HONESTLY I JUST LOVE IT WHEN HE RAMBLES

HONESTLY I JUST LOVE IT WHEN HE RAMBLES

LIKE SERIOUSLY. I WANT HIM SOO BAD YOU DONT UNDERSTAND-

LIKE LOOK AT HIM

DONT TELL ME YOU WOULDNT JUST MELT IF HE LOOKED AT YOU LIKE THIS

and yes it is hot, I want himmmm

Izuku keeps cumming prematurely. It's to be expected, really, he was a virgin when you met and he gets worked up easily. You've never held it against him- in fact you find it pretty hot. He always keeps going, though it can be hard for him. Too intense. And embarrassing in his eyes. He's a firm believer in making your partner cum first. So you had to come up with something to help him hold off for a few minutes, for his sake.

That's how you end up on his lap, telling him to talk you through his last homework assignment or his favorite anime. He rambles through equations or plot points in extreme detail while you ride him, asking him questions to keep his focus off of your pussy and on whatever topic he chose. It works pretty well- he doesn't cum within the first fifteen minutes if fucking you, and you think it's hot when he rambles. It's a trait about him that initially attracted you to him in the first place. You love your nerdy little boyfriend and his rambling <3

CRYING TEARS OF JOY

When Asking Feels Right

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/art))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (fem!reader is an active pro-hero)

Words: 3.6K

Rating: T+

Warnings: canon-typical injuries, love confessions, mentions of intimacy, talk of marriage, BIG FEELINGS, light injury aftercare, language, because Katsuki Bakugou knows no other way

Summary:

You know Izuku loves you, and proudly tells anyone within earshot just how much he adores his darling pro-hero. But it's not until a close call that 'Kacchan' convinces you just how much the nerd means it. Making you pull yourself together for the sake of his best friend solidifies the fact that you are the love of Izuku Midoriya's life, and he's damn well sure gonna keep you alive to do something with that information. Bakugou might be barking at you gruff as always as he's trying to keep you conscious, but when he says it like he means it, you pay attention.

A/N: Ok yall's love for Let's Heal Each Other has really surprised me, thank you so much! Here's more of our favorite boy, feat Bakugou in full guard dog mode

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

“OI, WATCH YOUR TEN!”

Forced to the ground hard, you’re dazed– but not totally crushed. 

There’s a host of noise around you that grates on your senses: groans of steel supports, concrete and drywall crumbling in batches around you; it's now just a slow burn of collapsing chaos. But considering this portion of the building just fell apart not three feet from where you were once standing, you consider this a blessing. You’d deal with a sore hip than be dead. 

One thing you didn’t know was who did the saving of your ass, until you try to turn around and another support starts falling off in chunks–

“STAY DOWN, ALREADY–” a firm, hot hand cushions the back of your head from smacking the ground needlessly, but he’s not exactly gentle about it.

Dynamight?.. Bakugou– or ‘Kacchan’ as you hear him called at home– he’s– the one pulling a full body shield on you?

You cough from the debris and your ‘guardian angel’ makes sure to not press down on your back too much so you don’t feel smothered. With a gruff hand, he bats the air around your faces to will the dust away so you both can catch a breath. He hacks right along with you, he’s still human after all– but at least he does so from over your shoulder, a courtesy.

Soon enough, the shifting of earth and rock and damage settles, and Bakugou detaches himself from the kneel over you and lifts you up from under your arms to get you to a sitting position at the only remaining wall he deemed supportive enough.

You are equal parts amazed and confused watching the agency hothead acting like the most dashing hero you’ve ever seen, and you're lowkey shook that this attention is being put on you  when he presses you back and crouches back to your level with a guarded eye. 

"You ok?"

"Nngyeah?"

"You hurtin’?"

"Ouch. Nah, just my head a little-- OOF–”

Bakugou’s looking you over with a hard hand on your jaw, peeling aside your hair not too gracefully with tough, padded gloves, fussing over you with a concerned scowl.

 “-BAKugOU!"

The pieces click together a moment too late: you'd blurted at him right as you realize why he’s looking at you like this, so intently– you're bleeding from the head.

"A fucking head wound isn't a LITTLE PROBLEM, DUMBASS- /Oi, I need a med evac at the old Sorgan hospital! Look for the smoke on the southside, that’s where we fuckin’ are–/ FUCK, he's gonna KILL ME for this!!"

You bawk at the way he looks– nervous.

Your teammate's concerned as most coworkers at your agency would be, but for the chilliest of your pals, he’s looking uncharacteristically wild about it… like he seems inclined to punch you for it if you were only in better shape. Instead, Bakugou just picks you up and sets you on some slanted rubble to get you sitting higher. While your head bobs at a lag, you watch as he’s rummaging in his waistline's pockets for that dry cloth he's supposed to keep better accessible for first aid.

"YOU DAMN IDIOT,” Bakugou gripes not too angrily, “You’re NO BETTER than he is, jumpin’ into shit--HOLD THIS–"

You're starting to worry why he's so mad. It’s not like your quirk can directly correlate to the building falling via explosives; that’s his department. You followed your path to an opening of the building altogether as directed. In the mess of it all, you had to get creative with your exit strategy which did put you at a disadvantage, but it all had worked out even after facing off with the last batch of villains before the entire wing came tumbling down.

You honestly thought he was just being heroic and appreciated him literally keeping you from being crushed- only now as you want to thank him, you're sure it would fall on deaf ears. He must be angry that you were there in the first place for him to have to tend to now.

 "I-- that could have been really bad, I guess-"

"You 'GUESS'?" Bakugou's tone demands that you look him in the eye while he talks to you, right as he's staring you down incredulously, "Yeah, I saved your damn ass from getting CRUSHED, - and it's on MY HEAD if something happens to you while you're on my watch!!"

You feel sarcastic, "Well, thanks a lot, m’sorry for the inconvenience. Wassn’t my fault for the building though…”

He swishes a bit of remaining water on the cloth and jerks your head to the other way, ensuring the other scratches aren’t actively sporting fresh blood. “Tch, well running towards the sound was a pretty DUMBASS move!! Don’t know where you got that from!!”

