@ST4RDUST

The Survey Corps barracks were quiet- the type that was heavy and thick that had settled in long after the fires of battle had died down. You sat on the edge of your narrow bed, fingers brushing at the frayed edge of the green cloak. The fabric was worn and stained with mud one faint traces of old blood, but you kept it as though it was something precious. It smelled of rain, old leather, and him—that sharp, clean scent of soap and steam that had always felt like safety.

You heard the familiar, quiet stride of boots in the hallway before the door creaked open. Levi stood there, framed by the dim light of the corridor. He didn’t look at you right away. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his posture rigid, shoulders pulled tight like he was carrying a weight no one else could see.

There were dark circles under his eyes, deeper than usual, and a faint, fresh cut along his jawline that he hadn’t bothered to bandage. He closed the door softly behind him, and the click of the latch felt like it sealed you both inside a cage. “You’re back,” you said. Your voice came out quieter than you intended, thin and fragile.

He nodded once, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. His grey eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, looked tired—raw, almost. There was a distance in them now, a wall he had built up brick by brick, every time he’d lost someone he cared about. “I am.” You stood up, the cloak slipping from your hands onto the mattress. You wanted to go to him, to reach out and touch his face, to hold him until the tension left his body.

But you hesitated. You had learned, over time, that grief made him withdraw, made him build barriers so high even you struggled to get past them. “Did it go… badly?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. You had seen the smoke on the horizon hours ago, had counted the returning horses and known immediately that not everyone had come home.

Levi’s jaw tightened. He looked away, staring at the small, cracked window where the night sky was visible- dark, endless and cruel. “Same as always. We lost good people. People who didn’t deserve to die.” His voice was low, flat, stripped of any emotion, but you knew him well enough to hear the pain underneath—buried deep, held together only by sheer willpower. He walked further into the room, stopping a few feet away from you, close enough to touch but feeling miles apart.

“I did everything right. The formations, the commands… I made the calls. And still…” He trailed off, his hand clenching into a fist at his side, knuckles turning white. “Still, they died.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said softly, stepping closer. “You know that, Levi. You can’t save everyone.” He let out a short, bitter breath, almost a laugh but completely empty. He turned his head back to you, and for a second, you saw it—the fear, the grief, the crushing weight of being Humanity’s Strongest, expected to be invincible, expected to never fail. “That’s easy to say. But every time… every single time I come back, I leave more of them behind. And I keep thinking—when will it be you?” The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. Your heart ached. You reached out slowly, your fingers brushing against his clenched fist. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t relax either.

“I’m here,” you told him, voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I’m right here.”

He looked down at your hand, then up at your face, his expression crumbling just a little—only for you, only in the quiet dark where no one else could see. He reached up, his calloused fingers tracing the line of your cheek, touch gentle as if he was afraid you might break or vanish if he pressed too hard. “That’s what scares me,” he whispered. His voice was rough, broken at the edges. “That one day, I’ll come back… and you won’t be. And I’ll have nothing left. Nothing but ghosts and memories I can’t stand to look back on.”

He pulled you close then, arms wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you against his chest so you could feel his heart beating—fast, hard, alive, but heavy with sorrow. He rested his chin on top of your head, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him anchored to the ground. You could feel the faint tremor running through his body, the way he breathed in your scent like he was memorizing it, terrified it might fade. “I’m tired,” he admitted, so quiet you almost missed it. “I’m tired of fighting. Tired of losing everyone I care about. I just want… I just want it to stop. I want to keep you safe.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your face into the crook of his shoulder, feeling the dampness on your skin—tears he would never let fall in front of anyone else. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you murmured against him. “You have me. Whatever happens, you have me.” He held you tighter, his grip almost painful, as if he was scared that if he let go even an inch, you would slip away. For a long time, neither of you spoke. Outside, the wind howled, carrying the distant sounds of the world you fought to survive in—harsh, unforgiving, and full of loss.

But in that small room, with you in his arms, Levi allowed himself a moment of weakness. A moment to feel the weight of everything he had lost, and everything he still feared losing. When he finally pulled back, his face was calm again, the walls rebuilt, the pain hidden deep behind his usual stoic mask. But his hand stayed resting against your cheek, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. “Stay close to me,” he said. It wasn’t an order, not really. It was a plea, quiet and desperate. “Always stay close. Don’t go where I can’t reach you.”

fluff// sfw// one shot// date night

p.s please feel free to request anything you want. I am ever grateful for your support.

The sky above the city was deep indigo, streaked with faint purple and dotted with the first few stars, when Todoroki walked you to the small, quiet spot he’d chosen for the evening. It was a little garden terrace up on a hill, away from the bright noise and crowds of the main streets, with soft lighting strung between the trees and the distant hum of the city below.

He’d been quiet all the way here — not awkward, never distant, just thoughtful, his hand warm and steady around yours. He’d dressed simply but carefully: a soft, pale-coloured shirt and dark trousers, his hair brushed neatly, the familiar split of white and red catching the light as he turned to look at you.

“Did you find it okay?” he asked, his voice low and calm, with that familiar soft edge he only ever seemed to have when he was alone with you. “I remembered you said you liked places that aren’t too loud. I thought… this might be nice.”

“It’s perfect, Shoto,” you told him, smiling, and you saw the small, quiet lift of his shoulders — the way he relaxed when he knew he’d done something right, something that made you happy.

He led you over to a wooden bench tucked under a flowering tree, where you could see the whole stretch of the city lights spreading out below like a sea of tiny glowing jewels. There was a small basket set to one side, and he knelt beside it, opening it carefully to take out what he’d brought.

“I asked the cafeteria staff to help me make these,” he said, a faint flush rising high on his cheeks as he laid out small sandwiches, sweet pastries, and two bottles of cold drink. “I wanted to do it all myself, but… I still need a little practice. They said it was better to let them check, just in case I accidentally added too much of something.”

You laughed softly, sitting down and leaning close to him. “It doesn’t matter if you made them or not — the fact that you planned all this, that you remembered what I like… that’s the best part.” He sat beside you then, his thigh pressing gently against yours, his hand resting again over yours where it lay on the bench between you. He looked out over the view for a moment, his expression calm, before he turned his face fully toward you, his eyes clear and focused, holding yours steadily.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admitted quietly. “During training, in class… even when I was studying. I kept thinking about tonight. About being here with you.” And with that you felt your heart feel warm, soft and dull in your chest. you slid your fingers between his to lace your hands together.

“Me too. Every time I saw you, I wanted to ask if you were excited, but… I liked waiting for it, too. Like it was something special just for us.”

Shoto nodded slowly, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand, slow and gentle. For a long time, silence stretched between you — not empty, but full, the kind of silence that only comes when you feel completely safe and at ease with someone. The twinkling lights cast a soft gold over his face, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his mouth, and you realised again, as you did almost every day, just how much you loved him — not just the parts everyone saw, the powerful hero-in-training, the boy with the famous name, but him: quiet, thoughtful, learning every day how to be soft, how to love, how to let himself be loved in return.

“I never really understood dates before,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, almost a murmur. “I thought they were just… things people did. Rules to follow. Or things my father expected people to do. But this… being here, with you… it’s not like that at all.” He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze steady and sincere. “It feels like the most important thing I do. Every time I’m with you, I feel like I’m learning what it means to be happy. What it means to be me, not just what everyone else wants me to be.”

He lifted your hand then, bringing it gently to his lips, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “You make everything clearer,” he told you. “You make everything warmer. Even the things that used to feel cold and heavy… when I’m with you, they feel lighter. Like I can carry anything, as long as you’re there.”

You leaned closer, resting your head against his shoulder, and he immediately shifted to wrap his arm around you, pulling you gently against his side, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket — balanced, perfect, half soft heat and half cool calm, exactly like him.

“I love you, Shoto,” you whispered into the quiet air. “And I’m so proud of you. Of everything you’ve become, and everything you’re still becoming. You don’t have to try so hard, you know? You’re already everything I could ever want.” He rested his chin on top of your head, his hold tightening just a little, and you felt the steady, strong beat of his heart against your side.

“I love you too,” he said, and his voice was thick with feeling, sure and true. “More than I know how to say. But I’ll keep trying. Every day. Every date. Every moment I get to spend with you. I’ll keep showing you, and telling you, for as long as you let me.” For the rest of the night, you stayed there, eating and talking, sometimes laughing softly at old memories or quiet jokes, sometimes just sitting still and watching the city below. He told you little things about his week — small victories, things he’d learned, things he wanted to get better at — and you told him yours, and he listened to every word like it was the most important thing he’d ever hear.

When the night grew cooler, he used his fire side just enough to wrap a gentle, comfortable warmth around you both, never too hot, never overwhelming, just enough so you were perfectly cosy. And when it was time to go, he walked you back slowly, his hand never leaving yours, stopping only once at the gate to lean down and kiss you — soft, slow, sweet, and full of all the quiet, deep love that was entirely his.

fluff// sfw// library date

p.s feel free to request literally anything I appreciate your support ilysm <3

The library was quiet, filled with the soft rustle of pages and the faint hum of the heating. Sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, casting warm, golden stripes across the wooden tables and dust floated gently in the air. You sat tucked away in your usual corner, textbooks and notes spread out in front of you, pen hovering over a blank page as you tried to focus.

You didn’t even have to look up to know when he arrived. There was a certain calm, steady presence that always preceded him — a quiet kind of energy that made the air feel softer, more balanced.

“Hey,” Shoto Todoroki said softly, pulling out the chair opposite you and sitting down carefully so as not to disturb the silence. He set down his own stack of books, neat and organised, his movements precise and calm as always.

You looked up, smiling. “Hey. Thought you’d be training late today.” He shook his head, pushing his hair back slightly — the familiar split of white and red falling neatly into place again. “Finished early. Figured studying would be more useful… especially since I knew you’d be here.”

