Cowboy Gojo Keeps Me Alive Pls Lemme Ride It Cowgirl Style

Ok after this I’m done drawing Deku for the week…I think?

Lucky Clover Cat

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

#imsoinlovewizuku

the liminal space between love and lonely | m. izuku

➳ tags ;; PLEASE READ! 18+ slow-burn, strangers to lovers, fem!reader, plot with porn, explorations of themes like loneliness, minor character death (oc character!), critique of the hero system and of deku, a character study of izuku midoriya, reader is a college student but no age specified!, cooking scene solo!male masturbation, emotional sex, praise kink, fingering, oral (f!recieving), unprotected sex, mostly very vanilla, multiple orgasms, creampies,

➳ wc ;; 26.2k

➳ a/n ;; well folks. we did it. a week of non-stop yelling and screaming, emotionally damaging myself, feeling weird and fucked up and finally.. finally we're here. after all this goddamn time. credits to @/rat-zuki for the izu on the corner and my most honest to god thank you to the bubblepop server who has been only kind to me as i made this thing. especially @cyancherub, @katonshoko and @a-shy-blueberry for betaing this goddamn monster (sorry i make. This many spelling errors lol)

check out the extended authors note here!

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➳ synopsis: pro-hero deku rarely breaks from routine - the one he'd been keeping up with damn near four years. he's meticulous and lonely. he finds he doesn't really have time to feel things like love or lust or anything inbetween. he only meets you circumstance and he finds himself unprepared for the chaos you set off in his heart. what is love but an escape from the loneliness of life?

He can hear the rain from inside.

He changes out of his costume in a little stall on the far east end of town. It’s empty. A single fluorescent light hangs over his head. An eerie clean on the inside, all black tiles on the floor and white doors. A white toilet with a manual flush on it. No toilet paper on the ground, astray. His bag hangs out in the corner as he shimmies out of his hero costume. It sticks and clings to his sweaty body, the thick kevlar material stitched together with steel.

His suit looks about as grimy as him. Sliding off of his torso is a task, he carefully peels himself out of it. His arms first, slowly over his abdomen and then a pause between to take off his belt and gloves. The rest gets tugged haphazardly over his thighs and ass and he steps out of it just before it hits the floor. He doesn’t take too much care to fold it, knowing it can handle the damage. He shoves it into the little duffel bag he has on him, then stacks the rest of his accessories over top. He zips it shut carefully - and stark naked, he takes a deep breath of stale bathroom air.

It hits his body first, the exhaustion. Right in his shoulders where he drops a little. Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs while no one is watching. His whole body droops as he unceremoniously relieves himself, the sound echoing especially loud in the tile bathroom with great acoustics

After that, he reaches into his bag for some babywipes. He keeps them on him to help him feel a little hygienic after long nights. The commute home is going to be long, two bus rides to his block. He uses one wipe to clean his dick off and another few to get the first layer of sweat off of his skin. He can’t help but feel uncomfortable, a leftover residue all over him. It’s better than nothing. The wipes get folded and rest on one of his bags and then he shuffles around in his backpack for clothes.

An all-white hoodie and some basketball shorts, the kind that hang to his knees with that mesh material. He changes into them immediately, soft fabric sliding over his body and making him shudder. The act of changing clothes doesn’t get enough credit for being an act of self-care, he thinks. The shorts come on next, slide just over his v-line, and hang at his hips loosely. There’s a cap and a mask at the very bottom, a white one and a black mask that he slips over the messy mop of green on his head. He snatches another wipe for his face, quick and easy, before sliding the black mask over his mouth and nose.

He makes sure everything is in order before he dips out of there. His duffel bag over one shoulder, his bookbag on his back - steady and secure. He rummages through his things and grabs a torn-up All-Might wallet, the one he’s had since 7th grade, before grabbing the used wet wipes and crumpling them in his hands.

With his freehand, he undoes the door. There’s not a single soul in here, not even a ghost. No leaky faucets or creaking doors to signal the fact that this place is alive. A big mirror stretches along one of the walls, all connected. He doesn’t give it more than one glance as he chucks the wipes in the trash and hurries outside.

When he gets there, it’s still raining. It’s an incredible, thundering rain now. It’s gonna soak him to the bone if he even steps foot in it, and he doesn’t have an umbrella. He could wait for it to pass, he thinks - staring out into the sea of night. Just a few streetlights and gusts of wind to keep him company, a flickering light at the station, and a vending machine between the male and female bathrooms. He’ll have to run through it anyways. To make it on the transport and get home so he can get some hours of well-needed rest, maybe eat and watch a documentary.

He thinks about it for a little, mouth open and brows furrowed. If Deku goes now, he could stop by 7/11. It’s the one that’s always open no matter how late it gets.. and if he goes there maybe he could warm a bento and get a gel pack of electrolytes. He should visit his mom soon, if not for anything else, for a homemade meal. He misses his mom a lot but tries not to think about it.

He should probably just go for it, so he does. With everything clutched to his body, Izuku Midoriya runs towards the first bus-stop that he’ll have to take. One more bus when he makes it and then he’ll be home. It’s not a far run, but running in the rain is always hard. For some reason, it feels like drowning, which is weird - shouldn’t you only be able to drown if you’re in a big body of water? He runs and inhales several gusts of air and water and it feels like he’s in the ocean. He makes it in the nick of time, still catching his breath when he stops.

He ducks into the plastic shelter for people who are going to ride the bus - some advertisements stuck to the wall. He got soaked like predicted. In his head, he’s practicing the way he’s gonna bow his head to the driver. He waits a while. Everything around here is closed now, all dark and dreary. There’s a hue of blue that sets over the whole place, he thinks the streetlights here are colored like that on purpose.

He thinks it’s 10 minutes before the bus gets there. The doors make a loud whoosh sound as they pry open and Deku slips himself between the cracks of the door. He bows at the driver extra deep, an apology whispered from chapped lips that gets waved off. He sits himself in the back, on the edge - just out of instinct. If anything were to happen on the bus, he would be able to see any suspicious passenger. He’s always vigilant, like a 6th sense, sometimes he forgets he’s doing it until it hits him, randomly. All out of nowhere, leaving him to sit in. It’s uncomfortable.

He decides to put on some music, just one headphone. His airpods are deep in his bag and he has to fish for them. He has a playlist that he defaults too, softer lofi sounds and some random acoustic - or whatever he feels like. He’ll listen to anything if he likes it enough.

Another habit, he takes account of everyone in the bus with him. He’s learned to do this everywhere he goes; it’s easier. If something happens - he’ll know what to tell the police and it gets done a lot faster. Late at night, there’s not many shady characters. A man in his late 50’s wearing a construction uniform, a drunk, brown-haired male college student, and a young woman with dyed hair who keeps staring at her ring finger. Other than all of them, it’s just the bus driver and Deku. He probably looks the most suspicious, with the hat and the mask on but he figures there isn’t anything for him to do about that.

The bus ride is smooth and quiet. Nothing happens. No signals to alert him to the threat of danger, just a shared sense of nothing-ness. When he gets closer to all the shopping centres, it’s a bit more lively. He listens to music and closes his eyes. It’s nice. There are so many more colors on every street and every sign, it’s a little easier to look at. He’s the first person to get dropped off among this crowd of people, and all of them watch as he idly passes.

When he leaves and steps off , the scent of petrichor invades his lungs - a hard hit to his chest. He breathes in so much of it he stumbles. The rain is soft now, like a kiss, but it still feels he’s drowning when he inhales. Short pants between each long breath. It’s cold and his clothes cling to him a little. He has 45 minutes till the next bus gets here, and there’s a 7/11 around the corner. He’s never been to that one specifically, he just knows it’s there. Today is the first day he’s going to try to look inside. He needs some more electrolytes, a protein bar, and probably something hot. A cup ramen with an egg, or something else that he can get down in under 15 minutes.

__

The rain made it look misty and far but the walk to the 7/11 was less than ten minutes. When he comes in, still soaking wet - he finds that no one is at the counter. He thinks whoever is working is probably inside of the break room so he doesn’t bother. He thinks anyone working this late should probably avoid strange customers, even him, so he grabs a basket instead. A little water squishies in his shoes as he walks around, a trail of wet steps following behind him

The bright lights makes his head ache, so he finds himself squinting as he walks around the store. It doesn’t stop him from getting what he needs. He finds some protein bars in one aisle, next to all of the electrolyte gel packages. He throws several of them in his basket and keeps moving through, examining each thing with care and patience. He doesn’t need a lot of the things in there, but he buys them anyways. Some jelly candy, a packet of biscuit sweets, some other junk. He normally eats well, healthy - but it’s been a long day.

He gets other things. Some baby wipes for his bag since he’s running out, gauze and bandages, a small two pack of headache medicine over the counter. A silly dog trinket to put on his keys that he buys a little more shyly. He’s so engrossed in it, he doesn’t hear your quiet footsteps as you meander back to the counter. You were on your bathroom break and when you came back, a shady dude in a hoodie and mask came in. Alarmed, you watch for a while.

But given all the things in his basket, he seems harmless. A squishy shiba-inu charm isn’t exactly something a villain would own.

You get engrossed in your reading again as he gets to the food in the back part of the store. Some warm street food, warmed in a rotisserie, cup ramen and a station for hot water, disposable chopsticks and a few left-over pre-packaged bentos. He decides on ramen, some eggs, and protein bars. When he gets home he’ll eat a proper meal, or at least try - but his stomach has been rumbling since he left the bathroom.

