#rest in peace kacchan

[instantlyhauntedstranger]

@yennyinc shared this on twitter and i truly cannot stop sobbing. obviously, we knew this episode was going to be devastating, and bones absolutely outdid itself with the production. but all of the fan art is what is really getting to me.

katsuki only now, in his final moments, looking back on his past and what could have been. what he could have done different. the JOY in those false memories. all of it just out of reach, just a breath too late. it hurts, so good, and really puts a nice shine on kacchan’s character development throughout the series. absolutely harrowing, heartbreaking, beautifully phenomenal work.

[shibaraki]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: slow to heal and forced on sick leave, a lonely Todoroki Shouto decides to download the latest popular app, Enigmail, to cure his boredom. he finds you. the rest is… well. moderately disastrous.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, pen pal au, hero personal assistant reader, prohero shouto, strangers to friends to lovers, injury recovery, online friendship + eventual romance, feelings development, misunderstandings, identity reveal, pining, sexting, masturbation (male chara), making out + heavy petting, getting together, *slaps roof of fic* you can fit so much fluff in this thing

wc: 17K

It started unexpectedly—with a tremor.

Rather, it started with Oda Shuichi, the prolific villain known as Tremor. At the time of the incident his quirk had been unregistered, but doctors quickly found that it severely affected an individual's motor neurons. According to them the length of time that he has a five point touch hold on someone influences how long they will lose motor function—and how poorly their muscles atrophy.

Shouto spent three uninterrupted minutes trapped in his clutches.

“I promise I’ll come by and visit whenever we can. You’ll still get updates and reports through your work email,” Midoriya tried to assure him with that signature smile, brows drawn together into an almost pleading expression. “It’s just for a little while!”

“For a month,” Shouto pointed out petulantly. Nori, his elderly adopted cat, stirred from her place on his stomach while restless fingers combed over her short pale fur.

“A month,” Midoriya parrots. He offers an apologetic grimace and leans over where he lies horizontal, slumped and agitated, to fluff up the couch cushions behind him. The newly crowned Symbol of Peace obviously felt needlessly responsible for the situation at hand. Shouto had only allowed Tremor to grab him so Deku and Suneater could get the hostages out, after all.

“Taking a break isn’t so bad, Shouto. And Hawks told me you’ve yet to actually use any of your vacation days,” he continued. “Even Kacchan takes time off. Do you know how many hours you have to work to outdo Kacchan?”

“I’m sure you could tell me exact numbers”.

“Don’t be mean,” Midoriya said, dithering as he peers around the room, slightly unfamiliar now that the furniture has been temporarily moved around to make navigating the space easier. Thanks to an on-call specialist Shouto would still be able to walk in short bursts, but he’d have to gradually build up strength and stamina over the weeks to come.

A pleased sound reverberated in Midoriya’s throat as he finally discovered the TV remote, setting it beside Shouto’s phone on the arm of the chair. “Okay. There,” he hooked an ankle around the coffee table and dragged it a little closer. “If you need us to get you anything from the store just text us”.

Shouto grumbled. Midoriya sighed, fondly exasperated at the childish display. Before leaving he moved the nearby pair of crutches within reach, listing off all the things he can think of, “Hey, maybe you can catch up on Quirky Hearts now! Or read that series Iida said you’d enjoy. There’s that new app I heard about, too. Enigmail? That might be fun”.

The anonymous pen pal app, Enigmail, exploded in popularity after its release in the spring. Shouto barely knew a thing about it, only that you needed to be over eighteen and chatting partners were assigned at random. Nothing about that sounded tempting.

Midoriya’s suggestion hung over his head for the rest of that afternoon. Quirky Hearts droned on in the background. Halfway through the first episode Shouto had yet to retain any information. Nori hardly left her spot. Jaws stretched wide around a yawn, lips pulled back to display what remained of her teeth. He liked to think she sensed his inner turmoil, though realistically, she was likely too lazy to move.

Curiosity prevailed in the end. The logo featured a pink post mounted mailbox, the slot unhinged to receive a folded paper plane. Shouto opened the app onto a pretty basic interface that followed an almost pastel theme. The profiles are barebones. He supposed that was purposeful. It asked for pronouns and a nickname, offering the option to pick an icon from their default library, but nothing more.

From what he could discern skimming over the rules he would be assigned to a random chat room with another person in a speed dating style interaction. A timer would count down from two minutes and upon completion prompt the user to either switch partners or remain talking.

A simple concept. But anything had sounded better than sulking horizontally and staring dead eyed at reality television for the remainder of his night. And when was the last time he met somebody new?

Almost every username he could think up had been taken. Even his hero name was unavailable. In a last ditch effort he settled on a miraculously accepted Sooba and scrolled through the icons. “Hey, it looks like you,” he murmured, pleased by the regal white cat icon. She hadn’t heard him, but sunk her dull claws into the meat of his forearm as he turned the image to her, those dramatic yellow eyes dilating at his coo, “Don’t worry. You’re the only Nori in my life”.

Shouto clicked start.

The first few users are odd, and without tact. Others communicated in languages he couldn’t understand. He stuck around regardless—luckily the developers had thought to include a translation tool, and Shouto managed to befriend one or two people with innocuous pictures he’d taken on previous patrols alone.

Then there’s…

XpLoveGuest ▻ Hey sexy

By that point early evening had already flooded through his balcony doors and drenched everything in a gauzy orange glow. His nose wrinkled. “You have no idea what I look like,” he thought aloud, switching to his right hand to roll the ache from his left wrist

▻ ASL?

Shouto frowned in faint confusion. He minimised the app to search up the term. Results flowed in, and after a brief look over everything he discovered they all repeated the same description. It’s an old acronym.

His thumbs tapped across the keyboard in quick succession.

Sooba ▻ Age: 27 ▻ Location: Tokyo ▻ Sex: No thank you

The chat immediately disappeared. A loading symbol blinks in the centre of the screen. He snorted, and suddenly a new chat opened with a different username blinking at the top corner. It’s a bit on the nose.

‘InsertNameHere’.

You shared the same default cat icon, which he took as an immediate plus.

But a minute elapsed and nobody spoke. There was an unusual trepidation on your part. Shouto chewed his bottom lip. He contemplated starting the conversation when suddenly three dots skipped across the screen, indicating the other user was typing something.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re not going to send me a picture of your dick, are you? ▻ If you have one that is.

Shouto’s mouth parted in soft surprise, then pressing defensively thin, and he had glanced around his living room as though someone were there to witness this weirdness alongside him.

Sooba ▻ I have one.

InsertNameHere ▻ Ok. Well I don’t want to see it.

Sooba ▻ It sounds like you see a lot of dicks.

Not once taking his eyes away from the screen, Shouto felt for the TV remote and paused the show, brow arching at your next response.

InsertNameHere ▻ And it sounds like you’re new here.

Sooba ▻ I am. My friend recommended I try this to cure my boredom while I recover.

A few beats passed. He eyed the countdown looming over your shared interaction, conscious of how little time is left. You were the first interesting person he’s come across. Though he supposed that isn’t saying much.

InsertNameHere ▻ Recover? That sounds bad. Are you alright?

Sooba ▻ Injury at work. I’ll be fine in a few weeks.

Just as you were beginning to respond, the timer cut out. Shouto reflexively expelled his frustration and Nori lifted her head toward the abrupt movement of his chest, ears twitching. She blinked up at him in disapproval for shaking her. “Sorry sweet girl,” he murmured, wearing a small smile as he scratched under her chin. So temperamental.

A familiar pop up in the cartoonish shape of a postcard covered the chat. Your messages blurred into the background. It read: Do you wish to continue corresponding?

Shouto clicked ‘Yes’. And apparently you did too, because your contact pinned itself to his in-app mailbox.

A melodic chime pinged from his phone. Confetti burst across the off white background in pixelated blooms.

✎ CONGRATULATIONS! You have a new pen pal ✐

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess I can keep you company in the meantime. ▻ You’re the only sane person I’ve come across so far.

Shouto smiled, even as the muscles in his cheeks protested. It’s a stubborn reminder of his condition. He repositioned himself to lessen the strain on his wrists, chin tucked to his chest where his phone is propped, and said:

Sooba ▻ I’d like that. :)

The fortnight that followed is slow to pass. An endless cycle of wake, stretch, eat, lightly exercise as instructed by his physiotherapist, play with Nori, eat, watch Quirky Hearts, stretch. Midoriya stopped by, bringing Iida along with him. Jirou sent him playlists to listen to. Fuyumi called every evening and shared the phone with his mother, gentle in their fretting. He assures them all that he’s coping just fine from the Shouto-shaped depression in his couch cushions.

But there’s also you; the stream of consciousness keeping his seams together, lest he fall apart from the complete and utter boredom he’s been forced to endure. In the beginning he wasn’t sure of the rules. Talking online is not his forte and neither is making new friends. That entire first morning was spent ruminating whether or not texting you ‘good morning’ was strange, and estimating how many times was appropriate to message you before he violated some invisible social boundary.

Normal had been irrelevant until now. Normal, to Shouto, consisted of avoiding his father’s phone calls, sending the occasional concussive text message—indecipherable to even the greatest cryptanalysts—and giving Nori updates in the 1A Grad group chat.

Sometimes he’ll open the app to see you typing, pausing, typing. Imagining you, a faceless someone, equally uncertain about your footing pleases him a little. In the end he figured if you didn’t want to talk to him, you wouldn’t respond. Evidenced by how you often saved him the trouble by messaging first, sometimes as early as five o'clock in the morning. Apparently you worked irregular hours in a rather unpredictable industry. Shouto weighs the possibility that you might be a fellow hero—or something close—more than he cared to admit.

Any trepidation he felt would always dwindle as soon as a notification lit up on the screen. He reads your username and his insides turn over.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve escaped to the break room. ▻ Do you ever think about how we don’t have muscles in our fingers? How fucked up is that?

Shouto smirks, pulled away from the conversation at hand. He unlocks the phone in his lap, beneath the kotatsu to remain hidden, an attempt at being inconspicuous as he replies.

Sooba ▻ I try not to think too much about anything.

You throw back a few laughing emoticons and satisfaction washes over him. “You’ve been texting a lot. Who’s got you smiling like that?” Natsuo asks slyly. He’s cross legged, tie tossed irreverently over his shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, having come straight from work. “A special someone?”

Shouto forces the muscles in his face to relax into feigned nonchalance. “Nobody. Nothing,” he says unconvincingly.

Rei enters the room with a modest tray of dango before Natsuo can open his big mouth. She’s wearing a bi-coloured hoodie. The sleeves slip as she sets the treats down on the table beside the green tea Fuyumi brewed earlier; another gift from Yaoyorozu’s family travels. Natsuo’s face twitches under Shouto’s unbroken stare, which is daring him to bring it up while their mother is here.

Then his phone vibrates and any possibility of peace is shattered.

His mother glances curiously at him, expression soft in the dewy afternoon light, and she smiles. “Are you speaking to one of your friends?” she asks. “Please tell Deku ‘thank you’ for sending me your new Shouto hoodie. It’s very warm”.

The words fill something cavernous inside him. Soothes the ache with gentle wonderment. She smiles down at his hero logo printed proudly across her chest, rubbing the hem between her finger and thumb. A younger Shouto could have only ever imagined it.

“I’m not so sure it’s a friend this time,” Natsuo teases, spoken with a playful, sing-song cadence. “Shouto wouldn’t text at the table and risk facing Fuyumi’s wrath just for a friend”.

Shouto does not pout. “I would risk anything for my friends,” he says, affronted; anything maybe except his older sister's well intentioned nagging. “…It’s a new friend, that’s all”.

Rei perks up, settling on her knees and laying the kotatsu blanket over her thighs. The quiet sound of plates and cups clinking together fade in from the kitchen. Natsuo hums, unconvinced, and hides a smile behind his mug. It's moments like this, when the people he loves are gathered in one place, and he can hear them in every corner of his home, that he’s glad for buying a smaller apartment.

“That’s wonderful, Shouto,” Rei murmurs as Fuyumi pads into the room, Nori not long behind her, threading through his elder sister's ankles. She too arrived right after work, donning a suit-skirt and blouse. “What’s their name?”

His thoughts stutter. Fuyumi’s nose wrinkles seeing the panic stark on his face. “Who are we talking about?”

“Beats me. Ask him,” Natsuo says, taking a stick of dango between his teeth as he tries not to grin when Shouto’s phone vibrates a second time. “I want to know who’s so eager to talk to my little brother”.

InsertNameHere ▻ Sooooobaaaaaaa ▻ I’m on my lunch keep me company

Shouto snatches up his phone to respond. He brings it closer to his face to allow Nori access to his lap. She monopolises the space instantly. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Shouto,” Fuyumi laments. “No phones during family time”.

“I know. I’m sorry, nee-san. I just need to…” his thumbs dance over the keyboard, head ducked in amalgamated shame and apology.

Sooba ▻ Question ▻ InsertNameHere ▻ What is your name?

InsertNameHere ▻ At the personal info stage already? You move fast. ▻ Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.

That stirs a faint unease in his gut and he understands better then. Anonymity is what gives people a sense of security and he isn’t exempt from that. In truth, right now he doesn’t want to know what might change if you knew who was on the other end yet.

Sooba ▻ You can call me whatever you want.

“Shouto”.

InsertNameHere ▻ That’s not even a line is it. ▻ Man. You’re dangerous.

Sooba ▻ ???

Shouto stares at the flickering dots by your username. You type, then stop. Type, then stop. As if you were deleting and starting over again. A habit of yours he’s quite endeared to. “Shouto!” Fuyumi huffs, poking a manicured finger into his side. Though short, the nail still causes him to flinch, and he’s quick to stretch his phone out of reach as her hand swipes through the air. “I mean it!”

Nori is jolted. She voices her immediate displeasure and Rei titters into her sleeve. The sleeve with his name stitched into the fabric. He breath catches, like it always does when his mother laughs. “Shouto doesn’t have to tell us anything until he’s ready,” she assured, offering him a gentle look—a look so sincere he feels awful for being evasive.

And his feeble resolve fractures.

“I don’t know,” he confesses bluntly. Natsuo and Fuyumi frown, at one another and then back at him, in unsettling synchrony cultivated through siblinghood. Shouto shrugs and pulls at a stray thread in his jeans cut loose under Nori’s claws, “I can’t tell you a name because I don’t know it”.

Natsuo appears mildly surprised. Fuyumi sinks into disbelief, feet curled beneath her body, going lax at his side. She drops her arm. “You… don’t know it?” she repeats.

“The app is anonymous,” he supplies hastily, attention flickering to his mother, far more worried about discerning her reaction. She’s unreadable. “My name isn’t on there either. We just talk about stuff”.

“Stuff?” his siblings' voices overlap, told apart only by the difference in tone. Natsuo’s shock has melted into some strange mix of pride and innuendo. “Is it that penpal thing everyone has been talking about? Enigma?”

“Enigmail,” he mutters. Natsuo lights up. Fuyumi does not share the sentiment.

“You’re a hero, Shouto! What if it’s someone with bad intentions?” she frets, brows drawn down and together, mouth pressed thin. “They could be tricking you. The internet is rife with predators, and—!”

“Nee-san. I’m a grown man. I understand the importance of internet safety,” Shouto interjects.

Natsuo slumps onto the table with a mawkish sigh, the sound steeped in fondness. “Let him have fun. You know he’s right, ‘Yumi, he’s an adult. It’s a wonder where all that time went,” he says. A few beats later he’s abruptly straightening his spine, “Gods, Fuyumi. You’re almost thirty five!”

Fuyumi glares from behind her glasses. She reaches across the kotatsu and swats lightly at his bicep, “Do you have to say it like that? You’re thirty one!”

“Please. Stop arguing,” Shouto says. He pets the unperturbed cat curled up on his thighs, “You might startle Nori”.

“Shouto. She’s deaf”.

Rei cuts their bickering short as she breathes, “When did you all get so big…” a serene smile hung on her lips, not a hint of grief to be seen. The answers surrounding your identity—or lack thereof—are lost to the nostalgia cloying in his throat.

They return to enjoying tea and dango after that. Shouto sets his phone face down on the floor and turns off vibrate. For now, he wants to ward off further interrogation.

His mother intuits this and steers the conversation in another direction, “Natsuo, how have things been at your new job? Are they treating you well?”

Things are good. Fuyumi’s class would soon be graduating, an award for Best Teacher polished and positioned on her desk. Natsuo had landed the job he always wanted—a medical welfare officer working closely with trauma survivors—and was already making waves. His mother, Rei, finally finished cultivating her traditional garden, weaving tales of lush foliage and water spouts. Touya too has been improving in his rehabilitation programme, according to his psychiatrist’s reports.

A tremor quakes through the tendons in Shouto’s forearm as he lifts his tea to sip the remaining dregs. Yaoyorozu outdid herself this time. If he hadn’t already known the price he would have discerned it from the refreshing, uniquely sweet taste. Thoughts of you cross his mind in these instances without warning. Would you like it? What’s your favourite tea?

Shouto scrunches his eyes shut as if it might wash those thoughts away. How is it that the stranger in his pocket possesses the ability to awaken such yearning in him; he feels mildly ashamed to have realised his loneliness with an audience.

The hour rolls into another. Shouto scrapes the last dango along the skewer with his teeth, jutting his chin to evade Nori’s curious sniffing. “This was lovely, Shouto. Thank you for having us over,” Fuyumi expressed as she carefully ran her hand along the feline's back.

Sensing the finality, Shouto motions to stand and sets Nori on the couch. Everyone protests it. He huffs, sliding a crutch over from where they lay nearby and letting it take his weight. A good decision, he thinks, inwardly grimacing as the blood rushes to his feet, prickling like violent white noise under his skin, and his knee almost gives out.

“I’m okay. The doctor told me I should be trying to move around more anyway,” he tells them, deigning to mention that he expended most of his energy tidying up this morning before their visit. “You’re my guests. I want to walk you to the door”.

Shouto tries not to bristle under their wary scrutiny. A cool hand slips around his arm then. His mother’s natural chill seeps through the sleeve of his shirt and allays the irritation. “We appreciate it, sweetheart,” she says.

“We do,” Fuyumi gently insists. “We’re happy to see you recovering well. Right, Natsu—?”

“Kiss tax!” Natsuo exclaims, oblivious to his surroundings. He scoops Nori up from the arm of the couch. She is comically tiny pressed against his chest. A continuous indignant drone rumbles in her throat as his brother peppers firm kisses to the top of her head.

“Put my baby down,” Shouto deadpanned.

“She isn’t your baby,” Natsuo slides one hand under Nori, the other carefully tucked into her armpits. He holds her close to Shouto’s face. Dramatic round eyes stare back; a flat expression emphasised by prominent cheekbones. Barely a hair's breadth between them, Nori begins to swipe her rough tongue against his scarred cheek. “See? You’re her baby”.

“Mine, too,” Rei rises to her tiptoes and scratches behind Nori’s ear, turning a smile toward Shouto. That same hand moved to cup his cheek. Though far taller than his mother, Shouto tips his head and finds himself feeling incredibly small as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “Your hair is getting long again,” she adds as she pulls away.

“I can trim it if it’s bothering you,” Fuyumi nods, sidling up beside Rei to survey the growth together. She brushes back the wayward strands framing his face and Shouto blinks. “Though, I think I like this look on you. What’s it called? A wolfcut?”

“I’m not sure. This is how Mina cut it a few months ago,” he replies.

