a striding step towards me

The high-tech lounge in the Top Ten heroes' temporary viewing suite hummed with subdued energy. Multiple screens projected different angles of the U.A. Sports Festival, the roar of the crowd filtered into a pleasant buzz. Hawks, slouched in a sinfully comfortable recliner, was ostensibly "networking" and "scouting talent." In reality, he was enjoying a rare, sanctioned moment of downtime, a bucket of premium chicken wings in his lap and his signature visor tipped back on his forehead.

"Ugh, this year's batch is so serious," grumbled Mirko, kicking her feet up on the low glass table, her muscular frame a study in contained power. "All grimacing and trying to look cool. Where's the fun? Where's the showmanship?"

Hawks chuckled, lazily plucking a feather to fetch another soda from the mini-fridge without getting up. "Not everyone can have your particular brand of explosive charisma, Rumi. Some of us have to rely on good old-fashioned, marketable charm." He flashed her a grin, which she answered with a mock-scowl.

“C’mon, show me something with guts! All this running and shoving is a warm-up at best.”

“Patience, Rumi. The good stuff’s in the combat rounds. First years are all raw potential and no technique.”

The first-year cavalry battle had just concluded, and the screen was replaying highlights. Hawks’ eyes, trained to process high-speed movement, were casually tracking the ebb and flow of quirks. And then, during a slow-motion replay of a tight maneuver, he saw it.

A flash of light. Not explosive or harsh, but a clean, radiant burst that formed a solid, golden disc under the feet of a stumbling teammate. The camera panned, and there you were.

Hawks’ chewing slowed. Then stopped.

You were beaming, not with the fierce grin of victory, but with a pure, unadulterated smile of relief that your teammate was safe. Your white wings—almost angel like—gave a little, happy flutter as you helped her up. The sunlight caught the edges, making them seem to glow. You said something to your teammate, your expression soft and encouraging, before turning, your smile turning playful and determined as you launched back into the fray, not with aggressive strikes, but with clever, shielding maneuvers, using hardened light to deflect attacks and create platforms.

"Hey. Bird-brain. You're dripping."

Hawks blinked. Mirko was staring at him, a smirk playing on her lips. He looked down. A spot of barbecue sauce had fallen from the forgotten wing in his hand onto his flight suit.

"huh," he said, intelligently. His eyes snapped back to the screen. They were showing a close-up of the top teams. You were laughing at something your red-haired and sharp-toothed teammate said, your head thrown back, eyes crinkled with joy. You looked… soft. Bright. Like a personification of a sunbeam.

Professionally, a dozen synapses fired at once. Wings. Flight-capable. Likely similar muscle groups, similar aerodynamic principles. Rescue applications are immediately obvious—light generation for dark environments, hard-light constructs for instantaneous protection or stabilization. High maneuverability shown in team battle. Public-facing demeanor: excellent. Non-threatening, approachable, "safe" aesthetic. Marketability: through the roof.

Avian-ly, his brain short-circuited into a single, static-filled shriek.

FLEDGLING. Must guide. Must shelter. Protect. Teach. Provide.

Hawks slowly sat up straight, Mirko noticed. “Mnhm. Rescue play in a competition. Bold. Or stupid,” Mirko commented, but there was a hint of interest in her tone. “Pretty wings, though. Looks like a discount you.”

Something deep in his chest, something ancient and avian, gave a sudden, hard lurch. Yes, please, assume she is related to me in some way, she will be soon.

He subtly cleared his throat, forcing his taloned fingers to relax their sudden, possessive grip on the armrest. "What a kid, she's from the 1.A class, right? Eraserhead's?"

"Oh, her? Yeah, that's one of Aizawa's" She hummed, crimson eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion at her laid back and lazy friend's sudden interest. "She's cute as hell, too. Got a real rescue-hero vibe. Not a brawler, but she's got spine."

Cute. Yes. Cute was the tip of the iceberg. You were… utterly adorable. The way you tucked your wings in when you concentrated. The little hop-skip you did when your team secured a good position. The gentle pat you gave a defeated opponent from another class after the match. It was a sweetness that felt radical in the high-stakes arena. It wasn't blinding or naive; it was a gentle, resilient optimism that shone through every action.

His professional detachment evaporated, replaced by an intensity that had Mirko side-eyeing him with growing amusement.

The one-on-one battles were an agony and a delight. Every time you were on screen, Hawks’ wings would give an involuntary, minute shift behind him. When you used your light to create a dazzling, disorienting flash to gain an advantage, he muttered, "Smart. Non-destructive." When you formed a complex, interlocking shield to weather a powerful attack, he leaned forward. "Good structural integrity. Instinctual."

You were fighting, yes, but you were also performing, bringing a sense of wonder to the brutal contest.

“Show-off,” Hawks murmured, but the word was coated in a thick layer of sheer, undeniable fascination. His feathers, usually so precisely controlled, were subtly fanning and refanning, a sign of acute, agitated interest.

When you lost your final match, placing 6th overall, you did so with a gracious bow and a smile that, while disappointed, held no bitterness. You shook your opponent's hand, said what looked like "Great fight!", and then turned to the stands, waving to the crowd with both hands, your wings giving a cheerful, fluttering wave behind you. The camera caught a group of young children in the stands absolutely enraptured, one little girl pointing and crying out, "Angel! Mama, look!"

Mirko let out a low whistle. “Okay, kid’s got style. And control. That’s not beginner-level finesse.”

“No,” Hawks agreed, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “It’s not.”

He wanted to swoop down into that stadium, right then, and herd you away from the noise and the scrutiny. He wanted to check those pristine white feathers for damage, to preen the disarray the fight had caused. He wanted to puff up his own wings with pride at your 6th-place finish, because you’d done it your way, the kind way, and still soared so high.

And he didn't even know you!

It was overwhelming. It was ridiculous. It was, as his human mind weakly protested, a stupid bird-brain reaction.

He became intensely aware of Mirko’s knowing stare burning into the side of his face.

“So,” she drawled, a wicked grin spreading. “The Angel Hero, huh?”

Hawks cleared his throat, forcing his wings to settle from their agitated, half-spread position. “The… what?”

“That’s what that little squirt called her. Fits, doesn’t it? With the wings and the glowy, nice-girl act.”

“That’s what the commentators are calling her. ‘The Angel Hero.’ Fits, doesn’t it? With the wings and the glowy, nice-girl act.”

“It’s not an act,” Hawks said, too quickly. He internally cursed. “I mean, the control of her quirk suggests intense focus and a peaceful disposition. It’s congruent. Authenticity is key for public trust.”

“Yeah, yeah, save the PR spiel for the Commission, Bird Boy. You’re practically vibrating. You wanna go down there and tuck her under your wing right now, don’t you?”

Hawks ignored the heat on the back of his neck. His eyes were glued to the screen where a post-match interviewer was now talking to you. You were nodding enthusiastically, your gestures animated, your smile so bright it rivaled your quirk. You mentioned something about “doing your best” and “hoping to make people feel safe.”

Stupid, stupid bird-brain. She’s perfect.

"I'm requesting her," Hawks said, his voice casual but leaving no room for debate.

Mirko snorted. "For the one-week agency trial? You? Mr. 'I-work-better-alone'? Since when do you babysit?"

"It's not babysitting. It's strategic investment!" he said, the words flowing easily as he constructed the professional facade. "Her quirk has staggering synergy with mine. I can teach her aerial combat, flight efficiency, and maneuvering in ways no one else can. Her rescue potential is off the charts. And look at her." He gestured to the screen, now showing a replay of your wave. "The public loves her. Kids already see her as an angel! that's a trademark! Do you have any idea what the merchandise on that is? The positive press? The Hero Commission would cream their suits. 'The Winged Hero' and 'The Angel Hero.' It's a PR goldmine."

He was talking fast, his mind racing ahead—training schedules, media introductions, customizing a corner of his agency for a intern, what brand of feather-oil would work best on luminous white primaries…

“Uh-huh. And the fact that she’s a cute, smiley, little chick who makes light flowers and you’ve already decided she’s your new baby bird in your head has nothing to do with it.”

“She’s by far the best pick! Flight-capable, rescue-focused, high public approval ceiling. My agency could offer her specialized training no one else can. Speed drills, aerial combat, feather—er, flight dynamics. Plus, she’s photogenic. Could take her to magazine shoots, build her brand early. It’s a sound investment.”

Mirko was staring at him, her red eyes seeing right through the corporate spiel to the man beneath whose wings were now held in a tense, slightly puffed-up position. She saw the way his eyes had tracked you across the screen with a focus usually reserved for high-speed villains. She saw the barely-contained… proprietary energy.

"You're so full of it," she laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "You saw a cute little birdie with pretty wings and your stupid bird-brain went 'MINE.' Admit it. You want to preen her and feed her and teach her to fly in circles around your big, fancy agency tower."

Hawks met her gaze, his own golden eyes wide with a mixture of defiance and pure, unvarnished instinct. “…The merch would be cute,” he conceded weakly.

Mirko threw her head back and laughed, a loud, booming sound. “I KNEW IT! Oh, this is priceless! The great, aloof Hawks, felled by a first-year with pretty wings and a sunshine smile!” She wiped a fake tear from her eye. “But you’re not wrong. Kid’s got the stuff. The ‘Angel Hero’ paired with the ‘Winged Hero’? The press will eat that up with a spoon. She’ll be a kid-magnet. And,” she added, punching his shoulder lightly, “maybe she’ll teach your cynical ass how to smile like you mean it again.”

Hawks rubbed his shoulder, but his eyes were already drifting back to your image on the screen. The decision was made. It had been made the moment he saw you build that ramp.

“So… you think it’s a good idea? Sending the request? She’s only a first year, but with the exception made for 1-A this year…”

“Are you asking me as a colleague, or as a mama bird seeking validation for adopting a stray?” Mirko teased.

“Rumi.”

“Fine, fine. Yes, you feathery freak. Send the request. Train her up. Make her the next big thing. Just promise me I get to spar with her once she’s got some teeth. I wanna see if that sweet attitude holds up when she’s got a rabbit’s foot in her face.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, grabbing a tablet from the table. "The request form is digital now. Needs to be submitted within 48 hours after the festival to be considered." His thumbs flew over the screen. "Hawks Agency… seeking a first-year intern for the exceptional two-week placement period… candidate demonstrates exemplary rescue-oriented quirk application and high public rapport… unique opportunity for specialized flight training…"

Mirko peeked over his shoulder. "You're writing 'unparalleled aerial mentorship.' You're so vain."

"It's accurate," he sniffed. "She placed 6th. That's perfect. High enough to show exceptional skill, not so high that she'll be swamped with offers from every top ten agency. Endeavor will gun for the top three, his son specifically, Best Jeanist goes for the stylish ones… or the ones that need styling." His mind was a tactical map. "I have the edge. The wing connection. It's logical."

As he typed, his internal monologue was anything but logical. She’ll need a safety harness rated for tandem flight. Her own desk. Maybe that sunny spot by the window. Have to talk to the support department about light-reflective costume materials. She shouldn't wear anything that hinders her pinions. Must ensure she eats enough; flying burns calories.

"Gods, you're already planning her nursery," Mirko cackled, collapsing back into her chair. "Fine, fine. She is the cutest first year. And you're right about the 'Angel Hero' thing. The merch would be adorable. Tiny wing pins. Halo hair clips. It'd sell millions. You are handsome, she's pretty, you'll have audiences in every age range."

Now they were both off, the two top heroes brainstorming with the fervor of talent agents.

