Deaf!bakugou Likes To Feel The Vibrations Of Your Body.

I have this fully realized iida and spollen reader scene in my head. standing in the same room where it happened a month later. it's the first time they've been alone since.

shouto's okay with what happened. he's forgiven you. sex with him is supposed to erase iida's touch but...

You're more dissatisfied with your sex life than ever.

The two of you look at each other.

"How are-"

"Are you-?"

You talk over each other, then pause. You try to miss how he watches your lips when he speaks, with those pretty, deep red eyes you always knew were there.

"You go."

Iida clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. He looks the same as ever, but there's something about him that's changed for you, something that catches in your throat.

"How are you?" he tries. His own voice is wavering.

"Good! Good." You scuff your foot against the tile. "I'm good."

"That's..." he hesitates. "Good."

The air between you has changed. There's tension, weight.

"You?"

"Me? Oh. Better." Iida adjusts his glasses again. "Still a little-"

"Sore?" you interrupt. "Me too."

Your heart is beating hard, not out of fear. You should be afraid of him, how he overpowered you-

"I was going to say embarrassed," he said. "You're sore?"

Sore because of you. Aching because of the way you handled me, the way you fucked me so good-

"Only a little."

Iida sighs. "I'm so incredibly sorry."

"I know. It's okay." You step forward. He smells good. Not as good as he did while you were under, but still good. "You wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for the quirk."

Shouto doesn't make you cum. It's not because he doesn't try, you just...

"Of course not," Iida breathes. "I would never..."

The quirk made you cum. Not Iida. It wasn't because of him.

"It was a fluke."

Iida steps forward. The gap between you is barely a desk wide.

He wouldn't be able to make you cum again.

"It'll never happen again," he agrees.

The first breath, you look at each other. The second. his gaze softens, falling down to your lips one last time. The third breath can barely escape before he's on you, lips against your neck, hands tangled in your hair. It's brutal and confusing and intoxicating, like you're affected once again, but you can't help but kiss him back, holding him tighter.

You need to know.

on the fwb topic.. could i request a tenya one but the way he acts with yn is like nothing like just fwb 😍😿😭😻🥰😻 thank you wink

crying lightening

i.tenya

-your friend with benefits comes with wayyy more benefits.

was not aware that tumblr would fw sumiko like that lol HEEYYYYYYY

here’s some screencaps i made

DOA !

feat: izuku midoriya, katsuki bakugou, touya todoroki, keigo takami, tomura shigaraki

warnings / cache notes: quirkless au for izuku's, other than that all are canon timeline! one sided pining, miscommunication, mentions of death / dying, alcohol consumption, all around angst (what else did u expect... it's me and it's fall out boy. whoops.) jjk version here!

m.list // fob m.list

CHICAGO IS SO TWO YEARS AGO - IZUKU MIDORIYA — She took me down and said / "Boys like you are overrated, so save your breath" / Loaded words and loaded friends / Are loaded guns to our heads / 'Cause every pane of glass that your pebbles tap / Negates the pains I went through to avoid you / And every little pat on the shoulder for attention / Fails to mention I still hate you

izuku was a nice guy. maybe a bit too nice-- it always confused you. because all through high school he was the sweetest thing-- blushing, stuttering, a little ditzy sometimes and a new level of awkward that you weren't sure was even possible-- but the guy currently tossing pebbles at your window? how is he the same guy that literally almost passed out when you bumped into his shoulder in the 9th grade? this had been happening for weeks. the curly haired boy would show up at the home you rented with another friend of yours and toss little pebbles from the garden in front of your house against your window. and when you finally did open the window, the conversation would dry out a little too quickly for his liking, and you'd dismiss him in that fake sweet tone of yours. izuku doesn't know why he's chasing after you. he knows you were never interested in him more than a silly little high school crush. you both were well in your twenties by now, him with an office job and you with your teaching job. you two reached out a year or so after graduation and caught up, making izuku realize that he had shoved some intense feelings to the back of his psyche, and you were doing great with your newly rewarded promotion at your job. why was he still clinging to this one sided pining? it should've shifted to the next stage by now-- he should atleast dislike you, hate you even. even if you never get to hear the confession he's been rehearsing since that first lunch together months ago, even if you continue to deny him a chance of even hearing him out-- he should hate you. a lot. and yet he doesn't. because at his heart, izuku was a nice guy. too nice.

7 MINUTES IN HEAVEN (ATAVAN HALEN) - KATSUKI BAKUGOU — I keep telling myself / I keep telling myself / I'm not the desperate type / Sitting out dances on the wall / Trying to forget everything that isn't you / I'm not going home alone / 'Cause I don't do too well on my own

one thing you learned about katsuki was that he was an honest drunk. a brash and shameless honest drunk, but still honest. you don't always go out for drinks with him and the crew-- you don't care too much for the bar scene and you can never keep up with the boys (denki and kirishima always peer pressure you) but sometimes you tag along and you manage to have a good time. tonight, the number of people still awake has dwindled down drastically. sero was slumped forward against the table, denki was asleep leaning with his back against the wall with kirishima also asleep on his shoulder. only you and katsuki were awake. awake is put loosely, since the blonde keeps blinking slowly at you, rocking just the slightest bit where he sits and leaning into his arm propped up on the table. you've mirrored his position, only half as drunk as he was-- your eyes are lazily tracing the scars along his face and exposed skin of his arms. you don't even know what you two were talking about. at this point, you were sure you were mumbling nonsense, but it didn't matter. katsuki watched you like you were the most interesting thing in existence, drunken starry eyes idly tracked your every move. his cheeks were a nice rosy color-- either from the alcohol or how you were very obviously and shamelessly checking him out right in front of him. "'m gonna go home soon," you slur your words, your free hand traces the circle of condensation that your glass leaves when you move it. katsuki watches your finger for just a moment too long before his eyes snap up to yours. "don't," he mumbles, but you hear him just fine. like your ears have a specific tuning for his particular timbre. you lean in the slightest bit and pretend to not hear how katsuki's breath hitches. "have patrol tomorrow," you manage to get out while you hold his gaze. drunk katsuki also pouts. "don't leave me," if you were sober, you would've been shocked at how sincere and tender his voice sounded. "please?" you rarely ever hear him use that word. "'suki-" the alcohol doesn't allow you to say his full name, but he latches onto the portion that he hears and scoots the slightest bit closer towards you. in this intimate distance, you can see the glaze in his eyes, a carnelian warmth the spreads to your cheeks and down your spine. for once in your life you can see the vulnerablility clear in his eyes. katsuki is not a desperate guy, atleast when he's sober. you can hear the clear want in his voice when he speaks again, inching closer to close the distance, his nose bumping gently into yours. "don't make me go home alone." katsuki is a very honest drunk.

