MASTERLIST - RULES - PINTEREST - WATTPAD

MABEL . 8TEEN . BISEXUAL . MEGAN, DENKIS, KIRISHIMA, SHINSOU, TODOROKI, RYU, AKI, ANGEL DEVIL, DENJI, NOBU, AND KEONHO'S WIFE

Making rn: rockstar!shinsou x fan!reader smau / coming soon!

The air in the small apartment was heavy, smelling of stale nicotine and the lingering scent of Aki’s morning coffee. Outside, the Tokyo rain smeared the city lights into blurred neon streaks against the windowpane. Inside, the silence was worse than the storm.

Aki sat on the edge of the sofa, his posture still rigid, though his tie was loosened and his top button undone, a rare crack in his disciplined armor. You stood by the kitchenette, your fingers tracing the rim of a cold mug. You didn't want to look at him, because looking at him meant acknowledging the shift in the atmosphere, the way the air had turned thick with a regret that hadn't even fully formed yet.

"You should go," Aki said. His voice wasn't cold; it was exhausted. It was the voice of a man who had already calculated the cost of the last hour and realized he couldn't afford it.

"I know," you whispered, though you didn't move.

The mistake wasn't just what had happened between you. that desperate, fumbling bridge built out of shared grief and the terrifying proximity of death. The mistake was the illusion that you could find something permanent in a man who had already signed his life away to a contract. You had reached for a lifeline, forgetting that Aki was a man made of anchors and sinking weights.

Aki finally looked at you. His blue eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were clouded. He looked like he was mourning someone who was still standing in the room.

"I can't give you anything," he said, the words hitting the floor like lead. "Not a future. Not even a decent tomorrow. You know what I’ve traded away."

He was talking about the Curse Devil. He was talking about the clock ticking down in his chest. Every heartbeat was a countdown, and he had just spent a handful of those precious beats on a moment of weakness with you. It had been frantic, a way to feel human in a world that demanded they be weapons. But now, in the gray light of the apartment, that humanity felt like a liability. He was a ghost-in-waiting, and you were someone who would be left to haunt the spaces he eventually left behind.

You crossed the small gap between you, resting a hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch, but he didn't lean in either. He remained a statue of duty.

"It wasn't a mistake to want to feel something, Aki," you said, your voice trembling.

He stood up then, gently but firmly dislodging your hand. He walked to the window, looking out at the rain as if he could see his own reflection in the grey sky. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and clicked his lighter. The small flame illuminated the sharp lines of his face for a second before he blew out a cloud of smoke that masked his expression.

"It is a mistake when it leaves you with a memory that's only going to hurt," he replied. He didn't look back. "Go home. Forget this happened. I have work in the morning."

You gathered your coat, the fabric feeling heavy and damp. As you reached the door, you looked back one last time. He hadn't moved. He was just a silhouette against the glass, a man who had mastered the art of losing everything before it was even gone.

LIPSTICK - Nobara jjk

♪ PLAYING ` faded - Alan walker

The first thing you remember is the color of her lipstick.

Not the shade that’s long gone, washed out of your memory like everything else but the way it looked on her. Confident. Sharp. Like she could cut the world open with a smile and dare it to bleed.

You used to tease her about it.

“You’re going to stain my face,” you’d say.

“Good,” she’d answer, leaning in. “Then everyone will know you’re mine.”

You can’t remember the last time she said it.Or the last time you wanted her to.

The apartment is quiet now. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes you think of empty train stations and late‑night convenience stores places meant to be filled with noise, but aren’t.

Her jacket is still draped over the back of the couch.Her perfume still lingers in the hallway.Her laugh still echoes in the kitchen tile.

But she’s not here.

And you don’t know when she stopped being here.

Maybe it was gradual like a song fading out, the volume lowering so slowly you didn’t notice until the silence hit.Maybe it was sudden a door closing, a breath caught in your throat, a moment you didn’t realize was the last.

All you know is that you woke up one morning and the space beside you felt colder than it should.

You find her on the balcony.

She’s leaning against the railing, city lights flickering across her face like dying stars. Her hair is pulled back messily, strands escaping in the wind. She looks softer like this. Tired. Human.

“Nobara,” you say.

She doesn’t turn around.But her shoulders tense just barely.

“You’re awake,” she murmurs.

“You weren’t in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

You step closer. The air between you feels thin, stretched, like it might tear if you breathe too hard.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

She laughs a small, brittle sound.“Are we?”

You don’t know how to answer.

Because you love her. God, you love her.But love doesn’t fix the way she comes home later and later.Love doesn’t fix the way she avoids your eyes.Love doesn’t fix the way she’s fading or the way you are too.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper.

Nobara finally looks at you.

Her eyes are glossy, reflecting the city like a broken mirror.She reaches out, fingers brushing yours hesitant, trembling.

“You won’t,” she says.But her voice cracks on the last word.

