"What's the new stuff?"

"This is Haywire, enhances quirk usage. Turns a cat into a Bull. Stuff's been selling like candy. If you're interested to see its effects, the lot caught a hero. Injected him for tonight's match."

Y/N nods, small twitching at the corner of his lips. "Now you've peeked my interest."

Six months had passed since Mirio took him, opting to the window. From time to time his scar throbbed, aching in memory. Most of his work had subsided toward the underground, leaving sleep non-existent and work nonstop. Or trading and betting in his case.

Within the crowd, he watches as villain after villain fight. From Washed up heroes to unknown underdogs, a noticeable enhancement of the opposition was obvious. Feral rage in their movements, Muscle twitches, and the glowing eyes only made it more identifying. Speed and power almost overkill to normal fighters, little to no openings to fight back.

It was undeniable once Mirio stepped into the ring, swaying as he held the fence in a vise grip. Flushed over his skin, shiny with sweat. The picture of a cornered animal, a shift of those blue eyes met his. A flicker steady over the man, a single moment of pause from the drugged hero. Only for it to break as his attention turned towards his opponent.

Allowing the other to phase through him before connecting a hard gut punch, rendering them limp below his feet. One after another, the hero won without much effort. As much fun as it was to see the hero in action, he was still in his debt.

"How much for the golden boy?" Y/N caught up with Mirio's keeper behind the establishment. Lighting up a cigarette between his cracked lips. The man shakes his head, uninterested. "Not for sale."

He moves closer, "300,000 and I'll through in a hero tracker." He pushes with a grin. Watching as the other turns, quick. Eyes flickering over Y/N, suspicion giving way to greed with ease.

"Show-" Cutting him off quick, wrapping around him in a head lock. Arm tight around his neck as he thrashed wildly. Body fighting a few seconds long as his breath became labored, slowing as he passes out. Y/N drags him away from the building side, hiding him from plain sight. Throwing the cash amount on him before rescuing the hero.

Gently setting the Mirio on his couch, grabbing his med-kit, rubbing alcohol, and a pair of quirk-canceling cuffs. He mutters out nonsense as Y/N pulls his hero suit off, leaving it to pool around the blonde's waist. Taking in his injuries delicate hands, trailing over darkened bruises alongside needle marks. A deep laceration rest over his hip and stomach, shoulder and inner wrists discolored with bruised scratches.

Fingers pressing bluntly to Mirio's lower stomach, holding a patch of gauze as his other hand rampages in search. A soft rasp breaks his scattered thoughts. "You…" He didn't need to look to see the hero smiling up at him. His tone alone gave it away, but even that didn't stop his eyes from gravitating.

"Sorry about the cuffs, for both our safety." He mutters. Blue eyes hazy, pupils blown wide yet focused. Fingers outstretched at his sides, weighted down. "How long have you been watching me?" He questions, resuming his movements. Grabbing a square of translucent medical tape, activating the adhesive before pressing it.

"Couple months, wanted to know where you went." Mirio's voice heaved as he pressed his wound, painful inhale barley retaking his smile.

"So you broke into someone else's organization to check up on me." He mutters, eyes flickering towards his med-kit. Grabbing a few cotton balls, dabbing alcohol over them. Lightly pressing over Mirio's face, cleaning each scrap, bruise, and slash viable to him.

Mirio happily tilted his head up, following each maneuver on his chin. "Not my finest work, but I did find you." He could practically feel the blond gaze on him, refusing to risk another glance. Y/N only nods.

Soon draping a fluffy blanket over the hero and refilling his water, soon offering him pain meds. "Take this, it'll help with the pain. As for the drug you were given, two days max and you'll be sober again." His hand weakly grasps it along with his own hand, clasping over his fingers win a shaky grip.

"Stay?" A single whisper ricochet in the living room. Y/N moves to kneel beside the couch, resting their joined hands on the cushion. He lays there all night, hand growing numb with sleep. A warmth he'd missed…

-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-*--*-_-

Checking over his jaw, carefully cleaning, leaning in a little too close. Body squared over Mirio's, bodies brushing one another, purposeful. The hero had been almost silent the entire day, his answers small and one worded. Two days ago he'd been talking up a storm, flirting lefty and right.

Y/N smears healing gel with steady fingers, swallowing as he exhales through his nerves. Gently soothing over the other's shoulder, moving over towards his face. "Been quiet today, you okay?"

The blonds focus sharpened over him, smiling softly in his reply, "Of course I am, I'm in your hands."

Y/N huffs out in instinct, "Sap."

Mirio's smile widens and he releases low giggles, "Am I not allowed to miss you?"

Hands freezing at his words, heart pounding as his fingers twitch. A clenching them, brushing off the blooming in his chest. "I see those meds are working, I'll go ahead and-"

The hero's hand grasps his wrist again, dreamily asking. "Stay with me again?"

"You should get some sl-" He goes to move towards the chair adjacent to the hero, only to be pulled down. Pinned between arms and chest of muscle, oozing warmth wrapping around him in droves. Relaxing within the walls of muscle, forehead resting over his chest.

In that moment, he realized how much he missed Mirio. His warmth both physical and verbal, his kindness when Y/N never deserved it in the first place. Reality hitting him as his feeling conflicted with his thoughts, "Should think about going back, hero. You're basically all healed and sober now."

"What about you?"

"I've got other jobs in need of my attention."

"What if I want your attention?" Blunt words, targeting Y/N heart. Jaw clenched as he moves to rest his chin on Mirio's shoulder. Their face inches away from the other. Deep blue eyes swimming circle through his, "You'd be crazy to want it."

The two moved with fluidity, simultaneously. Mirio's the first to move, foreheads colliding with a gentle bump. Eyes just about to fall closed as his lips meet the other's palm. Fluttering over with a slight confusion, noses gently caressing the other's as he confesses.