“I can’think a few heroes who migh’...”

“Yeah, DEAD heroes!!”

Sheesh, nothing will please him when he gets like this. You tried for a last stretch of sympathy behind a pounding headache, “Well, m’sure Deku will appreciate you keepin’ me alive, so m’tryna say thanks."

"Yeah he damn well better, if he doesn’t wreck m- HEH??! SIT. THE HELL. DOWN!!"

At your try to stand up and join him in getting out of the alcove, you squatted back,

"What?!"

Bakugou pushes up his facemask more like a headband so you have no choice but to see him clearly. He smooshes your face in his palms- risky, given he's fully sweaty and the smell would be enough to turn you away-- but the way his hands are shaking forces you to stay still and pay attention.

"YOU are the love of his life, dumbass,” Bakugou threatens seriously. “You're the sparkle in his eye and you are damn good for him, so I'm sure as hell gonna make sure nothing happens to you if I can help it-- and you runnin' around with a concussion ain't making my job easier. So SIT. down."

You don’t blink or breathe.

"-I’m sat."

He fixes you a challenging look, then lets go of you to get a better view of the street to check on the ambulance.

He's protective. Because he's loyal to Izuku, he's loyal to you.

But you’re still stunned on what he said- like it was God’s honest truth and an immovable fact.

Pressing down on the tight space at the base of your sternum, you feel for something past your suit’s seam. "Did he say that?"

"Say what?" Bakugou shouts back tirelessly from the hole he’d opened for ventilation; you imagine he may not be hearing so well after this fight. Despite how cheesy it sounds coming out of you, you clarify with a hand to the gauze up against your head,

"-me being that? For him?"

Bakugou scoffs with a smirk, "Only reminds me every damn day I see him."

You can see it, after all. It happens with enough frequency that you know the two talk even before starting patrol with you. The routine of Midoriya meeting up with Bakugou like how you imagine they did in their school days: your adoring boyfriend sharing news of his curriculum workload in earnest, and retorting to his best friend’s loudmouth brand of bragging about his villain count for the week, followed by turning the tables back to Izuku and asking for the nerd’s professional opinion about his performance- and what he thinks he should be strengthening. 

It makes perfect sense that you should come up in conversations, but to know now that Izuku speaks of you in this way? Past the usual lovey-dovey pleasantries Bakugou usually gags at? It should have made you happy, but given the pulse in your throat and the general ache radiating from your -everywhere-, you sniffle– Your concern weighs you to your seat now that you probably have Izuku worried sick. If he’s glued to the news for televised coverage on missions that he knows you’re working on, he would have seen this whole ordeal in real time. 

And in the entire time you’ve dated Izuku, the whole relationship where you’ve stayed in sync with each other despite working in entirely different fields (namely you remaining in the clearly more dangerous one), Izuku never once discouraged you. 

-Never asked you to scale back or retire for the sake of his fears over you. 

-Never asked you to do anything other than ‘be as safe as you can, and do your best to come back to me’. 

He believes you were a hero- just as you believed he was, too. But God, if it didn’t kill you inside to think of breaking his heart over and over as he sat on his break room couch watching close calls. 

You know had he been here on duty instead of Dynamight, your sweet Deku would have been the one here trying to lift you up and perhaps put your worries at ease getting the chance to help you and see you through to safety. But Katsuki Bakugou is hardly that touchy-feely, so having to come up with a pep talk to yourself is hard.

"Oi-"

You toughen up to look back at him, but get a softer response than before.

"You're gonna be ok. I got your back, didn't I?"

You nod.

"I will, y'know. Have your back. Just don't make it difficult."

You nod again, about to cry.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, shaking it off and catching sight of the blue and red lights before he fully hears them. "You, with the waterworks too? Match made in heaven, I swear to GOD."

That night, you are hardly in any shape to drive yourself home and a bit too unsteady to even wrangle with public transit, so naturally you ask Izuku to come get you. With a faithful grin, he looks incredibly happy to see you in the agency lobby- if distracted momentarily by your expertly wrapped head and script bag in hand.

When you meet downstairs, you reign in your immediate reaction to seeing him like you normally would. It's busy tonight- teeming with interns, a changing out of a few vending machines, and a friendly spat between two other sidekicks is happening not far from the evelator you just stepped from. 

The building’s deceptively cheery security officer sees you coming, and shares to your boyfriend that he is going to put on a podcast, taking a moment to fiddle with putting his earbuds in and ‘conveniently’ switch over to his shades against the setting sun, which allowed you the sneaky propriety to fully hug Izuku, as quick and tight as you could before getting in the car. 

Talk in the car consisted of the usual after missions, which felt familiar and good. Obviously your darling didn’t hide his concern, but between your assurances were legitimate questions about how the villains were apprehended, what he’d watched, and the interest he gave in what the news didn’t cover- like asking more about your civilian recovery efforts and compliments about how many were saved today. This kind of cool down genuinely helped you leave work at work, and you appreciated that so much. It was a short drive, which you spent mostly holding Izuku’s hand in both of yours and receiving little kisses on that hand at stoplights. 

You walked arm in arm with him up to the second landing of your apartment, with him finally running through the more caring questions of ‘does it hurt to climb?’ ‘Throbbing or dull pain?’ ‘Are you hungry, or are the meds making you feel sick?’ 

You knew he’d be clingy and honestly needed that constancy after such an explosive afternoon. He was insistent on taking off your coat and getting your laces off with minimal effort from you, which you adored on any old regular day– but the waterworks came flooding back so hard while watching Izuku on his heels taking care of you that you stopped him altogether.

"-I remember the concussions Denki would have after going too hard with his quirk, too- ‘Chargebolt’, I think you’ve met. ‘Course, I think it affected his nervous system more than anything else-- w' h-honey? Are you crying?"

"Please just get up here~"

You hugged him tight the second he rose to full height,

"Oh sweetheart," Izuku petted your hair as you muted your cries, "Sweetheart it's ok, you're ok."

"I love y’so much..." you eeked out from a tight throat.

The eyes unseen over your shoulder stung at your words, but squeezed in just as tight there in the foyer.