Natsuo interjects without Nori in his grasp, now notably covered in short cat hair. He claps Shouto on the back and pulls him into a firm side hug, “She did good. Our handsome little Shouto”.

Initiating physical affection with his family was still a weary affair after all this time, though patently one sided. Having them touch him so freely always left him a little stupefied.

After they depart, Shouto hobbles to find his phone with all the grace of a newborn fawn. It is face down under the kotatsu cover right where he left it. And as it blinks to life, he skips the notifications from the 1A group chat to find your screen name at the bottom.

InsertNameHere ▻ My boss has these awful little nicknames for everyone in the agency. Mine’s ‘Maestro’. Nerd and butterfingers, too, but mostly Maestro. ▻ To do with my quirk and role, I suppose. Good for morale etc. His creativity astounds me (๑ಕ̴ _̆ ಕ̴) ﾝ？ ▻ Not that I don’t appreciate it but. Well shit, what about my morale? Lol ▻ You there? ▻ Sorry if I scared you off by getting personal.

Shouto worries at his bottom lip. Maestro. Something new about you. A foreign feeling churned in his chest. Faint, barely there, but new enough for him to notice. He’s not sure how to pin it; whether your mention of working at an agency bothers him or the fact that others, people who are not Shouto, get to see you everyday, close enough to give you a personal nickname.

Sooba ▻ Sounds like you have a good relationship. I’ve got a close friend who sounds similar. People say it’s just his love language ha ▻ And you didn’t scare me off. I’m the one who asked. Some family came to check on me.

He barely thinks it over before adding:

▻ My mother said hi by the way.

Your reply isn’t immediate but it is quicker than he expects.

InsertNameHere ▻ You’re right. I do like my boss sometimes. Maybe. And I love this job but I think it has aged me ten years. My ulcers have ulcers! ▻ Also—telling your family about me now too? We really are moving fast.

A soft huff of laughter jumps in his throat. There’s a distant clamoring near the kitchen. The sound of Nori’s bowl being pushed around the tile. Her absence clicks in place when he looks at the clock. He should feed her soon.

Sooba ▻ Technically it was only my mother, older sister and brother. ▻ But I can relate about the work stuff.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah? You mentioned being on leave because of an injury. Do you like your work?

That’s a question he has never asked himself, nor has he ever felt the need to. Heroism was the path life handed to him. The path he ultimately followed of his own volition. Shouto loves his family, his friends. He’s good at his job—enough to have made it into the top ten. And isn’t that all that matters?

Sometimes he would take a long, weary look out the revolving agency doors, recognise the heaviness in his bones and give the entire thing a second thought. But that never made any difference. Because people needed him. And he needed them too.

There’s a fleeting urge in that instance; a temptation to come clean, if only to sate his own curiosity. To compare the idealised image of what you looked like or how you sounded. He’s spent many a shameful night thinking up romanticised scenarios in his mind about what it would be like to meet you in real life. Shouto always squashes it. He doubts you’d believe him.

Ever perceptive to his moods, Nori chooses that moment to pad in from the kitchen and sit herself directly in his line of sight. She wails, demanding attention and lacking any volume control.

Right now he is not a hero but a man alone on two unsteady legs with a small living thing reliant upon him. He’s just Todoroki Shouto. He’s just—

Sooba ▻ As of right now my occupation is ‘Nori’s dad’. I like it pretty well.

Your reply is immediate.

InsertYourName ▻ Oh you have a kid?

Nori’s frustration grows. Her tail swishes back and forth, agitated. “It isn’t time to eat yet,” Shouto tells her, pulling up his phone camera and zooming in. On her next yowl the shutter goes off. The picture is perfect. Mouth wide open, large ears flat and nose wrinkled in displeasure, lips curled up to display her pink gums.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_0243] ▻ Something like that.

It’s a risk and he knows it. Though infrequently his team has posted Nori to his social media in the past at the delight of his fans—she was younger in those pictures, but if you were well acquainted with him there was the possibility of you putting the puzzle pieces together.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god sooba. She’s so cute. Give her everything she asks for, you monster. ▻ Hey. Are those Ingenium themed crutch pads?

Anxiety rockets through him. He pulls up the photo and sure enough, his crutches are in the corner of the frame, laid within reach beside the couch. Secured around the handles are Ingenium themed pads to cushion his palms.

Sooba ▻ They are.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is he your favourite hero?

He turns his phone over in his hands before he types, overcome by an abrupt restlessness.

Sooba ▻ One of them. ▻ Do you have a favourite hero?

Nori wanders off in his periphery and not long after he hears the telltale sound of cardboard being torn apart. You stop typing, replies coming to a halt. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding.

It becomes clear you’re offline. Shouto spends the evening imagining your answer—ducking sheepishly at the idea that you might say him, then cringing at his reaction—and reading through his work emails.

Partnering with Hawks hasn’t been the worst thing in the world. Despite his carefree demeanour and general lack of personal space Hawks was professional and meticulous when it came to his work. As promised, Shouto was CC’d into every important thread and forwarded every significant incident report each day. Apparently there’s a big fundraiser tonight that he is unable to attend.

Hawks suggests matching Endeavor’s donation in spirit. Shouto doubles it.

The night air barely touches him. Leaning against the balcony railing he surveys the cityscape. A kaleidoscope canvas. He stares until the pinpricks of light stretch and bend, streaking his vision, regaining shape when he blinks. Nori is curled around his calf, playfully kicking her back legs at his ankle. She’s careful to never break skin.

It’s nearing midnight when you get back to him. A disconcertingly vague reply of:

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ve had enough of heroes.

Shouto waits for you to elaborate before presuming anything nefarious. He would hate for Fuyumi to be correct. She’d never let him forget it.

▻ Shit that made me sound bad, didn’t it? I promise I’m not a villain

He snorts, reclining himself into one of the chairs on his patio. Yaoyorozu insisted upon helping decorate the space. This piece in particular had been chosen by Uraraka, if only for its cocoon, egg-like shape. She always sat in it if she came over; Shouto can’t say he blames her, now curling up inside it himself, leaving one foot flat to the floor for Nori to cling to.

Sooba ▻ Only a little bit lol.

InsertNameHere ▻ I just mean for today! I’ve had enough for today! ▻ There’s… a whole lot of them at this work event I’m attending is all. ▻ See! ▻ [IMG_0589]

It’s the first picture you’ve ever sent to him that wasn’t a meme. Your legs are crossed, turned inward to show more of the showroom floor. There are people everywhere. You’ve overturned your lanyard in your lap, straps dotted with the charity logo, to display the back of your security pass. No identification. Just proof that you’re there—

Proof that you’re a real person, giving colour to the vague, shapeless figure in his head. The figure once outlined only by random tidbits, like your favourite food, the music you like, the movies you loved as a child. The figure now clad in tight fitting, seemingly pearlescent sheer material from the waist down.

—Shouto swallows dryly.

You have nice hands. He tries not to linger on that.

▻ That’s why I disappeared, btw. Sorry about that. ▻ I feel weirdly underdressed.

The logo on your lanyard has recognition prickling in the back of his mind. Hours earlier Midoriya had texted him two pictures from the ‘HEROKIND’ fundraiser Hawks mentioned. One being a selfie of him and an aggrieved Bakugo, each wearing their own fitted suit, and another of Uraraka in an evening gown stood behind the imposing silhouette that was his father, stealthily pointing her middle finger at his back.

He saved that one to his camera roll.

Sooba ▻ In that case I will close the HPSC anonymous tip line ▻ Sometimes people try too hard at those events and forget why they’re there. You look good from what I see.

InsertNameHere ▻ How very gracious (´・｀ ) ▻ Sounds like you have some experience with this kind of thing. My condolences lmao ▻ But thank you. I’m glad you think so.

Shouto entertains the idea of sending you something back. His eyes surreptitiously flicker around as though being watched. Nothing revealing who he is, but enough to maybe—

The camera captures a few of the modest flower beds and cat grass lining his balcony, Nori coiled around his bare ankle. He looks at his hand. Shuffles his hips further down to mirror your angle and flexes his fingers in his lap. Heat floods his body, guided by the shameless desire to inform the image you might have of him in your own head, too.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_288] ▻ At least you’re having more fun than I am.

You type for a long ten second interval. Then restart. A tedious minute elapses and just as regret creeps in, your messages come through.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’m not so sure about that. ▻ Actually it would probably be more bearable if you were here with me.

The sound of his heartbeat floods his ears. So warm it’s like he’s standing under the sun. Shouto belatedly realises it’s just his quirk, as the steam blows out through his nose. Nori butts his ankle in complaint. He bends to take her into his arms, feeling ridiculous and somewhat bad at being a person.

Sooba ▻ Think so? ▻ Just so you know I have been called socially inept on numerous occasions.

InsertNameHere ▻ Then we can hide together in the corner, get tipsy and sneak bits of the fancy spread.

This—doesn’t happen to Shouto. “Nori. I have feelings for a person I’ve never seen,” he pushes his face into Nori’s fur, and she purrs, feeling the vibrations of his voice. Admitting it aloud only highlights the absurdity. He feels out of his depth. And he decides he’s glad for the anonymity. Grateful, even. Lest he publicly humiliate himself and set off every fire alarm in the vicinity.

Sooba ▻ That sounds perfect.

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll hold you to that. There’s another one of these coming up in two weeks. ▻ Prepare yourself (ꈍᴗꈍ)

“You’re really not helping,” he continues. Nori rubs insistently under his chin. “Fine, fine. I get it,” She croaks as he presses into the touch, mimicking her movement and cradling her as he gets up.

Before retiring to bed he pulls up Yaoyorozu’s contact. He settles into a comfortable position in the covers, propping his phone on his stomach, and he types:

Shouto : 00:14

I think I need help.

Consciousness eases into him slowly. It’s a sleepy pastel morning. Dust dances in the soft spotlight cast through his curtains. Shouto’s jaw unhinged to release a long yawn, limbs stretching every which way under the covers as his joints click.

Shouto props up on his elbow, twisting in place to reach and unplug his phone. He blinks away the blurriness hemming his vision and squints at the stack of messages from Enigmail right at the top of his notifications.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh shit. Hero Shouto donated double the amount of what Endeavor gave and he couldn’t even be here tonight. That’s hilarious. Can that guy get any hotter ▻ I didn’t intend for that to be a pun. ▻ These cocktails are becoming suspiciously easy to drink. ▻ You’re probably sleeping like a good boy but I miss you. Wake up! ▻ Have you ever had feelings for someone you’ve never met

The loose tongued messages stop there, at around one o’clock in the morning. Then there’s a seven hour jump to only ten minutes ago.

▻ Oh my god. Please ignore all of that. And then kill me.

Hardly awake, sleepsand still crusty at the corners of his eyes, Shouto’s mind reels as he considers pinching himself. He doesn’t know which part to focus on. Your apparent—and unknowing—attraction to him as a public figure or the implication that you had feelings for Sooba.

But you’re obviously embarrassed. So he bites back a smile and starts with something simple.

Sooba ▻ Good morning to you too ▻ Remember to drink water and take some bufarin.

Sitting upright with legs hung over the bed, Shouto clicks out to his text app by way of distraction. There’s another photo from Midoriya. This time it’s just him. Speckled light glitters along his cheeks, expression beaming as the hero holds a piece of sashimi in front of his pink face. Shouto heart reacts to the text.

InsertNameHere ▻ Send more Nori

He chuckles, sleepy. That makes known Nori’s absence. Strange, he muses. She is usually the one to wake him. Rather than search he scrolls through his albums to find a photo you hadn’t seen yet. It was taken a few months ago. He’d slipped his camera under her chin and pressed the shutter when she looked down, looming over the viewer with a dumbfounded look.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_142]

After a few minutes with no response, assuming that you had accepted his bribe and sought out some painkillers, Shouto braced against his bedside table and stood, phone in hand. Every muscle in his body felt like wet sand, held together by too tight skin. This morning, though, the incessant ache that beat alongside his heart was gone.

Walking still felt as though he was wading through molasses but strength was steadily returning to his physique.

The floor is cool under the soles of his feet as they shuffle down the hallway. There’s a noise in the kitchen that gives Shouto pause. A voice, hushed yet high pitched voice, cooing like someone might to an infant.

He drops into an ungainly defensive stance, pyjama bottoms and all. Worst case scenario they at least hang low on his hips, loose around his legs, leaving room for flexible movement. He rounds the corner without a sound.

And relief beats like a drum in his chest.

Yaoyorozu meets his gaze from the kitchen island where one hand is petting a very happy Nori, sipping from a glass of water with the other. Her face is bare, shadows soft under her eyes, hair pulled haphazardly into a low ponytail as if she had just rolled out of bed and rushed here. Creati in a bleach stained hoodie and leggings. The press would have a field day.

The sight brings a small smile to his face. Their schedules have been misaligned for months. It’s good to see her—if only her expression had not then darkened. “Todoroki Shouto,” she says with all the authority of an older sibling, “What on earth was that text last night? You had me worried sick”.

“Text?” he parrots dumbly, looking to check his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Painkillers acquired. Thank you Nori ▻ I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable last night.

“I let myself in with the key you gave me. I hope that was alright,” she continues, quiet and apologetic now. He skims over your reply and switches to check his text app. Sure enough the last thing he sent to her was an ambiguous plea for help.

“Of course it’s alright,” he replies, regarding her with a meaningful look to cover for how sheepish he truly feels. “I gave you the key because you’re always welcome here”.

Yaoyorozu smiles on the end of an exhale, idle hands smoothing down Nori’s cheeks. “Of course,” she echoes, examining his form closely now her anxiety is assuaged. Over him comes the muted awareness that he’s being judged. “How about we go on a short walk for once, since I’m here? The weather is quite pleasant”.

Shouto steps forward with mouth downturned, “Momo, I assure you I’m fine. You don’t need to walk me like a dog,” he says, wincing thereafter at his bluntness. She only hums.

“When was the last time you went anywhere?”

Very uselessly he replies, “I go places”.

Yaoyorozu’s potential to lead and assert had never escaped him, not even in his teenage years, and it was something he staunchly admired her for. But never has he resented his own affinity for compliance more than he does the moment she ignores his pouting and tells him to finish his morning gait training and get changed.

Dressed casually and statuesque in the centre of his living room, left leg lifted to mimic a flamingo, Shouto’s limbs shake far less than previous days. He can hold his phone while he balances now, too. You haven’t sent any new messages. Probably waiting for him to assure you that he isn’t upset, but even so he’s a smidge disappointed.

Sooba ▻ I’m here. A friend appeared in my kitchen. ▻ You don’t need to apologise for anything, I wasn’t uncomfortable. I've received worse drunk texts I assure you.

He switches to his right leg and chews the inside of his cheek. Facing villainy was far less daunting than navigating his feelings.

▻ I thought it was cute.

That’s about as brave as he felt today.

Yaoyorozu resurfaces from the coat closet with a jacket in hand and a pep in her step. There’s something else coiled around her wrist. Nori’s cat leash, red and attached to a blue harness, matching Shouto’s hero colours.

“Can we bring her along?” she asks, bouncing in place. Upon recognising the leash Nori makes her opinion known, releasing a drawn out yowl. “Oh please, Shouto”.

Nori didn’t regularly enjoy walking but she had been trained to do so from a young age. She was peculiar and picky, and Shouto trusted her to let him know if ever she wanted anything—something she never failed to do.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, bending to tap her nose. It wrinkles, a stray tooth flashing between her lips. “If you get tired I won’t carry you”.

Nori blinks. A lie and they both know it.

Shouto sighs, defeated. “Okay. She hasn’t wanted to in a while so I can’t really deny her”.

“Wonderful,” Yaoyorozu breathes, handing him his jacket before undoing the harness and crouching to slip Nori’s paws through one by one. “We can grab a warm drink to go from the cafe downstairs and talk”.

Shucking the jacket on and flattening the collar, Shouto dithers in the genkan with his crutches nearby. He tucks the wayward strands of hair into a knitted hat and loops his mask around his ears. The scar couldn’t be helped but atleast this way a majority of people would not think to look twice.

They leave the apartment together, all three. In the short time it takes to step out of the building's lobby you still haven’t replied. He shoves his free hand in his pocket, fingers clasped around his phone in case it vibrates.

The establishment across from Shouto’s home has been open for longer than he’s been alive. An elderly couple named Pierre-Louis and Tsutomu run the place. The two men moved back to Japan decades ago to care for Tsutomu’s sick mother, and with Pierre-Louis’ incredibly unusual coffee quirk ‘Bean Boost’, opening a cafe seemed the right route to take.

Since moving here they’ve endeared themselves to Shouto. If they see him on his way to work Tsutomu will often rush to offer him a takeout cup. This morning is no different.

“Mon petit chou!”

Tsutomu slides open the walk up window and calls his name, beckoning them closer. The breeze tousles the short grey curls around his ears. Shouto’s heart near stops when the older man leans out to greet Nori as she stretches upward and almost loses balance. “Tsutomu-san, please be careful,” he says.

“I am still rather spry, young man. Don’t worry about me,” he returns happily, gaze moving to Yaoyorozu when he rights himself. “Lovely to see you again, Momo-chan. Have you come to rescue our prince from his cave?”

Indignant, Shouto grumbles, “I wish you would all stop acting as though I’m a hermit. I haven’t been stuck indoors that long”.

The two level him with a look of doubt. Tsutomu gently pinches his cheek and rubs a thumb over the swell above the mask. “Your pallor betrays you, Shouto. Let the sun kiss you more, no? We worry”.

“Tout va bien?” another voice interjects. Pierre-Louis squeezes up next to his husband, ignoring his disgruntled noise, and brightens when he sees Shouto on the other side. “Mon chou, you’ve emerged! And with two beautiful girls at your side”.

Yaoyorozu muffled a laugh while Nori busied herself chewing on the nearby grass, leash never pulling too far. “Pierre-Louis,” Shouto murmurs, unable to keep the fond lilt out of his voice. “It’s good to see you both”.

“And you,” he beams. The wrinkles by his eyes deepen. Shouto never met his grandparents but he thinks perhaps this is the closest he’ll get. “Are you going anywhere special?”

“We’re just taking a walk, Pierre-Louis. I thought it might be nice to get a warm drink for the journey,” Yaoyorozu spoke warmly and nudged his side. “Where better than here?”

“Bien sûr! Will that be one earl grey and one green tea?”

Shouto nods at her questioning glance, “Loose leaves today, please”, he adds.

Pierre-Louis disappears to make their drinks, shortly returning with two takeout cups, steam pluming softly from the mouth. Shouto swaps his crutch to his right side and accepts the green tea with his left hand, heat seeping through the cardboard sleeve.

“How much will it be—?”

“Nonsense,” Tsutomu interrupts with a sudden switch to English. He shakes his finger, silencing any protest, and his husband gives a resolute nod in support. “Take it, mon chou. Call it a family discount”.

Shouto bids them a dazed goodbye, leaving the walk up window; a lump in his throat that he tries to wash down with hot heat, tongue impervious to the temperature. “They’re very sweet. I’m glad you have them,” Yaoyorozu muses. “What is it they call you? ‘Chou’?”

“Mon petit chou,” he repeats clumsily, accent slightly gawky. “I asked Aoyama a while ago and he told me it means ‘my little cabbage’”.

Yaoyorozu pauses and Nori continues ahead, leaping up onto a nearby half wall with her tail hooked high. She pounces on a crack between the bricks, blissfully unaware of the nearby traffic, trying to eat a ladybug.

“My little cabbage?”