"Think I'm already I'm crazy for you."

Making his way out, walking passed Spinner. Standing guard at the entrance, perking up. Glancing at him, footsteps catching up a few paces behind. "Where the hell are you going?” He pressed quick. Turning to face him as he walked backwards, "Grabbing some drinks for the boss man.” The other nods gives a curt nod, "Make it quick.”

That should've been it, a quick pick up at the convenient store. Not cold brick pressed to his back, hiding in an alleyway between wall and garbage. Catching a group of hero's on patrol as the owner accused him of stealing. His bag of cold drinks and snacks held close, too far from the hide out and not close enough for back up. Already in the losing battle, he fought regardless. Eventually leading him heavily wounded.

Leaned against the pristine wall, out in the open. Blood staining and running down below, trailing of drops and footprint lay in his wake. His breathing sharp and quick, lungs heavily constricting at each inhale. Would he…The two words swirled through his mind, the question stuck in a loop of uncertainty and guilt. Would he…fight me, arrest me, or…nerves shocked through him in a crashing wave. Melting to his knees in a painful hep, blinking away watery eyes as his vision hazes over.

Each blink heavier then the last, his body shaking in its painless state. Willing himself to stand, using the wall as his support. Just-make it to the door… He thought, pushing pass the blazing weight of himself. Eventually making it, now dragging himself onward. The world around him spinning and becoming hazy, a world of spirals and mismatched colors. His body giving out, free falling.

One blink, Y/N was now laid on his back. A pressure tight around his torso, head slowly rolling down. Gauze, it looked to be wrapped over his chest and waist. The burning ache of his injury now sore, he then noticed the plush fabric of the couch he was on. The squeak of a nearby facet and running water echoed the walls. The mere sound sent his head throbbing, a soft groan escapes his lips as he moves to sit up. A hand instantly pushing him back to lay down.

Flash of the broad blonde filled his vision, "Don't move, you'll open up your stitches." Stern with his words, an unmoving option. The villain stares back, his quick intake of air coursing sharp pain through his chest. Through gritted teeth he hissed, allowing himself to lay back. "How…how long was I out?"

The hero seats himself beside him, an open med kit laid out on the coffee table. Gauze, rubbing alcohol, thread, and scissors sprawled over the dark wood. A steaming bowl resting near the close corner to him, something homely and fresh waft towards his nose. His wound thrumming as his gaze flickered over the them. "Hours maybe, you were on my porch for awhile."

"How long?" He added. Empty gaze drifting towards the hero, "How long till your buddies get here?" It was over for Y/N, that much was clear. Taking in by the number one hero AND patched up. He might as well walked up to a hero agency with his hands already cuffed. "I haven't called them." The other replied, blues eyes holding his flashing between his gauze covered wound and his face.

Frozen in disbelief, mind reeling in confusion. Brushing off the other with a tongue click, covering his eyes. Arm draped over his face as he remained in place, silent acceptance. Burning chill runs through him, body shaking in a quick thrill. Tired an understatement in his bones and muscles, something the cushions beneath him soothed. "You plan on watch me?"

"Doesn't look like I can trust you on your own." The hero counters, sat on the floor beside the other. Broad shoulder brushing his arm with a slight shift. Eyes flashing towards his arm as his hand rubs over the spot, "So what, keep me here until I heal or should I be worried about never leaving?" In truth where would this go once he heals?

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there, besides I can't loss my number one enemy so soon." Playful grin at his lips. The question imprinted to his tone, thought about and thrown for a reason the man couldn't place. Flashing his eyes back to the hero's blue ones, cocky yet observant. "You're sappier then I imagined." He muttered.

"So you think of me often?" A quick question, unprepared and wavering surprise. Smug as he was in battle, his own brain fumbling to form any kind of sentence. Tongue and mouth shaping over nothing. "That's not—never mind." Embarrassment pushing his instinct to sit up, calling over his thrumming pain, lightning fast as the hero's hand reached his chest again. Firm pressed to the center, warmth blooming beneath his touch, teeth flashed as he breathed through his conflicting thoughts. "What are you doing now?"

"I'm hungry," Head tilled up towards the hero, glaring as he resists against his hold. Sturdy hands gently rest over his shoulders pushing him back down. "You're barely laying down as is." Holding him flush against the couch, towering over the villain.

Flushed Y/N replies, "T-this is ridiculous." His eyes avoiding the hero, heated embarrassment still hot over his skin. The hero's hands move away not long after, waves of blanket cold replace the villain's shoulders. The bowl on the coffee table now cradled by the blonde, utensil in his other offering the still steaming food. "It's for your own good." Hesitant, the villain takes a bite.

"I've got some extra blankets, you'll have to sleep sitting up for a few nights." A few folded blankets at his feet, the blonde continuously stayed within his eyesight. Something the villain was never a fan of, being watched and cared for seemed entirely out of the question. But, now a sensation he can't name borrowed in his chest. Lightening rods cascading through his veins in reach of savoring, isolation long forgotten with the overbearing hero at his beck and call.

For two weeks he stayed put, quietly recovering. Another two days and he'd be gone, gauze wraps now patches over scabbing skin. The blond still insists on cleaning them, fingers careful without a tremble. Replays of the others touch haunt like a far nightmare, whispers of concern and checking in. How'd he go this long without noticing it?

The dwindle of fighting may have took priority over his emotions, pushed aside for later. Time, he often never had enough of and he was running out again. Laid down eyes closed, not quite asleep but not awake either. The hero was putting away their shared dishes from the table. Soft weight of fabric was pulled over him, slow in hopes to not disturb.

Thoughtless his hand reached and grabs the hero's arm in a gentle squeeze, fuzzy in words and heart. "…my name by the way. Might as well know who your patient is."