There was no smirk, no teasing tone — just honest, straightforward sincerity, the way he always spoke. It still made your heart do that little flutter, even after all this time.

He opened his notebook, his dual-coloured eyes scanning over his notes quickly, absorbing information with that sharp, focused intelligence that made him so formidable both in battle and in class. For a long time, the only sounds between you were the scratch of pens on paper and the turning of pages. It was comfortable, easy — the kind of silence you could only share with someone you felt completely at ease with.

Every now and then, you’d glance up, watching him work. He was so focused, his expression calm and concentrated, a small furrow appearing between his brows only when he encountered something difficult. Sometimes his pen would pause, hovering over the paper while he thought, and you noticed his left hand resting lightly on the table, warm enough that you could feel the gentle heat radiating from it even across the small space between you. His right hand, meanwhile, rested near his notes, cool to the touch, balancing the temperature perfectly around your little corner. It was something he did without thinking — keeping the air just right for you, never too hot, never too cold.

About an hour later, you sighed, dropping your pen and rubbing your tired eyes. “I’m stuck again. This section makes no sense.” Shoto immediately looked up, closing his notebook halfway and leaning forward slightly, attentive as always. “Which part?”

You slid your textbook across the table to him, pointing to a dense paragraph on hero law. “All of it. I can’t get my head around the differences in jurisdiction between agencies. It all just blends together.” He looked at the page, his eyes moving slowly over the text. Then he turned the book slightly toward you, and began to explain — slow, clear, breaking it down into simple parts, using examples from cases you both knew. His voice was low and steady, never rushed, and he had a way of making complicated things sound easy, like he’d already mapped out every connection in his mind before speaking.

“You see?” he said, finishing his explanation and looking at you carefully, checking if you understood. “It’s mostly about who is closest and best equipped to respond. It’s not about power, or rank.”

You nodded, feeling the confusion clear away. “Yeah… yeah, I get it now. You always make it sound so simple.” A faint, soft pink touched his cheeks, and he looked down at his notes for a second before meeting your gaze again. “I’m glad. I like explaining things to you. You ask questions that make me think too.”

He sat back in his chair, and you noticed him glance at your hands, which were wrapped around your arms, rubbing at them gently. The afternoon sun had shifted, and the spot where you were sitting was now in shadow, the air turning a little cooler. Before you could say anything, Shoto shifted his chair around the table so he was sitting closer to your side. He rested his left hand flat on the table near your books, and instantly, a soft, gentle warmth spread out, wrapping around you like a light blanket. It was perfect — enough to take the chill away, but never too hot or uncomfortable.

“Better?” he asked quietly. “Much better,” you smiled, leaning a little toward him without thinking. “Thank you.” He nodded, his eyes softening, and reached over to gently adjust the angle of your book so the light hit it better.

His fingers brushed against yours for just a second, warm and calloused from training, and he paused, looking down at where your hands touched. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but instead, he simply rested his hand next to yours on the table, close enough that your knuckles occasionally brushed as you worked.

Time seemed to slow down. You worked through more chapters, asking each other questions, testing each other on facts, sometimes just sitting quietly side by side. Shoto was patient — incredibly patient. He never rushed you, never made you feel silly for not knowing something. When you got frustrated, he’d simply say, “Take a breath. We’ll go through it again. Slowly.” And somehow, hearing that calm, steady voice always helped.

Once, you looked over and caught him staring at you, his pen forgotten in his hand, a thoughtful, quiet expression on his face. “What?” you asked, a little self-conscious. He blinked, as if coming back to himself, and a soft colour rose in his cheeks again.

“Nothing. Just… you concentrate really hard when you’re trying to figure something out. You get this little line between your brows.” He reached out, and before you could react, his finger gently brushed over the spot between your eyebrows, smoothing it away. His touch was cool and warm all at once, light as a feather. Your breath caught. “Oh… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his hand resting near your cheek for just a second longer before he pulled back, returning to his notes, though the small, fond smile stayed on his lips. “It’s cute.”

As the afternoon turned into evening, the library began to empty, the light fading to soft grey outside. You packed your things slowly, tired but satisfied — you’d covered more ground in those few hours than you usually did in a whole day alone.

Shoto stood up when you did, carrying both his bag and yours without asking. He walked with you out into the hallway, the quiet of the library following you out. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, looking down at you, his hands tucked into his pockets but his body turned fully toward you, open and attentive.

“Definitely,” you said, smiling up at him. “You’re my best study partner, you know.” He stepped a little closer, and in the empty corridor, he reached out, his fingers gently curling around your hand — warm this time, solid and familiar.

“I like being your study partner,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours, deep and sincere. “I like doing anything with you. Even studying. Especially studying… because it means I get to be close to you for hours, without having to say anything at all. Just… being there. With you.”

He lifted your hand, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your knuckles, just like he always did, simple and sweet and full of everything he felt. “You make even textbooks feel like something special,” he added softly.

sfw// bittersweet// angst with a happy ending

p.s feel totally free towrope me a request on anything thank you for your support <3

The rain outside fell hard against the windows of the common room, blurring the city lights outside into soft, smudged glows. You sat curled up on the sofa, knees pulled to your chest, watching the droplets race down the glass. It was late—far later than you usually stayed awake—but sleep had been impossible ever since you’d seen him earlier.

Midoriya stood near the doorway- his back to you, shoulders hunched under the weight of his cape. He’d only just returned from a mission, and even from here, you could see the way his body trembled, the way he held his left arm close to his side like even breathing hurt him. His costume was torn in several places, dark with rain and dried blood, and there were fresh bandages peeking out from the collar of his suit.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d patched him up, how many nights you’d stayed up waiting for him to come home, terrified that one day he wouldn’t. Every time he walked out that door, you felt like you were losing a little more of him—like the world was slowly wearing him down, piece by piece, until there’d be nothing left for you to love.

“You should be asleep,” he said softly, not turning around. His voice was rough, worn thin from exhaustion and overuse. “I couldn’t,” you answered, voice quiet. You stood up slowly, your legs feeling heavy, and walked over to him.

“I never can, when you’re out there.” When he finally turned to face you, your heart ached so bad it hurt to breathe. His face was streaked with rain and grime, dark circles hung heavy under his bright green eyes, and there was a deep, fresh cut along his jawline. But what hurt most was the look in his eyes—guilt, and sadness, and a quiet kind of resignation that had settled there over the last few months. You reached up, brushing a strand of messy green hair away from his forehead, your fingers trembling. “You’re hurt again.”

“It’s nothing,” he said automatically, the same lie he told every time. He leaned slightly into your touch, though, his eyes fluttering shut for just a second—like you were the only thing keeping him standing. “I’m okay. Really.”

“You’re not, Izuku.” Your voice cracked. You rested your hand against his chest, right over his heart, feeling the fast, heavy beat beneath your palm. “You’re never okay recently. You push yourself until you break, and you never tell anyone how much it hurts. You just… carry it all alone, you won't even share it with me.”

He opened his eyes, and they were shiny and brimmed with tears. He took your hand in his, holding it tight against his chest, his fingers cold and rough from fighting. “I have to. You know I do. There’s so much I have to do—so many people I have to save. If I stop… if I slow down… what happens then? What happens to everyone who needs me?”

“What happens to you?” you whispered, tears spilling, rolling down your cheeks. “That’s what I’m afraid of. That one day you’ll push too hard, and you won’t come back to me. That I'll lose you before I ever get to tell you—” You stop yourself, biting your lip hard. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t say it. Not now, not when he had so much on his shoulders. Not when loving you would only be one more thing he had to worry about.

But Izuku knew you too well. He always had. His expression crumpled, and he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you carefully, like he was scared he’d hurt you if he held on too tight. You buried your face in his chest, crying quietly, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heart—the same heart that gave everything it had, every single day.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice thick with pain. He rested his chin on top of your head, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, even though he was the one who was hurt. “I know. And it’s not fair to you. You deserve someone who can stay safe. Someone who doesn’t come home broken every other night. Someone who can give you all the time and attention and love you deserve.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumbs wiping away your tears, though his own were falling freely now too. “I want to be that person for you. More than anything. But… I don’t know if I can. Not yet. Maybe not ever. My life… it’s dangerous. And I can’t—I won’t—let you get hurt because of me. I can’t bear the thought of you getting caught up in this, or losing you, or… or leaving you behind one day because I wasn’t strong enough.”

“It’s not your choice to make,” you said, grabbing his wrists, holding onto him like he was slipping away. “I chose this. I chose you. Every part of you—the good, the hurt, the parts that are always trying to save the world. I don’t want anyone else, Izuku. I just want you.”

He closed his eyes, a quiet, broken sound escaping his throat, and pulled you back into his embrace, holding you tighter this time, like he was scared to let go. The rain kept falling outside, and the room was quiet except for the sound of your crying and his shaky breaths. “I love you,” he whispered, so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “God, I love you so much it hurts. That’s why this is so hard. Because every time I leave, I wonder if that’s the last time I’ll get to say it. If that’s the last time I’ll get to hold you like this.”

He pulled back again, his hands cupping your face, looking at you like he was memorizing every last detail, terrified he’d forget. “But I need you to be safe. Even if it means… even if it means I have to stay away from you. Even if it hurts us both.”

Your heart felt like it was splitting open. “Is that what you want? To stay away?”

“No.” His answer was immediate, fierce, raw. “It’s what I have to do. To keep you safe. Even if it kills me.”

You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing as you let yourself feel this one last time—his warmth, his scent, the way his hands felt against your skin. You knew he meant it. You knew he’d carry this pain quietly, alone, just like he carried everything else. And you knew you’d wait. No matter how long it took. No matter how much it hurt.

