Seems Like You Fell For Me Again Ft. Suna Rintarou.

Seems like you fell for me again — ft. Suna Rintarou.

cw: wc 3k, fem reader, time skip au kinda, exes to lovers, lovesick suna.

You lay on the couch letting out a sigh. You take a look at the furniture in your apartment. It’s placed randomly around the room, cardboard boxes are everywhere, the shelves and the walls are completely empty. The couch you’re on is so out of place, in the middle of the room, and you don’t even have curtains on your windows yet. It’s a big mess and it looks kinda sad. You can hear your phone ringing, it’s on the kitchen counter. It takes you a few seconds to get up and walk to it. It’s a call.

‘Sunarin <3’

You read it again, to be sure. But then again, as strange as it may be, you were kind of expecting it. You accept the phone call and bring your phone to your ear, swiftly moving your hair out of the way.

‘Hello?’ You say.

‘Hi,’ he replies and, as you hear his voice, you let out a deep breath. His voice is a bit deeper than the last time you heard it. You can hear him taking in some air, he’s going to say something, but you don’t hear anything. He doesn’t say anything. You can hear the sound of his steps as he nervously walks back and forth.

‘Suna...’ You say. You can’t hear his steps anymore, he stopped.

‘Yeah, I’m here,’ he says and swallows his saliva, ‘So, you are back.’

You assumed this was the reason behind the call.

You had gotten back in Japan just a few days earlier. You and Suna used to live in the same neighborhood when you were in high school so, when you got back in the country and went to see your parents, you also happened to meet Suna’s mom who was taking out the trash. She greeted you, she asked you how you’ve been. It made you feel nostalgic from when you were only sixteen, you would visit her house almost everyday because any excuse was good enough to see Suna. She asked you if you’d seen his son, you told her not yet. You hadn’t even told him you were back, but you figured now his mom was going to let him know.

‘Mhm.’ You mumble, nodding as if he could see you. You lean on the counter, waiting for him to say something but, again, you can only hear faint sounds of him moving around. It’s as if you had him right in front of you, you could vividly imagine him in his house, on the phone with you. He has a hand in the pocket of his sweats as the other holds the phone, he’s walking around the room with his head thrown back as he looks at the cieling.

He takes a deep breath, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Oh, Suna...’

You have thought of it, of telling him you were coming back. Doubts flooded your mind and you were still weighing the options today.

‘We haven’t talked in so long, I—’ Your voice dies in the back of your throat, ‘I didn’t know if you wanted to know.’

‘I did.’

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you say nothing. You can hear the sound of water being poured in a glass, then you hear him drink it down.

‘Can I see you?’ He asks in a whisper.

‘Yeah, of course.’ You say softly and you can feel a smile forming on your face.

When the phone call ends you stare outside the window lost in thoughts. The realization of how much you’ve missed him just now sinking in as you remember your break up years ago.

You had told Suna about going to college abroad months prior to your graduation. You were walking together after his volleyball practice. He was holding your hand and you were looking at your shoes as you told him.

He stopped walking, ‘You’re leaving?’

You looked at him with tears already forming in your eyes, ‘It’s a great opportunity Rin...’

‘Oh no yeah I know, sweet girl, and I want you to go, obviously,’ he got closer to you and wiped your tears, ‘I’m just going to miss you.’

‘I'll miss you too.’ You said and you couldn’t help the tears from falling down your cheeks.

‘What are you so sad about, I thought this was what you wanted... and besides, it’s just for a few years,’ he hugged you and ran his fingers through your hair, ‘Are you going to miss me that much?’

You stepped away from him, ‘I think it’s best if we break up.’

For a moment he doesn’t say anything. It’s just you two standing on the sidewalk as the cars pass by in the street. Then you could see his eyes getting glossy and you wanted to move, to get closer to him, to get back in his arms, to tell him you take it back. Your legs wouldn’t move and no sound was coming out of your mouth.

‘Why?’ He asked fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.

‘I—’ more tears fell from your eyes, ‘We won’t be able to see each other and,’ your heart was physically hurting, as if it was continiously being stabbed, ‘I’ll be busy with studying and you’ll be busy with volleyball...’

A car passes by outside your window, bringing you back to reality. Suna agreed to meet you at your apartment and help you moving in. You go to your room to get changed out of your sleepwear, anxiety starts growing inside you at the thought of seeing Suna again after so long. You start wondering what he’ll think of you now, of how he’s changed. What does he look like now? Is he taller? Did he change his haircut? You think that maybe you look a little lame, you’re still tired from the long flight and the dark circles under your eyes don’t help your case. It all feels like when you were just a teenager with a silly crush on your neighbor, when you’d spend hours deciding what to wear the next day to school just so his gaze would linger on you a little longer. You take one last look at yourself in the bathroom mirror before deciding that your hair looks fine enough and then, your doorbell rings.