BISHOPS KNIFE TRICK - TOUYA TODOROKI — These are the last blues we're ever gonna have / Let's see how deep we get / The glow of the cities below lead us back / To the places that we never should have left / The last blues we're ever gonna have / Let's see how deep we'll get / The glow of the cities below lead us back / To the places that we never should have left

"wish we could've spent my last night alive alone," touya mutters as he leans back onto open palms, the concrete a numb chill against his skin. his eyes are focused forward, and so are yours. you don't pay any mind to the security guard who is standing just a little ways off to the side, gun drawn but ready to aim at the man next to you at a moments notice. you know there's no need for the weapon, but to them-- the commission, the public; the whole country-- they need it. they are the ones who don't trust him. you only hum in response, curling more into the warmth of his side and continue to watch the sky as it changed colors. you've given yourself to touya years ago. complete devotion, unwavering love-- support while he recovered after the war and help during his time in rehab. you've given him so much, only for it all to be ripped apart and scrubbed clean with a single piece of paper. if he were the protagonist of this story, he would've gotten a happy ending. he would've been able to complete his time in rehab and come out a different man, one who was willing to love his family and be able to live a normal life with the love he claimed for himself. but touya todoroki was not the protagonist. he was the villain, a villain who caused immeasurable damage and caused chaos and pain-- and villains always get bad endings. you had hoped that touya's good behavior would've been rewarded. every time you were granted visitation time he promised you he would give you the life he always wanted to give you-- he would give you that and more. he hadn't always been the best at giving, but rehab was making it possible for him. touya's good behavior was rewarded with an execution date. a measly two simple lines for any last requests-- (it was the only time he was sent to solitary, he bitched up a storm about making sure he got what he wrote on that paper) and a list with boxes for him to check which meal he would like to have before he died. and he gave you what he had always wanted to give you in one day. all of him, his soul, mind-- he couldn't give you his body since that would be taken by his family to be buried unfortunately, but they would never get his last thoughts or memories from him. those were yours. those were always you. you gave yourself to touya years ago. in return, he gave you his last day alive.

SOPHOMORE SLUMP OR COMEBACK OF THE YEAR - KEIGO TAKAMI — 'Cause I'll keep singing this lie / I'll keep singing this lie / Are we growing up or just going down? / It's just a matter of time until we're all found out / Take our tears and put them on ice / 'Cause I swear I'd burn this city down to show you the light

late. again. to be fair, keigo don't do it on purpose. he's a busy man, things slip from his mind. and yes, it's shitty that he forgets about certain things when it pertains to you-- but you knew what you were signing up for when the two of you started dating. you knew what was going to happen when he rose through the rankings and gained the number three spot so early, and then got to number two all of a sudden. you knew that. there's a harsh mix of emotions swirling in your gut. the straw in your drink has been chewed to the point where you could no longer drink out of it. the leather material you've been sitting on for the past forty-five minutes has grown uncomfortably warm. keigo, no-- hawks-- had gotten too cozy with telling you little white lies. you know him too well to see right through the mask he puts on to 'protect' you, the act-- as you would call it-- and you were wondering what was going to be your last straw. sitting here, by yourself at the cafe you met him at-- waiting for him. it was supposed to be a lunch date, he promised you he'd make it there even though you knew it was a lie. you knew it was a lie and you're still sitting in the same spot, and still waiting. you've already wasted enough time waiting for him, why not just a couple more pathetic minutes wiping away tears? why not waste just a few more moments wishing you would've grown up before meeting him? because if you had, you would not have made such a good home for yourself at rock bottom.

27 - TOMURA SHIGARAKI — Are all the good times getting gone? / They come and go and come and go and come and go / I've got a lot of friends who are stars / But some are just black holes / My mind is a safe / And if I keep it then we all get rich / My body is an orphanage / We take everyone in

when tomura spaces out, everyone just doesn't mention it. especially as of late, he's been zoning out and barely there-- at the league's bar more often than not with a glass of whiskey that he does not take a drink out of. he leaves it out on the bar most of the time and doesn't clean it-- kurogiri cleans up after him. like always. it's been rough since you left. the group struggled heavily; even if some didn't want to admit it. it's been taking twice longer than normal to perk up in the mornings when it was usually you who got him up with the coffee he likes, toga is more quiet than usual, and dabi doesn't buy cigarettes as often as he used to due to not having to share them with you. re-destro hasn't been reaching out as often. it's not like tomura minds it-- he's been wanting the space. and most meetings have been going the same; tomura shows up, usually with another member of the league-- and leaves with no progress on either end. it's not until tomura shows up with compress one day that re-destro snaps. going off about how something needed to change, something needed to happen-- he was fed up with how slow tomura had been acting the past few months. tomura and compress listened silently, almost like children getting scolded for having their hand in the cookie jar until your name is brought up. compress felt like he was watching in slow motion as tomura tensed, rising to his feet with a finger pointed scathingly towards the ginger. tomura's eyes flashed something dangerous-- something deadly. he looked like he was about five seconds from jumping the table and grabbing re-destro by the throat. compress reached a hand out to the fabric of tomura's pants-- but tomura was seething. "keep their name out of your mouth." tomura jerked away from compress' touch. he took the first few short steps before pausing again, his eyes still keenly trained on the man in front of him. "don't ever," his voice was practically spitting venom, "talk about them again. your mouth is nowhere near worthy enough to speak it." tomura's eyes were wild-- bright and on alert. like a feral animal being caged against it's will, choosing to fight instead of flee. this time, he was choosing to fight. whenever it came to you, he always backed down. ran from the situation that was bluntly put in front of him. denied it through and through until he couldn't lift his head from lack of sleep or drinking too much. the entire time he blamed you. the black hole of the group. sucking all the motivation and spirit the second you left. no, you were just a planet stuck in orbit; finally breaking free. tomura was the black hole.