Shouto hums, squinting up at the early sun, rising in a blanket of pale blue and mottled grey clouds. The air is refreshingly cool. “Apparently it’s something French parents call their children,” he shrugs, as though he were not then warmed from the inside out at the reminder that they truly did see him as one of their own.

“That’s lovely,” she says, slowing to match his pace. He’s not tired so much as he is enjoying the morning dew. They follow a familiar path. Turning down a hidden narrow walkway that leads to a neighbourhood park. Nori’s chitters fill the spaces left by comfortable silence.

Yaoyorozu suggests sitting at one of the picnic tables. Tall trees flanked the area on either side, columns rising to create a weave of foliage that shrouded them in gold. The old wood is cold under his thighs. Nori hops up onto the bench, ears flat to her head, and hisses at a dog across the way which hasn’t even noticed her presence.

“So,” Shouto glances over toward Yaoyorozu as she speaks. Her arms are settled on the tabletop, fingers curled around the disposable cup and swirling the liquid inside. “Are you going to tell me what you were panicking about last night?”

He picks at the cardboard sleeve, twisting it, and supposes this was inevitable. Slipping down his mask, Shouto brings the tea to his lips in distraction, grasping for a way to articulate his situation without simply saying: “I have feelings for my anonymous online friend”.

In the end he realises there really isn’t any other way.

Yaoyorozu listens intently, as he expected she would. Of all his well intentioned friends Shouto knew she’d be the most open to his reasoning. Her expression visibly softens while he wrings his hands and rambles about the palpable connection that he first attributed to his own loneliness—

Rambles about you; you, the one now carried with him everywhere, the presence weaving his days into tapestry; you, accepting of his random thoughts, giving of your own; you, unintentional charm and bad jokes and sharp wit; you, faceless and voiceless, the one to receive first and last thought.

He expels his fears. Concerns of who you really are. Of what you might think upon learning his identity—if you wouldn’t like him anymore, or if his own feelings might change after meeting you offline, and if that makes him a terrible, shallow person.

Then he mentions the photo from the Herokind event and her head cocks in interest. “May I see?” she asks. Shouto murmurs his agreement and pulls his phone out from his pocket.

You’ve messaged him.

InsertNameHere ▻ Appeared? Like, teleported?? ▻ I’m glad we’re ok. I would miss you otherwise. ▻ But you can’t know I’m cute. You’ve never seen me lol

Shouto is typing back with unfounded confidence before he realises it.

Sooba ▻ I don’t need to see you to know that.

Then his eyes flicker to Nori, staring up at him clad in her Shouto themed harness, lip caught on her scraggle tooth. He takes a quick picture. Examining it before sending, he notices Yaoyorozu’s slender hands in the background, and wonders if you might be jealous.

He scoffs inwardly at his own childishness and sends the photo.

▻ Not teleported hah, just came in with a spare key. We are out walking now.

“Sorry—I just wanted to reply first,” Shouto clears his throat and presses his phone into her now proffered hand. Given without question.

Something flickers in her expression at your photo; it’s a brief shift that flies over her gaze like a shadow. Her thumbs pinch and part on the screen as she zooms in. “I was there for a few hours last night,” she says. “I recognise this outfit. Would it not be easier to check the list of attendants?”

“…That doesn’t feel fair,” he admits soberly. “I know that’s silly”.

“It’s not silly,” she affirms with a small smile, fingers now moving as she types. “You are aware of your position. You have the resources to find them and presumably they do not. Of course it seems unfair”.

It’s testament to their friendship that he feels no need to check what she’s doing. Her brows furrow slightly, then arch into her hairline, eyes brightening. Pleased, Yaoyorozu locks the device and hands it back.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry. I didn't do anything untoward,” she replies. “But I do know who you’re talking to now”.

Shouto’s fingers flex around his phone. “You do?” he breathes, incredulous. Just like that?

Yaoyorozu nods, lending her attention to Nori. “I don’t have a name. But if you want to find them I think you’ll want to speak to Bakugo-kun”.

“Bakugo…?” Shouto echoes.

“I believe your friend may work for him,” she clarifies. Ah. The clamouring in his head comes to a halt. In hindsight it’s clear. Your nicknames make sense now.

“I’ll think about it,” he swallows, bringing his tea to his face for another sip. He finds it tepid and warms it again with his quirk. Yaoyorozu doesn’t push.

They spend the hour catching up on the things Shouto has missed in the weeks he’s been absent, and the weeks prior. Midoriya’s claims of him being a workaholic become a reality he can’t outrun. Tea finished, Shouto takes both cups and disposes of them in the recycling bin. Yaoyorozu stands from the picnic table with Nori cradled to her breast—Nori stares back at him, smug—and they make their way back to his apartment.

“Shouto,” she coaxed, now standing outside the tall glass doors leading to the lobby. Nori’s claws sink into the collar of his jacket as she’s passed to him. He takes her leash from Yaoyorozu, bunching it up; and she covers his enclosed fist with her hand.

“Go for it,” she tells him, giving a firm squeeze. “I’m rooting for you. Just be safe”.

Stepping back into his apartment, his cheeks are warm and his limbs are trembling. You’ve buzzed inside his pocket three times.

InsertNameHere ▻ Oh my god. How can such a perfect creature exist? And her harness! Shouto colours? ▻ I hope you’re having fun. <3 ▻ You know, you never answered my question from last night

“You don’t think I’m hopeless, do you Nori?” Shouto asks the thin air—Nori has already scrambled toward the nearby shoebox, bunny kicking at the corner as she chews. He sighs.

Yaoyorozu’s encouragement rings loud in his ears while he replies.

Sooba ▻ Yes. I think I’ve had feelings for a person I’ve never met.

And it feels like a confession.

Shouto sees the week come to an end before he finds enough strength, physically and mentally, to visit Bakugo’s agency.

Your conversations have evolved. They carry a flirty undertone now, the verbal toeing of the line that makes his heart pitter patter. You send pictures throughout the day. Always angled away from your face. Swathes of skin. A pen between your fingers. Stacked paperwork and an empty coffee cup. The burgeoning skies on your walk home. Comfortable at home, your legs crossed over the other, a fluffy slipper hanging at the end of your foot.

He never knew so much thought had to go into making a photo appear candid, effortless. At one point he purposefully shuffled his workout shorts lower on his hips and spent the remainder of the afternoon mortified with his head deep between the couch cushions.

Liking another person is humiliating. He feels exposed, like a flesh wound that you won’t stop prodding.

InsertNameHere ▻ [IMG_412] ▻ I hope you have a good day!

You’re sitting at your desk, presumably. A slide knot bracelet hangs loose around your wrist. Hand held out over the mouse and keyboard, you’ve pinched your thumb and finger—smudged with black in—together to make a heart shape. It’s cute. You’re cute. He files the pose away for any later run-ins with paparazzi. His PR has been getting on about trying harder when they photograph him for months.

Shouto’s body rocks with the train car as it careens down the tracks and readjusts his grip on his crutch. He smiles behind his mask, sinking into the confines of his hood which he has pulled over his cap. There are eyes on him today. It can’t be helped in such close quarters. But they’re uncertain—too afraid to bother him and be wrong about his identity.

Sooba ▻ You too :) ▻ Remember to take breaks. I read that you should spend five minutes away from your screen every hour.

InsertNameHere ▻ You have to stop making me smile at work. My coworkers think I have a secret husband or something.

Sooba ▻ I promise to send you off with a homemade bento tomorrow morning.

InsertNameHere ▻ And a kiss.

Shouto grabs the nearby pole as he is almost knocked on his feet. Passengers board, others depart, and his heart hammers in his throat like a fist.

Sooba ▻ A kiss?

You’re still typing a reply when Shouto hears the hesitant evocation of his name. It’s timid and hushed, belonging to a person trying to restrain their excitement. She covers her mouth with a gasp when he meets her eyes.

“It is you,” she bubbles. A metallic taste pervades the static air around her, short hair wiggling on end as if it were responding directly to her excitement; behaviour unbefitting of a typical reporter, he notes.

Your text box jumps onto the screen in his peripheral vision, bumping up the chat. He jolts and angles the phone away from her just to be safe.

InsertNameHere ▻ Yeah! A bento box and a kiss to get me through the day, obviously. As my husband.

There are three others a few feet away, huddled together beside a pillar and abuzz with energy. Mild dread churns in his stomach. Definitely not a reporter, then. “If you have a moment…” the young woman spares a glance over her shoulder and her friends excitedly encourage her forward. “Um. Would you maybe be interested in—”

“No,” Shouto replies. The young woman winces at his tone. Ah. She’s embarrassed now. He really should make a habit of lying in consideration for other people's feelings. Fuyumi did mention that, though not in as many words. Before her face can crumple further he continues, “I’m very sorry, that was rude of me. I’m in a bit of a hurry”.

Her relief is palpable, near contagious. Expression softened with understanding she folds her hands against her stomach and ducks into a slight bow. “Of course, I understand,” she says. Somehow it makes him feel worse. “And—I’m glad you’re well, Shouto-san. We’re all wishing you a complete recovery”.

Gratitude bubbles inside him. He smiles, pressing a finger over his mask, and her complexion turns a bright shade of pink. She nods in understanding, scurrying to her friends.

Shouto departs the train without disruption. The conductor takes stock of his gait and the crutch at his side, offering to lay out the ramp, but he politely refuses, stepping onto the platform with ease. He feels good; closer to his other self, the one before his muscles were run through a metaphorical centrifuge.

Sooba ▻ Obviously. ▻ I suppose I can add ‘house husband’ alongside ‘Nori’s dad’ on my list of occupations now.

Blast Zone isn’t far, a fact for which he’s grateful. Bakugo insisted on rooting himself in the centre of the city, right in the spot where all transport routes seemed to meet; there stood the symbol of victory’s headquarters, imposing in the skyline.

According to journalists at PowrStruct magazine The Blast Zone agency is an ode to modern architecture. A steel frame structure surrounded by reinforced concrete, an outer coating embossed with a texture that gives the award winning building the fragile appearance of having been meticulously glued back together while simultaneously being both blast proof and earthquake proof. Shouto cares not for design in general. He does, however, steal a mini Dynamite themed pen from the front desk while he’s waiting to be signed in.

There’s a thin chain attached to the cap with a Chibi Bakugo hung on the end. Sue him.

“He’ll see you now, Shouto-san,” the receptionist states, pupil-less eyes blinking back at him. Shouto tucks the pen into his sleeve, feeling foolish and somewhat nervous. “Head on up to the office on the twelfth floor. He knows you’re on your way”.

Shouto clears his throat. “Thank you,” he says, weakness in his knees that has nothing to do with his nerves. The Ingenium handle pads cushion his palm as he braces onto his crutches, supporting him toward the nearby lift. There are eyes on his back as he goes. They’re heavy, lingering like physical touch. Something in him spoils at the unnecessary pity.

The lift remains mercifully empty. He presses the twelfth floor button and it glows green. The ride up is smooth, and quick. Double doors slide open onto a sprawling office space flooded with natural light. No one bothered to glance in Shouto’s direction as he gawked. If he remembered correctly this area was specifically for employees that worked closest to Bakugo. They’re all so nonplussed and focused. No nonsense. He likes that.

“Loser,” Bakugo grunts. He appeared from thin air, standing aside with arms crossed over his chest, eyeing Shouto’s stiff form with suspicion. “What the fuck are you doing here? You’re still on leave”.

Shouto makes a noncommittal noise, inwardly miffed. He straightens his posture and takes more of his own weight. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. Maybe I missed you,” he says. Bakugo’s expression suddenly soured, as though he swallowed a lemon, mouth thin against his teeth.

Amusing as it is, acknowledging the disconnect aloud makes him truly accept the distance he had put between himself and his friends; how he’d worked too hard, untied himself from the tangle of their lives and ended up isolated.

“Nori told me to say ‘hi’ by the way”.

Bakugo sweetens. “She like that cardboard house I sent you?”

“She already destroyed it,” Shouto admits. And Bakugo laughs, irritation split by a crooked grin.

“Atta girl,” he nods in approval, turning on his heel and starting toward a pair of towering doors. “Oi. You comin’? Or are you going to stand there all damn day?

Dynamite’s office is anything but corporate. Professional, yes, but it’s also so plainly personal in a way that screams Bakugo. A setup reconfigurable for days that he can’t sit still, a folding treadmill under his large mahogany desk to keep him moving. Bakugo works better on his feet, something Shouto knows well.

Built in shelves line the accent wall, filled with framed pictures of friends and family, newspaper clippings and awards. There are even fan creations—mostly from his debut era, when being favoured felt far more significant, but Shouto finds it sweet all the same.

Walking ahead of him, Shouto approaches the desk. Bakugo lingers for a beat to holler something out the door before returning to his desk.

Two consult chairs face the head office chair opposite. Lowering into one of them, Shouto props his crutch up and takes his phone out of his pocket. Ever hopeful, he unlocks it, opens Enigmail and refreshes the chat list. There are new messages from a few other people he added in the beginning, but nothing from you. He tries not to sigh too obviously.

“What’s got you all fuckin’ mopey?" Bakugo leaned over to look down at the phone. Shouto hastily locked it and the explosive hero narrowed his eyes at the impassive veil Shouto pulled over his face.

“Nothing. How did the first Herokind event go?” he asks, fiddling with his newly acquired Dynamite pen. “Midoriya always sugar coats things for me”.

“Went fine. You didn’t miss anything,” Bakugo waves off. The leather office chair creaks as he leans back. “Boring as all hell since it was just the kickstarter. Food mild enough for a toddler to eat and too much alcohol. The auction will be more interesting. That birdbrain partner of yours was hilarious, though”.

“Hawks?” Shouto’s mouth twitches, failing to conceal his mirth. “What did he do this time?”

“Spent the night antagonising your shitty old man,” Bakugo pauses for a brief moment and rescinds his words. “Or aggressively flirting. Can't tell the difference with him”.

Shouto keeps his thoughts to himself on that one.

“Ended with Endeavor triggering all the sprinklers at the after party though,” Bakugo ends, eyes crinkled under the weight of his wicked grin. Shouto pursed his lips tight. Amusement huffed through his nose. He imagines his father standing in the middle of the room, pathetically soaked through, wisps of smoke rising from his put-out embers, and he laughs.

Bakugo looks rather pleased by the reaction. But then his gaze flickers over Shouto’s shoulder and his brow arches expectantly. “Did’ya need something? I shouted for the Egghead because I thought you were on your break”.

Shouto’s laughter dwindles as he follows Bakugo’s line of sight. His breath catches. An employee stands in the doorway peeking around a tall box of paperwork. Wide eyed as they examine him.

Wrapped around their wrist is a familiar sliding knot bracelet.

“I just—uh…”

His head spins. There’s a smudge on your finger where your pen's ink leaked, just like in the photo. Could this be you? You are—

“What the hell has gotten into everybody today,” Bakugo tuts, pushing up from his desk and striding over to receive the box himself. Your shoulders slump when you are relieved of the weight. Bringing your hands to your chest and massaging the joints.

—still looking right at him. Cute. He cannot help but think how cute you are, tripping over your words, losing your footing.

“Oi, maestro,” Bakugo clicks his fingers in your face and startles you out of your stupor. “Get it together. I need you with a clear head when that sleepy bastard from the HPSC gets here”.

You glare at Bakugo, “Mera-san is the least of your problems, Dynamite. Worry about yourself and the six unanswered emails I forwarded to you from the claims manager”.

You’re beautiful. And your voice, it’s so—his lips part, and he tries to speak, to interrupt Bakugo’s incessant teasing, but words fail him.

“Whatever. Those insurance claims are bullshit and you know it,” Bakugo mutters. He turns and moves to shove the box of paperwork beside the desk. His mouth downturns into a smirk when he stands and notices your attention drawn to Shouto once again.

“Is that everything? I’d appreciate it if you stopped gawking,” Bakugo drawls, a dry rasp to his taunting that seems to embarrass you further. Shouto isn’t sure he’s breathing. You’re right there. You’re within reach and he’s rooted to his chair.

“You’re such a—! Y’know what, no, I’m leaving now,” replying harshly you start toward the open door where you come to an abrupt halt. Shouto feels the distance like the pull of a leash. You incline your head into a short bow, losing strength in your voice as you acknowledge him, “Have a good afternoon, Shouto-san”.

Then you’re gone. He stares after you dumbly. In all the years he has worked in the hero industry Shouto has never been more thankful for choosing to make his given name his brand than he is now.

Bakugou falls heavily in his chair and sighs.

Shouto swallows, “Who was—”

“Don’t,” Bakugo stresses the command, as though telling a dog to heel. Shouto can feel the heat behind his pointed glare. Undeterred, his eyes linger after you, stuck on the spot where you once stood, heart beating like a hummingbird’s wing.

“I mean it, Halfie. Run off the only competent PA I’ve ever had with your pisspoor flirting and I will kill you,” Bakugo barrels on. There’s no true malice but it comes through gritted teeth, like he has resigned himself to the impending stupidity. Because Shouto is already looking back at him with that small, impish curl to his lips.

“I’m not that terrible at flirting,” he says.

“Making eye contact for three uninterrupted minutes is not flirting,” Bakugo scoffs.

Shouto hums. “And what is? Pulling their pigtails for ten years?”

“Watch it,” Bakugo grouses, bottom lip jutting. He kicks the leg of Shouto’s chair and he laughs; he’s missed this.

Hoping to get back on track then, Shouto asks, “Will you be attending the charity auction, then?”

The other man grunts an affirmative. “I’ve put some memorabilia and shit up to be sold. Sparky somehow convinced Eijirou to auction himself off for a date,” Bakugo snorts and gives an amused shake of his head. “I’m willing to bet he’ll rake in at least ten million yen. Minimum”.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Shouto agrees. Kirishima had grown a lot since graduation all those years ago. Pair a stocky build with a big hearted guy like him and everyone is tripping over themselves to get a piece. “Is he nervous that he won’t make much?”

Bakugo clicks his teeth, interlocking his hands across his midsection and getting comfortable. “He really hasn’t got a fucking clue. The HPSC schmuck I’ve got to talk to today has already suggested extra security in case certain high profile guests get resentful,” he says. Crimson peeks through narrowed eyes, considering, calculating. “Are you gonna go? You’re looking steady enough”.

The last Bakugo had seen of him was directly after the incident—crumpled into the fetal postion and involuntarily spasming with six second intervals. Unable to speak, to walk, to turn his head. Worst case scenario presented on scene was that he could lose the ability to function at all, and Shouto had been thrown into a pit of depression so oppressive that he withdrew from himself all together.

There’s an underlying relief in Bakugo’s question that comforts him in ways he wasn't aware he’d been seeking. Pleased, Shouto drags his crutch between his thighs and twists at the padding around the handle. “I’ll be in attendance. I plan on bidding on a few things. David Shield’s original design sketches maybe,” he admits. “…Will ‘maestro’ be there?”

Bakugo seems to parse the response carefully, as if it cracked open a hole into Shouto’s psyche. “Izuku is shooting for those, you know. I’m the one that’s gotta deal with him cryin’ if he loses”.

“I know,” Shouto’s mouth splits in a wry, intentional smile. “If I’m not outbid then I’m happy to give him whatever I win”.

“Shill bidding? Ha. Izuku never believes me when I tell him you’re secretly a dick,” Bakugo smirks. A thought visibly crosses his mind. He props his elbow on the arm of his chair, chin resting in his palm and considering Shouto closely. “…My PA will be there for the auction. Working. So if you show me up—”

“I won’t,” Shouto interjects.