"Hawks' Agency could launch her sophomore year brand," Hawks mused, his eyes gleaming with a mix of genuine marketing genius and pure, unadulterated fondness. "Build her on rescue and relief work, high visibility public engagements. Kids will love her. Parents will trust her."

"Think of the photo ops!" Mirko added, getting into the spirit. "You, all cool and sleek, with this little ray of sunshine next to you. Training shots of you two flying in formation. She'd make you look almost human, bird-boy."

He threw a couch pillow at her, which she caught and threw back, he dodged absent-mindedly, his focus already back on the tablet. The request was complete. He attached the clip of you creating the hard-light shield. Added the screenshot of you waving. He paused over the 'Additional Notes' section.

His finger hovered. The professional in him dictated: Candidate shows exceptional promise for a rescue-oriented heroic paradigm. The bird in him screamed: PLEASE GIVE ME MY BABY CHICK I WILL BUILD HER A NEST AND TEACH HER EVERYTHING AND SHE IS SO BRIGHT AND GOOD SHE WILL BE THE BEST RESCUE HERO.

He settled for: "Candidate possesses a unique quirk synergy with my own and a public demeanor that aligns perfectly with the future of heroic image. I am prepared to offer highly personalized, intensive training."

He hit 'submit.'

A soft ping confirmed the request was en route to U.A., to Nezu, to Aizawa, and eventually, to you.

Hawks leaned back, finally taking a bite of another one of the now-cold chicken wings on the bucket nearby him. On the big screen, the awards ceremony was starting. You weren't in the podium, but he could see you from afar, tiny little ants everyone was, but the white of your wings gave away where you were.

Mirko nudged his boot with her foot. "Look at you. Papa Hawk has found his chick. Don't scare her off with your coddling."

Hawks' grin returned, wider and more genuine than any he'd worn all day. His golden eyes were fixed on your image, already mapping out your future—the flights you'd take, the villains you'd outmaneuver, the people you'd save, the nest he'd build for you in the world of heroes.

"Scare her off?" he said, his voice a low, confident hum. "Never. I'm going to make sure she's the safest, strongest, most dazzling little bird in the entire sky."

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Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you. 

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks. You turned bright red, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked. 

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

The late afternoon sun streamed through the ginkgo trees in U.A.'s sprawling central gardens, dappling the gravel path in shifting patterns of gold and shadow. Mirio Togata’s booming laughter echoed, punctuating one of Nejire Hado’s endless, spiraling questions about the migratory patterns of garden-variety butterflies.

“But if they’re so small, Mirio, how do their wings even know which way is south? Is it in the taste of the air? Do they ask the sun?”

And trailing just a half-step behind them was Tamaki Amajiki.

His hands were buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, the hood of his jacket up even in the mild weather. He seemed to be listening, a faint, almost invisible ghost of a smile on his lips as Mirio’s story undoubtedly took a ridiculous turn. He liked attempting to fold entirely into the collar of his uniform jacket, walking a careful half-step behind the two radiant points of energy that were his best friends.

“Do they ask the sun? Tamaki, do you think they ask the sun?”

Tamaki made a small, non-committal noise into his collar, his eyes fixed on the safe, neutral territory of his own shoes. Social interaction, even with his anchors, was a drain after the intense focus of the joint training session the day before. His mind was a replay of anxious moments: Had his advice been clear? Had he come across as too critical? Was the strategic retreat he’d suggested to that green-haired Midoriya boy seen as cowardly? He was mentally composing a thousand apologies to people who likely hadn’t given him a second thought.

He was listening, or trying to, but his mind was a whirlpool of the day’s perceived failures, each one a stone sinking in his gut. The joint training session with Class 1-A yesterday under Aizawa’s watchful eye played on a loop. He’d been… adequate. He’d given advice. He hadn’t collapsed into a puddle of anxiety. But seeing the tidal wave of first-years rush towards Nejire’s boundless energy and Mirio’s infectious confidence, while his own space remained conspicuously empty… until you.

His thoughts snagged on you, a bright, jarring stitch in the grey fabric of his anxiety. You, with your impossible blue eyes and the way your veins traced a luminous map under your skin when you’d unleashed your Quirk. You, who had beelined for him with a determination that had short-circuited his brain. The memory of your deep, respectful bow—a bow meant for someone worthy—made his ears burn under his hood. It had been a fluke, a moment of pity or whimsy. Surely, it was over. The interaction was a closed book.

His spiral was abruptly, brilliantly, shattered.

“AMAJIKI-SENPAI!”

The voice was like a bell, clear, joyous, and entirely too close. Tamaki’s entire body seized. His head snapped up, eyes wide with the panic of a startled forest creature. There, a dozen paces away, a vision was practically skipping towards their trio.

You. The prodigy from Class 1-A. The one who had chosen him.

The afternoon light seemed to love you. It caught in the dark, waist-length waves of your hair, making it look like a river of polished chestnut. It illuminated your face, your skin so pale it was almost luminous, highlighting the genuine, wide smile that was aimed directly at him. Your uniform was the same as everyone else’s, yet you wore it differently—a delicate bracelet of charms glinted at your wrist, a small, perfectly tied ribbon adorned your collar, small details that screamed of a joyful, artistic personality. To Tamaki, you didn’t walk; you seemed to float on a cloud of your own vibrant, coquettish energy.

“Oh! It’s the cute little first-year!” Nejire chirped, spinning on her heel, her long blue hair fanning out. Her eyes sparkled with immediate, overwhelming curiosity. “The one with the sparkly energy Quirk! You were amazing yesterday!”

“Hey there!” Mirio beamed, planting his hands on his hips, his presence as solid and reassuring as a lighthouse. “Taking a stroll?”

No. Nononono. Not here. Not now. Not in the open. He could feel a familiar, prickling heat crawl up his neck. Instinctively, he shrank further. He stared desperately at the back of Mirio’s neck, sending a psychic scream of sheer terror. Mirio. Please. Say we have to go. Say there’s a villain attack. Say I’m turning into an octopus and need to be submerged. Anything. Save me.

You reached them, your smile encompassing all three, but Tamaki could feel, with a terrifying certainty, the majority of its warmth was reserved for him. He took a half-step back, his shoulder brushing against Mirio’s solid arm. A shield. Please be a shield.

“Hi, Nejire-senpai! Hi, Togata-senpai!” you said, executing a cheerful, polite little bow to each. Your voice was musical, bubbling with a happiness that felt entirely unforced. Then, your bright eyes—the brightest Tamaki had ever seen, like a deep, sunlit sky—locked onto him. He felt pinned, studied, and utterly seen.

“Hi, Amajiki-senpai,” you said, and your tone softened just a fraction, became a shade more personal. You bowed again, deeper this time, the same respectful courtesy you’d shown in the training ground. The intention was unmistakable: your respect for him was specific, deliberate.

Nejire’s hands flew to her mouth, a high-pitched squeak escaping her. Her eyes darted from your bowed form to the petrified lump behind Mirio. This was unprecedented. This was monumental! A girl, a pretty, powerful, recommended-student girl, was actively, deliberately, and respectfully seeking out Tamaki. Not as an afterthought. Not by association. Him. Exclusively.

Inside Tamaki’s mind, it sounded like a bomb had gone off followed by the screeching halt of every mental train of thought. She’s talking to me. She bowed. Again. Why? She’s smiling. She’s so close. I can smell her perfume, it’s like vanilla and flowers. She’s looking at me. What do I do? What do I say? My face is doing something wrong, I can feel it. Mirio. MIRIO.

Mirio felt Tamaki’s panic like a physical pressure against his back. He glanced over his shoulder, meeting Tamaki’s wide, desperate, pleading eyes. His eyes, wide and desperate, locked on Mirio’s. It was a silent, screaming plea: Distract her. Take over. Say something funny. Phase through the ground and take me with you. ANYTHING.

Mirio met his gaze. His sunny smile didn't waver. He gave a slow, deliberate, and intensely unhelpful thumbs-up. The message was clear: You got this, Tamaki!

Betrayed. He was utterly betrayed.

“I, uh…” Tamaki’s voice was a fragile thing, barely a whisper of sound. He cleared his throat, a tiny, pained sound. “H-hello.” He managed a jerky, almost imperceptible nod in your direction, his eyes now firmly fixed on a particularly interesting patch of moss near your shoes. The acknowledgment was monumental for him.

But you didn’t flinch. Your smile didn’t dim. If anything, it gentled, as if his painful shyness was not a deterrent but a quiet language you were willing to learn. Your kindness was a tangible force, a warm blanket settling over his jangled nerves.

“I was hoping I’d run into you, Senpai,” you said, your voice still cheerful but a touch softer, as if you were instinctively modulating your natural volume for his sensitive ears. “I wanted to thank you. Properly, I mean. For yesterday. For training with me one-on-one when Aizawa-sensei did the demonstration.”

Each word was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in Tamaki’s worldview. Thank him? For the ordeal of having her brilliant, focused attention solely on him? For his mumbled advice that was surely inferior to anything Mirio could have shouted with confidence?

“It was… it was really… I learned a lot,” you continued, your eyes sincere. “The way you analyzed my Quirk’s energy conversion lag… I’d never thought about channeling absorbed kinetic energy through my thermal shields to create a concussive wave. It was so clever!” You were praising his ideas. His strategic, overthought, anxiety-born ideas.

Before his brain could short-circuit completely, you extended the box you were holding. It was beautifully wrapped in simple navy paper with a silver ribbon. You presented it to him with both hands, and then—you bowed again. A proper, deep, respectful bow. “This is for you, Amajiki-senpai. As a token of my gratitude. I hope… I hope it’s okay.”

The world narrowed to the box. Tamaki stared at it as if it were a mysterious artifact from a lost civilization. His hands, trembling slightly, came up automatically to receive it. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the weight of it, and a jolt, entirely separate from your Arcane Battery Quirk, shot up his arm. He held the box like it was made of spun glass and primed explosives.

“Oooooh! What is it? What is it? Did you make it? It smells amazing!” Nejire crowded in, her face alight with delight. “You’re so thoughtful! Tamaki, open it! Open it!”

“Nejire, give him a minute,” Mirio laughed, but his eyes were soft, watching his friend with immense pride. Tamaki was still standing. He was still holding the box. He hadn’t phased into the earth. This was a victory of monumental proportions.

With fingers that felt thick and clumsy, Tamaki carefully untied the silver ribbon and peeled back the paper. Inside was a simple, elegant lacquered box. He lifted the lid.

A wave of savory, delicious aroma wafted out. Nestled inside were eight perfectly golden, plump spheres of takoyaki. They were beautifully made, each one dotted with dancing bonito flakes and a delicate drizzle of sauce and mayonnaise. They were homemade. You had made these. For him.

His brain simply blue-screened. The disconnect was too vast. You, a luminous prodigy with a Quirk that could level buildings, had spent time in a kitchen… to make octopus balls… for him. Because he’d done his job as a semi-competent senpai.

“Takoyaki…” he whispered, the word leaving his lips in a breath of awe. He looked from the perfect food to your face, his dark eyes wide with a confusion so deep it bordered on reverence. “You… you made these?”

“Mhm!” you nodded, your smile blossoming again at his reaction. “I remembered from your… um, your activation phrases… you seem to really like seafood? And takoyaki is a thing i know how to make! I thought… after all the hard work yesterday, you might like some.” You tucked a strand of dark hair behind your ear, a faint, charming blush dusting your pale cheeks. “I hope they’re alright.”

“Alright? They’re PERFECT!” Nejire declared, clapping her hands. “She’s perfect! Tamaki, she’s adorable! And she cooks for you! This is the best day ever!”