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

011. CARNATIONS

Mornings with you in the Todoroki household were mornings Touya never wanted to let go of. They were simple, they were intimate, they were romantic.

Every day was like an odd dream come true. Yes, his family tip toed around him like he was something delicate—something that'll shatter if they press their fingertips too hard against him. But Touya was like a bull, barreling through anyone and everything with that trademark grin stretched taut over his features

You woke up first most mornings with Fuyumi. She was a lovely person to start the day with, being friendly and sweet right as the sun rose. Everyone was quiet in the mornings, tired smiles and sleepy chatter was what breakfast sounded like. Soft.

The Todoroki household didn't get to have mornings like this—at least, not when Enji had been there.

Touya was always the last to stroll into the kitchen. He would stretch like a cat when he walked in—long arms perched over his head as he yawned. His hair was an absolute mess in the morning, and you always need to press your mouth against the rim of your mug to hide you smile

It stuck up in every direction—soft, ivory tufts curling and moving around him like a cloud. His shirt would lift a bit as he yawned, and you'd be able to catch a glimpse of his scars and abs flexing underneath his tee as he did—you'd snap your eyes away the second they caught sight of his happy trail peaking right above the waistband of his pants with burning cheeks.

Touya would slide into the seat beside you. A small, cheeky grin on his face as he rasped a casual good morning and how'd ya sleep? in your direction. There would be a boyish type of amusement swirling in his eyes if you ever did stutter with your response. Touya's teasing you and he knows it.

The rest of the day usually consisted of Touya hanging out with Natsuo and Fuyumi—both siblings had cleared their schedules, dedicating as much time as they could to Touya. Knowing he was in good hands—you'd take a step back and let them spend some much needed time with their brother.

Shoto was usually with you and Rei

There was still an invisible barrier he didn't dare to cross—and, well, no one was going to push Touya to bring Shoto with him. Shoto seemed perfectly content with watching his siblings hang out without him. If they were happy, what more could he ask for? He wasn't alone at home—he had his mother and you, a friend in the making.

Shoto liked you. A lot. He likes the way you think, he likes the way you talk—gently, softly, respectfully, with him and his mother. He could've never guaranteed a doctor that didn't have a personal bias to his family after the war, but they had all gotten particularly lucky with you.

He also thinks your the prettiest doctor he's ever seen—maybe just the prettiest person ever. It wasn't just on the outside, this prettiness. It was you, in and out. Shoto has never met someone so genuine. Someone so open and wiling—maybe you were naive for giving one of Japan's biggest criminals a chance—but Shoto will forever be grateful you offered Touya a hand when he needed it most.

"Why didn't you chose to become a teacher?"

Your eyes flick up from the letter you were helping Shoto construct for Touya, a little startled by his quick question before you smile. You were doing a wonderful job teaching Shoto how to construct this paticular letter for Touya—your patience was endless as the poor teen struggled to find the right words he wanted to present his nii-san with. And while you were helping him—you mention how you had a dream of teaching at one point.

"I have the education to become one, but—you know how life is, don't you Shoto? Unexpected things happen all the time. I think it was a split second decision, but I'm forever grateful I chose to become a psychiatrist." You grin, gently nudging his shoulder as he offers you a half smile

"So you teach Touya too?" He questions after a moment, and you nod with a hum

"That's....that's very nice of you."

Shoto wasn't very good at keeping a conversation flowing, but he was trying. You lead the talk from there—and he seems relieved you understood that he wanted to keep talking even though he had nothing more to say as he leans back in his chair, listening to you speak with a small smile on his face as he nods along.

It was Thursday today, your last full day at the Todoroki household. You and Touya would leave tomorrow afternoon, and the thought is saddening. Was it selfish to want to stay longer? It was hard getting all the supervisors and doctors on board with allowing Touya to leave the facility with no guards anyway—so instead of wishing for more, you focus on the present. Cherish it.

Eventually, everyone is back home within a few hours. Touya's smile beams as bright as a beacon after a day out with Natsuo and Fuyumi. Apparently, they had taken a drive and visited at all of Touya's favorite places in town.

Shoto had spent a few minutes asking Touya how his day was—what he ate, if he'd seen anything that had changed over the years—all sorts of little things. Touya was a bit short and clipped with his answers at first, but he warmed up to Shoto soon enough. How could he not when the poor kid was practically leaning off of his chair, hanging onto every word that left Touya's lips as he listened with a blank but frighteningly intense stare?

Of course Touya felt a little guilty asking Fuyumi and Natsuo to come with him and not Shoto—but Touya felt like any connection with Shoto would have to be formed one on one. He couldn't bring him along because that just wouldn't work. Touya needed to understand Shoto on his own.

The letters were working—Touya and Shoto had passed a few between each other over the last couple of days, and when Shoto presented Touya with another one right when he'd gotten home today—Touya had read it in the doorway with a small smile before offering Shoto an awkward fist bump

....Progress

You don't think you've seen Touya smile so much. He cries a lot too, but every tear shed is with a smile. He's so happy, you don't think he'll ever want to leave.

