Suolanenpappa - Ellie

Bakugo, sleeping until his phone rings: The fu-

Bakugo, picks up the phone: You better be fu*king dying, nerd.

Izuku, drunk: H-Hey Kacchan, w-what are you doing?

Bakugo: Are you drunk? I’m asleep, you idiot!

Izuku: Oh, that-uh, that sounds right. What are you-what are you doing?

Bakugo:…I just told you.

Izuku: A-Ah, yeah, sleeping, sweet sweet Kacchan. H-Hey! This song made me think of you-

Todoroki, drunk in the background: I told you not to call him!

Izuku: It’s not him, you big bully! *whispers* He-He told me not to call you…So, w-what are you doing?

Bakugo: Oh, for the love of God.

VOTE TOMURA SHIGARAKI FOR WORLD BEST HERO!!

I know I have!!

myheroacademia.worldbesthero.com/en/vote/57/

Wanted to join the Miku trend by drawing my take on finnish Miku, doing the most finnish activity i could think of: sauna!

gives him a creature to love and take care of. yknow. as a treat.

(close ups under the cut)

touya doesn't stir when you sit up.

it takes several, heavy blinks to realize that you're no longer dreaming, and by the time you do, your eyes are already stinging with ready-to-go tears. in the silence of your bedroom, your pathetic sniff sounds too loud, throat already thick with worry as you rub at your face; you let out a small, sad moan and it sounds like you're congested to all hell.

it wasn't real, you tell yourself, over and over again to stave off the baseless fear rushing through your blood — but the only thing they really makes it better is seeing touya beside you; on his stomach, one arm hanging off the bed, cheek smushed into your favorite pillow that he's claimed for himself. despite the a/c being on higher than you can afford, he's still without a shirt, patchwork back on full display. it's comforting, that he's still here despite it all.

you're afraid and, selfishly, want him to wake up, so you move to press your face into his back, nosing at a curved line of his stitching. you don't feel him come to, but you press a kiss to the top of his shoulder and then he slurs,

"'s'wrong?"

you let out another moan. "i had a bad dream."

touya grunts, like he was expecting more than that. you can't tell if he's relieved or annoyed. "'s'jus' a dream."

"i know," you tell him quietly, though your heart still pounds and you can feel the sweat cooling in your hairline. you press another kiss to his shoulder, and then another, until your peppering scars and freckles along his back. "i love you."

all you get is silence, which isn't surprising. a little more hurtful than usual, in such a vulnerable state, but he's stopped breathing and has gone stiff enough for you to feel the coil of his muscles; whether he says so or not, your words affect him. exactly how, you've yet to find out.

you turn away to let him sleep, nerves satisfied now that he's spoken to you, now that you've felt him breathing under your cheek and lips. but it's not long before he's stretching, bones popping, and he's adjusting in the bed so that he can pull you back into him. touya's face fits into your neck, breath warm against your ear.

another grunt is pulled from him when you wiggle around to face him, wiggling relentlessly in bed until you're as close as can be.

his eyes are closed and he smacks his mouth a little, half asleep. "'s'fine," he tells you, voice deep and raspy. when you wrap your arm around his waist, one of his own trails over your thigh and your hips, smooths past your chest until his fingers are resting at your jaw. "alright?"

you kiss him, soft and chaste and wantless; it's a simple affection, only meant to offer a sweetness he's not always open to receiving. but you've caught him, now, with his defenses down, malleable and warm in your arms.

touya hums, and when you lean up to kiss him again, his lips part, just enough for you to feel the hint of his tongue against your bottom lip. the two of you stay wound together like that, for a while, mouthing lazily at each other, lips growing swollen and bodies growing warm. the heated tips of his fingers ghost along the side of your neck, becoming tangled in the hair at your nape eventually; you slide a hand up his back and draw shapes along the broken trail of his spine.

he falls asleep after ducking his head down to hide against your throat, huffing lightly against your skin. he stays tangled, comfortable and simmering, a promise to still be there when the sun rises.

you much prefer this kind of dream.