You open the door and you’re met with his beautiful green eyes. You fight the urge to run in his arms and you try to hide the smile creeping up on your face.

‘Hi,’ you say letting him in, ‘Sorry for the mess.’

You take a better look at him, he is taller and his hair is shorter. It suits him, you think.

‘Hey,’ he greets you, he takes off his shoes, ‘You look good.’

You smile, ‘I think I’ve looked better, but thank you.’

He goes wandering around every room to check out your apartment. In your bathroom he notices the toothpaste you have sitting on your sink, it’s still the same brand you used to buy when you were younger. In your bedroom he takes a look at your bedsheets, they are the same you had on your old bed when he slept at your house for the first time.

‘Do you want something to drink?’ You ask from the kitchen. You open the fridge, ‘I don’t have much to offer though...’ you mutter under your breath.

‘Mh...’ he takes a peak inside your fridge sneaking behind you, he grabs the cranberry juice bottle and studies it, ‘This seems nice.’

You smile and move to get him a glass, ‘Here.’

‘This place is cool,’ he takes a sip of the red drink, ‘You just need to settle in, right now it looks a bit... anonymous.’

‘Yeah I’m just a little overwhelmed, still so many things to unpack and all that furniture to move...’

The awkwardness from your phone call is soon replaced by the familiarity of being together. You catch up on each other lives, he tells you about his volleyball team and his matches, you tell him about your studies and your exams. He’s happy, you notice. He has a genuine smile on his face as he tells you about his latest practice. You’re happy too, that he’s here. That he’s talking to you, you’re happy to listen to him. Happy to see him, to notice all the little habits he still has. The way he taps his fingers on the glass he’s holding as he talks, how he leans back in the chair he’s sitting on, the way he keeps intense eye contact with you for a few seconds, that feel like hours, just to move his gaze somewhere else and catch you staring when he looks back at you. You’re happy to see he’s, somehow, the same old Suna Rintarou you once knew.

‘Enough about volleyball,’ he gets up from the chair, ‘I’ve come here to help.’

So you get to work and after a couple of hours the room looks completely different to what it looked like that morning. Your sofa is still in the middle of the room, but now there’s a low table in front of it and the beautiful carpet your mom gifted you is beneath it. All the cardboard boxes are piled in a corner still waiting to be emptied, but at least it’s tidier. Suna helped you move every piece of forniture exactly where you wanted and now, your windows even have curtains.

‘Way better.’ You say with both your hands on your hips, looking satisfied.

Suna hums beside you, ‘So what do I get for helping you?’

‘Oh and here I thought you just wanted to spend time with me,’ you roll your eyes at him, ‘What would you like? And don’t joke about anything sexual, you idiot.’

‘Ah, too bad then...’ He smirks then his expression changes to something more sincere, ‘How about you stop calling me Suna, mh?’

You know exactly what he means and you can feel your cheeks getting warmer, you avoid his gaze as you say ‘Alright, Rin.’

You don’t miss the shit-eating grin that forms on his face, and you can’t help but smile yourself. Suna suppresses the temptation to pick you up and spin you around, to hold you, to get closer to you and to vomit a love confession right there in that instant. He prides himself in being good at hiding his true feelings, so he acts indifferent and tells you it’s time for him to go but, when you walk him to the door and say bye to him, the sun is hitting you just the right way. Your kind eyes look even prettier and you look drop-dead gorgeous, he feels like sixteen again wearing his heart on his sleeve for you.

He can’t help the words from escaping his lips as he leaves and says, ‘Bye, love you.’ And he doesn’t even realize what he’s saying because his mind feels like any teenage girl’s notebook: filled with heart doodles and your name on every page, written in pink glittery gel pen.

You on the other hand, you realize what he’s saying, your mind is muddled with thousands of different thoughts running wild and your heart is racing. You wonder why he said that and you find yourself overthinking once again.

You close the door and let out a loud groan.

—

It’s been almost a week since that ‘Bye, love you.’. Suna came to your house again, he helped you some more, there are only a couple of cardboard boxes left to unpack. Now when you look at your apartment, it feels like you. There are pictures on the wall, books on the shelves, colorful notes sticking to your fridge with magnets of every shape. Your bathroom cabinet filled with products and in your bedroom, you already formed a pile of clothes on a chair. Suna even helped you with your grocery for the week and yet, no one addressed those two words. Now it’s getting late but you’re not tired yet. You’re laying on your couch watching some show on netflix when your phone starts ringing and, as you read ‘Sunarin <3’ on the screen, it all feels like déjàvu.

‘Hello.’ You answer. You wait for a response on the other line but you can only hear the noise of cars passing by and people talking in the background.