“—I will see you to the pearly gates myself,” Bakugo continues, unperturbed. There’s no true malice to his tone, moreso fond resignation, and Shouto’s chest bubbles with affection for his hard headed friend.

“That’s nice of you,” he says sincerely.

“Get fucked. You want an update on the cases we opened this week or did you seriously come here just to annoy me?”

“To annoy you, mostly,” Shouto ducks away from the hand that swiped at him. “Hawks forwarded me the arrest report. Tremor ended up going for a plea deal?”

“Yeah. Sold out the extras that helped him gather the hostages,” a forceful click of the keyboard; Bakugo slaps the spacebar to wake his monitor and makes clear his disapproval. “They went too fuckin’ easy on him,” he sneers. “Deserved a longer sentence”.

“As long as they’re off the streets,” Shouto muses. He isn’t one to hold a grudge against villains who’ve harmed him, but he can understand his friends' frustration. Had it been Bakugo or Midoriya, Shouto too wouldn’t be so quick to accept this outcome.

The gentle light flooding through the office windows recedes a fraction as a dense cloud covers the sun. His visit to the Blast Zone is but a blip of time, cut short by the foreboding ring from Bakugo’s emergency pager. He’s up and moving immediately, routine woven into him like muscle memory, and Shouto can’t help feeling jealous.

Under the door to his office, Bakugo clears his throat. He cocks his head toward the impending rain, “You need me to have someone drive you home?” And appears to regret it right away as Shouto smiles up at him, touched by the suggestion.

“No, thanks but I’ll be fine,” he waves off. Bakugo departs with a grunt, demanding he take an umbrella from the receptionist, because who doesn’t check the weather before they leave the house. The thud of his work boots reverberate off the walls as he disappears around a sharp corner, and Shouto shifts in the residual silence.

He takes out his phone as he pushes upright on his crutch; a habit rather than necessity. You haven’t messaged him since before your paths crossed—though you wouldn’t know that. He sighs. A niggling guilt has burrowed into his chest but it remains largely outweighed by his impatience.

Employees greet him on his short journey to the lift he arrived in. Bowing their heads, evoking his name with appreciation and awe while he’s scanning the space for signs of you. It’s a fruitless affair. Coming up short he steps inside, frown etched into his brow, and presses the ground floor button.

The speaker alerts him that the doors are about to close. He turns on his heel, leaning a hand on the support bar. Looking up from his shoes his eyes fall on your figure. You’ve stepped out from one of the closed off rooms, thumb tapping away at the phone in your hand. Shouto swallows, watching his own with trepidation.

Sensing a heavy gaze your eyes flicker to meet him at the last second, contact through the crack right as it shuts. He can hardly think. If this were a scene in Quirky Hearts he thinks he might just cast aside his dignity and sprint up the fire escape to confront you. The mere idea has heat simmering under his skin; it makes him want to fold himself into singularity. Shouto, a top five hero, a sword without ire.

Waiting dutifully, the receptionist hands him an umbrella from behind the staff desk. He squints at her name tag, muttering “Thank you, Akiyama-san” while he tucks the umbrella under his arm, deigning to mention the murky blueish blush that floods her skin, those pupil-less eyes shimmering. Shouto pulls his mask up over his nose, breath warming his cheeks, and takes a moment to observe the street.

Throngs of people scurry along the pavements to get away from the unforgiving chill. Raindrops can become a thousand paper cuts when the wind wills it. Afternoon starters amble into the lobby with wet shoulders. In his departure nobody so much as looks his way.

Sooba ▻ Hope you didn’t forget an umbrella today. Stay warm.

His thumb stopped mid-air, right above the “send” button. Sparing a lasting glance to the upper floors, Shouto quickly presses it, pockets his phone and opens up the umbrella. Stepping into the storm white noise fills his ears, tapping harshly on the PVC canopy over him.

Shouto tugs his jacket closer to his chest. The pavements are soaked, water fed into the uprooted cracks. He threads through the moving bodies back toward the station. With the streets overcast he feels better concealed.

A train is already waiting at the platform, decorated in yellow. The colour identifies it as a slow running train, taking the local stops route rather than the rapid one. He hides in his collar and stands in the corner of the carriage, umbrella collapsed and hooked over his wrist.

Six stops later—rather than three—and Shouto is closer to home. In the time it took to reach his street the rain had thinned out, now a sparse sun shower as the clouds pushed eastward.

Nori yells accusingly the very second his key slots into the door. He turns the lock and pushes it open, holding out his foot to keep her from rushing past. “I know, I know. I’m sorry sweet girl,” he scratched her head while bent to line up his shoes. “I missed you too. Bakugo said ‘hi’”.

She mewls and circles in place on her delicate paws, flicking her tail at him. Shouto takes it as forgiveness. “I think I met someone special today,” he recites to her, “The one I told you about…”

Stopping in the middle of his warm apartment, Shouto becomes unbearably aware of how damp his clothes are. He fishes his phone and wallet out from his pockets and sets them on the kitchen island before padding toward the bathroom.

A thorough rinse and long soak later, Shouto sprawls himself across his couch, phone laid on his chest and arm hung loosely over the edge while Nori plays with his fingers. She clings to his forearm as he cups her full belly, lazily dragging her back and forth across the floor.

He’s sipping on the mouth of his water bottle, mindlessly watching as Aki-or-something begs for Saeko-or-other to take him back after going on a date with another contestant, when your messages come through on Enigmail.

InsertNameHere ▻ Guess what happened today ▻ Saw Pro Hero Shouto at work. ▻ I think he might hate me? lol

Shouto inhales sharply, choking on his mouthful of water. Tears prickle behind his eyes as his diaphragm spasms, and he tries to catch his breath, fist thudding at his chest. Oscillating between mortification and delight—it really had been you.

Sooba ▻ Why would you think he hates you?

InsertNameHere ▻ I left an awful impression. And he looked at me like this (⊙＿⊙’) the whole time.

Heat burns at his nape; embarrassment spilling over into every crevice of his body. The air around him distorts and he exhales, steam curling from his lips. Nori watches on from the floor in fascination, sparing no sympathy. Maybe Bakugo had a point.

Sooba ▻ Maybe that’s just his face.

InsertNameHere ▻ Maybe… ▻ It is a pretty face though. Prettier in person.

Shouto feels all the air deflate from his body. He sinks into the couch, head lolling against his shoulder as he turns to press a grin into the cushions, gripped by a sudden rush of endorphins. It had been you. You’re real. More importantly, you are attainable.

Now did he want to do anything about it?

Sooba ▻ You think so??

The typing dots bounce along the chat room border as you reply.

InsertNameHere ▻ I know so. I was there. Beautiful even when he is staring right through me (￣ロ￣lll)

The memory of you speaking his name echoes like a broken record. He has yet to tire of it. Though he’s lightheaded and hazy, your features are still clear in his mind. The sure fire in your eyes, your sharp tongue and your pouty lips. A slow, warm tension trickles into his gut, swooping in anticipation and breathless longing as he imagines the face you might make if he touched you.

Sooba ▻ That’s presumptuous. He was staring at you. Why wouldn’t he be

InsertNameHere ▻ I. ▻ You’re so unfair you know that ▻ If you were here I would

His breathing picks up ever so slightly.

Sooba ▻ What would you do with me

InsertNameHere ▻ Are we veering into sexting territory right now

Sooba ▻ Unintentionally.

Shouto shifts his hips. The movement pulls his sweatpants tighter around his hips and a familiar tingling rushes below his waist. When was the last time he touched himself? He brings the phone to his forehead for a moment of clarity, peering up at the screen through his eyelashes.

InsertNameHere ▻ Is this the part where we come full circle and you actually send me a dick pic

He tucks his chin, a lazy smile playing on his lips. The gentle throb in his briefs pulses throughout his body and he answers, reaching to squeeze himself through the fabric, just for relief.

Nori sneezes. He falters, reminded of her presence and overcome by the urge to cover up. Proverbial tail between his legs, Shouto retreats to the privacy of his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. Evening filters in through the windows, mauve and rosy. He kneels on the bed and it yields under his weight, frame silent while he crawls to the headboard and reclines back, phone in hand.

▻ Shit, sorry. I was joking you don’t have to do that if you don’t want to

The message goes over his head. He opens the front camera and stares back at his flushed, disheveled face before tilting the device, angling it toward his body.

Frosted fingertips trail up his stomach and it jumps, laying the hem of his shirt across his chest. Down again to the fine dark hair below his belly button, goosebumps rising across skin, blood rushing to the surface. Hooks his thumb suggestively into his waistband, hand splayed across his hip, and takes the photo.

Sooba ▻ [IMG_628] ▻ I want to

Shouto. Shouto. Shouto. Abuzz with salacious apprehension he wonders what would it sound like above him? Under him? Breath knocked from your lungs, whining through the motions. He traces the outline of his clock. Covers his eyes with the crook of his arm and releases a shuddered breath, hips rising into the heel of his hand. A hand too big to be yours. Sweatpants pushed halfway down his thighs he pictured it anyway—you laid on your side, at his side, loose fist stroking him root to weeping tip.

Shouto thumbs at the head, smearing precum over his sensitive frenulum. Panting heavier, he squeezes his cock and wonders, would you tease him? Lick into his mouth and tell him not to be quiet?

The phone in his hand buzzes. Anticipation grips his heart. He almost drops it on his face when he squints up to read the screen.

InsertNameHere ▻ Fuck. You’re so gorgeous ▻ I can’t concentrate

Sooba ▻ You like it?

InsertNameHere ▻ I’ll show you how much ▻ [IMG_447]

Heat races through him. You’re in a loose tank top, touching yourself over pale boyshorts. The dark straps have fallen around your shoulders in an almost demure manner, collar slipping forward to reveal the soft cleavage of your chest. You’ve mirrored his position, albeit a little higher, enough for your mouth to be in frame. Wet and rouge, if he thinks hard enough he can imagine he left them kiss bitten.

Sooba ▻ I want to touch you

He’s desperate to know what you like. The way you want to be touched, how you might yield under his wandering hands. Patterns dance behind his eyelids as he reaches to knead his pecs, pinching the pert nipple with a breathy moan. He smooths over his abdomen, corded muscle tensing beneath the added sensation, arousal coiling hot in his belly.

InsertNameHere ▻ Touch yourself for me instead, yeah? ▻ Gonna think about you too

“Fuck,” he chokes. Shouto loses his phone amongst the sheets. Feet planted flat to the mattress, his knees spread until the waistband protests. “Please. Please. I’m so close,” he whispers to the image in his mind. His pace stutters, feverish as he fucks his fist. Your lips brush soft along the column of his throat to feel him swallow. He turns into the pillow, mouth parted for heaving breath.

“That’s it Shouto. So beautiful for me,” you’ll murmur, so at home in the crook of his body. Amidst the desperation you’ll straddle his thigh, rhythm synchronized, chests rising. Your hand—his hand—slips further, fingers curled to press up behind his balls. He’s on fire. “Cum for me, baby. Let me see you cum”.

Shouto’s head tips back into the plush of his pillow, every muscle clenched. Pleasure rockets through him. His cock twitches in his grasp. He cums with a strung out moan, breaking into short, wet pants as he catches his breath.

Riding the gentle aftershocks, his arm falls heavily to the side and hits his bedsheets with a quiet thud. The smell of old petrichor blows into his room with the draft draws his attention to the darkened window. Streaks of gold sunlight peak between the buildings across the street where it settles under the horizon.

The stickiness between his fingers is difficult to ignore. Drying steadily on his chest. Reality returns to him slowly as he stares at his soiled hand. After cleaning himself up with the wipes in his bedside table, Shouto tugs up his sweatpants and rubs at the pink splotches leading up his throat. With clarity comes a vague haze of shame and he is loudly alone; something vibrates and he is anything but lonely. He lifts his head, rummaging through the sheets to find his phone.

InsertNameHere ▻ Want you to feel good ▻ You there baby? ▻ Sooba? ▻ Hm. That’s not the sexiest of names

Shouto laughed through his nose. Endeared by your awkward jump from flirting to nervously making up for a perceived misstep.

Sooba ▻ sorry can’t multitask ▻ shouldnt make fun of your house husbands name

Exiting his bedroom is uncomfortably close to a wall of shame. He drags his feet; gait unsteady for far nicer reasons than a near career ending injury. Nori has acquired his spot on the couch, retaining warmth in his absence. She observes him, all knowing.

InsertNameHere ▻ No capitalised letters? Punctuation? What have you done with my Sooba lol ▻ How are you feeling?

Sooba ▻ really good. sleepy

He wanders to the kitchen and dithers over his next message, leaning his forearms on the cool countertop. This fleeting, unintended conversation could change everything and that fact is starting to nag at him.

▻ what about you

InsertNameHere ▻ I feel really good. And sleepy <3

The implication is not lost on him. He chews his bottom lip, flustered at just how pleased that makes him.

The next burst of chat bubbles appear in an instant, one after another. Typed hastily as though to outrun your own apprehension.

▻ Can I ask you something?  ▻ Did you mean it when you said you’d come to the event with me? ▻ I have a plus one. I want to see you. But you don’t have to 

Shouto swallows. Tugged between elation and fear. You’ve become all he yearns for and you could be just that, his, yet he panics all the same. Heroism had consistently been his lacquered shield. An excuse for his self isolation that people had to begrudgingly accept. Working himself to the bone afforded the luxury of never having to dwell on it. 

Exhaustion aside he was content with the humdrum life he hid behind. Before you, Shouto rarely wanted for anything. He had his family, and good friends, and a job that felt rewarding; it didn’t seem worth it to lay himself bare and be dissected on the off chance that someone new might love him. 

Because hectic work and risks aside, he’s profoundly aware of the ghosts he has yet to conquer. That somewhere, there is something fundamentally different inside him that you might find disappointing. 

Unthinkingly, Shouto grapples with the courage in him existing on the fringes and replies in much the same way you had. 

Sooba ▻ I meant it. I want to see you too.  ▻ I’d like to go with you  ▻ Don’t worry about a plus one. I’ll meet you there 

InsertNameHere ▻ Wow, okay. That was easier than I thought. I’m so excited  ▻ And super nervous

As it turns out the impending date motivates Shouto like nothing before. Days pass without fault or interruption. The man-shaped dent in his couch rises without the constant weight. He sticks closely to the routine his physiotherapist drew up for him. Walks longer distances and soaks up the sun daily, to Tsutomu’s great delight. 

Too wrapped up in his own coalesced anxiety and elation, he realises he hadn’t found it remotely odd that you hadn’t questioned his ability to get into the auction. 

His train of thought is interrupted by a firm hand coming down on his shoulder. “Man of the hour!” A familiar sharp toothed grin blocks his vision. Shouto clenches under the sudden weight to keep himself upright as Kirishima gives him a shake, “We missed you around here. You’re looking good!”

The charity event is in full swing. An anticipatory lull permeates the atmosphere as the chosen guests, heroes and civilians alike, wait for the auction to finally begin. Shouto arrived fashionably late, as Mina called it, after spending nearly three hours on a group call with her, Yaoyorozu, and his sister. 

The applause upon his entry had not been expected. His palms are still clammy. 

Compared to Shouto's charcoal three piece suit, tailored to precision, Kirishima dons a charmingly loud burgundy blazer over a dark turtleneck, pulled together by a simple chain. The material is tight across his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Kirishima,” Shouto smiles. He looks him over, “You look good too”. 

That signature grin grows weary. “You really think so?” Kirishima lowers his voice into a hush, tugging at the loose hair framing his face. “I wasn’t so sure about tying my hair back. What if nobody bids for me? I’m dying inside just thinking about it”. 

Shouto turns away from the sea of vibrant clothing and chatter to pat his friend on the arm and level him with a serious look. “A lot of people are going to spend money on you tonight, Kirishima. But in the impossible event that they don’t I’ll bid on you myself,” he tells him. “We can go to Mythoscape and try that new rollercoaster”. 

“Bro…” Kirishima’s eyes are wide and glassy. While Shouto expects the firm hug, he is mildly surprised by the long, dramatic kiss to his cheek. His breath smells faintly of white wine. “You’re the best,” he continues as he sets Shouto back on his feet. “But is it really okay for you to do that?”

A flash goes off. Shouto frowns. He scans the crowd and rubs away the wet mark left behind. Yaoyorozu catches his attention with a delicate wave from her place beside Kendo and Uraraka. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asks, smiling back, yet distracted. You’re still nowhere to be found. 

“Well,” Kirishima draws breath through his teeth. “Bakugo kinda told me about your crush on his PA,” whatever he sees pass over Shouto’s expression has him sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and scrambling to explain. “Nothing bad, man! You know he actually seemed pretty approving of it, in his own way”. 

The evermoving mass of bodies sharpens around a few other familiar faces. Midoriya is excitedly gesticulating as he rambles to a visibly overwhelmed HSPC shareholder. Bakugo watches the interaction with no intention of concealing his amusement. 

“I’m not sure about that,” Shouto rasps, narrowing his eyes at the man in question, like the pressure behind it might be enough to elicit his attention. Bakugo of all the people here would know where you are. The phone snug in his inside blazer pocket remains silent. A pout works its way onto his lips before he can stop it. “He said I’m bad at flirting”. 

Kirishima stifles a laugh and clears his throat when Shouto directs the petulant glare to him. “You are a little bad at it. But only when you’re actually trying! And even then that’s part of what makes it charming, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know”. 

“You’re the type to flirt without realising you’re doing it—or atleast people think you are, because you’re handsome and attentive and whatnot. But when you try it’s kinda obvious and bro, please stop looking at me like that,” Kirishima explains clumsily, tone pitching higher the longer he talks. 

Shouto’s lips thin as he tries to suppress a smirk. He rights himself as Kirishima nudges his side, catching a smile of his own, “What I meant is you have a chance. And Bakubro thinks so too. He wants you to be happy”. 

The sentiment warms him from the inside out. But it also makes apparent something trepid and cold in his gut. Regardless of his friends unfettered support there remains the real possibility that he will be rejected. That you will be disappointed or scared away by his status. That you could do as you please with the intimate parts of his life ‘Sooba’ gave you.

Scarier is the hope that you won’t.

“I’m going to get a drink,” Shouto announces, noticing Endeavor prowling around in his peripheral vision. Kirishima’s brow furrows, mouth parted in confusion, no doubt seeking to reassure him. “I’m okay, Kirishima. I just need something to do with my hands”. 

“Alright,” the taller man murmurs. Shouto finds himself at the end of a gentle smile once more. “Make sure to say ‘hi’ to Denks if you see him. He misses you too”.

“I will,” Shouto nods, ducking away from the inexpressible tenderness that has clung to him since stepping into the hall. People part to allow him through. His left leg has already begun to feel weak, not enough to worry but enough to notice, and he hopes he can later blame his gait on the alcohol. 

He reaches the bar and wrinkles his nose at the thick amalgamation of perfume, body odour and over-applied cologne. The bartender slides up to him. “Umeshu, please,” he says. “On the rocks”. 

Another body settles beside him. He shifts to accommodate them but doesn’t look; too distracted as he inhales deeply through his nose and exhales long out his mouth to allay his beating heart. Pulling his phone out from his inside pocket, the screen lights up and he finds it void of messages. 

After the… sexting, things had been fine. Better in a lot of ways. You both felt emboldened to truly act on your feelings. Sharing more pictures, secrets—though never your names—and laughter.  It is disconcerting that you would now go silent. 

The bartender sets his drink down and Shouto quietly gives his thanks, bringing it to his face, briefly caught in the soft glimmer, cubed ice submerged in liquid gold, tasting the sweet aroma at the back of his throat. He tips it back and drinks. 