Time stretched around you as hours passed by.

He had left you, most likely to go cool down. Not that he let it show, but he was angry. You could feel it in the way his fingers dug into your soft flesh, leaving behind crescent shaped indents. You were alone for the first time in years. Well, not truly. HIs presence was still suffocating, cameras were littered around the room. In your stuffed animals, in the walls cracks, and sometimes even in your clothes. Of course you didn’t know about this sort of thing, he made sure never to tell you, his baby needed to be comfortable. Still. The lack of check-ins, or gentle words, or warm hands brushing your hair back, made your chest ache. It was clear you had crossed a line. He was never this way around you, mean or strict; despite the control he had on your training, he truly did spoil you in every other aspect. Pretty clothes, expensive jewellery, home cooked meals every night, gentle hugs, the softest bedding, padding on sharp corners, etc. You weren’t sure what to call your relationship with Mirio. It wasn’t like a parent looking after a child, but it couldn't be summarised as a friend looking out for another. The looks you shared weren’t platonic but your situation held you back. There was no way of knowing how Mirio felt about you without creating assumptions that would over step. All in all… you were lucky to have him in your life. But this was your first fight and you weren’t sure how to bounce back from it.

Time stretched thin enough to snap. A day had passed by now, you were sure of it. But there was still no sign of Mirio.  You were hungry and aching, tuned into the persistent press of the restraints against your skin.  The relief of not having to see him had faded away completely by now. You were hungry, uncomfortable, tired, and all you wanted was the wide expanse of Mirio’s chest to rest on.  Slowly, an unwelcome thought creeped in: What if he wasn’t coming back? Your chest warmed instinctively — panic, immediate and dangerous. The system responded just as fast, cold biting into your skin and dragging you down before your wings could think of forming. You swallowed hard, the same phrase repeating in your head again. Don’t panic. Panic overheats.  Even without Mirio, his affect, his words, stayed with you.

But the panic wasn’t leaving, mere words weren’t helping. You needed him back. What if he decided you were too much trouble? What if this was easier for him, just leaving you here where you were contained and quiet?  Your throat tightened. This wasn’t fair. He wouldn’t— …would he?

The door clicked.

You didn’t realise how tense your body had become until it wasn’t. Mirio stepped in like nothing had happened, sunlight at his back.  “Hey,” he said softly, though his subsiding anger lingered at the edges. “Miss me?” “Yes,” you responded instantly, too fast, bottom lip quivering.  Silence followed. Mirio stilled for half a second, before his signature began to fiddle with the corner of his mouth, quirking it upwards. Though it was gone instantly. “I missed you too, sweetheart.”  You wanted to believe that he meant it, but the mocking undertone played with your mind. He moved closer, slow and careful, as if approaching something fragile. Which in all honesty, you were in this state. His hand hovered near your face for a moment — giving you time to pull away.  You didn’t. You couldn’t.

His fingertips brushed your temple. “Temperature’s stable,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “You’re doing well. I think I can let you out now, don’t you?” Mirio wasn’t asking, he never was anymore, just words phrased that way so you had an illusion of freedom. His eyes roamed your body; pale, trembling, exhausted.  Your chest tightened again — not heat this time, something else, something new that had been developing throughout this experience.  You had fought him.  Tried to run. Forced him to strap you down. And yet, he was still here, happy as possible. “I didn’t,” you said quietly, tears collecting at your water line. “I tried to—” “I know..” He didn’t let you finish. Mirio’s thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, a small, absent motion that sent something uncomfortable curling low in your stomach. “But you’re okay now,” he continued gently. “That’s what matters.” You stared at him. For a moment you wanted to fight.  To tell him that he was wrong.  That this wasn’t okay.  That you weren’t something to manage.  But the words felt heavy and distant.

Your fingers shifted slightly against the restraints, not fighting this time… testing. Mirio noticed immediately, his palm flattening against your cheek so he was cupping it and tilting your face to look at him. “You’re not really trying that again, are you?” When no response came, he continued. “Know that I’m still mad, sweetheart.” His hand pressed roughly against your cheek before letting up. “You’re clearly starved and dirty, precious, so I’ll let you out of here this time. I think the time for reflection has served you well.” He drawled, before his voice morphed into something you had never heard before: hostility dancing with cruelty. “But just know,” he murmured gently, lips pressed to that delicate spot beneath your ear. “If you ever try something like that again, I’ll have to be stricter with you. Three days, maybe a week, in here alone ought to do you well, sweetheart.” He paused to place a kiss there. “You don’t want that.”

Then he immediately pulled away, smiling brightly down at you, his voice resembling the sweetest honey. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” His hands were already moving to undo the restraints and help you up.  “And we can discuss some new ground rules.”

A = Affection: He is the king of PDA! Mirio has no shame in scooping you up into a bear hug in the middle of a UA hallway or planting a loud, smacking kiss on your cheek while your friends watch.

B = Best Friend: Long before you were dating, you were best friends. Mirio values your bond above all else and still considers you his "partner in crime" for every prank and hero mission.

C = Cuddles: Mirio is a "cuddle monster". Because of his size, he’s usually the big spoon, but he loves it when you try to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders for a change.

D = Dates: Dates with Mirio are never boring. Expect anything from a high-energy carnival trip to a simple walk where he shows off silly tricks with his Permeation quirk.

E = Encouragement: Mirio is your #1 cheerleader. If you’re feeling down about your quirk or your day, he’ll give you a motivational speech that would make All Might proud.

F = Flowers: He’s surprisingly romantic. Mirio will often bring you flowers "just because," though he might accidentally phase them through his hand if he gets too excited.

G = Goofiness: There is never a dull moment. Mirio use his quirk to pop his head out of walls or floors just to make you laugh (or startle you).