After 5 minutes of debating, he comes up to the counter - startled by your presence. You don’t stick out to him and he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. He blinks down at you as you tuck your book away, a paper napkin being used to keep track. It goes somewhere under the counter as you yawn before greeting him.

“Welcome to 7/11. Did you find everything okay today?”

He goes blank for a second before registering what you’ve said.

“Oh, uhm - yes,” he replies awkwardly, putting his basket on the counter and slowly taking his things out.

You don’t look up as you start scanning his items one by one, punching something into the screen as you do. You talk on autopilot.

“Long night?” you ask, mindlessly. He gives you another surprised look before breaking out into a mostly genuine laugh.

“That obvious?”

His banter catches you off-guard. Before you know it, you’re cracking a smile at him. A little laugh leaves your mouth, heavy with the evening. Raspy from exhaustion, he imagines. You give him a once over, as if you’re thinking about it before nodding.

“A little, yeah.”

The pleasantry makes your mood lighter as you scan and bag his items. With rapport built, he feels comfortable asking.

“..Is it just you working tonight?”

Caught off guard, you lift your eyes to look at him. A little ribbon of fear pulls through you before relaxing. You nod a little.

“Yeah.. just me. I work the night-shift,”

He blinks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. In a way you have, you know you have. It’s a little unheard for a woman your age to be working alone, late at night, in the middle of the city. It irritates him that your boss, whoever they are, would let you. The hero in him wants to ask if you have any weapons you know how to use, and if you know all the exists exits and how to signal for the police.

Nothing really comes out of his mouth, brow furrowed. Noticing his concern, you decide to give him a little more info.

“I live around the corner, maybe two blocks from here. The hours aren’t great but it works for my schedule. It’s a safe area. I’m pretty vigilant, so -,”

“Still.. a civilian should already be cautious but especially a woman your age -”

You pause, and so does he. A soft pink flush dusts his cheekbones. You blink.

“Civilian… are you a hero? That would explain why you're here so late,” ― you say aloud, ringing up the last of his belongings. You give him a good look, green hair peering out of cap and green eyes bright and blinking ― “...Pro-Hero Deku right?,”

Despite the fact he’s been a pro-hero for almost 4 years, he still isn’t sure how to handle being recognized. His face is plastered over the country yet he still finds the whole thing uncomfortable. Not knowing how to reply, he just nods.

“Y-yeah.. that’s me,”

Your eyes go wide for a moment, a little shock hitting you before giving him a smile.

“Oh..cool. Nice to meet you,”

After bracing himself for a slew of questions, his check back into reality feels weird. You tap at the screen a few times before going back to normal.

“That’ll be 2,950 yen” you tell him plainly. He’s stuck for a minute but manages to grope around from his wallet. He slides his card on the little machine, punching his pin in and hearing a little ding sound. Transaction complete rings on the machine and you print the receipt, tucking into one of the bags before pushing it lightly towards him.

He can’t describe it, the sudden need to stay here for a while, instead of rushing home like he’d planned. Maybe it’s because the hero in him couldn’t just leave, knowing you’d be alone this late at night. Maybe it’s something else. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“Can I eat this here?” comes out as a messy rush, hastily pulling out the ramen. You blink at him before smiling a little. He has a charm to him, a little awkward, that makes you laugh. Makes you feel better. It’s not so bad.

“Sure,” ― you tell him, leaning over the counter ― “Want me to keep you company?”

__

“So you’re a student here?”

Deku is less than halfway into his ramen, blowing on the hot noodles between each question before carefully sliding them into his mouth. You laugh a little, nodding your head with your chin resting on your palms.

“Yeah. I’m in what’s supposed to be my last year, but I don’t think I’ll graduate until next year,” you explain. You worry it’s too much information, you doubt a hero like him is all that interested.

But he looks engrossed in your conversation, even though one of his cheeks is swollen with hot ramen.

“I don’t really know anything about college,” he admits to you sheepishly.

“Oh yeah.. not a lot of pros go into college right?,”

He shakes his head, swallowing a bite and taking a breath.

“Not really. There’s some Hero Colleges and programs but most of us just join another agency as sidekicks or try to open our own,” ― he explains to you, raking his thoughts on who he can think of that went to one ― “I don’t think anyone from U.A’s graduating classes has gone to one. Some people at Shiketsu High, but not U.A,”

You give him a half-way smirk.

“I don’t see why a school of elites would need to go to a hero college either, yknow”

He chokes on his ramen, giving you a soft pout as you giggle. He wipes his mouth with a napkin, shaking his head as if to dispel any of the thoughts.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he insists. You smile at how genuine he’s being.

“I know, but isn’t it true? A school of such prestigious heroes.. I figure most of you went pro right away,”

“Me, Kacch- Dynamight, and Shouto opened our agencies as soon as we were 18. Most of our classmates went into being sidekicks but they almost all have their own agencies,”

“It’s cool that you have your own agency. I see you in the news all the time,” you tell him, comfortable complimenting him. His whole face always stops before it hits, a little blush delicate on his face.

It’s charming about him, you think. You have to admit, even you feel starstruck. A chance encounter with Pro-Hero Deku is nothing to sneeze at. Somehow, you think interviews don’t do him enough justice. In person, he’s much more charming. He’s awkward but he banters well and he’s handsome. He listens, too. Polite and respectable, you understand why he won Japan's Sweetheart last year.

“Ah.. thank you. It’s a dream come true for me, so I have to do my best,”

You give him a little smile.

“My little cousin loves you, so I’d say you’re doing pretty good,”

His eyes go wide, big and green and full of life.

“Really?”

“Really really. I was pretty starstruck when I realized and I’m not that big into hero stuff. I learn second hand from him,”

He gives you a laugh this time, loud and bright.

“Starstruck? Really? I’m surprised… you didn’t seem fazed at all,”

You shrug.

“I’m good at hiding my reactions. Working this late, it’s part of the gig,”

He gives you a deep laugh at that, straight from his chest. It sends a little chill up your spine.

“I bet..probably see a lot of.. interesting people here, huh?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Mostly just me though, gets kinda lonely,”

You don’t mean for the words to come off so heavy when you say them. You’re going to make a joke but you stop, stagnant - his green eyes are unusually somber. The most you’ve seen them the entire night.

“Yeah..” ― he replies back, voice distant and eyes far off― “I get what you mean,”

It’s hard to explain the feeling. It’s not like anything else you’ve ever felt. Maybe it’s just the adrenaline of good company, or the absence of light that has you feeling like this. It’s odd, all of it. You take an inhale and it’s quiet, and you think for a while.

“It was nice,” ― you say first, breaking the silence ― “Having company, I mean. It was nice to have someone here. My shifts are always super boring,”

He lifts his head to look at you. He’s probably just tired, just sleepy. The plausible reason for all that can only be his exhaustion. He’s compelled anyway. With a little laugh, he throws his things away and packs up his other belongings.

“It was, wasn’t it?,”

You’re the only person he’s spoken to in weeks. Just this small talk, so far removed from everything in his life.

“I’m here at the same time, everyday so,” ― you feel shy saying it, flush reaching your neck ― “If you’re ever in the area.. wanna kill some time. It’d be nice to see you again. I’m sure you’re super busy so no -”

“I’ll be back soon,” he says with finality, a little breathy at the end of your sentence. He smiles at you and you smile at him. It’s dizzying

You laugh back, and your shoulders relax. A grin makes itself permanent, cheeks aching.

“I’ll look forward to it, Mr. Deku,”

It’s his turn to look shy.

“Ah.. Midoriya. You can just call me Midoriya,”

“I’ll look forward to it... Midoriya,”

He gives you one last goodbye, watching as you wave from the window towards him. He can’t help but laugh. When he turns around, he checks the time and his eyes go wide. An exasperated chuckle leaves his mouth. The bus he was supposed to take left more than an hour ago but the next one is close by. He’s still kind of wet from the rain, and his shoes are soaked.

But he feels full, and not at all uncomfortable . When he walks to the station, he has a permeating warmth in him. He catches the next bus with all of his things intact and makes it home in around fifteen minutes. The suns just about to rise when he stumbles into his empty apartment.

Normally, he’d feel like he’s dragging his feet. But when he gets home, he has all this energy he’s not sure what to do with. He showers first, hot water washing off the grime of the day, and when he gets out he changes into new clothes.

But when he gets out, he finds he’s not hungry. He doesn’t really want anything other than to sleep and for it to be tomorrow again. He goes home and thinks of you the whole day. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept so easily until his head hits the pillow.

__

Deku’s daily routine for the last two years has been very consistent.

It took some time for him to get it all in order, a lot of planning and replanning. He’s the head of his own agency - in the first place, he feels like he’s always on the clock. The biggest of the big three, All Might's successor, he has a lot of responsibility. When people need advice about running an agency, he’s normally the first person they’d ask. These days some of the responsibility gets passed onto Kacchan and Todoroki, but Deku has always been the friendly one, the helpful one.

He really doesn’t have it in him to say no, so when Kirishima calls him at odd hours with his most sincere “Midoriya!” it’s hard for him to ignore. A routine is less of want and more of necessity. To keep his sanity intact, he has to know exactly when and how something is going to happen. He’s more disorganized than Kacchan, and more lenient than Todoroki. And it took a long time - almost two years - to get a good schedule that he could follow every single day without getting too exhausted or overworked.