But even as the day to leave comes closer and closer, he doesn't seem upset. You and I will be together, was what he'd said when you asked him if he was sad to go back

I'll be happy as long as you're with me.

He had mumbled those last few words to you before his eyes fluttered close. He had a long today—fishing with his siblings, wrestling with Natsuo (and knocking over a very expensive vase in the process), all while ending the day talking for hours with you in the living room, reflecting over his trip and how he felt.

You're kneeling on the ground, back pressed against the couch Touya is laying on as your eyes trace over the dips and slopes of his neck. If you hold your breath quietly enough, you can hear the gentle thump of Touya's heart beating.

You didn't even hear Rei enter the room at first. Her feet were clad in socks as she padded in, and you were in a trance—mesmerized by the way Touya's soft lips moved in his sleep. He looked angelic even in his sleep—milky skin and pale hair. He was ethereal, really.

Rei sits beside Touya on the couch he was laying on, her hand moving towards his hair to card through the strands—she regards you with a soft smile, and you send her a shyer one in return

"Hi," You whisper quietly, cheek smushed against the cushion of the couch from where you sat on the ground as you brought your gaze back towards Touya. Rei bows her head quietly in greeting

The silence is filled by the crackling flames in the fireplace a few meters over from you all. It casts a blanket of gleaming gold over Touya's face. If you thought he couldn't look any more like an angel, you were mistaken. Because the glow of the flames highlights and sharpens his features, outlining him and licking his skin with its fierce shine

Sure, Touya had enough criminal charges against him to get a death sentence—but gosh, can't everyone else see the adorable dimples in his cheeks when he smiles?

You're trying to deny the feelings creeping up your chest—clawing at your ribs and simply begging to be released to find solace in his arms. You're smitten, head over heels, absolutely sick with nothing but a relentless, burning love for Touya.

"Thank you for what you've done for us, Y/n. You're a special part of our family now. I...can't picture Touya in my mind without you being right beside him."

You're snapped out of your daze when Rei finally speaks up—and the weight of her words sink into your brain slowly as you blink back tears. Her confession was quiet, but the truth in her voice was so raw. It took your breath away—and you sit in stunned silence before a small whimper escapes your throat. She used the hand that wasn't massaging Touya's scalp to swipe at the tears that rolled down your cheeks

"Thank you," You choke out, your voice heavy with emotion and wet with laughter as you lean into her palm. For a woman with an ice quirk, she was, surprisingly but pleasantly, warm.

Touya's chin trembles, just barely after you speak. But you catch the movement anyway—watching his lips settle into a wobbly line. Rei was too busy staring at you with round eyes to notice her son had been pretending to sleep the entire time she was playing with his hair

Touya wasn't trying to eavesdrop—he just thought his mother might shy away from playing with his hair if she knew he was awake.

Rei used to sneak into Touya's room when he was a child and do the same thing she'd been doing just now—she used to murmur apologies she wasn't brave enough to voice in the day while she scrubbed the salty remnants of tears that had dried on Touya's face. Touya went to bed crying more times that not, but Rei always snuck into his room late at night to try and ease the tension from his muscles.

Like a good mother would, Rei would massage the crease between his brows from furrowing too much, run her hands up and down his back—anything to try and help him. Little did she now her hands would lull that little boy to sleep every night.

Sometimes, Touya would get into fights with his mother on purpose just so she could come and hold him later at night. She'd often start speaking quietly to him thinking he was asleep, little I'm sorry Touya's and I love you, Touya's slipping past her lips.

Touya would always pretend to be asleep. But this time, he had accidentally intruded on a moment that wasn't meant for his ears.

Rei leaves after a few minutes, bidding you goodnight quietly as she heads upstairs and into her own room. You don't turn back to look at Touya until you hear the faint sound of her door clicking close

He's grabbing your palm, wrapping his fingers around your slender ones—intertwining his hand with yours

" 'm sorry." He mumbles quietly, a small smile on his face as he watched your hand practically drown in the grip of his larger one. He spread out his fingers, pressing your palm against his and admiring the way your fingers fit against his. It was like his hands were made to hold yours.

Out of all the destruction and heartbreak they've brung—they could bring love too. And comfort, and support—they could bring good.

He sits up fairly quickly, the blankets shifting beneath him as he sits up straight on the couch. You're still kneeling on the ground as he cradles your hand—playing with it. You wiggle your way between his legs, and he spreads his knees to let you into the gap between his legs. Your head falls onto the space between his thigh and knee, and he uses his free hand to curl a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You both stare as he plays you like a puppeteer would—moving your hands with his. He spreads your fingers, curls them, and runs the pads of his fingertips over your knuckles more times than you can count. He spends time tracing any birthmarks he comes across too, circling around them with his thumb and committing them to memory

"Touya."

He can't look up. Touya presses his eyes closed, he can hear the unspoken question hanging in the air. The uncertainty, the doubt, the pending guilt. He hears it all—a thousand words spoken but not a sound passed between the two of you.

"I love you,"

Your hand goes still in his

"I love you Y/n. I love you so damn much. Like—it's bad. My whole fucking world revolves around you. You saved me, I thought I was done for after the war. I... I was gonna end it. End it all. I wish I could've met you sooner, and I wish I wasn't an absolute mess when we did meet, but—but Y/n, we work. We work, right? You're perfect. You're—fuck, everything I'll ever need and everything I'll ever want—you mean it all to me. No one can replace you. Do you understand what I'm saying? I fucking love you."

You thought you could hear his heartbeat before—but now, you can hear it slamming against his ribcage. He splays your palm over his chest, and it's like his heart is in your palm—if you squeeze your eyes shut hard enough, than yes—you could feel the blood oozing over your fingertips and down your wrists as his heart beats underneath your death grip. Because Touya just ripped his heart out of his chest and gave it all to you.