You lace your fingers with hers anyway.Because even if she’s fading, even if you’re fading, even if the two of you are slipping through each other like smoke you want to hold on.

Just a little longer.

Just until the light comes back.

Just until you can remember the color of her lipstick again.

♪ PLAYING ` in another life this may have been different - inked!

The air in Tokyo always tasted like ozone and exhaust, but tonight, standing across from Megumi in the sterile silence of the Jujutsu High courtyard, it tasted like an ending. The mission was over and the curses were exorcised, but the space between you felt wider than any domain expansion. The moonlight hit the sharp angles of his face, casting long, jagged shadows across the gravel that seemed to pulse with the weight of everything he wasn't saying.

Megumi didn't look at you. He watched those shadows, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched as if bracing for an impact that had already happened. He looked like a boy trying to hold the ruins of a world together with nothing but sheer willpower and a frayed heart. He had always been the one to stay, the one to endure, the one to carry the ghosts of those who fell behind.

"You're leaving," he said. It wasn't a question, and there was no accusation in it. Just a flat, hollow acceptance that hurt worse than a shout.

"I have to," you replied, your voice barely a whisper, thin and brittle in the cold night air. The injuries were too much, the mental toll too heavy. You were a sorcerer who had reached your limit, waking up every morning with a heart that felt like it was being squeezed by invisible hands. You were tired of the blood under your fingernails and the way every phone call felt like a death sentence. "I can't keep seeing the people I love become ghosts, Megumi. I can't sit here and wait for the day it’s your turn to be one."

He finally looked up. His sea-dark eyes were guarded, but there was a flicker of something, a raw, jagged ache that he couldn't quite suppress. He understood. He always understood. He knew that for you to survive, you had to walk away from the very thing that defined him. He knew you deserved a life where you didn't have to look over your shoulder, even if that life didn't have him in it.

For a moment, the world around you blurred. The harsh fluorescent lights of the dorms faded, replaced by the warm, amber glow of a sunset that didn't feel threatening. In that flickering imagined reality, you woke up to the smell of coffee instead of the metallic tang of blood. You’d see Megumi reading a book on a sofa in a small, cramped apartment filled with plants you’d bought together. His hair would be messy and unstyled, and the Divine Dogs would be snoozing at his feet not as weapons of slaughter, but as pets waiting for a scrap of toast.

In that life, you’d argue over what to have for dinner instead of who would take the vanguard in a Grade 1 mission. You’d have scars from clumsy cooking or hiking trips, not from cursed spirit claws. In that life, he smiled. It was a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes and stayed there because there was no tomorrow to dread, no Sukuna lurking in the periphery, and no legacy of shadows to uphold. It was a life of boring, beautiful mundanity.

A cold breeze snapped the vision away, dragging you back to the gravel and the blood-stained uniforms. Megumi was still Megumi, the boy who carried a legacy like a cross and the shadows like a shroud. He looked so tired, the dark circles under his eyes deeper than they were a week ago.

"I wish..." you started, but the words died in your throat. There was no point in wishing for a world that didn't exist.

"I know," he interrupted softly. He stepped forward, the distance closing just enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he didn't touch you. He knew if he did, neither of you would be able to let go. He’d pull you back into the dark, or you’d pull him into a light he couldn't afford to reach for yet. "In another life, maybe we were just two normal people. Maybe I met you in a library, or a cafe. Somewhere quiet where we didn't have to be brave."

"I think I would have loved you then, too," you admitted, a stray tear finally escaping and tracing a hot path down your cold cheek.

Megumi reached out, his thumb brushing the tear away with a tenderness that felt like a final goodbye. His hand lingered for a second longer than it should have, his skin rough and warm against yours. "I'll find you there," he whispered, his voice cracking just the slightest bit. "When this is all over. If there's a version of us that gets to be happy... I'm glad they have each other. I'll let them be happy for both of us."

He turned away first. He had to. He had shadows to command and a world to save, and you had a soul to reclaim. As he walked toward the school buildings, his silhouette growing smaller against the moonlight, you realized the tragedy of it all. You loved him in this life, but this life wasn't built for love. It was built for survival, for sacrifice, and for the bitter silence of empty rooms.

LOVE ME - Ryu to me to you

♪ PLAYING ` love me - lil Wayne

Ryu isn’t supposed to be here.

Not at this hour, not in this weather, not with rain dripping from his hair and his hands shoved deep into his pockets like he’s trying to hide the fact that they’re shaking.

You open the door, blinking at him. “Ryu…?”

He doesn’t answer. He just stands there, breathing hard like he ran the whole way. His eyes flick up to yours dark, unreadable, but there’s something frayed around the edges.

“Can I come in,” he mutters, voice low, almost swallowed by the rain.

You step aside. He walks past you, shoulders tense, like he’s bracing for something. The room feels smaller with him in it not because he takes up space, but because he carries so much he never puts down.

You grab a towel and hold it out. “You’re soaked.”