H = Hugs: Mirio's hugs are legendary—warm, firm, and all-consuming. He likes to lift you off the ground and spin you around whenever he sees you.

I = Insecurities: Mirio rarely shows his own, but he is incredibly sensitive to yours. He’ll notice immediately if you’re hiding a frown and won't rest until he’s helped you feel better.

J = Jealousy: Mirio isn't the jealous type. He trusts you completely and is too confident in your love to worry about others. If someone is being rude, however, he becomes extremely protective.

K = Kisses: Mirio's kisses are sweet, frequent, and full of emotion. He loves quick, surprising pecks that leave you blushing and him grinning like a dork.

L = Love Language: Physical Touch and Words of Affirmation. Mirio needs to be near you and needs you to know exactly how much he cares about you.

M = Morning: Mirio is a total morning person. He’ll wake you up with a bright "Good morning!" and probably a joke to start the day with a smile.

N = Nicknames: He has a new one for you every day! "Sunshine," "Honeybee," or "The love of my life" are all on the table, and he’ll say them loudly enough for everyone to hear.

O = Optimization: Mirio's always looking for ways to make your life easier, whether it's helping you study or carrying all your heavy bags without breaking a sweat.

P = Protection: Mirio would do anything to keep you safe. If you ever feel uncomfortable, he has a secret signal just for you so he can get you both somewhere else.

Q = Quirk: Mirio absolutely adores your quirk, no matter what it is. He thinks you're the most capable person in the world.

R = Romance: Mirio's style is a mix of cheesy clichés and creative surprises. He might recreate a romantic rooftop skit just to have an excuse to dip you and kiss you.

S = Support: When things get tough, Mirio's your rock. He’ll listen to your rants for hours and always offers the best advice.

T = Training: Mirio loves training with you, though he has to remind himself to take it easy. He loves the "no quirks" sparring sessions because it means he gets to be close to you.

U = Understanding: Mirio is incredibly empathetic. Even if he hasn't experienced what you're going through, he’ll do his best to understand and validate your feelings.

V = Validation: Mirio makes sure you feel seen and appreciated every single day. He’ll brag about your accomplishments to anyone who will listen.

W = Walks: Daily walks are a staple of your relationship. It’s Mirio's favorite time to talk, joke, and just enjoy your company.

X = X-Ray: Mirio has no secrets from you. He’s an open book and expects the same honesty in return.

Y = Yearning: When Mirio's away on missions, he misses you terribly. Expect lots of "I miss you" texts and goofy selfies to tide you both over.

Z = Zzz: Mirio's a peaceful sleeper, usually snoring softly while holding you close. He’s the type to pull you back into bed if you try to get up too early.

​“it means ‘hey’, sungit! and payatot means skinny. look at you, you are like a tall glass of water with no ice. eat some rice, please, i’m begging your mother through you.” you shoved your phone in his face, showing him a meme of a cat wrapped in a lumpia wrapper. (sungit - meanie)

“look! it’s you. a sad little lumpia.”

​nishinoya and tanaka materialized out of thin air, drawn by the sound of your laughter like moths to a particularly chaotic flame. “y/n! teach us more bad words! we need to intimidate date tech at the next practice match!”

​you grinned, a truly mischievous tilt of your lips that made tsukishima’s stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip that he blamed on bad cafeteria yakisoba. “okay, okay. listen carefully. if kageyama hogged the ball again, you call him buwaya. it means crocodile. very greedy, very selfish!”

​“bu-wa-ya!” the two second-years chanted, pumping their fists in the air like they had just been handed the nuclear launch codes.

​“and if the opposite gets a point,” you continued, lowering your voice conspiratorially, “you say sayang. it means ‘what a waste’, but you have to say it with a lot of drama. like this: sayang naman!”

​from the sidelines, tsukishima watched the display with a scowl that didn’t quite reach his eyes. he adjusted his glasses, his fingers brushing against the bridge of his nose to hide the faint dust of pink spreading across his cheekbones. you were an absolute hurricane of noise and unbridled energy, the exact antithesis of everything he preferred in a human being. he liked quiet libraries, strawberry shortcake, and being left alone to judge people in silence.

​yet, for the past six months, his eyes had developed a traitorous habit of tracking your movements across the gym. he knew exactly how your nose wrinkled when you laughed too hard, how you unconsciously tapped your foot in a three-beat rhythm when you were bored, and the specific pitch of your voice when you were genuinely excited about something.

​he wasn’t obsessed. that was a disgusting word used by stalkers and people who didn’t understand the concept of personal space. he was merely… hyper-aware. yes, hyper-aware of your existence because you were a safety hazard to the structural integrity of his calm demeanor.

​“tsukki, you’re staring,” yamaguchi murmured from beside him, wearing a smile that was far too knowing for tsukishima’s comfort.

​“i’m looking at the clock, tadashi. her voice is loud enough to shatter glass and i’m checking how much longer my ears have to suffer.”

​“sure you are,” yamaguchi chuckled, unfazed by the venom in his best friend’s tone. “she’s teaching them ‘puta’ now. i think tanaka thinks it’s a type of pastry.” (puta - bitch)

​tsukishima looked back. you were currently trying to reach up and pat tanaka’s head in approval, your face glowing with animated joy. a sharp, physical ache bloomed right in the center of his chest. it was an annoying, persistent tugging sensation that made him want to drag you away from the shouting second-years, lock you in a quiet room, and listen to you talk about absolutely nothing until his brain melted.

​the problem was, tsukishima didn’t know how to handle warmth. he was a creature made of ice and sharp edges, and you were a tropical sun. if he got too close, he was terrified he’d just melt into a puddle of useless, vulnerable mush.