Everythings worked out, down to the most devilish detail. During the weekday, he patrols the night shift about 5 days a week. He wakes up around 12pm after going to sleep at around 6am each night. On Mondays and Fridays, he does cardio first thing in the morning and the rest of the week is weight-training. Half a gallon of water before and after each workout. He eats for the first time at 2pm and logs his macros, almost 200g of protein a day. More water and then he showers at 3pm. He’s always in the shower for 27 minutes exactly and out of the bathroom at 3:30.

After his shower, he meanders around his house and takes care of little tasks before he leaves the house in another hour. He dries his hair and puts product in it, puts on lotion and deodorant, waters whatever plant he manages to keep alive. It’s nice, the domesticity. In that time, he normally checks up on chats and replies to old friends. Always shallow, little conversations when he has the time. He calls his mom and she gives him a lecture about taking care of himself.

It’s all routine, and at 4:30 he gets dressed. The commute to his agency is about an hour, most of it just waiting for the next bus and on a good day - he makes it around 5:30, half-an hour before he’s supposed to be there. Most days though he’s lucky to be in around 5:45. When he steps foot in the agency, he’s normally swarmed immediately.

His assistant fills him on what paperwork needs approval and what’s going on in the day, within the week. What meetings, what dates, what information needs to be sent to the data analysts on the bottom floor. He’s in the office for about two hours doing housekeeping, and delegating tasks to the rest of his team. He normally eats again, right before patrols. At 8, he knows it’s time to change into his costume.

He patrols from 8:30pm to 3am, sometimes later if there’s more crime than usual. He’s the last person at the agency, and at 3am he picks up his stuff from the office. Sometimes he changes in there but most of the time - he’s rushing to get it completely closed down. He normally grabs his bags and walks to the little restroom station in the middle of nowhere.

He changes and takes two buses just like before. It’s better for the environment to commute, but he thinks maybe he should invest in a car, or a bike. The commute is much shorter at night than during the day, when there’s traffic. He’s normally home sometime around 5. He eats one big meal again and goes to sleep. He thinks he should eat a little less at night but patrols leave him starving. He showers before bed and does it all again the next day.

He has one day off a week, on Sundays he doesn’t work at all. He’s mostly unreachable except for the emergency phone he has. He disconnects other than the news on TV. He only really started taking a day off because of his mom, anyway. He spends it in the house, watching documentaries, or sleeping, or getting some more weight training in. He can deadlift a few tons by now.

His week is routine, and he keeps busy wherever he can. It’s hard to see friends when everyone is scheduled at different times, doing different things. Sometimes he gets lucky enough to see Todoroki or Kacchan during the week - and even if his childhood friend is hard pressed to admit it, it’s nice to see each other. Most Sundays, he visits his mom and hangs around her house. He thinks most people would find it weird, but it’s comforting. Laying on the couch and watching romance movies with her, passing her tissues when she cries.

He’s gotten good at laughing off her comments about when he’ll find someone. They’re lighthearted by nature, but he knows there’s an edge of truth to them. Deku doesn’t remember the last time he thought seriously about love, or the last time he changed his routine. Some things, he just doesn’t think about. He can’t, realy.

He’s had the same routine for almost 2 years and he doesn’t normally deviate from it.

But it’s been a few months, and everyday after work - Deku pushes back his plans to go home by about an hour. He catches the latest bus there and gets about an hour less of sleep than normal. It’s not enough to stop him. He doesn’t eat as much at night like he used to, not as hungry as before. He just goes home and sleeps. And lately on Sundays, he still visits his mom but he can’t wait for the weekdays to come again.

He’s been journaling since he was young, too, accustomed to jotting his day down. Just to keep track of heroic stuff. Important details. His habitual note-taking never really went away, notes of notorious villains and cases line his walls edge to edge. In his personal journal, he normally jots down whatever comes to mind. Nothing interesting. Nothing special, by nature. Deku doesn’t really have much going on.

These last few months though, each page has more than a few paragraphs. Sometimes the entries fill to the edge of the page. They’re long and detailed. Sometimes beautiful, maybe even poetic. These days, they’re filled with the words of a person. A someone. Not a classmate, or a new sidekick. Just someone, who works the nightshift of 7/11 and likes to sleep.

He’s started to keep his pen and paper in the bag instead of waiting to get home, words buzzing around in his head. He writes down the details of your conversation on the bus ride back, a playlist in his ears. On each page, there’s little bumps and blips from where the bus hits a pothole. It’s dated, and organized. You can see where little notes become full pages.

And it’s filled edge to edge with new facts about you. Next to words about what beautiful things he’d seen that day. The sun and how it rose, the dog walking on the street. It’s different for him, to sit down and think of beautiful things. He doesn’t remember the last time he found anything beautiful, at least not like this.

Deku learns these things about you, in order. He learns your name - your full name. The country you're from and where your parents are from. Where you go to school and what you major in. Your best friend's name. He learns what your tattoos mean, and how many piercings you have and which ones you want. Why you part your hair the way you do or why it’s styled the way it is, and what your favorite colors are. One week, he learns in detail your analysis of your favorite anime franchise. He learns what colors you like to paint your nails and why your manicures are always chipped.

Some details you don’t express to him, some he just catalogs. You always have your right hand over your left. Your smile is a little lopsided and you don’t rest your face often. You always look sleepy, even when you’re wide awake. You like to laugh and you like making stupid jokes. You like complimenting him. You don’t mind when he stutters in conversation. You like to eat those little jelly packets when you’re feeling antsy. Your physics class is exhausting because it’s the only book you study when you’re not reading a fiction book or manga.

You’re exhausted. You’re pretty to look at. When he looks at you, he thinks he should know more about you. He’s starting to feel something for you. It’s weird. He doesn’t mind your company. He wants to see you again.

He wants to see you again.

He wants to see you again.

__

He starts bringing face wash in his bag to look decent for you.

It works. Yesterday, when he saw you, you told him he looks refreshed. He did today again, but he knows you might not notice. Still, it felt like the right thing to do.

He ducks his head a little when he enters after his long shift. The bright lights are still blinding and it’s raining again - knee deep into storm season. He should buy an umbrella soon. When he walks in, he immediately looks at the counter. When he finds you're not there, he’s more disappointed than he should be. He gets over it fast, busying himself with grabbing his to-go choices of dinner. It’s quiet, just him and his thoughts. His back aches a little so he buys a little muscle relief pad to put on it when he gets home.

It was a busier day than normal. There was a shoot-out earlier, a couple miles from his agency. Him and Kacchan ended up taking care of it, and about a group of 7 villains were arrested at the scene. There’s three more on the loose. After everything, Uraraka came by to help take care of the aftermath but those villains were tough to fight. All long range fighters, not Deku’s speciality even with blackwhip. A small criminal organization trying to gain some notoriety in the public, Deku’s been watching their case for months now.

Nothing they can’t handle but exhausting all the same. His body is sore all over, covered in bruises. He got patched up in the agency, in the medical unit but he can’t help but feel tired.

Still, he ended up coming here. He decides to eat a bento today, instead of ramen.

When you wander back behind the counter, you smile. You watch him mutter to himself for a minute or two before calling out for him.

“Look what the cat dragged in,”

His whole body gets warm when you talk. He stands up and turns around, a grin on his cheeks. Sheepishly, he walks over to you with a basket on hand. He walks over to the counter and places the little basket on top of it. You go to scan his things with your usual autopilot on.

“Oh! A bento today?,”

He smiles and laughs, resting his forearms on the counter. Your eyes are drawn to them. Instead of the usual hoodie, it’s a white v-neck that sticks to all the most muscular parts of his body. You shiver as you look and then look away. He yawns.

“Yeah.. felt like I should eat something more proper,”

You snort a laugh at that.

“For being a pro-hero, your diet is kinda shit, isn’t it?”

He blushes at you.

“What gave it away?”

“Ramen, I can forgive. But the protein bars and electrolyte packs are dead give-aways. You don’t cook..?”

He flusters a little bit more, shaking his head when he winces.

“Never picked it up, to be honest,”

You give him a smug smile before laughing as you ring up the last of his things.

“You’re such a mamas boy,” ― you tease, and he laughs and lets you ― “Lemme guess, you didn’t learn how to do a bunch of stuff until you moved out,”

He chuckles, paying for his items in between exchanges. He nods.

“When we moved into the dorms, Kacchan had to show me how to use the washer and dryer. I was also super clumsy about washing dishes. Too much soap, not enough time under the water. Little stuff like that,”

“And now…?”

He crinkles his nose and gives you a faux-pointed look.

“And now.. I use the dishwasher. I’m clean though, I swear,”

“Uh-huh. Sure,”

He rolls his eyes and the look sends your stomach fluttering. It’s a little more snarky, more comfortable. Your cheeks ache from smiling.

“What about you?”

You hand him some wooden chopsticks, putting his basket under the table as he settles into the seat closest to your counter next to the window. You give it a thought, as if deciding on what to say.

“My place is mostly spotless, other than my bedroom. My bedroom is a complete nightmare. Clothes and books and stuff everywhere. I can cook though, had to learn since college made me super broke,” you muse. He gives you a soft smile.

You pause, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

“I could cook for you sometime,” ― you suggest, treading especially careful, heart in the back of your throat ― “Whatever gets you to stop eating out like this.. for the greater good, y’know,”

He stares at you, gaping. For a split second he thinks he’s gonna be sick, but before you can retract - he scrambles. Chewing and swallowing his rice with impatience, he lifts a hand and nods his hand.