‘Hi?’ You try again and this time you can hear Suna asking someone if it’s your voice he heard, then you hear someone else saying ‘Shut yer trap, Suna.’

Someone finally talks to you, ‘Hi, Y/n, it’s Samu.’

‘Oh, hey, is everything alright?’

‘Yeah look, we went out to drink and Suna here got a little too tipsy.’

You can hear Suna and Atsumu arguing but you can’t make out the exact words, still, the mental image makes you smile.

‘He wants to see ya.’ Osamu says.

You hear Suna in the background asking to talk to you, Osamu probably moves the phone away from him as you hear vague noises in the distance.

‘Should I take him home or can I bring him to ya?’

Your brain is slower than your mouth and the words just escape from your lips as you tell Osamu your new address.

When the doorbell rings you rush to the door and you’re met with Atsumu, in the back you see Suna with an arm around Osamu’s shoulders as they carefully make their way to your apartment.

As soon as Suna lays his eyes on you a grin shows up on his face and you can’t help but reciprocate it. The twins leave the boy in your care before saying their goodbyes. You close the door behind you and when you turn around you’re quick to be engulfed by Suna’s arms. He was always a clingy person, and even more so when drunk. You missed being embraced by him, his warmth, his touch, him.

‘I missed you while you were gone.’ He says as he thigthens his arms around your body.

It feels like he’s ripping your heart from your chest with his bare hands.

‘Did you miss me too?’ He asks with pleading eyes.

When you broke up with him, when you left, you also left a part of you behind. A part of you that, by then, was not yours anymore but Suna’s.

You avert your gaze from him, ‘Come on, let’s go, you need water,’ you try to push him towards your kitchen, ‘Please, Rin.’

You get him to sip some water then you walk him to the bathroom. You make him sit on the edge of the bathtub, in front of the sink, and you push his hair back with a headband.

‘I’m gonna wash your face, you’re sweaty and you stink.’

He nods to that, he let’s you do wathever you want, happy that you’re there with him, that you’re paying attention to him. You do your whole skincare routine on his face as it reminds you about the many times he did it for you. When you’re done, you place little dots of moisturizer on his skin then start massiging it to spread it out evenly. Suna is keeping his eyes closed, giving you the chance to admire his face and skin as much as you want. You trace the shape of his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his nose and you can’t stop your thumb from grazing his lips.

His eyes flutter open in an istant and you run from his gaze lowering your head. He slides his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. His hands creeps inside your tshirt to feel your bare skin. He caresses your waist and your lower back, you feel your skin tingling under his touch.

You grab one of his wrists to stop him, ‘Rin...’

He moves his hand from your wasit to your hand, he moves up and his long fingers trace meaningless shapes on your inner arm. The air around you seems getting hotter.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks.

Your eyes widen and you quickly put an hand over his chest to be sure he won’t move, your heart is racing so fast you swear it’s going to break your ribcage. You want to say yes, you want to feel his lips against yours again, you want his hands in your hair as he pulls you closer to deepen the kiss, you want him biting your bottom lip, you want him grinning against your face, you want to feel his hot breath on you as he tells you he loves you in the middle of the kiss, you want to tell him you love him too. You want to tell him you never stopped loving him.

‘You’re drunk.’ Is what you say.

‘I wanted to kiss you when I was sober too,’ he cups your face with one hand, ‘I always want to kiss you.’

‘You need to sleep.’ You say, but your gaze doesn’t move from his lips.

‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘Just a peck?’

You really want to say yes. He’s looking up at you with half lidded eyes, his lips almost pouting and he just looks too cute with your pink headband holding back his hair. Your thumb graze past his bottom lip again and, before you can stop yourself, you’re lowering your face on his. When your noses meet it’s too late to turn back, you feel his breath on you and your lips part on their own. Soon his lips are on yours. It really is just a peck and it lasts only a few seconds, yet it still makes you feel the butterflies in your stomach and crave for more. You give him another quick peck before caving in and kiss him. You put your arms around his neck and Suna’s hand on your face moves to your nape to keep your head still as he wastes no time slipping his tongue in. His grip on your waist thightens and he pulls your whole body closer. You’re so into the kiss you both forget Suna’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub so, when you lean on him as he pulls you closer, he falls back bringing you with him.

‘Rin oh my god!’ You check if he hit his head, ‘Are you okay?’

He laughs and reassures you everything is alright, he cups your face and gives you another peck, ‘Seems like you fell for me again,’ he says that with a sly mirk, ‘Quite literally.’

You push his hands away, ‘You fell too!’

‘So you’re not denying it?’ He promptly asks.

‘Let’s talk about tomorrow, alright?’ You say after taking a deep breath. You get out of the bathtub and you reach out to him with your hand, ‘Time for bed.’

He grabs your hand and leaves the bathtub, ‘Y/n?’