Mirio placed a steadying hand on Tamaki’s shoulder, feeling the tension thrumming through him. “That’s incredibly kind of you,” Mirio said to you, his voice warm and genuine. “Tamaki’s a big fan of good food. Right, Tamaki?”

Tamaki was still staring at the takoyaki. This wasn’t just food. It was a physical manifestation of a kindness he couldn’t process. It was proof that the interaction yesterday had mattered to you. That he had mattered. The anxiety was still there, a buzzing static in the background, but it was being drowned out by a newer, more terrifying, and wonderfully warm feeling: a sense of being appreciated.

He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes to meet yours for a fleeting, breathtaking second before darting away. “Th-thank you,” he stammered, the words heartfelt and raw. “They’re… they’re perfect. I… I didn’t… thank you.” He clutched the box closer to his chest, a protective, precious treasure.

Your smile then could have powered a city. It was radiant, full of a joy that was entirely for him and his awkward, accepted thanks. “I’m so glad! Well, I won’t keep you senpais from your walk. It was really good to see you all!” You gave another cheerful little wave, your bracelets jingling softly. “Bye, Nejire-senpai! Bye, Togata-senpai!” Your gaze lingered on Tamaki, soft and warm. “Bye, Amajiki-senpai. Enjoy the takoyaki!”

And with that, you turned, your dark hair swishing, and continued your joyful stroll down the garden path, leaving a trail of lingering sunshine in your wake.

For a long moment, the trio stood in silence.

Then Nejire erupted. She grabbed Mirio’s arm, jumping up and down. “DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU? SHE BROUGHT HIM FOOD! SHE MADE IT HERSELF! SHE BOWED TO HIM! SHE WAS SO NICE! AND PRETTY! AND SHE CHOSE HIM, MIRIO! SHE SEES HIM!”

Mirio was grinning from ear to ear, his hand still on Tamaki’s shoulder. “I saw, Nejire, I saw! That was amazing, Tamaki! You did great! You thanked her and everything!”

“IT’S TOO MUCH! IT’S TOO PRECIOUS! TAMAKI-KUN, SHE MADE YOU OCTOPUS BALLS! SHE’S ADORABLE!” Her exclamations were like rapid-fire confetti cannon shots, each one making Tamaki shrink further into his jacket.

“I- um..”

Tamaki wasn’t listening. He was still staring down at the box in his hands, the warm aroma of the takoyaki wrapping around him like a gentle hug. The ghost of your smile was burned into his vision. The memory of your voice saying his name played on a loop.

He had survived. More than survived. He had been given a gift. From you.

“She…” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “She made these… for me.”

Nejire clapped her hands. “She likes you, Tamaki-kun! This is a thing! This is a romantic thing! In historical dramas, they give food to—”

“Nejire,” Mirio said gently, placing a calming hand on her shoulder, though his eyes were still crinkled thanks to his wide grin.

A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched Tamaki's lips, hidden as he looked down

These had been, without a doubt, the most overwhelming, terrifying, and beautiful five minutes of his entire life. And as he walked home between his chattering friends, clutching the lacquered box to his heart, he knew one thing for certain: he was utterly, completely, and wonderfully doomed.

No wonder you were such an uptight little thing. Big, nervous eyes around him, like a bunny rabbit warily tiptoeing around a sleepy, couldn't-be-bothered wolf. But now he wasn't so sleepy. The thought of tearing you apart gave him a warm buzz in his chest and his hips.

The v-word was whispered especially low as if it were a crime to have reached this age and not had sex. It was spoken with the tone of a threat like she was positive it would stop his lazy pursuit.

However, entrusting that sensitive information to such a slimy guy was easily Toga's biggest mistake of her life. Dabi's mouth curled to a nasty, devious Grinch-like grin and he took a flurry of loud, consecutive slaps to the shoulder without so much as a flinch.

"That. Is. Not. A. Challenge!" Another big slap to his tricep didn't do shit but make him giggle harder, so she pointed with a look that could turn anyone else to stone and warned in a rushed, unhinged whisper, "Don't be a creep, you creep!! I will know."

Squinted eyes tracked her angry walk out of the kitchen, down the hallway to your shared room. He briefly wondered if she was leaving to warn you of his 'creepiness', but figured if she was that concerned about your comfort in these early days, she wouldn't be the one to risk making you uncomfortable. Knowing Toga, she probably thought her threats got through to him.

What fun.

For the next few minutes, he struggled to continue fixing himself another glass of OJ with so much jerking material on his mind. He nearly shattered a glass with the absentminded grip of a man thinking about what he'd do to your tight, untouched pussy once he swindled you into experimenting with him.

He took a not-so-sobering swig of juice, only to be sorely reminded of his shirt's sticky state and the quickly closing window of opportunity to wash the sugar out.

The laundry room was less of a room, more of a small nook with double doors at the end of the hallway, just across from yours and Toga's bedroom. It was usually a great opportunity to listen to any juicy conversation you had, but what he managed to catch this time was disappointingly lackluster. Average, boring business talk.

With one hand, he pulled his shirt off and opened up the washer's paused cycle. Whoever's clothes these were could sort his shirt out from them and give it back. Laundry got mixed on a regular basis, in this tiny apartment.

The place was yours, and as cramped as it got sometimes, was still a major improvement from the conditions they were living in before taking you up as a new recruit. At least this place didn't have mice or bugs.

As he was sorting out the settings on the washer to restart it, the sound of a door opening behind him grabbed his attention. He turned to see you, the favored of the two outcomes.

Your unsuspecting gaze fell first upon his glass of juice, then his toned figure, clear-cut abs, and most notably, the scarring and metal sparkling across his exposed torso. Warmth found your face in a flash and melted any coherent thought in your brain into one wheezy whimper and a follow-up, hardly intelligible apology.

"Hh-ooh, oh my god, 'm-- sorry!"

The door was slammed between you, but a smile stretched along his face. He could still hear your panicked retelling of what happened to Toga.

"He-He's, it's-- he's,"

Something something, calm down.

"He was, he was naked--,"

A shout.

"No!! Nononono, of course not, he had pants but his top half! He was naked!"

A few loud footsteps approached the door and he resumed his button-pushing and started whistling just to piss her off. It was difficult to maintain through the amused smile. Toga made an impassioned reappearance as she hung halfway out the somewhat open door.

"Put a shirt on! Who raised you?!"

He returned the bitter sentiment, but was a little distracted at the view of your room behind her, "It's your damn fault!"

You were sitting, peeking out at the altercation on a bed, right up against the wall that his room shared with yours. Cute; only a wall separated him from you at night.

"Whatever! Just leave us alone, you freak!"

The door slammed much harder this time. Toga's insults and bickering didn't faze him after getting on each other's nerves for so many years. He would've said much worse, threw his juice at her, or knocked down the door, but he wanted you to get a good impression of him.

Such a simple sound, yet that soft, husky voice of his always manages to make your insides a mushy mess, even when you had painfully tripped over his cat, Celery, when he transferred and first moved into the dorms with your class.

The normally stoic, reserved purple-haired boy had doubled over with an uncontrollable wheeze, supporting himself on the sofa as your groaning self was sprawled across the floor. 

God, they were lucky they were both cute.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile as he reached a hand out to help you up, the other still covering his mouth. 

That was the first time you made him laugh, and now, you’ve heard it so many times that you could finally stop counting on both your hands’ fingers but you still wanted more.

“Want me to paint your nails, Eri?” You ask, scooting over to your bedroom’s drawer. 

You open it, your own light blue nails painted a color that reminds you of the sea against the pastel pink of the treasure box you take out. It had a heart-shaped diamond on the latch. 

The heavy box was filled with a collection of nail polish the girls in your class usually used for their sleepovers as well, and new bottles, mostly varying shades of apple red, started mysteriously appearing the day after Eri said she had never gotten painted her nails before. 

“Yes!” Eri’s eyes sparkle. “Can I please have matchy nails with Hito-nii?”

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile. She was adorable. 

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “You sure you want yours black this time, Eri?”

“Yes!” She huffs stubbornly. “Like dad’s clothes and those things under your eyes!”

“Hey!” He protests. She shares a mischievous look with you and you both giggle, catching the pillow Hitoshi gently throws at you. 

“Oreo wouldn’t treat me like this.” Hitoshi reaches out to ruffle Eri’s hair and she squeals in protest, batting his hand away. 

Eri holds up the oversized panda plushie he was talking about. It was comically bigger than her, and you had to bite back a laugh.

The moment you two spotted it in the claw machine outside Shinsou’s favorite cat cafe near campus, you knew you had to win it to add to her ever growing collection of stuffed animals.

With a grin, you remember the huge sigh of relief Shinsou let out when it finally fell into the chute.

“Duh he wouldn’t ‘cause you’re his twin!”

Hitoshi mock gasps. “Take that back.” And tickles her neck, barely dodging as you throw the pillow he threw earlier back at him. 

“Woah!”

Except much, much harder.

“Don’t worry Eri, I'll protect you!” You grab another nearby pillow and throw it at him, which he easily catches in mid-air with one hand like it was a frisbee.

“Aw.” You pout. Mr. Aizawa was training him a little too good now.

Eri pats your arm to console you. “It’s okay I appre-shee—apree-shee—“

“Appreciate?” You offer, and her face brightens as she nods.

“Appree-shee-ate. You. For trying.” She finishes shyly.

“Aw, thank you Eri. I appreciate you too.” 

Hitoshi’s eyes soften at the sight of you two. 

“What about me?”

You scowl. “You can go duck yourself, Toshi.”

“Love you too.”

Eri suddenly gasps. 

“Dad says that to Uncle Zashi too!”

Despite already knowing the answer, Hitoshi and you turn to look at her suspiciously.

“…Which one?”

As if he knows you’re talking about him, Aizawa yells down the hallway.

“Eri, brats, pizza’s here!”

───────── 

“Can I have another hug?” Hitoshi asks coyly after class one day. 

The bell had just rung, and you roll your eyes at his leaning form on the wall of the almost empty hallway. 

Everyone was leaving for lunch.

Except you two, but that was Hitoshi’s fault.

“I just gave you one!”

“Oh no.” He places a dramatic palm to his forehead. “I think I’m going to pass out because of someone if I don’t get a hug in the next five seconds.”

“Greedy ass.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

He hides a grin, shuffling closer to close the gap between your bodies. 

Hitoshi smells like fresh linen with hints of sunshine, probably from his daily bike ride he took around campus before class started, and the coffee he brewed this morning. 

A sense of comfort settles into your bones as the familiar scent envelopes you, and you breathe it in. 

He softly tucks your head under his chin as you nuzzle your face deeper into his chest, your headache from taking the quiz in Ectoplasm’s class earlier now long gone.

“Did you know that when cats see that it's raining outside a window, they go to another window in the same room to check if it's still raining outside?” Hitoshi randomly whispers.

“I did not know that.” You giggle. His lips feel ticklish on your hair. “Does Celery do that too?”

“All the time.” Hitoshi grins. “I have a video from yesterday’s storm, I’ll show you in the cafeteria.”

“Ooh okay!”

He straightens, and takes your hand, your fingers easily lacing through his as you both start to head in the direction of the dining hall. 

When you trip over nothing, he snorts, already expecting it, and catches your waist before you take a fall that will be difficult for your ego and your knees to recover from.

“Careful,” he says as you clutch onto his school uniform in relief, and you swear that already deep, smooth voice of his drops an octave on purpose, almost sending you to the ground again.

Hitoshi’s thumb is still tracing small circles on the back of your hand as the both of you join the line for the traditional school lunch. You could try a different cuisine tomorrow. On today’s menu was miso seaweed soup with a side of grilled fish and a milk bread roll along with, of course, rice.