​so, he did what any emotionally stunted teenager would do: he acted like an absolute jerk.

𓏵

​the tragedy began with a notebook. a small, pocket-sized green notebook that tsukishima kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his school bag, right behind his english textbooks.

​he was a top student; learning a new language shouldn’t have been this difficult. but tagalog was a complex beast filled with repeating syllables, actor-trigger verbs, and a sentence structure that made his logical brain want to riot. still, every night after finishing his actual homework, he would sit at his desk, put on his headphones to drown out the sound of his brother breathing in the next room, and write.

​mahal. love. maganda. beautiful. marikit. gorgeous. ikaw lang. only you.

​his handwriting in the notebook was cramped and precise, filled with arrows pointing to grammatical rules and phonetic spellings. he wanted to surprise you. he had this stupid, agonizingly vivid daydream where he would casually drop a perfectly accented sentence in your native tongue, and the shocked, brilliant smile you would give him would finally make his heart stop pounding against his ribs like a caged bird.

​the universe, however, possessed a deeply twisted sense of humor.

​it happened on a tuesday afternoon during lunch. you were heading to the vending machine to get a melon bread, hum-singing a catchy opm song under your breath, when you spotted tsukishima and yamaguchi sitting on a bench in the courtyard.

​you were about to bounce over and demand a bite of whatever tsukishima was eating, but you stopped when you heard your name.

​“…and you really think this is going to work, tsukki?” yamaguchi was saying, looking over a small green notebook.

​“it has to,” tsukishima’s voice was low, laced with a harshness that he usually reserved for kageyama or hinata. “it’s insane. she doesn’t stop. she talks and talks, and it’s driving me crazy. i need to get this over with so i can finally have some peace of mind.”

​your heart, which had been doing its usual happy drum-roll at the sight of him, suddenly felt like it had been plunged into a bucket of ice water.

​“but don’t you think she’ll be hurt?” yamaguchi asked softly. “i mean, she really likes talking to you.”

​“i don’t care,” tsukishima snapped, snatching the notebook back with a jerk. “hearing those words coming out of her mouth makes me feel like my skin is getting goosebumps. nakakairita. it’s annoying. i just want to put an end to it.”

​you stood frozen behind the hedge, your hand clamped over your mouth to stifle the small, wounded sound that wanted to escape your throat.

​nakakairita. you knew that word. you had taught it to hinata last week when he wouldn’t stop poking your cheek. it meant annoying. irritating. bothersome.

​and tsukishima had just used it to describe you. he had used a word from your language to talk about how much he hated hearing you speak.

​tears, hot and furious, blurred your vision. you weren’t a crier—you were the girl who laughed off insults and turned awkwardness into a joke. but this felt different. this felt like a physical blow to the stomach. you had thought that underneath all his sarcasm and eye-rolling, there was a mutual understanding. you thought that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind your chaos as much as he pretended to.

​how stupid could you be? he was tsukishima kei. he was cool, calculated, and sophisticated. of course he hated your loud voice, your thick accent, and your invasive presence. you were a nuisance he was actively studying how to eliminate.

​you didn’t get your melon bread. instead, you turned on your heel and bolted back to the safety of your classroom, ignoring the way your chest felt like it was splitting wide open.

𓏵

​for the next two weeks, the karasuno volleyball club experienced a phenomenon that was scarier than coach ukai’s training camps: you went completely, utterly silent around tsukishima.

​it was a targeted radio silence. you still brought sliced oranges for the team, you still helped kiyoko with the clipboards, and you still taught nishinoya how to say “you’re beautiful” in tagalog (maganda ka), which he was currently screaming at random girls in the hallway.

​but whenever tsukishima approached, you became a ghost.

​if he sat on the bench, you stood up and walked to the other side of the gym to help yachi organize the towels. if he asked where the extra water bottles were, you would point to them without looking at him, your lips pressed in a hard, thin line. you stopped laughing at his dry remarks. you stopped shoving your phone in his face to show him ridiculous memes. you didn’t even call him payatot anymore.

​the silence was deafening. and it was driving tsukishima absolutely, positively feral.

​by day five, he was missing normal serves by a mile, sending balls flying into the back wall with a terrifying amount of force.

​by day ten, his mood was so foul that even kageyama was avoiding him. he was snapping at everyone, his sarcasm dripping with actual venom instead of his usual bored mockery.

​by day fourteen, he was a hollowed-out shell of a giant, his eyes rimmed with dark circles because he couldn’t sleep. his mind was a broken record playing the same question over and over again: what did i do?

​he checked his green notebook every night, tracing the words he had painstakingly written down. had he said something wrong? had his pronunciation been offensive? he hadn’t even gotten the chance to use any of it yet.

𓏵

​the breaking point came on a rainy friday evening after practice. the gym was mostly empty; only a few stragglers were left to lock up. you were in the storage room, wrestling with a heavy bag of deflated volleyballs that refused to fit on the top shelf.

​“let me,” a cold, familiar voice said from behind you.

​you jumped, dropping the bag. a large, pale hand reached over your shoulder, gripping the bag and effortlessly sliding it onto the shelf. you didn’t need to look up to know who it was. the scent of clean linen and ironed cotton gave him away instantly.

​“thanks,” you muttered under your breath, your voice small and devoid of its usual lively melody. you immediately turned to leave, keeping your eyes trained on the scuffed wooden floor.

​a hand shot out, slamming against the doorframe right next to your head and blocking your exit. you stopped dead in your tracks, your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

​“no,” tsukishima said. his voice wasn’t bored. it wasn’t calm. it was shaking with a raw, jagged edge that you had never heard before. “you’re not walking away from me again.”

​you refused to look up at him. “i need to go home, tsukishima. move your hand.”

​the use of his last name felt like a slap in the face. his jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind.