As the glass hits the surface once more, the person next to him softly asks, “Are you waiting on anyone?” 

And his mouth goes dry. 

You’re bracing on crossed arms, watching him closely. Speckled in the warm low light reflected on the bar, you are more beautiful than he remembers, and just as nervous. There’s an air of uncertainty about you that shifts as your eyes meet, faint but palpable, encouraged by what he can imagine is the wonder on his own face. 

Shouto wets his lips. The plum taste lingers on his tongue. “…I might be,” he murmurs. You brighten at his reciprocation, a more charged kind of nervous—the kind that swoops low in your belly right before you take a leap. 

“If I’m wrong don’t laugh and don’t tell Dynamite,” you turn to face him and smooth your hands over your hips. This allows him a better look at your attire. Silken fabrics that form gentle lines around the waist, loose but elegantly so, not in a way that the clothes wear you. 

Your eyes dipped low, averted to avoid his stare. He cannot seem to direct it anywhere else. The auction has fallen away in its entirety. As far as Shouto is concerned there’s only you. 

“It’s me. And you’re…Sooba?” 

The tremble in your voice shrikes through him and it occurs to Shouto that you have always been the brave one.

He leans into your space, enjoying the way you quickly draw breath at his proximity, forced to meet his gaze. Rather than something remotely suave or cool, he dumbly asks, “You knew?”

Part of him wants to tuck his shoulders to his ears as you begin to laugh. They’re warm, undoubtedly red. Amusement is not at all what he prepared for. He thought this might all end up in his scrapbook memory, to be taken out and pined over now and then. 

“Shouto-san with all due respect, you came to my workplace with your very recognisable crutches and stared at me like a deer in headlights”. 

“Shouto,” he says. 

Your laughter simmers, “Hm?”

“Just call me Shouto,” he tells you, equal parts relieved and embarrassed. 

“Shouto,” you smile at him with a fondness that derails his thoughts. He has the vague urge to whine when it wanes. “I’m—I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. I swear I didn’t know until after you visited the agency. It all made sense after I looked up your socials and saw some old pictures of Nori”. 

“It’s alright. I knew and didn’t say anything either,” Shouto inclines his head, abashed. Then with a sudden sharp sort of clarity, he continues, “So then you knew, when you asked for a dick—?”

Words evade him under the warm press of your hand as you quickly cover his mouth. You glance around the room, closer than before, and you don’t seem to realise. Cautious, he touches your waist; he puckers his lips to kiss your palm; he feels your stomach jump under the silky fabrics. 

Your eyes darken, swallowed by pupil. “You’re a menace,” you simper, and reluctantly pull away. “Maybe we should talk about this somewhere with less…cameras”. 

Umeshu abandoned, Shouto wraps an arm around your lower back and allows you to direct him through the crowd. You weave through the moving bodies like thread through a needle, at one point reaching behind to take his wrist, becoming his tether.

Bakugo meets his gaze from across the room. His eyes flit to you, widening in surprise. Shouto flashes a boyish grin before disappearing through the side door. 

The door you choose next opens to a private bathroom. Shouto surges forward, taking you by the hips and crowding you against the bathroom counter, overcome by the need to feel everything that you are pressing into everything that is him.

He kicks the door behind him and settles in the clutch of your thighs as you scramble to balance on the marble edge. Your hands slide over his shoulders, splaying over each cheek. You’re both breathing heavily despite having done nothing at all.

“I said talk,” you remind him with a tremulous smile. Shouto knows you’re being playful. He apologises anyway; rests his head in the crook of your neck, letting the moment simmer, and you comb through his hair with your fingers. A shiver rolls down his spine. 

“Did you know it was me? Before you came to the agency, I mean”. 

He reclines from his crook to look at you. Eye level, silhouetted by the cheap bathroom luminescence. “When I saw you in there—and put it together I was so scared,” you continued. 

“Scared?” he echoed with a frown, knuckles brushing your cheek. 

“Not like that. I was scared of what you might think,” you turn into his caress and his pinched expression falls away. He can’t stop touching you and he can’t bring himself to be sorry about it. “I mean, I looked terrible that day, and you appeared out of nowhere and I wasn’t mad it was you. I was just…”

You swallow thickly, emotion swelling in your eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners. “You’re so big and bright. I didn’t want you to be disappointed”.

You were unaware of it—the profound cord you struck within him. How even in anonymity, your incorporeal fingers always seemed to find it. Even now, as you echo his own fears. 

“Momo first mentioned you might work for Bakugo. I didn’t know before I saw you that day. I still wasn’t certain until tonight”. You peer at him through your lashes then, listening intently. He brings your foreheads together and tells you, “There is no way you could’ve disappointed me”. 

“Oh? I could’ve been a villain”.

“My oldest brother was a villain,” he monotoned, wandering hands squeezing intermittently at your waist as though to make sure you’re still there. “My capacity for love and forgiveness knows no bounds”. 

You snort. The sound is abrupt and the force knocks your skulls together. “Oh—ow,” he grins, insides melting. Together you dissolve into a warm fit of laughter. 

“Hey, Shouto?” 

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes fluttering as your thumb swipes over the red mark below his hairline. “I like you,” you murmur. “I like you so much it’s stupid”.  

Plunged into an ice cold realisation, Shouto freezes to process your words. “You—like me?” 

“Yeah?” you said it like he was dense, like it was clear all along. “I can’t help it when you’re so…yourself”

And isn’t that all he’s ever wanted? To be loved without pretense, without a winner. To be special to someone for no special reason. 

“Oh,” he breathes. “Me too. I like you. I want—” his fingers flex at your hips, grounding. He blinks. “I don’t know your name yet”. 

Affection colours your features. Shouto likes you best like this—sure of yourself, of his feelings for you. You recite your name. He repeats it endlessly in his mind and rolls it around his teeth. He calls to you even when you’re right in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you now?” 

“You were waiting?” you laugh, tucking his hair behind his ear. It’s such a novel thing but it makes something monumental swell in his chest. “Kiss me. I want you to”. 

Given permission, Shouto traces the curve of your jaw with a bold shyness, from the sensitive skin below your ear to your chin. His finger hooks beneath. You’re lovely. He thinks he could spend an hour describing your demure half smile, how your lips yield under the light pressure of his thumb; your tongue darting out reflexively. 

He shakes at the desire that fills him. He’s not used to it—this wanting. It feels like a thousand insatiable butterflies in his chest. Dipping into your magnetism, his heart beat faster and faster with the simple brush of your lips. He kissed you, innocent and honest, and then he kissed you again, licking the seam of your mouth, arms coiling around your middle as you cling to him. 

You tip forward. Your thighs clench at his waist and drag him impossibly close. It brings you chest to chest. He tries to hold you steadfast as your hand wraps around his nape, softly scratching his scalp; he feels you smile against his lips when he shudders. 

You break for air. Arousal shoots through him at your half moan, the sound tapering into a happy hum the instant his lips trail down your neck, tasting your pulse before making his way down to your exposed collar. He peppers kiss after kiss on every swathe of skin he can reach, sinking teeth into every little reaction you give him. 

Big hands at your lower back arch your body into his. You yield, tension sapped from your limbs, grappling his shoulders to keep yourself from falling while you grind down on his lap. Shouto groans, grip slipping lower to cup your ass. 

“We’re getting carried away,” you gasp between kisses. That alone was obvious. His cock strains uselessly in his suit pants. But the light glints tantalisingly along your mouth, swollen and wet with saliva. Shouto kisses you again so you won’t have to tell him to attend to his responsibilities. 

A warm breath scores his cheek as you huff through your nose, nipping firmly at his lower lip. “I mean it. I am technically still at work,” you try again, voice lacking strength. “Dynamite will knock on every door in this building—don’t wrinkle your nose, you know I’m right”.

“Alright. I know,” he rasps, barely an exhale. It takes all his willpower to pull away. He steadies you on your feet, smoothing out the creases in your formal attire while you are quite pleased to simply watch on as he adjusts himself in his pants. “I’m glad my suffering is funny to you”. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” you murmur, pecking the corner of his mouth. “I'll hide with you in the corner like I promised I would. We can make up for lost time after the auction. You know. The one for charity”. 

Shouto hums and reaches for the door, knowing you’ve won. “Oh. I told Kirishima I’d bid for his date night,” he recalls as he turns the handle. “Would that bother you?” 

“Of course not baby,” you reply and take one last look at your reflection, less disheveled than before. The endearment ‘baby’ almost has him walking into the doorframe.

You straighten up. Shouto thinks he must look incredibly dumbstruck, if your concerned expression is any indication. “You okay?” you ask, proffering your hand. “You didn’t bring your crutches tonight, did you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” he intertwines your fingers, dizzy as you squeeze around him. 

“It’s just a tremor”. 

[luvsymai]

I loved your fic where reader and katsuki die I was wondering if you could do a I sorta guess like a part two with people finding them I don’t if you write that kinda thing so sorry if you don’t! -anon🐛

The Final Spark 2 ; Katsuki Bakugo

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x GN!Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Major character deaths, …

<- Masterlist

<- Part one // Part two

___________________________________

The battlefield, once a place of heroic dreams and ambitions, was now a desolate graveyard. Smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. The devastation was complete, and the silence was suffocating. Among the ruins, the remaining heroes scoured the area, looking for any sign of life, any flicker of hope amidst the carnage.

Izuku Midoriya, his face etched with exhaustion and grief, moved slowly through the wreckage. Every fallen hero and civilian they encountered tore at his heart, but he kept moving, driven by a desperate need to find his friends. His heart sank deeper with every step, his mind refusing to accept the worst.

It was Kirishima who found them first. His usually bright eyes dulled with sorrow as he called out to the others. "Guys, over here," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Midoriya and the others rushed to his side, only to be met with a heart-wrenching sight. Their friend, Katsuki, laying motionless on the ground, his arms tightly wrapped around you. His face, usually so fierce and determined, was softened in a final act of protection and love. You both looked peaceful, as if sleeping, but the blood and the stillness told a different story.

"No... no, this can't be," Midoriya muttered, falling to his knees beside his childhood friend. Tears streamed down his face as he reached out, his hand trembling. "Kacchan... please, wake up..."

Kirishima's face contorted with grief as he knelt next to Bakugo, his hand gently resting on his friend's shoulder. "He fought so hard... they both did," he said, his voice breaking. "He... he never gave up."

Even though Katsuki was mostly rude towards them, they knew deep down inside of him, that he was fond of them.

Ochaco Uraraka, standing nearby, covered her mouth with her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Bakugo was… Bakugo was holding her…" she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of sorrow and bittersweet warmth. "Even in the end, they were together."

Midoriya gently tried to pry Katsuki’s hold on you, but it was locked in a death grip. "He's... he's holding on so tightly," he said, his voice shaking. "We... we can't separate them."

Shoto Todoroki, his usual stoic expression replaced with one of profound sadness, knelt beside Midoriya. "We won't," he said quietly. "They'll be buried together, just as they should be."

The heroes worked in silence, carefully lifting the entwined bodies of Katsuki and you. Every movement was filled with reverence and sorrow, the weight of the moment pressing down on them. As they carried you both from the battlefield, the reality of their loss settled heavily on their shoulders.

Back at the makeshift camp, the news spread quickly. The other heroes and civilians gathered, paying their respects to the fallen. There were no words to express the depth of their grief, but their silence spoke volumes.

A funeral was held shortly after, a somber affair that brought together friends, family, and comrades. The sky was overcast, as if the heavens themselves were mourning. Katsuki and you were laid to rest side by side, his arms still wrapped protectively around you. The gravestones, simple yet poignant, bore your names and the legacy of your bravery.

As the ceremony drew to a close, Midoriya stepped forward, his voice breaking as he spoke. "Kacchan... you were always so strong, so fierce. You never backed down, never gave up. You were our hero.” He took a deep breath in. “And (Name)... you’re the kindest person I’ve ever met, you were quick to jump into action. You had a heart of a hero. You stood by his side through everything. Your courage and love were a light in this dark world. We'll never forget you. We promise to keep fighting, to honor your memory."

The crowd slowly dispersed, but Midoriya, Kirishima, and a few others remained, unable to leave just yet. They stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, their hearts heavy with loss.

Finally, Midoriya spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Goodbye, Kacchan. Goodbye, (Name). We'll miss you... so much."

As they walked away, the memory of Bakugo’s protective embrace and the love that bound you together lingered in their minds. It was a reminder of the cost of their fight, of the sacrifices made. And though their hearts were broken, they knew they had to carry on, for you, for Bakugo, and for the future you had both fought so hard to protect.

(A/N) Hope you guys like this! (Spoilers for KNY) I was kind of inspired by Mitsuri and Obanai for the death scene :)

<- Masterlist

<- Part one // Part two

[helluva-simper]

Headaches

It was almost the end of the day, and you were tired and wanted to go home and rest. You had a terrible headache and, guess who makes it worse.

"You old hag! When do I get to kick Deku's ass!?" Bakugo yells. "Kacchan, stop interrupting the class!" Izuku yells back at him. The two start bickering back and forth.

"Shut up! If I hear another word from you two, I will not hesitate to dismantle you both." You said glaring them down. Izuku nods with sweat rolling down his face and Bakugo mumbles, "Whatever."

The class silent and scared. Even Aizawa was surprised that it was even possible for you to get mad. When class over you thought you get some peace and quiet. You thought wrong.

As you were walking towards the exit massaging your head, Mina starts yelling, "Ms. L/n! Ms. L/n! Bakugo is trying to kill Midoriya again!" You make a loud groan. "Out of all days." You storming towards the room.

"Bakugo! Put Izuku down!" You yelled. You were beyond furious. He puts him down. "Oh shut up you old-" I push Bakugo back against the wall by his shoulder leaving your hand there. "Listen here. I would rather have to deal with Nezu for beating a student half a inch of their life, on school ground, then let you finish that finish that sentence. So how about you try that again.

Iida gets beside you and him. "Ms. L/n! I don't think this is really necessary!" Iida says with his frantic arm movement. You turn you head towards him. "Then tell me then. What is necessary?" You asked scary as fuck. He looks at you terrified as he backs away. "Does anyone else want to get on my nerves?!" You asked. Everyone backed away.

"Good." You said walking out while Bakugo was still scarred. You slammed the door behind you but you instantly regretted it as your headache got worse.

"Hey L/n-" "If you have a problem, go deal with it yourself." You said as you turned around to see All might a.k.a Toshinori Yagi. "Sorry. Sorry. I thought you were one of students." You apologized rubbing my temples. "It's okay, but are you okay?" He asks. You stop rubbing your head to give you thumbs up. "Perfectally fine. Just a minor headache." You said while your head said otherwise.

You walk away quickly before Toshinori could ask anything else. You walk to the teachers' lounge. and grab some ibuprofen. You walk to the to the gender neutral bathroom. As you were about to take your last pill someone screams, "HEY L/N!!!" Angry fills you as you drop the pill down the drain.

"Hizashi Yamada!" You said sternly still looking at the drain.

Hizashi was startled. "You really don't know how to shut the FUCK UP!" You push him out the way not letting anything stop you from getting home.

You spent a minute trying to get the key into the keyhole before you finally got into the house and plopped onto the couch.

When your adrenaline slowed down your body ached and your headache worsened. You just looked at the ceiling.

Soon you heard someone knock on the door. You wobble to the door.

"I just wanted to check on you, you seemed pretty piss-.... are you okay?" Aizawa asked. "No..." You passed out, falling into his arms. Aizawa was frozen for a moment before he went back on to the couch and laid you down on the couch.

------

You groan as you sit up. "You should lay back down. Don't want you passing out again." You heard Aizawa say. Without thinking you lay back down once you notice your painful headache.

"Now, tell me what happened." He demanded with a hint of concern. "Long story short, a minor headache turned into migraine. I attempted to take medicine but Hizashi's loud ass made me drop it." You summarized closing your eyes. He hummed in response.

He puts a hand over your eyes and bean to massage your temples. You left out a small, relived sigh relaxing into his hand. "How about we go take a bath and then I can make something to eat." Aizawa said as you agreed.

[yellowocaballero]

What's the bnha fic and why would it get you stoned by teenagers lmaoo

I think Deku and Bakugo should be equal yet opposite levels of completely fucking terrible.

ASJKLDF I was helping @bytebun spitball ways to make the Bakugo and Deku dynamic not badly written, and they were detailing some ideas and I was detailing others, and I eventually I was like 'like this?' and wrote this, and they were like 'yeah like that' and etc.

Look. There is an art and a science to writing shonen rivals. It is a clear and concise thing. Deku and Bakugo are not good shonen rivals. This is because they can live without each other. This is because they do not need each other psychologically. This is because they do not fulfill something that was missing in each other. This is because they are not the same person. This is because they are not two exact opposite people in every way. Go read Hikaru no Go and Naruto and get back to me on what an actual shonen rivalry looks like. This is why teenagers would stone me to death.

Literally only two pages of a fic under the cut but I personally do want people to know that this is MY hero academia.

A piece of paper teleported onto Katsuki’s desk. He stared down at it. He looked to the right, where Deku was grinning anxiously at him and pointing at the paper. Katsuki, staring him directly in the eyes, smeared his hand across the front of the page and set it thoroughly on fire. It burned to a crisp in seconds. Deku’s face fell pathetically, like bow-legged dog. 

“No quirk usage in detention, Bakugo!” 

“Deku was passing notes,” Katsuki said snidely, not taking his eyes off Deku. Deku’s big, wet, pleading eyes promised that snitches get stitches. 

Snipe sighed and went back to his VR game, hands twitching. “Just simmer down, you two.”

“Y - yes, sir, of course, I’m sorry!”

Katsuki did not lower himself to acknowledge a teacher. They waited in bloated silence until they were both certain that Snipe had lost himself thoroughly in the beauty of fictional marksmanship as a distraction from his real life marksmanship before making their next move.

Deku leaned over, whispering so quietly his mouth barely moved. “You punched me because you resent your mother.”

Jesus motherfucking Christ. Not this shit again. “Stop chasing me down with your goddamn psychoanalysis,” Katsuki hissed. “You can’t fix me.”

“Because you don’t need to be fixed! You just need to admit that you’re jealous of my own perfect mother’s nurturing parenting style and that you needed validation of your feelings instead of your achievements. You’re replicating your mother’s stunted emotional expression but you know how it prevents you from genuine connection.” 

“I’m not listening to this.” Katsuki powerfully refrained from listening to Deku or reacting. Deku waited patiently. Katsuki lasted around five seconds. “Rich talk from Mr. Daddy Issues, asshole!”

“Really, Kacchan? Playground insults?” Deku looked down upon him pityingly yet compassionately. He practiced that expression in the mirror. Katsuki had seen it. Deku tried convincing him that he was imagining things, and when his manipulative tactics failed against Katsuki’s iron will he pivoted to convincing the rest of the class of Katsuki’s discomfort with visible emotion. “I processed the trauma of my father’s abandonment and my internalized guilt over why he left. I came to peace with it a long time ago. I’ve realized the power of found family, Kacchan.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “You cried last week because you failed the practical exam and you thought All Might wouldn’t like you anymore.” 

“And I recognize the scars that remain.”

“You are actively wasting my life.” Katsuki picked up his slimy pencil and bent over his assignment, flexing his well-honed ability to repress Deku’s existence. “Go jerk yourself off with your therapy language someplace else, asshole.”

Deku sniffed, turning back to his own assignment. “It sounds to me like you haven’t realized the power of found family.”