He stares at it for a second too long before taking it. His fingers brush yours cold, trembling and he flinches like he didn’t mean for you to notice.

You always notice.

He dries his hair in silence. You wait. Ryu never comes over without a reason. He never does anything without a reason.

When he finally speaks, it’s so quiet you almost miss it.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blink. “I was in the shower.”

“Oh.” He nods, but his jaw tightens. “Thought you were ignoring me.”

You stare at him. “Why would I ignore you?”

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps rubbing the towel over his hair, movements rough, unfocused. Like he’s trying to scrub away something that isn’t water.

“Ryu,” you say softly.

He freezes.

You step closer. “What’s going on?”

He exhales a shaky, uneven breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in his chest for hours. Maybe days.

“I don’t…” He swallows. “I don’t like it when I can’t reach you.”

Your heart stutters. “Ryu—”

“I know it’s stupid,” he mutters, eyes darting away. “I know you’re not… mine. Or anything. I just—” He cuts himself off, fists clenching in the towel. “Forget it.”

You touch his arm. He goes still again, like he’s afraid to move, afraid to scare off whatever softness you’re offering.

“It’s not stupid,” you whisper.

His eyes flick to yours wide, vulnerable, like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t.

“Ryu,” you say, “you can tell me what you’re feeling.”

He laughs under his breath a small, broken sound. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe that. Like he’s spent his whole life being told the opposite.

You take the towel from his hands and gently finish drying his hair. His eyes flutter shut, breath catching, as if the simple touch is something he’s been starving for.

When you pull back, he opens his eyes and the look he gives you is raw.

“I came here because…” He hesitates, searching for the words he’s never learned how to say. “Because I needed to see you.”

Your chest tightens.

He steps closer, just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“Is that… weird?” he asks quietly.

“No,” you breathe. “It’s not weird.”

His shoulders drop the smallest, softest release of tension. Like he’s been holding himself together with frayed string.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I think I… feel better when I’m with you.”

You swallow hard. “Ryu—”

He shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… needed you to know.”

You reach for his hand.

He looks at your fingers touching his like it’s something impossible. Something he’s wanted for too long.

“Stay,” you whisper.

His breath stutters.

“Yeah,” he says, voice barely holding together. “Okay.”

He squeezes your hand tentative, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds too tightly.

But he doesn’t let go.

Not this time.

AO HARU RIDE MASTERLIST

Kou:

Nothing yet

Futaba:

Nothing yet

Yuri:

Nothing yet

Shuko:

Nothing yet

Aya:

Nothing yet

Toma:

EYES ON ME - Izuku mha

♪ PLAYING ` look at me - twice

You don’t notice him at first.

You’re too busy laughing at something Kaminari said, leaning back against the common room couch, eyes bright, hands animated. Everyone else notices you. you’ve always had that kind of presence but Izuku? He feels you.

Like gravity.

He’s sitting across the room with his notebook open, pen hovering above the page, pretending to review hero notes. He hasn’t written a single word in ten minutes.

He keeps glancing up.

Then glancing away.

Then glancing back again, like he’s fighting himself and losing every time.

You don’t see the way his jaw tightens when Kirishima nudges your shoulder. You don’t see the way his fingers curl around his pen when you lean forward, smiling at someone else. You don’t see the way his knee bounces, restless, like he’s holding something in his chest that’s too big to swallow.

But you feel it when he finally speaks.

“Y/N.”

Your name is soft, but it cuts through the room like a thread pulled tight. You turn, surprised, because he rarely interrupts conversations like that.

His eyes are already on you.

Wide. Green. Intense in a way that makes your breath catch.

“Can I… talk to you?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. It’s a plea wrapped in politeness.

The others glance between you two, sensing something, but you nod and follow him out into the hallway.

He stops just around the corner, hands fidgeting, shoulders tense. He looks like he’s rehearsed this a hundred times and still doesn’t know where to start.

“I—” He swallows. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just… I couldn’t—”

His voice cracks, barely audible.

“I couldn’t get your attention.”

You blink, stunned. “Izuku, you could’ve just—”

“No.” He shakes his head, frustrated with himself. “Not like that. Not the way I wanted.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he lifts his eyes to yours, and the look there is raw enough to make your heart stutter.

“I wanted you to look at me,” he admits. “Just me. Even for a second.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer not touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him.

“I know it’s selfish,” he murmurs, voice low, “but when you’re laughing with everyone else, I… I want to be the one making you smile like that.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you.

“I want to be the one you turn to first,” he says, softer now. “The one you notice.”

You don’t know when your hand reaches out, but suddenly your fingers are brushing his, and he freezes like you’ve short‑circuited him.

“Izuku,” you whisper, “you already have my attention.”

He exhales shaky, disbelieving and finally lets his fingers curl around yours.

“Really?” he asks, voice barely there.

You squeeze his hand.

“Look at me,” you say.

He does.

And this time, he doesn’t look away.