You feel a vibration on the side of your leg, and for the umpteenth time this school year you thank UA for adding pockets to the school uniform’s skirts as you slip your phone out. The jellyfish charm Hitoshi got for your birthday last year dangles from your case.

Surprise, surprise, it’s the class group chat.

-forklift uncertified -

it’s barbie bitch 

guysss guess what i sawwww

invisi-girl 

IS IT TODOROKI IN A PINK TUTU

pikachew

girl what 

invisi-girl 

u guys don’t get the vision

i saw it in a dream last night

the rock 

nah i get it dude

that would be so manly

ice spice 

I would not be completely opposed to the idea

invisi-girl 

SEE

it’s barbie bitch 

it’s even better >_<

it’s barbie bitch 

hitoshituckingyourhair

behindearwithasoftsmile.png

mochi cheeks

OHMYGOD!?1?2?2

SOCUTEEEEETES

airpods with wires

i saw that

airpods with wires 

can yall not flirt before lunch 

next time i’m gonna throw 

up before i get to eat

sue you 

AWWWW OUR LITTLE BABYS ALL GROWN UP

forensic balls [you]

FUCK U GUYS IM 17

yaomomo

exactly

a Baby :)

forensic balls [you]

yaoyao ur supposed

to be on my side </3

yaomomo 

sorry my love i cannot 

deny the facts </3

pikachew

Nahhh only shinsou can call her that guys ;))))

airpods with wires

wah wah wah

forensic balls [you]

one more word and i’m gonna change the gc name to fornite jiggle physics 

sue you

NO

yaomomo

No thank you

my chemical romance

what a mad banquet of darkness

it’s barbie bitch

babe look me in the

eyes this isn’t like you 

forensic balls [you]

try me. 

pikachew

DO ITTTTTTT

forensic balls [you]

ok just bc u told me to 

i won’t now 

scotch tape 

dayum rip denks

forensic balls [you]

also not my fault u guys 

have early ass birthdays smh

shirt guy

Senior citizen core fr

forensic balls [you]

ily midoriya

shirt guy

ilyt pookie xx 

kazoo-ki

Girl u aint slick

shirt guy

You’re so late omg

pikachew

bro has us on mute

kazoo-ki

shut up dunce face

kazoo-ki

How tf do I change my name

mochi cheeks

LMFAO

wiki-how

Bakugo it is fairly simple. 

wiki-how

First you click on your profile, then your personal settings. 

wiki-how

From there you press “Change Display Name” and you should be able to enter your name of preference. 

kazoo-ki 

K

better than you

Thanks glasses ig

wiki-how

You are very welcome.

kiri the rock

nice one dude!

sue you

wow egotistical much

better than you

You wish yours was as big as mine

pikachew

that’s what he said

it’s barbie bitch

omg it just hit me

it’s barbie bitch

the first person to 

finally get bitches in our class 

it’s barbie bitch

i’m so happy i could cry

pikachew

I GET BITCHES

sue you

yeah over the screen 

we're talking irl

pikachew

leave me and my otome games alone

forensic balls [you]

real 

forensic balls [you]

AND IM NOT DATING HITOSHI

it’s barbie bitch

HITOSHI????????

airpods with wires

first name basis is crazy

forensic balls [you]

fuck i mean *shinsou

scotch tape

y’all smell that

the rock

peeeyew

pikachew

smells like sum bullshiiii

kazoo-ki

Could’ve fooled me

yaomomo

You aren’t??? :(

yaomomo

But I wrote a reminder to wish 

you two happy anniversary and 

even bought tea to celebrate!

forensic balls [you]

….for what date

yaomomo

April 1st :(

forensic balls [you]

………………

airpods with wires  

@ it’s barbie bitch we can see u

across the cafeteria u are BAWLING

eyebags

what the fuck

Hitoshi bites back a laugh as your widened eyes meet his, glancing up from your phone.

“Not dating, huh?” He grins.

You groan and pinch his arm. “I panicked okay! I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“Hmm, do you want me to?”

“I mean, only if you want to.” You shyly play with his fingers. 

“I kind of like us being a secret from them for a little longer. It feels… nice.”

Hitoshi smiles. “I know what you mean.” He wrinkles his nose. “Though they’re so nosy it looks like they figured it out already.”

“Pffft, yeah.” Mina could definitely sniff out a relationship from miles away, no matter how much PDA you tried to sneakily do in empty hallways.

Hitoshi squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“I like it too.” He leans over, and your eyes are forced to meet the dark violet of his.

The side of Hitoshi’s soft-looking lips, courtesy of the strawberry chapstick he stole from you before class this morning, quirk up as he looks down at you with soft eyes, the ones he reserves for you and random cats he sees on the road.

“Chapstick thief,” you mutter.

“Oh, you want it back?” Hitoshi grins. “Kiss it off me then.”

Your cheeks grown warm. “Not here!”

“Good,” He smirks.

“I prefer keeping you all to myself, anyway.”

   ───────── 

“What’s wrong?” 

He’s crouching down so that your eyes have no choice but to meet his from your spot on the bean bag.

He gently pushes the switch in your hands down to your lap and pokes your thigh. You squirm away ticklishly. 

“Tell me.”

“No.” You huff, picking your switch back up. “I just wanna play Stardew, leave me alone.”

“Darling.”

Your face flushes at the pet name, and he smirks. His secret weapon still works without fail. Hitoshi didn’t even need to activate his quirk to have you under his thumb. 

“You’re not going to feel better if you keep it in. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His nails are still pink, you faintly notice, trying to distract yourself from your very attractive, very insistent boyfriend in front of you with his comforting hands placed on your thighs.

You painted his left hand, and Eri painted his right at the last sleepover you had together. She had insisted that he should match nails with her this time, since she matched with him last week.

It was already terrible and impressive that Hitoshi was a people-reader, even worse that he knew what to do to make you fold so easily and open up.

Curse you Hitoshi, you and your disposition for healthy communication.

You should have never recommended that therapist to him.

“I don’t know,” you finally mumble. He tilts his head, showing you that he’s listening. 

“I just feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what, sweetheart?” He asks. The softness in his voice is unbearable and what you've been bottling up for weeks finally spills out.

“I feel like I don’t deserve it when good things happen to me.”

Hitoshi blinks, then lets out a snort. Which turns into a full blown laugh coming from his chest.

You shove his face away and he falls on his butt, still chuckling. 

“You’re making fun of me!” You say indignantly.

“Sorry, sorry, I just–” He coughs, and takes a breath to recollect himself. 

“You say a lot of dumb shit and I think that's the worst thing I’ve heard you say.”

You pout. “I’m feeling very invalidated right now.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, and his hands reclaim their spot on your skin, except this time he’s gently cupping your face in his hands. 

He’s not used to comforting people, but you can see that he’s trying.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, and I see you try so hard everyday. You always do a good job when you set your sights on something. Why don’t you deserve good things?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze is numbly pinned to the silver chain around his neck, the one with a little crescent moon on it that he wears everyday, not even taking it off when he goes to sleep. The one you gave to him. 

“That’s okay.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and you think you can breathe a little easier. 

“Let's think of it this way,” Hitoshi says, still cupping your cheeks, grounding you. “It’s not about whether you deserve it or not. Do you want it?”

You finally meet his eyes, and answer with a voice shakier than you’d like it to be. 

“I do. I want good things for myself.”

“Atta girl,” Hitoshi says with a proud quirk of his lips. 

You stare at him, your heart suspended in your chest, feeling better but still looking a bit unsure.

Hitoshi notices this from the way you start biting the inside of your cheek, and he leans his forehead against yours. You freeze. 

He smells like fruit, like freshly washed blueberries and those ripe strawberries in the kitchen in the dorm’s fridge. “That’s more than enough. We can work from there.”

There’s still a worried furrow between your eyebrows.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can go to the aquarium you love this weekend.”

He smirks as you perk up at that, drinking up the rare, shy expression suddenly on your face again, and leans down to your ear. 

“You’re so easy,” Hitoshi whispers. 

You grumble, you could hear that stupid grin in his voice.

“Sorry, I can't hear you with your face in my chest.”

You raise your head to glare at him and his heart soars. There was his girl.

God, his smug face was starting to irritate you more and more. "I said that if you were my husband I'd poison your tea!" 

“If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

   ───────── 

-thot pockets -

it's barbie bitch

omg guess who i just saw 

cuddling in front of the tv

it's barbie bitch

youwrappedlikeaburritoinhitoshisarms.png

dating allegation #1 

MINA WTF DELETE THAT

dating allegation #1 

WHY R U STALKING US

[dating allegation #2 saved an image]

dating allegation #1 

BRO WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON

dating allegation #1 

PURPLE MINION LOOKING BITCH

dating allegation #2

ok forensic penis

dating allegation #2

who changed my user

pikachew

me

cuz u guys are NOT beating 

them :laughcry::laughcry:

ice spice

I am just confused as to why 

you two are sitting on each other 

ice spice

When the rest of the couch 

appears to be unoccupied

ice spice

Perhaps this is a new 

procreation method?

mochi cheeks

TODORKIWHATHAHVDHSHA

pikachew

LMDFAOOOOOOOOO

ice spice

? 

dating allegation #1 

WHATTHEFUKC

the rock

never change bro 

sue you

IACTAULKYLCANT BREATHE HELP

it’s barbie bitch

ME NEITEHHR

dating allegation #2

Whenever my eyebags get darker

dating allegation #2

Just know I blame it on all of you

   ───────── 

“Celery?” You mutter, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Mrow.” The cat continues eating the slice of… pizza? On your chest.

It looks like the one that you and Hitoshi ordered earlier after quizzing each other for Present Mic’s exam.

“I love you so much but I am so confused.”

You reach for your phone to text Hitoshi, your still-asleep hands fumbling a bit on the nightstand.

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

us 

you [12 hrs ago]

literally us <3

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

want to order takeout and 

watch ouran highschool after

we study for tmrws exam

you [12 hrs ago]

yes please omg

you [now – 03:24]

hey

can u explain why ur daughter

is eating pizza on my boobs

at 3am

toshi [03:30]

whar

?

toshi [03:31]

OHfMGOD

CELERU

Not even five minutes later, he’s knocking on the door to your room. You open it, and the sight of a very sleepy looking Hitoshi greets you. His already unruly bedhead is even messier than usual and you’re pretty sure he’s wearing his shirt backwards. Did he put it on before coming over? 

Wait.

You blink, long and hard, banishing the thoughts of a groggy, very shirtless Hitoshi lying in his bed, with the light of his phone screen illuminating his handsome features as he replies to your text. Those four hours of sleep must finally be hitting you.

Hitoshi sees you blinking, and takes it as a sign you’re still in shock at the pizza monster in your lap.

He gives an awkward pat to your shoulder in reassurance.

“I think this is just how she shows affection.” Hitoshi stares down at Celery fondly.

The way you stroke her fur so softly makes his chest feel warm and tingly.

“Does she eat leftover pizza off your chest at three in the morning?”

“...No.”

“Hah. She said she likes me better. ” You smirk victoriously. “Isn’t that right sweetie?”

The calico cat purrs as you scratch her ears, a bit of tomato sauce under her chin. Hitoshi exaggeratedly puts his hand over his heart at this scene of betrayal.

“Seriously? Celery, I took you off those streets and raised you like I was the one pregnant with you for nine months.”

“Mrow.” She bumps her head against your hand.

“Pfft, give it up Toshi. It’s time for you to hand over the adoption papers.”

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “Or we could just share custody.”

“What?” Your cheeks grow warm. “You want me to be her mom?”