For the love of - only somebody with daddy issues nattered on about found families. Katsuki was from a nuclear home and he didn’t need to speedrun emotional intimacy with every other emotionally damaged fame-hungry asshole in their pretentious little prep school. 

Katsuki leaned over, letting the pop and crackle of his sweat echo in Deku’s ears. For once, the sound didn’t make him cringe away. It just made him sit very still, eyes tracking Katsuki’s movements. Like a pathetic little wounded gazelle. As if. Deku was a lion playing at a wounded gazelle for sympathy, and he always had been. He would feed anything into the gaping maw of the perpetually hungry savior complex. Even Katsuki. 

“At least I know my friends like me for me,” Katsuki hissed. He’d never call them his friends to their faces, but - well, Katsuki had more than enough friends who liked him for his accomplishments in his life. He knew how to pick out the real deal. “Your life is a pretense and your personality is a mask. One little thing about you has defined your past, present, and future, and you are nothing but that one little thing. Deku.” 

Deku narrowed his eyes at Katsuki. “One could say the same about you.”

Yes, obviously, don’t remind him. “Yeah, but the people around me know it. So long as the people around you don’t know it, you’ll never really know if they like you or not. A friendship like that can’t be real. They don’t know why you’re Deku. I’m the only one in this class who knows nobody should trust a word you say.” 

But Deku just turned his head and smiled at him, and the smile was identical to every other smile. “By that logic, you’re the only real friend I have.” Katsuki opened his mouth indignantly. “What? Is your logic flawed? Are you wrong? Kacchan?”

Ugh! Fucking rhetorical traps! If he tried, he could probably think of another argument, but it didn’t seem like an important thing to argue. “We’re trapped in this stupid room for three more hours and I am going to actually explosion murder you if you don’t shut the fuck up.” 

Deku smiled, one of his little secret smiles - a little cheeky, a little sly. “Then we should learn to coexist. Tolerance is a beautiful thing.”

“If you’re trying to get me to stop punching you in class you should just say so. Or ask.”

“I have a packed schedule, Kacchan. I’m just trying to maximize the time in my day.” Deku bent over his assignment, pencil flying at light speeds and clearly dismissing him. His eyes flickered to Katsuki one last time. “Maybe I’ll find time to reply to Kirishima’s text requesting help in asking you out -”

Katsuki exploded, and both of their days were lost to another three hours of detention.

[platrom]

Long Distance.

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1608 words

NOTE: Yes, the continuation of “One Last Time” is being written. This is just an old draft I finished up while writing the second part of it.

This will likely have a second part if you guys want one. Enjoy. :)

TW: Reader is in America for an internship Midoriya is in Japan, mentions of cuts & bruises & broken bones, mention of being heroes, Izuku and the reader are dating since they were in UA, homesickness, mentions of Bakugou, everyone in Class 1A missing the reader, reader sleeping and waking up from slumber, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of worrying over reader, no specified gender for reader

“I wish you could see yourself like the rest of the world does.”

His tone is so soft, the pitch so low that the quiet affirmation barely reaches your ears. You teeter on the edge of slipping into a peaceful slumber, mind lulled to sleep by Izuku’s familiar and comforting rambling.

It reminds you of the nights you spent as heroes in training cuddled up to each other, talking aimlessly about the futures ahead of you. Both of you had been so buoyant and youthful, filled with life and freedom; it had felt as if you carry the world on your shoulders if you truly desired to.

That energizing passion and life that once burned brighter than the stars above is one you miss.

After you had become a hero and moved away to America for your final internship, it felt like that unfaltering blaze had been blown away, its embers lost in the darkness of midnight. The harsh reality of the world had finally settled— the Earth had chosen you as a subject to its excruciatingly relentless torture.

Everyday, you returned to your tiny apartment with massive splotches of purple and blue decorating your skin, deep and shallow cuts, and even broken bones if a pesky villain had gotten the upper hand against you. The cost of living was rather extreme; especially for such a compact and small apartment in an area where crime rates were fairly high and the smog clouded the once resplendent sapphire sky. The streets were packed with obnoxiously loud cars, rude drivers, nosy neighbors, and creatures that stomped on all greenery planted for the purpose of decoration or environmental reasons. However, the sidewalks were empty; nothing was in walking vicinity. All had to be done through some form of vehicle transportation, whether that be with trains, cars, motorcycles, or bikes.

You miss when you could walk down to your local grocery market to shop for household essentials. You miss the familiarity of Japan, the common sight of children, teens, and adults alike congregated in the wide streets traveling to their home, workplaces, or to the store. You miss the smell of sizzling street food in the air, the aromatic fragrance of decedent meals coaxing you to hand local shops wads of bills to taste the divinity of such meals. You miss walking hand in hand with your friends down the streets of Japan, giggling and chattering about the mundane parts of life and school.

Being homesick is a feeling you never expected to wash over you so gradually; it was one that you predicted to never even occur.

When you first left for America, waving at your family and friends, pure elation and butterflies streamed through your bloodstream, mind high off of adrenaline and the promise of a new land piled with opportunities and refreshing experiences. Not a sliver of doubt could be traced, only determination and naivety.

The things you would do to go back to Japan were unfathomable.

“We all miss you, even Kacchan does. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he always pays attention when your name is mentioned.”

The fuzziness of sleep plaguing your system slowly drains away, the once slowed beating of your heart picking up to a steady thrum. It wasn’t peculiar to hear Midoriya mention your former classmates or family and their welfare. Yet, he always abstained from explaining how they felt about your relocation; instead, he would inform you that they all missed you and couldn’t wait for you to return from America.

But to hear Bakugou specifically had been missing you? That was quite odd.

Throughout the entirety of the years you spent alongside Bakugou, he had never particularly paid attention to you. The minimal interactions between you both stemmed from academic assignments, group sparing sessions, or the basic verbal exchange in the common room for common essentials. You didn’t know him like Kirishima or Midoriya did— nor like the rest of his friend group did.

Alas, it appeared that long-term separation affects a person more than anyone gives it credit for.

“When I watch you on TV, (Name), I can’t help but get worried about whether or not you’ll be okay. It scares me to know I can’t protect you from villains like I could before. The possibility that I have to watch you die in front of my eyes through a screen is one that haunts me.”

Izuku had always been an honest and expressive man to you. He always communicated with you about his concerns, worries, and allowed you to voice yours.

This, however, was something you had never heard.

“I know how hard you are on yourself. I know that you push yourself to point that even when you have nothing left to give, you still find something to give.”

His voice cracks as he pours his heart out to you supposed sleeping self, the ends of his words becoming fainter and fainter in a poor attempt to disguise the likely tears that are forming in his jade eyes. Whenever Izuku cried while talking, a distinct trembling, a change in stability of his tone was audible to the ears. Even after all this time of being apart, you can still recognize his cues.

Though, Izuku had been right. As of late, you had been working yourself down to the bone; whenever you reached that breaking point, you merely ignored the reality and continued to stretch yourself thinner and thinner even when your body screamed against it. You had always been the type to do so, especially in your younger years.

Bad habits die hard.

“And I know as heroes it doesn’t seem like it, but we have a long life to live. Together.”

A shaky intake of breath is heard through the phone. He lets out a broken sigh.

“I love you, (Name). I love you a lot. And I know because of our distance and different time zones, you don’t hear it enough. But it’s true. I really do love you.”

It’s a tired confession, but it holds all the meaning and love that Izuku Midoriya possessed in his entire body for you. A faint warmth blossoms in your face and you clutch at your pillow in anticipation, unsure of what words would fall from his mouth next. The erratic pounding of your heart against your ribcage sends your face deeper into the cushioning of your pillow.

“I . . . ” he rustles on the other side and a few sniffles are heard. “I just can’t wait for you to come home. None of us can. So please come home soon, (Name).”

In your mind, you’re aware Izuku is reaching to close the line connecting you both. But you don’t want that.

Not now, not ever.

“Sleep well, (Name).”

“Izuku?” you call out tentatively.

But you’re too late.

There’s a beep that signals the call has ended and you’re left alone in the darkness with your thoughts.

Did he even hear you?

You wish you knew.

You really, really did.

#© platrom, plot / writing / banners & headers. do not repost, reblogs are appreciated! please consider leaving a comment and a heart! <3

[katsuizu-stuff]

A Hero and A Savior

As they grew up together Kacchan has always been seeing Deku for the person he is which made Kacchan bully him

Kacchan has always, ever since they were kids, seen Deku as a hero. Never once has Kacchan seen Deku as anything more than a hero. Which is why he says, “That bastard… doesn’t realize how special he is. Must’ve been part of his upbringing even now, where he’s advance so far.”

Which is also why he says, “But you don’t know… the first thing about Deku. He’s screwed up in the head. The guy never takes himself into account. Just says crap like “I’m fine.” All Might became the symbol of peace with the same mindset. So he won’t be the one to stop Deku.”

And guess what? Kacchan was right because that’s exactly what Deku did. “…He’s screwed up in the head. The guy never takes himself into account.” A extremely clear example of this is when Deku ran in to save Katsuki knowing fully well there was a high possibility Deku could have died.

“…Just says crap like “I’m fine.” And in these past few episodes all we seen Deku say is “I’m fine.” And yes just like All Might Deku has the same mindset because All Might was Deku’s favorite hero. A massive All Might fan.

Henceforth, it is why Kacchan bullied him, why he kept his distance, but then all of a sudden Kacchan wanted to keep Deku at arms length. Why?

Easy, because he knows Deku. He has known and has viewed Deku as a hero all along.

And what do heroes do? They not only win but they save. And the main reason why Deku wanted to be a hero was to save others. To put a smile on others faces.

And to further prove the point on this is when Kacchan said, “Make us, you All Might wannabe!”

And then y’all know that one quote Uraraka says, “Who will save heroes when they’re the ones in trouble?”

Look at what Deku sees when he finally hit his limit

Deku has always been looking at Kacchan. He kept his eyes on him, at the same time it was the same way for Kacchan.

And here’s the thing Kacchan says, “Keep your eyes on me.” Why would he say that? Because Deku has been advancing with OFA. Deku has been slowly leaving Kacchan behind. They became equals but at some point one will end up advancing just slightly more than the other which is why,

Which is why Deku finally ended up resting and closing his eyes because the one who hit the final blow and who catches Deku before he could hit the ground was Kacchan.

Kacchan and his presence are a safe and comforting place where Deku can rest, where Deku knows he can run to when he needs it. Kacchan is symbolically a home for Deku

[siflshonen]

there was a time where you said you were frustrated with izuku not understanding katsuki in the way he should’ve and how he didn’t deserve him

i was hoping so badly that he’d clean it up. tell his feelings and accept kacchan’s in return. 2 years later, and nothing really changed. my poor son :(

….

It is in Izuku that my disappointment in this manga squarely lies.

If he is what Kacchan wants to chase for the rest of his life, at least I know that he knows exactly what he is getting into. I know Kacchan’s devotion will never falter even when I think it might be better for everyone if it did. I can be at peace knowing that Kacchan is satisfied devoting himself to his dream of being a Hero and chasing after Izuku, and for his sake, I hope he is prepared for the real possibility that even if he “caught him”. he may have to come to the unfortunate realization that there’s nothing of substance there.

[crimsonredfeathers]

Nightmares

Bakugou Katsuki x gn!Reader

Warnings: cussing, curse words, mild gore

Word count: 699

🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤

"Shit!" Releasing a few more blasts from the palms of his hands, Katsuki kept propelling himself forward, a dark expression on his face. He could see the villain behind you that was getting ready to strike whilst you were trying to keep up with the attacks of a huge group of enemies in front of you. One more blast, and he would finally be able to reach you, to scoop you up in his arms and get you out of harm's way.

The moment he reached for you, screaming your name, you turned your head to look at him in surprise. Not a second later, you were gone, ripped to shreds in front of him, before the force of the impact pushed Katsuki to the ground a few feet away.

Katsuki jolted awake from his slumber, mind dazed by the cruel pictures that had accompanied his nightmare. His whole body was covered in sweat, hands trembling as he wiped his sticky palms on the covers. Teeth gritted and heartbeat racing, he barely dared to move his head to check on you. What if this wasn't just a very bad dream after all?

Slowly turning his head to the side of the bed you had claimed for yourself whenever you secretly entered his dorm room at night, fearful of what he might or rather might not be able to find, a breath Katsuki didn't even realize he was holding, escaped his lips in a short sigh. There you were, sound asleep right next to him. Tears of relief welled up in the corner of his eyes and spilled at the sight of your peaceful form.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered while he wiped the salty tears away with his forearm, sharply biting down on his bottomlip to stop more of them from falling. "Kacchan...?" Your tired voice reached his ears, questioning his behavior as you sat up, rubbing your eyes. "Are you crying?"

"N-no, of course not," he plainly lied to you, even though it was painfully obvious from the hoarse sound of his voice and the quiet sniffling. "Lying bastard," you muttered, laying back down into the comfort of his pillow. Holding your arms wide open, Katsuki followed your invitation, nestling into your embrace and snaking his own arms around you, holding you as tight as possible.

Whenever Katsuki woke up like this, you knew another nightmare was at fault. Ever since you had gained a nasty wound that had cost you three fingers of your left hand in a battle against some villains, an ambush attack that took you and the other students by surprise months ago, Katsuki kept replaying the incident in his mind, blaming himself for what had happened. After the initial shock had worn off, Katsuki had jumped to his feet, realizing you were alive, but your left hand had been torn apart. The doctors had done their absolute best, but the tissue of three of your fingers was left beyond repair, the other two possibly staying not only disfigured but stiff for the rest of your life. You knew he did everything in his power to protect you that day. You were still alive thanks to him. If he hadn't come that close to you, shouting for you, making you aware that something was off, you wouldn't have been able to avoid certain death by moving yourself out of the way. He barely spoke about this day and the nightmares that had followed. And by now, you knew better than to ask about what was obvious.

"Don't blame yourself, love," you whispered as you kissed the top of Katsuki's head, your unharmed hand soothingly brushing through his blond hair. "I thank you every day for saving my life, for another day I get to stay by your side." All Katsuki could bring himself to do was nod. "This won't stop me from becoming a hero alongside you, you know," you chuckled. You could feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. "Dumbass," Katsuki mumbled, sleep slowly taking over his exhausted body once again, "if you don't start to be more careful, I'll surely have you at my agency doing paperwork until you're retiring."

[cherryblossombombs]

Bkdk waking up in the hospital prompt. okay so here's the setting (story in progress):

It's a few days post war. SFO and AFO were finally defeated by bakugou and midoriya.

imagine seeing the general hospital, where all the pro heroes and students involved in that war are recovering from their injuries.

I can see Japan getting aid from other countries after people around the world watched the whole battle on TV. So there are pro heroes from other countries coming in to help repair all the damages that occurred in Japan.

Most of Class 1-A (I feel like they should be Class 2-A now) has woke up and are catching up with each other and talking to their families.

All Might, while in very critical condition, is stable, awake, and is expected to be able to move around in a couple days.

Everyone was in their own rooms to recover alone. All the pro-heroes, the teachers, the students and almost all of class 1-A

It's almost all of class 1-A, because 2 of 20 students didn't rest in separate rooms (bakugou and midoriya).

It was requested by Class 1-A for them to be together (I can see Aizawa telling the doctor who was going to put them in different rooms: "dont let these two ever be apart from each other.")

Bakugou and Midoriya were still asleep/resting from the war. They have not woke up since the end of the war. It's been a few days. Their friends/classmates/family all came in to visit them and hope that soon they'll wake up.

[Quick thought of inko just teary eyed and thanking mitsuki for her son being there for izuku, and vice versa with mitsuki lol)]

I would say it would take 7-10 days before one of them (katsuki) wakes up in the hospital bed.

When he wakes up he tries to remember everything that happened before he ended up here. I can see him suddenly remembering about izuku and he sits up frantically getting ready to get out his room and go chase him but---

he sees is izuku next to him in the other bed, still not awake.

Update: 8:25pm, a little bummed that I didn't get back to this message until like 4 hours later, but lets see what I can do

So after katsuki wakes up and sees izuku next to him, I can see him calm down (since he knows where izuku is) try to stand up from his bed and walk a few steps to the other bed.

He's just looks at his friend sleeping soundily. He looks so calm and peaceful, it's been a while since katsuki has ever seen a calm look on izuku's face.

Another image I can see is katsuki have a soft look on his face as he looks at izuku. He smiles a little and says to himself "we did it, izuku". As he said that I can see him gently bring his hand towards izuku's face and caress it.

While he was caressing his face, I can see izuku begin to open his eyes. He looks up and sees katsuki in front of him. (izuku thinking he died and went to heaven for a second because kacchan was so close to him and touching his face, lol jk)

Izuku whispering "kacchan...?"

katsuki cant help but tease him with "who else? what, you lost your sight nerd?"

izuku knows that he's teasing him and softly smiles. he's so relieved and happy that it's finally over. That some type of normality and stability can come back to everyone's lives.

That's all I have for right now. It would ended with a kiss but I need to figure out how to get to there first

[aromanticannibal]

may kacchan rest in peace

[bury-me-in-potatoes]

14 Days of MHA: Day 8—Title

My contribution for day 8 of @pikahlua's 14 Days of MHA challenge is a list of my favourite MHA chapter titles in no particular order. I know this is late lmao but I couldn't finish it for yesterday.

The Boy Born with Everything

Honestly, it's really interesting how this chapter title leads you to assume that Shouto's going to turn out to be some privileged kid who doesn't know the true meaning of hard work or something, but then it hits you with his Tragic Backstory™ lol. At the same time, it's not exactly wrong. It's an ironic title, that's for sure.

No, Knock it Off, Ida

This is just funny lmao. I like how there's this running gag of chapters being titled "some action, Iida", and "knock it off" sounds like he's doing something mildly annoying, when really he's trying to commit murder.

Yaoyorozu Rising

Momo's last name sounds really good combined with the "rising" thing lol and idk why, and I'm honestly kind of proud she was the first one to get a rising chapter.

Establishing the Bakugou Bodyguard Brigade

Again, this is just funny. I'm loving the alliteration at the end.

End of the Beginning, Beginning of the End

What a badass but also very ominous title! 95 chapters into a 400+ chapters manga series and we're already getting to the beginning of the end lol. But I do think it fits, because All Might losing the last of his embers really does mark the beginning of The End™.

Deku vs. Kacchan, Part 2

This title is one of my favourites mostly due to the actual contents of the chapter lol, but I guess it counts. Also I couldn't not add it to the list.

Bright Future

Haha. Oof. Rest in peace, Nighteye. I like the optimism of this title despite the depressing contents of the actual chapter.

Why He Gets Back Up

Another badass title! I actually really like the Endeavor mini-arc, since I'm pretty sure his fight against the nomu was where I started genuinely rooting for him. Endeavor might be a piece of crap, but boy does his determination and refusal to give in kind of hype me up as well lol.

Quaotic Quirkstravaganza

I'm pretty sure Horikoshi was just having fun with this one lmao.

That Which is Inherited

Another ominous title...which still sounds badass lol. Sometimes Horikoshi comes up with these really cool titles and other times it kind of feels like he jots down whatever comes to mind first.

My Villain Academia

!!!!!!! Simple yet effective. Good going, Horikoshi.

Interview with a Vampire

I'm like 85% sure this is supposed to be a reference to the Anne Rice novel "Interview with the Vampire", and I love it lol. It makes sense in context, and even without context you instantly know who the chapter's about.