"I love you too, honey. So, so much." Izuku kept you close and just rocked you in place to ground you, "Were you scared today?"

You nodded.

"I'm sure it was scary. Would have scared me too, being caught in the middle of all that," Izuku cooed over your shoulder. "Y'know it's okay to let it rattle you sometimes. That's why we're all here to support you. Help you bounce back."

//I have your back// Bakugou’s words hit you again in a wave. 

"It.. would have landed on me. I was right in the impact zone, when the southwest end came down," you sunk into Izuku’s neck at the memory, "...Bakugou got to me first. I wouldn'tve gotten out without him."

Izuku breathed out, touched beyond measure. “...he did?...”

"H'yelled at me for being stupid," you chuckled mirthlessly, "but he said some things. Really big things. And I'm just so sorry it happened at all! I don't wanna worry you when I’m out there!"

As you rushed through the emotions; not just of this fight, but filled to the brim and spilling over with other close calls like it. Izuku had a hard time understanding what was said that upset you, and just held you through it.

"C’mon, let's sit you down," Izuku picked you up like the koala you were and took you over to your couch, sitting with you perched in his arms. 

No longer surprised at the incredible strength he still carried -being able to pick you up like your dead weight was nothing- you sunk into his safety, solace found in his pressed shirt collar.

Your apologies turned into cries within a few minutes of settling in. 

The poor man's heart broke all over again, holding you tightly through your sobs, and hushing you through them. The crying was only going to make your headache worse. He knows this from experience, unfortunately… so even though he usually encouraged you to ‘feel your feelings to the fullest’, he did make an attempt to still you this time. Izuku pressed kisses to your warm forehead.

"Honey, easy, honey... what big things did Kacchan say?" 

//you're his spark//

//you're just like the damn nerd//

//match made in heaven//

//you're damn good for him//

"Tha-That I was... the love of- your life?"

Unseen, Izuku's sights widened. But had you been watching him and not hiding in his complete, cozying embrace, you would have seen the proudest look of love lifting those cheeks of his. How he smiled despite the concern he held for you in this moment, and took a grand look around the room - at the life you were tending to and nurturing together with fondness.

"You are the love of my life," Izuku assured you gently with the sweet coupling of your name, "Have I never told you that?"

Shown, certainly, but never told so beautifully. And to have come from Bakugou’s harsh lips of all people, the revelation was jarring in more ways than one.

You whispered 'no', but didn't let go for the life of you. Wouldn't ever let go of this darling man if he’d allow you to stay.

"-M'ere, look at me. Just for a minute, look here~"

You pressed back from his hold with unwilling muscles, only to be cradled in his hands. Green eyes full of tears looked back at you but with a full, strong smile forcing bravery forward.

"You -my sweetest girl- are the love of my life. I love who you are now, and who you're going to be forty, fifty, sixty years from now,” he pet your hair back and away with a little shaky nod, “and yeah- I might lose my lunch every now and then watching you out there…”

You sniffled again, baffled at how telling you all this could possibly be making him chuckle through his words–

“--but I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve watched the same tv screen and been so insanely proud of you! To watch you go out there and win, and shine, and– I can stomach all that fear. I can do that. Because I know you and I believe in you! And I am so thankful that I happen to know the heroes you do this hard work with can help take care of you and have your back. That’s what it’s all about- doing it together.”

You hang on Izuku’s every word of affirmation. It’s the language he’s best in, no matter the subject. Thankfully, right now, he's set on putting you back on solid heartground- assuring you of everything you doubt about yourself. Your power, your inspiration, all of it.

“You’re saving people- helping those who can't do it themselves, and you do it so well, love. These scary things happen… but honestly? It only makes me love you more for facing it like you do. And getting up the next day, and watching you come at it again.”

You keen under his full attention. The praise and love he’s washing you with is so earnest and filled with pride, it kills you to ever have obligations elsewhere in the world outside of his company.

Surely you can just stay supple in his arms for eternity and no one would miss you. 

“So you don’t need to be out there worried about what I’m thinking of you,” Izuku worked on wiping your blurry tears, “because I’m going to double down on replacing those worries in your head. I’m going to remind you every day of it. You’re never going to not have me in your corner, because you are the love of my life.”

Soothed and emotional in an entirely different vein, you nod you head back with a firm, brave smile of you own, before gingerly pulling him close for a little forehead touch, a well-earned kiss, and another hug latched around his shoulders. 

Izuku tended to you after your hero work in a number of ways, depending on what you've weathered that day: from taking off your shoes, cooking you a meal, holding you soft and sweet against his body on the sofa like this, or even helping you burn off any excess steam on the particular amorous nights where you just feel too alive to not show him exactly what your primary reason for fighting is. 

To protect him. To protect everyone you love and care for. Making your family proud both here and heavenward, and proving to yourself that you can do the hard things. Having a partner to support you in this work is an invaluable bolster in your life, and you feel it in every swipe of his hands up and down your back in this exact moment. 

His touch assures you just as much as it comforts him. Tells you how much you're appreciated and welcomed when you reach the end of the day like it soothes him to have you safely off the streets. You also know that any tear-filled nights on his end come from a place of complete affection and commitment and you don't really care how much Bakugou or any of your other workmates might tease you for being soft right along with ‘the damn nerd’. 

He's your damn nerd. The one you come home to and plan to spend the rest of the evening tending to your headache and scratchy throat and whatever other hurts have trickled out from your tough shell. 

From about your fifth date on, you'd felt in your gut that ‘Midoriya’ was likely going to be the name you'd be filling out as your emergency contact for life, so you started doing so on your contract renewals. That probably proved he was the love of your life, too, even if you didn't say so outright. 

Content to hold you forever, Izuku still asked of you gently, 

“Poor thing, you gotta be exhausted. I know you showered, but would you like a bath to let the steam help?” He kissed your nearby shoulder within reach, “It'll help the drainage go away.”

That sounded amazing and all but guaranteed he'd like to stay as close to you as possible. You hummed in the affirmative, close to bursting. 

“Good. We’ll get that started, whenever you're ready. Anything my brave girl wants.”