‘Mh?’ You murmur as you look for a tshirt for him to change into.

‘I lov—’

You throw the tshirt in his face, ‘Don’t say it. Tell me tomorrow.’

He smiles at you and pulls you in a hug, ‘Okay, don’t worry, I will remember.’

You smile hugging him back, ‘You better.’

OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. You wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your smile. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way back is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m home,” he says, throat rough from disuse.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

Could you write Solomon and Diavolo dating headcannons, both nsfw and sfw?

Also, have a good day!

-anon 🪼

I got u anon <3

Diavolo

Dia is a very cliché lover, I'm talking pulling out all the stops from the worst romance movies

The first time you stayed the night at the palace with him as his lover, the room was filled with as many rose petals as he could find, candles too! He had several things prepared for your stay as well! There was a gift basket in the bathroom with shower/bathroom items with your name on them, as well as your favorite products. There was even a brand-new toothbrush on the vanity next to his! Needless to say, he's over the moon about you.

PAMPERS you!!!

he uses his status to get you anything you ask for! You could ask him for the heart of King Tut, and he'd figure out how to get it for you

you're certainly one of the only people in the entire Devildom that will even consider asking the Demon Prince for a piggyback ride, and he will do it no questions asked! He loves using his demonic strength to carry you, even if you really only ask when you're tired

he's very proud to be your partner, he would shout it from the balcony every morning if he could

doesn't let anyone speak ill of you, he has eyes and ears everywhere, and if someone dares use your name negatively, they will often disappear. You usually don't even know you're being talked about.

Unfortunately, his status also gets in the way of many things, he's often very busy with royal demon matters, but once your relationship has become public knowledge, he doesn't mind having you at his side during meetings! He'll also gladly have you seated nicely on his lap while he does his daily paperwork, reveling in your company

Dia's a very lonely demon, so he's quite clingy, asking to spend any and all free time he may have with you! Although, he also asks you to keep him company when he doesn't have free time, which he'll understand if you're not up to it that day

NSFW

Diavolo, surprisingly, has very little experience. Often times, no one dares to flirt with him, and when they do he has to consider their motives. That being said, he is also absolutely shameless about asking for advice from the brothers (probably Asmodeus)

Your first time with him was straight out of a romance novel, he pulled out all the stops from mood lighting to incense; he even made a playlist after searching "best songs to have sex to"

He's a large demon, so he takes his time with you, starting with kisses. Lots of kisses; and the moment you find yourself unable to stifle a giggle, he sinks his teeth into your skin.

Possessive, and will mark you up like no tomorrow, be prepared to walk around with very visible hickeys

Likes lingerie, and has bought a couple of lovely sets, mostly consisting of a deep red color. However he finds himself unable to resist those teeny sleep shorts and tank top you have in your pajama roster; especially if you have nothing on underneath

Has you cum on his fingers several times before even attempting to fuck you. Enough that you're often exhausted by the time he deems you prepared enough

The first time he sank into you, his demon form came out, it felt so good. He also just likes fucking in his demon form, and can certainly tell you do as well.

Sex with Dia lasts hours, usually just short of you passing out, so aftercare is a huge part of the evening! He carries you to the bath, and everything smells like lavender. He's very gentle as he cleans you off with a warm washcloth, and you're often lulled to sleep by the warmth and comfort

Solomon

He likes to annoy you, but in the cute boyfriend way. Like randomly dabbing you up

Casual dates galore! He needs to go grocery shopping? Why don't you come with him! Wanna go to the bookstore? Oh? You're craving Akudonald's? He'll go! He's not one for anything super fancy, although he will take you somewhere nice every once in a while

Very attentive and giving, but like you think he's not paying attention, and he actually is. That book series from the human world you'd been keeping up with? He hands you the newest volume one day! That bracelet you considered at a sop the other day? It's on your wrist the next week. You're struggling with a class? Oh look, a detailed study guide for the whole year.

Not one to really initiate PDA past handholding, but isn't opposed to it! If you wanna make out at this café right now, feel fucking free baby

Bad texter. He often gets so engrossed in his work/experiments that his phone goes ignored for hours

Consistently tries to cook for you (you never let him in the kitchen)

He's not very clingy, and can go at least a day without seeing you, but he likes your company, and wants to make sure you know you're loved! When he's off doing something far away, he'll call you every morning when he wakes up, and every night before he sleeps. If somehow you're unable to answer due to time zones, he'll leave heartfelt voicemails for you to wake up to

Definitely uses your proximity to Lucifer to try and make a pact with him. It's worth a try, but ultimately gets him nowhere.