“No, I’d - uhm, I’d love that. I miss.. eating home cooked meals, honestly. Maybe you could.. you could teach me something?”

Your turn to be surprised. Your eyes go wide before relaxing and grinning, dropping your head down.

“Yeah. I can teach you to make curry. It’s really easy, but if I’m gonna take time out of my precious schedule to teach you, you have to promise to be a good student. No half-assing,”

Everything is so relaxed. So pleasant. He laughs, so loudly and so openly it makes your heart race. That feeling in your gut triples in size and you think to yourself, only briefly, what the odds were of meeting someone like him.

“If there’s one thing I’m good at is trying my best,” ― he tells you confidently, a little smugness tied to the end of his words. It flushes you instantly ― “I’m a fast learner too. I’ll make you proud,”

You can’t stop smiling. You think if a car came through the other window, all of your attention would still be right at him. Something about him is homely, familiar. He’s so easy to talk to, you forget that you haven’t known him long. You forget all the work you have to do still, all your worries.

“You better,” you try to say with authority. The both of you fall into laughter and it goes quiet for a moment. It’s not uncomfortable, a soft thrumming heartbeat and two people and nothing else.

“By the way,” ― you lean forward, examining him a little more closely ― “what happened today that’s got you so beat up?”

He widens his eyes and shakes his head.

“Nothing to worry about,” he assures you. The response immediately makes you frown.

“I know I’m a civilian Mr. Deku, but c'mon,” you urge “You look tired and you bought those little muscle patches - what’s up?”

He strains his face, frowning. His brow furrows.

“Are you sure you wanna know?”

You roll your eyes a little.

“Yes I’m sure. I’m always sure. If I didn’t wanna know, I wouldn’t ask,”

He supposed he can’t argue with that. He thinks on it, for a moment like he doesn’t know what to say. Your face softens watching his back and forth.

“You don’t have to sugarcoat it,” ― you say cautiously ― “Just say what,s on your mind. Don’t think about it too hard,”

He gives you a quick run-down of the day. All of the information is public, in the news. He sprinkles in some details about who he fought but doesn’t go into detail. He watches as your face strings up in concern, smiling softly at you.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” ― he tells you, his best hero look on ― “I got patched up, just sore. In a days’ work,”

“Of course I’m gonna worry,” ― your mouth curls into a pout, sighing a little ― “I know it’s your job and everything. It’s just like.. I don’t know - I still worry. I care,”

He laughs, and smiles. He doesn’t like making people worry, but from you.. it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Are you okay?” ― you ask, as if trying to figure out what you can do ― “Mentally or physically. Are you… is everything okay? Do you need anything,”

His heart feels heavy, just a little. He doesn’t remember the last time someone asked him that. He doesn’t know how to reply to it, mouth going cotton dry. His chest feels tight and his eyes are itchy.

“I uhm.. I’m really okay. Sore, like I said. But today’s job wasn’t so bad. Nobody got hurt, and everyone got out safely. It went well, all things considered,” ― he pauses like he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence ― “I’m.. today it was okay. I’m okay. Tired though, I even showered at the agency,”

You’re still frowning. Maybe you’re pushing it, the boundaries between the two of you.

“When it doesn’t go okay,” ― you say through a bated breath ― “Even when it doesn’t go okay, you can tell me. I don’t mind,”

But it sounds a lot like a please, like an “I want to know when something bad happens” and it’s enough to choke him up a little. He simply nods.

You give him a tight smile, before sighing.

“You said you were sore right? Do you… I could uhm.. help you put on your muscle patches. So you can just go home and sleep,” ― you say awkwardly ― “Th-the break room doesn’t have c-cameras so you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. I just.. I think you should rest as soon as you get home,”

There’s that funny feeling again, deep in his gut. It curls all over him, a sticky feeling so syrupy, it burns. A pink hue brushes against the nape of neck, wrapping around his ears, dancing on his nose and freckled face. He’s really not used to it. Not a moment of it.

But without thinking, he nods. Something comes over him, and he says sure.

“Yeah.. uhm. If you want too.. sure. That’d be.. nice,”

___

When he finishes his food, he throws it away in a grey trash can with a round opening. You tell him he leaves his stuff behind the counter instead of where he sits, and he obliges without hesitation. He leaves it right next to your stool where your book sits. You put a little sign up - that the employee is on a break and will be with you shortly and gesture for him.

Carefully, you guide him through a narrow hallway into the breakroom. It’s a big and windowless room. Inside of it there’s some lockers along the walls and a little rack to keep jackets and bags - separating the place into two. A TV sits against one of the walls and then a bunch of poster boards. You have employee of the month, an awkward photo of you put up. He smiles at it and you flush.

“I’ve had it for 4 months now, so the pictures are kinda old,” you explain self-consciously. He chuckles. He can’t help but feel that’s so very typical of you.

There’s a table in the center of the room. You tell him to give you a minute as you go back behind the wall. While you do, he examines the rest of the room. A machine for clocking in and out, a sink and a trash can, some chairs and some random pins for putting on your employee lanyard. Some coloring books, some crayons and other random stuff.

You return with a wooden stool you think he’ll fit on.

You take the little bag out of his hand and place it on the counter. He’s taller than you so you have to reach up to guide him to the stool. He plops himself down on it and flushes.

“Where do you need them?,”

“Uhm.. a lot of them are on my back. Upper and lower, and a few on my shoulders. Wh-when I do it alone, I just stick them on and hope for the best,” he explains to you. You shake your head.

“I figured,” ― you brush something touching your skin out of your face ― “I can press around and then you can tell me where you need one. Does that sound okay?”

His whole body goes stiff.

“I used to do this for a friend in highschool. So.. don’t worry about it too much,” ― you explain, trying your best to swallow the abashed feeling ― “Y-you might wanna take your shirt off though,”

“Oh! U-uhm.. yeah. One sec,”

You step back and try to avert your gaze. He takes his hat and mask off first and pauses. After, he gives a shaky exhale as he grabs the bottom of his v-neck in his hands, scarred hands crossing as he tugs it over his torso, above his head, and eventually all the way off of his body. All of his clothes get dropped on the table next to him, and he runs a hair through curly green hairs. Just to push back most of it, away from his face. He sits there, straightening up his back and you see it for the first time.

You’ve heard all sorts of stories about Deku and his scars. Your younger cousin has told you about it, how cool they are. It’s rumored that he has over a hundred, all kinds of battles lingering on his body. You know he has a lot, and have known ever since you saw his hands. It’s more scar tissue than skin.

It’s.. so different up close. Mixed emotions well up inside of you, and your hands tremble when you reach out and touch it. A little jolt of electricity goes up his spine and he twitches, but you don’t move your hand. Like you can’t. Your eyes are making him nervous.

“I know it’s kind of.. ugly to look at,”

You shake your head, but you realize he can’t see. You place your whole hand on his back, the muscle between his spine and shoulder. A delicate thumb brushes on the skin. You can’t seem to pull back, can’t look away at all, even when you try. Your eyes are big and they feel unusually tearful.

“No.. I don’t think they’re ugly at all. I just wasn’t expecting so many scars,”

He laughs unsteadily. It’s so intimate. His heart is in his ears. His body feels somewhere far away.

“Yeah. I hear that a lot,” ― he replies, nervous, and playing with hands like he doesn’t know what else to do ― “It doesn’t bother you..?”

It’s the softest touch. So gentle, and so.. caring. He shakes a little as you run them up, on his shoulder. You squeeze it.

“Not at all.. I like them,”

His eyes widen. He turns to look at you over his shoulder and you don’t look disgusted. You look fascinated. You look at his scars, then briefly at him. Your eyes meet and he stares at you.

“You.. like them?”

You nod, and don’t break eye-contact.

“I like them,” ― you confirm with finality, like there’s not more to be said ― “They’re unique. I don’t know.. I don’t think they’re ugly,”

He feels it, when you say it. He knows it’s nothing to ride home about, but he can’t remember. When was the last time someone touched him like this? When was the last time he let someone.. look at him so close? He can’t remember. He isn't sure he cares but he can feel your hands.. all over his skin. He breathes out.

“Thank you.. for thinking that,”

You really don’t mean to touch him. You weren’t planning on it. But your hands move freely across his skin and before you can think. You pull back.

“Is this okay?” but there’s an addendum unspoken, is it okay if i touch you like this?

He nods a little, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.. it’s okay,” but it sounds like yes, yes please

You reach out again, like a ghost on his body. Your hands are gentle at first, you press them against the muscles of his back. He takes a breath. You don’t feel like your voice is in its place. The words come out quiet, hushed.

“If I press somewhere and it hurts.. tell me and I’ll put a patch on,”

You don’t mean to touch him like this. Yet you can’t stop yourself either, your hands roam over the free parts of his skin, thumbs pressing down. You watch his body carefully, listening to his deep sighs or when he winces. He lets out a sharp inhale when you're closer to his lower back, so you stop and feel around. Your fingers knead the tense muscles and he lets out a soft sound, like a whimper. It’s halfway between pathetic and exhausting. Your core tightens a little.

“You’re so tense,” ― your voice is halfway above a whisper, electric ― “Relax a little,”

He wants to say he’s trying. He swears with everything he has he’s trying. But all he can think of is the pressure of your nimble hands, this skin on skin feeling - intimacy. The word feels like swallowing swords, so sharp and so deep. He can feel it in his chest, so suffocating. Overwhelming. He wants to relax but all he can think is how long it’s been.. to be touched. He hasn’t even had time to think about it. To wrap his head around something like that.

