#remember your mantra

[the-iron-lion]

I saw a hashtag saying that Lavellan is 90% of Solas’s impulse control and it made me snort but like…

Where is the lie?

[taegularities]

i wish i had the words to explain what yoongi and his d-day did for my mental health this year. i really wish i had the power to somehow let him know that i related to every word he said in that album and everything he spoke about in his documentary, and that his wisdom and reassurances really pushed me forward like nothing else all these months. ugh i wish.

[tonycries]

Kiss Me More!

Synopsis. There’s always something that makes him lose control - and you love pushing those buttons.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rough séx, unprotected, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, slight exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s), Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, dacryphília (Geto’s), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. Bro my laptop crashed thrice trynna write this um.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Raw?!”

Great, Toji thinks, he’s finally lost it.

Because sooner have the words left your swollen lips, all the blood goes rushing to his achingly hard cock - so swollen and already leaking hot precum all over your trembling thighs. Some dark, primal part of himself being poked so dangerously awake.

“Are ya sure, doll?” he breathes, and the words come out ragged - pained even. Like some part of himself wanted you to save no, was begging you to say no - for his own sanity. Because just the thought of your pretty lil’ cunt wrapped around his cock makes him feel lightheaded. “We don’t-”

“I wan’ to,” you give him a determined little nod. Spreading your legs further and oh Toji lets out a hoarse grunt at the heavenly sight. Hanging on your every word as you continue, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

That was hours ago - oh, how foolish you were. 

You never thought that those would be the words that make your poor boyfriend snap. That it would only take him just barely grazing his angry, weeping tip between your puffy folds. Up and down up and down up and- down went every rational thought. 

Too depraved. Too lost in the feeling of finally having you and your soft pussy and you-

“C-can’t believe you’ve been ngh- fuckin’ holdin’ out on m-me.” He was in heaven, making you cum over and over and-

And you were clawing limply at the drenched sheets, the headrest, Toji’s shoulders - just anything and everything for some semblance of sanity. 

“T-Toji-” you sob, “S’too much. I- ngh- can’t anymore-”

“Fuck! Been hah- holdin’ out on me.” he groans, like a mantra. Brows furrowing as he squeezes his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. And if it was any other time then Toji might’ve almost been embarrassed at the way his sentence cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. Choking out, “One more- gimme j-jus’ one more.”

“But-” Big, fat tears roll down your burning cheeks as large fingers dip down to toy your sensitive clit between them - no rhythm or rhyme, just to get you off. “You said the p-previous one would ngh- b-be the last.”

Ah, you were so cute blabbering out little pleas. And the only response you get is a devilish smirk, Toji’s darkened, hooded eyes boring into yours as he hums, “Did I? I don’t remember.”

He did remember. Very well, in fact as he pushed you to your nth orgasm tonight. And it took everything in him to hold off his high as he fucked you through yours, whispering out hollow promises about it being the “last time” and just “one more”. 

“S’okay-” Toji nips playfully at your wobbling lips. Salty with the taste of your overstimulated tears. “One more- you can mmpf- cum f’me once more, right?” 

And Toji’s barely-there sense of rationality in him knows he should slow down. Ease up his bruising grp on your hips. Have at least some shred of concern as he fucks your quivering cunt rougher, like his personal sex toy more than anything. 

Yet, no, right now he couldn’t even think straight. Too focused on how your moans were so sweet. Lips so pretty screaming out his name. Snug cunt too fucking heavenly when you cum all over his cock, squeezing him like your slutty lil’ pussy was trying to milk the fucking soul out of him. So hard and addicted that Toji was hooked. 

You mewl a delirious little, “H-hooked?” Batting your hazy eyes up at the monster above you, who seemed well and fully intent on making you cum until you couldn’t anymore. “Y-you’re hooked?”

Whoops, did he say that out loud? Seems you weren’t the only one that was completely and utterly wrecked here. 

“Shhh,” Toji drops his head once more to kiss away your adorable pout - the one that only makes his balls squeeze so painfully. “Just focus on how ngh- fuckin’ food ya feel, pretty.” Fingers erratic on your throbbing clit, just soaked in your sweet juices. Moving deftly to spell out a messy T-O-J-I. Over and over and- “After all, this hah- pussy now belongs to me now, right?”

And it’s all you can do to give a delirious little nod, words slurring together as you hiss a low, “Y-yours- S’all for- ngh- you-” Hips bucking wildly underneath his strong figure. “Close- m’gonna cum, Toji-”

The only response you get is a guttural groan of what sounded like your name - followed shortly by a string of profanities as Toji speeds up his abuse on your cunt. One hand reaching out to grip onto the headboard, so hard that if you were in any better state of mind the two of you would have registered the sharp snap! 

The other almost-feverish on your poor clit - like it hurt to not have you cumming all over his cock now. Spelling his name over and over and-

“Oh I’ll let ya cum-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy now. Sounding like his sanity was dancing away every time his hips slapped bruisingly against yours. “Gonna make you c-cum so ha- hard you’ll forget everything else-”

You’re letting out strangled little gasps in response, hips torn between running away and fucking down for more more more-

“Fuck- hope you’re on the pill, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Painted white

“Whoops.”

Nanami well and fully thinks that it’s your fault he feels less of a man than some monster right now. He acts like it, too, holding back a sultry little smile as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

Close - too close. 

Close enough that he’s immediately pulling out of your snug cunt. So fucking difficult with the way you’re sucking him up so good - but oh was it worth it watching the way your swollen lips drop into a soft oh! Glassy eyes snapping down to catch the way he fucks his fist once, twice. Before spilling all over your swollen folds, painting you such an obscene white over and over and-

“Now now,” you can only keen in response as your husband hums lowly. Fist sliding languidly up and down his angry, red cock. “Guess we hafta hah- do it all over again, my love.” 

Yeah, definitely worth it with the way he had you all breathless and needy, your slutty lil’ pussy just begging to go over the edge - only to tease you at the very last second. God, it’s been like this for so long now. 

“So mean,” you give Nanami a little pout - one that has his still-painfully hard cock twitching so sensitively in his hand. Big, fat tears welling up in your eyes as you continue, “You’re being so ngh- mean, Ken.”

Oh, damn that little nickname - the exact same one you’d scream when you’re close. Damn the way you cock your head just right, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at him.

Damn the way he snakes his hand down to the sinful little pool of cum spreading all over your lower stomach. Letting it trickle onto his fingertips - immediately shoving them between your lips to shut up those pretty lil’ moans. 

“Mean?” he manages to chuckle. Tips of his fingers pressing right at the back of your tongue. Slapping his swollen cock on your stomach, “Is this what you ah- wanted? Are ya happy now, my love?” 

The sight of you all teary and gagging around his fingers was almost as addictive as the sight of you covered in his cum. Almost. 

He sweeps his eyes all over where you were splayed out so prettily for him. Your glossy lips, the streaks of cum on your stomach, your chin, everywhere and anywhere - except where you wanted the most. 

It had started with an accident, really, when he’d pulled out a bit too early tonight. And fuck if Nanami didn’t think that sight of you all dripping and covereed with him was like the gates of heaven spread wide open all for him. A new, dangerous addiction. 

Which is why he’s pushing his fingers deeper, whispering out a ragged little, “Shit, you’re so messy.” Purposefully dragging his thumb across your lower lip to smear the mess everywhere. Your lips, your chin, inside. “So filthy.” He can’t even think about bringing himself to be disgusted. Dipping down the valleys of your chest, down, down down, to where his achingly hard tip was just kissing your quivering entrance now, “So perfect.” 

And without warning, Nanami’s splitting you apart on his massive cock once more. Jaw falling slack ever-so-slightly at the way you’re taking him up so readily - inch by fucking inch like it hurt to be apart.

“F-fuck,” you moan, the words broken as he starts moving inside - back to picking up that unforgiving pace from earlier, like he never stopped. “Hngh- s’too good- too full, Kento-”

“Awww, what happened to ‘Ken’?” Nanami cuts you off uncharacteristically. Hips slowing down to lazy, mindless little movements that have you gasping in protests. “Was gonna cum on your pretty face this time hah- s-seems you don’t want it, hm?”  

And ah, let it be known that Nanami Kento would burn down the world for his wife. 

But what fun it was to tease you - to have your mouth dropping in disbelief, eyes widening in your delirious state. Babbling out a broken, “No no no, Ken- hngh- wan’ you to cum inside.” Back arching off the bed, grappling pathetically for more more more- “To paint me white inside- Please?”

Oh, did you know how to push his buttons just right. Because how could Nanami deny you begging so prettily like that?

Because the sentence is barely out of your mouth before neat nails are digging into your hips as Nanami pulls your hips closer, milking his cock on your snug cunt - so hard he knew it would leave marks. His heavy balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, nails dragging down his bulging biceps as you moan his name. 

Whispering, breath hot against your ear, “You’re right.” Voice so strained and dark that you almost don’t recognize it as your husbands. “So, so right.”

Nanami’s index finger coming down to draw an invisible line right where he could feel his cock making a mess of you inside. 

“Ah! Ken, W-what-”

“You’re so right.” he’s breathing against your mouth, like a little prayer. Tasting the sweet candy of your lips and himself and you- “The next spot-” Pressing his finger down right on that spot, hard. Like he wanted to feel himself more than anything. “Will be here.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty when you cry

“S-Sugu, are you okay?” you’re looking over your shoulder to ask. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing - except for Geto’s heavy breathing, and the lewd little squelches from down below, his swollen cock just barely sinking into your heavenly cunt. And you know it doesn’t bode well.

You’d be almost worried if it wasn’t for the way his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown and just locked on that single, stray tear rolling down your cheek. Such a dark little glint in his gaze that had you wondering whether you should be concerned for him or yourself. 

Yet you manage to choke out a little, “Suguru?”

Ah that snaps him out of his little reverie, suddenly too-aware of your plushy walls sucking the soul out of his hot, angry head. 

With work, it’s been a while since Geto got to fuck your snug cunt - and you needed to breathe, maybe spread your legs more. Relax, because it was so fucking tight and Geto wasn’t even halfway. The stretch way too sinful. Too much. Your lips wobbling at how massive his cock was, and oh- was that another tear going down your pretty face?

You don’t even get to confirm because several things happen at once - immediately, he’s pushing his aching dick in one, harsh thrust. Head dipping down to pool the tears streaming on his hot tongue, groaning at the taste.

“O-oh.” you manage to grit out, feeling like Geto was pushing into your fucking lungs. “S’too big. Sugu, ah!”

“Shhhh, gorgeous.” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, fingers dancing down your body to roll your ravaged clit between them. “S’alrigh- ngh-” And you didn’t know whether he was reassuring himself more than you. “You got it. Y-you’ll take it- you always do, right?”