NSFW

Being a human in a land of demons can make a man feel...insecure to say the least, but what he lacks in demonic traits, he makes up for with magic. It's hard to go a night with him without a little sorcery; perhaps he whispers an incantation that will heighten your sensitivity before he assaults your senses with him. His voice, his hands, his scent; they all envelop you until the only thing running through your head is his name

His stamina isn't like a demon's but it's better than the average human's so he's often tired when you are, and is more than happy to just fall asleep and clean up later, unless you insist upon washing up right away (he may protest a little, but he always relents)

A little more blunt about what he wants than some others. Outright asking to fuck during makeouts is a frequent occurrence.

Enjoys cockwarming, it's relaxing. Plus, he gets to tease you to no end, which he also very much enjoys

Speaking of teasing, it's endless. He particularly likes edging you, feigning pity when you start begging to cum before giving you what you want; over and over again.

Needs a breather after he cums, his heart is pumping in his ears, just give him a second and he'll be fine :)

69

Wants to fuck your throat

Into choking, both getting choked and choking you

Doesn't mind letting you take the lead

Izuku overhears your late night call with Katsuki.

800 Words~

Izuku shuffled in bed becoming conscious of his surroundings as he blinked heavily. His hotel bed was nowhere near as satisfactory as his one at home. Not that Izuku was one to complain- but he found it amusing that Japan’s top two heroes were placed in a shared mediocre hotel while out on a mission.

Shuffling around once more Izuku became aware of what had woken him at such a late hour. It must have been two or three in the morning, but his friend’s low voice surrounded the silent room. Trying not to make Katsuki aware, he peeped an eye open and was met with the sight of his friend on the phone. Even though he was across the room on his own queen-sized bed, Izuku could see the tension in the way Katsuki pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his hand over his face.

It didn’t take Izuku long to guess who Katsuki was talking to. It had to be you, there was no one else Izuku had seen Katsuki speak to with such softness. Not to mention how strict he was with his sleep schedule. No one else would be lucky enough to get away with calling Katsuki at this hour.

“You don’t need ta’ worry about me- you know that” Katsuki spoke quietly into the phone. “No- I’m not going to hang up… I’ll stay right here till you’re asleep, ok? So quite down… breath alright…”

Izuku fought the urge to interrupt and ask what was going on. It sounded like you must have been upset on the other line. Despite his helpful nature, he resisted the urge knowing Katsuki would only be infuriated by his interruption.

“It’s fine I’m-… I’m glad you called… I missed you too,” Katsuki spoke into the phone, causing Izuku to hold back an audible gasp. The words sounded so foreign coming from Katsuki. He always knew Katsuki had an affinity for you but- it felt so surreal to hear it with his own ears. It was such a sharp contrast to the Katsuki he was used to.

“I’m sorry I haven’t called or- reached out to you since we’ve been gone… I’m just- not good at this stuff you know…,” a low chuckle came from Katsuki at whatever you said next.

“It’s… nice to hear your voice again…I’ll come to see you when we’re back ok? … Yeah, yeah I promise brat. Now sleep for me alright? It’s late as hell and I can hear how exhausted you are… Good just drift off- and I’ll see you soon,” Katsuki said.

Izuku wasn’t sure if the conversation continued any longer because the next thing he knew his alarm was buzzing and waking him up for their mission.

He and Katsuki both sleepily stalked around the room getting ready. Against his better judgment, Izuku had to ask.

“Hey… last night… were they ok?” Izuku asked.

“HAH?! You listened to my phone call?!” Katsuki yelled; the annoyance clear on his face.

“Sorry-,” Izuku stuttered. “It’s not like I had a choice though. This room they gave us isn’t very big!”

“Yeah, cheap asses- whatever… they are fine don’t ask me about it again,” Katsuki spoke sternly.

“Ok Kacchan,” Izuku spoke respecting his friend's privacy as he continued to get ready, but to Izuku's surprise Katsuki called back out to him.

“Hey-…” Katsuki exclaimed, keeping his gaze away from Izuku.

“Yeah?” Izuku answered back.

“… What…,” Katsuki groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “What the hell do I say to them? I… I don’t know how to do this crap.” He spoke. Katsuki knew he wasn’t good at showing affection. He hadn’t even reached out to you in the week that they had been gone- which caused you to call him in panic. He hated that he did that to you but- these things just didn’t come easy to him like they did to Izuku.

“Well- I think that depends. What do you want them to know?” Izuku asked, treading carefully with his friend.

“I don’t fucking know… I just want the brat to take care of themselves…” Katsuki said frustrated.

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing to say: Take care of yourself.” Izuku answered.

“Fine…” Katsuki huffed and typed a quick message on his phone before tossing it aside. “Let’s fucking get this mission over with- wanna go home.”

Izuku nodded in agreement.

The next morning you woke up to a text from Katsuki.

