regard. 

Hinata decided to wave him down after the performance, hat in hand (they had done pretty well! It felt heavier than normal and even without counting everything, they’d probably have enough for breakfast too). 

“Hey! You look tired, are you--did you want to get something to eat?” Please say yes please say yes please say yes--

The boy’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Did Hinata mess up? Oh he overstepped and now there really wasn’t any chance of getting to know him. Why was he so interested in talking to the boy anyway? Hinata had been asking himself that for a while now and he still had no answer. 

“I…I can’t. I need to go.” The boy turned and ran off before Hinata could ask more. He just kept messing up, didn’t he? Maybe he really was just a burden to Yuta and their dad and the restaurant owner. He shouldn’t have been born and Yuta would’ve been better off--

“Aniki! Sheesh, get your head out of the clouds. How much did we make?” Yuta grabbed the hat out of Hinata’s hand and quickly counted out the coins and bills. “Woah! We could eat a whole five course meal with this…” 

“Think with your head a little Yuta-kun. We’ve got breakfast paid for if we don’t blow it all tonight!” 

Yuta nodded before handing the hat back to Hinata. “So, my pick tonight?” 

--- 

Hinata signed the note, trying his best to keep the tears from dripping on it and smudging the ink. After his blunder with the red haired boy, he hadn’t shown up to their performances for over two months. Hinata was certain that he had messed up and was too forward. He didn’t even know the kid’s name! Why did he think the two of them could ever be friends? 

And on top of all of that, Yuta had become more and more distant from Hinata, as if Hinata just existing was dragging him back from his full potential. Yuta would have been better off as an only child and maybe Hinata deserved this life. Thirteen years living with their father, who had treated them as nothing but monsters, blaming them for their mother’s death and everything bad that had happened since, Hinata had resolved to run away. He’d make his way to the mountains and maybe he’d find someone willing to help him or maybe he’d slip into an endless sleep. 

Dear Yuta-kun, the letter had started. I’m sorry that I’m leaving like this, but I know that I’m just a burden to you. I’m sorry for that. I wish I had more to say but I just want you to be happy and maybe father will treat you better without me. I love you. 

The other letter, already folded and placed on the table, was much shorter, addressed to his father. 

Dear Father, I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better son. Please don’t take this out on Yuta-kun, it was my decision. 

The less words he spent on that man, the better. Hinata folded Yuta’s note and placed it on top before quietly exiting through the front door. 

---

Everything was cold. Hinata slumped against a tree, head between his knees in a last ditch effort to keep warm. Sleep should come soon and he could painlessly move on, at least that’s what he hoped. He barely registered someone approaching him, but didn’t look up. 

“Hey.” The voice was vaguely familiar, but where did he remember it from? A warm hand shook at Hinata’s shoulder. 

“‘M fine.” The words were barely a whisper. The other voice grunted before walking away. It was another minute before Hinata felt something drape around his shoulders and a cup shoved in his hand. Whatever was in it was steaming, warming his fingers. 

“Drink.” The voice said. And he did, the tea was very, very bitter. That voice… 

Hinata looked up, meeting a pair of bright, sky blue eyes. That’s where he recognized the voice from. Did he…live? In the mountains? The boy seemed to recognize him too. He was wearing a headband and what looked like very warm clothes that Hinata wished he had. Hinata finished the tea, trying not to focus on the flavor. It helped at least, in warming him up a bit. 

“Why are you here?” The boy finally spoke again. It sounded like he was unsure if he should be mad or concerned, or both, but he offered Hinata another cup of tea, which he accepted if only to warm his fingers up. He pulled the blanket closer around his body. 

“I…ran away.” Hinata looked downward, as if admitting this out loud was a cardinal sin. The boy gestured for him to continue. “I guess I just…I was dragging my brother down. I’m not really talented at anything like he is and I’m the reason our dad sees us as monsters. He shouldn’t have to deal with a brother like me.” Hinata wasn’t really sure why he was spilling this so easily. The boy was a good listener though, hanging on every word Hinata spoke. Was he shaking? He’d never admitted this out loud before and it felt oddly freeing to say it to someone. 