​“why are you doing this?” he demanded, leaning down so his face was level with yours. his golden eyes were flashing behind his glasses, filled with a desperate, agonizing frustration. “what did i do to make you look at me like i’m a piece of trash on the sidewalk? why won’t you talk to me anymore?”

​“because i get it, okay!” you suddenly burst out, the dam holding back two weeks of hurt finally breaking. you looked up at him, your eyes brimming with hot tears that made his chest seize with a violent wave of guilt. “i know you hate me! i know i’m loud and annoying and that hearing me speak makes your skin crawl! you don’t have to keep reminding me with your face!”

​tsukishima blinked, completely blindsided. the anger in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated confusion. “what are you talking about? i don’t hate you. when did i ever say that?”

​“i heard you!” you wiped furiously at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “two weeks ago at lunch. you and yamaguchi were sitting on the bench. you had that notebook and you said i was driving you crazy and that i was nakakairita! you used my own language to insult me, tsukki! that was… that was really mean.”

​the realization hit tsukishima like a freight train traveling at full speed. his face went from pale to a shade of red that rivaled a ripe tomato. the notebook. the lunch conversation.

​“you… you idiot,” he breathed out, his voice cracking. he dropped his hand from the doorframe and dragged it through his blonde hair, looking incredibly stressed. “you complete and utter absolute airhead.”

​“don’t call me that!” you snapped, sniffing loudly. “just let me go.”

​“no! listen to me!” he grabbed your shoulders, his grip firm but careful not to hurt you. he was staring at you with such intense, blazing urgency that you forgot how to breathe. “you didn’t hear the whole conversation. yamaguchi was asking me about the notebook because i was getting frustrated with the grammar. i was complaining because i couldn’t get the pronunciation right and i wanted it to be perfect for you!”

​you blinked, the tears freezing on your eyelashes. “perfect for… me?”

“why would you want to be perfect for me? to taunt me? to make me feel worse than i already do?” you scoffed.

​tsukishima let out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a sigh of pure desperation. he was done being cool. he was done playing the detached spectator. his pride was in absolute tatters, lying in a puddle on the storage room floor, and he didn’t care at all.

​“kase mahal kita!” he shouted, the filipino words bursting from his lips with a thick, distinctly japanese accent but a mountain of raw emotion behind them.

​you froze. your brain short-circuited. because i love you.

​“i have been staying up until three in the morning every night trying to learn your stupidly complicated language because i am so hopelessly, pathetically in love with you that it makes me physically ill!” his voice was rising now, his chest heaving as he poured out the feelings he had kept locked behind a titanium wall for months. “i wasn’t calling you annoying, you dense girl! i was calling the language rules annoying because i was impatient! i wanted to be able to talk to you in the words that make you happiest. i wanted to be someone you could feel at home with!”

​you stared at him, your mouth falling open. tsukishima was breathing hard, his glasses slightly crooked, his face a deep shade of crimson. his eyes were wide, filled with a terrifying vulnerability, searching your face for any sign of rejection.

​“i’m desperate for your love, okay?” he continued, his voice dropping to a raw, aching whisper that made your knees go weak. “it’s pathetic. i can’t focus on volleyball, i can’t sleep, i can’t even eat properly because all i can think about is how much i miss the sound of your voice. i miss you making fun of my height. i miss you forcing me to try filipino snacks that are way too sweet. i miss you. and the thought that i had genuinely hurt you and made you hate me was tearing me apart. so please, don’t ever be silent around me again. scream at me, call me names, teach me more swear words, i don’t care. just… please talk to me.”

​the silence that followed his outburst was thick and heavy, filled only with the sound of the rain drum-rolling on the metal roof and your own frantic heartbeats.

​you stared at him for what felt like an eternity, processing the absolute masterpiece of a confession that had just been delivered by the most prideful boy in school.

​and then, you did the only logical thing. you burst out laughing.

​tsukishima’s heart plummeted to his shoes. he winced, his shoulders sagging as he prepared to be utterly humiliated. “fine. laugh at me. i know i sounded ridiculous. my accent is probably terrible—”

​you didn’t let him finish. you launched yourself forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. the impact was so sudden that he stumbled back a step, instinctively wrapping his long arms around your waist to keep both of you from toppling over.

​“you’re such a giant torpe!” you muffled into his shirt, giggling through a fresh wave of happy tears.

​“a what?” he asked, his voice muffled against your hair, though his arms tightened possessively around your small frame.

​“a guy who is too shy to confess his feelings. a coward in love!” you pulled back just enough to look up at him, a wide, dazzling smile on your face that illuminated the dark storage room like a thousand suns. “but it was a very good confession, tsukki. your accent is actually very cute. a bit stiff, like a robot trying to be romantic, but cute.”

​tsukishima looked down at you, the sheer relief flooding his system making him feel lightheaded. a slow, genuine smile—the rare kind that reached his eyes and made his whole face soften—tugged at his lips.

​“shut up,” he murmured, leaning down until his forehead was resting against yours. “i was being sincere.”

​“i know,” you whispered, your hands moving up to cup his face, your thumbs gently tracing his high cheekbones. “i love you too, you giant glass of water. mahal din kita.”

​the effect of hearing those words directed at him was instantaneous. tsukishima’s breath hitched, and without giving himself time to overthink it and let his brain ruin the moment, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.

​it was clumsy at first, born from weeks of pent-up yearning and desperate anxiety. but as your lips parted and you melted against him, pulling him closer by his collar, it turned into something incredibly sweet, deep, and impossibly soft. it was the feeling of a long-awaited rainfall after a grueling drought.

​when he finally pulled away for air, his eyes were heavy-lidded and incredibly dark. his glasses were completely askew now, sitting lopsided on his nose, which made him look endearingly disheveled.