He leans down to cradle your face in his palms, which in turn means you have to tilt your head up to meet his lips. It's salty. The tears streaming down your face connect at your lips, but Touya licks them away

His kiss isn't perfect—this is his first kiss, after all. But Touya has never put more of his soul into anything else. It's a little desperate and there are moments when you laugh into his mouth with how clumsy he is as he pulls you onto his lap—but Touya's heart is bleeding everywhere and you're collecting the blood like a drain, taking all he had to offer and accepting ever fault and flaw

I love you, he mumbles against your lips. I love you I love you I love you—and suddenly, it's not his voice speaking the words anymore

It's yours.

His eyes are wide, like his ears have betrayed him. Like you kissing him back didn't already confirm how you felt about him. He swoops back in again, smiling against your lips as he presses soft kisses all over your face

You close your eyes. He kisses you everywhere. Your chin, your cheeks, your nose, your eyelids, your forehead—honoring the face he had come to love so much. Honoring the features that he would never forget—forever forged into his soul.

His advancements end with you pinned against the couch—and Touya feels dizzy as his forehead knocks against yours. He settles his weight around you carefully, near panting as he cradles you to his chest

He needs a second to collect his breath.

Your lips are tinged red from all the times he'd gently sunk those sharp teeth into the soft flesh of your lips, trying to taste you and feel you and God—you felt better than any daydream his mind could ever conjure.

"We're gonna get in trouble." You whisper, pawing at his chest. You feel high—it didn't happen, you didn't kiss him, it's not—

He kisses you again. It's soft, it's slow, it's sensual—and he pulls away after a brief moment

"Just...just us right now." He mumbles, kissing you again. Again and again and again. It takes him another twenty minutes to lead you to his room

Your soft giggles were the only sound until the door clicked close. He still held you up in his arms, your ankles locked together behind his back with your legs wrapped around his strong waist. He drops you onto the soft heap of blankets and pillows of his childhood bed before crawling in after you

For you, the next few hours the two of you spend huddled under his blanket in each other's arms were the absolute best.

Touya outlines all of your face's features once again, but this time—he tells you why he loves every single one so dearly. He tells you how when he was sixteen, he dreamed of becoming a father one day. He tells you how every night since he met you, he only dreams of one thing over and over again—you you you you, it's all you.

You tell Touya how you've talked to your cats about him—this gets a loud laugh rumbling from deep within his chest, one where his eyes twinkle in the moonlight as he smiles against your skin—you tell him how you've never been in love before, and how you like the way his bangs fall in front of his eyes when his whole body shakes with laughter

You tell each other all the things you wouldn't have dared to voice back at the hospital—maybe it was the new domestic setting the two of you were thrown in that egged you on. But it didn't matter. Not right now, at least. Because Touya was finally kissing you, finally opening and revealing the last bits of himself to you—stripping his heart and mind bare and succumbing to your sweet, gentle mercy.

Touya loved you, and you loved him. That was all that would ever matter at the end of the day.

CARNATIONS MASTERLIST.

a/n; merry christmas and happy holidays!! :)) i really hope you guys liked this chapter 🥺 their first kiss + my posting schedule aligned PERFECTLY with christmas. so, this is my christmas gift to all of YOU lovely readers!! also i just wanna note (this is not written but its CANON) that y/n was telling her cat abt touya after meeting him for the first time and they were looking up at her like :O as she babbled on and on for a freaking hour. like "he is sooo handsome. the timeless type of of handsome. the CLASSY type." "but he's kinda sassy" "and an ass." "but that's okay! we'll work on that!!" and as alwayssss, thank you SO much for reading. I LOVE YOU ALL STAY SAFE AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

tags!

@kawaiidemoneart @porusuniverse @starrmage @lilbeatlebear @bokukenmakuroo

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free falling is a taste of freedom

feat: keigo takami / hawks

warnings: language, heaviness, implications of reader and keigo being groomed by the commission, violence (if u squint), bittersweet

cache notes: i crashed out during this so many times omfg. but anyways heavily inspired by circles by pierce the veil and monsters by all time low (once we figure out why spotify links aren't working i'll link the songs heh)

m.list

the first day you met hawks, he was in the training gym working on some stupid trick of his– something about flipping forward and bringing his blades out at the same time and landing some stupid comic book hero– and you had to hide a laugh when he tripped over his own feet. he challenged you to a sparring match later that day, after the weekly commission meeting where you were properly introduced to one another; where he promptly kicked your ass with his fast reflexes and sharp wit. 

the two of you became fast friends after that. 

the first day you met keigo, he had found you on the roof, crying to yourself. that mask of indifference cracked almost instantly the second he saw you turn towards him with tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. he doesn’t remember why you were crying, only the fact that the sight made his heart clench in a way that foreign and uncomfortable and he needed to do something about it. 

more times than not here recently, you receive hawks more than keigo. it hurts in a way that’s more nostalgic than anything, like remembering an old childhood friend that drifted away or a home-cooked meal whose recipe you can’t remember because the originator died years ago. 

a lot of people say that young heroes are very mature for their age. you don’t know if that’s just true for the females, or if it qualifies for any of the kids raised in the commission. in yours and hawks’ case; maturity was something learned far too young and quickly. death was a subject brought up before you even got to think about how the summer would feel spent on the side of the lake with a bottle of booze and grilled food. 

the two of you take turns every thursday at each other’s agencies to visit and spend some time with each other. you usually bring paperwork to thumb through, hawks brings coffee and distractions. this thursday, hawks is at yours. he’s got his wings spread so they cover a small portion of your office floor– which scatters feathers everywhere, but you’d scold and make him clean them up later– laying upside down on the small couch to the side of the room. 

he kicks his feet lazily as they hang over the back of the couch, humming as he scrolls through his phone. when he speaks, the sentence is so casual it causes you to choke on your own tongue. “we should run away one of these days.”

when you’ve managed to compose yourself, hawks is not looking at you. his eyes are still locked on the screen, the same look of relaxed concentration that you’ve seen all through childhood on his expression. 

your eyes narrow. “don’t be stupid,” you’re careful about how tight your voice sounds. your fingers pause their actions from typing on your keyboard, your gaze split from the document on your computer to his figure draped over your office sofa. “they’d never let both of us go at the same time.”

hawks barks out a laugh, though the corners of his mouth never fully lift to his natural smile. your tongue is pressed between your lips, biting back a snarky remark. it’s hard to tell if he’s being serious, or just yanking your chain. 