“Sorry,” comes out his mouth and you shake your head.

“It’s okay,” ― you press and he winces, then you pause and put one on ― “This is for you. I don’t want you to stress about it,”

It shocks him a little. It’s for him.. He feels feverish. He feels lightheaded and like he can’t breathe and your hands are hot they feel like steel rods. Molten against the skin of his back, you dance over every bump. He’s jagged from how often he’s been torn apart but you’re so unfazed. You touch every part, up his spine over his shoulders, down his arms.

It’s blistering to experience so much all at once. Like a flood, a natural disaster in the crevices of his heart. It’s overwhelming. The presence of your body, how the heat radiates. Your soft breaths, concentrated. The shuffle of your feet and the sounds of plastic being torn and placed. There’s nothing he can focus on other than you and how your hands are feeling his body. How small they are compared to his muscular form. How soft they are, scarless and warm. So inviting he can feel it stir in his stomach. He’s barely holding himself together, clenching his muscles so the blood stays in place.

“Is there anywhere I missed?”

No, not from what he can feel. His whole body has heat on the sorest parts of him.

“My shoulders.. the right one,” he rasps. You massage the muscle underneath until you hit his shoulders. His whole body is like stone, both stiff and muscular. You wince a little as you touch it, press on it. His whole body convulses at the feeling.

“There?”

He breathes in.

“Y-yeah, there,”

His normal numbness is replaced with oversensitivity. Every movement, or gust of wind, or touch makes him feel like his stomach is binded in knots. You don’t stop until every muscle that’s sore is covered in a soft white bandage. He tries his best to adjust to it, but he never does. When you’re all done, you smooth another hand over his skin, patting his back. He urges his disappointment down. Tries his best to leave it behind. His gut sinks.

“I think I got everything,” ― you whisper, almost noiseless, as you step away from him ― “If there’s anything else I can do for you, Midoriya - just let me know,”

He slips his shirt over his body and gathers his things. He watches you as you throw the little packets away and rearrange his bag. There’s a lingering feeling all over him, each nerve bristled. More awake than they’ve been in years. When you turn back around, his heart races even faster than before. Your eyes are unchanging, half-moons and delicate. Little rings of exhaustion and heavy lashes. He wants to do something for you, but he can’t think of anything.

“Can I have your number?”

You stumble a little at the question. You press your lips together and nod.

“Yeah,” ― you look down at your feet, shuffling nervously ― “My phones by the counter,”

The tension is so thick, he can feel it web in his lungs. Every breath he breathes smells like you, sweet. His whole body feels like it pulsates, the blood rushing in his skin. His ears pound and his footsteps feel heavy and the idea he has to leave and just go home after this makes him antsy.

You guide him back through the narrow halls after he puts his mask and hat on. He takes his bag from behind the counter and exits to the other side. No one’s come by and it doesn’t look like anyone will. You immediately grab your phone, and your hands feel like they’re buzzing.

“I’m not free this Sunday. I promised my mom I would help her with her tomato beds” ― he scratches the back of his neck, staring at the counter before braving face to meet your eyes ― “But next Sunday, if you still wanna teach me how to.. uhm, cook,”

You survey his expression, corners of your lips upturned.

“.. Yeah. Give me your phone and I can give you a time that works for me,”

He reaches for it, unlocking with a quick swipe, pulling his mask down for face ID. He hands it to you carelessly and you give him a little side-eye laughing. A pro-hero like him should be more careful. He watches as you type some words, scrolling through a sea of emoji and making sure your contact is all set up. You hand it back to him and he tucks it in his pocket.

“Text me that you made it home safe Mr. Deku,”

He shakes his head, laughing.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be saying to you?”

You shrug.

“Maybe. But I said it first, so you gotta do it okay? Otherwise how will I know my dame made it home safe,”

He laughs then blushes at being called a dame, shaking his head. At how ridiculous you make him feel at ease. He nods his head.

“Of course. You too, be safe getting home,”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Midoriya,”

“See you tomorrow,”

__

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s been so high strung

After his bus ride home, he finds himself alone with his thoughts for the very first time in a long time. Normally, after seeing you, his body doses itself on whatever sleepy chemical and he falls asleep promptly. But today, no matter what he does, he can’t seem to fall asleep. One hundred jumping jacks, a warm shower and warm glass of milk, counting to almost one thousand. He’s been at it for what feels like hours, trying his very best to sleep.

But he can’t turn his thoughts off. They’re especially loud and they seep themselves into every crevice of his mind, no stone unturned. He just wants to sleep. He wants it desperately but every time he reaches for it, eyelids heavy, his desire pulls him right out.

Deku’s relationship to sex is.. complicated. The older he got, the less he got off. Not because he didn’t want to, or that he didn’t have any desires but mostly because he was so swamped he didn’t have it in him to do it. He was drained enough, and if he wanted stress relief or to get the hormones out of his system - a couple hours of powerlifting seemed to do the trick. He’s had plenty of offers for sexual favors but he doesn’t really have any strings attached. The last time he had anyone.. touch him was in highschool when he lost his virginity to Uravity in his third year.

Those feelings washed out and he was left an adult with no practical experience in sex or dating. He has his fair share of fantasies, stuff that goes in his bank of materials when he finds the time for it. But he works now, so much and so often, he can only really get a quick one in when he’s in the shower. In the same way you might scratch an itch, it’s quick and easy. Not fulfilling but it gets the job done and settles his want for intimacy.

He hasn’t thought about it really at all in almost a year. There’s always so much to do, no time to think about anything but hero work. In the prime of his career, it’s even less than an afterthought.

But now it’s almost 7am and Izuku Midoriya is tossing and turning in his bed with a desire so raw and so hungry it makes his whole body burn up. He feels guilty to make you the object of his desires. It’s already hard enough for him to admit to himself what this all means. He still hasn’t and he isn’t sure when it’ll happen.

But the sun is rising and birds are chirping, and Deku has one hand pulling his shirt over his abdomen and another tugging at his cock, hard and thick and heavy. He hasn’t touched himself in so long and this yearning feeling doesn’t do anything to settle it. He spits into his palm and drips it on before setting a pace. His own hand runs carefully up his torso as he remembers your touch. So intimate and so patient. He doesn’t remember a time in his life where anyones touched him like that. You’re the first to ever treat him so gently. Your hands are so small compared to his, compared to him. He towers over you.

He knows all the little expressions you make - happy, sad, excited. He can almost see it when he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, what you’d look like with your hands wrapped around his cock. How’d you stroke it so patiently, how soft they’d feel - it makes him fuck into his fist. Like if he goes at it hard enough it’ll start to feel like you. He wants to be sated so he holds off on cumming so quickly. He lets himself get impossibly hard and tugs his cock, edges himself till the tip of its stark red.

All he can think of is you. If he got lucky, maybe he could touch you in return. The thought sends him reeling, how your body would feel locked between his palms, massaging your skin. He wants you so bad and he wants to cum, fuck he wants to cum more than he wants anything else. He wants to cum with you, or on you, or inside of you.

“Oh fuck,” ― something guttural leaves his chest as he fantasizes about you calling his name. Not Deku or Midoriya but Izuku ― “Fuck, fuck,”

Izuku, Izuku, Izuku - it’s all he thinks of. Bouncing you so pretty on his lap while you call for him. Touching you in the same way you touched him, burning all over your skin. He wants it so bad he’s drooling. His whole body tightens and he spasms and his fist goes sloppy. He cums so hard he thinks he might see light, and it shoots so thick - all the way up to his chest. It comes out in ropes, hits his chin and keeps spurting until there’s nothing left. His body shakes, little tremors in between each breath. His breath is ragged like he’s been running a marathon. He’s sticky and he has to get up to wash his hands and clean himself off - feeling just slightly ashamed at what just occurred. He’s sure when he wakes up he’ll feel the full force of his embarrassment, and the thought alone makes his heart almost fall out of his ass.

More than anything else though, in the cool fluorescent lights of his bathroom - he examines himself. He hasn’t done that in a long time either, examine his state of being.

The nature of loneliness is that it seeps into you slowly. So slowly you don’t feel it at first. You become so isolated that you forget what it’s like to be in the company of someone. Something happens, and you don’t feel it for a brief moment, and it’s like you can breathe all over again. Someone welcomes you to themselves and you want to stay. When they smile, you want to share in their joy and when hardship troubles you, they carry their burdens on your shoulders. You meet someone, someday, and it clicks that they understand you and you are reminded of how lonely you are and have always been.

It’s nearing 8am and Deku stares at himself in the mirror for the very first time in weeks. The sun peers in through the side windows, yellow golden light making shadows all over his body. He looks at his eyes, his hands, his scars - the muscle patches and he thinks of you. And how the dreadful feeling he’s been avoiding this whole time finds him again. He knows what it’s like to be knocked on your ass, but this feels worse. Heavier, somehow.

Everything he’d been avoiding till now falls into his lap with a sudden force. It’s gut-wrenching but not agonizing. The sort of stomachache you get from knowing instead of not. He wants to go back to right before this, when he didn’t have a word. When he was ignorant to his own needs that he’d been putting off.

Japan’s Sweetheart, All-Mights Successor, Number One Hero - Izuku Midoriya is lonely.

__

Next Sunday comes so quickly he almost misses it.