He waited for a response, anything to chase away the uncomfortable silence Hinata had created with his confession. He really fucked up, didn’t he. He should have just kept that to himself like he always did instead of burdening a stranger like this! 

“I…” The boy started, barely audible above Hinata’s racing heartbeat. “I’m glad you’re alive.” He sounded unsure of his words. Was he just trying to be nice? Of course he was, how else do you respond to a kid telling you something like this? 

“You don’t have to pretend.” 

“I’m not. When I saw you singing and dancing…I think I realized something--” The boy cut himself off, the suddenness of it making Hinata look up. A moment later he heard his brother calling out from the woods behind him. 

“Aniki! There you are!” Yuta tackled him to the ground, squeezing Hinata like he might just blow away in the wind if they weren’t careful. “You scared me! I can’t believe you’d do something like that!” 

Tears pricked at Hinata’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, Yuta-kun. I’m really sorry.” He buried his face in Yuta’s jacket. His nose started to run, from the cold or the tears he couldn’t tell. 

“You aren’t a burden to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you around Aniki!” Yuta pulled back, hands gripping Hinata’s shoulders. “Promise you won’t do something that stupid again.” 

Hinata wiped the tears from his eyes, sparing a glance where the boy had been. It was as if he had never been there at all and Hinata had just hallucinated the whole interaction. He looked back at his twin brother. “I promise.” 

“Now let's get you home and warmed up. Where’d you get this blanket anyway? It doesn’t look like one of ours.” 

“I…” The boy had been real, and he told Hinata he was glad he was alive (even if his explanation was cut short by Hinata’s brother rushing in). “I guess I just found it. There must be people living nearby or something.” 

--- 

The chatter of the night club died down for the night as everyone was getting ready to go home. Hinata’s feet were sore from running around, but it was satisfying to be back in a restaurant like this. It reminded him of his childhood working for the Chinese restaurant with Yuta. 

Rinne, the leader of Crazy:B who had wanted to get closer to Hinata, and by extension 2wink, slid a drink down the bar. It looked like a horrible mix of syrups and club soda, but one sip was all it took for Hinata to drink it all down. 

“Great job tonight Hina! You’re a real natural at this stuff.” Rinne was washing the other glasses behind the bar now as Hinata finished the rest of his soda. 

“Yuta-kun and I used to work in a restaurant so it comes pretty naturally to us!” 

“That so?” 

“Mhm!” Hinata slid the empty glass back to Rinne, who quickly dumped the ice and washed it before tossing the towel over his shoulder. The entire week they’d been working the club together, there had been something bugging Hinata at the back of his mind. “Hey, Rinne-senpai…did you ever watch our shows?” 

“Huh? ‘Course I have, vice prez wants us to work together so I’ve seen a few of ‘em.” 

“That’s not what I mean. I mean like…back when Yuta-kun and I did street performances.” 

Rinne paused for a moment. “Why’re you askin’?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing. You just reminded me of someone who used to watch them.” 

“Well I’m sure whoever it was is proud to see you singin’ and dancin’ on stage.” Rinne had come around the bar and stood next to Hinata, ruffling his hair. “Let’s get goin’ or I’m never gonna hear the end of it from Niki-kun.” 

[paging-possum]

on some level I understand that welcome to hell is probably a little harder to sell than hazbin given the *gestures vaguely* entire main plotline of w2h THAT SAID im going to be mad about it forever. because one of them is actually funny and has good character design and compelling dynamics and a good plot and its not the one about the freaking hotel.

[stump-salsa]

Adding onto this because I have a lot of thoughts about this topic. This might come out as a bit scrambled because I’m not thinking too hard as I type I just need to get it all out.

First of all, no, defectiveness is not an allegory for autism.