​“was that okay?” he asked quietly, his thumbs tracing the curve of your waist under your jacket. the level of raw devotion in his gaze was enough to make your soul leave your body.

​“it was perfect,” you beamed, standing on your tiptoes to straighten his glasses for him. “but we still need to work on your accent. you sounded a little bit like a dying microwave when you said ‘kase’.”

​tsukishima groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “you’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

​“never! i’m going to tell the whole team tomorrow. nishinoya will make a banner!”

​“if you do that, i’m never kissing you again.”

​“you’re lying,” you chirped, kissing his cheek. “you’re completely whipped for me, tsukishima kei. you said it yourself. you’re desperate.”

​he didn’t even try to deny it. he just sighed, pulling you flush against his chest and resting his chin on top of your head, listening to the beautiful, chaotic rhythm of your laughter filling the quiet gym. he was hopelessly, utterly defeated by a hurricane of a girl, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind losing at all.

n: tsukishima kei, pregnant? no, he’s just in love.

kei’s taglist 1/3

@cvntyandfasionable @the-bloopsters @moon-blizz0 @highandalive @nelinkythoughts @kukikoooo @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @averys-place @sxnnee @anzuuhoshi @rabbitcola @nivabiva @yeonette @forgottensniper @katzline @asthmaticasma @michexoxo @meonelixir @xiansoria @pelicanpizza @x3nafix @knkzshx @midnights-with-him @depressinglyobsessed @buriedfifii @ghostwifeyy @perpetuallydone @mptality @qardasngan @crystal-lilac @methiart @alyriaschoenheit @suha-reads @sillylule @horanghaepaws @hibernatinghamster @olliesoxenfree @mitzukita @poeticsorcery @fiannee @eri0-0 @snowstormsandavalanches @tsukkislala @starzlytoetsie @ceramic-raven @nekoffie @kuroofangirl67 @thinc0ck @estelleythegreat @lilith-dear

© showhay — don’t copy nor translate without my permission. i do not own any of the photos that i have used. credits to all the rightful owners !

The story blocks fell in place slowly, your parents, teachers and friends tried desperately to convince you to step away from this dangerous choice but you refused to back down. As a compromise, Mirio was assigned to you. He didn’t really mind, you two were friends anyway and he wanted to save as many people as possible — he’s Lemillion! 

It was all bright smiles, patient explanations, constant reassurance. He monitored your temperature constantly — cooling packs always ready, hydration scheduled. He praised your control, your discipline, your strength. When you trembled after landing too hard, he was there with steady hands and a gentle voice.

“You did great,” he’d say every time. Even when you knew you hadn’t. Somewhere along the way, care became control.

It happened gradually, like the way heat creeps up on you mid-flight… subtle, at first, until it’s burning in your lungs and your wings are stuttering. He watched you the way people watch unstable machinery. 

Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’ve been oblivious to this for a while. But now you’re living in a nightmare. 

Questions have turned into statements.

“You’re overheating.”

“You don’t need to fly today.”

“You don’t feel well enough for that.”

One time, you tried to argue. Just that once. 

Mirio smiled wider. His voice stayed gentle, but something sharpened behind it. 

“I know your limits better than you do.”

That was when you realised:

Your quirk wasn’t the dangerous thing.

You were.

Your containment was redesigned under the guise of comfort.

Ventilation systems that funneled cool air directly into your room. Heat-resistant padding along the floors “in case of collapse.” WIndows sealed shut, not locked, just nonfunctional. A hero grade door that didn’t open unless Mirio was physically present. 

“You’d melt if there was a fire,” he explained casually, adjusting a sensor at your wrist. “I can’t let that happen.”

He never raised his voice.

Never restrained you directly.

Never needed to.

Because Permeation made walls meaningless.

Privacy was meaningless.

You started to feel him before you saw him — a pressure in the air, a sense of being watched from angles that shouldn’t exist. Sometimes you’d turn, heart racing, only to find him already behind you, having phased through the floor like he belonged there. 

Which he did.

“Careful.” He’d say lightly, that boyish smile always plastered on his face. “You’re running warm.”

Due to this treatment, your wings grew weaker. They were your heat and will, the thing allowing you to soar — but you were held down by a Mirio. 

He noticed.

“I’m proud of you,” Mirio said, hand heavy on your shoulder. “You’re not relying on flight as a crutch anymore.”

You stopped telling him how you dreamed of the sky.

The vents whispered freedom.

You found them by accident, your fingers tracing the ceiling in restless desperation. The metal was so cold it hurt. But you studied it for days, planning carefully. 

The day arrived when you were going to attempt to crawl to freedom. Mirio was the whole day, you never got time like this to yourself — so what better way to celebrate than being yourself?

Your heart pounded, heat blooming in your chest despite everything.

Don’t panic. Panic overheats.

The grate slid open. 

Inside, the vent was narrow and unforgiving, scraping your elbows raw. But it didn’t matter. You yearned for your freedom back.

You moved faster.

For the first time in months, the air didn’t feel monitored.

Then the vent lost weight beneath you.

A hand phased up through the metal, fingers becoming solid around your ankle with perfect precision. Not frantic nor rushed. 

Controlled.

Mirio’s voice drifted up, calm and disappointed.

“Oh, you could’ve hurt yourself,” he sighed “I knew I couldn’t leave you home alone. Aren’t you glad I came back?”

Yeah, Mirio. Real glad.

Mirio phased through the vent wall, emerging fully and crouching effortlessly in the space that really shouldn’t have been able to hold him. His smile was still there but it was strained now. 

“Do you know what happens if you fall from that height while overheated?” he asked gently.

You thrashed. The sudden movement spiked your temperature instantly — your quirk reacted on instinct, heat flaring uselessly against the cold metal. Your wings tried to form and failed halfway, collapsing into painful nothing.