Take care of yourself, idiot.

tags: @queenpiranhadon @unofficialmuilover @maddietries @fiannee @i-heart-carlisle @derangedmango @matchat3a @bakugouswaif @reneinii @zanarkandskylines @pastelbakugou @abadbitchblogs @deluluforcarlos55

“when they get jealous” | hq

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: haikyuu boys x reader, when they get jealous over someone else

warnings: disgustingly cute, ushijima x reader + oikawa x reader are established relationships, fem!reader

characters: kageyama, oikawa, ushijima

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Tobio Kageyama

'his pettiness would slip out unintentionally'

You and Kageyama often helped each other with studying, so it wasn’t surprising to find the two of you in a coffee shop with notebooks laid out on the wooden table. Kageyama was focused on his work, his brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled notes in his notebook. You had given him your neat and organized notes to copy down since the ones he took were the complete opposite.

He was having a good time until this guy, claiming to know you, approached the table. While Kageyama isn't the most socially astute, he couldn't miss the way this guy’s hand occasionally grazed yours or the overly familiar tone in his voice. Every laugh and lingering touch made Kageyama's jaw tighter, his pen digging harder into the paper.

You clearly looked uncomfortable with his pursuits, attempting to let the guy down nicely with an awkward laugh here and there.

“So, I was thinking we should hang out sometime—” The man’s flirtatious invitation was abruptly cut off by a loud, deliberate slurping noise coming from across the table.

You turned to see Kageyama, still focused on his work, but now obnoxiously trying to suck up the last remnants of his coffee from the glass cup. The sound was grating, loud enough to draw annoyed glances from nearby customers.

Each time the guy tried to speak again, the slurping noise grew louder and more exaggerated, making the man visibly frustrated.

“Do you have a problem, man?” he angrily spat, now glaring at the nonchalant guy across from you.

Kageyama took his time to calmly put down his empty glass, his fingers lingering on the rim momentarily before he shifted his gaze to the intruder. His eyes, usually so focused and intense, now burned with an unmistakable, cold irritation.

“I don’t know, do you?” Kageyama’s voice was flat and unyielding, his stare piercing through the man.

You could feel the tension in the air, the intensity of his harsh and cold eyes making the man shift uncomfortably.

“Because she hasn’t said yes to a single thing you’ve said since you got here,” Kageyama continued, his tone blunt and unforgiving. “So I suggest you leave.”

The man hesitated, clearly taken aback by Kageyama’s directness and the unspoken threat in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked away, mumbling something under his breath.

Once the guy was out of earshot, you turned back to Kageyama, who was already picking up his pen and resuming his work as if nothing had happened. A small, amused smile tugged at your lips.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” you said softly, a hint of gratitude in your voice.

Kageyama glanced up, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. “I didn’t like how he was talking to you. It made me uncomfortable.”

You reached across the table, gently placing your hand over his. “Thanks, Tobio. I seriously mean it.”

A faint blush tinted his cheeks as he nodded in response, trying to focus back on his notes.

But, he simply couldn't as his attention kept drifting back to you.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Tooru Oikawa

'he'd try to one-up the person with blatant rudeness'

Oikawa loves spending time with you. When a festival was happening in your hometown, it was a given that he’d go with you. The vibrant atmosphere, the colorful stalls, and the joyful crowd made it a perfect date. He left you alone for a split second to buy some takoyaki.

When he returned, he saw you stopped in the middle of the crowd, awkwardly laughing with some other guy. His smile faltered slightly, a hint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. He playfully nudged your shoulder, interjecting himself into the conversation and cutting off whatever unfunny joke the guy was telling you.

“Hey, sorry for the wait,” Oikawa said, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His smile was charming as always, but his eyes held a sharp glint as he did a quick look up and down at the guy.

“Wow! Y/N, I didn’t know you snagged a boyfriend while you were away!” the guy laughed with a strain.

Oikawa didn’t miss the way this guy’s gaze shifted slightly, revealing a brief flicker of distaste towards him. His own smile turned to a sneer at the sight of it.

‘Huh, this little prick,’ Oikawa thought, recognizing him as the classmate who had a crush on you in high school. That memory only fueled his irritation, making him want to pull you away from this conversation even more.

As each second passed, the more Oikawa showed how much he didn't like this guy. “Wow, it sounds like you had a great time in high school. But I’m sure nothing beats the fun we have now, right, love?” He directed an innocent smile at you, but you could feel the air thickening with intensity.

Turning back to the guy, Oikawa continued, “It’s so cute how you still remember those high school days. I guess some people never move on from their glory years.”

Your eyes widen at the jab and side-eye your smiley, 'I didn't do anything wrong' boyfriend next to you. You didn't know if you wanted to laugh or pinch him for making this even more awkward than it is.

You curtly said goodbye to your classmate, not wanting to drag this out any longer. Without waiting for a response, you grabbed Oikawa’s hand and dragged him away.