“you’re always so serious, [y/n],” he’s chuckling, still looking at the screen in front of his face. “just indulge me for once?”

your back meets the arch of your office chair as a sigh racks through your body. the blinking cursor stares back at you, taunting you to just continue working instead of diving into the silly hypothetical he’s proposed. but part of you wants to dabble in it– to hear him out. see just how far he’s actually thought into it, if he’s actually planned anything out or just talking casual shit just to have something to talk about like usual when he’s over visiting you. 

“say we did run. where would we go?”

you can see him pause for a moment in his scrolling. “leave the country, obviously. south america maybe?”

a snort leaves your lips, your grin is purely sarcastic. “south america?”

“hypothetical,” he replies, his eyes finally leave his phone and meet yours, flashing that signature grin of his. in the back of your mind you’re wondering if all the blood has rushed to his head yet. he’s been sitting upside-down for a while now, his face is still a normal color. 

“so we’re flying, i suppose?” 

hawks shrugs. he pulls his phone away from his face and lets his arms fall gently to the floor beside his head. “we can,” he starts, his bottom lip juts to the side like it always does when he says something he doesn’t exactly agree with. “or take another mode of transportation.”

a single eyebrow raises to that, and you let out a chuckle. “yeah, i can see you on a public bus very vividly.”

you don’t miss how his eyes narrow, his eyebrows knitting together as he glares at you for that response. he knows he sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s painfully aware of that. at eighteen he should be worrying about going to college or something, getting his driving license or other normal things teenagers worry about. 

“could always split it up though,” he offers, his eyes rolling the slightest bit as he adjusts himself. he slides a bit further– his shoulders now meet the floor. instead of looking at you, he traces imaginary shapes on the ceiling. “i could fly us part of the way and we hitchhike some of the way.”

“not hitchhiking,” you disagree almost instantaneously. your fingers find miscellaneous paper, fiddling with the corner as you swing back and forth in your office chair. “i’ve heard too many horror stories about that kind of shit.”

there’s a noise from the other side of the room. hawks slides the rest of the way off the couch, now moving onto his knees before righting himself– stopping once his eyes meet yours. “you act like i wouldn’t be there to protect you,” there’s a flash– almost as quick as his skills in the sky, he tries to cover it; but you see it. for just a moment, hawks lets keigo out, evident in his tone and vague possessiveness in his words. 

the corner of your mouth lifts, but it’s to alleviate tension. the small smile is not genuine and hawks can’t tell if it hurts more than it pisses him off. 

the next time running away is brought up, it’s not by his mouth. it’s by yours. 

you’re agitated. pissed off, pacing back and forth and walking with purpose towards his office like your life depends on it. you know he’s not on patrol at the moment– he’s been online posting so you know he’s in his office with his feet propped on his desk like he has nothing better to do. 

it’s not a thursday. he’s surprised to see you storm into his office, but he doesn’t comment on how hard you slam his door shut or how you look like you’re practically steaming. his feet merely drop from his desk to the floor and his eyebrow raises. he knows better than to open his mouth– something stupid would come out anyways. 

“let’s run away.” 

keigo reels back like he’s been slapped. he takes a good look at you– frazzled, eyes bloodshot from either stress crying or strained from overuse, hair mussed and not in the attractive way he’s come to find extremely endearing– he can’t tell if you’re of sound mind at the moment. but your voice– your tone– how you sound so sure of yourself, so firm and demanding–

it’s been years since he brought up the idea. the two of you were eighteen and fresh into the hero scene, keigo was a popular favorite and immediately in the top ten and since then he’s been steadily climbing through the ranks. you’ve been pushing the burning feeling of being left behind and stuck in his shadow to the back of your mind for a while now. 

“are you okay?” his tone is gentle, but it’s artificially sincere. you know this subject is a sore spot. there’s a reason it hasn’t been brought up since that day. it’s clear in the way his shoulders are tense, the muscles in his jaw taut and teetering over the edge of pulling the fight or flight card. 

there’s a distraught sigh that leaves your lips. “no, i’m not okay,” your tone is tight. your hands are clenched so hard that they ache and your knuckles are white. you’re pacing in short strides– back and forth, back and forth– your eyes wild as they pick out small objects on shelves. small objects. throwable objects. 

“we could hit the gym if you want–”

“i can’t fucking do this anymore, keigo!” 

you can feel the tears trailing down the apples of your cheeks and your tear ducts burn. the last thing your tear clouded vision sees is keigo surging towards you before your hands clap over your face, shielding your actively crumbling expression. 

“i’m stressed, there’s so much pressure,” you feel the sob rack through your body. “they want me on back to back patrols and then this mission in another city and then training the new hires at the agency–”

suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again. the way his hands cradle your jaw– bare fingertips because he knows how much you hate the fabric of his gloves against your skin– you didn’t even see him remove his gloves. the touch clearly rattles you, causing you to stiffen against his palms. 

keigo doesn’t allow you to move away. even as your hands slide down and off of your face, even as your forehead meets his own in such a tender form of comfort. suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again, out on the rooftop of the HPSC, comforting each other in the only way the two of you can when you’ve been abandoned by the people who had gifted you life. 

keigo’s nose bumps against your own, an intimate gesture that you’ve seen only reserved for yourself. the two of you had never talked about dating, or love or anything romantic revolving whatever kind of relationship you shared– you never had the time, nor the privilege to– but you knew what was there. he held you as if you were priceless, a treasure that he would fight tooth and nail before handing over. 