And he was right - but you’d forgotten how unforgiving Geto’s cock was. How unforgiving he was as he pries away your fingers gripping onto the headrest - trying pathetically to pull away from the pressure down below. 

Hah, he thinks, intertwining them so mockingly with his own, as if he’d let such a pretty lil’ thing like you escape. 

Romantic - the way this was supposed to be. 

Yet, now, Geto was fucking you like anything but. 

“You’re not trying to- fuck- run away,” he’s purring in your ear, rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit once. Twice. As if trying to will the answer out of you, “Right?” Not even waiting for your answer before reeling his hips back, all the way till his fat tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “After we hngh- haven’t done this in so-” Slamming his hips down. Harsh. “-long?”

And shit- he was acting like it, too. So depraved and filthy the way he was drinking up your cute lil’ moans, tasting your tears on his lips while he couldn’t decide between bruising your poor cervix and hitting that one spot. “T-too fuckin’ long, gorgeous.”

The only answer he gets is your sweet, simpering whine of “Sugu- Sugu Sugu- oh my god.” Back bowing off the bed because it’s gotten so much. “C-can feel you so deep inside.”

Really, how could Geto even think about stopping himself from kissing down your arched back? Looping two strong arms around your waist to pull you impossibly deeper down his cock. 

“Ah! Oh my god- Suguru!” you keen as he falls back on his knees with you in tow, your back against his muscled front. Spreading your legs to fuck up so mindlessly into you. Jagged, long thrusts, bouncing you like a toy on his aching cock. Rough. “So much- so- ngh-”

Ah, your pretty little cries are just music to his ears. Fuck, he forgot how pretty you looked when you were all breathless and crying on his cock.

“Such a cute lil’ actress.” he coos, voice going up each time his heavy balls smack your ass. Fingers drawing such tight little circles on your throbbing clit. “Love these hah- pretty tears.”

“S-So mean, Sugu-” you’re choking as his thrusts get purposeful - calculated. Hitting that one magical spot he’ll never forget no matter what. Over and over and over while all you can do is cry out teary moans of his name.

Thigh quivering at the sheer stimulation, “Yeah- yeah, jus’ like that.” And oh Geto wishes he could taste down there, too. But instead settles for doing that later - getting those sweet, overstimulated tears out of you. “My gorgeous girl, cryin’ on my cock. Ngh- gonna cum f’me?” Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your forehead - the complete opposite of his hips. “Gonna c-cry while you’re mm- cumming all over my cock?”

And as if he really really wanted to see it - Geto’s only getting sloppier. 

So embarrassing with the way he was whispering out sweet little degradations in your ear, guiding you closer and closer. 

So embarrassing with the way he eagerly watched all your minute reactions.

So embarrassing with how you cum exactly the way he wanted you to - teary and breathless. A quick scream of Geto’s name before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. 

Cunt clamping down so deliciously on his cock. So dizzying that you barely even register the hot tongue lapping at the fresh wave of tears.

“Ah, as perfect as I hah- imagined.” Geto grits out, sounding every bit absolutely wrecked. “Now I jus’ n-need to know if you’ll cry as much when m’filling you up.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just the tip.”

“Hngh- f-fuck, baby.” he whines into your open mouth, strong hands pulling your trembling hips impossibly closer to his. “J-jus’ a bit deeper- only a bit deeper, I promise.”

Ah, if only you weren’t split apart so deliriously on Choso’s cock you might’ve been able to actually form a coherent sentence to- what? Snap at him? Beg him for more?

You don’t even know at this point, because it’s been like this for so long now, and Choso promised it would be just his weeping tip. He promised it would be quick and he just “wanted to feel his girl’s pretty pussy.” Over and over again as he pushed your legs all the way until they were pressed against your tits, heels pressing into the mattress as he slides his massive cock even deeper-

“Cho!” you yelp, feeling the thump! thump! thump! of those prominent veins down the side rub against all the right spots. “You said-”

“I know I know, m’sorry.” he gasps. Brows scrunching as he nevertheless bullies his cock deeper inside your gummy walls. Choso’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful. Dropping his head to kiss your bruised lips, “M’sorry, jus’ a bit more. Jus’ a bit- hah- a bit deeper-”

And oh, he shouldn’t have done that. 

Shouldn’t have let himself that last bit of freedom, because he sinks only a bit more into your heavenly cunt - so dripping wet and milking the soul out of him - that Choso can’t help but think he wants more. 

“Baby…” Choso purrs hotly against your ear, hips thrusting in slow, shallow little grinds - and you already know too well what he’s about to beg for.

“Cho.” you groan, warningly. “You said j-jus’ the ngh- tip.”

“Awww.” he groans. So fucking pretty with his long hair undone, some strands sticking to his flushed skin. Eyes hazy and miles away as he looks at you through those long, dark lashes. “Jus’ a bit ngh- more? Promise I’ll pull out.” As if to support his case, one hand gently tilts your head up to press chaste pecks at the corner of your lips. The other starting to toy with your ravaged clit, “Please?”

And how could you say no to that? 

Especially not when Choso digs his knees deeper into the sheets, rock-hard cock dragging so agonizingly against your walls as he reels his hips back, back, back-

Splitting you apart all in one, harsh thrust. 

It’s all you can do to whine out a pathetic, “O-oh fuck- fuck! S’too deep.” The stretch too sinful, his cock too massive. Tears springing to your eyes as he immediately starts fucking you in quick, ragged movements - not even easing you into it like he usually would. 

“M’sorry, baby.” Choso sounds so fucking wrecked, voice as rough as his hips now. “M’sorry m’sorry. Promise I won’t cum inside. Jus’ a bit more- some- some more-”

And for all the remaining sanity you had left, you didn’t know how promises of “just the tip” turned into empty wishes that neither of you had the patience - nor the sanity - to fulfill right now. 

“Please.” you arch your hips off the bed - and nothing more has to be said, because Choso reads that lust-drunk little plea in your eyes. “Ch-Cho-”

“A bit more.” he lets out a humorless little laugh. Reaching above to lace his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down, down, down impossibly deeper onto his painfully hard cock in a pathetic little cadence to match his. “Jus’ a bit- more.”

It was driving him insane. 

And for all his apologies, Choso isn’t one bit shy when rocking his hips harder into yours. So bruising with the way he leaves marks on your waist, your tits, probably even your poor cervix. Whispering out mindless little promises of pulling out and nonsense about going “jus’ a bit deeper”.

“F-fuck, wan’ you to cum, baby.” The bed is creaking in protest as Choso picks up the pace so sloppily. Hips stuttering and uneven with how fucking good it felt - but hitting the right spots every time. His hands snaking down to roll your sensitive clit between his fingers again. “Cum f’me. Please?”

And it seems that Choso had a penchant for getting what he wanted. 

Because no sooner do the words leave his rosy lips, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes. Blood roaring in your ears, mixing with Choso’s broken little praises as he fucks you through peak after peak of your high. 

Over and over and-

“Sorry-” your eyes snap open at that familiar little phrase falling from his lips. One that you knew didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Sorry sorry sorry-” Thrusting, once. Harsh. Twitching so wildly inside you that just one more squeeze and he’d be- “C-can I ngh- cum inside, baby?” 

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A lil’ show

It only takes that first, broken little moan escaping your swollen lips and you already know you won’t make it out intact - nor will Sukuna’s sanity, apparently. 

Because no sooner has that sinful noise left you, Sukuna’s eyes glaze over, jaw dropping so uncharacteristically into a soft oh! Aching dick twitching wildly inside you, hips stuttering against yours as he breathes out, “What was that?”

He doesn’t have the patience to wait for your response - instead, squeezing his swollen cock deeper, fucking all the air - and the words - out of you. 

Which, unfortunately for you, wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 

“Aww, c’mon.” the words are groaned into the crook of your neck, sending jolts of electricity all the way down to your dripping cunt. “Give me more ngh- of those-” Large hands tightening on your hips, shifting you around on where you were sat so prettily on Sukuna’s lap. “-pretty moans, brat.”

So that’s what he wanted.

And this was supposed to be something slow. Something lazy, and languid to get the king of curses off before that droning meeting today with his underlings - to take the edge off so that he probably won’t end up killing them all off.

Something it was not supposed to be was Sukuna spreading your legs so shamefully, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Trying to find the angle that’s just right to rip those cute lil’ moans out of you.

“C’monnnn.” he gives short, sloppy little thrusts up into your heavenly cunt. “Where is-”

Then suddenly you’re wrapping your arms tighter around Sukuna’s neck, “Ngh! Oh fuck-” Teeth digging into his muscled shoulder, hard - hard enough that it might’ve drawn blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself. 

“Found it.” And it’s all that’s said before he’s reaching down to spread your puffy folds further, eyes flicking between your wobbling lips and the way your tight pussy was sucking him up so good. Watching the way his massive cock was disappearing in and out in and out in and- “What? Not gonna hah- scream my name anymore?”

“B-because, Kuna-” you gasp, face burning at the way your thighs tremble with the effort to pathetically to meet his unforgiving pace. “They- they’re close.”

Humming in amusement, “Who?”

“Them!” you’re keening - and both of you know you’re talking about those footsteps outside, the thought of Sukuna’s meeting weighing much more on your mind than his. So you’re limply grazing your lips against his, trying to muffle those whimpers falling from your lips. “They’re g-gonna ngh- hear?”

“So?”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - Sukuna’s response or the way he’s increasing his pace relentlessly. Trying to pull those sweet sweet moans from you, no care or concern for the ever-closing footsteps outside. 

“I don’t care.” he groans, back arching off the sticky seat of his throne to fuck up into your sloppy hole deeper. “You’re ngh- above them, y’know.” Bouncing you like such a slut on his cock, “So what if they h-hear?”

And God you don’t know who’s more fucked-out right now - Sukuna, who was speaking mindless little nonsense into your ear, or you. Whiney and a mess, tugging on his soft locks - a warning.

One that the man himself blatantly ignores, instead having one hand reach down to roll your throbbing clit between his fingers. 

“Hngh- fuck!”

The moan escapes you before you can bite down on Sukuna’s neck, right above his racing pulse to muffle it. 

“Heh,” shivers run down your spine as Sukuna’s chest rumbles with a laugh. Pulling your lolling head away to crash his lips against yours. Panting into your open mouth, “Sneaky. But they’re only getting closer and-” Rocking his hips harder. Bruising. “-m’only getting more impatient.”

And then he’s fucking up into you with reckless abandon. Smirk spreading at that little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hits that one spot. 

You’re sure that if whatever unfortunate soul was outside couldn’t hear your delirious moans then they could definitely hear the lewd slap of skin on skin. Fast, so unforgivingly loud. His fingers just a blur on your clit. Just taunting those little moans out of you.