Oikawa's disdain towards your friend was clear, his expression contorted with thinly veiled annoyance. He stuck out his tongue in a childish display of disapproval, causing the classmate to stand there, taken aback, and scoff in response.

As you both silently walked beside each other, Oikawa’s demeanor softened, realizing he might've overdone it a tad with this one. “Hey, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, his voice gentle and sincere. He squeezed your hand, looking at you with an apologetic look.

“No, I'm sorry,” you sighed, glancing up at him. “I should've told him I had to go right when he approached me and look for you. Instead, we were put into an awkward situation."

Oikawa frowned slightly. "You don’t have to apologize. I just—I didn’t like the way he was looking at you."

You stopped and turned to face him, placing your hands on your hips. "Tooru, you need to stop being so childish. Sticking your tongue out? Really?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "You saw that?"

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and exasperation on your face. "Of course I saw that. You think I wouldn't notice?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Okay, okay, I admit that might've been a bit much."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "A bit much? Try a lot. You can’t keep doing that."

His pout returned. "But he was—"

"No buts," you interrupted, playfully poking his chest. "I can handle myself, alright? And you definitely don't have to worry about any other guy. You're the only one I want."

His eyes sparkled at your reassurance, his smile widening. "You know, there's no one else I'd rather have but you~" he playfully coos back, earning a soft slap to the chest from you.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

Wakatoshi Ushijima

'he barely gets jealous, but when he does, his reserved demeanor slips with subtle signals'

You frequently showed up to Ushijima’s practices to support him, admiring his dedication and skill. Today was no different, but what you didn’t know was that there was a new player on the team. He was quite charming and flirtatious, so when he saw you, he couldn’t help but make a move.

“Hey sweetheart, are you lost?” the new player approached you, his hair matted with sweat and a cocky grin on his face.

“Oh no. I’m Y/N, Ushijima’s—” you started to explain, but he cut you off.

“Fan?” he guessed, leaning closer.

“Um, no—” you tried again.

“Sister?” he interrupted, his eyes scanning you with obvious interest.

Before you could speak again, a deep, familiar voice cut through the conversation, “She’s my girlfriend.”

Ushijima’s imposing presence seemed to cast a shadow over the new player as he gently placed his hand on your shoulder, his touch light yet protective. You felt a slightly sweaty chest lightly press against your back, sending a shiver up your spine. His olive eyes, usually calm and composed, held a steely intensity as he assessed the situation.

“Is everything alright, Y/N?” Ushijima asked, his voice steady but carrying an underlying edge.

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and warmth at his presence. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

The new player, clearly taken aback, tried to recover his composure. “I didn’t know, man. Just thought she was lost or something.”

Ushijima’s gaze didn’t waver, and his grip on your shoulder tightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “She’s here to support me, as always. I’d appreciate it if you respected that.”

The new player nodded, mumbling a quick apology before retreating to the court. As he walked away, you could feel the tension slowly dissipate from Ushijima’s body, but his eyes remained on the player for a moment longer, his gaze eyeing him like a hawk. Ushijima never shows his emotions normally, but seeing you flustered and a bit uncomfortable by someone else had his jaw set tighter than usual.

Turning back to you, Ushijima’s expression turned non-rigid once more. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” The lines of tension in his face smoothed once he met your gaze.

You smiled up at him, the warmth of your hand over his on your shoulder conveying a silent understanding. You plant a light peck on his hand, a gentle affirmation of your gratitude. “It’s okay, Toshi," you whispered softly, your voice carrying a soothing tone. "You should go back to practice."

He nodded, his lips curling into a rare, small smile. “Just let me know if anyone bothers you.”

You leaned into him, feeling the solid reassurance of his presence. “I will. Thank you.”

As the practice continued, he kept a close eye on the new player, making sure there were no further incidents.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

hewwo lemon ¤(▪︎u▪︎¤) i hope you're well ♡

could i please get a shot with Kakashi amd reader - and the scenario being that the both of them have taken to smooch through the mask - but one day takes it off last second to actually smooch his beloved, reader ? cute lil first kiss ? >:3c thank u in advance and take ur time ♡♡

-B☆

coming home to you, k. hatake

A/N: B pls know that this sent me into a wanting to smooch kakashi spiral i hope u enjoy <3 (hope this is a nice pick-me-up from all ur work!! no rush to read) thank u for waiting so long for this x GENRE: fluff WARNINGS: none PROMPT: First time kissing Kakashi without a mask WORD COUNT: 1.2k

Your apartment was filled with the sound of your soft humming, dinner cooking slowly on the stove. It was way too much for one person, ensuring that leftovers were going to be your meal for tomorrow as well as you never quite figured out how to cook for just one person. Normally, Kakashi never failed to finish whatever it was you made for dinner that night, leftovers never being a matter of concern when he was home, but he was called away for a mission- one that left you wondering just how long he'd be away.