Bloody Love

This kind of sounds like it would be the name of a song lmao. It's catchy.

All It Takes Is One Bad Day

Ominous, and very fitting. Sometimes things build up, and then the tiniest thing is enough to make you snap.

The Hellish Todoroki Family

I really like how the Todoroki family has this whole "hell" thing going on. Their chapters are called "hellish", Touya wants to dance with his father in hell, and in the end, Endeavor vowing to atone for his sins for the rest of his life is also said to be "hell". Also, Endeavor's quirk is literally called Hellflame.

I Wanna Be with You Guys!!

lmao. Poor Kaminari. Get this teenager off the front lines!!

Plus Ultra

The school motto is honestly pretty cool, and I'm surprised we didn't get it as a chapter title before.

Katsuki Bakugo Rising

How could I not put this here? This chapter is one of my favourites out of all the "rising" chapters, and I think it's a real turning point in Katsuki's character development.

Dabi's Dance

Very catchy. Also kind of iconic. The long-awaited Todoroki reveal that basically everyone saw coming...and yet it still took a lot of people by surprise! I feel like this title maybe took Horikoshi a little longer to decide on than others lol.

Threads of Hope

I love Best Jeanist, and I love his denim-related puns. Obviously the chapter in which he officially makes his comeback (not counting the end of the previous one) is related to fiber. Also, I think this whole "threads of hope" thing comes back later, which is pretty cool.

The Final Act Begins

Yet another incredibly ominous and foreboding title.

The Lovely Lady Nagant

Lady Nagant is, indeed, lovely. I know some people found her not particularly compelling, but I personally liked her.

Scars, Blood, Filth

This title sounds really cool lol, but it's also kind of gross. Every time I read the Dark Hero arc I wonder exactly how bad Izuku smells.

From Class A to One For All

I really like the "from x to x" chapter titles, and this one is no exception. They kind of evoke the image of someone making an earnest plea from the heart, which I think is fitting.

Wounded Hero, Burning Bright and True!!

The line "wounded heroes are always the scariest" is genuinely a pretty awesome line lmao, and so is this title.

Despite Everything...

DESPITE EVERYTHING...HE'S STILL...What a line omg. And it sums up Katsuki so well; even facing insurmountable odds, he never gives up.

Light Fades to Rain

This is probably my favourite chapter title in the entire manga. It's just so beautiful and poetic and fitting, and I wonder how long it took for Horikoshi to come up with it lol. I can't overstate how much I like it, and I'm so glad a chapter like this got such a nice title.

Full Moon

lol. lmao, even. I like how without context this chapter title is nothing super special, but with context it just becomes hilarious. Mirio deserves the world.

I AM HERE

What a chapter to end the volume on! I love the all caps—it makes it a lot more badass than if it was just "I Am Here". It almost sounds like he's shouting it as a challenge towards All for One.

A Girl's Ego

"Ego" is kind of an interesting word to use, since it's got pretty negative connotations, but I like it here. Is the girl in the title referring to Ochako or Toga? Who knows lol.

The End of an Era, and...the Beginning

I love how this seems like a callback to chapter 95's "End of the Beginning, Beginning of the End" title, but it puts a more positive spin on it. Chapter 95 was bittersweet, but this chapter is hopeful. It may be the end of an era, but it's also the beginning of a new, hopefully better one.

We Love You, All Might!!

I can't believe no one told All Might this in the actual chapter smh. He deserves all the love, and I'm so glad he survived.

History's Maddest Hero

LMAO. Ok, but Izuku really is kind of crazy. He defies society's expectations again and again, and I love him for it. I'm glad this chapter makes a point of saying exactly how weird his actions are, even though he's ultimately proven right.

We Are Here

Friendship™ truly is magic. It kind of seems like Horikoshi was determined to use "I am here" as many times as possible, in literally every configuration possible lol.

One For All vs. All For One

I really like that this title is a palindrome. It's very visually satisfying lmao, and it's kind of fitting that the chapter that concludes the final war gets this title. It really is the final confrontation between the two quirks, and the end of a decades-long war.

The Girl Who Loves Smiles

Ochako is the best. I love this aspect of her, and I'm glad it turned out to be the chapter title. It's kind of funny how the title is about smiles, while Ochako herself currently can't maintain her fake one.

[useless-sfw-fanfictions]

Izuku being really awkward around little!Katsuki at first...

He's never heard of age regression beyond Katsuki's rough and unyielding explanation and so he wasn't sure what he was expecting when he'd gotten the text from Katsuki.

pls help, am little an hungy

That was all the text said and so Izuku wandered to the blond's room and was prepared for anything. They had talked about it weeks ago and this was the first time Izuku has heard the other bring it up since then. Izuku really felt honored when Katsuki asked him to be the one to take care of him when he regresses, even when Izuku didn't really understand it.

"Hey, uh.. kiddo?" Izuku calls out more like a question than a greeting when he opens the door, quickly closing it behind him. He felt so unsure of himself.

"Aauh," Katsuki speaks, sitting on the floor next to his bed with his legs spread straight out in front of him and no shirt in sight. He has a stuffed dog in front of him and a plastic dinosaur toy in one hand.

Izuku isn't sure what to do with that kind of response, so he just trudges forward, "Heard you were hungry, do you know what you want to eat?"

"Aurghaha-ah-ah," Katsuki brings the plastic dinosaur toy up to his mouth and pops the head in past his lips, his drool making the toy shine in the light from the overhead lamp.

God, Izuku wishes they had talked about things a little more. He didn't exactly know what to do. He can tell that Katsuki is probably really young and so that would explain his inability to form coherent sentences.

Izuku sits on the floor, crossing his legs pretzel style, and watches Katsuki play for a moment or two.

Katsuki babbles a little bit more and eventually grows tired of the toy in his hand and crawls closer to Izuku. The green-haired boy sits perfectly still and waits to see what the little is going to do.

Katsuki ends up resting his head on Izuku's shoulder and hugging the stuffed toy dog that he has tightly. He hums a little to himself and presses his nose into Izuku's shirt.

"Awwe," Izuku coos, relaxing his muscles a little so it is a bit more comfortable for Katsuki.

He thinks that they are going to be just fine like this, and secretly wonders if this is the only time that Katsuki really lets himself want physical affection. It would make sense because this is clearly Katsuki being incredibly vulnerable and Izuku is, once again, struck by how honored he is to see this part of his long-time friend and person. He wonders what else the two of them can do the next time Katsuki wants to involve him with his regression, so he makes a note to talk to the blond when he is big again. He tries not to mumble too much of this out loud.

Things are calm and peaceful for a moment. Izuku brings a hand up to run through Katsuki's hair, "little Kacchan..." Izuku coos again softly.

Then Katsuki's stomach growls loudly and he whines a little, pressing into Izuku a bit harder.

Oh yeah, Izuku thinks. He still needs to find the kid some food.

They will smooth these bumps out eventually, he just hopes Katsuki will give him just as much patience in return.

[anjumstar]

Sand Lines Ch2, Wednesday

Read on AO3

rating: teen

pairing: bakudeku

word count: 11.5k/40.6k

summary: It wasn’t a vacation. It was only convenient that Katsuki’d managed to trick Miruko into thinking it was.

Katsuki doesn’t need a break. Post-war life has been peaceful. Too peaceful. So under the guise of a vacation, Katsuki heads to the American southwest, the only place where he can do the thing he wants to do the most: blow stuff up. Big time. And it’s all going to according to plan for about five minutes, until Deku comes along. They’ve barely seen each other since graduation last year and Katsuki could, should blow him up for getting in his business yet again. Instead, they learn about post-war life in the way they’ve done everything: together.

first chapter - next chapter

master list

Alamogordo, New Mexico

“Hnngh.”

Katsuki grunted as consciousness walked up to him, slow and heavy and unpleasant. It felt like someone was sitting on his arms, two someones. Two power-up villains. Probably D-listers, like everyone else, but they must be somewhat decent to have pinned him.

He’d been pinned.

A gasp escaped Katsuki’s dry throat as his eyes shot open, and his body shot up. And then the pain came crashing down on him. His arms felt like deadweights, fat dumbbells taped to his wrists and dragging them down, straining the muscles as they did. That was enough for him to remember where he was, despite the fact that he couldn’t see anything.

The room had one red light shining from a television, and the red digits of an alarm clock proving that it was just after twelve am, but they did nothing to illuminate the room. And out the windows was pure darkness. 

“Kacchan?”

Izuku’s voice was quiet and crackly—definitely just roused from sleep.

“Shuddup,” Katsuki groaned, trying to remember if they’d brought in his water from the car or if there was water in the room. He was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to drink from the tap.

“I bough’ you a cheeseburguh,” Izuku mumbled, and even without seeing him, Katsuki could tell that his face was at least half pressed into his pillow from how garbled his speech was. He wondered how late Izuku had stayed up after Katsuki passed out.

“Don’t want it,” Katsuki grumbled as he rolled off the bed. He’d never managed to get under the covers, evidently, and they were still tucked military-style underneath him. There probably wasn’t a single wrinkle on the comforter. He remembered that there had been a filtering pitcher next to the coffee maker, and despite its proximity to the toilet, Katsuki was going to make use of it.

Katsuki crackled a couple explosions in his hand to provide enough light to find the pull for the lamp on his bedside table. Even just that action awakened a new aching in his hands, but it wasn’t so different from what he’d felt any time he had to use his quirk a lot. The pain wasn’t all that bad, but they were stiff as hell.

The lamp barely illuminated past his bed, but it did light up the wrapped burger resting on his bedside table, cold and paper stained translucent with grease.

“It’s just McDonald’s, but they have a special chile burger here,” Izuku claimed, sounding a bit more awake. “I had one and thought it was pretty spicy.”

“Fine,” Katsuki said as he shuffled over to the water. A drink and a meal wasn’t a bad idea, since he’d completely missed dinner. But despite his best efforts to rehydrate, all that sweating and the dry, dry air had left him parched.

It felt amazing on his throat. Even with the filter, the water still tasted different from home, but damn, it had rarely been more ambrosial. Katsuki poured a cup for Izuku and placed it on Izuku’s side table. Izuku was sitting half up, looking at Katsuki as he circled back over to the burger. He snatched it, his room key, and then a pair of shoes from his bag.

“Where’re you going?” Izuku asked.

“Gonna let you sleep,” Katsuki answered, toeing on his slides at the door before stepping back out into the desert.

And shit.

It was dark out in a way that it never was in Musutafu. In the city, any door you stepped out of had a wall just a few meters away. Oftentimes, that wall had some kind of illuminated sign, and it almost always had a streetlamp or two just in front of it. 

Well, there were streetlights here, though fewer. There were neon signs, but more spaced out, though perhaps a bit larger. But there was so. Much. Sky.

And it was dark. In Japan, the sky was murky, like miso soup in a black pot. Slightly brown with only a few specks otherwise. Back at UA, there had hardly been a decent square of sky through all the trees.

But here. The sky was as dark as unconsciousness. The stars, plentiful as dreams. And brighter than Katsuki had ever seen.

“Damn,” Katsuki said, perhaps a little irreverently as the greasy paper in his hands crinkled. 

The burger was small, and cold, but now that Katsuki was standing, slightly more awake, he grimaced at the rumbling of his stomach.

It would have been better fresh. And warm. But damn. The tingle on his tongue wasn’t anything to write the curry places home about, but it was sudden and it was decent. And even a wimpy little burger was delicious when you hadn’t eaten since breakfast in the airport.

“Wow, it’s beautiful.”

A door squeaked closed behind him, and Izuku appeared beside Katsuki on the balcony. The wind swept his bed head and brought a chill to Katsuki’s arms. The temperature had sunk with the sun. Now it was pleasant out, if even a little chilly.

No one was out. Every once in a while a car would pass by, but there wasn’t a person to be seen outside but for the two of them. Not so much as a hero patrolling. It seemed this wasn’t much of a walking town.

“Gonna wait till the afternoon to go back to the Missile Range?” Izuku asked.

Katsuki clenched his hands on the railing. They were still creaky, but another day of training wouldn’t damage them. They’d just continue to ache a bit.

“Midday, yeah.”

“Maybe we could go somewhere in the morning? Before it gets too hot?” Izuku suggested.

“Ain’t nowhere to go here.”

“No, there are definitely places to go,” Izuku insisted. “There were lots of places on Google Maps.”

“Places worth going to,” Katsuki corrected. He’d be happy to eat a bite at some of Izuku’s Google Maps pins—a place this boring was bound to have some tasty food. The people didn’t have anything better to do.

“Someplace we can walk,” Izuku added. “Maybe someplace with hiking. There are mountains, right? There’s gotta be hiking.”

That wouldn’t be horrible. It’d be a leg workout before his arm and quirk workout.

“Maybe,” Katsuki said. “Pretty sure this isn’t your vacation, though.”

“I didn’t think it was yours either.” Izuku’s grinning teeth glinted in the starlight.

“Shithead,” Katsuki grumbled, pushing Izuku’s head away as he turned back inside. “Go to sleep.”

*

Alamogordo, New Mexico

The rest of the night had been fitful. Katsuki and his body were both men of routine, and his circadian rhythm didn’t like the time change any more than his bones liked the thick springs poking up against the supposed pillow-top mattress he rested on. He turned over, springs squeaking, only for Izuku’s voice to cut through the morning.

“I figured out how to add us to the register!”

Katsuki’s face was pressed flat into the motel pillow that smelled of the same dust that made up the rest of this dry, dead world. The room had blackout curtains, but the damn things weren’t flat against the wall and Izuku had already turned on a lamp. He had to lift his neck to grumble out: “What?”

“To the roaming hero register,” Izuku chirped, coming over to Katsuki’s bed and sitting on it, presumably to show Katsuki his phone. “Obviously neither of us can teleport, but we’re both really fast, so if anything happens in town, we’ll get the alert, and maybe we’ll get to handle the case. Or, at the very least, we’ll get to meet the local heroes!”

“Great,” Katsuki mumbled, rolling over and knocking Izuku off the bed. 

“Oof—Kacchan!” Izuku groused as he got back on the bed, forcing the phone in Katsuki’s nose. “I signed you up too, you just have to download this app and then you’ll get the notifications.”

“Why do I need the app when you’re stuck to my hip like a barnacle?”

“Well, I guess that works too, but you know…”

Izuku trailed off as he got a notification on his phone. A text reading Miruko: How’s it going?

Katsuki would have thought it was nothing. An annoying text by an annoying person, were it not for how Izuku immediately turned the phone away, the tips of his ears going redder than they already were from sunburn.

“Deku,” Katsuki said. Just that. And Izuku crumbled like a D-list villain.

“I’m so sorry, Kacchan, Miruko didn’t send me here just to catch you in the lie. She wanted me to make sure that you actually did take some time off, and didn’t just work the whole time, so it’s been my mission to make sure that you properly vacation, at least a little bit. I know I shouldn’t have lied, please, Kacchan, I’m sorry.”

Katsuki blinked. Izuku sniffled.

Katsuki laughed.

Here Izuku was, practically on his knees begging forgiveness for something that wasn’t half as bad as what Katsuki had done in the past. Not a fraction. Not close to the worst either of them had done, really. 

“Kacchan?” Izuku asked, looking up at Katsuki with those wide, stupid eyes.

“Honestly, I’m the idiot for not guessing that shit,” Katsuki cackled. “Call my bluff? If Bugs Bunny wanted to do that, she woulda done it herself just to laugh in my face.”

“So…you’re not upset?”

“The White Rabbit should be the one upset,” Katsuki continued. “Aside from maybe my parents, you’ve always been my worst enabler. She’s late, she’s very, very late.”

“Okay, I’m glad you feel that way, because,” guiltily, Izuku held up the car keys, “I’ve stolen these. We’re not going to the Missile Range today.”

Now that was a different matter entirely.

“The fuck?” Katsuki finally got out of bed, leaping up and making a lunge for the keys. Izuku easily sidestepped him. 

“If you managed to get these from me, I’m not even sure you could hold them in your hands, Kacchan,” Izuku said, slipping them into his pocket. He’d already changed out of his pajamas and was wearing an oversized pair of cargo shorts where the deep pockets alone were probably a quarter of his height. “I’m happy to train with you, but just because this is a good opportunity doesn’t mean I’ll help you overuse your quirk.”

“You’re one to talk, hypocrite,” Katsuki snarked, lunging again for the pants. If Izuku thought putting them there meant they were safe, he had another thing coming. “My hands are fine.”

And they were. They were stiff and sore, but they were fine.

“I know it’s hypocritical, and that’s exactly why I’m the person who should be saying it,” Izuku said, sidestepping again. If he really thought Katsuki was a threat, he’d bind him with Blackwhip, but he wasn’t even doing that. Bastard.

“Okay, if you’re the big man in charge, then what’s your brilliant idea?” Katsuki asked.

“I want to take a day trip,” he offered, holding both hands up in the air, like a criminal claiming giving himself up for surrender.

“Where?” Katsuki punched into his suitcase, searching for a tank top to tear over his head.

“Up in the mountains,” Izuku said. “Not hiking, we drive up there. It’s cooler, not so much sun, there are shops and food. It’ll be a break from the desert for a minute.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. Not being in the desert for even a moment seemed appealing.

“Fine. But if it sucks, I’m blowing you off the mountain and that will be my training for the day.”

*

Route US-82, Otero County, New Mexico

It was like he’d blinked and been sent to Hokkaido.

Obviously he hadn’t been, because he was still in an oversized SUV with an animal head hood ornament, and damn Izuku was driving in the left seat. But being dropped onto this steep hill of conifer trees after having been in the desert not one moment ago was disorienting in its own way.

They were on a winding road up a mountain, one of the many they could see clearly from anywhere in the Tularosa Basin, but everything that wasn’t a house or a cow farm or the road itself was filled with pine trees. Dark, viridian evergreens that provided the first speck of natural color that wasn’t brown or the damn sky that Katsuki had seen since his arrival on this side of the world.

“It doesn’t feel any better on this side,” Izuku said, white-knuckling it as the road corkscrewed up the mountain

“I don’t care, if you skid off the road here, you’d better be ready to whip out One For All to save us, otherwise I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“I would, Kacchan.” Izuku declared. “But it won’t come to that.”

“I’m serious. I remember learning with you, and of all our bad memories, that one’s definitely up there.”

Since the legal driving age was eighteen, it had been a part of the UA curriculum in their third year. It was an important skill for heroes, especially any who would be sent abroad. And Izuku—and most of their classmates—had been a nightmare at it. Katsuki, of course, had gotten top marks. Well, second behind Glasses, who drove the exact speed limit and nothing else.

“I’m keeping my skills sharp,” Izuku promised, narrowing his eyes with fresh determination, flicking his eyes between his speed gauge, mirrors, and back at the road. It was the same look he got when he was getting ready to spar, or planning a villain takedown, or anytime Katsuki punted a challenge his way. If he wasn’t punting it right back, he was swallowing it down, determined to do his best with it. 

Katsuki looked away, that expression making his fingers tingle more than they already were. 

“You better be, or else I’m taking those keys back.”

Izuku was never the best at something the first time he did it—as a kid that had always surprised Katsuki, who often was the best at something the first time out. But in high school, it became rare that Izuku failed at anything. There was no way he’d ever steer this car off the road, especially with Katsuki in it with him.

“Oh no, there’s a tunnel ahead. Check and make sure there aren’t any turns, Kacchan. I don’t wanna lose signal,” Izuku said as he white-knuckled the steering wheel.