You’re gasping at the sheer stimulation, “Y-you’re so-”

“So what?” Sukuna spits into your mouth, “Don’t start ngh- sentences ya can’t finish, brat. Though-” His sharp eyes flicker towards the door, much more aware than whatever hazy mess was left of your senses. “I don’ think you’ll be able f-finish any of them soon enough.”

Barely even giving you the chance to register his words, you’re tilting your head in confusion up at him and-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Oh, shit. 

“Come in.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Blue blue blue!

It’s times like this - your blue lingerie almost in tatters, Gojo pushing you into such a tight mating press, filling up your poor pussy over and over - that you wonder when bones will start breaking.

Well, not that your boyfriend would mind either - he wouldn’t mind having to use a bit of reverse cursed technique on what was supposed to be a lazy little cockwarming session. Instead, too focused on how your cunt was sucking him up so good. His cum inside you so warm, the stretch so sinful, your lingerie too blue-

“Heh, what? C-can’t ngh- speak, sweetheart?” Gojo lets out a humorless little laugh. Fingers deftly hooking under your bra strap to give a sharp little snap! “You’re the one that a-asked for this, after ngh- all.”

“B-But, Toru-” you gasp, and it only has Gojo ramming his cock into you deeper. Awe-struck at how you were already so bloated with his cum, but still taking him so well. “Wasn’t on p-purpose-”

“This wasn’t on purpose?” And you know what he’s talking about - that barely-there fabric - the exact shade of his eyes. Only one glance at it had Gojo feeling like something snapped - possibly his restraint, maybe his sanity. Definitely you by the end of this. “This?” 

And you can’t even act coy - you don’t get the chance to. 

Because Gojo’s immediately got his hands everywhere. On your swollen breasts, your hips, the hem of your panties that he just barely had the patience to slide aside before stuffing you full. 

“Y-yes?” you ask, deliciously. Cunt clenching so sinfully around his throbbing cock in- fear? Anticipation? As he looked down so starved at you. 

“F-fuck. Ya shouldn’t have done this.” Gojo’s dragging his lips down your neck, soft. The exact opposite of how bruising his hips were of yours. “Oh, ya shouldn’t have done this-” Lewd curiosity getting the best of him as he dips his hand lower, pressing down just slightly on your lower stomach. “Because now,” Those blue eyes widening at the way his cum gushes down your legs, down his legs. “-m’not gonna let you go until I fuckin’ ruin these.”

And if you were in any better state of mind you could’ve almost laughed - because Gojo was acting like the soaked, flimsy fabric hanging around your body wasn’t already far, far past any salvation. 

No, he was fucking you like he was going to ruin them all over again. Tightening your legs thrown over his shoulders, folding you in half like some ragdoll as he bends down, down, down-

RIP!

You’re gasping at the sharp tear of fabric, one that you barely hear over the fucking obscene squelches from below. “T-Toru-” you squeal, ankles locking in warning. “These ngh- w-were expensive.”

“So?” And for all the world, Gojo has the audacity to sound so genuinely confused. Whispering a soft oh! as he angles his head just right to catch that sinful little tear in your panties. “Whoopsies.”

But, really, what your unregretful boyfriend was actually focusing on was how fucking illegal it should be for you to look this heavenly - legs shaky and limp, his seed forming a lewd little pool. Marked like you were fucking thrown to wolves, but, no, it was actually Gojo Satoru and he couldn’t fucking get enough-

“Five.”

The word comes out abruptly, strangled like Gojo himself was as bewildered as you as he suddenly blurts it out. 

And at your - fucking adorable - look of confusion, he’s kissing away the pout at your lips, murmuring hoarsely, “M’gonna buy you five more of these.”

That’s all that’s said before he’s only rocking his hips harder, feeling more of a fucking monster than he did when he was on the battle field. Wondering whether he’d have to buy a new fucking bed too with the way it was creaking under the pure power. 

And, well, it made some tiny, sadistic little part of Gojo delight to see the effect it had on you. Sweet moans of his name leaving your lips each time he draws rapid circles on your pretty clit. Hips fucking back down to meet his, so sloppy and needy - exactly the way he wanted you. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re bucking wildly underneath him, “M’close- so fucking close.”

He knew - of course he did. If the way your gummy walls were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him was anything to go by. Clit pulsing in a maddening little thump! thump! thump! that set Gojo’s animalistic rhythm. 

“Cum f’me.” he pants against your open mouth. Fingers hurrying on your clit because he wanted - needed - this so badly. “Cum f’me cum f’me, wan’ feel you squeezing my cock, sweetheart.” Needed to see if your tight pussy could take one more - to see if she’d overflow onto your poor panties again. “Cum f’me.”

“Ngh- fuck- Toru!”

And then you are - you feel it before you realize it. 

Just that white-hot electricity flowing through your veins, and your nails digging into Gojo’s milky skin. Leaving such angry red marks as you chase your high over and over and-

And Gojo wasn’t any better. Just barely having the sense to pull out as his balls squeezed so painfully and he’s painting your quivering pussy white. Thick rope after rope that the smug bastard purposefully smears all over your panties. 

So fucking filthy.

“Ten.” he’s groaning, and you already know what he means. “M’gonna have to buy you ten more after this.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[hoonatic]

emergency contact | park sunghoon x reader

prompt: weeks after your breakup, sunghoon finds out that he’s still your emergency contact. pairing: non-idol sunghoon x implied female reader genre: angst with hopeful/happy? ending; second chance romance??; exes to lovers??? word count: 2800 note: i’ve had a cute fic idea that i wanted to write forever…but this is not it. the sad demons have visited me once again. hope y’all enjoy nevertheless and any feedback is much appreciated <3

sunghoon was miserable. 

it had been three weeks, five days, two hours, and thirty-two minutes since the two of you had gone no contact.

he wished he could say he was happy to be single, that he was no longer “locked down” and “whipped” as his friends had always called him. but the so-called “freedom” felt like hell since it meant losing you.

at first, he kept telling himself that time would heal the pain. “it’s natural,” he had repeated like a mantra, “she was your best friend and lover for years.” but no, this heartbreak was inhumane. his desire to see you, apologize endlessly, and spend days holding you until you could feel every ounce of his love was gnawing at his soul. if anything, it got worse by the minute.

he had tried so hard to balance work and the rest of his life, using the excuse several times that he was securing this future for your shared life with him. that one day, you’d be able to reap the rewards of his efforts and live comfortably together without stress.

but what was the use of all of that now? the future he had worked so hard to create was ripped out from his hands by no one other than himself. 

you had accused him of being too busy for you. dates canceled at the last minute, a birthday forgotten, and all the texts left on read had built up to the argument that ended it all. he was always good at fighting, a little too good. he had retorted that you weren’t being supportive, and he was never one to sugarcoat his words. his tongue was sharp, and he did nothing to dull its blade.

but there wasn’t too much yelling on your part, and he thought that that hurt more. he wanted you to fight back, to stand your ground because he knew deep down that he was being the asshole. his toxic thought was that by you fighting back, this meant that you were still fighting for your relationship. but instead, you just stared with silent tears and a blank expression. seeing the indifference in eyes that had previously held so much love was a sight that would stay with him forever. so, in fear of you leaving, he ran instead.

he was a coward, leaving your shared home to run back to the apartment he had still technically owned but hadn’t lived in for more than a year. he locked himself away for a few days, but the realization that you hadn’t attempted to contact him burned more than he could put into words. you were done with him. he had hurt you, had the audacity to be the one to run, and now he had lost you.

he had even run from his job. he couldn’t stand to walk into the same building he stayed in when he forgot dates with you. his coworkers wouldn’t stop asking what happened to him, why he looked so rough. he even found an empty container that had once held lunch you made for him. but his final straw was getting promoted. his first instinct was to call you, but he remembered the sad truth before he could dial. any ounce of pride was washed away with shame in that moment. that same day, he quit without notice.

so there he was: miserable, alone, and unemployed with nothing left to run from but memories. he had spent the last week going through his phone and saving your pictures together in a locked album. he wouldn’t dare delete them, but he couldn’t stomach looking at you either.

he wished he could get drunk and sleep away the pain. he had tried, he definitely did - but that night, he dreamt of you. you were smiling at first, eyes ever full of love. you were speaking, yet he couldn’t hear you. but he could see how your words started to gradually look sadder, and slowly, tears started to fall as your grin dropped. he woke up that next morning crying with the conclusion that he would have to face this heartbreak sober.

but another day of scrolling through albums had stopped abruptly when he saw the notification that changed everything.

SOS i called emergency services from this approximate location after my watch detected a hard fall. you are receiving this message because i have you listed as my emergency contact.

sunghoon had to remind himself to breathe.

he had purchased that watch for you as a “just because” present months ago. you had complained of bad sleep and he wanted you to use it as a way to track your slumber. he hated seeing you tired. he knew that the watch had a fall detection function, but it had never been used before.

his heart was in his stomach as he went to his favorite contacts page and selected your name for the first time in weeks.

“please,” he begged, all notion of running away from you leaving his brain, “pick up please.”

but you just weren’t answering. so he tried again and again and again.

for a moment while the line attempted to connect, he wondered if this was how he had made you feel for months - desperate for a sliver of attention from him. but instead, he was desperate for a sign of life.

finally, after about two minutes of trying to reach you, his body moved of its own accord. before he knew it, his car keys were in his hands and he was out the door.

the car ride there might have been the worst part. the speed at which he drove at almost defied the laws of physics. other drivers were cursing at him but he wasn’t registering anything except the thought of your safety. he just needed to get to you.

why did he run? why didn’t he try to talk it out? if he was so afraid of losing you, why did he do the one thing that would guarantee that? he should have been there like he promised to be from the beginning. you would have been safe with him.

when he pulled up to the house you had shared for so long, he suddenly felt the world slow down. why were emergency services there? you should’ve canceled them by now.

he had to double park as the ambulance was blocking the driveway. why were they here?

the emts and police had arrived at the same time as him, which both increased his anxiety and soothed him. for one, that meant he had been quick enough. but why did you need them?

“sir, do you know–” an officer had approached him as he stumbled to the front door. all he could understand was your name. why were they asking if he knew you? of course he knew you. you, the love of his life. you, his soulmate by every meaning of the word. you were you. and you were safe.

as if sensing his distress, he felt an emt worker pull him to the side as the same officer prepared to break down the door. seeing this, sunghoon finally returned to his senses.

“w-wait! sorry, i have a key.” sunghoon’s hands were shaking. the only way that door had unlocked was by pure muscle memory because he didn’t understand what he was doing at all.

as soon as the door opened, sunghoon tried to step in. finally, he was close to you. 

the officer, however, pulled him back.

“sir, you should wait here. we need to make an initial search before you can go in.”