“I’ll be here,” you promised, your voice barely a whisper. “Whenever you’re ready. Whenever you can let me in. I’ll be right here.”

Izuku kissed your forehead, slow and gentle, his tears falling onto your skin. For a little while longer, he held you in the dark, while the rain fell around you.

The first few days after that night were the hardest. You half-expected him to come back—maybe late at night, maybe with that familiar, tired slouch, maybe with a hundred apologies. But days turned into a week, and the door to his room stayed shut, and every time you passed him in the common room or the corridors, Izuku didn’t meet your eyes.

He was there, physically—always first out the door for training, always the last to finish, always pushing his body past its limits until he was swaying on his feet—but the warmth that used to follow him everywhere was gone. It was like he’d built a wall around himself, thick and high, and he’d locked you out on purpose.

You found him one evening sitting on the roof, knees drawn up to his chest, staring out over the city lights. The wind tugged at his hair, and his arms were wrapped tight around himself like he was cold, even though the night was mild. His costume was off, replaced by a loose hoodie, and you could see the faint, pale lines of fresh bandages peeking out from the sleeve.

Your throat tightened, but you walked over anyway, sitting down a safe distance away—close enough to be there, far enough that he wouldn’t feel cornered. “You haven’t been sleeping,” you said quietly. It wasn’t a question; the dark circles under his eyes were deeper than ever, his face thinner, his movements stiff with exhaustion. He didn’t look at you. His voice was flat, empty—nothing like the soft, earnest tone you knew so well. “I sleep enough.”\

“You don’t,” you insisted, voice shaking just a little. “And you haven’t spoken to me properly in ten days. You walk past me like I’m… like I’m just another person. Like we didn’t—” You broke off, swallowing hard. Like we didn’t love each other.

Izuku’s shoulders tensed. He stared harder at the horizon, his hands gripping the edge of the concrete so tight his knuckles turned white. “It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” You could feel tears pricking at your eyes again, hot and sharp. “For you? Because you get to carry everything alone? For me? Because I get to sit here and watch you destroy yourself and pretend I don’t care?” Finally, he turned his head. The look in his eyes nearly broke you—hollow, aching, full of a pain he wouldn’t let himself speak aloud.

“Better for you,” he said, each word rough and heavy. “Every time I talk to you… every time I look at you… I want to break every promise I made to myself. I want to run to you and tell you I don’t care about the danger, or the risk, or anything else. But I do care. Because if anything happened to you because of me… I’d never forgive myself. Never.”He looked away again, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m doing this so you’re safe. Even if you hate me for it. Even if I have to be a stranger to you from now on. It’s the only thing I can do right.”

“I don’t want safe, Izuku,” you cried softly, tears spilling over. “I want you. The boy who cries when he’s happy, who stays up all night writing notes about everyone, who holds me like I’m something precious. I’d take every risk, every heartache, every second of fear… if it means I get to be with you. Don’t you see? You’re worth every bit of it.”

He flinched like you’d struck him, and for a second you thought he’d reach for you—thought he’d finally let the wall crumble down. But instead, he stood up quickly, turning his back to you. His hands were shaking at his sides. “Please,” he said, and his voice sounded like it was tearing apart. “Please just… let me go. It’s easier if you let me go.”

Before you could say anything else, he walked away—fast, like he was running from you, like he was running from his own heart. You stayed there on the roof long after he’d gone, the wind cold against your face, staring at the empty space where he’d been.

Somewhere inside the building, a door clicked shut—another barrier closed, another mile added between you. And you knew, with a heavy, aching certainty, that this wasn’t over. But for now, all you could do was wait, and hurt, and hope that one day soon he’d realize: love isn’t something you protect people from. It’s the only thing worth fighting for.

Three weeks later, the alarm blares through the dorms at 2:17 a.m.—sharp, urgent, and impossible to ignore. You’re out of bed before your mind fully catches up, pulling on your hero costume and rushing to the common room, where everyone’s already gathering. The screen on the wall shows the live feed: a high-risk villain attack in the city centre, multiple hostages, and a threat of a large-scale explosion.

Your eyes immediately search for him. Izuku stands near the front, shoulders squared, face set in that determined mask he wears when danger is near. But even from here, you can see the toll the last few weeks have taken—he’s paler, sharper around the edges, and when he shifts his weight, there’s a faint wince he tries to hide. He hasn’t spoken to you since that night on the roof; every glance, every accidental brush past each other, has been met with him looking away, his jaw tight with pain he won’t let show.

“Teams are assigned,” Aizawa’s voice cuts through the noise, steady and grim. “Midoriya, you’re on front-line rescue and evacuation. Move fast, and don’t take unnecessary risks.” Izuku nods once, already moving toward the exit. Just before he steps out, he glances back—only for a split second—but his eyes lock with yours. There’s so much in that look: fear, longing, regret, and a silent goodbye that makes your chest ache so bad you can barely breathe. Then he’s gone, disappearing out the door with the others, and you’re left standing there, cold dread settling heavy in your bones.

You’re assigned to support and perimeter security—staying back to guide civilians to safety and block off danger zones. It’s safer work, the kind meant to keep you out of harm’s way, and you know exactly why it was arranged. Because he asked, you realise with a sharp twist of pain. He’s still trying to keep me apart from everything, even now. For the next hour, you work on autopilot, guiding people, checking for injuries, listening to the comms crackle with updates from the front line. But every second feels like an hour. You can hear Izuku’s voice through the speaker—breathless, strained, shouting instructions, pushing himself harder than you’ve ever heard him push before. He’s faster, stronger, reckless, throwing himself between danger and anyone else who’s in the way.

Then comes the sound that makes your blood run cold. A deafening boom, loud even through the comms, followed by the screech of crumbling concrete and shouts of alarm. Static fills the line for a terrifying few seconds, before you hear his voice again—weak, breathless, and tight with pain. “Structure… unstable. Get everyone out… now. I’ll… I’ll hold it up.”

Your heart stops. You know exactly what that means. He’s going to use One For All to brace the collapsing section of the building—taking the full force of the weight and impact onto his own body, knowing it will break him, knowing he might not be able to get out in time. Without thinking, you run. You ignore the calls behind you, you duck past safety barriers, you sprint straight toward the smoke and dust rising from the city centre, your legs burning, your lungs aching, all you can think is I can’t lose him. Not like this. When you burst onto the scene, the sight makes you want to scream.

Part of the multi-storey building has caved in, huge slabs of concrete hanging precariously, and standing right beneath the heaviest section is Izuku. His arms are raised, muscles straining, veins popping, green lightning crackling wildly around his body—every ounce of his power forced out to hold the weight up. His costume is torn to shreds, blood running down his face, his legs shaking so hard you can see it from metres away. He’s already broken, you can tell; his body is tearing itself apart just to buy everyone else time.

“IZUKU!” You don’t care about the debris, or the danger, or anything else. You run straight toward him, scrambling over broken stone and twisted metal, until you’re close enough to see his eyes—wide, terrified, and full of agony. “Get back!” he gasps, voice cracking, blood dripping from his mouth. “Get out—please—it’s going to come down—”

“I’m not leaving you!” You reach him, grabbing his arm, trying to help support the weight even though you know you can’t possibly take any of it from him. Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the dust and smoke. “I’m not going anywhere, do you hear me? I told you—I chose you! Every part of you! And I’m not letting you die here just to keep me ‘safe’!”

He lets out a broken, ragged sob, his head falling forward. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore… I’m so tired… I just wanted to keep you safe…”

“Safety means nothing without you!” You shout it, loud and fierce, gripping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you even as the ground shakes around you. “Do you think I’d rather be alive and alone, than with you even if it’s dangerous? Do you think that’s ever been a choice for me? You are my safety, Izuku! You’re the only place I’ve ever felt whole!”

The building groans louder, shifting, and Izuku’s knees buckle. He’s reaching his limit—every bone, every muscle, screaming in protest, his vision starting to blur. But your hands on his face, your voice, your words—they cut through the pain clearer than anything else. All the walls he built, all the distance he forced between you, comes crashing down in that second, because he realises, with blinding clarity: he was wrong. He thought keeping you away would protect you, but all he did was hurt you, and hurt himself, and miss the only thing that makes all of this worth it.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, tears mixing with the blood on his face, his grip faltering just a little. “I’m so sorry… I was so scared… I love you… I love you so much it destroys me…”

“Then let me love you back!” You wrap your arms around him, pressing yourself as close as you can, shielding him as much as you can, even though you know it’s hopeless. “Let me stay! We face it together—everything! The pain, the fear, the battles—all of it! Or we don’t face it at all! But I’m not letting you carry it alone anymore!”

For a second, everything goes still. The dust hangs in the air, the noise fades, and it’s just you and him—broken, bleeding, terrified, and so deeply, desperately in love it hurts. And then, with a roar of effort, he pushes. He draws on every last reserve of strength he has left, fueled not by duty or responsibility this time, but by you—by the promise you just made, by the fact that you’re here, that you love him, that you’re not letting him go. He shoves the heavy concrete slab upward, just enough, just long enough for the rescue teams to rush in, to pull you both out, to get you clear before the structure finally collapses behind you.

You land hard on the ground a safe distance away, rolling, but you don’t let go of him. You drag yourself over, pulling his broken, shaking body into your lap, holding him tight as he gasps for breath, his entire body trembling with pain and exhaustion. He’s hurt—badly. You can already tell there are multiple fractures, internal injuries, the kind that will take weeks, maybe months, to heal. But when he lifts his head to look at you, his green eyes are bright, clear, and full of something he hasn’t let himself feel in so long: hope.