It was a busy week, more so than usual. The beginning of the fall season means an increase in organized crime and a decrease in violent crimes. It’s less strenuous physically but an uprise in gang-related or villain organization killings tends to put him under an unusual amount of stress. The whole he was in and out of the agency, tracking evidence with the police and generally working longer hours. Sleeping in and napping at this desk, his assistant putting a jacket on his shoulders as he plants himself face down on his desk.

It’s more of an issue since Deku is... meticulous. He likes to be through in a way a lot of his peers just aren’t and it means he’s double, triple checking every single thing before it goes out in the reports. Tracing and retracing steps - generally stewing over hero work even when he’s asleep. Twice that week he had to jump out of his shower, naked and covered in soap, to jot down some leftover thoughts. No stone unturned and not a single path untaken.

In between all of that, he spends most of his time texting you. Or the other way around, where you give Deku silly updates about your life and he checks them like it’s what's pumping air in his lungs. What you ate and where, your commute to campus, the cat you saw on the street and thought about bringing home. He thinks you’ve caught onto the fact he doesn’t like talking too much about his job. He doesn’t mind it, hearing about things like that. It’s nice that he can reach you. That he doesn’t have to think twice about it and can message you silly little things.

You wonder if it bothers him but he always replies so enthusiastically - prompts the conversation further so he can keep it going. He fills you in on the details of his life much more sparsely, always ends his texts with a sweet little emoji and a polite “thanks for asking ☺” that sends you reeling. He’s cute. It’s a weird way to describe him but that's how you feel. He texts you dawn till dusk, each night sending a short text about everything he did that day. You start to get accustomed to his morning messages and late night texts. It’s the same for him, that soft feeling when he sees your messages.

Sunday shows up on Deku’s door much more quickly than he’s ready for. It’s the first time you’re spending official time together, and he tosses and turns the night before all night. He spends it staring at the ceiling, heart in his stomach - covering his face with his hands and rolling around his sheets. He’s inconsolable until exhaustion takes him out.

He wakes early to work-out and shower - going through his full and most thorough routine. He scrubs his whole body spotless, washes his hair with his expensive co-wash conditioner, and comes out soaking wet. He does the whole nine-yards, a nice and clean lotion, deodorant, his curl cream that he spends a whole scrunching until all the moisture is soaked in. He examines his whole body in the mirror with too much scrutiny before exiting.

He eats breakfast and tries to calm himself down all morning but to no avail, there’s no way to get around the fact he’s incredibly nervous. And now, he’s staring at his closet with regret because of how.. sparse it is. He’s never taken time to purchase anything.. nice unless it’s for a hero gala. His closet is split evenly between formal wear and athleisure but nothing casual really.

He sighs a little as he digs through the back of his closet. He manages to find an old pair of jeans - a light-washed pair that he fits a little tightly over his figure. He probably shouldn’t dress too nice, he doesn’t wanna look like a try-hard. But he also wants you to know he cares about being presentable.

He ends up with a white v-neck and a grey windbreaker overtop, snatching a headband to secure his hair so it stays out of his face. He wears a different pair of shoes, grey to match his jacket. He feels like he looks stupid, really. He takes the jacket on and off, switches shirts, but keeps the jeans and always ends up with the same outfit. He decides he’s being stupid about it at the very end, and leaves.

It’d be a lie to say that Deku hadn’t thought about today at all.

He has thought about it. Just a little. When he packs up to leave his house for the day, he grabs his bag of groceries for curry-making, his facemask and a hat, his water bottle and his keys. Including a set of keys for a brand new car, specially purchased by his assistant after he very awkwardly asked him about cars and how to go about buying one.

Deku has no experience with car stuff, and it was too embarrassing to ask Kacchan. And his assistant wouldn’t ask any questions about why his boss, who’d been commuting for almost 4 years, decided to buy a car. He also wouldn’t question why he wanted one that made him seem.. put together. And why he didn’t put a limit on the spending.

If Deku is anything these days, it’s well off. A car is only a mild dent in his expenses but the only thing he spends money on is his mom and sometimes some hero merch that goes on sale. If he finds a surplus, he writes off some donations and calls it a day.

He has to admit, it’s a bit much. Maybe more than a bit and it’s been a while since he’s driven. He normally ends up being designated driver when he goes out with his friends, and one too many times - he’s dragged out drunk employees from bars when they’ve had a little too much during company dinners.

He leaves the house in something of a hurry. It’s cloudy above, all grey and dreary. Clouds stick to each other in big clumps as he walks into his garage. Over the years, it’s just been a collection of old knick-knacks and tools. It’s the first time he’s used it for its purpose.

He slides in the front seat and turns the ignition, listening to the revv. He does a little laugh at how truly ridiculous it is - the briefest moment of self-awareness passing by in a flash. He uses his phone to open his garage door and close it before backing out and heading down the road.

__

Your apartment complex is exactly two blocks from the convenience store, like you’d promise. He parks on the side of the road, punching in his time on the parking meter before grabbing his things from the front seat. He goes through everything, including a small welcoming gift from his mom in the form of some pickled radish.

He jogs to your complex and heads into the lobby - finding the machine and pressing the little button on the door. He leans forward, clearing his throat.

“Hey, I’m here,”

A beat passes before he hears your reply.

“I’ll let you up now,”

There’s a loud buzz and unlocking sound. Deku steps inside and is greeted with an elevator. Third floor, 4th door on the right. He repeats it to himself as he steps onto the elevator, a soft yellow light illuminating him as he feels his weight press down. He presses number three and waits - listening to elevator music for what feels like ages. It stops at the second floor and an old lady enters. He bows immediately, out of habit. She’s small and frail, carrying just one bag in her hands.

“Oh.. my. What a handsome young man,” ― she comments, give him a once over ― “You must be visiting on the third floor,”

His eyes go wide.

“Oh! Thank you and yes, I’m here to see a.. friend,” he trails off. She gives him a warm smile, laughing.

“A friend, is it? Well. Tell her I say hello. All that young lady does is go to work and go to school. It’s nice to see her.. friend visiting her,”

He blushes a little at the implication. His skin grows a little hot as she laughs again.

“Ah.. yes ma’am,”

By the time the conversation is over, the elevator doors open to the third floor. Apartment doors lined up stretch across the way, and he turns around to give the old lady another bow. She gives him a wave before the doors close again and with that she’s gone. He’s still a little flustered by the interaction so he gathers himself before finding your door. Fourth door down, he walks towards it.

He stares at the wood, painted a dark blue with a little decoration on it. Another lungful of air and with a shaking hand, he gives three meek knocks. He waits a moment, and hears some rustling on the other side and in another few, it swings open.

When he finds you in the doorway, he feels his lungs go short of air. It almost feels like something out of a movie. You’re wearing an apron and casual clothes - and he realizes this is the first time he’s ever seen all of you out of uniform. A cotton t-shirt and half-way nice sweatpants on your hips - you greet him a little out of breath. A sheen of sweat, your chest heaving, you still smile when you see him.

“Hey, sorry,” ― you wheeze, brushing something out of your eyes ― “Was trying to get my fitted sheet on before you came in. It didn’t agree with me,”

There is something about seeing you that makes Deku’s heart feel like it’s taking a seat at the dinner table. He really can’t describe it, doesn’t know how to word it poetically or pace it in a way that makes sense. He’s always been good at controlling himself. He’s seldom anything but idle. His feelings are absorptions, the world around him shapes the clay of his very nature. Without rhyme or reason or anything in between - he’s always thought to trust it. To let it happen. To let things happen to him, just so it doesn’t happen to anyone else.

His everything can be traced back to a sense of justice ingrained in him so deeply, there is no way to know himself without it. His feelings aren’t his, he knows this. He is simply an amalgam - the corkboard in which the hero world pins their travesties on. In his whole life, all the years he’s been alive, he’s known this much about himself. From the inside out and back again, he knows he is wholly a reflection. His sense of self is fragile at best.

Seeing you ignites in him the strangest feelings. His feelings - so uniquely his that he doesn’t even know how to feel them. How to navigate these emotions that fester in his heart, and how just your presence has this guiding hand. How his heart takes a seat at the dinner table, the kind of meal where there is only a single light and another person. In a moment so brief, he zones out and looks at you and there is this ache. A reminder that he is so real and so human it rubs him raw. He stares at you dazed and you smile, unknowingly, and chat to him about everything you like.

How strange is love but a reminder that you exist.

“I’m rambling aren’t I?” ― you shake your head a little, before stepping aside ― “Welcome to my humble abode! I bought some slippers this weekend that should fit you,”

He smiles at you, and it’s warm and inviting.

“Yeah.. thanks,”

He takes his shoes off and puts them on the rack before slipping his feet into the house slippers you’ve set out. They’re a bright green, covered in little frogs. He laughs a little at them, as you step beside him. He gives it a look around - the place looks just like you. It’s well-lived in, like a home and not just a place to live in. There’s random knick-knacks everywhere, a consistent color scheme, and other little decorations. A stack of books in one place, an open card-game.

“You might wanna take your jacket off,” ― you say amused, watching as he slides it over his shoulders ― “Today you’re my student,”

He laughs at that and takes his jacket off, where you let it rest on the arm of one couch. He picks up the bags you’d asked him for.

“My mom told me I should bring something so she packed up some pickled radish for you,” ― he says sheepishly, handing you the bag ― “She was excited to hear that I was spending my weekend with someone who isn’t her,”

You grab the bag and peer inside, a jar of pickled radishes - purple in hue, waiting for you. You look between it and him, smiling a little.

“You.. told your mom you were coming to see me?”

He realizes a moment too late what it sounds like. His green eyes go wide as he stutters over his next sentence.