“I mean you kind of already are. Look at her,” he says, eyes softening as he looks at the two of you. 

Celery has her paw on your arm. After eating until her little tummy was full, she was already starting to doze off.

“She takes after me.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Yeah you looked just like that after our binge marathon today too."

“Not in that way.”

He smirks at your confused reaction.

“Then what do you mean–”

At that moment, Celery decides it’s the perfect time to snuggle into your tank top, smearing what’s left of the pizza on her face all over it.

Hitoshi’s eyes widen. He laughs, covering his mouth.

You’ve never been so glad you chose to wear black to sleep.

   ───────── 

“Trouble child, you’re here.”

“Hi Mr. Aizawa.” You roll your eyes. “When are you going to stop calling me that, it’s getting old.”

“When you stop getting into trouble.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“The kid’s almost ready.” He snorts. “About damn time. Been up since six.”

“He has?” Your eyes widen. “For what?”

Your teacher smirks. “Nerves. Isn’t this his, what, tenth time taking you out though?”

A flustered Hitoshi suddenly appears from behind him with a light pink dusting his cheeks and steers Aizawa back to the door. “O-okay dad that’s enough.” 

He’s cutely dressed in a soft-looking grey cardigan over a white shirt and black wide-legged pants. 

This had to be the most boyfriend he’s looked, ever, and he looked very boyfriend all of the time. 

“Hitoshi?” You do a little twirl for him in your own outfit. “Fire or nah?”

He looks up from his phone, where he’s googling the bus route to the aquarium, except his eyes linger. Without skipping a beat, he responds.

 “Fire.”

“Toshi, you’re staring.”

“Of course I’m staring.” He says it with a tone like 'what else would I be doing?'

You shyly fidget with the edge of your shorts. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Hitoshi reaches out a hand, like he hasn't just casually left you breathless, and his own eyes soften as he notices your starry-eyed look. 

“Let’s go, you crybaby.”

“Damn. I was going to say you look handsome too, but I don’t remember being the one who sobbed my eyes out watching Your Name last night.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

“Shut up.”

“Was like our fifth rewatch too.”

“Shut up before I kiss you.”

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

‧₊˚ 🐚 ✩ ₊˚ 🌊 ⊹ 𓇼

Hitoshi’s lips twitch as he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the sign pointing in the jellyfish exhibit’s direction. “You’re adorable.”

“Thanks.” You grin. “You’re slow.”

You take him by the arm, your brain faintly registering how muscular his bicep is despite holding it so many times, and drag him along. 

In their tanks, the glow of the moon jellies fills the darkness in front of them as other visitors murmur around you two in awe. Blue light reflects off the water and through the glass, illuminating your boyfriend’s dreamy features and you can’t help but admire how pretty he looks.

Hitoshi turns from watching the jellyfish to face you, fingers now lacing through yours. You don’t look away. 

A soft smile flickers across his face when he catches you staring at him.

“This reminds me of when we first met.”

You smile. You remember. He was the one Mina relentlessly teased you for staring at, which you completely denied at the time.

“Why’re you so thirsty?” You remember her whispering into your ear at the Sports Festival in your first year. The both of you were sitting in your class’s designated spots in the stands.

Your eyes had widened, scandalized. 

“I am not!”

“Please. You’re totally staring at him.”

“Who?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” She grinned. “Cute, right?”

Of course she paid attention when they announced his name specifically. 

You could never remember anyone’s, and she probably saw you looking at his picture for a little too long when it appeared on the Jumbotron’s screen, announcing that his match with Oijiro was about to begin. 

“Not really,” you lied, a bad attempt at feigning disinterest. 

Like your eyes hadn’t been trailing down his lean figure the moment his next match started. 

Or noticing how attractive it was the way he casually folded his arms when he taunted Midoriya, or wondering in your mind if his perpetual bed-head was as soft as it looks. 

Mina turned to you, smirking at your slightly dazed expression.

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if I told him you had some questions about his quirk and wanted to talk about it after this, riiight?”

“What?” You shake your head furiously. “I mean his quirk is really interesting but–ugh Mina, no!” 

“For the plot!” She waggled her eyebrows.

You nudged her knee with a huff. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Nooo, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Mina eyed you cheekily. “I won’t call him over.”

“Oh thank god.”

“But only if you admit he’s your type.”

You groan. “Okay fine. I think he’s hot, happy?”

“Very.” Your best friend laughs, pure happiness indeed written all over her face. You can see the matchmaking gears already turning in her head. “I just know you too well, babe.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes I really wish you didn’t.”

“Come on, you guys would be so cute together though.” She sighs dreamily. “Forensic sight and mind-control? Plus you’re both hot as fuck? Talk about a power couple.”

“....I think I’m going to go sit with Yaomomo instead.”

Recalling the memory, you laugh. “I know, we kept accidentally making eye contact after your second match because our seats were right across from each other.”

“That awkward prolonged eye contact in the stands might’ve been how I started crushing on you.”

You smirk. “You had a crush on me? That's so embarrassing.”

“I know.” He rolls his eyes, softly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Worst decision of my life.”

You hold Hitoshi’s hand tighter as you step closer to his side to get a better view of the tank. 

“Glad the feeling is mutual.” 

You spot it before he does.

“Oh my god Toshi. We need to get this for Eri.”

He spins around from the collection of the aquarium’s official shirts for sale, a shirt with a print of a whale shark in his hands. 

“Wha–oh my god.”

Hitoshi stares at the giant penguin plushie you’re holding in front of you. 

It was bigger than you–no, bigger than him even.

“Not sure if it’s going to fit on the train home, but we’ll make it work.”

   ───────── 

"Can you teach me how to draw a unicorn too, Eri?" Hitoshi asks.

You had already asked Eri before him seconds ago so you stick your tongue out at Hitoshi, mouthing ‘copycat,’ and he tilts his head down to quickly kiss your neck, making you giggle. 

He still has a pink bow wrapped around his bicep from when you three played dress up an hour ago, and you fight the urge to laugh again at how silly he looks.

Eri is too focused on her drawings to care about either of you, and after she scribbles around a little more, she turns to face her older brother.

“Yeah!” She hands him a red crayon. “Okay, so first you draw half of a circle.”

Hitoshi follows Eri’s instructions.

He lifts his hand, which nearly covers the paper, to reveal a red ‘C’ that looks like it got run over by a truck.

“No, no not like that! Erase it.” She frowns disapprovingly, hands on her hips. “You’re really bad at this Hito-nii.”

“Please Eri-sensei. I'm trying my best.”

“Try harder!” She turns away with a huff, then peers over at your paper. 

“Ooh yours looks so good!” Eri claps, and you smile proudly. 

“It’s all thanks to you, Eri.” You reach out to fix her pigtail that was starting to slip out of the cat-patterned scrunchie, and she giggles, holding still for you. 

Hitoshi grumbles. “This smells like favoritism.”

“That’s ‘cause your unicorn looks Celery’s poop!” Eri chirps. Then she runs away to the kitchen right before you double over in laughter at Hitoshi’s extremely offended face, clutching onto his broad shoulders for support. 

“She said your drawing looks like shit!” You snort, and he groans.

Celery’s ears perk up in Hitoshi’s lap and she meows, looking in your direction. You hold out your arms. “Celery, you want uppies?”

She ignores them and decides to sit in your lap instead, purring softly.

“Mrow.”

“Yeah? And then what?” You coo, gently rubbing her fuzzy forehead, and her eyes close in contentment.

She mewls again, pawing at your sock and you laugh.

“Okay, okay I’ll tell him.” 

Looking up at Hitoshi, he tilts his head the same way Celery does when you talk to her. 

You bite back a laugh, you’re not sure who’s the cat in the room at this point.

“What did she say?” He asks you curiously.

All you do is blink slowly at him in response.

Hitoshi’s brows knit in confusion.

Then his eyes widen, a soft pink starting to color his cheeks.

Shyly, he slowly blinks back.

Suddenly, the gray-haired girl comes back from the kitchen, apples Aizawa sliced like rabbits for her on a plate in her hands. 

You’re still slowly blinking at each other as she walks through the door.

Eri looks at the both of you weirdly.

“What are you two doing?”

“Mrow.”

Such a simple sound, yet that soft, husky voice of his always manages to make your insides a mushy mess, even when you had painfully tripped over his cat, Celery, when he transferred and first moved into the dorms with your class.

The normally stoic, reserved purple-haired boy had doubled over with an uncontrollable wheeze, supporting himself on the sofa as your groaning self was sprawled across the floor. 

God, they were lucky they were both cute.

Yet, you couldn’t help but smile as he reached a hand out to help you up, the other still covering his mouth. 

That was the first time you made him laugh, and now, you’ve heard it so many times that you could finally stop counting on both your hands’ fingers but you still wanted more.

“Want me to paint your nails, Eri?” You ask, scooting over to your bedroom’s drawer. 

You open it, your own light blue nails painted a color that reminds you of the sea against the pastel pink of the treasure box you take out. It had a heart-shaped diamond on the latch. 

The heavy box was filled with a collection of nail polish the girls in your class usually used for their sleepovers as well, and new bottles, mostly varying shades of apple red, started mysteriously appearing the day after Eri said she had never gotten painted her nails before. 

“Yes!” Eri’s eyes sparkle. “Can I please have matchy nails with Hito-nii?”

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile. She was adorable. 

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “You sure you want yours black this time, Eri?”

“Yes!” She huffs stubbornly. “Like dad’s clothes and those things under your eyes!”

“Hey!” He protests. She shares a mischievous look with you and you both giggle, catching the pillow Hitoshi gently throws at you. 

“Oreo wouldn’t treat me like this.” Hitoshi reaches out to ruffle Eri’s hair and she squeals in protest, batting his hand away. 

Eri holds up the oversized panda plushie he was talking about. It was comically bigger than her, and you had to bite back a laugh.

The moment you two spotted it in the claw machine outside Shinsou’s favorite cat cafe near campus, you knew you had to win it to add to her ever growing collection of stuffed animals.

With a grin, you remember the huge sigh of relief Shinsou let out when it finally fell into the chute.

“Duh he wouldn’t ‘cause you’re his twin!”

Hitoshi mock gasps. “Take that back.” And tickles her neck, barely dodging as you throw the pillow he threw earlier back at him. 

“Woah!”

Except much, much harder.

“Don’t worry Eri, I'll protect you!” You grab another nearby pillow and throw it at him, which he easily catches in mid-air with one hand like it was a frisbee.

“Aw.” You pout. Mr. Aizawa was training him a little too good now.

Eri pats your arm to console you. “It’s okay I appre-shee—apree-shee—“

“Appreciate?” You offer, and her face brightens as she nods.

“Appree-shee-ate. You. For trying.” She finishes shyly.

“Aw, thank you Eri. I appreciate you too.” 

Hitoshi’s eyes soften at the sight of you two. 

“What about me?”

You scowl. “You can go duck yourself, Toshi.”

“Love you too.”

Eri suddenly gasps. 

“Dad says that to Uncle Zashi too!”

Despite already knowing the answer, Hitoshi and you turn to look at her suspiciously.

“…Which one?”

As if he knows you’re talking about him, Aizawa yells down the hallway.

“Eri, brats, pizza’s here!”

───────── 

“Can I have another hug?” Hitoshi asks coyly after class one day. 

The bell had just rung, and you roll your eyes at his leaning form on the wall of the almost empty hallway. 

Everyone was leaving for lunch.

Except you two, but that was Hitoshi’s fault.

“I just gave you one!”

“Oh no.” He places a dramatic palm to his forehead. “I think I’m going to pass out because of someone if I don’t get a hug in the next five seconds.”