Not only would this be extremely problematic due to the nature of how defectives are treated (executed via electrocution, being seen as highly unstable and dangerous monsters), but you’re also humanising irkens too much. Irkens and humans… not the same! I’m not saying they CAN’T be autistic, I’m just saying that defectiveness and autism are NOT THE SAME THING. This is something that REALLY irks me. (Pun intended). It genuinely makes me very uncomfortable and I know people are going to disagree with me and tell me things like “but the irken empire is messed up! That’s the point!” Okay, well I’m not finished.

“You’re a monster, Zim! Everything you touch gets destroyed!”

Defectiveness isn’t a problem with the irken itself, with the organic brain. Defectiveness is an issue with the PAK. A lot of issues in Zim’s case. The PAK is broken. It literally says this in The Trial:

“Irken Zim’s ID PAK is damaged, and has led to a corrupt data path. He is… a defective.”

His PAK is so broken that it corrupts the Control Brains! Almost like a computer virus, I guess.

Defectives are unpredictable, unstable, and dangerous because their PAKs are damaged. It’s hard to keep them in line which is why they need to be terminated. Zim is an active threat to the entire empire, which would be impressive if they learned how to utilise him. But they can’t. He’s too unpredictable. He could end up annihilating his own race by accident (which has almost happened before). He could be set off in a way that makes him WANT to destroy the empire. No matter what he does, something gets destroyed. And the empire doesn’t want it to be them because they KNOW he’s an actual threat. He’s proved that multiple times. It’s safer to just banish him to a planet so far away that it’s practically impossible for them to cross paths again, all while he’s under the impression he’s been sent on a top secret mission. He’ll direct all his destructive energy towards that and not mess up things for the empire anymore. And they need to keep up the illusion so they don’t set him off because they can’t keep him under control like they can everyone else. THAT is what defectiveness is.

Zim was doomed from the second his broken PAK was attached.

Also, defectives aren’t common either. That’s why it’s such a big deal when they’re discovered with this huge existence evaluation. They’re a flaw in the empire’s perfect code and need to be scrubbed from existence and everyone needs to pretend it never happened. That such an irken never existed.

“Irken Zim's data is not allowed into the collective. His PAK will be removed, and erased.”

Also, I know I said it in the original post, but no, irkens who show emotion are not defective. Sure, maybe it’s seen as weak to show emotions like sadness, but it’s literally impossible to prevent that. They very clearly show other emotions like anger, happiness, frustration… sadness is just another one. It’s not defective to be sad, it’s just funny.

And no, I don’t think Skoodge and Tak are defective. I don’t really have a coherent explanation for this. I know it’s a popular headcanon, I just don’t see it.

I don’t really care if you disagree with me on that, it’s your headcanon. I’m just saying that I personally don’t see it. You do you. What I’m actually passionate about is everything I said before that.

I don’t really know how to tie this all together, but I want to share my thoughts on this topic because I feel like it’s important - ESPECIALLY the first part. I’ll come back to this if I have any more thoughts about it because I’m very passionate about defectiveness as a concept.

The term ‘defective’ is thrown around way too loosely in this fandom. Having emotions does not make an irken defective.

[terrorbirb]

:((((((((( boss didn't buy me lunch like they normally do on people's last day. Commence absolute minimal effort to finish out this job.

[magnoliamyrrh]

i think that whole "never felt safe growing up and most of my life" thing did real damage to my psyche lmao

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

I wanna personally apologize to the many many many people who have asked me things recently that I have not answered.... I have... so many exams.... and everything hurts....

Brain has an out of service sign on it at the moment. Please return in 8-9 business days.

[peapod20001]

I wonder how many times I’ve googled whether I’m having a panic attack or an anxiety attack...

[gobbluthbutagirl]

the fact that i have been back in the second-worst carolina’s neighbor to the south for over two weeks now and this is the first night i have actually been able to sleep in my own room due to all the junk my siblings left in there that had to be cleared out first. insanity

[just-rogi]

I’m moving out in five weeks and last night I snapped at my roommate who had been a dick to me all year (for something reasonable and justifiable) and ik I shouldn’t feel bad but I totally do lol

All year has been the oppression Olympics any time any of us is upset about anything and like.. I reminded him last night that he isn’t the only minority in the apartment and he was pissed