There's truly only one thought on your mind- the insistent proof of it lies hidden beneath your sweater neckline, slid onto a long silver necklace. A ring sized for Izuku is something you've worn every patrol for a couple months now, and is practically burning as you adjust your seat on his lap to find his face. 

You're fishing past your collar uncomfortably, looking for the damn thing tangled with your agency lanyard, but dead set that you can't go on without him wearing it.

“Hm? I'm here, hon’, what do you need?-- what's-… Baby. Oh baby, what's that...?”

You hold the ring still looped on the chain, lifted for him to see between fingers that don't shake anymore. Firm and steady. Because he's loved you so well and so thoroughly tonight and every night, it's the easiest thing to ask the stunned, gorgeous man beneath you,

“Marry me.”

Pt. 2

Huh

WOAH

Yay

Ok damn Kaminari

Yeah I figured

WELL OK KIRISHIMA I SEE HOW IT IS

TODOROKI ?

YAYYYY

Well ok then

WOO

My Hero Academia (date! scenario) click and drag game!

warnings: flashing images

Game notes • How to Play

Please use a browser other than Google Chrome to play because the GIFs always lock onto their first frame on Chrome. Safari and Firefox work, please try those

If you're on mobile, screenshot the gifs either as a set or individually

Mineta you’ve never even been between thighs.

A very important part of their history :)

Guys I cried

thorns of healing

pairing: izuku midoriya x reader (gender neutral) summary: you've gotten over bakugou right? Yet why does the ache in your chest still hurt?

notes: angst, healing process, difficult emotions, confrontation, unresolved, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, college! katsuki bakugou, college! izuku midoriya

word count: 6.3k

a/n: This is a continuation of "petals of longing" , this took a while to write but there will be another part to this ~~

Getting over Bakugou took everything. Countless nights of blood, sweat, and tears. Pools of red tulips littered the floor of your dorm, a grim bouquet of the love that choked you from the inside out. You’d spend hours hunched over, hacking up petals that tore at your throat, each one stained with the metallic tang of blood. It had taken days to scrub the dried stains from the wooden floor, your knees bruised and raw from the relentless scrubbing, but the memories lingered like a shadow. You could barely recall the blurred hours of pain, the way your body writhed on the cold ground, struggling to breathe through the cascade of petals that bloomed from the agony of unrequited love.

Ironic, isn’t it? That something so beautiful— those delicate tulips, symbols of affection— could hurt so deeply. Love had been the poison, and your heart, the willing victim.

A voice pulls you back, tearing you away from the grim reverie. You blink, suddenly aware of the familiar hum of the coffee shop around you— the hiss of the espresso machine, the chatter of students, the faint whiff of coffee beans. Right. You’re working right now. This isn’t the place to drown in memories. Especially ones best left buried.

Shaking your head slightly, you focus on the customer standing at the counter, waiting patiently with a warm smile. Izuku Midoriya. Or as you know him, Deku. His eyes, bright and kind as always, meet yours. You’ve always found comfort in the way he looks at you. 

“Hey,” you greet him, a small smile tugging at your lips as you straighten your posture. You realise your hands are trembling slightly, and you quickly steady them as you hover over the register, willing yourself to stay in the present.

Midoriya’s face lights up, softening into that easy grin he always wears. “Hey there. You okay? You looked a little… lost for a second.” He’s always been sharp hasn’t he. Noticing every detail about you. 

“Yeah, just… spacing out,” you say, brushing it off with a casual shrug, though the words don’t quite cover the depth of what you were feeling. “It’s been a long day.”

Midoriya nods, his expression thoughtful but gentle, like he’s piecing something together in that mind of his. “I get it. Those days can really sneak up on you.” He pauses, eyes flicking to the menu before meeting yours again. “Could I get my usual?”

You nod, punching in his order with familiarity, though your mind is still half-stuck in the past, grappling with the remnants of pain you thought you’d buried. “One iced coffee, extra shot, light on the ice.” Your voice comes out steady, familiar with the rhythm of work. For a moment, the routine grounds you, pulling you away from the memories of red-stained petals and unrelenting nights.

As you prepare Midoriya’s drink, you catch glimpses of him watching you from the corner of your eye, like he’s assessing if you’re really okay. Midoriya’s kindness always had a way of sneaking past your defences, and today, it’s no different. 

“Thanks,” he says when you hand him the drink, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting second. “And, hey… if you ever need to talk, I’m around, you know?”

You force a brighter smile for him. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Deku.” 

He nods, lingering just a moment longer before stepping aside, giving you a small wave as he heads to his usual seat. You watch him go, feeling the weight of the past still clinging to your chest but softened by his quiet presence. The scars of what you went through with Bakugou haven’t disappeared, but here, in this moment, you feel just a little lighter. 

It’s not perfect. It’s not easy. But it’s something. And for now, that’s enough.

Working part-time at the campus coffee shop keeps you busy, and most days blur into a cycle of orders, steaming milk, and ringing up the register. But in the lulls between rushes, when the crowd thins and the hum of conversation fades into a soft murmur, you find a rare peace. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint traces of vanilla and cinnamon, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The ambient sound of clinking cups and soft jazz playing overhead fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe. Your thoughts drifting like the steam from an untouched latte.

You look at him a moment longer, feeling the faintest tug of warmth at the sight. Midoriya’s been spending more time with you lately, and you’ve welcomed his presence with quiet gratitude. You’re grateful for him but still can’t help but feel hesitant. 

Your eyes wander the room, finally landing on Midoriya. He’s tucked away in one of the quieter corners, where the light filters in just right. A gentle glow illuminating his focused expression. His laptop is open, charger snaking across the floor. Papers scattered messily around him in that endearing, organised chaos that always follows him. He’s tapping away at the keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration, completely absorbed in whatever project has captured his attention today. Always working hard, always pushing forward. You’ve come to expect nothing less from him.

Ever since that night when you and Bakugou severed all connections. You’d felt like you were floating, unanchored in the familiar spaces that once felt safe. Not even a passing greeting between you and Bakugou, not a single glance exchanged. There’s a silent understanding between you both to avoid each other at all costs. Even here, at the coffee shop, it’s a delicate dance of avoidance. If he comes in, you discreetly ask your coworker to take his order, slipping away to the back to busy yourself with anything else. If you’re stationed at the register, he hesitates at the door, sometimes waiting for you to disappear or turning on his heel to leave without a word. 