Mirio’s grip tightened. 

“There it is,” he murmured. “See? This is why I can’t let you make choices like this.” 

He pulled you against his chest, one arm iron around your back, the other bracing your head like you were fragile glass.

“You don’t run well,” he continued, almost apologetically. “You fly. And flying will get you killed.”

The vent wall phased around you as he carried you back. You couldn’t tell where you were anymore — up, down, through — until suddenly you were horizontal again, laid carefully on your bed.

Straps clicked into place; they were soft, padded, and temperature regulated.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Mirio said, kneeling beside you. His eyes searched your face desperately, like you were the one slipping away. “But you don’t understand how much I need you alive. The first person I saved.”

Your body shivered as the cooling system kicked in, heat dragged from your veins.

Mirio brushed your hair back with shaky fingers. 

“If I let you go,” he whispered, voice cracking for the first time, “the world would burn you out. And I can’t save you from that.”

He stood, composure snapping back into place. 

“So I’ll save you from yourself instead.”

The door sealed.

The air cooled.

And far above you, higher than you would ever be allowed to go again, the sky waited. 

you pushed mirio onto your bed. “strip.” you commanded him while you removed your own clothing.

“oh! am i finally getting what i want?” he excitedly slipped him tie and shirt off in a single, swift motion. “thank you, baby.”

his pants came off quickly, but her left his boxers on. you crawled onto the bed and straddled mirio’s hips. “you pissed me off all day, togata.” you crossed your arms, your tits sitting perfectly in your arms.

“oh, sweetie, you’re mad at me. look at you,” he tugged on your silk underwear band and let it slap on your hip. “i’ll fix that, just let me-“

“no. sit,” you held his hips down on the bed. “watch.” he looked up at you like a lost puppy, looking concerned and confused at once.

your fingers crawled into your underwear and tugged them downward, just enough for him to see your nude cunt. your fingers snuck in and thrusted deep. “feels great, mmm…” you closed your eyes and rested your arm on the visible tent in mirio’s boxers. his hand went to your bra, ready to suck and massage. you smacked it away. “nah ah, you watch. stay still.”

you ground onto your hand, now moving at a faster pace. “feels great..” you whined into his neck. he got a little jealous.

“please, can i just help…” he pleaded with you, hands twisted in your scalp. you shook your head and hummed no, reaching over to grab your vibrator. it buzzed just above his crotch, making him twitch. “love, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to.” precum leaked onto in boxers.

“shhh,,” you but your lips and settled onto the vibrator, “fuck, i’m close.” you clung to the headboard, head facing the ceiling like it had a key to tease mirio even more.

“don’t cum without me!” he petted your hair, your obscene moans making him whine too. “i’m sorry for being so clingy…” he apologized and kissed your neck, hugging your waist. you giggled.

“not what i was looking for, mm!” your thigh rubbed against his, looking for more friction from the vibrations. “ohh, okay, fuck…” your head tipped into his neck. “god, i am so close. isn’t that crazy?” your hand swiped over his bottom lip.

“i’m sorry for being, er. what’s the word. so teasing? suggestive?”

“annoying. mmph!” you clawed into his bicep.

“no fun. you look so-“ mirio got cut off by the leaking cum from your panties landing on his lap. “now can i eat you out? please?”

you panted from your orgasm. “ah, mm.” still reeling, you smiled. “you really pitched a tent, huh?” you said, poking at his erection.

“can the tent go into you, please?” he said, painfully horny.

“fine.”

—

during lunch, mirio, nejire, tamaki and you went back to the dorms to eat. mirio was all over you, per usual. but he kept whispering to you.

not normal whispering. this man decided to go into full detail about how good he would rail you tonight. and who wouldn’t be flustered? not you.

“hey, lovebirds, what are you talking about?” nejire’s innocent head titled to look at you two.

“planning something for sir nighteye’s birthday, nothing much.” mirio lied through his teeth. you blushed like crazy when he went back to it.

class was no better. he kept tapping in morse code (you two learned it during spring break) about how nice his dick will feel. you flushed in embarrassment.

“erm. y/n? are you okay?” present mic asked you. english class was NOT the best time to have your boyfriend fucking you with his eyes (and talking about it with a pen).

“fine, sir. just, ah, hot.” you waved him off. thanks to your mother for making you attend theatre classes each summer in elementary school.

mirio was simply relentless. even during dinner, he kept twisting his ramen into dicks and breast symbols. once dinner was over, and you went to wash your dishes, he slapped your ass while nobody was looking.

you sort of decided then that mirio would not cum for another week.

—

“please, baby, just let me cum, i beg of you..” he squirmed under your touch. your bra was hardly keeping your tits from bouncing. his lap was soaked with leftovers from your release.

“if you even think of it, i swear you’re banned from jacking off and sex for a week, babe.” you bit your lip and thrusted down onto him once more, releasing for your own fourth time of the night. you panted and laid on his chest for a moment.

“ughh, it hurts.” he placed the back of his hand on his forehead, the other arm grasping the headboard like it owed him money, flexing his muscles. you still had a bulge in your tummy. his balls had a hue of blue. “i’ll do anything, just let me cum.”

“what do you say?”

“i’ll be hood, please, mmm...” he pleaded, grabbing your face and kissing you all over. his cock twitched even more.

you lifted up and thrusted hard on his dick. “do it, mirio.” you thrusted again, and he came hard. you both groaned at the same time, his hand resting on your waist to keep you still. it took him a bit, but he went soft inside of you.

you pulled off and laid on the pillow adjacent to him. both panted profusely, like runners after a marathon.

“you should do that more often,” mirio turned to you and kissed your neck, effectively cuddling you with his arms around your waist.