“I tell my mom everything,”

You snort a laugh at him, grabbing the rest of his bags. He gives you a little pout, nose wrinkling in embarrassment.

“Well.. tell your mom I said thank you. Maybe take her some curry home and show off your new skills,” ― you tease, easy and effortless, but you’re staring at him a little longer than you need too ― “I appreciate it,”

He gives you a lopsided smile.

“C’mere, the kitchens this way. I’m gonna worry you’re not gonna fit,” you confess. He has to duck underneath, just a little bit - and he doesn’t have to do much to touch the ceiling. He fits just fine, much to your relief. He looks in your kitchen, quaint. There’s a window above the sink filled with fresh herbs in a nice little planter with a light above. A cat timer.

“How skilled are you at cooking, would you say? Like.. none at all? Or just not very much?”

He scratches the back of his neck, trying to remember the last time he made something.

“Uhm.. we made curry during a training camp in highschool, but I think that’s the last time,”

You give wide eyes before shaking your head.

“You’re hopeless.. but that’s why I’m here,”

He watches as you roll your sleeves up as if you’re getting into gear. He’s glad he wore short sleeves.

“Wash your hands first,” you tell him. He immediately steps the sink and washes his hands as he hears some clatter in the background. You’re looking through your oven. He watches as you grab a cutting board and a small knife.

“All clean?”

He nods. You smile at him.

“I got everything ready before you got here because I had.. a feeling you would be very clumsy. But I will whip you into shape,” you scold, stern. He blushes a little.

“Yes ma’am,”

You giggle a little bit. On the kitchen island is a bunch of ingredients lined up on the table.

“We’re gonna make Japanese curry - it’s a little sweeter and milder than Thai or Indian kinds. It’s a lot easier since the roux is premade. And it’ll last you some days in the fridge. Today we’ll make it with chicken since I assume you need protein,” ― you explain to him pointedly. When you look over at him, he looks so concentrated, you almost laugh ― “We’ll cut the vegetables first, and then the meat. After everything is prepped, we’ll work on the sauce and cook everything. Sound doable?”

“I’ll try my best,”

You frown at him.

“Come on Mr. Deku, where’s the confidence?”

He laughs aloud when you call him that, straightening up a little bit. He gives you a one hand salute and you fall out. It’s so warm.. so welcoming.

“We’re not gonna do anything really complicated because it’s your first time. I’ll cut an onion and then you’ll do the next one. If you do a good job.. I’ll give you a pack of electrolyte gels,” you grin.

“Wow.. what a prize. Sure wouldn’t wanna miss on that,”

“Exactly,” ― you take an onion and steady it on the cutting board ― “Now watch me okay? First you wanna cut it half and place the flat edge down on the board,”

He follows along, making mental notes in his head.

“Now you see this part? This is the root end. We’re gonna do a large dice, so make sure you don’t cut it off. We can cut off this paper bit at the end though.. then we’re just gonna go through the middle. See that?”

Another nod, he watches as the knife slices through the middle part. You don’t cut the ends.

“Now it’s in half, so you’re gonna cut in the middle of those. 3 cuts vertically, 3 horizontally. You got it?”

“I.. think so. It doesn’t look too bad so far,”

“Good. I’m gonna show you the speed I normally do this at but you can go slow. We have all day,”

Warmth spreads through his whole body at the words “We have all day,” so soothing to his heart. His stomach fills with butterflies, loud and desperate but he nods.

“Yeah.. right,”

You show him this time, the normal speed at which you cut through your vegetables. His eyes go wide at the speedy sound of the cutting board. He wants to tell you to be careful but he doesn’t think he has the right.

“Okay. I’m gonna put these in the bowl over here and now it’s your turn,”

You switch sides, carefully moving the first half of the onion into a small bowl before placing the next one. For a man.. a hero, so tall and powerful - he looks unusually nervous. He goes for the knife, but picks it up so unsafely, you gasp aloud.

“Woah there.. getting a little eager, are we?”

He puts the knife down like it’s evil and steps away, and you breathe a laugh through your nose.

“Here.. hold your hand out,”

He does and you carefully take the knife and place it in his palms. You use your hand to curl his fingers around him, then gently guide his hands. He stutters a little and grips the butt of the knife more tight than he needs.

“Look.. see. You have to handle it like this so you don’t cut yourself. Go slowly,”

“Oh.. that feels a lot better,”

You laugh again and he gets to cutting.

He goes slow.. very slow. It feels awkward at first but he gets through it. He manages to cut the first onion into all of it’s pieces with all of his fingers together. It takes at least 10 minutes, yes - but your cheerleading makes him feel good about it.

You hold your hand to high-five him when it’s all over and he laughs and high-fives you back. He’s so pretty when he laughs, all crinkled eyes and summery - you stumble when you hear him, flushing.

“Onto the next,”

You guide him through how to cut potatoes, then carrots. After your demonstrations on the cutting board, Deku takes at least double the time you do to cut each thing. But you cheer him on each time, floating around him and never leaving him too long to his own devices. You show him how to cut everything, even garlic (which he likes because he just has to smash at it to get it small) and eventually all the veggies are chopped.

You don’t have him touch the chicken, say it’s probably too much for the first time - but you demonstrate it. He takes note of every step, hearing words he’s never heard in his entire life. You have to let the fond build, the veggies sweat, and all sorts of other things. He learns you normally don’t measure, so every measurement out of your mouth is more a guess than anything. You promise to write down a recipe for him, anyways.

It starts smelling good after you add the onions - like his mothers kitchen. He hasn’t had a proper homemade meal in a week and his stomach growls with intensity. He watches as you build a sauce out of thin air. A curry roux cube, 4 cups of water, some sugar, some soy-sauce and ketchup. It fascinated him.. seemingly random things all coming together and making something so familiar. It looks good. He feels good that he helped even a little.

It’s taken a while, maybe 2 hours and some change, though he’s sure if he did it alone - it’d be even longer. For you, it’s probably the longest it’s ever taken, but if that’s the case, it doesn’t show on your face.

In the last leg of the curry making, you direct him to wear all the cutlery in your little apartment.

“There’s some beer in the fridge too, if you want. Other stuff too, but I thought a drink would be good for relaxing,”

“A beer would be great. Do you want one too?”

“Hm.. yeah, actually. That’d be awesome,, thank you Midoriya,”

He waves of your thank you and goes off to rummage your kitchen. He knows how to set a table at least. He grabs the beers first, placing them on coasters, before going to get the rest. Two plates and two spoons, and a bowl to keep some sides in. He sets everything up all nice, clearing the space out.

He hears the stove click off, getting out of your way as you put on some oven mitts. You take a deep breath as you lift, the savory smell filling the small kitchen.

“Woo, it’s hot,” ― you huff, setting it down on a mat on the counter ― “It’s still burbling so I’ll give it a second before I serve it,”

Next, you bring the white rice that's been sitting on the counter since before he got here, on warm for who knows how long. You pick it up out of the rice cooker and set it next to the curry, hurrying to get another bowl. You portion out some pickled radishes in the smaller bowl. and then spoon rice into the bigger one. You put one portion on Dekus and one on yours.

“Don’t be shy about getting more,”

You pour it out evenly, a stream of hot curry surrounding pristine white rice. It looks and smells good, unexpectedly. He’s so surprised it’s not a disaster, he laughs as he watches you do it. Piece of chicken thigh, potatoes, and onions float in the sauce and he can barely stop himself from eating.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had something someone else made,”

“Aw c’mon, you made this!”

He gives you a look and you laugh as you spoon yourself a portion.

“Okay.. we made it. But you helped! And you learned a lot, right?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“I definitely learned a lot but you’re the teacher,” ― he leans forward, palm on his cheek as he stares at you. Straight out of a daydream, painfully handsome ― “How’d I do teach?”

You mimic him teasingly, legs crossed, tapping your foot in the air.

“Hm.. I’d give you a solid 8/10 for your first time. No cuts, and your chopping was actually pretty good,”

He brightens at the praise.

“Really? Good enough for electrolyte gel packs?”

You laugh so hard you bend over yourself.

“Yeah.. yeah definitely.”

“Nice job, Midoriya.”

“All thanks to my teacher, super wise.”

You bow your head a little and he claps for you.

Wordlessly, he cracks both of your bottles open with seamless strength, returning them to their spot on the table.

“It should be cool enough to eat now,”

He bows his head and so do you.

“Itadakimasu,”

“Itadakimasu,”

___

He feels warm.

After your meal in the afternoon, you and Deku continue to drink into the late night. He makes sure to watch himself - knowing he’ll have to drive himself home. You drink just a little more, not enough that you’re a mess. But your defences are lowered, and you’re sleepy. Maybe even a little giggly too. Beer bottle sit on the coffee table that separates the two of you

You sit adjacent to each other. He has his legs crossed, table pushed back so he can get all of him comfortably between the couch and table. You have your knees up, chin resting against one of them as your arms wrap around your legs. You’re all smiles, all warmth.

“I had fun today,” you muse, voice softer than a whisper. He glances at you, nodding.

“Me too,” ― he admits, voice barely above a whisper ― “It’s been a long time since I’ve spent time without someone.”

“Aw, what, your mom doesn’t count?”

He laughs a little.

“Just teasin’. Me too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. It’s just work, then school, then work. All on a loop. I don’t get much time off.”

“...Is there a particular reason for it?”

“Tryna get to know me, Midoriya?” you tease. He chuckles.