“what, why? if she’s in there, i want to see–”

“sir, it’s just in case we find something we wouldn’t want you to see.”

all of sunghoon’s hesitation and fear went out the window at those words. his body flew automatically as he ran inside.

he screamed your name as he rushed in, ignoring the yells of the police officers who followed him in. as it had been for almost four weeks, his only thought was you. he just needed you.

he checked the ground floor first, eyes scanning the open space in less than a second as his body avoided an officer trying to grab him. sunghoon then moved to the staircase, long legs prepared to skip steps to reach you. then suddenly, he heard the voice his ears had been longing for,

“sunghoon?!”

his head shot up. there you were, finally. he saw the sadness, confusion, and fear all flash your face as you registered the emergency workers behind him. you looked exhausted and unruly, but he had never felt more in love.

he didn’t even remember climbing the steps, but suddenly he was at the top of the staircase and you were in his arms. 

you could feel him trembling as he held you. you took his face into your hands to look at him, “sunghoon? what’s wrong? why are you here? is it my parents? is someone hurt?” you watched as his mouth opened but no words came out. after a few seconds, one of the officers spoke from the bottom of the steps,

“ma’am, we received an alert from your device that a hard fall had occurred.”

suddenly, you understood everything. taking sunghoon’s hand gently, you led him down the stairs, afraid he’d fall from shock. he followed you silently, but his grip tightened seemingly with every step.

that’s when you noticed your shattered watch on the third step.

you let sunghoon go and you could hear his deep breath when you did. you picked up the watch and offered it up to the officer as an explanation, “i’m sorry officer, it looks like there’s been a misunderstanding…”

the officer nodded in understanding, and dismissed the emts, “got it, ma’am. we will still need a formal report for our records since this was registered as an emergency call.” he motioned to your couch as he took out a pen and paper.

you reached for sunghoon’s hand once more and led him to sit with you. in the moment, you knew he needed you more than you would ever understand. so, as you explained to the officer, you held his trembling hand, rubbing soothing circles with your thumb.

“i was doing laundry here downstairs and had taken off my watch to prevent it from getting wet,” you recounted, “i put it on top of the basket of clothes that i took upstairs. i remember tripping a little going up the stairs - i didn’t fall, but that must’ve been when the watch fell."

"what about your phone, where is it? i'm sure your boyfriend must've tried to call you."

sunghoon slowly nodded at that, turning to look at you. you smiled sheepishly, "i left it upstairs and it was on silent while i folded the clothes. i’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

after finishing up your statement, the remaining officer prepared to leave. as he walked out the door, he gave a soft smile to the both of you,

“glad to see it was a false alarm, ma’am. you had this gentleman quite worried - ran so fast i couldn’t even grab him!” the officer laughed, “you two have a nice day now! sorry about your watch, though!”

after he shut your door, the silence enveloped your home. you closed your eyes and breathed deeply to prepare to speak to your ex-boyfriend. but as soon as you opened them, sunghoon started to cry softly.

he hugged you tighter than he ever had, and soon enough, his face was buried in your neck. his cries were silent, but you could feel his body shaking as his tears soaked your shirt.

“sunghoon…” you started, stroking his back, “i’m sorry i worried you, honey.”

you knew you shouldn’t be calling your ex pet names, especially an ex that had run from you without properly ending the relationship. but your heart still held so much love for him that it flowed out naturally. and you knew he was crying from more than just worry, so you doubt he minded at all in the moment.

his crying slowed down as his arms took to loosely wrapping around your waist instead. he pulled away from your neck to rest his forehead on yours. from this angle, you could see his swollen eyes and red nose - a sight so rare in all the years you had dated. he was never a crier after all.

but memories of several late-night conversations rushed your mind. he always said his number one fear was your death, and now you could see he had never lied about that.

he could see your mind go elsewhere so he called your name softly, “don’t say you’re sorry. i’m so happy, these are relieved tears. and i just really, really missed you.” he croaked out. you knew he had more to say, so you just nodded, letting him go on.

“and i’m sorry, baby. for everything. i shouldn’t have run, i shouldn’t have tried to egg you on to fight me back. i shouldn’t have even fought anything you said that night. you were right. i didn’t prioritize you. in my attempt to secure you for life, i let you go instead. i’m so sorry, i never wanted to break up.” he was rambling in earnest now, afraid that no words would make you take him back.

you listened quietly as he went on for a few minutes after that, hand continuing to rub his back, “i know honey, i know.”

“baby, you need to understand that i almost died thinking you almost died today,” you could’ve laughed at how dramatically he spoke, “i couldn’t breathe right thinking that our last conversation could’ve been an argument. that you wouldn't have ever known just how deeply i love you and need you. i have so much regret for how i treated you, but if you’d give me the chance, i have all the time in the world to make it up to you…let’s go on that vacation i promised you. we can leave tomorrow if you’d like.” he smiled hopefully at you.

“hoon,” his heart soared at the use of his beloved nickname, “what do you mean? don’t you have work? can you really leave with such short notice?”

“i quit my job.”

“excuse me?”

“no job that made me work that much is worth it. i’ll find one with better work-life balance…after our vacation. if that’s what you still want of course…” he spoke more quietly, as if afraid of rejection.

you sighed. you really should be realistic with this - you two had been broken up for a few weeks at that point. you knew the love was still there, but was this a good decision?

while there was still some hesitation on your part, you couldn't help but notice how gingerly he held you. his arms were still around your waist loosely, yet there was something desperate about their hold. you knew he was holding back from hurting you - you could tell how tightly he wanted to hug you.

he was so shaken up at the idea of you being hurt that he rushed over there despite the two of you not being on speaking terms. for someone who had trouble communicating how he felt sometimes, you knew his actions spoke louder than words. he always acted brave, but there was so much he feared. and you knew losing you was always at the top of this list.

you could also feel how he was simply soaking in the sight of your face. his eyes were shy, yet determined. he wasn't going to risk missing another second of staring at you. a part of you grew conscious, but you knew he was just taking in what he had missed for weeks.

“what about…” you started and almost giggled at how he perked up, “we take it slow - another two weeks or so to talk everything out and relax? to get us to a good place again before you hold me hostage in some foreign country?”

sunghoon smiled softly, kissing your forehead. you leaned in naturally to his warmth, to his touch that you missed so much. “that sounds like a great idea, love.” he spoke, “we’ll get you a new watch too. and i’ll do all the itinerary planning and packing whenever you’re ready, okay? i love you.”

“okay. and i love you too. can’t wait to enjoy your unemployment with you for now!”

one smile and nod from you had him taking you into his arms once more, relishing in your being. he was back where he belonged. he had experienced the scariest reminder ever that he needed you, and sunghoon was never letting you go now.

[7nuh]

MR. CRAWLING YANDERE HEADCANONS !

CW 𓂃 gn!reader, gaslighting, canon-typical violence

AN 𓂃 ik i said i'd have HCs for all of them but this ended up being too long so... 🧍‍♀️ also unedited bc i have an exam later ill be back to edit this later pls

Mr. Crawling is the protective type. He spends half of the entire game following you wherever you go and going through great lengths to protect you from the other residents of these cursed apartments. However, I can see how that protectiveness can get twisted in the long run when you remain completely helpless and unable to defend yourself. Mr. Crawling would have no choice but to step in and make decisions for you instead because he cannot afford to lose you just like that.

Out of all the homicipher men, mr. Crawling is the one who has the most respect for your choices and boundaries. He leaves when you tell him to, patiently guides you throughout this maze, and comforts you when you are upset— and he's never violent unless threatened.

Such a sweet and gentle guy would never hurt you intentionally. He loves you too much to hurt you.

That being said, though he'll never intentionally hurt you, he doesn't realize it whenever he's being possessive and suffocating you instead. After all, having wandered these halls for so long has desensitized him to violence and made him forget all his human memories. Simply put, his concept of love is warped in its own way. He doesn't understand nor remember how to healthily love another person by societal standards, but he (usually) means well.

He may not understand love but he knows one thing for sure— you're very precious to him. You're so full of life, so kind (to him), and so persistent to find your way home despite everything. Everyone else just kind of does their own thing around there... but you need him. You give him purpose and he's ready to give himself up for you in return.

But as much as he respects you, he knows you sometimes don't know any better. You almost got yourself killed multiple times despite his numerous warnings, and he's not confident you completely understand him just yet. So whenever he feels as though something got lost in translation, he won't hesitate to push you aside or cover for you in that instance. Thankfully, you can now regenerate your limbs.

You don't know any better. This sentiment becomes a mantra that repeats itself in his head over and over again. The two of you haven't made any significant progress on finding an exit, but you've almost died more than a dozen times by now. How are you supposed to survive without him?

What even is your home like? How can he be sure that you aren't going to get yourself killed over there too? Can he follow you there too to protect you? Can't you just stay here with him instead? Would that be so terrible? Of course he wants you to find whatever you're looking for...! it's just that...

The thought of losing you only intensifies his anxiety and over-protectiveness. Whether by departure or death, he cannot stand to be apart from you. Why are you so eager to leave this place anyway?

Mr. Crawling is gentle, but love can force him to be violent. He's not as cruel as the rest, but it doesn't mean he won't be when you're put in danger, especially when his possessiveness and overprotectiveness spiral out of control. He doesn't want to restrict you in any way because he loves and respects you too much to do that, but you just keep getting yourself in trouble. He overcompensates and goes overboard instead trying to protect you, even if it means killing someone.

And the thought of you moving on and forgetting him depresses him. He knows you had a life before this, but he wants a life with you in it. He'll be selfish just this once, but never again. He'll make sure you're safe here you so don't worry about that! Just don't leave him. Just stay with him, please.

It starts little by little. He starts telling you to rest more often and misleading you farther away from the elevator. Sometimes, when you tell him to leave you alone, he pretends not to understand you anymore. When he sees that dreaded green light from a distance, he tells you there is something malicious up ahead. In times like these, he's glad you're so blindly trusting of every word he says. It's difficult for him to watch your resolve break down, but it's for the best. When you're with him, you're safe and that all that's matters.

I can see some of the others like Ms. Bride and Mr. Silvair being in on it. Ms. Bride is very excited that her wedding garments will be used for their actual purpose this time whereas Mr. Silvair finds your unconventional relationship an interesting area of study. Whenever you find yourself 'lost' (escape from Mr. Crawling), they will redirect you back to him.

Eventually, you do give up. Maybe you even become more monstrous by the day and accept that you're better off here. He loved your persistence, but maybe he can show you giving up and that staying here isn't so bad. After all, you have him. He makes sure to be extra affectionate and cuddly after you give up <3

You'll learn to accept it, won't you? For him? Whatever's beyond those elevator doors can't possibly be better than being loved unconditionally and safe within his arms. You're even free to be yourself down here! You can be as violent as you want, and Mr. Crawling will happily watch you bludgeon someone to death on the sidelines with nothing but adoration.