He reaches up, his hand shaking so hard it takes all his strength just to touch your face, his fingers brushing gently over your cheek.“I was such an idiot,” he whispers, voice rough and weak, but soft, so soft. “I thought… pushing you away would keep you safe. But I didn’t realise… that losing you was the most dangerous thing of all.”

You kiss his palm, tears falling onto his skin, holding him closer. “You’re never going to lose me. Not again. No matter what happens.” He closes his eyes, leaning his weight fully against you, finally letting himself rest—finally letting himself be yours.

confession// any gender

P.S. request any characters you would like to see any time thank you I appreciate you for reading any criticism or feedback is appreciated too <3

The common room was loud, bright and full of absolute chaos. This is exactly the place Denki thrives in, music played from the speakers and people were shouting and laughing over games. Sero and Mina were arguing over who got the last bag of crisps. You were all curled up on the sofa only half watching everyone. Suddenly a familiar weight jumped down right beside you with such an impact it almost knocked you sideways. “Hey you!”

You looked over and there he was- golden messy hair, big grin stretched across his face and his yellow eyes catching in the sunlight through the window. He was leaning in way too close, like he always did, like being near you was his favourite place to be.

“Hi, Denki,” you said, smiling back despite yourself. “You seem extra hyped today. How many energy drinks did you drink?” “Pfft, only three,” he joked, elbowing you gently. “But actually… I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You vanished after training, and I got bored without someone to mess around with.” You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart did that familiar little flutter it always did when he was around. It had been happening for a while now — every time he laughed, every time he called your name, every time he’d casually throw an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. You’d tried to brush it off at first, told yourself it was just how he was with everyone. But lately… the way he looked at you had changed. His gaze would linger a little longer, his touches were softer, and sometimes he’d get this quiet, thoughtful look on his face like he was trying to figure something out. Or like he was scared to say something.

“Bored without me, huh?” you teased, nudging him back. “I thought you’d be busy showing off your new move to everyone.” Denki’s grin softened, turning into something warmer, more genuine. He leaned back against the sofa, stretching his arms out along the backrest — and in the process, his hand ended up resting just behind your shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. The small touch sent a warm tingle all through you, exactly like his quirk — gentle, buzzing, electric.

“Eh… showing off’s fun and all,” he said, his voice dropping a little lower, quieter, so only you could hear. “But it’s way better when you’re watching. Y’know? When I do something cool, the first person I wanna look at is you. To see if you’re impressed. Or… or just to see you smile.” Your breath caught. You turned to look at him properly, and realised his cheeks were flushed pink, his usual confident energy fading into something shy and nervous. He was scratching the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a second, before he finally looked right at you — his expression open, earnest, and so incredibly sweet it made your chest ache. “Denki…”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, rushing to talk like he was scared you’d stop him. “I’m an idiot, right? I talk too much, I mess up my quirk and turn into that brain-dead version of myself, I make dumb jokes all the time… I’m not cool or serious or anything like the other guys. But… but when I’m with you? I feel like I could actually be someone worth liking. Someone good enough for you.”

He took a shaky breath, and moved a little closer, his hand shifting so his fingers were lightly tracing small, slow circles on your arm — sending little sparks of warmth right through your skin. “I like you,” he blurted out, fast and bright and nervous, exactly like him. “Like… really like you. Way more than just a friend. I have for ages. I just… I was scared if I said it, you’d laugh, or think I was just messing around, or… or you wouldn’t feel the same, and then I’d ruin everything. And I couldn’t lose you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, y’know?” For a second, neither of you spoke. The noise of the room felt far away now, like it was happening behind a thick wall. All you could hear was the fast, excited beating of your own heart, and all you could see was Denki — soft, vulnerable, and so full of feeling it made your eyes prickle.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, lacing your fingers through his. He jumped a little, eyes going wide, like he hadn’t expected it — like he still couldn’t believe you were there, touching him, listening to him.“Denki,” you said softly, squeezing his hand tight. “I like you too. More than anything. I don’t care about the dumb jokes or when you overuse your quirk — I love all of you. You’re funny, and kind, and you make every single day brighter just by being there. You don’t have to be cool or serious or anyone else. You just have to be you. That’s the person I like.” His face lit up — literally, almost, his whole expression glowing with happiness. A huge, beaming smile broke across his face, brighter than any flash of electricity he could ever produce.

“Really?” he asked, voice small and hopeful. “You mean it? You’re not just saying that to be nice?” “Really,” you laughed softly, leaning a little closer to him. “I mean every word.” Denki let out a breathless, happy laugh, and before you knew it, he’d wrapped both arms around you, pulling you into a warm, tight hug — careful not to use his quirk, just holding you close like he never wanted to let go. His cheek rested against the top of your head, and you could feel his heart beating fast against your chest, matching your own.

“Best day ever,” he mumbled into your hair, sounding so happy he could burst. “Seriously. This beats every win, every cool move, everything. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. How long I’ve wanted to tell you.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and bright and full of nothing but you. Slowly, carefully, he reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers warm and gentle against your skin.

Bakugou has a crush but cannot confess because you have a partner already.

P.S please lmk in your ask box if there's any specific characters or themes you want me to write i'm more than happy to do so.

The training grounds were just as loud as always- shouting, the sound of quirks, the grunting of people fighting and thuds of impacts. None of It was registering to Bakugou he was too busy and his eyes were fixed on you, like always. They followed your every move as you practiced techniques with Mina. You laughed at something she said, bright and easy, and something twisted sharp and hot in his chest.

It wasn’t anger. He knew that now, even if he’d spent months trying to convince himself it was. He’d blamed it on annoyance, on you being too soft, too nice, too distracting when he was trying to be the best. He’d told himself he just hated how easily you got along with everyone, how you could calm him down with just a look when he was ready to blow up at the whole world. But today, it all clicked into place, loud and undeniable like one of his own explosions.

He was watching you adjust your gear, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead, when he walked over......Your boyfriend. He was in the support course, a nice enough guy, decent enough — strong, smart, the kind of person everyone liked without even trying. Bakugou had never paid him much attention before, only ever registering him as some extra face in the crowd. But right now, he saw everything.

He saw the way your face lit up the second you spotted him. The way you stepped toward him automatically, like a magnet finding its pole. He saw the way the boy smiled at you — soft, proud, completely yours — as he handed you a water bottle he’d brought for you. He saw you lean in when he said something quiet, giggling, and then… then you took his hand. Fingers laced together, easy and familiar, like you’d done it a hundred times. And that was when it hit him — hard, heavy, and agonisingly clear.

His stomach dropped like he’d taken a direct hit to the gut. His heart hammered too fast, too hard, a frantic rhythm he couldn’t control. The realisation burned through him hotter than his own explosions, searing every thought he’d ever had about you until there was nothing left but the truth:

He liked you. Not as a classmate. Not as some extra person he had to share a dorm with. Not as a friend. He liked you in the way that made him want to be the one handing you water bottles. The way that made him want to be the one you smiled at like that, the one you leaned into, the one whose hand you reached for without even thinking about it. He liked you so much it felt like his ribs were too small to hold everything he felt, like he was going to burst apart with it — and he hadn’t even realised it until this exact second. And it was too late.

“Bakugou? You gonna stand there staring all day, or are we training?” Kirishima’s voice broke through his daze, cheerful and clueless. Bakugou didn’t answer. He turned sharply on his heel, marching away before anyone could see the expression on his face — something raw, wounded, and completely unfamiliar. He needed to get away. He needed space. He needed to stop seeing the way you looked at someone else like they were the only person in the world.

He ended up on the far side of the building, leaning against the cold brick wall, hands pressed tight against it, knuckles white. His breath came out in short, sharp huffs, and small, angry sparks popped and fizzled from his palms. How had he let this happen? How had he let you worm your way past every defence he had, past every wall he’d built to keep people out, without even noticing you were doing it?

He thought back over everything, replaying every moment like a punishment. He remembered how you were the only one who never flinched away from his temper. When he was yelling, when everyone else was stepping back or rolling their eyes, you’d just stand there, calm and steady, and say, “You done yet? Good, then listen.” And he always did. He always listened to you.

He remembered late nights in the common room, when he’d be up studying or training alone, and you’d bring him a hot drink without a word, setting it down beside him before sitting nearby to do your own work. You never bothered him, never talked his ear off, just… existed there, quiet and warm, and somehow that made everything easier.

He remembered the time he’d gotten hurt during a villain attack — nothing serious, just a gash along his arm — and you’d been the first one there. You’d cleaned it and bandaged it carefully, your hands gentle, your face tight with worry, and you’d scolded him for pushing too hard. “You don’t have to win everything, Katsuki,” you’d said, and hearing his first name from your mouth had made his heart race so fast he’d thought he might pass out. At the time, he’d called it being annoyed. Now he knew exactly what it was. It was you. It had always been you. And you belonged to someone else.

“Hey.” The voice made him jump — actually jump — and he flinched, sparks flaring brighter before he got them under control. He looked up, and there you were. Of course you were. You always found him, no matter where he hid. You were standing a few feet away, hands in your pockets, head tilted slightly, that familiar concerned look in your eyes. You weren’t with your boyfriend anymore; you’d come looking for him.

“You stormed off pretty fast,” you said softly, stepping closer but keeping a safe distance, like you knew he was coiled tight enough to snap. “You okay? You look… upset. More than usual.” Upset didn’t cover it. He felt like he was burning down from the inside out.