Sparing a glance to the sticky note placed haphazardly on your calendar, it had been just over a week since your partner had left for his latest mission. A dull thrum made your heart ache, missing him despite knowing there were times that his work took priority over his personal life. It didn't make it any easier, not by any means, but his dedication to the village was just one of the many things that you had loved about him. Knowing that you were there for him, that as long as you were here Kakashi would have someone to come home to, kept your heart strong, helped you push through the days where you missed him a little more than usual.

Stirring your pot once more, not letting your food burn as your mind wanders, you look around your shared home. It was a sizeable place, one that felt positively massive when your partner was gone. You found solace in his signs of life, his personal bookshelf that the living room housed, his extra pouch of kunai sitting on the TV stand even though you asked him to keep it somewhere safer. Even the extra pair of shoes by the door, ones you purposefully placed out while he was gone just so your shoes felt a little less lonely by the front door.

It was the little things that helped you power through, like never failing to finish reading one of the books he recommended while he was away so that you would always have something new to talk about by the time he returned.  You were almost finished with his latest recommendation, the novel this time a little spicier than his previous recommendations. It certainly had many things, many preferences, that you wanted to ask your lover about-

"Boo."

A large hand covering your eyes startled you, arm swinging out reflexively despite the familiar voice in your ear. You squeal, a smile bursting onto your face when a familiar hand catches your defensive reaction. A clothed kiss is pressed to your neck and arms wrap around your waist once your attack is subdued. Silver hair tickles your cheek, Kakashi's arms loosening just enough for you to spin around and hug him.

His soft chuckle rings clear through your bones, the way his hands tug slightly at your clothes to pull you closer making your knees weaken. A nudging feeling at the back of your legs clues you in that some of his dogs have come out, almost as happy as the shinobi is to see you.

After a long embrace, your hands move to cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking the soft material of his mask as you beam up at him, "You're back sooner than I thought."

Your partner hums, an eyebrow quirking up at you, "What, you want to get rid of me again?"

Shaking your head, you laugh, rising to the tips of your toes to kiss his clothed lips, soaking in the feeling of kissing him, "No, of course not."

The feeling of fabric against your skin was nothing new, something you accepted openly when you two started dating. You loved him, respecting his boundaries came second nature to you. It would be a lie if you said you never had wondered what his lips felt like, having only the occasional glimpse of his face in the early mornings or late, late evenings, but you felt lucky enough to bear witness to any of his vulnerabilities not to question or push him on the subject.

So when Kakashi pulls you in, one of his hands tangling in your hair as he murmur's, "'S not enough right now," the last thing you expected was to feel the softness of his lips press against your own as he kisses you again.

You gasp slightly, hands cautiously cupping his face once more to feel the softness of his skin, taking extra care of where his scar ran under his eyes. He groans into your lips, hand tightening slightly in your hair to keep you close to him. Your stomach flips when his tongue brushes against your lips, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

With his mask resting securely under his chin, Kakashi's spare hand traces along your spine, embracing you as close as he could to you as he lets his mouth explore your own. "Missed you," he mutters against your lips, his voice heavy with desire, soft words of I'm home, missed you, need you being whispered in between kisses.

Your hands fall to grip the material of his shirt, feeling the strong muscle of his chest under the thin material of his uniform. "I'm here," you breathe back, nearly collapsing at the groan your words pull from him.

"I'll always," he pulls back just enough for his forehead to rest against your own, taking a moment to catch his breath, "Always come back to you." Another kiss is pressed to your lips, lingering but not quite as long as you wished, finding yourself trying to chase his lips as he leans back, "I can't promise," another heavy breath leaves him, "But trust that everything I do, every choice I make, is to come back home to you."

Your eyes meet his own, seeing the soft vulnerability in his eyes and nodding your head, "I know, don't worry 'kashi. I know."

His head dips down once more, softer than before, letting the warmth of his mouth coax you into another kiss. 

The two of you remained like that, lost in each other, until the feeling of pawing pulled you away. Kakashi looked at his dogs sternly, clearly unhappy to have your attention taken away from them, muttering, "your dinner can wait, needy bastards," while refusing to loosen his grip on you.

In an attempt to satiate your partner, an apologetic hand pats his cheek softly. "We have all night to catch up, okay?" Leaning up to kiss the corner of your mouth, the sigh he gives as a response letting a light laugh escape you, "We can eat together, make everyone happy, okay?"

There's a warmth in his eye as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks as he lets his forehead rest against your one. His headband is cool against your skin, contrasting the warmth of his breath tickling your lips.

"Yeah, okay," he breathes, not letting you go until his lips find yours just once more.