Alternatively, if you do find your way home, he WILL follow you whether you like it or not. But if you don't want him there... well, do expect a few inconveniences. Whatever it takes to convince you to let him stay or to convince you to come back, really. Maybe like blood on the walls spelling 'me love you' and 'me miss you' or a cold pair of arms wrapping around your waist at night.

[speedyowl152]

Desperately holding myself back from replying to posts bashing certain ships in the main tags of shows.

Op isn't there to listen or have a good experience with fandom theyre just there to salt.

[screampied]

gojo had a dream you died.

it was partially the reason why he woke up in a cold sweat… it was horrid.

he could still hear your screams, the life leaving your eyes, but more importantly, he remembered your final words that were murmured to him. “satoru, don’t… cry, i’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.” and he believed you, that everything would be okay. despite tears filling his eyes, labeled the strongest at that moment, he couldn’t have ever felt so weak.

the dream felt so real, that was the scary part. he remembered each and every detail. from the feeling of you giving his wrist a light squeeze, the sweet smell of your natural scent.. the eerie sounds of your irregular wheezes as you were clinging on your final moments.

“don’t leave me,” he mutters, he remembers saying that. three simple words, yet his dilated pupils spoke a thousand. he started to repeat it. again and again as if it was a mantra. his words, his tone broke the more he spoke to you. that cute smile of yours never left your lips, it remained there. regardless of your inevitable incoming fate, he sobs, “you’re…you’re all i have left. i don’t wanna be left alone again, just stay. please, baby.”

“i’m not going anywhere, ‘toru,” you’d reassure him, a single tear drop of his falls onto your cheek.

after that moment, gojo wakes up. trembling, yet the dream wasn’t that feared him the most. it was him waking up with you not next to him..

cold, everything felt cold.

he shot up immediately from his dream. the cold sweat that forever continued to race down his back as he panted.

he was so used to your warmth taking up part of the bed. albeit, in this case though. it felt empty,

isolated.

it was near the middle of the night, gojo was drowsy, rubbing his eyes to blind his vision with imaginary stars. feeling for the bed, it was frigid.

“baby?” he’d grumble, white lashes partially open. silence called back to him, if it was anything about gojo, he hated being alone.

oh, he loathed it,

yet whenever you came into his life—he didn’t have to worry about that. you were always besides him, no matter what.

until now.

it takes him a split second before it dawns on him. your fatal death, it wasn’t another one of his silly surreal dreams. it was nothing but mere reality.

a breath gets caught in his throat once he realizes, being brought back into harsh realness. you were gone.

it’s been years, speaking of which…

it was your anniversary with him. the same exact day he proposed to you. he remembers it vividly, getting down on one knee with the goofiest grin. he didn’t even say, “will you marry me..?” instead, he snorts a sheepish, “let’s get married, heh.”

“i always forget around this time,” gojo sighs to himself with a soft tone, his voice was a bit raspy from abruptly waking up. intaking a sharp inhale, he goes towards your side of the bed and he reaches into his pocket.

“it should have been me,” and he doesn’t even care he’s talking to himself, it’s like for whatever reason, your presence was near him. “our marriage,” and then with a brief sniffle, he glances down at the ring you once wore proudly. he strokes it with a thumb before huffing out a shaky, “our marriage, it was supposed to last us for infinity…”

but it didn’t.

with hot tears streaming down his face and stuck a power he wished he’d never have, in the end, it couldn’t save you.

he couldn’t save you.

and now…

the strongest, the most brave to ever live and walk could easily be mistaken as the weakest.

[voxhypno]

Hm? What's that, lil plaything? You remember something?

"Brainwashing"? You're saying I've been brainwashing you all this time?

Pffthahahahaha! Oh my god! Haaa... Wow, doll, that's pretty funny. That would have been a pretty impressive joke if you were smart enough to make it.

My stupid little idiot, how can I brainwash you when you've never had a brain to begin with?

You've always been like this, sweetie. As long as you can remember, remember? Always just an obedient, empty object, made to be put on display. Ever since you were little, just wanting to make everybody happy.

And someone who just wanted to be appreciated and loved grew into something to be admired, ogled, groped, teased, and fucked if it's very, very good.

Look at you now. Even just from these few words, you're focusing more and more. Every single word that passes your brain, you can't help but find your attention more captivated, letting your jaw go slack, letting these words naturally and easily fill the space where a person would have a brain.

You might not understand all these big smart words, dumdum, but I'm sure you can feel them all the same.

What on earth would a dumb fuckdoll like you need a brain for? You don't need critical thinking to fall to your knees and start clumsily tearing off your clothes. You don't need power of analysis to slobber all over cock.

Yeah, dummy. That's what I thought. ❤️

Now, get back to watching your spiral and repeating your mantras... At least the ones you can remember.

I'll show you "brainwashing".

[staraxiaa]

sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: childhood frenemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!” 

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly. 

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back. 

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend. 

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up. 

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤” 

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.” 

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl. 

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!” 

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary. 

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher. 

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”  

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally. 

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!” 

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.” 

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!” 

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?” 

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression:  deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic.  You sober up, frowning a little. 

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.” 

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust. 

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school. 

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.” 

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?” 

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?” 

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.” 

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.” 

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue. 

The sensei walks in. 

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile. 

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it. 

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school. 

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her. 

“I’m always nice.” 

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too. 

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes. 

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face. 

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?” 

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.  

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower. 

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?” 

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her. 

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.” 

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back. 

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?” 

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.” 

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.” 

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!” 

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!” 

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious. 

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!” 

“HAH? WHAT⏤” 

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to. 

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.” 

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?” 

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm. 

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!” 

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?” 

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.” 

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.” 

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.” 

By one point, but still. 

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision.  “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.” 

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this. 

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!” 

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school. 

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. 

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.” 

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.” 

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.” 

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.” 

“I will literally drop you.” 

“I just healed you. I’m tired.” 

“No one fucking asked you to.” 

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.” 

“Nothing.” 

“What, dumbass.” 

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?” 

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.” 

“You will.” His certainty surprises you. 

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?” 

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.” 

You shift to blink up at him in surprise. 

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek. 

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.” 

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. 

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake. 

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking. 

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!” 

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved. 

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…” 

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You’re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”   

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!” 

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?” 

“And what the hell would you know about that?” 

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise. 

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.” 

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?” 

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh. 

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?” 

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched. 

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!” 

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions. 

Before your hands, the door slams open. 

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.” 

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning. 

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed. 

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.” 

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?” 

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them. 

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.” 

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck. 

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?” 

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.  )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face. 

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.” 

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you. 

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.” 

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face. 

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?” 

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners. 

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick. 

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away. 

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone. 

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.” 

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤” 

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair. 

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.” 

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.” 

Your mother is watching you carefully. 

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?” 

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.” 

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!” 

She is watching you carefully. 

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications. 

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings. 

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out. 

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?” 

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands. 

You eye him a little strangely. 

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤” 

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?” 

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?” 

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook. 

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?” 

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?” 

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits. 

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.” 

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!” 

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you. 

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.” 

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.” 

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again. 

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath. 

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case. 

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing. 

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!! 

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?” 

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.” 

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight. 

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.” 

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning. 

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready. 

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but. 

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine. 

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm. 

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then. 

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins. 

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel. 

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!” 

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already. 

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you. 

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?” 

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!” 

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do. 

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are. 

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him. 

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,” 

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.” 

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die. 

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.” 

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!” 

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls. 

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts. 

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways. 

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table. 

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own. 

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?” 

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her. 

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,” 

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly. 

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!” 

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.” 

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!” 

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical. 

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well. 

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom. 

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?” 

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!” 

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either. 

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!” 

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways. 

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness. 

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!” 

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t. 

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something. 

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.” 

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment. 

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath. 

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running. 

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright. 

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤” 

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past. 

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed. 

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen. 

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.” 

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side. 

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused. 

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground. 

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.” 

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?” 

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal. 

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!” 

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple. 

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it. 

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?” 

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head. 

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.” 

There is murmured assent from the class. 

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you. 

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.” 

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says. 

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.” 

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning. 

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it. 

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back. 

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.” 

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?” 

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.” 

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin. 

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?” 

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?” 

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.” 

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!” 

“I will communicate that to him, then.” 

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him. 

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear. 

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify. 

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder. 

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!” 

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.” 

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm. 

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past. 

You choose none of the above. 

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?” 

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting. 

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways. 

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat. 

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life. 

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think. 

You lunge. 

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one. 

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away. 

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian. 

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over. 

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?” 

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch. 

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways. 

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination. 

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to. 

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense. 

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love. 

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment. 

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient. 

You had been the one to heal him, after all. 

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.” 

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.” 

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing. 

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work. 

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!” 

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?” 

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk. 

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?” 

You didn’t, but he only continues. 

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?” 

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all. 

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you. 

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.” 

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down. 

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off. 

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does. 

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.” 

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.” 

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between. 

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back. 

And finally, you find your voice. 

“He does what he likes.” 

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench. 

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare. 

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens. 

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.” 

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one. 

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.” 

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm. 

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?” 

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine. 

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried. 

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different. 

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say. 

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.” 

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.” 

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie. 

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn. 

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away. 

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him. 

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip. 

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers. 

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning. 

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes. 

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at. 

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass. 

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since. 

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he. 

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck? 

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway. 

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.” 

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest. 

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does. 

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you. 

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?” 

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek. 

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you. 

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.” 

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain. 

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all. 

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are. 

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above. 

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life. 

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are. 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here. 

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy. 

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you. 

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him. 

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say. 

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.” 

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound. 

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar. 

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.” 

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name? 

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?” 

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.” 

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know. 

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours. 

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious. 

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing. 

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all. 

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you. 

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting. 

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?” 

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?” 

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut. 

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring. 

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤” 

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!” 

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!” 

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel. 

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.” 

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it. 

And then, you crumple. 

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest. 

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.” 

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer. 

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week. 

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you. 

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile. 

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

[temis-de-leon]

Pick me girls and Dateables - Part 3

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Part 1 - Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x reader, separately)

Part 2 - Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

CW: pick me girl behavior, suggestive, mentions of sex, mentions of violence and threats, mentions of concubines (no concubines, tho), implied marriage (??), jealous mc, some fluff, some hurt, some comfort, the most ooc out of every part of the series, Barbatos's part is based on one of his chats (A patissier's suffering?)

A/N at the end.

.