“Greedy ass.” You sigh, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

He hides a grin, shuffling closer to close the gap between your bodies. 

Hitoshi smells like fresh linen with hints of sunshine, probably from his daily bike ride he took around campus before class started, and the coffee he brewed this morning. 

A sense of comfort settles into your bones as the familiar scent envelopes you, and you breathe it in. 

He softly tucks your head under his chin as you nuzzle your face deeper into his chest, your headache from taking the quiz in Ectoplasm’s class earlier now long gone.

“Did you know that when cats see that it's raining outside a window, they go to another window in the same room to check if it's still raining outside?” Hitoshi randomly whispers.

“I did not know that.” You giggle. His lips feel ticklish on your hair. “Does Celery do that too?”

“All the time.” Hitoshi grins. “I have a video from yesterday’s storm, I’ll show you in the cafeteria.”

“Ooh okay!”

He straightens, and takes your hand, your fingers easily lacing through his as you both start to head in the direction of the dining hall. 

When you trip over nothing, he snorts, already expecting it, and catches your waist before you take a fall that will be difficult for your ego and your knees to recover from.

“Careful,” he says as you clutch onto his school uniform in relief, and you swear that already deep, smooth voice of his drops an octave on purpose, almost sending you to the ground again.

Hitoshi’s thumb is still tracing small circles on the back of your hand as the both of you join the line for the traditional school lunch. You could try a different cuisine tomorrow. On today’s menu was miso seaweed soup with a side of grilled fish and a milk bread roll along with, of course, rice.

You feel a vibration on the side of your leg, and for the umpteenth time this school year you thank UA for adding pockets to the school uniform’s skirts as you slip your phone out. The jellyfish charm Hitoshi got for your birthday last year dangles from your case.

Surprise, surprise, it’s the class group chat.

-forklift uncertified -

it’s barbie bitch 

guysss guess what i sawwww

invisi-girl 

IS IT TODOROKI IN A PINK TUTU

pikachew

girl what 

invisi-girl 

u guys don’t get the vision

i saw it in a dream last night

the rock 

nah i get it dude

that would be so manly

ice spice 

I would not be completely opposed to the idea

invisi-girl 

SEE

it’s barbie bitch 

it’s even better >_<

it’s barbie bitch 

hitoshituckingyourhair

behindearwithasoftsmile.png

mochi cheeks

OHMYGOD!?1?2?2

SOCUTEEEEETES

airpods with wires

i saw that

airpods with wires 

can yall not flirt before lunch 

next time i’m gonna throw 

up before i get to eat

sue you 

AWWWW OUR LITTLE BABYS ALL GROWN UP

forensic balls [you]

FUCK U GUYS IM 17

yaomomo

exactly

a Baby :)

forensic balls [you]

yaoyao ur supposed

to be on my side </3

yaomomo 

sorry my love i cannot 

deny the facts </3

pikachew

Nahhh only shinsou can call her that guys ;))))

airpods with wires

wah wah wah

forensic balls [you]

one more word and i’m gonna change the gc name to fornite jiggle physics 

sue you

NO

yaomomo

No thank you

my chemical romance

what a mad banquet of darkness

it’s barbie bitch

babe look me in the

eyes this isn’t like you 

forensic balls [you]

try me. 

pikachew

DO ITTTTTTT

forensic balls [you]

ok just bc u told me to 

i won’t now 

scotch tape 

dayum rip denks

forensic balls [you]

also not my fault u guys 

have early ass birthdays smh

shirt guy

Senior citizen core fr

forensic balls [you]

ily midoriya

shirt guy

ilyt pookie xx 

kazoo-ki

Girl u aint slick

shirt guy

You’re so late omg

pikachew

bro has us on mute

kazoo-ki

shut up dunce face

kazoo-ki

How tf do I change my name

mochi cheeks

LMFAO

wiki-how

Bakugo it is fairly simple. 

wiki-how

First you click on your profile, then your personal settings. 

wiki-how

From there you press “Change Display Name” and you should be able to enter your name of preference. 

kazoo-ki 

K

better than you

Thanks glasses ig

wiki-how

You are very welcome.

kiri the rock

nice one dude!

sue you

wow egotistical much

better than you

You wish yours was as big as mine

pikachew

that’s what he said

it’s barbie bitch

omg it just hit me

it’s barbie bitch

the first person to 

finally get bitches in our class 

it’s barbie bitch

i’m so happy i could cry

pikachew

I GET BITCHES

sue you

yeah over the screen 

we're talking irl

pikachew

leave me and my otome games alone

forensic balls [you]

real 

forensic balls [you]

AND IM NOT DATING HITOSHI

it’s barbie bitch

HITOSHI????????

airpods with wires

first name basis is crazy

forensic balls [you]

fuck i mean *shinsou

scotch tape

y’all smell that

the rock

peeeyew

pikachew

smells like sum bullshiiii

kazoo-ki

Could’ve fooled me

yaomomo

You aren’t??? :(

yaomomo

But I wrote a reminder to wish 

you two happy anniversary and 

even bought tea to celebrate!

forensic balls [you]

….for what date

yaomomo

April 1st :(

forensic balls [you]

………………

airpods with wires  

@ it’s barbie bitch we can see u

across the cafeteria u are BAWLING

eyebags

what the fuck

Hitoshi bites back a laugh as your widened eyes meet his, glancing up from your phone.

“Not dating, huh?” He grins.

You groan and pinch his arm. “I panicked okay! I didn’t know what to tell them.”

“Hmm, do you want me to?”

“I mean, only if you want to.” You shyly play with his fingers. 

“I kind of like us being a secret from them for a little longer. It feels… nice.”

Hitoshi smiles. “I know what you mean.” He wrinkles his nose. “Though they’re so nosy it looks like they figured it out already.”

“Pffft, yeah.” Mina could definitely sniff out a relationship from miles away, no matter how much PDA you tried to sneakily do in empty hallways.

Hitoshi squeezes your hand in reassurance.

“I like it too.” He leans over, and your eyes are forced to meet the dark violet of his.

The side of Hitoshi’s soft-looking lips, courtesy of the strawberry chapstick he stole from you before class this morning, quirk up as he looks down at you with soft eyes, the ones he reserves for you and random cats he sees on the road.

“Chapstick thief,” you mutter.

“Oh, you want it back?” Hitoshi grins. “Kiss it off me then.”

Your cheeks grown warm. “Not here!”

“Good,” He smirks.

“I prefer keeping you all to myself, anyway.”

   ───────── 

“What’s wrong?” 

He’s crouching down so that your eyes have no choice but to meet his from your spot on the bean bag.

He gently pushes the switch in your hands down to your lap and pokes your thigh. You squirm away ticklishly. 

“Tell me.”

“No.” You huff, picking your switch back up. “I just wanna play Stardew, leave me alone.”

“Darling.”

Your face flushes at the pet name, and he smirks. His secret weapon still works without fail. Hitoshi didn’t even need to activate his quirk to have you under his thumb. 

“You’re not going to feel better if you keep it in. Tell me what’s wrong.”

His nails are still pink, you faintly notice, trying to distract yourself from your very attractive, very insistent boyfriend in front of you with his comforting hands placed on your thighs.

You painted his left hand, and Eri painted his right at the last sleepover you had together. She had insisted that he should match nails with her this time, since she matched with him last week.

It was already terrible and impressive that Hitoshi was a people-reader, even worse that he knew what to do to make you fold so easily and open up.

Curse you Hitoshi, you and your disposition for healthy communication.

You should have never recommended that therapist to him.

“I don’t know,” you finally mumble. He tilts his head, showing you that he’s listening. 

“I just feel like I don’t deserve it.”

“Deserve what, sweetheart?” He asks. The softness in his voice is unbearable and what you've been bottling up for weeks finally spills out.

“I feel like I don’t deserve it when good things happen to me.”

Hitoshi blinks, then lets out a snort. Which turns into a full blown laugh coming from his chest.

You shove his face away and he falls on his butt, still chuckling. 

“You’re making fun of me!” You say indignantly.

“Sorry, sorry, I just–” He coughs, and takes a breath to recollect himself. 

“You say a lot of dumb shit and I think that's the worst thing I’ve heard you say.”

You pout. “I’m feeling very invalidated right now.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes, and his hands reclaim their spot on your skin, except this time he’s gently cupping your face in his hands. 

He’s not used to comforting people, but you can see that he’s trying.  

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and you inhale sharply. “You’re kind, you’re intelligent, and I see you try so hard everyday. You always do a good job when you set your sights on something. Why don’t you deserve good things?”

“I don’t know.” Your gaze is numbly pinned to the silver chain around his neck, the one with a little crescent moon on it that he wears everyday, not even taking it off when he goes to sleep. The one you gave to him. 

“That’s okay.”

His thumbs caress your cheeks, and you think you can breathe a little easier. 

“Let's think of it this way,” Hitoshi says, still cupping your cheeks, grounding you. “It’s not about whether you deserve it or not. Do you want it?”

You finally meet his eyes, and answer with a voice shakier than you’d like it to be. 

“I do. I want good things for myself.”

“Atta girl,” Hitoshi says with a proud quirk of his lips. 

You stare at him, your heart suspended in your chest, feeling better but still looking a bit unsure.

Hitoshi notices this from the way you start biting the inside of your cheek, and he leans his forehead against yours. You freeze. 

He smells like fruit, like freshly washed blueberries and those ripe strawberries in the kitchen in the dorm’s fridge. “That’s more than enough. We can work from there.”

There’s still a worried furrow between your eyebrows.

“Come on, sweetheart. We can go to the aquarium you love this weekend.”

He smirks as you perk up at that, drinking up the rare, shy expression suddenly on your face again, and leans down to your ear. 

“You’re so easy,” Hitoshi whispers. 

You grumble, you could hear that stupid grin in his voice.

“Sorry, I can't hear you with your face in my chest.”

You raise your head to glare at him and his heart soars. There was his girl.

God, his smug face was starting to irritate you more and more. "I said that if you were my husband I'd poison your tea!" 

“If you were my wife, I'd drink it."

   ───────── 

-thot pockets -

it's barbie bitch

omg guess who i just saw 

cuddling in front of the tv

it's barbie bitch

youwrappedlikeaburritoinhitoshisarms.png

dating allegation #1 

MINA WTF DELETE THAT

dating allegation #1 

WHY R U STALKING US

[dating allegation #2 saved an image]

dating allegation #1 

BRO WHOS SIDE ARE YOU ON

dating allegation #1 

PURPLE MINION LOOKING BITCH

dating allegation #2

ok forensic penis

dating allegation #2

who changed my user

pikachew

me

cuz u guys are NOT beating 

them :laughcry::laughcry:

ice spice

I am just confused as to why 

you two are sitting on each other 

ice spice

When the rest of the couch 

appears to be unoccupied

ice spice

Perhaps this is a new 

procreation method?

mochi cheeks

TODORKIWHATHAHVDHSHA

pikachew

LMDFAOOOOOOOOO

ice spice

? 

dating allegation #1 

WHATTHEFUKC

the rock

never change bro 

sue you

IACTAULKYLCANT BREATHE HELP

it’s barbie bitch

ME NEITEHHR

dating allegation #2

Whenever my eyebags get darker

dating allegation #2

Just know I blame it on all of you

   ───────── 

“Celery?” You mutter, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Mrow.” The cat continues eating the slice of… pizza? On your chest.

It looks like the one that you and Hitoshi ordered earlier after quizzing each other for Present Mic’s exam.

“I love you so much but I am so confused.”

You reach for your phone to text Hitoshi, your still-asleep hands fumbling a bit on the nightstand.