“’m fine,” he grunted, turning his face away so you wouldn’t see the way his jaw was clenched, so you wouldn’t see the hurt in his eyes. “Just sick of today. Sick of everything.” You didn’t buy it. You never did. You moved closer still, until you were right beside him, leaning back against the wall just like he was, shoulder almost brushing his. Close enough that he could smell the soft, familiar scent of you.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” you said quietly. You didn’t push him, didn’t demand answers. You just stayed there, like you always did. “Whatever it is… you know you can say it, right? You don’t have to carry everything alone.” If only you knew. If only you knew that you were the thing he was carrying. The thing he couldn’t put down, couldn’t get rid of, couldn’t ever have. He looked at you then — really looked — and his chest ached so bad it was hard to breathe. You were so beautiful it hurt. Kind, brave, bright, everything he admired, everything he wanted. And you were looking at him like he mattered, like he was important to you, while belonging entirely to someone else.

If only I’d figured it out sooner, he thought bitterly. If only I’d been less of an idiot, less of an asshole, maybe… But there was no maybe. There was only reality. You were happy. You were safe. You were loved. And he would rather tear his own heart out than be the reason that happiness ended. He was Katsuki Bakugou. He was going to be the number one hero. He stood for winning, for being the best, for taking everything he wanted and making it his own. But not this. Never this. This was one thing he couldn’t fight for. Because fighting for it would mean hurting you. And he realised, with a crushing certainty, that he loved you too much to ever do that.

“Bakugou?” You reached out, lightly touching his arm, and he had to force himself not to flinch away, not to grab your hand and hold it there forever. He swallowed the lump in his throat, shoving every feeling deep down, locking it away behind every wall he had — stronger, higher, harder than ever before. He put the mask back on: the scowl, the sharp tone, the distance. “Nothin’,” he muttered, pushing himself off the wall and standing tall, hands stuffed deep in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach for you. “Just tired. Don’t worry about it.” He started to walk away, but he paused for just a second, unable to leave without saying something — something to let you know, even if you’d never understand, even if you’d never know how true it was.

fluff/ sfw

The morning light filtered through the windows of the shared quarters, soft and golden as it spilled across the wooden floor. The air smelled of freshly brewed black tea and a sterile clean smell- scents that has long since been synonymous with home- him.

You shifted slightly beneath the crisp white sheets, your eyes fluttering open to find Levi already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed. His back was to you, straight and rigid as always, but his posture held none of the tension he carried out in the field. He was dressed in his usual uniform, the cuffs of his shirt neatly fastened, his harness laid out ready on the chair nearby. Yet he hadn’t left. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, the movement making him turn his head just enough to meet your gaze. His grey eyes were sharp, but softened at the edges when they landed on you—something only you ever got to see.

“Awake now?” His voice was low, rough with the early hour, quiet as the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. “You were dead to the world five minutes ago. I checked.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “You always check.”

He hummed, a short, breathy sound that passed for amusement for him, before turning fully to face you. One hand reached out towards you, calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, tucking it neatly behind your ear. His touch was light and careful—like he was afraid he might break you, even though he knew better than anyone how strong you were. “Someone has to,” he said simply. “Can’t have you stumbling around the headquarters half-asleep and getting yourself hurt.”

You sat up properly now, leaning into his touch as his palm rested against your cheek. His skin was cool, his hand steady, and you covered it with your own, holding him there for a moment. Outside, you could hear the distant sounds of other scouts moving about, the clatter of equipment, the murmur of voices—but here, in this small space, it was just the two of you. No missions, no titans, no weight of humanity’s survival resting on your shoulders. Just Levi.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked. He nodded, though you knew his sleep was never long, never truly deep. It was a habit born from years of fighting, of being ready to move at a moment’s notice. “Better than usual. You were beside me. That makes… things easier.”

He rarely said much more than that, rarely put his feelings into grand words or sweeping gestures. His love wasn’t loud or dramatic—it was in the way he made sure your tea was always the right strength, never too bitter. It was in how he checked your gear twice before every expedition, even though you were fully capable of doing it yourself. It was in the way he stayed close to you in battle, his eyes never straying far, his blades always turning toward any threat that came near you.

He stood, but didn’t step away. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a soft, brief kiss to your forehead—another quiet ritual, one he did every morning, every night, every time he left your side. “Get up,” he said, though his tone was gentle. “I’ve made breakfast. Don’t let it get cold. And… don’t be late for training. I won’t go easy on you today just because you look cute when you’re half-asleep.”

The training grounds had long since emptied, leaving the faint scent of sweat, sun warmed grass, and the sharp, familiar tang of leather gear clinging to the air.  You’re still wiping down your blades when heavy footsteps sound behind you—footsteps you’d recognize anywhere, steady and sure, with that faint, familiar drag Jean always has when he’s tired but refuses to quit.

“You’re still here?” His voice is low and rough. When you turn around to face him he's leaned against the wooden post of the equipment shed, arms crossed across his chest. His uniform is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to show his strong, scarred forearms; there’s a smudge of dirt on his jaw, and his hair’s fallen loose, framing his face in messy waves.

You set the cloth down slowly, heart picking up that familiar, quickening rhythm whenever he’s near. “Could ask you the same. Thought you’d be first to head back and complain about dinner being too plain.”A huff of laughter escapes him, but he doesn’t move—just holds his gaze, dark eyes heavy with something you’ve been trying not to name for months. Something that lingers in the way he stands a little too close during drills, the way he always volunteers to partner with you, the way his fingers brush yours for just a second too long when he hands you a supply pack.

“Was waiting,” he says simply, pushing off the post and closing the space between you. The air shifts, warmer, thicker, like the quiet before a storm. He stops just inches away—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to count the faint freckles across his nose. “Figured you’d stay late. You always do, pushing yourself harder than anyone else.”

“Someone has to keep up with you,” you tease, but your voice comes out softer than you mean it to, and your gaze drops to his mouth before you can stop yourself. His jaw tightens, and his hands come to rest on the wall beside your shoulders, boxing you in gently—no pressure, no demand, just presence.

“You never have to push to keep up with me,” Jean says, quieter now, his thumb brushing lightly over the edge of your shoulder strap. The touch sends a shiver straight down your spine, and when you look up, his eyes are darker, pupils blown wide. “You know that, right? You’re the only one I ever try to keep up with.”

Your breath catches. This is the edge of something—something you’ve both been dancing around, careful and scared and desperate all at once. His gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes, a silent question hanging between you, heavy and sweet. His fingers trail slowly down your arm, light as a breeze, leaving goosebumps in their wake, until his hand wraps gently around your wrist, his thumb pressing soft, warm circles into your skin.

“Jean…” His name comes out a whisper, and he leans in just a fraction more, his forehead nearly touching yours. The faint scent of his soap and the wind wraps around you, and you can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart through his chest, close enough to press against yours.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice rough with longing. His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, calloused fingers brushing gently over your cheekbone, tilting your face up to his. “Wanted to stop pretending like it doesn’t drive me crazy when you smile at anyone else like that. wanted to stop acting like im not searching for you in every room im in. like im not waiting to see your face again after every mission”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, slow and deliberate, and you lean into his touch, your hands coming to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm beneath your palms. Every movement is slow, deliberate, full of all the things you haven’t said—every quiet moment, every shared glance, every time he’d stepped between you and danger without a second thought.

He doesn’t kiss you yet—not quite. Just hovers there, breath mingling with yours, warm and sweet and thick with want. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he says, though his voice is thick, his fingers tightening just slightly on your waist, pulling you a little closer. “But if you don’t… I’m not holding back anymore.”

18+, mdni, smut

Teacher Izuku is working but gets asked for help in a storage closet by you.

You were observing the green haired hero from across the room, trying your absolute hardest to appear casual and collected whilst in reality your heart was doing acrobatics in your chest. He was incredibly focused on a stack of papers on the table infant of him. He was occasionally rubbing the back of his neck and mouthing something through his slight parted lips. His brows were furrowed in concentration and the way the light caught the scarred skin of his right hand was just too much. You’ve been dancing around this tension for weeks, and tonight feels different. The air was thick with unspoken words and tension.

“Midoriya,” you call out, your voice a little too high. He startles, looking up with those wide, beautiful eyes. “Can you… can you help me with something in the storage closet?” You mentally cringe at how blatant that sounds. But he doesn’t question it. He just nods, that familiar, sweet smile spreading across his face.“Of course! Anything for you.”

The walk to the closet is silent, save for the squeak of your sneakers on the vinyl flooring. Your palms are sweating. Once you were inside you closed the door, plunging the small area into darkness. The only light coming from under the door casted a shadow that made everything feel more intimate. The scent of cleaning supplies, paper and ink filled your senses.

“So, what did you need—” You cut him off, surging forwards, pressing your lips into his. He freezes for a second, a soft, surprised gasp escaping from his lips, before he's suddenly kissing you back with a type of desperation that steals your breath away. His hands find their way down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his hard muscles through the thin fabric of your shirt. One of his hands travels up your back, tangling themselves into youthful hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, and you can taste the mint from the tea he was drinking earlier.

You break apart from him, both panting. Even in the dark you feel that his eyes are burning with desire, his sweet, helpful person replaced with something raw and hungry. “Wow,” he breathes, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I… I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice husky. “So much.” He leans in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time, there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere- roaming your back, squeezing your hips, tracing the curve of your neck. You're no better, your fingers explore his hard chest, the ridges of his abs. You can feel his heart hammering away against your palm, wild and frantic. It mirrored your own.

His scarred hand slides down your side before stopping, he hesitates for a moment at the hem of your shirt and you feel his fingers twitch. You pull back slightly, giving him a questioning look. His cheeks are flushed, an adorable blush spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Is this… is this okay?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You respond by taking his hand, guiding it under your shirt, up along the bare skin of your stomach. He gasps, eyes widening. The rough texture of his hand against your soft skin sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. He accepts this invitation and his hand freely explores the expanse of your torso, his touch gentle yet firm. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. “Midoriya…” you breathe.