his lips part to speak, breath warm as it ghosted over your own; but the abruptness of his office door swinging open causes both of you to flinch and separate. it’s not like the two of you were doing anything lewd– but the wide eyed intern in the doorway couldn’t tell that. all she saw was the two of pull apart, a look of embarrassment and a flush on each of your faces before keigo clears his throat and addresses her. 

and as quickly as the moment is interrupted, it is forgotten. 

in the next years that follow, keigo rises to number two, you stay locked in the upper twenties of the rankings. the threat of a war sends your agency into a frenzy, more employees being sent out, more sidekicks on missions and more patrols passed around and shared. every hero is on high alert, not just yourself. 

you still catch glimpses of him, but its scarce. thursdays are practically empty now without the once welcomed noisy distractions in your office. your thursdays are now spent on patrol well into the night, stationed just on the outskirts of town where the league was spotted before. 

they never show up, you never get any action; but you don’t complain. it’s nice to have silence to yourself. 

this particular thursday, you catch a familiar flash of red and tan slip past your peripheral. whether he wanted you to catch him or not, you’ll never know. the surprise on his expression was hard to decipher once you finally did catch up to him. 

although you were elated to see him after so long, the first words out of your mouth were not praise nor sweet. “the fuck happened to your wings, keigo?”

you watch as his form pauses, stiffening at his given name before he turns– wide eyed and guilty– like you caught him doing something shady. and you hated how immediately your walls shot up, your muscles on guard and tense. this was keigo. he was not a threat. why was your body reacting the way it was?

“they’re fine, they just need some time to heal,” his voice is low– sheepish. the corner of his mouth lifts to create that boy-ish grin that wins screeches and squeals from crowds of women– but to you, it’s only manufactured. 

his hair, once long and shaggy with those few stupid curls that you always found annoyingly endearing; was now trimmed short and cropped closer to his head. it’s a jarring look, compared to how you’ve always known him– but you can’t help but think it looks better on him. 

the scar is also new. and granted, you’ve seen him on the news and during his press conference; you’ve seen his appearance change. 

but it’s earth-shattering, to say the least, to see it in the flesh. you want to reach out to the small appendages hanging from his back. to touch and feel them– see if they still react how they’ve always done to your touch and presence. 

keigo steps back from you, seeing your outstretched hand. the motion causes your hand to drop slowly, a ringing can be heard in the outer part of your ears. “what are you doing out here?” 

he knows what you mean. and yet he deflects it, “patrolling. our routes overlap, y’know?”

they don’t, and he knows that. you take a step towards him once again. “keigo.”

he takes another step back, forcing you into some kind of twisted dance. “[y/n].”

you hate being held at arms length. you can clearly tell he’s lying, hiding something from you. and granted, the two of you haven’t really been around each other the past couple years, but you grew up with him. this is your best friend, your first ally– the person you trust the most with the darkest parts of yourself. in some ways, you know you love him. of course you love him. you’re just not sure in what ways. 

“why are you being so weird?” the dance continues. you don’t miss how his jaw clenches when he realizes he’s got four more steps until you have him backed against the wall. he chews on the inside of his cheek– one of his tells you’ve been able to pick up over the many years of training and being around him– before he sidesteps and turns the tables. the edge of his blade rests carefully against your jaw for mere seconds before you take a shaky step backwards. 

with your back now facing the wall, keigo advances. his fingers flex around the handle of the blade and his steps are firm as they chase your own unsettled and rattled movements. “i’m not being weird,” he sounds like he’s forcing the words out. “stop itching for a fight, [y/n].”

your brows furrow with undiluted confusion. your body feels tense and rigid, uneasy with emotions that don’t connect coherently to thoughts. the complete flip of his mood and tone have you spiraling. you aren’t face to face with keigo anymore– this is a new side of hawks, one you haven’t had the ‘joy’ of meeting yet. 

“i’m not itching for a fight!” you hate how your voice trembles. like you’re scared. 

your back hits the wall and the tip of the crimson blade in his hand knicks your chin. there’s a dull stinging, but you can barely feel it over the roar in your eardrums. 

keigo is not normally an intimidating guy. yes, he can be, but you’ve rarely seen it or experienced it. and his little hawks persona is just the same as well— you’ve been on patrol with him before. you’ve seen him take down villains, you’ve seen him in training; you’ve seen every side of him. 

except this one. this intimidating, intense— frightening aura before you, you’re at a loss for words. 

“you’re pushing for information that doesn’t concern you,” keigo growls, his head dipping to meet your eyes. he holds a palm out—either to subtly pin you against the wall or grab at you if you choose to attack— you’re not sure. he adjusts his hold on the handle and fixes the tension in his jaw with a click. 

the both of you are close enough to share breaths, but far enough apart to know that there is something different between the two of you. you are no longer fourteen, eighteen, or fresh in your twenties. when you breathe in, keigo breathes out. 

your hand lifts, reaching forward— towards him— all the tension melts. instead of leaning into your touch like he would back then, his head surges forward and seizes your lips with his own. 

keigo had told you before that the freest he’s ever felt is in the skies. you’ve been flying with him before, you know exactly the type of exhilarating, adrenaline inducing emotion he’s talking about. with the lack of ground beneath you and the limitless sky above, keigo was exactly right. it was the closest thing to freedom he had. 

with his lips on yours, you feel like you are free falling, hurling towards the earth at untamable speeds and the impact into the dirt is the sensation of his mouth pulling away from yours. 

keigo might get a taste of freedom everyday, but it was nothing compared to the taste of freedom he had just given you. 