The cold severance stings less than it did at first, but the emptiness remains, a faint echo of what once was. Midoriya’s been your constant through it all. A quiet, steadfast presence that doesn’t demand anything from you but offers more than you knew you needed. It started in the library one evening when he quietly took the seat next to you, his notes splayed out as he wordlessly joined your study session. No questions, no awkwardness— just the familiar rustle of pages and the comforting rhythm of his pen scratching against paper. 

From there, your meetings became a quiet habit. Study sessions turned into lunch breaks, and lunch breaks morphed into spontaneous hangouts. Mornings became something you looked forward to. Not because of the work, but because of the soft ritual that began each day. Midoriya would always come by for coffee, and you’d be the one to serve him, exchanging small smiles and bits of conversation that felt as warm and inviting as the drinks you made.

You watch him now, his head tilted slightly as he rereads whatever’s on his screen, lips moving as he murmurs to himself, lost in thought. He’s always been that way— kind, focused, and so genuinely himself that it’s impossible not to feel at ease around him. His presence is a balm, soothing in a way that doesn’t demand anything of you, just quiet understanding. 

Your thoughts flicker back to Bakugou, unbidden but persistent. You remember the storm of emotions, the raw edges of hurt and frustration that cut so deeply. But you also remember the steady fade of those feelings, like the slow, deliberate scrubbing of bloodstains from the floor. Painful, but necessary. You no longer carry the weight of unspoken confessions and suffocating silence. The tulips are gone, wilted and forgotten, but the scars remain. 

Midoriya glances up from his screen, catching your eye, and offers you a small, encouraging smile. It’s like a beam of sunlight breaking through a clouded sky— soft, warm, and undeniably genuine. You smile back, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease. He doesn’t pry into the wounds you’re still mending, and you’re grateful for that. Instead, he simply exists beside you, as if to say, without words, that you’re not alone.

You haven’t told Midoriya about what happened between you and Bakugou. You haven’t told anyone, really. And Bakugou— well, he’s not the type to spill personal matters, either. It’s like the two of you have signed a silent contract to keep it buried, never spoken of, never acknowledged. A fracture that no one sees, hidden beneath the surface where it festers quietly. 

Sometimes, when Midoriya looks at you with that gentle, knowing expression, you think about telling him. The words almost make it to the tip of your tongue, heavy and aching, but then they crumble and die there, unspoken. You’re not ready yet. Not ready to expose those wounds, not ready to relieve the pain that clings to every memory of Bakugou like a stubborn stain.

But maybe one day, when the scars don’t feel so fresh, when the mere thought of Bakugou doesn’t twist something inside you, you’ll find the courage to let someone in on the mess of it all. Maybe then, you’ll finally be able to say it out loud— to make sense of the jagged pieces you’ve been holding onto. Midoriya’s been wonderful, patient in a way that you didn’t know you needed. He’s been a steady presence when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers, and you don’t take that lightly. 

Yet, as much as you appreciate his warmth, you’ve built up walls around your heart that weren’t there before, ones you’ve reinforced with every passing day. You’ve become more guarded, your smiles just a little more reserved, your laughter quieter, as if holding back something fragile that you’re afraid will break. Love— it’s not something you can give into anymore. Not after the hurt you’ve been through, not after feeling your heart splinter piece by piece under the weight of petals and unspoken emotions.

You remember what it felt like to be so consumed by love that it physically tore you apart, the relentless ache that lodged itself in your chest and wouldn’t let go. The sickness that manifested in your body, turning your feelings into something that could kill you. It’s a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone, and it’s a pain you refuse to let yourself feel again. Not if you can help it.

There’s a part of you that’s still healing, still picking up the pieces of what Bakugou left behind. You’ve sworn to yourself that you won’t be vulnerable like that again, that you won’t let your heart be so recklessly given away. Love is no longer the light and airy thing it once was— it’s heavy, daunting, something to be wary of. So, you keep your distance, even from those who mean well, like Midoriya. You keep your heart locked away, safe behind the barriers you’ve carefully constructed. Because loving Bakugou taught you the hard way that the deeper you fall, the harder it is to crawl back out.

So you focus on what you can control: the coffee shop, your studies, the steady routines that keep you moving forward. And Midoriya, with his unwavering kindness, stands on the outside of those walls, close but not too close. You’re grateful for his presence, for the way he’s helped you piece together a sense of normalcy. But you can’t let yourself hope for anything more. Not again. You refuse to let anyone see the parts of you that still hurt. 

You refuse to let your heart be vulnerable, not after the petals, not after the blood. Not after him.

You’re not sure how long you’ll keep this resolve, how long you’ll manage to guard yourself against the possibility of loving again. For now, it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. But it’s hard— so damn hard— to protect yourself when Midoriya looks at you the way he does, soft and attentive, eyes bright with an unspoken kindness. 

Tonight, you both are away from the crowded chaos of the party, where bass-heavy music thrums through the walls, pulsing in time with the flickering neon lights that cast erratic shadows across dancing bodies. Inside, the room is packed with laughter and shouts, a mess of spilled drinks, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap cologne, sweat, and… something burning… in the kitchen? A typical college party, wild and loud, with people pressed together in tight clusters, their voices raised to compete with the music blaring from the speakers.

You escaped to the balcony with Midoriya, drawn by the need to breathe fresh air that didn’t taste like alcohol and desperation. Out here, it’s quieter, the noise of the party muffled by the closed glass door, reduced to a distant hum that barely intrudes on your thoughts. The cool night breeze brushes against your skin, soothing against the faint heat that lingers from the crowded room, and you find yourself savouring this stolen moment of calm.