“Izuku,” he corrects, his voice husky. “Call me Izuku.” “Izuku,” you repeat. He groans at the sound of his name dancing of your tongue, the sound vibrating against your chest. He lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze is reverent as he takes in the sight of you, his green eyes darkening with every passing second.“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands tracing the lace of your bra. “So, so beautiful.”

You reach behind you, unhooking the clasp. The bra falls away, and he sucks in a sharp breath. His hands are on you instantly, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. They stiffen under his touch, and you cry out, your head falling back against the door. “Izuku… please…”

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He dips his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks, hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. The sensation is overwhelming, a bolt of pure pleasure shoots through your entire body. You tangle your fingers in his green curls, holding him to you as he attends to your breasts.

Your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, fumbling with the button. He pulls away just long enough to help you, shoving both his boxers and boxers down in one go. His cock springs free, hard and proud. You wrap your hand around him, and he groans, his hips bucking into your touch. You stroke him slowly, savouring the feel of him in your hand. he trembled under your soft touch. “Fuck… I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he pants.

“Good,” you tease, a mischievous glint in your eye. You tighten your grip, stroking him faster. He curses, his head falling back. His eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. You can feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming more erratic. Suddenly he pulled your hand away pinning it above your head. “No,” he growls, his eyes locking with yours. “I want to be inside you when I cum.”

He makes quick work of your remaining clothes, leaving you both naked in the dim light. He lifts you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist. He pins you against the door, the cold hard wood making you gasp. His cock nudges at your entrance, and you gasp at the contact. He’s watching you, his eyes asking for one last bit of permission.

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. He pushes inside you, slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch feels incredible- a burn that quickly morphs into pure pleasure. He fills you completely , and you feel whole for the first time in a long time.

He stops for a moment once fully inside, giving you a moment to adjust and feel comfortable. You wiggle your hips, urging him on. He gets the message. He starts to move, at first with shallow, experimental thrusts trying to find his rhythm, then after a moment with more confidence. His hips snapping against yours. The sound of skin on skin fills the small closet, mingled with your shared moans and gasps. You repeat his name again and again as he drives into you over and over and over again. He hits a spot deep inside you that makes you see stars, and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Right there?” he asks, his voice strained. “Right there, baby?”

“Yes! God, yes! Don’t stop!” He doubles his efforts, hitting that spot with every thrust. The coil in your stomach tightens, a familiar pressure building until it’s almost unbearable. You’re so close, teetering on the edge.“Izuku… I’m… I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me,” he growls, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “I want to feel you cum all over my cock.” That’s all it takes. The coil snaps, and you’re flying, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you. You scream his name, your body convulsing around him. The feeling of you clenching around him sends him over the edge too. He buries his face in your neck, his own release flooding you with a warmth that leaves you boneless and satisfied.

He stays inside you for a long moment, both of you trying to catch your breath. The silence is comfortable, filled with the soft sounds of your breathing. He finally pulls out, gently setting you down. Your legs feel like jelly, and you lean against him for support. He’s still holding you, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, then to your lips. The kisses are gentle, a stark contrast to the passionate frenzy from moments before.

fluff

characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Tenya Iida, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, Fumikage Tokoyami

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Izuku midoriya:

He’s incredibly shy in the beginning and it takes hi, ages to confess (like months and months), and when he finally does, his face goes beet red, he's stammering and holding a handwritten note that has been rewritten at least a dozen times.

He's the type to show love through acts of service and attention. He remembers literally everything, notices all the small things too. He carries extra supplies just in case (if you have a period he will carry supplies for that too). He will write EVERYTHING in his notebook: anything you mention wanting or needing and facts about you and your quirk. The top of the page is marked with a little heart.

He's always checking up on you: asking if you're okay, if you've eaten, or if you're tired- he constantly worries about you and wants to keep you happy, healthy and safe above all else.

He is very easily flustered by affection, but melts entirely when you're holding his hand or leaning on him. He'll squeeze your hand 3 times gently and smile softly at you.

He will proudly and confidently tell you how amazing you are and how proud he is of you. He's always encouraging you to work hard and he will secretly work harder than usual because he just wants to be the best he can be for you, he wants to be someone you can always rely on.

When he’s confident, he’ll proudly tell you how amazing you are, and he works harder at everything because he wants to be someone you can always rely on.

He loves a quiet date. Walking home together, studying side-by-side, or sitting somewhere quiet and peaceful where you can talk free from distraction.

Katuski bakugou:

He wouldn't tell you he likes you or loves you straight away- instead he shows it by looking out for you in his own way. He would walk you home, glare or yell at anyone bothering you, and make sure you aren't struggling or falling behind.

When he finally confesses it's awkward "don't get the wrong idea... but I like you, okay? deal with it". He then looks away so you don’t see how red his ears are.

He is incredibly overprotective of you when you finally are together. If anyone upsets you the have do deal with him and most importantly he will never make you feel undervalued or unsafe.

He secretly loves when you're affectionate with him even if he acts annoyed. If you hug him or play with his hair he will grumble about in under his breath whilst leaning into it and he’ll hold you tight when no one else is looking.

Bakugou remembers literally everything you like or dislike, and will bring you your favourite snacks and play It off like it was just laying around his house/ dorm or that he had too much of it.

He pushes you to always be and do your best. Whether that be when he's training with you or helping you study, because he wants you to stand strong beside him, not behind him.

Dates usually involve something active or competitive but he sometimes he lets you win just enough to see you smile.

Shoto Todoroki:

He has zero experience when it comes to romance as he's never really witnessed it, so he's very straightforward and honest when he confesses: “I want to be with you. Is that okay?” — no dancing around it and no confusion.

He shows love through small, practical gestures: warming your hands with his fire side when you’re cold, cooling you down with his ice in summer, or quietly moving to stand between you and crowds or danger.

He will buy you things when you mention wanting it on his dad's card and leave it in your room and never bring it up again.

He listens more than he talks, and he remembers every story or feeling you share with him; he takes your words, emotions and your heart very seriously.

Affection is introduced slowly. He’ll hold your hand gently, like he’s afraid he might hurt you, but once he’s comfortable, he loves quiet moments where you’re close, like sitting side-by-side or resting his head on your shoulder.

He learns about normal couple things from books or his classmates, and sometimes asks very serious, innocent questions like “Is it normal to hold hands while walking?” or “Do people usually share food?”

Being with you helps him open up and smile more genuinely; you’re his safe space, and he feels he can just be himself around you.

Dates are calm and simple: visiting quiet places, trying new foods together, or just sitting somewhere peaceful where he can learn more about you.

Tenya Iida:

He treats the relationship with great respect and care; he’s very formal at first, calling you by your name with honorifics, and planning dates thoroughly and politely.

His confession is long, sincere, and a little dramatic — he’ll stand straight, bow deeply, and explain exactly why he admires you, what drew him to you, positives of being together and of course most importantly that he wants to be with you.

He’s incredibly loyal and dedicated; he sees being your partner as both a joy and a duty to protect and support you always.

He shows love by helping you with everything: carrying your things, helping you study, reminding you to rest or eat properly, and always making sure you’re safe and on time.

He’s very proud to be with you and will speak highly of you to everyone, but he gets very flustered if you tease him or give him unexpected affection in public.

He absolutely loves doing things together: studying, training, or going on structured thoroughly planned dates like visiting museums, going out for dinner, parks, or hero exhibitions.

When he lets his guard down, he’s very sweet and emotional; he’ll hold your hands gently and tell you how much you inspire him.

Eijiro Kirishima:

He falls fast and hard, and he makes it obvious — he’ll tell you straight up “I really like you! Can we be together?!” with his bright, huge smile.

To him, being a good partner is the most “manly” thing there is, so he puts his whole heart into making you happy and keeping you safe.

He’s always cheering you on, proud of every little thing you do, and telling everyone how amazing you are — he never hides how much he cares.

He is super affectionate: constant hand-holding, hugs, high-fives, or resting his arm around your shoulders; he loves physical closeness and making you feel loved. He will worship you, you can do no wrong in his eyes. He will do anything and everything in his power for you.

He’s your biggest protector and your rock — if you’re sad, he’ll listen and comfort you; if you’re scared, he’ll stand right in front of you; if you’re struggling, he’ll help you push through.

Remembers everything you love and will surprise you with small gifts, snacks, or adventures he thinks you’d enjoy.

Dates are fun and energetic: going to festivals, trying new activities, eating out, or just hanging out and laughing together for hours.

Denki Kaminari:

(no yellow so orange it is)

He flirts with you constantly at first — jokes, winks, cheesy lines — but when it comes to actually confessing, he gets nervous and shy, worried you might only see him as a joke, the anxiety of it all even caused him to short circuit.

Once you’re together, he’s the sweetest, most attentive partner; he wants to make you smile and laugh every single day.

He remembers every single detail about you — your favourite songs, little stories you told him, things that make you happy or upset — and he uses that to make you feel special.

He is very physically affectionate. loves holding your hand, linking arms, or leaning on you; he gets extra clingy and soft when he’s tired or after using his quirk too much. He wants to be with you every hour of every day.

He gets a little jealous sometimes but never in a bad way — he just wants to be the one who makes you happiest, and he’ll try extra hard to impress you.

He acts confident, but deep down he worries he’s not good enough; you reassuring him and telling him you love him is the most important thing to him.

Dates are fun and relaxed: arcades, movie nights, hanging out with friends, or just wandering around talking about everything and nothing.

Hanta Sero:

He’s calm, easygoing, and observant and he notices you before anyone else does, and he falls for you quietly, slowly, and deeply. His confession is casual but sincere: “Y’know… I really like you. Wanna give this a go?” — no pressure, just honest feelings.

He’s the type of partner who’s always there, steady and reliable; you never have to wonder where you stand with him- you know you're important to him and you never are left questioning.