“Turn where?” Katsuki grumbled as he checked the map anyway. The highway was winding, alright, but it wasn’t turning. It was more or less one road all the way up. “No turns.”

After Katsuki steadied the phone back in its holder, he stretched out his fingers, popping the knuckles, hoping to feel some relief in between, but it didn’t come.

It was only a short tunnel. The signal on his phone did dip, but that could have been from the altitude as much as the dinky tunnel. The town they were going to was apparently a good two-and-a-half kilometers above sea level. Katsuki’s ears had already popped once.

“Ooh, it looks like there’s an artisanal shop ahead!” Izuku said, catching sight of a weathered, handmade sign off the side of the road. It had a mascot with a giant apple for a head. “We should turn off!”

“Well, you’re the one who’s basically kidnapped me, so I guess we have to.”

Even as Izuku looked out the windshield, the constant array of pine making his eyes that much greener, Katsuki could see them soften into sadness.

“Not your funniest joke, Kacchan.”

Izuku’s foot must have fallen off the gas pedal, because their speed suddenly began decreasing rapidly up the incline. The car might not have been in neutral, but Katsuki wasn’t convinced it wouldn’t just decide to start going the way gravity intended anyway.

“If you really don’t wanna do any of this, I’ll take you back to the hotel, even back to the Missile Range,” Izuku continued, his voice low. It always fell so deep when he was serious, bright and high as bells when he was excited. “I know I’m supposed to be making you vacation, but I won’t make you do anything. I wouldn’t assume that I could.”

“You can’t,” Katsuki emphasized, putting a hand on Izuku’s knee and pressing it hard, trying to get him to depress the pedal. “Just hit the gas and keep going, and we’ll go to the apple frenzy, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

Katsuki pressed down harder. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Izuku put his foot back on the gas and the car revved underneath them, engine working overtime to get back up to the modest speed they’d been going.

“Okay, Kacchan.”

Katsuki took his hand back and settled back in his seat, arm crossed. He mumbled, “Next time you’re driving, I get explicit veto so that you don’t go and get confused.”

It only took a few more minutes and one hell of a sudden turn off to reach the shop that resembled an oversized cabin more than anything. It was made of wood, like it had been built from the very land it stood on. Perhaps it had been, for all Katsuki knew.

“Ooh, apple cider, pie, fudge!” Izuku exclaimed, reading the signage aloud like Katsuki was blind. “I’ve never had fudge before!”

“Yeah, sugar that sticks to your teeth,” Katsuki said, kicking the car door closed. “Great.”

“C’mon, it’s worth a try!”

They hiked up wooden steps and a wooden wraparound deck to the wooden shop, and when Katsuki stepped in, he was immediately disoriented. The smell was sweet. Auntie Inko’s hot chocolate sweet, first bite of birthday cake sweet. But in a land that wanted for everything but space, the shop was packed tighter than the smallest corner conbini Katsuki had ever seen. There were barrels—yes, barrels—of tchotchkes, collectibles, and novelty items. Somehow the middle of nowhere had sprouted a tourist trap. And worse than a tiny conbini, this place was packed with tourists.

“Deku,” Katsuki hissed, but Izuku was already on the move, following the sweet smell as doggedly as he’d followed Katsuki to this dried-out county.

The food area was the most crowded, so Katsuki walked the other way, looping between the racks of socks illustrated with chiles and aliens, the keychains with all the hundred most popular American names. The closest to Katsuki was Katelyn. He passed them right by, trying not to brush anything off their given racks and shelves with his broad shoulders. He’d never be able to find where to put them back.

There was so much red, white, and blue in the shop that he almost missed it. But there, among the American flag bandanas and American flag sunglasses and American flag beer koozies was a series of hero figurines. Mostly Americans, he assumed, but amongst the assault of capitalistic patriotism was a single All Might. In a cowboy hat. It was a good twenty-five centimeters and well painted. The hair wasn’t overly defined and the iconic smile wasn’t overdrawn or creepy. It was the good stuff.

Hell.

Katsuki looked back at Izuku, who was holding up a number on both hands as he ordered at the front of the food line. The checkout for the tchotchkes was on the other side of the store.

Fucking hell.

Katsuki snatched up the All Might, the feeling of gripping him by his tiny hat-clad head somewhat rewarding as he remembered being thrown into a building by the guy back at UA. And if there was a jar of pickled chiles that he snatched up on the way to the register, well, who could blame him?

“Kacchan, I got the fudge! Ooh, did you get something too?”

“I got my business, and the receipt said that it’s none of yours,” Katsuki said, trying to force down the heat rushing to his ears. He distracted Izuku with a swipe towards his pocket, managing to fit his fist into the gaping cargo shorts opening and snag the car keys. “My turn to drive.”

Izuku must not have seen any use in fighting, because he didn’t even try for keys. Even though Blackwhip would have been easy, even in the crowded shop. Not that Katsuki would have made it easy for him, but still, any fight Izuku wanted to have, he had.

Katsuki questioned his decision as soon as he turned the key in the ignition. Just that little bit of grip and fine motor control set off a twinge in his hand that was definitely ignorable, but not exactly good news either. Before he was even backing out of the parking space, Izuku was opening his paper box of treasures, and soon the car took on the scent of the shop. It followed them just like the sand and the dust and everything else in this town.

When they were pulled back on the main road and the GPS was set back up, the caramel scent grew even stronger as a cube of brown suddenly appeared in front of Katsuki’s mouth.

“Eat, Kacchan!”

Katsuki recoiled, knocking his head against the headrest. “Hey, I’m not eating anything I don’t know!”

“It’s fudge!” Izuku repeated, as though that held hardly any of the relevant info. Ingredients, nutrition info, flavor for Pete’s sake. Though, even out the corners of his eyes, Katsuki could see it was chocolate. “C’mon, Kacchan, it’s vacation. The point is to try new things. You not brave enough to try strange American food?”

Katsuki gripped the wheel until his joints creaked. He was being played. Izuku wasn’t above it, and he’d used it enough on Katsuki for him to have caught on ages ago.

But damn if knowing the trap’s right in front of him was the same as avoiding the trap.

“Good luck using Air Force again when I bite your fingers off with it.”

“A risk I’m willing to take,” Izuku said as he held up the chocolate to Katsuki’s lips.

Izuku was nothing if not devilishly fast, so Katsuki didn't get more than a graze of his teeth against Izuku’s thumb and forefinger as they quickly retracted from his mouth. And then his teeth sunk into the thick, rich, sticky fudge.

“It’s horrible,” Katsuki said immediately. “Like an American movie in a mouthful.”

“Impossible to choke down with how sweet it is?” Izuku asked, popping his own piece in his mouth.

“Exactly.”

“Mm, it’s not very good,” Izuku agreed. “It needs pop rocks or chili flakes to be like the movies you like.”

“Or some TNT,” Katsuki said, doing his best to swallow. Honestly, some cayenne probably would make it better. Some matcha, coffee, charcoal, anything to make it a little less sweet. If Katsuki could get his hands on that kitchen, he could make it fan-fucking-tastic for anyone who had a more complex palate than an American child. “Gimme some water.”

Izuku grabbed Katsuki’s bottle—the cooler was still in the back, full as if they were going to train—and opened it for Katsuki before handing it over. Even just gripping the bottle didn’t feel great, so Katsuki kept the third knuckles of his fingers from wrapping completely around the body. When the sickly sweet taste was mostly washed from his mouth, he thrust the bottle back at Izuku and scraped his tongue against his teeth to clear the last of the flavor away.

“Kacchan, give me your hand.”

“Hah?”

Katsuki turned away from the road to catch Izuku looking at Katsuki firmly, one of his own hands outstretched. Izuku reaching out. He fell straight into the well-worn memory that image provided.

He stared at Izuku long enough that the car’s right tires hit the rumble strips on the side of the road, saving Katsuki from running off into the mountain’s cliff face as he fisted both hands on the wheel. But it didn’t matter, because Izuku reached further anyway, wrapping his index and middle fingers under Katsuki’s wrist.

“Loosen your grip,” Izuku instructed as he began pressing into the tendons, rubbing in a small circle.

“I’ll loosen the grip your neck has on your skull.”

“Kacchan,” Izuku said patiently. “Your hands are overworked. It’s obvious. I’m just trying to massage the tension out of the muscles a bit.”

Slowly, silently, Katsuki slipped his right hand off the wheel, resting on the console between the two of them. Izuku’s went with it, his thumb creeping up and pressing into the heel of Katsuki’s palm like he was inking his thumb print firmly for a crime.

It took more than a little control for Katsuki to keep his groan behind his teeth. It tasted torturously sweet with the hint of fudge still resting on the back of his tongue. The ache that worked under Izuku’s thumb was too strong for such a small muscle. 

As Izuku continued, Katsuki’s hand warmed up in his. No sweat, no threat of ignition of course, just the warmth that built between two bodies out of nothing. The skin-on-skin contact that saved lives in the cold, even with no other heat source. It ran a flush up Katsuki’s neck, steaming out the top of his ears. When he had to pull his hand away for a hairpin turn, Izuku let go, and the warmth went with him.

And the new cold followed Katsuki to the tip of the mountain. When they parked and Katsuki stepped out of the car, he shivered.

“It’s fifteen degrees,” Izuku said, tossing Katsuki a flannel from the back of the car.

Fifteen was nearly half what it had been in the valley, and though that wasn’t especially cold at all, the temperature difference was a shock. The cloud cover overhead was thick and dark, exerting its oppression over the town that had dared build up so close to it.

“What’s there to do here?” Katsuki asked as he eyeballed the wooden buildings forming a row of establishments. It looked like a strip mall that the second little pig might have built just before the big bad wolf blew it down. Or maybe just after.

“Shopping, I guess,” Izuku said, swinging on his own jacket. “There are supposedly a lot of artisans up here.”

Once UA had returned to something resembling normal after the fall of All For One, and the place was no longer locked down or being used as a shelter, Class A had been encouraged to go on outings. To return to teenagedom by going to the movies, out for lunch, to the mall. Unless a really good food place had been on the itinerary, Katsuki had skipped them all, and never once regretted it. 

His apartment had no art in it. He didn’t want any. There wasn’t any room in his suitcase for it, and he damn well wouldn’t be doubling the price of any art piece by having to pay for a second suitcase to lug it to his 1DR apartment.

“Um, those windchimes look nice?”

Katsuki followed Izuku’s gaze and he couldn’t have stopped the scoff from escaping his lips if Izuku had slapped his lips shut with One For All 100%. Trust Izuku to find the most garish thing and match it to his aesthetic. One of the log cabins claiming to be a shop had giant copper windchimes hanging out the front with huge panes of stained glass dressing them like costume jewelry.

“Your taste is as stupid as your inability to keep a damn secret,” Katsuki said. “If you wanna go back to the March Hare and tell her you vacationed the shit outta me, it’ll behoove you not to let me blow my brains out in a crafts shop.”

“Okay, noted,” Izuku said, looking around in a circle. “There’s supposed to be good barbeque here, but it’s too early for lunch…”

He completed a full circle and then began walking a couple steps forward, squinting at the shops labeled The Bear Print and Old Stump Mall. If they’d been dropped in the middle of a paddy field in the Japanese mountains, it would have felt less rural than this place.

“There’s, uh, hiking?” Izuku finally offered.

“Thank God,” Katsuki said, opening the car door again to grab a hat and his water bottle. “Let’s go.”

There were a number of paths offered around the town, and none of them were crawling with people, at least not yet. It didn’t seem as though people necessarily had to get out early to beat the heat in this town. So they chose one equally as pine-filled as the rest, and after only a few meters into the woods, they’d left the neighborhood behind entirely.

The air was crisp up there. Not quite as dry as down in the valley, and Katsuki wasn’t thirsting for water every second. But where it was cold and pleasant, it was also thin. The kind of thin that made your chest as heavy as it made your head light. But the plodding thump of his heart made him feel good, like he was working harder than he was. 

“I can almost imagine I’m back in Japan,” Izuku mused as he touched his hand to a tree. “It’s not so different here.”

“You didn’t have to come out here if you were just gonna get homesick,” Katsuki said.

“I’m not homesick,” Izuku protested. “And besides, I wanted to come.”

“Not just trying to score points with Bunnicula?”

“No,” Izuku replied, quick and sharp as a branch snapping underfoot. “No, I just…haven’t spent time with you in so long. And if I could also play a part in you having a good time while you were here, yeah, I wanted that too.”

There was no memory that stuck out in Katsuki’s mind as the moment that spending time with Izuku had changed from an annoyance to innocuous. Maybe even something to look forward to. Perhaps when a year of your time together is spent preparing for and battling in a war, it simply stops mattering. It cleans the slate.

“But I think I overestimated myself,” Izuku continued, looking at the rocks, at the canopy of needles above them. His eyes nowhere near Katsuki. “I don’t know what to do here. Or at home. What do you do with just…time?”

Katsuki said nothing. Began breathing a little harder out of his mouth as they continued forward, Izuku’s pace increasing with each step.

“I don’t shop. I don’t play video games. I don’t do sports or garden or fish. I’m a hero!” Izuku exclaimed, his voice an ax against the trees.

“And what do you do when you’re a hero and no one needs saving,” Katsuki finished for him.

“I volunteer,” Izuku replied, as though it had been an actual question. “I watch the news, I analyze other heroes. I follow up with the people I’ve saved, and I follow up with the villains too, but…none of that is here.”

They came to a clearing. A cliff’s edge where none of the trees below had grown tall enough to block the view. Yet there were still eyefulls of sky, all that blue from the valley replaced with thick clouds full of the water the mountain stole from the desert below. It was the side of a hill with endless hills beyond, dappled with endless trees on endless land. The desert was nowhere in sight.

“That’s where you’ve disappeared to all year?”

“I haven’t disappeared, have I?” Izuku asked, sparing Katsuki a glance. “Maybe I have. I’ve been trying so hard not to disappear.”

“Yeah, well, you did.”

Maybe Katsuki had disappeared a bit too. Eijirou was always nagging him about being more social, but that had been the case even when they’d all lived together. Besides, if there weren’t more jobs to do, there was always more training. Time in the gym and in sims and working other minutiae like reflexes, cognition, attention, memory. To be number one, he couldn’t let any of that slide.

But what did it even mean to be number one in a world that was safe? 

“I don’t know either,” Katsuki offered, voice falling off the cliff. “It’s like my arm is always wound back for a punch, but there’s nothing to hit.”

Izuku chuckled, the sound magnified in the open air. “Never thought I’d find something Kacchan doesn’t know.”

Nobody teaches you how to take a vacation. How to have time off. Maybe more than not wanting a vacation, Katsuki just didn’t know how to have one.

“Don’t get smug about it,” Katsuki retorted. “Not like you know either.”

“I’m gonna learn,” Izuku said, and suddenly, he was sitting down on the rock, legs dangling over the sheer edge. “Come. Kacchan, sit.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Katsuki said, walking to Izuku’s side but remaining on his feet, arms crossed.

“Does your hand feel a little better?”

Katsuki stretched both hands out, feeling a bit more creaking in his left than his right. He popped a couple light explosions with his right. Any louder and in this country, someone would think he had a gun. The explosions were easy, natural as ever. But they still stung between his knuckles, deep in the bones, even with the massage.

“Right’s my dominant. Might just be handling it better.”

“Kacchan.”

Izuku’s hand was out again. Katsuki didn’t even have to look at him to know.

“It’ll be easier to train tomorrow if you do.”

Reluctantly, Katsuki let his hand slip from his ribs and dangle by his side. He didn’t sit, didn’t even look down at Izuku, but the warmth that came when Izuku took his hand contrasted against the rest of his body and sent a shiver down his back. There was a panicked voice in the back of his head shouting this wasn’t what they did, this wasn’t what they did. But Katsuki stomped it down and focused on the physical sensations. His muscles loosening and coming back home to him.

“You said we were hiking,” Katsuki grumbled as Izuku grasped each finger one by one and pulled it firmly. His ring finger gave a delicious pop at the base joint and felt more open than it had since before the flight.

“We’re doing nothing for a minute,” Izuku said. A glance down showed his brows furrowed in concentration, as though it took most of his focus to remember.

“I didn’t agree to that.”

But he stayed anyway.

[selene-19]

Victory and Peace

Written by: Selene

Our battle and you are not around

Our war and I can't hear a sound

This body is now giving it all

This heart I can't barely control

Can't feel I am now a mess

Can't breathe I want to rest

Please, I am now out of time

Please, I need a bit more time

Your hand I yearn to hold

Your hand is now long cold

Hey, can I still keep up?

Hey, will you ever wake up?

Your grief when I suddenly left

Your death I could never accept

The shattered heart inside I can't feel

The rage and pain inside I can't seal

All Might will you sign my card?

All Might why is this so hard?

God please hear me, he is in agony

God can't stop me, I'll change destiny

You are the win, when I lose

You are the save, when I lost

My hero whom I badly need

My hero wait and we will succeed

The hero who I aspire to be

The hero who inspires me

Izuku, you are my peace and harmony

Kacchan, you will always be victory

My contribution to the bkdk community. It's been a long time since I've written a poem. So I apologize for any errors. Rhyming words are challenging. Also I wish I could think of a better title but my head hurts 😅😂 It just these two inspire me so much to write again so I wrote a poem dedicated to them and there you have it 🧡💚

Bonus: I really want to add these two lines but it just not sit right to add it to the poem. But they are both the ☀️ and 🌙 to each other.

Like the sun that gives warm and light. Like the moon that gives tranquility at night.

[roguesenses]

maybe we are not meant for the perfect ending @ofdetonation !

The beach was quiet, but in the best, most relaxing way. Izuku sank his toes into the golden sand, reveling in its warmth. UA kids were given some time off - they all deserved it after everything they had been through. Most were occupied playing beach volleyball, while others went off exploring. Izuku was told to stay close to the shore until his remaining injuries healed while one or two of the others kept him company at all times. They didn't need to, and he had reassured them multiple times that he was fine, but his classmates were capable of being very stubborn when it came to taking care of him. They were worried about his mental state, you see, because the war had taken something very precious from him - One for All.

In a way, it was the perfect price to pay for peace. One for All was always meant to defeat All for One, so it made sense for them to take each other out in the end. Izuku was quirkless again, but he didn't mind, because he was able to protect those he cared about and restore his loved ones' smiles.

Still, his head felt empty without the previous users, and every so often he got a sinking feeling in his chest like he was missing something. For the first few nights, he couldn't sleep, and that turned out to be a good thing, he supposed, because otherwise, he would have missed out on some important conversations.

Izuku leaned back, resting his head against Katsuki's shoulder. The blond was either too preoccupied with cutting up the watermelon to shake him off or decided this was grudgingly allowable after what they discussed.

His eyes slid from the bridge of Katsuki's nose, down his neck, then fixated on his chest. This wasn't allowable and should he stare a few seconds longer, he'd probably get barked at. Izuku had been doing that a lot lately, weirdly finding himself staring at Katsuki's chest, eyes searching across the smooth skin without understanding exactly what he was looking for. Was something missing there?

Stop it. Izuku internally nudged himself to calm down. The war was over and everything was set to right, so he must stop feeling restless as if something was wrong still. Was this PTSD? Maybe he should talk to someone after all. They did hire that nice new counselor with a soothing voice...

As Izuku's gaze shifted, he spotted someone in the distance. Tattered clothing, bruises, and blood. This person did not feel like he belonged on this beach of serene beauty and laughter.

"Kacchan?" He sat up, puzzled. "But..." Kacchan was sitting right behind him. How could there...be two?