Midoriya stands next to you, leaning against the railing with an ease that seems so natural. He holds a cold can of soda in one hand, condensation dripping down his fingers, his grip relaxed. The soft glow of the moon bathes him in silver light, highlighting the lines of his jaw, the delicate freckles dusting his cheeks, and the way his green eyes catch the dim light and reflect it back, vivid and alive. He’s dressed simply— denim jeans, a fitted white shirt that clings just enough to hint at the lean muscle underneath, the faintest hint of cologne lingering in the air between you. But it’s the little things that catch your attention: the tousled mess of his hair that moves gently in the breeze, the slight flush on his cheeks from the drinks and the warmth of the night, and the way his lips curl into a faint, thoughtful smile as he stares out into the city.

God, he looks handsome. 

Handsome in a way that makes your heart stutter in your chest, like it’s forgotten how to beat properly. There’s something effortless about him tonight, a quiet confidence that radiates without demanding attention. His presence is magnetic, pulling you in with a force you don’t quite know how to resist. You want to resist so badly. You’re not ready for this. Shaking your head, you turn to your drink.

You take a sip from your own can, the fizz of the beer tingling on your tongue, but it’s not enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. It’s dangerous. How easy it is to be around him like this. Your eyes trace the lines of his profile— the strong set of his shoulders, the slight quirk of his brow as he glances at you, and the way his lips part slightly, like he’s on the verge of saying something. 

He catches you staring, and instead of teasing, his gaze softens, something warm and unspoken passing between you. “It’s nice out here,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the muffled thump of the music inside. “Quieter.”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended. You turn your head slightly, pretending to focus on the distant city lights, but you’re painfully aware of the way his presence wraps around you, gentle and reassuring. “It’s… better out here.”

Midoriya chuckles, a low, genuine sound that rumbles softly in his chest. “You looked like you needed a break,” he says, glancing sideways at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and something else— something that makes you feel seen in a way you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You smile, though it’s laced with a bittersweet edge. “Yeah, maybe I did.” The words come out light, but your heart feels heavy, burdened by the silent promise you’ve made to yourself. To stay guarded, to not let anyone too close. But right now, with the cool night air, the faint buzz of your drink, and Midoriya standing beside you looking like he was pulled straight from a daydream, it’s hard to remember why you built those walls in the first place.

It’s hard not to want more when he’s right there, so close you could reach out and touch him. But you don’t. You won’t. Because you’ve been here before, standing on the edge of something that could break you all over again. And no matter how handsome he looks under the glow of the moon, no matter how safe his presence makes you feel, you can’t let yourself fall. Not now, not again. You’re about to continue the conversation when the balcony door slides open with a harsh scrape.

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d recognize that heavy, impatient presence anywhere. 

Bakugou steps out onto the balcony, his brows knitted together in a permanent scowl as he glances around, clearly annoyed. His entrance disrupts the calm, the air around him charged with a familiar tension that you thought you’d left behind. He’s dressed in his usual style—ripped jeans, black shirt clinging to his muscular frame, looking every bit the rebellious force of nature that he is. The faint scent of smoke and something distinctly Bakugou lingers around him, a mix of cologne and the ever-present burn of his quirk. Has he ever smelled so bitter?

He stops short when he sees the two of you, red eyes narrowing as they flick between you and Midoriya. There’s a beat of heavy silence, charged and awkward, as you all stand there, frozen in place. Bakugou’s gaze settles on you for the briefest of moments before sliding away, his expression unreadable but unmistakably guarded.

“Didn’t think you’d be out here,” Bakugou mutters, his tone low and edged with something you can’t quite place— frustration, maybe, or something softer, buried beneath layers of stubborn pride. He turns his attention to the view, his posture rigid as he leans against the railing a few feet away, refusing to acknowledge either of you further.

Midoriya shifts beside you, the easy atmosphere from moments ago gone, replaced by a thick, stifling tension. He glances at you, concern flickering in his eyes. But he doesn’t say anything, sensing the undercurrent between you and Bakugou. You swallow hard. Suddenly the familiar sting of old wounds returns. The weight of everything unspoken hangs heavy in the cool night air.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice coming out sharper than intended. It’s not just about Bakugou’s presence. it’s the sudden reminder of all the things you’ve been trying so hard to move past. The nights spent coughing up petals, the choking, suffocating feeling of being so in love with someone who couldn’t— or wouldn’t— love you back.

Bakugou snorts, the sound dismissive but lacking its usual bite. “It’s too damn loud in there.” He gestures vaguely towards the party inside, the rowdy noise leaking out through the slightly ajar door. “Needed some air.”

You nod stiffly, keeping your eyes fixed on the skyline. You don’t trust yourself to look at him— not now, not when everything you’ve buried feels like it’s clawing its way back to the surface. You’re painfully aware of Midoriya standing next to you, his concern palpable but restrained. He knows better than to push. Whilst he doesn’t know what happened between the two of you, he knows that whatever it is between you and Bakugou isn’t something easily solved.

The silence stretches, uncomfortable and thick, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the party inside. Bakugou stares out at the city, his jaw clenched tight, and you wonder what he’s thinking— if he feels any of the tension, if he’s even affected by this at all. You steal a glance at him, just for a second, and catch the brief flicker of something in his eyes, something raw and unresolved.

But then it’s gone, masked by the familiar stubbornness that defines him. He takes a long swig from his drink, eyes fixed forward, refusing to meet yours. It’s like there’s a wall between you both, built from everything you never said to each other. And standing here now, with Midoriya beside you and Bakugou so close yet so distant, you’re not sure if that wall will ever come down.

Midoriya breaks the silence first, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s a nice night,” he says, trying to ease the tension. “Better than being stuck inside all night, right?” As always, he had to say something. 

Bakugou grunts in response, but it’s not angry— just resigned. “Yeah. Better.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. There’s so much that you wish you could resolve but don’t know how. And for now, all you can do is stand there, caught between the past you’ve tried so hard to leave behind and the uncertain future that waits ahead.

The balcony, once a refuge, now feels too small, the distance between you and Bakugou both achingly vast and impossibly close. And as the night stretches on, you can’t help but wonder if there will ever be a way to bridge that gap—or if some things are meant to stay broken.