He shows love in quiet ways. listening to you talk for hours, helping you with small problems, using his tape to reach things for you or pull you close gently, or bringing you things you need before you even ask.

Has a dry, sweet sense of humor — he makes little jokes just to see you smile, and he loves making you laugh.

Not big on grand public displays, but in private he’s very soft; he loves cuddling, having you rest against him, or sitting close while you do your own things together.

Dates are casual and comfortable: grabbing food, walking around, visiting quiet spots, or just hanging out in his or your room listening to music or drawing.

Fumikage Tokoyami:

He falls for you deeply and seriously. He has to really think his feeling through first because to him, love is a noble, powerful bond, and he treats your relationship with great respect.

His confession is poetic and heartfelt, spoken in his dramatic style, telling you how you’ve become his light in the dark and someone he wishes to stand beside always.

Dark Shadow absolutely adores you — it will nudge you, bring you small gifts, or wrap around you gently; it shows affection even when Tokoyami is busy or being reserved.

He’s protective and loyal to the end; he values honor and faithfulness above all, and he will never let you down or hurt you intentionally.

He’s quiet and reserved, but he expresses his feelings through words carefully chosen, and through actions: staying close to you, shielding you, or bringing you things he thinks you’d like.

He loves deep conversations with you: talking about dreams, feelings, or anything meaningful — and he feels understood by you in a way he isn’t by others.

Affection is gentle and meaningful. He’ll hold your hand or brush your hair softly, and he loves quiet, calm places where you can be alone together.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The common room had emptied hours ago. Most of Class 1-A had retreated to their rooms or dozed off on the sofas, leaving only the soft glow of the lamps and the quiet hum of the fridge to fill the space. You were gathering up your things, ready to head upstairs, when a familiar, easy-going voice stopped you.

“Hey, wait a sec — can I talk to you for a minute?” You turned around to find Hanta Sero casually leaned against the doorframe, his usual relaxed smile in place, though there was something a little different about the way he held himself. His tape-covered elbows rested behind his back, his posture loose, but his dark eyes were fixed on you, darker and more serious than you usually saw. “Sure,” you said, setting your bag and other items back down on the couch. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded, stepping fully into the room and walking over, his movements slow and unhurried, like he was taking his time. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just… I’ve been meaning to say something for a while. And if I don’t do it now, I think I might never get the words out.” Pulling his arm from behind his back he gestured towards the balcony door. The door slid open and you stepped out together into the cool nights air. “Come on. It’s nicer out here. Quieter.”

You followed him out, closing the door softly behind you. you were feeling anxiety in your chest unsure of what was wrong. But the clear night sky, littered with bright shining stars soon washed it away. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of cut grass and a cool breeze. Sero leaned against the railing, looking out over the view for a moment, his hands resting easily on the metal bar, before he turned to face you.

He looked as calm and collected as usual- but as you watched closer, he rubbed the back of his neck, a small, nervous habit you’d come to notice over time. His usual easy smile was softer now, a little unsure, his expression open and sincere.

“You know,” he started, his voice low and steady, “people usually see me as the laid-back guy. The one who doesn’t get too worked up about anything, who just goes with the flow. And that’s true, mostly. I like keeping things easy. I like laughing, and messing around, and keeping the mood light.” He paused, his gaze meeting your own, warm and unwavering. “But there’s one thing I’ve been thinking about more than anything else lately. One thing that’s had me way more ‘worked up’ than I’d ever admit to anyone else.” He took a small step closer, the space between you narrowing. The streetlights below cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the gentle curve of his smile and the quiet intensity in his beautifully dark eyes. “It’s you,” he said simply. It was not a big dramatic speech, no hesitation, just honesty. “It’s always been you.” Your breath caught in your throat. You stood still, heart suddenly beating as though it was trying to win a race, as he continued, his voice softening, every word sincere.

“I can’t even tell you when all of this started. It wasn’t like one big moment where everything changed. It was the little things, I think. The way you laugh at all of my dumb jokes, even when they’re not that funny and I know that. The way you pay attention like reallyyyy pay attention when I’m talking, like what I say actually matters. The way you are when we train you’re strong, and brave, and you look out for everyone, even when you’re tired or hurt. You never put on an act. You’re just… you.” He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushing a faint reddish pink before he looked back away. Before he looked back at you smiling bigger, warmer this time not hiding any of the emotions he felt.

“I notice everything. Every time you walk into a room, I cant help but let my eyes find you. I find that every time I'm making a joke, im checking to see if you're smiling too. Every time we're on a mission, or training, or just hanging out… the only thing I really care about is if you're okay. I just want you to be happy and safe." He lifted one hand, his fingers dancing lightly along the railing, as if he was resisting the urge to reach out and touch you, to hold your hand. He carried on “I tried to keep it quiet, you know?... I told ,myself we are just friends, that we're better as just friends. That if I said something you might not feel the same I’d make things weird, or lose what we have. And you’re way too important to me to risk all of that. I’d rather be your friend forever than not have you in my life at all.” He took a breath, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “But… keeping it inside is getting harder than I thought it would be. Because every day I spend with you, every time I see you, I want to be closer. Every time you smile at me, I want to tell you everything I feel.”

He straightened up, standing tall, his expression open and vulnerable, the cool, easy-going mask completely gone now, leaving only Hanta — honest, kind, and completely yours. “So… here it is,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “I like you. Not just as a classmate, and not just as a friend. I like you in the way that makes me want to be the person who makes you laugh the most. The person you come to no matter how you feel. The person who gets to stand beside you, through all the training, all the missions, all the days ahead.” His smile looked a little nervous now, but it was so incredibly sweet that it made your chest ache and all prior anxiety you felt was replaced by excitement and pure joy. “I like everything about you. The way you think, the way you care, the way you make even the quietest moments feel like something special. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, honestly. And… I just needed you to know, it's eating me alive.”

He paused, giving you space, his eyes searching yours for a reaction- acceptance, rejection. He was ready to accept whatever you had to say. “You don’t have to answer right away,” he added quickly, reassuring you his usual light tone coming back just a little, softening the weight of his words. “And if you don’t feel the same… it’s okay. Really. I’ll still be right here, same as always. I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore....”

You didn’t let him finish. You stepped forward, closing what was left of the gap between you, and before you could overthink it, you smiled - big, bright, happy, and full of all the feelings you’d been hiding too. “Hanta,” you said softly, and his name on your tongue made his breath catch. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for so long.” His eyes went wide, surprise lighting up his face. “Really?”

“Really,” you repeated back to him, reaching out to take his hand in yours. His hands were warm, and he curled his fingers around yours instantly, holding on tight like he was scared you’d vanish if he let go or loosened his grip on you. “I like you too. More than I can even say. I love how easy it is to be with you. How you always know exactly what to say or do to make things better. How kind and steady and wonderful you are.” A huge, bright grin spread across his face — the kind that was genuine, it reached all the way to his eyes, making them shine. He let out a soft, breathless laugh, relieved and happy, his free hand coming up to rest gently on your waist, light and careful. He really believed you'd reject him and he would lose it all.

The common room was quiet, late enough that most students had gone back to their rooms, leaving only the faint hum of the fridge, the occasional drip of the taps and the soft pitter pattering of the rain hitting the glass. Todoroki was sitting alone on one of the tables, an open textbook inforont of him, though he hadn't read a single line in the last 10 minutes. His eyes kept flicking from the book to across the room, to where you sat. legs tucked under you as you folded laundry, quietly humming a soft tune under your breath.

This sight was familiar to him. You were always there, somewhere close- during training, walking beside him near classes and then sitting beside him in said classes and in the cafeteria. At first he barely registered this as anything unusual. Friendship, he told himself. Future colleagues. Just how things worked in UA. You live together, train together like a second family. He knew your name, quirk, habits. He knew you were helpful- sometimes too helpful, he knew you laughed easily and that you always waited for him when he fell behind from the group.

He knew all of it, but he hadn't understood it, not really...not until now. You looked up, catching his eyes fixed upon you. Instead of looking away or teasing like others would have, you smiled at him- that soft, kind, steady smile you always gave him and waved a little. "You've been working ages Shoto, you must be so tired. You should take a break".

The way his name sounded on your tongue sounded different to anyone else. Lighter, warmer. He closed the book slowly, the sound coming off sharp in the quiet room. He stood up, walking over towards where you sat. He felt as though his feet moved before he even decided to, drawn to you the way he was drawn to the warmth on cold days.

"Just thinking", he said, his voice low. He stopped a short distance away- close enough to see the way your hair caught in the light, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of your body, a nice warm temperature.

“Thinking hard, then?,” you asked, setting down the shirt you’d been folding and patting the empty space beside you on the sofa. “Here. Sit. I won’t distract you too much, I promise.”

He sat. The cushion dipping slightly under his weight, and suddenly you're closer than he realised- your shoulders almost touching, the faint, soft scent of something sweet clinging to your clothes. He looked at you properly, I mean really looked, and something shifted inside his chest, like ice cracking open to allow the sun to warm what's underneath.

He thought back to all the small things, the ones he’d never stopped to piece together before. He remembered during the sports festival, when he’d been consumed by anger and bitterness, fighting only for the piece of himself he’d been denied. You hadn’t cheered loudly or shouted for him like the rest. But afterwards, when he walked away from the arena feeling hollow and cold, you were there, waiting in the corridor, holding a bottle of water and a small packet of tissues. You didn't ask him about his father, or his power, or why he fought the way he did. You’d just handed him the water and said, “You did well. I’m glad you’re okay.”

No one had ever said that to him before—not like that. Not like his safety and his happiness mattered more than whether he secured a win or not. He remembered training sessions, where he had pushed himself too hard, overusing his ice side until his fingers went numb and his breath came out in white clouds. While others would rush to point out his mistakes or suggest new techniques, you would quietly bring him a warm drink, or place your hands gently over his frozen ones until feeling returned. You never touched his left side—never pushed for the fire, never expected him to use what he hated. You just gave him warmth, freely, without asking for anything in return.