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

us 

you [12 hrs ago]

literally us <3

toshi <3 [12 hrs ago]

want to order takeout and 

watch ouran highschool after

we study for tmrws exam

you [12 hrs ago]

yes please omg

you [now – 03:24]

hey

can u explain why ur daughter

is eating pizza on my boobs

at 3am

toshi [03:30]

whar

?

toshi [03:31]

OHfMGOD

CELERU

Not even five minutes later, he’s knocking on the door to your room. You open it, and the sight of a very sleepy looking Hitoshi greets you. His already unruly bedhead is even messier than usual and you’re pretty sure he’s wearing his shirt backwards. Did he put it on before coming over? 

Wait.

You blink, long and hard, banishing the thoughts of a groggy, very shirtless Hitoshi lying in his bed, with the light of his phone screen illuminating his handsome features as he replies to your text. Those four hours of sleep must finally be hitting you.

Hitoshi sees you blinking, and takes it as a sign you’re still in shock at the pizza monster in your lap.

He gives an awkward pat to your shoulder in reassurance.

“I think this is just how she shows affection.” Hitoshi stares down at Celery fondly.

The way you stroke her fur so softly makes his chest feel warm and tingly.

“Does she eat leftover pizza off your chest at three in the morning?”

“...No.”

“Hah. She said she likes me better. ” You smirk victoriously. “Isn’t that right sweetie?”

The calico cat purrs as you scratch her ears, a bit of tomato sauce under her chin. Hitoshi exaggeratedly puts his hand over his heart at this scene of betrayal.

“Seriously? Celery, I took you off those streets and raised you like I was the one pregnant with you for nine months.”

“Mrow.” She bumps her head against your hand.

“Pfft, give it up Toshi. It’s time for you to hand over the adoption papers.”

Hitoshi rubs the back of his neck. “Or we could just share custody.”

“What?” Your cheeks grow warm. “You want me to be her mom?”

“I mean you kind of already are. Look at her,” he says, eyes softening as he looks at the two of you. 

Celery has her paw on your arm. After eating until her little tummy was full, she was already starting to doze off.

“She takes after me.”

You let out a derisive snort.

“Yeah you looked just like that after our binge marathon today too."

“Not in that way.”

He smirks at your confused reaction.

“Then what do you mean–”

At that moment, Celery decides it’s the perfect time to snuggle into your tank top, smearing what’s left of the pizza on her face all over it.

Hitoshi’s eyes widen. He laughs, covering his mouth.

You’ve never been so glad you chose to wear black to sleep.

   ───────── 

“Trouble child, you’re here.”

“Hi Mr. Aizawa.” You roll your eyes. “When are you going to stop calling me that, it’s getting old.”

“When you stop getting into trouble.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“The kid’s almost ready.” He snorts. “About damn time. Been up since six.”

“He has?” Your eyes widen. “For what?”

Your teacher smirks. “Nerves. Isn’t this his, what, tenth time taking you out though?”

A flustered Hitoshi suddenly appears from behind him with a light pink dusting his cheeks and steers Aizawa back to the door. “O-okay dad that’s enough.” 

He’s cutely dressed in a soft-looking grey cardigan over a white shirt and black wide-legged pants. 

This had to be the most boyfriend he’s looked, ever, and he looked very boyfriend all of the time. 

“Hitoshi?” You do a little twirl for him in your own outfit. “Fire or nah?”

He looks up from his phone, where he’s googling the bus route to the aquarium, except his eyes linger. Without skipping a beat, he responds.

 “Fire.”

“Toshi, you’re staring.”

“Of course I’m staring.” He says it with a tone like 'what else would I be doing?'

You shyly fidget with the edge of your shorts. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful.”

Hitoshi reaches out a hand, like he hasn't just casually left you breathless, and his own eyes soften as he notices your starry-eyed look. 

“Let’s go, you crybaby.”

“Damn. I was going to say you look handsome too, but I don’t remember being the one who sobbed my eyes out watching Your Name last night.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

“Shut up.”

“Was like our fifth rewatch too.”

“Shut up before I kiss you.”

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both."

‧₊˚ 🐚 ✩ ₊˚ 🌊 ⊹ 𓇼

Hitoshi’s lips twitch as he sees your eyes light up at the sight of the sign pointing in the jellyfish exhibit’s direction. “You’re adorable.”

“Thanks.” You grin. “You’re slow.”

You take him by the arm, your brain faintly registering how muscular his bicep is despite holding it so many times, and drag him along. 

In their tanks, the glow of the moon jellies fills the darkness in front of them as other visitors murmur around you two in awe. Blue light reflects off the water and through the glass, illuminating your boyfriend’s dreamy features and you can’t help but admire how pretty he looks.

Hitoshi turns from watching the jellyfish to face you, fingers now lacing through yours. You don’t look away. 

A soft smile flickers across his face when he catches you staring at him.

“This reminds me of when we first met.”

You smile. You remember. He was the one Mina relentlessly teased you for staring at, which you completely denied at the time.

“Why’re you so thirsty?” You remember her whispering into your ear at the Sports Festival in your first year. The both of you were sitting in your class’s designated spots in the stands.

Your eyes had widened, scandalized. 

“I am not!”

“Please. You’re totally staring at him.”

“Who?”

“Shinsou Hitoshi.” She grinned. “Cute, right?”

Of course she paid attention when they announced his name specifically. 

You could never remember anyone’s, and she probably saw you looking at his picture for a little too long when it appeared on the Jumbotron’s screen, announcing that his match with Oijiro was about to begin. 

“Not really,” you lied, a bad attempt at feigning disinterest. 

Like your eyes hadn’t been trailing down his lean figure the moment his next match started. 

Or noticing how attractive it was the way he casually folded his arms when he taunted Midoriya, or wondering in your mind if his perpetual bed-head was as soft as it looks. 

Mina turned to you, smirking at your slightly dazed expression.

“Really? Then you wouldn’t mind if I told him you had some questions about his quirk and wanted to talk about it after this, riiight?”

“What?” You shake your head furiously. “I mean his quirk is really interesting but–ugh Mina, no!” 

“For the plot!” She waggled her eyebrows.

You nudged her knee with a huff. “I’m breaking up with you.”

“Nooo, I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Mina eyed you cheekily. “I won’t call him over.”

“Oh thank god.”

“But only if you admit he’s your type.”

You groan. “Okay fine. I think he’s hot, happy?”

“Very.” Your best friend laughs, pure happiness indeed written all over her face. You can see the matchmaking gears already turning in her head. “I just know you too well, babe.”

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes I really wish you didn’t.”

“Come on, you guys would be so cute together though.” She sighs dreamily. “Forensic sight and mind-control? Plus you’re both hot as fuck? Talk about a power couple.”

“....I think I’m going to go sit with Yaomomo instead.”

Recalling the memory, you laugh. “I know, we kept accidentally making eye contact after your second match because our seats were right across from each other.”

“That awkward prolonged eye contact in the stands might’ve been how I started crushing on you.”

You smirk. “You had a crush on me? That's so embarrassing.”

“I know.” He rolls his eyes, softly tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Worst decision of my life.”

You hold Hitoshi’s hand tighter as you step closer to his side to get a better view of the tank. 

“Glad the feeling is mutual.” 

You spot it before he does.

“Oh my god Toshi. We need to get this for Eri.”

He spins around from the collection of the aquarium’s official shirts for sale, a shirt with a print of a whale shark in his hands. 

“Wha–oh my god.”

Hitoshi stares at the giant penguin plushie you’re holding in front of you. 

It was bigger than you–no, bigger than him even.

“Not sure if it’s going to fit on the train home, but we’ll make it work.”

   ───────── 

"Can you teach me how to draw a unicorn too, Eri?" Hitoshi asks.

You had already asked Eri before him seconds ago so you stick your tongue out at Hitoshi, mouthing ‘copycat,’ and he tilts his head down to quickly kiss your neck, making you giggle. 

He still has a pink bow wrapped around his bicep from when you three played dress up an hour ago, and you fight the urge to laugh again at how silly he looks.

Eri is too focused on her drawings to care about either of you, and after she scribbles around a little more, she turns to face her older brother.

“Yeah!” She hands him a red crayon. “Okay, so first you draw half of a circle.”

Hitoshi follows Eri’s instructions.

He lifts his hand, which nearly covers the paper, to reveal a red ‘C’ that looks like it got run over by a truck.

“No, no not like that! Erase it.” She frowns disapprovingly, hands on her hips. “You’re really bad at this Hito-nii.”

“Please Eri-sensei. I'm trying my best.”

“Try harder!” She turns away with a huff, then peers over at your paper. 

“Ooh yours looks so good!” Eri claps, and you smile proudly. 

“It’s all thanks to you, Eri.” You reach out to fix her pigtail that was starting to slip out of the cat-patterned scrunchie, and she giggles, holding still for you. 

Hitoshi grumbles. “This smells like favoritism.”

“That’s ‘cause your unicorn looks Celery’s poop!” Eri chirps. Then she runs away to the kitchen right before you double over in laughter at Hitoshi’s extremely offended face, clutching onto his broad shoulders for support. 

“She said your drawing looks like shit!” You snort, and he groans.

Celery’s ears perk up in Hitoshi’s lap and she meows, looking in your direction. You hold out your arms. “Celery, you want uppies?”

She ignores them and decides to sit in your lap instead, purring softly.

“Mrow.”

“Yeah? And then what?” You coo, gently rubbing her fuzzy forehead, and her eyes close in contentment.

She mewls again, pawing at your sock and you laugh.

“Okay, okay I’ll tell him.” 

Looking up at Hitoshi, he tilts his head the same way Celery does when you talk to her. 

You bite back a laugh, you’re not sure who’s the cat in the room at this point.

“What did she say?” He asks you curiously.

All you do is blink slowly at him in response.

Hitoshi’s brows knit in confusion.

Then his eyes widen, a soft pink starting to color his cheeks.

Shyly, he slowly blinks back.

Suddenly, the gray-haired girl comes back from the kitchen, apples Aizawa sliced like rabbits for her on a plate in her hands. 

You’re still slowly blinking at each other as she walks through the door.

Eri looks at the both of you weirdly.

“What are you two doing?”

“Mrow.”

he flipped up your sheets to reveal a black hoodie that was two sizes too large and smelt faintly like cologne. the wrinkled article of clothing was tucked away under your blankets and duvet cover, but it was unmistakable; this wasn't yours. he picked it up and pulled it closer to his face, inspecting the fabric.

"what are you doing?"

aizawa stiffened, freezing like a deer in headlights. he turned slowly, only to be greeted by a scowl on your face. you stood in the doorway, arms crossed and clearly disappointed in your dad. your eyes trailed down to the fabric in his grip, before they widened. you swiftly snatched the hoodie from his hands and stuffed it into a nearby drawer.

"stop going through my stuff!" you frowned at the dark haired man, his guilty expression still on his face.

"sorry pumpkin," he shot a sheepish smile in your direction, a hand coming up to graze the nape of his neck. "i was going to do a load of laundry, you sure you don't wanna put your hoodie-"

"get out dad!" you were already ushering him out the door, pushing him with all your might. the tips of your ears flushed red and the look on your face implied you had been caught doing something you shouldn't. aizawa, now banished to the hallway, glanced back into your room, looking for a reason as to why you were acting so flighty.

"dinner's ready in five-"

SLAM-

the tan of the wooden door greeted his face.

ugh, teenagers.

yamada had his suspicions.