The weight of the moment settles heavily on your shoulders, a quiet, invisible burden that neither Midoriya nor Bakugou seems to know how to lift. The city sprawls out before you, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sounds, yet even the vastness of the night sky feels suffocating. You wish you could say something—anything—to shatter the uncomfortable silence, but the words are caught in your throat, tangled up in all the pain you’ve kept buried.

Midoriya shifts beside you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to pull you under. You glance at him, and he offers a small, reassuring smile that feels like a lifeline, a gentle reminder that you’re not alone. But even his quiet comfort can’t drown out the electric tension crackling between you and Bakugou. It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong move could send you tumbling into the abyss of old wounds and unresolved feelings.

Bakugou is silent, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the horizon. His posture is tense, shoulders hunched slightly as if he’s holding something back. You wonder, just for a moment, if he’s feeling it too—the weight of everything that went wrong, the hurt that neither of you ever put into words. It’s maddening, the way he stands there, so close you can feel the faint heat radiating from him, yet so distant it’s like there’s a chasm between you both that neither of you can cross.

He finally breaks the silence, his voice rough and low. “This really your scene?” he asks, his tone edged with a familiar bite, though softer, like he’s trying to sound indifferent but not quite managing it. “Didn’t think you were into this kind of crap.”

You stiffen, instinctively bristling at the comment, but there’s no real malice in it—just the awkward fumbling of someone who doesn’t know how to talk about anything real. “Could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “Didn’t think you were the type for parties.”

Bakugou’s eyes flick to you, just for a second, and you catch the flash of something raw and unguarded before he looks away, jaw clenched tight. “Still not,” he mutters, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

Midoriya clears his throat, stepping in with his usual gentle tact, trying to ease the tension. “It’s just… nice to see you both,” he says, and you can hear the careful neutrality in his voice, the way he’s trying to keep things from escalating. “I didn’t expect to run into you, Kacchan.”

Bakugou scoffs, a sound that’s more habit than actual irritation. “Didn’t come here for you, Deku,” he snaps, but there’s no real bite to it. He shifts, adjusting his grip on his can, and for a fleeting moment, he looks almost… tired. The bravado slips, just a little, and you catch a glimpse of the boy beneath the storm— the one who’s carrying his own unspoken burdens.

The sight of him like this, vulnerable in a way he’d never admit, tugs at something deep inside you, something you thought you’d locked away for good. But you can’t afford to go down that road, not again. You’ve come too far, built up too many walls to let one glance unravel it all. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and force your gaze back to the city lights, willing your heart to stay calm.

“You know,” Midoriya says, his voice cutting through the thick silence like a gentle breeze, “we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to pretend it’s all fine when it’s not.” He looks between you and Bakugou, his expression sincere, filled with that unshakeable optimism that defines him. “It’s okay to talk about it. Whatever it is.” Is it really worth it for him to play peacemaker now?

Bakugou’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening as he stares out into the distance. For a moment, you think he might lash out, that familiar anger bubbling to the surface, but instead, he just exhales, a slow, measured breath that seems to deflate some of the tension in his shoulders.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says finally, voice low and edged with resignation. “What’s done is done.”

But you know, as well as he does, that it’s not that simple. The silence between you says everything you’re too afraid to voice: the pain, the regret, the lingering threads of something that once meant more than either of you could handle. You glance at Midoriya, his eyes wide with quiet encouragement, and you wonder if there’s still a chance to make sense of the wreckage Bakugou left behind.

But not tonight. Tonight, the wounds are still too raw, the distance too great. So you swallow your words, burying them beneath the thrum of the city and the noise of the party that rages on behind you. You shift closer to Midoriya, finding solace in the steady warmth of his presence, and hope that, in time, the pieces will fall into place. 

For now, all you can do is stand on this balcony, caught between what was and what might be, and try to remember how to breathe.

It’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make Bakugou’s eyes flicker with something sharp and unmistakable—annoyance, anger, something deeper you can’t quite name. The brief brush of your shoulder against Midoriya’s is nothing more than a silent plea for support, but to Bakugou, it’s something else entirely. You can feel his gaze boring into you, hot and intense, and when you finally glance up, the look on his face is anything but neutral. The match is lit when Deku puts an arm around you. 

He looks like he’s barely holding it together, a storm of emotions swirling behind those crimson eyes, and for a moment, you see the frustration simmering just beneath his carefully controlled exterior. He clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening.

“You really think that’s gonna fix anything?” Bakugou snaps, his tone biting and dismissive. His voice is cold— colder than you’ve ever heard it. He doesn’t bother to hide the venom in his words, his eyes fixed on where you and Midoriya are standing a little too close. “Cuddling up to Deku like he’s gonna make all your problems go away? That's how it works now?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, sharp and deliberate, meant to wound. You flinch, taken aback by the sudden hostility. It’s not just anger— it’s hurt, twisted into something cruel, something meant to push you away before you can get too close. You’ve seen Bakugou angry before, but this feels different. It’s not the explosive rage you’re used to; it’s controlled, cold, and far more dangerous because of it.

“Bakugou—” Midoriya starts, his voice gentle but firm, trying to defuse the situation before it spirals out of control. But Bakugou cuts him off with a glare, the kind that would make anyone else shrink back.

“Shut it, Deku,” he snaps, eyes flashing with a warning. “This isn’t about you.”

You feel your own temper flare, a mix of hurt and anger bubbling up inside you. It’s infuriating. The way he can still get under your skin, the way he lashes out without ever acknowledging his own part in all of this. “What’s your problem, Bakugou?” you bite back, trying to keep your voice steady even as it wavers with emotion. “Why do you care what I do?”

Bakugou’s eyes meet yours, hard and unyielding, but there’s something else there too— something that almost looks like pain. “I don’t,” he spits, but it sounds like a lie, brittle and unconvincing. “You can do whatever the hell you want. Just don’t act like it’s gonna fix anything. Running to him isn’t gonna change shit.”

Midoriya steps closer, his presence a solid, reassuring warmth beside you. He’s steady and unwavering. “Kacchan,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and quiet disappointment. “You don’t have to do this. Leave them alone. They’re just figuring things out.”

Bakugou scoffs, but it’s a hollow sound, devoid of its usual bravado. “Yeah, well, good luck with that,” he mutters, turning his back to you both. His shoulders are tense, his posture stiff, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. “I’m done with all that crap.”