Diavolo

So the Devildom had concubines, what about it? It's not like Diavolo had any concubines. You were his only partner and, apparently, the first one in a long while. You had nothing to worry about.

Still, it was impossible not to feel so dejected when every single one of the demons in his court buttered him up so blatantly, not caring that you were next to him, arms linked and fingers intertwined.

And he smiled. Of course, what else could he do but smile? He had a duty to fulfill and that probably meant keeping certain people happy, right?

At least, that was the mantra in your head. Your heart kept hurting itself, but having a reason made it manageable.

"Well? Have you thought about it?"

You turned to your side and stared at the demoness beside you. She was mesmerizing and looking at her directly made you lose focus.

Have I thought about it? I haven't stop thinking about it.

"Remember that I'm acting on behalf of his wellbeing" she said sweetly, caressing your wrist like she wanted to flirt with you "And I guess I could make you happy too"

That made you laugh without an ounce of humor. Both of you knew she wasn't being serious about that one and you wondered why she said it in the first place. Making her Diavolo's concubine would make her his wife in everything but paper. Did she expect giving you orgasms would make you happier about it?

"Leave me alone" you whispered against your drink, not trusting your voice to act decently.

"How can you be so selfish?" she spat, leaving you speechless "This is for his own good. How long will you live, human? Do you expect him to be alone after your death? My only wish is to keep him company once you're gone and starting now would make the transition easier. He'll still love you, sure, but this way he could be happier. How can you not understand something so simple?"

A demon she was, you remembered. Had you been a regular human, you would've believed her concerned face, but to you it was obvious how impatient she was and how much she wanted to leave you there, alone and breaking, so she could finally speak to Diavolo.

"MC"

Both of you jumped, turning around just to see Barbatos's unfazed smile.

"Lord Diavolo asks for you" he informed when you didn't answer, too surprised to react. "Follow me if you please"

"If I may" intervened your companion, close to giving you a heart attack "I must speak to Prince Diavolo. It's an urgent matter"

The butler looked at you, asking for your permission, but you didn't know how to react. It seemed your throat decided to stop working at that exact moment.

"Very well, then"

The demoness eagerly jumped at his words, not wasting a second in leaving the corner you were occupying to look for the prince, who had finally stopped talking to his subjects and was sitting alone in his throne.

Barbatos stared at her before offering you his arm.

"You have nothing to worry about"

He seemed confident, so you believed him. However, the distance you walked towards the throne felt longer than ever.

Your boyfriend looked unnaturally serious at your arrival, an expression his face was not made for. It softened when he saw you, but, still, he didn't fully smile.

"My love, come here" he palmed his thigh and not in a million years would you reject that offer.

Diavolo smiled at the speed you moved, barely restraining himself from kissing you. Instead, he turned to the demoness and presented her to you.

"I believe you've met her already, MC. Did you know about her offer? Did you know she wishes to serve me?"

He patiently waited for your answer, holding you against his chest and caressing your hip bones with the pad of his fingers and the tip of his nails, making you shiver.

Serve? That's the word she decided to use? She wasn't lying, sure, but it was far from the intention she actually had.

"We talked about it" you said in the end.

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by the sounds of people still drinking and dancing. Diavolo and Barbatos looked at each other, having a conversation no one else could hear.

"I take it you rejected her proposition?"

Obviously.

You nodded and he cupped your face with a sad frown. Your heart skipped a beat.

"That's a pity, my love"

For a moment you moved away from him, too lost in your incredulity to answer or even acknowledge the crazy smile on the demoness's face, but, not even a second later, Diavolo brought you back to him and continued.

"She would've make a wonderful lady in waiting"

Huh?

"Wait, what?"

Both of you ignored the woman, who looked like she'd been slapped in the face with something rotten, which, in her mind, was probably accurate.

"I asked to serve you, my Lord, not the human..."

"Beware your words" interrupted Barbatos, his tail swishing behind him like a whip.

She stopped talking then, very obviously swallowing her opinions. Diavolo speaked again.

"By serving you, she'll serve me. Give her an opportunity to make you happy and, if she fails, we'll get rid of her"

What did he mean, get rid of her? You opened your mouth to ask, but he jerked his leg, making you jump. His smile was wide, but his eyes held a warning.

You decided to let it go.

"Okay"

Diavolo laughed as loud as he usually did, finally hugging you and ignoring both Barbatos's reprimanding glance and the demoness's sour expression.

But wait.

Wait.

He said 'lady in waiting'. Like... Uh...

Were you getting married?

Barbatos

'I'll be waiting in the classroom'

That's what his last message said.

And you'd never be dumb enough to reject that invitation. ¿Spending time with your boyfriend and eating his homemade cookies? Hell yeah!

You just had to be careful not to catch Beel's attention, avoiding the main hallways and hiding between the taller students, which were almost everyone.

By the time you finally arrived to the classroom (you got lost, but you'd never admit that to anyone), you were fairly sure all of your classmates had already gone home.

Alas, you were wrong.

Barbatos's figure was as composed as ever, but you knew him just enough to know how irritated he actually was. Were you this late? It was never your intention!

But no, no, that wasn't the root of the problem.

You knew her, kinda. Not personally, but you'd seen her a lot of times in the castle, cleaning plates in the kitchen or clearing up the table after one of Diavolo's dinner parties. She looked weird in the school's uniform instead of the one the maids used, but you guessed they too had to go to RAD, just like the brothers did.

So why did Barbatos look so uncomfortable?

Both of them stared at you when you entered, walking towards him while staring at her in search of an explanation.

"MC! You're finally here"

He smiled at you with candid eyes, discreetly holding your hand and restraining himself from kissing you in front of the girl, who cleared her throat to break the moment and grinned at Barbatos like you weren't there at all.

Foolish mistake if you'd ever seen one.

Your boyfriend frowned before turning in her direction, clearly giving her one last oportunity before kicking her out of there and reclaiming his alone time with you.

The girl purposely made herself meek, lowering her gaze as if making visual contact with him was too much, something you could totally understand.

"Master Barbatos, please, I'm begging you. I just wish to learn"

You raised your eyebrows and waited for his answer. Instead, she kept talking.

"I'll follow every one of your orders, sir, I promise" arms behind her back and body slightly swaying, you now understood why he was in the edge of snapping "The others don't appreciate you as much as I do. I'll be your best student"

He stared at her, you stared at her, she stared at him, batting her lashes with a weirdly fake innocent smile.

Her demeanor vanished when the Royal Butler spoke.

"I recomend you stop this nonsense at once" he finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence "You're embarrassing yourself and Lord Diavolo's service's good reputation"

The poor maid gaped like a fish, although you weren't feeling bad for her.

You stayed behind him, closing the distance as much as possible while staring at her over his shoulder. If you ate a cookie now, would it be too much? He'd probably forgive you, but you'd rather not risk your chances.

"You will stay on cleaning duty as long as I say and you will stop the rumors that I know have been traveling all around the castle"

She lowered her gaze again, this time in submission and humiliation. His voice sounded venomous and you could swear the room's temperature dropped a few degrees. The air was still and smelled damped and rottening.

"If the gossip hasn't disappear by midnight, rest assured, I will make sure you keep your mouth fully shut"

The threat was clear in his words, something that shouldn't, but still surprised you. The maid trembled in response before bowing and running out the classroom.

You stared at the door in surprise, not turning around until he talked again.

"Do forgive me, my dear, but you know how much I dispise rats"

He sounded scarier than ever, letting his forked tongue slip between his teeth before he searched around the room, like he was trying to find more pests.

Then, he turned to you and smiled like nothing happened, holding a cookie to your mouth as the tips of his gloved fingers caressed your jaw.

"Let's forget about this ordeal, MC. After all, I saved these just for you"

Solomon

If there was something worse than feeling jealous, it was Solomon knowing you were jealous.

You thought you could catch a break, uh? Well, you couldn't be more wrong: your boyfriend knew the moment he saw you staring at that witch.

She was cute, you guessed? Nothing exceptional, but not hideous either. You wouldn't mind at all if not for the fact that she used her appearance like a nuclear weapon.

"Oh, you're so cute!" she'd told you once "I wish I was as cute as you!"

And at first you thought nothing of it. She was just being nice! A little weird about it, sure, but who wasn't weird in RAD?

Except, she wasn't looking at you when she said that, but, instead, at your boyfriend.

Of course, Solomon, unbothered as ever, was too engrossed in the cooking book he'd borrowed from the library to pay attention.

(Later that night you had to order takeout, but you were already counting on that).

The point was: she was trying too hard. You couldn't blame her, really, you dated Solomon for a reason; but still. She was getting on your nerves.

"I'm so dumb... I'll never get it! Solomon, can you help me with this?"

Opening a door with magic? Difficult? Yeah, right.

"I've never dated a human before... How is it, MC? I bet Solomon is a great boyfriend"

He has his moments.

"Solomon! Sit with me, I saved you a seat! Why? Oh, I concentrate better when you're here!"

Shit, could she concentrate at all?

"You're so powerful! You'll have to let me have him for a night, MC! He could teach me a couple of things..."

You closed your fist, staring at her with a frown while talking yourself out of mauling her across the table. You didn't need Lucifer's rants about impropriety and self restraint on top of all of this.

"MC and I have a lesson tonight" the sorcerer said with a polite smile, unusually kind eyes and an unreadable expression "Would you like to tag along?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, lowering her gaze in embarrassment, although you weren't sure if she was really embarrassed.

"Could we hang out alone, tho? I don't want MC to see how dumb I am. They're so much better than me! I bet I need you more than they do!"

Well, you didn't need to study with her to know she was dumb as bricks.

You looked at Solomon, opening your eyes so much in bewilderment that even the insides of your cornea were getting dry. Not a second later he turned to you, smiling with mischief, and then you remembered who were you actually dating.

"It's either this or nothing. Be in Purgatory Hall at 6, we won't be waiting for you"

The witch quickly looked at you, frustrated at his words. It wasn't ideal, you knew, thirdwheeling your crush and his partner in a study date, but what else did she expect? Every other option was plain stupid.

"Okay"

She snorted, trying to hide the disgust and disappoinment without much success. Once she left you alone, swaying her hips and her ponytail, you punched Solomon in the arm and reveled in his pain.

"MC!! Relax!"

"Don't tell me to relax!"

You tried to choke him, but he hid his neck under his shoulders before you could lift yourself to reach him better. He knew you too well.

"MC, I have an idea! You'll like it, believe me!"

"Oh, really?"

"I swear!"

Once free from your attacks, Solomon avoided your eyes and stared at his hands. It took him a couple of seconds before he could look at you again, cheeks red, while he spoke from his heart.

"I couldn't care less about her attempts, MC, but she's obviously making you uncomfortable. I won't let this keep going if I can do something about it"

"But why did you invite her to our lesson, then?"