"YOOO, what's this dawg?"

yamada scrolled through your playlist as you drove, hands shaking at the wheel. you sat in the driver's seat, a bundle of nerves as your dad overlooked your driving practice. he was helping you prepare for your driving test — or at least he was trying to.

instead of making sure you were obeying the rules of the road, he was messing with the screen in between you two, looking through the playlist you threw on before starting the car.

"pops, you're supposed to be helping me drive!" you whined, one hand tapping your fingers impatiently against the wheel while the other reached for the gear stick. "and don't call me 'dawg'. that's so cringe." your dad ignored your comment, still rifling through the collection of songs. the title of the playlist, 'him', elicited a raised eyebrow from him.

love song. love song. another love song. a song about love. a song about yearning. a song about sex-

yamada's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets. before the could turn to ask you what the hell inspired you to add such songs to your playlist, the car came to an abrupt stop. his body jerked, and he had never been so grateful for seat belts. a hand instinctively shot out to protect you from hurtling forward.

he turned to see a mortified look on your face, and followed your gaze to where a little cat licked it's paws in the middle of the road, a meter away from the car. he correctly assumed it was the culprit behind the sudden halting of the vehicle.

then, all at once, it hit him. you broke out into a wailing sob, the car behind yours honked it's horn angrily, and Sabrina Carpenter's vocals blared from the radio. even for a loud guy like him, this was too much.

"it's okay, love," he said unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out the car. "i'll drive us home, and we can try again tomorrow." he embraced you in a tight hug as you wiped your tears and snot on his shirt.

the car ride home was silent, your father casting sympathetic looks your way as you calmed down from your earlier driving incident. he let you relax, but not without making a mental note to ask you what inspired your choice of songs in your playlist.

eri hammered the final nail in the coffin.

"who's this one, eri-chan?" aizawa examined the drawing the young girl had handed him to pin onto the fridge. his eyes scanned the picture, taking a sip of his coffee.

the piece of paper in his hand depicted four figures. one was clearly him, with his dark, unkempt hair and capture tape (or at least what he thought was his capture tape) flowing in the wind. another was obviously yamada, a giant mouth drawn onto an egg shaped head with electric yellow hair that was almost as tall as him. you were next to them, a smile scribbled onto your face, and you… were holding the hand of an unfamiliar figure.

aizawa squinted at the drawing, now pinned onto their art gallery of a fridge. yamada copied him, peering over his partner's shoulder.

"is this one's hair supposed to be purple?" yamada asked eri, who was already working on her next artwork. she looked up to her dads with big doe eyes and nodded vigorously.

"and they have… are those eye bags?" aizawa brought a hand to his chin.

"um, i dunno," eri cocked her head to the side in confusion. "that's just how he looks!" the pair continued to rack their brains for the identity of the mystery person intruding their family portrait.

"and they're y/n's… friend?"

"yep!" the young girl grinned. "they hold hands, and kiss, and he told me he loves her!"

a silence fell over the kitchen, the scratching of eri's pencil on paper the only sound heard in the room.

"and who would that be, eri-chan?" yamada asked slowly and quietly, uncharacteristic of him. aizawa's grip tightened on his mug, squeezing the ceramic in his hands.

"shinsou-kun, duh!"

crack.

pieces of ceramic and drips of coffee scattered across the kitchen tiles — aizawa crushed his mug with his bare hands.

"i think they know."

a change in his teachers' behaviour wasn't lost on your boyfriend; shinsou spent the last week with extra duties in homeroom, felt like eraserhead was particularly hard on him in their training sessions, and present mic shouted louder at him than usual, if that was even possible.

"if they don't know by now, that's on them." you looked to your boyfriend with a smile.

he was lying on your bed, his purple locks tousled and his eyes looking into yours. you leaned forward to place a peck on his lips, causing him to pull you closer. you giggled as his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you down to lie next to him.

"YOOO, what in the world?!"

"what the fuck."

your dads stared at the two of you, your bedroom door now swung open. you rolled your eyes while shinsou looked mortified. you had never seen him jump up so fast. you laughed, knowing that this scenario was always inevitable.

"yeah, you might be dead."

ARGH I LOVE THIS ONE ,, i'm still working on requests, tho don't be afraid to keep em coming!!

i hope you's had a wonderful valentines and ate loads of chocolate or whatever!! i heart u guys

luvv, hachiluvv xx

She thinks it’s ridiculous, why is there rain in the middle of summer? It was never like this in California, they had some bouts of rain in December and April but never the summer. Even when it did rain it never lasted long or was bad enough that her mother invested in proper rain attire.

Which is how she finds herself walking down the street, her jeans and converse completely soaked. The crappy poncho her mom bought at Melvald’s was in the clearance section for a reason because her hair is soaked through and she can feel water soaking her shirt.

She wants to go home. Not that dump on Cherry Lane but San Diego.

She feels hot tears welling up in her eyes when her shadow starts to elongate in the puddles and she hears the rev of a car engine behind her. Great, some asshole is gonna splash water all over her. Instead the car slows to a gentle stop next to her and when she turns her head she sees a familiar red BMW, Steve’s already rolling down the window to talk to her.

“What are you doing?” he frowns, and she can see you in the passenger seat craning your head to look at her. “It’s pouring out here.”

Max’s mouth goes dry, what is she doing out here?

“Walk,” she finally says, hoping the lump in her throat isn’t obvious.

“C’mon get in,” Steve replies without missing a beat, nudging his head toward the passenger side. “You’re gonna get yourself sick.”

“I’m fine,” Max insists, because she really is about to start crying and she doesn’t want to be in his car when that happens.

“Max get in,” your voice cuts in, frowning at her and exchanging a glance with Steve, like you two can communicate without speaking.

She does, only because you’ve been the coolest person ever to her since you stabbed Billy with a tranquilizer syringe and threatened him with a baseball bat.

She gets in the backseat, probably ruining Steve’s fancy leather seats with how soaked she is, and immediately notes the grocery bags. Not junk food but actual ingredients, great Steve was gonna cook you dinner and now she’s crashing your date night.

Steve is already slipping off his knit sweater and cranking up the heater. He sets the car in park in the middle of the road before turning around so he can hand her the sweater.

“You wanna actually tell us why you were walking around in the rain?” He has a disapproving frown on his face but for some reason Max doesn’t feel like it’s directed at her.

She wants to refuse the sweater but she’s shivering in the backseat and it feels warm in her hands. So she takes her crappy poncho off and slips it on, hoping the two of you mistake the few tears escaping her eyes for rain.

“Hey we’re not gonna tell your parents,” you say gently, reaching out to smooth down her soaked hair. “We just wanna know, I promise.”

“My parents are out for the night,” her voice cracks when she talks and she really hopes you two just think she’s cold. “So Billy invited a girl over.”

She’s looking down at her soaked shoes because looking at either one of you feels scary right now. Even then she knows you two are exchanging glances, communicating without speaking again. She remembers her mom and dad doing that, when she was younger and they still loved each other.

“Okay,” Steve says after a beat, his voice softer and reaching out to fix the sweater so it sits evenly on her. “You’re gonna come back to my place with us, and then you can use my phone to leave a message for your mom that you’re sleeping at a friend’s house. Sounds good?”

Max nods, trying to rub her hands and warm them up. Steve takes the car out of park and starts driving back to his place. The two of you are quiet throughout the drive and she doesn’t feel like starting a conversation. Every so often her eyes dart back to the grocery bag, the thought of Billy making a girl dinner is so laughable it feels absurd.

After a few minutes the BMW rolls into the driveway and you come over to her door with an umbrella while Steve grabs the grocery bags from the other side. It’s ridiculous for you to walk her twenty feet over to the door with the umbrella but she humors you anyway.

She follows suit when you and Steve slip off your shoes by the front door before walking in. The two of you actually own proper rainboots and Steve gives a glance at her thoroughly soaked converse.

“Alright I’m gonna start cooking dinner,” Steve tells her, gesturing to the grocery bag. “Why don’t you go take a shower?”

“I don’t need–”

You both give her a look.

“...Fine,” she relents after a moment, because it does feel like her bones are rattling inside her body.

“Perfect,” you take her hand, leading her over to the staircase. “I’ll show you where it is and get you some clothes.”

You take her upstairs, stopping by one of the cabinets in the hallway to grab some towels before leading her into Steve’s room. It’s mostly what she’d expect from a teenage boy, some movie posters, a basketball laying around, and a desk that obviously has seen very minimal studying.

She does catch the fact that there are multiple pillows on the bed and the sheets are a nice cream color instead of bachelor navy blue. There’s some books and a candle on the nightstand, along with two mugs holding the remnants of last night’s tea in them.

“Here we go,” you say, finally looking up after having rummaged through the top dresser drawer. Based on the clothes Max can see in, it’s your designated space in Steve’s room.

You hand her the towels along with some fluffy pajama pants, they have little teddy bears on them, along with an oversized t-shirt.

“Bathroom’s down the hall on the left, just yell if you need anything.”

She mumbles acknowledgment and you turn to leave, then Max calls out your name before she realizes it.

“What’s up?” you turn around. Her chest feels tight, everything feels wrong and right at the same time. This is how things should be for her, but they’re not and she’s terrified this brief moment will be stolen from her in seconds.

“You’re not gonna call my parents… right? You or Steve?”

Your face softens and you walk over to her. Wrapping her in a hug and pressing your lips to the top of her head.

“No we’re not,” you murmur and rub her back. “You just have to promise me one thing, okay?”

Max’s shoulders are shaking as she cries into you. Quiet sniffles like the girls who sit on the curb outside of their house after Billy decides he’s done with them. “What is it?”

“Next time something like this happens,” you whisper, still rubbing her back. “Call us, we’ll come get you.”

She nods against you and you hold her for a few minutes until the crying subsides. When she pulls away you press a kiss to her forehead before leaving.

She follows your instructions, going down the hall and to the left to find the bathroom. There’s two of everything. Tooth brushes, towels, body washes, and shampoo and conditioner sets. She can’t resist being nosy and taking a peek in the bathroom drawer. She finds a makeup bag and inside all the products look minimally used.

Steve must have bought it so you wouldn’t need to bring yours back and forth.

The idea of him standing in your bathroom carefully writing down the products and their shade names to buy them is so silly and sweet enough to make her giggle quietly.

Max takes her time in the shower, letting the steaming hot water warm her body. She also wants to make sure she’s fully composed because it’d be way too embarrassing if she started crying again.

She steals your body wash and washes her hair with Steve’s shampoo and conditioner because she thinks it’s funny. The boys make fun of him for preening with how much he invests in his hair products. It’s stupid considering how nosy they got when Dustin revealed he knew Steve’s hair routine. He never actually told any of them.

She dries herself off thoroughly after the shower and examines the skincare products on the counter. Not the cheap soaps she convinced her mom to buy after her face started breaking out. Fancy expensive ones that you need adult money to buy. Two of everything again, things Steve bought to make you more comfortable in his space.

She uses your facewash and dabs on a little moisturizer out of curiosity, it smells like clay and she likes it a bit. After wrapping her hair in a towel she heads out of the bathroom and walks over to the stairs. 

The smell of garlic hits her nose and just as she’s about to head down she clears the click of the front door. Then your feet padding on the floor as you walk into the kitchen and tell Steve: “She’s a size six.”

“Hmm you think red rainboots are a little too on the nose?”

“She likes the color so it’ll probably be fine. Just maybe make the pants and coat a different color?”

“How about all yellow? She can look like the Morton Salt girl.”

“Well she would look adorable, but she’d also probably kick you.”

“Red boots it is. I’ll get a small for the pants and a medium for the coat.”

“Steve, that jacket is stupidly expensive.”

“Which is why I’m getting a medium so she can grow into it.”