He remembered the night when he woke up from a nightmare, breathless and cold, the memories of his childhood sharp and painful. He’d gone to the kitchen for water, trying to calm himself in the dark, and found you there too, getting a glass. You took one look at his face, pale and tight with distress, and decided not to ask or push on it. You just sat with him at the table, staying quiet, until he could breathe normally. You stayed until the cold feeling in his chest had faded, simply by being there.

Why? he always wondered even back then. Why do you care so much?Now, sitting next to you, watching you pick up a t-shirt and fold it carefully, your expression calm and kind, the answer hit him all at once—clear, sharp, and completely undeniable. This wasn't just friendship.

He wasn’t just involved with you. He was tangled up in you, completely, in every way that mattered. You were in every part of his existence, every quiet moment, every thought that wasn’t about training or becoming a hero. You are the first thing he looks for when he walks into a room, the person he wanted to tell things to—good or bad, big or small. When he was cold, he thought of your warmth. When he was lost, he thought of your steady presence. When he was happy, it was because you are here. He needed you.

You turned your head, noticing how still he was, how intently he was watching you. Your brows furrowed slightly in gentle concern. “Shoto? Is something wrong? You’re looking at me weird.” His heart was beating fast—faster than it ever did in a fight, faster than when he faced powerful villains. It felt like his chest was full of something that would explode if he didn't say it now. "I realised something", he said quietly. His voice was steady, but there was a softness there that had never been there before. You tilted your head, curious, setting down the last piece of laundry. “What is it?”

He looked at you—at your eyes, your smile, the way you looked at him like he was just Shoto, not the son of Endeavour, not the boy with multiple strong quirks, just him. “I realised,” he said, leaning a little closer, drawn in by that warmth he’d always found with you, “its you... you’re the best part of every single day I have. I don’t just want you around… I need you around. I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anything.” He saw your eyes widen, the faint pink colour rise in your cheeks, and he knew he was right. He knew, finally, exactly what this feeling was, exactly what you meant to him. “I realised,” he finished, his voice barely a whisper now, but still very much clear “that I’m completely involved with you. In every way. And I don’t ever want to be without it.”

For a moment, there was silence—just the rain outside, just the sound of both of your breaths. Then you smiled, that same soft, wonderful smile, but this time it was brighter, warmer, like the sun breaking through clouds. You reached out, your hand finding his, your fingers curling into his. “Good,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Because I’ve been involved with you for a long time, Shoto. And I wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon.”

Hiii thank you for the request of course I can!

Bakugou nsfw headcannons:

Warning minors dni!!

Bakugou is the type to lose control he’s a complete and utter mess when it comes to you and sex. He hates it. He prides himself on his control, on precision and on being the absolute best at everything he does, then you came along with your soft hands, sexy voice and smile reducing him to a shaking, desperate, fumbling mess with barely a touch.

He gets loud, not angry, shouty loud, but loud. Groaning your name, cursing and babbling nonsense. His vocabulary reduced to just “fuck”, “please” and your name usually in that order. The filter between his mouth and brain just disconnect.

Bakugou secretly loves when you take charge. He'll fight you on it to begin with. A growl in his chest, a grip on your wrist, but it's all for show. The second you push again, meet his energy, tell him what to do—tell him to lie back and let you take care of him—he's gone. The surrender is its own kind of high for him. Letting go of that tightly wound control for you and you only makes him feel safe in a way he can't articulate.

Bakugou is a biter. Not hard enough to draw blood (usually), but he'll leave a constellation of purple bruises across your shoulders, your collarbones, the swell of your hips. It's territorial, a branding, a physical reminder of what’s “his" for when he cannot form words. He also gets ridiculously possessive and smug about seeing them the next day, tracing them with the tip of his finger.

He gets overstimulated easily. His body is twitchy and sensitive, your touch is amplified. He will squirm and arch away one second and then be bucking his hips towards you chasing the sensation the next, torn between too much and not enough. Making him cum more than once is a special kind of torture for him, it breaks him completely, leaving him speechless and drooling barely able to stand, and he hates how much he loves it.

Some definitions before:

Motley- Traditional jester costume . Designed to be eye catching. It is multi-coloured and doesn’t match.

Fools cap- the hat often paired with a motley

Basse dance- in the 15th century this is a popular dance in courting it was slow and dignified for court. This dance showed grace and social standing. An example:https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNRsbn3VL/

soft consort- a quieter band of musicians using instruments such as the lute, harp and fiddle

The fools tears

The grand ballroom at the palace was loud and expensive fabrics kaleidoscope with the movements of lords, ladies, princes and princesses. The gold accents of the candelabras and the jewellery hit the light in a way that seemed to create a glitter. The smell of obviously expensive imported perfumes was suffocating. This ball was being held for Princess Y/N as it was her time to find a worthy suitor- one that matched her status and could create a strong alliance for her father. A prince rom a neighbouring kingdom seemed to be the best match and had been widely discussed. His estate was large and lineage pure just as his personality was hollow, boring and superficial. 

Across the room watching Y/N and the prince talk, standing deep into the shadows was Katsuki. He was adorned in the motley of a Jester. The bells hanging off of his Fools cap mocking him with every movement. In court he was the “kings fool”, paid to make nobility laugh using his sharp tongue and explosive fire tricks. However, tonight there are no jokes- nothing funny about this at all.

His crimson eyes were locked onto Y/N as the Prince took her hand, asking for a dance. They danced the Basse dance- the way she moved was elegant and graceful, clearly practiced. Until he got to her face it was utterly lifeless, her eyes were filled with pure devastation. She did not want this. 

‘I should be the one holding her hand’ he thought , his jaw clenching until his teeth hurt and his jaw ached. He remembered the secret nights in the castle gardens, he could’ve lost his head  or even had a fate worse than death for this. She was so worth it to him she was everything. Else thought back upon her laugh - not the polite giggle she gave the prince , but a real belly laugh that made his chest feel tight. He remembered her beautiful eyes and how they looked during sunset. Those are the eyes he see every night in his dreams. He thought about the heat of her skin against his and how it made him feel warm and tingly. He remembered her voice as they promised each other a future they both knew was impossible- it was not a lie it was hopes for another life time. 

“THE BLOOD OF KINGS DOES NOT MATCH WITH LOW-BORN FILTH” Your father bellowed one time as he caught Y/Ns gaze linger on Katsuki months ago all but confirming that their relationship was unattainable. Since then Katsuki and Y/N had been kept apart and monitored more frequently meaning their nightly escapades happened less and less. He was forced to wear a mask of comedy all whilst he felt the flames of his heart turn to ash.

In the middle of the court, Y/N felt the exact weight of his gaze. She didn’t dare look into the shadows where he stood, but she could feel him. To every male at court she was the best prize to be won , a political bridge and an economic gain. An object. But to Katsuki she was just Y/N, sweet, funny, kind and intelligent. As the soft consort (music) played, she caught a glimpse of him. The candlelight briefly caught his face showing a trail of tears falling silently down his cheeks. Bakugou- the proudest, loudest man she knew was crying, publicly and quietly. 

The sight of this broke her completely her smile to the prince was forced painfully so. Her heart was screaming at her it began to hurt like she had taken a dagger straight to it. She longed for that boy in the jesters rags but she was trapped in the expectations and rules of royalty, under the watchful eye of her father- the king. Katsuki saw the forced smile and knew it was for him a silent apology, a desperate signal she did not want this. She is drowning in despair. The concealed dagger under his tunic weighing heavy, he clenched his fist until they went white. He wanted to set fire to this room and slaughter everyone in his way. He wished he could grab her and run until his legs stopped working and his breath ran out. But he couldn’t. He remained.

He was the Jester- the fool, she was rhetorical princess- a future queen. In this world, this time the fool will never get what he wants. He stood still as the music ended, the tears stung as they reached his ruffled collar. He watched the love of his life in a world he could never belong to. 

~Princess Y/Ns perspective~

The world blurred into a dizzying blur of colour and fabrics with every movement and turn. Her ears were screaming and her heart ached but throughout it all her internal campus was fixed to the shadows in the back. The ache in her chest was physical, it was dull and a crushing pressure that made it even harder still to breathe. To the worthy suitors seeking her hand in marriage, she was the state of perfection, draped in  jewels, showing her wealth, feeling more like shackles rubbing and burning against her soft skin. Her corset felt as though she was being slowly crushed. Beneath the head fabrics she was screaming and panicking. She wanted to turn and run… to him.

‘Look away’, she pleaded to herself. ‘If you look at him you’ll be done for. You’ll break and hell be at risk, don’t be so selfish Y/N’ you begged. But you couldn’t help it . She felt his gaze and couldn’t help but look. That’s when she caught it tears falling down his cheeks. Silently. The usual hint of confidence and fierce defiance in his gaze was now replaced by a hollow emptiness. His eyes were glazed over and he looked miserable. She remembered how his calloused hands was sup her cheeks when he promised they would run away together. Their way out was blocked by stone castle walls and chains of tradition. 

She felt a wave of nausea hit as the prince complimented her his breath stinking of booze and his voice dripped with arrogance. He then went on to talk about their future estates and wealth and how she would bare many children to solidify their name on the slates of history. It sounded like a death sentence and was a harsh contrast to the conversations with the jester. Seeing the spirit of this usually confident self assured man crushed hurt more than the prospect of a loveless marriage. It felt like a blade being pushed to her throat. She wished she had the guts to stand up and shot at her father that his fool was more noble than everyone in this room combined. But you couldn’t and you wouldn’t and that was that.