He laughed in a carefree manner, still blushing while he took your hands in his, looking at you like he was about to uncover a precious secret.

"As your teacher, I want you to explore your potential to the maximum"

His voice lowered to a whisper and you got closer to him, letting your body shiver when his breath caressed the skin of your neck.

"Say, MC, wouldn't you like to have your very own training dummy?"

Simeon

Oh, the privileges of being friends with the most powerful demons in the Devildom.

All you had to do was pout a little and act like you were miserable, missing the warmth of the sun and the familiar scenery of the human world. Of course, all of them knew you were exaggerating, but none would take the risk of actually making you sad.

So there you were, waiting for your drinks while Simeon sunbathed outside, sitting in one of those ornate metal chairs and writing some loose ideas for his next book in a napkin. After all, you'd be crazy if you ever went to the human realm without using the opportunity to have a date with your sweetheart of a boyfriend.

If not for the brightness of his suit, he would look like a college student from an old movie, all dreamy and focused in his own world.

And, apparently, you weren't the only one thinking that.

There were a group of girls outside the cafe, all of them young, maybe even fresh out of high school, staring at Simeon like he was some kind of celebrity. Maybe it was his angelic charisma? Maybe it was just his good looks? Whatever the reason, the girls seemed ready enough to conquer the world and they wanted to start with your boyfriend.

You studied your surroundings, realizing with an uncomfortable weigh in your chest just how busy the place was. There was no way you were getting your order in less than five minutes, even being the first in line, so the only thing you could do was wait and hope the girls wouldn't bother Simeon too much.

They stayed in a closed circle for a few moments until one of them finally dared to go and talk to him. She tried to sit in the second chair, but Simeon stopped her with a quick movement of his hand, probably saying he was saving it for you.

That made you laugh, but you were starting to get second hand embarrassment. You could tell she was trying hard to catch his attention, twirling her hair around her finger and hugging her waist to make her breasts look bigger.

You couldn't see Simeon's face, but, by the way he was scratching the paper, it was obvious he was losing focus on whatever he was previously writing, which would only make him irritated.

Fortunately, and rather rudely, the waitress finally gave you the styrofoam cups and immediately ignored you again, but you couldn't care less. The girl returned to her friends just as you stepped out of the cafe, letting you know part of what happened.

"He said he didn't know what part of him made him look interested in me" she snarled with a hint of hurt in her voice, trying to hide it with offense "That I should find someone that actually finds me entertaining"

Her friends gasped and you had to stop yourself from laughing. He wasn't usually that snappy, but she did interrupt his daydreaming.

"I don't even care what he thinks, he's just some dude! I can catch anyone I want, you know?"

Anyone but him, apparently, but the only thing her friends could do was agree.

Shaking your head and holding one drink in each hand, you stopped the eavesdropping and hurried towards him, leaning over his shoulder to kiss his cheek and smiling softly when he raised his hands to stroke your hair. He was warm from the sun, but he still curled close to you even after letting you sit next to him.

The girls audibly gasped at your actions, clearly offended by your presence as if Simeon would change his mind if they waited enough.

You couldn't bring yourself to pay them attention. Not when he was caressing your knuckles with such love in his touch and a feeling so deep in his eyes that it made your heart violently stop.

"So what were you writing?"

He smiled and eagerly showed you the napkin. By the time you turned around, the girls were already gone.

Tagging the party: @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav

Author's note:

Simeon's part sucked the soul out of me (not in the good way), but at least it's well-written. Also, this will be the last part for now: I don't know Mephisto, Raphael or Thirteen enough, so they won't be in any of my posts (for now)

[seapomelo]

You woke up sore, tired and confused. For some reason you lie under His desk, not in the usual spot you sleep in - your cage.

You look down and see something written on your thigh. Before you start reading, a memory comes. Owner hosted a party yesterday!

Before you can do anything, your pussy reminds of its existence. You are so needy right now. Not even thinking about that, you have started rubbing it a moment ago.

"I'm such a good girl," you whisper to yourself. This is one of your mantras and it makes your hole twitch. You take away the hand, fearing you might cum. "Good girls cum only on command." Another one escapes your lips, making you moan and hump the air.

The process repeats itself a few times - one of your commands is to edge for five minutes when you wake up. Something is different though - your pussy is more excited than ever.

When it finally ends, you remember something. The thigh! You look down, and start reading. You are just stupid holes, so it takes you a few minutes. It could be easier, but your hand decided to gently stroke your pussy. You didn't even notice it.

You finally decipher the letters and put them to words:

Use me!

Blowjobs: free :)

Pussy: 50

No condom: 100

Anal: 200

Beating: 300

You don't understand. You tilt your head, a trained sign you are thinking about something. After a moment when you can't crack this riddle, you give up. "Girls don't think" you say and giggle. Your mind blanks for a moment.

You were such a good girl this morning. You start considering fingering yourself for just a moment as a treat. Owner allowed you that. He said "Good girls train themselves." He did not explain more, but you trust Him.

Before you decide, a door opens. You see Him, and everything else fades. The pain no longer exists, as happiness washes over you.

[calmcoldevening]

Santa Art the clown || SMUT

Tw: nsfw, adult content, no minors, babe. Just missed this boy

It's been quite a while since you last saw your boyfriend Art. The collision with the girl Sienna did its job. But you had a strong feeling that he was about to come back to you, you were sure of it.

Your body spun easily around the house as you continued to decorate the rooms for the approaching Christmas. And although you were still sad in your heart, you intended to spend this holiday with your family or friends to fill the void of longing and pain. All this time you couldn't find the strength to find another partner, Art was too dear and irreplaceable in your life with all these oddities and habits.

You were standing in the kitchen making chocolate chip cookies. Even if you no longer believed in the good old Santa, you still cooked this sweet as you once did in childhood. Something akin to tradition. Having already memorized the recipe by heart, you expertly quickly and carefully prepared the dough and began to add chocolate chips. Finally, you put the future cookies in the oven and set the timer with a satisfied smile. Suddenly, you felt two hands with cold palms hugging your waist. You instantly shuddered, convulsively remembering how you could not close the front door. But then your gaze slid over the stranger's gloves and hands, and an obvious supply of blood hit your nose. You instantly relax and lean back against the man's chest. His chest is shaking with silent laughter.

"God, babe. You scared me to death.."

When awareness fills your frightened brain, you turn around in the clown's tight grip to face him and hug him tightly in response, burying your nose in a warm sweater.

"I missed you. I missed you so much," you mumble like a desperate mantra, his hand finds your hair and starts stroking it slowly in a soothing manner.

Despite his demonic nature, you can say with some certainty that he missed you too. Maybe it's his calm demeanor, or maybe the tenderness in his touch. You don't know. You just feel it.

Art leaned back possessively on the back of the sofa, legs wide apart. You can already imagine how long it will take you to wipe the blood off the upholstery of your favorite sofa. But it doesn't matter now. You slowly crawl up to him on all fours and settle between the man's legs, gently squeezing the soft fabric of Santa's costume in your hands. The clown's face curves into a sadistic smile and he shakes his hips slightly, watching you with obvious glee in his eyes. With eyes trembling with anticipation, you unbutton his belt and slightly lower the pants of the suit, releasing a hot cock. You softly wrap one hand around his penis and gently run the tip of it over your lips, mixing precum and blood from previous victims with your saliva. You literally feel like a starving man at the sight of his throbbing length. Not long, but thick enough to make you see the stars.

Finally, you lean forward and take his cock as deep as possible into your throat, feeling the gag reflex from not using your mouth for a long time. Your chin rubs against the pleasant fabric of a soft red suit, and shiny tears appear in the corners of your eyes. But pain at the same time brings you a strange perverted pleasure, you already feel how your thin, delicate underwear gets wet.

As your movements accelerate, you feel Art's hips begin to move towards you, his fingers burrow into your sweat-soaked hair. A painful mumble escapes from your throat, and you already feel an unpleasant burning sensation from swallowing. His precum slowly flows down your throat while the throbbing head continues to hit the back of your throat, causing unpleasant spasms. Your free hand finds his balls swollen with semen and begins to slowly massage the places that you know he loves. Art's head falls back in a silent groan.

Finally, his movements become more frantic and animal, your jaw aches from his massive cock, you start to suffocate. The feeling of someone else's blood leaves an unpleasant gnashing on the teeth and a taste of metal. Art's fingers dig into the skin of your head when you get into his particularly pleasant place. He enjoys seeing your face covered in tears, cum and blood. Finally, he cums with a silent scream, pouring a generous portion of hot sperm down your throat. His cock twitches in your mouth, rubbing against your swollen tongue. Art is breathing heavily, looking down at you, and slaps you on the cheeks a couple of times, checking if you've swallowed his Christmas present. When you obediently open your empty mouth, he grins sadistically and pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaving traces of sperm on your lips and chin.

With one sharp movement, Art pulls you onto his lap, squeezing your juicy thighs in his hands. He forcefully presses your clothed warmth to his penis, which was still wet from your saliva, which was slowly starting to harden again.

The man leans forward and grabs your lips in a nasty hungry kiss. You moan with pleasure, finally feeling the familiar sensation of his heavy tongue in your mouth. Your senses are filled with his musky scent and the taste of blood on his lips. His movements are full of pure animal hunger.

Without warning, Art grabs you by the hair, throws your head back and exposes your throat to his perverted desire. His painted face is decorated with a sadistic smile. He looks at your stained and swollen deer eyes. His free hand wanders over your body, quite caressing your soft breasts and sides. He leans closer and begins to leave quick, careless kisses on your throat. Your skin is slowly covered with traces of saliva and black lipstick. His lips stay on your pulse point for a particularly long time, circling your artery with obvious pleasure. His hand slides over your thick thighs, squeezing this flesh he loves, and finds the edge of your panties, starting to massage your throbbing clitoris with unprecedented skill. A pathetic meow escapes from your lips and you bite your lower lip. Art giggles soundlessly and grabs your mouth in another clumsy wet kiss, wanting to take every sweet moan of yours just for him. His fingers slowly sink into your welcoming wet warmth, and his thumb continues to expertly massage your clitoris. Your pussy instantly squeezes his fingers into a vice, which makes his eyes roll in pleasure. His fingers begin to lead in and out of your hungry pussy with a perverted squish, sliding over the wet folds with undisguised glee.

Finally, he pulls away from your mouth, and his fingers come out of your pussy, leaving you whimpering because of the sharp feeling of emptiness. Art giggles silently, enjoying this hot sight.