“i’m just scared,” he mumbles, his voice is small. he sounds so young, so impossibly childlike that you have to open your eyes a blink to make sure it was still him that was brushing against your lips with each breath and syllable. “i… i almost died. i got reckless and screwed everything up and—“ 

your hand moves to the back of his head— a twinge shoots through you when you remember the curls aren’t as long so you can’t hook your fingers through them— and your hand steadies at the back of his neck, pulling his forehead to rest against yours. “why didn’t you come find me?” 

it’s selfish of you to say that. it really is. but the two of you have been each other’s support systems since you were adolescents. 

keigo winces slightly at your statement. “i couldn’t face you like that, [y/n].” 

his blade is still against your jaw, cold and a firm reminder that you were supposed to be elsewhere. your eyes meet his, a silent exchange between the two of you. 

i’ve seen you look worse. 

you always have, haven’t you? 

the silence holds more words, but neither of you put the weight down. whether it be the risk and danger of speaking on it, or the action being a spur of the moment between two childhood friends trying to fit pieces in where they don’t quite fit yet. 

that night you get home from patrol and dream of the feeling of keigo’s lips. you wake up crying. 

you haven’t seen hawks face to face in years. when you finally do run into him at the office, both of you are visibly different from those early years at the commission. you’ve grown your hair out, he’s lost the plumage of red that used to hang behind him. you’re only passing through, grabbing paperwork for your own agency when the two of you stop dead in your tracks in front of each other. 

he’s only grown a couple inches, and he’s kept his hair short. the scar from the war has healed and faded into his skin, but the outline still shows. it makes him look more rugged, more defined. he had always argued with you that the facial hair he tried so desperately to grow did most of the work— the scar did it perfectly on its own. 

hawks is the first to speak. his eyes are shining in a way that’s hard to tell if he’s seconds away from bursting into tears or just looking at something brighter than the sun. “it’s been a while.” 

the inhale you take in is shorter than the exhale you push out. your smile is shaky, and your grip around the files in your hand tightens. “it’s been a while, yeah…” 

there’s a lot to be said. the two of you can’t continue to stare at each other with so much longing, so much emotion. 

there’s a stretch of silence, hawks shifts awkwardly. the katanas against his back slap against muscle and he raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. he can tell time is running out, with the way that you shift the files against your waist and the impending footsteps of employees and commission workers down the hall. 

“you ever wish that we did it?” 

your tongue feels dry. “did what?” 

“run away,” hawks whispers. he chews on the inside of his cheek and it forces you to pause. “we should’ve done it.” 

your vision feels sluggish, dragging up from his lips, to his cheek where his tongue pokes at the inside; up to his eyes. 

you don’t know if you’ll get that taste of freedom only he could give you ever again. 

“we’re still here,” you murmur. your tongue presses in between your lips and you watch hawks physically hold himself back. i’m still here. you’re still here.

by now, the group from down the hall has caught up. your words are rushed as you force them off of your tongue; “do you want to—“ 

he’s swept up by the commission workers before he can hear the latter part of your statement. he reaches for you as he brushes past, bare fingertips against your wrist that send static throughout your skin. you squeeze him back in the half of a second he gives you and you can see the corner of his mouth lift as he’s ushered down the hall. 

freedom was always so close to you, you realize. in your case, it wasn’t a feeling or an action— but a person. 

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

shoto who doesn't know how to show physical affection: he always clams up when it's touching time. it seems like he's running away from your love. it hurts your feelings big time, to be frank. but, wait! no, no, that's not it at all. he loves you, he cherishes you, he worships you.

even though his back is always pressed against yours at night rather than his arms tangled around you, he cares. despite his adversaries to intimacy, he cares. while he can't do much more than a hand-hold on a good day, he cares. he cares.

shoto who wakes up before the sun just to pack you a lunch for work. shoto who replaces the flowers in the vase on your bedside right before they start to wilt. shoto who's hands are in his pockets, but his eyes are always on you. shoto who spends his commute to-and-from patrols reading up on your interests and hobbies, so he can fully understand and sympathize with your adorable rants. shoto who pays for everything even though he doesn't have to. shoto who can't go shopping without picking up a "little something" for you. shoto who has a note on his phone filled with little things you've mentioned only once that you like or you want. shoto who makes time for you—"hero work is important, but not more than you." shoto who thinks you hung the stars, and who would hang them for you.

shoto who loves you his way.

Getting slightly into the Christmas spirit now 🎄❤️

Bakugo is weak for neck kisses

Katsuki’s pacing back and forth, clearly agitated, ranting about how stupid some idiot at work was. His fists are clenched at his sides, stressfully running hand agitatedly through his blonde hair, and his words are practically on fire as he vents.

“I swear, this dumbass has no clue what the hell they're doing! How the hell are they even still a damn hero? You think they’d get it by now, but nope—totally useless, every damn time!” His voice is sharp, frustration radiating from him like heat.

You watch him for a moment, knowing that he won’t stop on his own. So, you step forward, gently cupping his neck with one hand as your lips brush softly against his skin, trailing a slow, teasing kiss along the side of his throat.

He freezes mid-rant, his body tense, but then he scoffs, clearly trying to hide how much it’s affecting him. “Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He turns his head away, trying to regain control, but your kisses are relentless, moving from soft pecks to gentle nibbles along his jawline and neck.

“Hey—HEY! You think you can just—mmh,” he grumbles, his voice weakening as your teeth graze the sensitive skin near his collarbone. His breathing picks up, and his words become a bit more scattered. “What the hell… I’m not—shit, stop—ugh, damn it…”

He shifts, tilting his head to the side, allowing you more access as you continue your gentle assault on his neck. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to say something more, but he just closes his eyes and lets out a low sigh.

His usual sharp attitude softens, though he’s still trying to keep his composure. “Tch… What the hell was I saying?” He mutters, trying to focus, but all he can do is lean into your touch, his head tilting further, giving you more room. His hands are still clenched at his sides, but they’re not as tense now, more relaxed as he lets you distract him.

You smile against his soft skin, continuing to kiss and nibble, savoring the way his body reacts to every touch. Slowly, Katsuki’s frustration fades into something softer, as he lets you do what you want, the tension in his shoulders melting away.

a very important note about katsuki and reader is that they don't say i love you for an incredibly long time