He takes a step towards the door, every movement radiating frustration, and for a split second, you think he’s going to leave without another word. But he pauses, his hand gripping the handle tightly, knuckles white from the strain. He doesn’t look back, but his voice cuts through the night air, low and bitter. “Don’t waste your time, alright? Not on someone like me. And not on whatever the hell you think this is.”

Then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a harsh finality that echoes through the night. The party noise floods back in, loud and overwhelming, but it feels distant, muted by the lingering sting of Bakugou’s words. You stand there, staring at the closed door, feeling the ache of everything left unsaid weighing heavy in your chest.

Midoriya sighs, his expression pained as he watches Bakugou disappear into the crowd. He turns back to you, concern etched across his face. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, and the sincerity in his voice almost undoes you.

You nod, but it’s a lie, thin and fragile. “Yeah,” you whisper, though your throat feels tight, choked with emotions you can’t quite name. “I’m fine.” 

But as you stare at the spot where Bakugou stood, his words replaying in your mind, you know it’s not true. You’re not fine. Not by a long shot. And as much as you want to move on, to let go of the hurt and the history, Bakugou’s outburst makes it painfully clear: some wounds don’t heal so easily, and some things, no matter how hard you try, are never truly over.

Midoriya stands beside you, his expression soft with concern, eyes searching yours for some sign that you’re really okay. He’s always been like that—kind, perceptive, and never one to let things go unsaid if it meant helping someone. He watches the tension still lingering on your face, the way your fingers curl tightly around the can in your hand, knuckles turning white. 

“You don’t have to pretend,” he says gently, his voice cutting through the muffled noise of the party behind you. There’s no pressure in his tone, just the quiet patience that he always seems to carry. “I know that wasn’t easy. You can talk to me… if you want.”

You swallow hard, staring down at the drink in your hand, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that Bakugou’s outburst stirred up. Part of you wants to brush it off, to change the subject and pretend none of this bothers you—but you’re so tired of carrying it all alone. Midoriya’s kindness, his unwavering support, feels like a lifeline you didn’t realise you needed. You want to lean on him. Can you lean on him?

“It’s… it’s a lot,” you begin, your voice shaky as you glance up at Midoriya. He nods, giving you the space to find your words, and it’s his quiet, undemanding presence that gives you the courage to continue. “Bakugou and I… it wasn’t just some stupid argument or anything like that. It’s complicated. Messy.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the old, familiar ache tighten in your chest as you start to piece together the story you’ve kept buried. “I liked him,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You loved him. “I really, really liked him. For a long time. But he… he didn’t feel the same. Not even close.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt, just listens, the concern on his face deepening. You can see the way he’s connecting the dots, the way his expression shifts as he starts to understand the weight of what you’re saying.

“I thought I could handle it,” you continue, your grip tightening on the can as you fight to keep your voice steady. “I thought I could just… get over it. But it got bad. Really bad.” You hesitate, the memories rushing back in vivid, painful flashes—nights spent coughing up petals, the sharp sting of blood, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in your own body. “I got sick.”

Midoriya’s breath catches, and you see the shock flicker across his face. “You…?” He doesn’t finish the question, and doesn't need to. The realisation is enough, and the concern in his eyes deepens, mingling with a quiet sadness.

“Yeah,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I was… I was in love with him, and he didn’t love me back. The flowers— those fucking flowers— they just kept coming. I’d cough them up all the time, each one worse than the last. I felt like I was drowning in my own feelings, and it got to the point where I could hardly breathe.” You pause, your voice trembling as the memories overwhelm you. “It was hell.”

Midoriya steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. There’s no judgement in his expression, only understanding that makes you feel just a little less alone. He’s listening to you. “How did you…?” he begins, his voice gentle, careful. “How did you get through it?”

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the sting of tears that threaten to spill. “I had to let go. I had to force myself to stop feeling anything for him. I don’t even remember how many nights I spent on the floor, just… fighting it. Fighting every stupid feeling I had. I scrubbed blood and petals off the floor until my knees were raw, just trying to get rid of it all.”

Midoriya listens in silence, his face a mix of empathy and quiet pain. He looks at you like he’s trying to share the burden, like he’s wishing he could have been there to help you through it, even if it’s too late now.

“I managed to get better,” you continue, your voice softer now, resigned. “I moved on, or at least I thought I did. I stopped coughing up flowers. I stopped feeling like I was dying every time I saw him. But the wounds… they still hurt. Even now, when I see him, it’s like it all comes rushing back. Not the love, not anymore. Just… the hurt.”

You look away, your gaze drifting back to the city lights in the distance. It feels strange to say it out loud, to put words to something that’s been clawing at you for so long. “I don’t want to feel this way, Midoriya. I don’t want to care what he thinks or how he looks at me. I just want to be free of it all. But every time he’s around, it’s like… it’s like the scars are ripped open all over again.”

Midoriya’s quiet for a moment, processing everything you’ve said. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, careful, filled with the kind of empathy that’s so uniquely him. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and you can feel the sincerity in every word. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. And it’s okay that it still hurts. It’s okay to feel like you’re still picking up the pieces.”

He reaches out, just a small gesture, his hand hovering near yours—not quite touching, but close enough to offer comfort. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve got people who care about you, and you don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

You nod, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a little. It’s not a solution, not a fix, but it’s something— someone who knows, who understands, who doesn’t expect you to be anything but yourself, broken parts and all. 

“Thanks, Midoriya,” you whisper, managing a small, grateful smile. It’s not much, but it’s honest, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re finally allowed to be. 

Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, with Midoriya by your side, you think that maybe, just maybe, the hurt won’t always feel so heavy. Maybe the petals will stay gone. Maybe one day, the wounds will be nothing but faded scars. And maybe, with time, you’ll find a way to let someone in again— someone who won’t make you bleed just to prove that you loved them.

a/n: the next part will probably be you and deku getting together. Sorry this took so long to write, I wanted this to be good. I hope its good lol @des-todoroki @kukikoooo

border credits: @/enchanthings & @/adornedwithlight