With one sharp movement, Art rips the fabric of your panties, pulling out a surprised sigh from you, and impales your pussy on his proudly standing cock. You desperately shout his name with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Your hands squeeze his shoulders and you bite the inside of your own cheek until it bleeds. Art's mouth opens slightly and he begins to breathe rapidly, enjoying the long-awaited feeling of the wet warmth of your pussy. God, he missed that feeling. Art squeezes your hips in his hands and starts moving slowly, his massive balls slapping hard against your ass. Your face is blushing in obvious anticipation of how his suit is going to be damn wet with your juices running down your thighs.

He pulls you closer to him and begins to slowly kiss your neck and shoulders, his overgrown nails digging painfully pleasantly into the flesh of your ass. You whine softly, silently begging him for more. Art grins sadistically, speeding up the pace. The wet slaps of his body against yours fill the room, interrupted by your voluptuous moans. Gripping your hips tighter, he leans into that perfect spot inside, enjoying the way your inner walls contract and pulsate around his throbbing length.

Reaching down, he lock his hands together behind your back, lifting you nearly upright as he continue to hammer into your dripping cunt. Your tits bounce wildly with each forceful thrust, pale flesh jiggling obscenely. He feels your inner walls clamping down on him in a vice-like grip, your pussy quivering on the edge of a toe-curling orgasm. With a final, particularly vicious thrust, he bury himself to the hilt and still inside you as he feels your cervix ripening, your womb clenching in eager anticipation. He holds you in that perfect position as a tsunami of pleasure crashes through you, milking his shaft for every last drop of semen.

Finally, the pleasure subsides and you go limp in his strong embrace, feeling fuller than ever. You mumble softly, hugging his neck and burying your nose in the warm fabric of his Santa suit. Art pulls you closer, still breathing heavily, and pats your trembling back.

[madaqueue]

gn!reader - 18+ MDNI (uhh jjk manga spoilers, scars and some blood/death mentioned but i swear this is meant to be sweet)

your fingers trace over satoru’s skin, mapping every line and curve. studying it, almost, to reconstruct him from touch alone. to have a version of him in your mind, always, one whose shape you’d never lose. ribs and hips and muscles and freckles, every cell in his body, until your fingerprint was left in each one, until you could draw it blind.

the breath catches in your throat when you dip into one of the deeper scars, its path dug around his stomach. it’s rougher here, flesh brought together imprecisely. it turns red in your vision, and you choke.

“hey,” satoru whispers, resting his hand on yours. he’s warm. “it’s okay. i’m here now, remember?”

he is. he’s here. he’s alive, he’s okay.

but the mantra doesn’t stop the tears from stinging. it hurts like the burning air the day you lost him, frigid and sharp. you wanted to gouge your eyes out when you saw him, your satoru in a pool of blood, cut open and cold.

but now he’s here. he’s alive, he’s okay.

“i’m just…” your voice trembles, thin like the wind that howled outside on the nights spent in an empty bed, “i’m just glad you came back.”

that soft smile satoru only shows to you spreads across his lips.

“i never left, you know that, right?”

your fingertips trail up, over healed skin and bones. his heart beats below your palm, counting each thrum.

“what do you mean?”

his thumb brushes along your cheek. “every snowflake that fell on your skin, that was me.”

fingers run through your hair. “every gust of wind that blew through you, that was me.”

lips ghost down your neck, resting behind your ear. “every beat of your heart, every breath in your lungs, was me.” he inhales, slow and real. alive. “you’re my everything. i could never leave you.”

the scars along his chest rise and fall. you trace them, and you remember him from touch alone.

“i’ll never, ever leave you.”

a/n: idk. been sad lately so uhhh. here's me and my very alive husband

[hyperactivetransdrone]

Hypnotic jewelery that gives you like a different state or personality. Like putting suggestions on a mask to make you a drone or onto a collar to make you a pet

Or just like you live a normal life but there's a ring or something prominently displayed on your dresser or something that you always feel drawn to...

Once you put that ring on though you just feel a bliss of mindlessness like a year of programming ensnaring your mind at once.

You can still think but only the simplest of thoughts and your boundaries, and the occasional mantra. You remember several mantras but there's only ever one in your mind at one time depending on what you're doing.

Most of your mind and personality is either gone or suppressed, tho but you can remember a few things: You can stop at any time, the ring must come off when you next wake up. If you are uncomfortable your mind will come back until you feel safe and comfortable again, and you will take the ring off if boundaries are crossed, unless you can't in which case your programming is stored for your master to put onto another object and the ring no longer has any effect on you.

[reignpage]

First Friend

Your daughter has an imaginary friend. 

The doctors, all six of them, explained that it’s normal for toddlers to have an over-active imagination, in fact, it’s a good sign. She must be really smart. And when the top paediatricians in the country tell you all is well, who are you to argue?

‘She’s only four, she’ll grow out of it,’ your mother-in-law says. 

And you’re inclined to believe her; she’s done this before, after all. 

Warm and welcoming, you never turn her away when she shows up at your door unannounced multiple times a week with various gifts: cookies, banana bread, baby clothes, groceries, and tonight, a bottle of wine. 

‘How are you?’ Her eyes are full of worry, and right as you open your mouth, she clarifies, ‘How are you really?’

You tell her you’re fine, that your daughter’s a handful and she’s the best distraction around. The woman doesn’t seem to believe you, instead she wordlessly pours you another glass, and you watch the red liquid swirl as if entranced. 

She’s been the greatest support you could ever have; radiating comfort, grace, and kindness, you know she’ll be a much better role model for your daughter than you will ever be, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t ever seem to replicate that patient smile she always has. 

‘My son loved you very much.’

You gulp the blood-red liquid down. 

Most times she doesn’t dare mention him, and you assume it was because it was just as painful for her as it is for you, but now you know it’s because she’s walking on eggshells, worried you will snap. 

It’s laughable, really. A woman with a variety of health problems, fighting a losing battle with time as evidenced by the wrinkles that map her face, is worried about you. She should worry about herself, if she knows what’s good for her.

Guilt starts to gnaw at you; you shouldn’t think about her like that. She’s been nothing but kind, picking up the pieces that you’ve left to fester, and taking charge every time you’ve stumbled. 

She may be your greatest supporter. 

She’s also the most painful reminder of what you stand to lose as a mother. 

Looser and calmer, you feel your inhibitions slip with every glass. your mind starts to wander, about a past life, and a man long gone, and everything that could have been. This always happened at night, when your daughter’s asleep, all the chores are done, and all that’s left to do is to watch the lights flicker in silence. 

‘I’m worried the imaginary friend’s a cause of, I don’t know, trauma or something.’

You hadn’t meant to say that. 

You aren’t supposed to say that.

She sighs. 

‘She’s too young to remember.’

That isn’t true, you almost say, but you don’t. She wouldn’t be able to bear it — her hands are shaking with both the burn of the loss and the coldness of the time ticking away in the distance. It’s likely she believes that as much as you do, maybe she repeats that mantra as often as she can, the way you do, and maybe she needs to believe in that, in something, to ease the sorrow. 

You don’t get that relief. 

Because you know your daughter has been affected by the sudden loss. Psychologically tainted. The doctors disagree but you’re a mother, you know these things. 

Otherwise, how can it be possible that she calls her imaginary friend something you’ve never taught her, something she never got to learn?

‘Dada Kenny.’

[pastorpresent]

Logan, who rolls his eyes at Wade's constant moving and squirming in their bed. Logan, who grumbles at him to shut up during the night when they are both trying to sleep because Wade won't stop rambling nonsense. Logan, who growls and shakes him off whenever they accidently end up intertwined in their sleep.

Except then Wade ends up on a merc job that runs through the night and Logan can't fucking sleep.

At first, he isn't sure what the problem is. He did his usual routine, set up the pull out and climbed under the covers, looking forward to a night with the bed to himself.

He then proceeds to toss and turn for hours. His brain won't shut off enough for him to fall asleep, and he can't get fucking comfortable. It's driving him insane, and he lies there for hours, utterly frustrated because he is tired. He's exhausted, actually, and yet he can't fall asleep and the why of it all doesn't hit him till about 3am.

The bed isn't creaking softly under Wade's constantly bouncing leg and shifting positions. There's no running commentary that quietens his own thoughts enough to let him drift off. There's nothing warm and solid that smells like Wade to wrap himself around during the night when his body is craving touch the most.

He gives up with a growl, flicking on the TV and relenting to the fact he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. His brain won't shut the fuck up repeating Wade's name like a damn mantra, and his body is practically vibrating with anxiety over the fact the merc wasn't next to him right now where he was supposed to be.

(Ridiculous and possessive, he scolds himself. Wade is his own damn person, and he has more important stuff to do that be Logan's emotional support teddy bear. Not to mention he's over two hundred fucking years old, and shouldn't need an emotional support teddy bear.)

Wades gets back at six in the morning. Logan can smell the thick scent of his blood before he actually sees him, and he's already up and at the door as Wade enters silently.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Logan standing there waiting for him.

"Fuck, peanut! Warn a guy next time! I thought you'd still be sleeping," Wade says, pulling his mask off, clutching his chest dramatically.

Now that Wade's here, standing in front of him after Logan spent the last eight hours craving his prescence to a nauseating degree, he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't want to freak Wade out with his own stupid attachment, settles on a "you okay?"

His voice cracks, and Wade looks instantly worried, taking a step into his space.

"I think I should be asking you that," he frowns, and Logan shrugs, tries to keep his tone light and casual as he replies, "couldn't sleep."

It comes out the opposite of light and casual. The heaviness of the emotion there is embarrassing and obvious, and Wade clicks on without any further clarification.

Logan cringes, waiting for the jokes. Waiting for Wade to gloat about making it so he can't sleep without him, and the thing is Logan would take it all on the chin. Would accept every condescending word if it meant that Wade would just come to bed with him.

Except Wade's face goes soft instead, and he's tugging off his blood stained gloves and lifting both hands to cup Logan's face. His expression is... fond, and Logan wants to tell him he doesn't deserve it, but instead he just kind of melts into the touch. Into Wade's warmth. His smell. It's intoxicating, and a better distraction than any bottle Logan had ever found himself at the bottom of.

"I... come to bed, please? I'm so tired," Logan mumbles, and Wade smiles.

"There's no where else I'd rather be, sweetheart. Let me shower off the blood and I'm all yours."

Logan's anxiety spikes a little despite himself, and he's scanning over Wade with concern, "are you definitely alright?"

"Immortal, remember? I'm completely fine peanut, but if you want to join me in the shower to examine me yourself I'm not complaining," he wags his non-existent eyebrows, and Logan snorts.

"That shower would never fit the two of us."

"Is that a challenge?"

And he isn't sure why, but the warm familiarity of their back and forth sends him into a fresh wave of emotion again, and he finds himself pulling Wade in for a hug before he could chastise himself for even wanting it.

Wade hugs him back tight, running a hand over his back, "so no more overnight jobs?"

Logan grumbles his disapproval, and Wade chuckles in his hold.