“Caught red-handed.”

It makes your heart flutter. To hear him tell him to your face that he’s interested in you. You rub your feet together nervously.

“I don’t see a lot of my parents. I’ve always taken care of things on my own. It’s hard, but..” ― you confess to him voice, weary, and worn out ― “‘s not all bad. Stressful. It gets lonely, but I think it’ll be okay in the end”

“What about you, Pro-Hero Deku?,”

He laughs uncomfortably, a tight lipped smile on his mouth.

“What about me?”

“D’you get lonely a lot..?”

His gut reaction is almost violent, a spear through his chest. The blood is already in his mouth, the bitterness of heroism deep in his gut. He shakes his head at the panic and how it stirs inside of him.

“No.. I.. well -.”

“You must, right?” ― you let out a soft yawn, face so squished it’s hard to hear you talk. You struggle to get the words out ― “You’re the number one hero, All Might successor. Must be busy, right?”

“You should sleep soon,” ― his voice is strained.. it aches in his throat. He can’t tell you to stop, but he can’t bear to listen either so he gets ready to appease you ― “You’ve had a lot to drink,”

“I’m sober, Midoriya. Mostly, anyway. Just sleepy.. I’m just sayin.”

“I notice it in you sometimes,” ― you hum, lifting your head to look at him ― “You always hesitate to say things. But.. ‘sokay to admit things are hard. Life is hard for your average schmuck like me.”

He laughs a little.

“You’re not a schmuck.”

“Maybe not but I’m no hero, either. It’s hard for me and I bet it’s hard for you too. That’s okay, you know? You’re still.. still a person. And to me, you’re just Midoriya. A guy with a hard job. And cool scars.”

He stares down at the beer bottle he’s been nursing in his lap for god knows how long and feels something shift inside of him. It’s tectonic, the way his whole body shifts its weight. A steady build, like a geyser - everything coming to a head inside of him. It’s so heavy, this burden that makes his shoulders slump. He really doesn’t mean to get choked up like this. He’ll blame the alcohol but there’s more to it than that. Much more about why he’s splitting apart at the seams.

It must be that you are nothing like anyone he knows. And it breaks him, tears him apart like how people crack eggs - he feels soft and yellow like a yolk, any moment and he’ll break. He doesn’t know how it happens, but he cries. Quiet and steady at first but slowly he can’t keep holding it. It’s a crescendo, a cacophony of all of his misery. He cries then sobs. So loudly it’s almost violent. It cracks and thunders, and suddenly he’s an open wound on your living room floor. He finds himself sobbing so pathetically he doesn’t know what to do. The backs of his palms are rubbing his eyes and in between each choked breath, he’s trying to tell you he’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

But suddenly, your body is pressed around him. You’ve slotted yourself next to him on your knees and you pull his whole body onto you. The weight of his torso ends up in your arms. You hold him and you run your hands over your back and he cries and it’s so ugly. It’s ugly and loud.

He’s so raw from emotions and all he can hear is you and your voice, shushing him quietly. He clings to you for life. It’s so unusual for him.. to cry like this. Over something like this. Maybe because it’s the first time in four years he’s admitted to himself something so small.

It’s so hard. God.. it’s all so hard.

He sobs into your neck, uncontrollable and you don’t say a word. You melt your body into his.

Before he knows it, your body is shaking too. You’re crying and clinging to each other and everything in the world is blind with your tears. You hold each other desperately, your loneliness stuck together like it can’t be pulled apart.

On the floor of your living room, the rain outside pours in heavy sheets. And Izuku Midoriya cries into your shoulder, tipsy and tender from the force of your words. His stomach is tied and eventually he can’t help but cling to you. He wants to hold you in his arms but he doesn’t know how to ask. How does he approach you? Why can't he take the hand you’ve put out for him?

“Midoriya,” ― you whisper hoarsely, stroking his hair ― “You can trust me.”

He sobs a little harder at that. You almost don’t hear him at first, the way his voice falls apart as you listen to it.

“I’m sorry for crying.”

You can’t help but laugh. You keep holding him, just a little tighter.

“It’s okay,” you hum “It’s gonna be okay,”

He believes you when you say it. He believes you when you hold him. He believes you when you say he can trust you, and with every part of him - he wants to love you. He wants to give it all back tenfold. This selfish feeling that festers in the cracks of his heart, this yearning - he doesn’t have any choice but to call it love.

If he were more sober, and less tired - he’d probably be losing his mind at the thought. To call something love, to call this love. It makes him feel like he’s losing his mind but right now all he can focus on is you and the way your heart rests. He’s thinking of your hands and how gentle they feel on his skin and how he’s holding you. How relieving it is to hold someone.

“It’s hard sometimes,” ― he confesses, all jagged edges ― “I don’t regret it.. not ever. But it’s hard sometimes.”

You run your fingers through his curls just a little, soft and gentle.

“Yeah.. I bet it is.”

___

Izuku Midoriya believes firmly in one thing.

He believes love, above all else, must be a choice.

At the very least, you must have some choice in love. If you intend to love someone, or love anything for a long time - you have to choose it everytime. He thinks loving people is like that. A series of decisions we make in order to show or prove it. We choose love. It finds us and then we get to choose how we harbor it. He thinks he’s something of a hopeless idealist, in every aspect of his life. About everything in the world, he wants to do it in the most poetic way. He wants his whole life to be shrouded in the feeling that he’s doing something beautiful.

He could call justice something of a first love. In that way he does everything for it. That he chooses to fight for it, to contribute to it everyday he’s alive.

He thinks love itself is a choice but he thinks falling in love is the only decision in your life you have no control over. He thinks loving you, in particular, is something that happened to him rather than something he looked for. Falling for you the first time he saw you, he had no part in it.

But hopelessly and endlessly searching for you - just maybe that had something to do with him.

After the night in your apartment, you make him comfortable and send him home with some curry and warm regards. Of all the nights he’d gone home feeling lonely, that night had been the hardest. There was this desire out of his control that he’d been ignoring for so long but it all came to a tide that night. The longing was borderline unbearable and since then, he’s had to take a long hard look at himself and at this.. all of this.

Izuku Midoriya can admit to himself after all of this that he’s a little helplessly in love with you. He hasn’t stopped seeing you, either. On Sundays, every other Sunday, he drops by your place for little cooking lessons. He misses when he was ignoring it and he could just enjoy your company but now your every movement has something feeling hot under his skin. He finds himself daydreaming about you on the job and his heart feels like it’s gonna burst out of his chest.

But, this is the first time he’s ever been..in love. It’s the first time he’s ever felt something so strongly and it’s more terrifying than it is romantic. He feels like he’s been blindsided by something and he stays up into the late hours of the night, counting off all the reasons it won’t work out.

It’s what he’s best at, thinking of every possible outcome. You could always find someone who could be with you more and move on, and maybe you’re not even interested in Deku. It’s always possible you just think you are. He thinks a lot of things are possible and he focuses on the worst case scenario each time. It’s easier not to set up expectations that way. If anything happens, he’ll be ready for it.

But with you, the worst case scenario is that he confesses and you reject him - and you disappear out of his life. He knows rationally that it’s unlikely, but he thinks about it and something in him breaks profoundly. There’s another situation where you remain friends but you fall for someone else and it makes him almost sick.

All of it is gut-wrenching. For so long, he’s had any number of defenses up. A busy schedule, the burden of work, short answers and the redirection of those prying questions - he’s gotten so good at making sure no one gets past them. It’s rare that anyone has even noticed. His heart is so many layers deep. Only a few people know, namely Kacchan and his mom and All Might.

And then there’s you, with soft hands, tearing through all the ground and rooting him up from Earth. You who digs his heart from the ground and holds it up to the warmth of your love.

It burns so hot he feels like he can’t get close to it. When he thinks of you, he thinks of all of his short-comings. He thinks of all the things he can’t be for you.

But he can’t get himself to let go either, and when your hands reach into his ribs and take his heart, he doesn’t shake you off to stop it. He lets it happen, lets you consume his every breath. All over his body are the sensations of you and your touches - ghostly in his memory.

Izuku Midoriya thinks love is a choice and he knows he can’t take back the one to love you.

He just.. doesn’t know what to do with all of it.

___

The day is so long it bleeds.

That’s the best way he knows how to describe it, really. It’s longer than ever because daylights all soaked up before 8pm, and it’s so dark it webs across the city without patience. After a day like today, it’s all he can see for miles. Darkness for miles and miles - the path of it sunken and terrible.

He’s had a lot of days like this in his life, as a hero - there are always lives you can’t save. People who don’t make it out of the disaster, people you miss, people who get trapped. Dekus sees things so gruesome it makes his skin crawl, seeping into him while he’s awake. He has nightmares and he takes medication to manage all of it. Goes to therapy when he can. No amount of conversation could really make it go away but it’s nice to tell someone his feelings.

Deku still doesn’t know how to deal with something so inevitable such as loss. As a hero it’s never easy.

After months of stagnation in the villain case, the one that he had to solve with Kacchan, there was finally word of activity. Normally in situations like that - groups will simply disband or dissolve because of the lack of members and it goes cold before anything else can happen. It’s rare that anything ever comes out of it later, it just sort of disappears after the first big arrest.

He figures that would be the case today too. After getting on his shift, about an hour into it, he gets pings from every direction. A villain attacks on the east side, only a few blocks from his route. It’s an emergency, CODE E - meaning it was a big mass of destruction and that other heroes were on the way.

He was on it before he could think twice, feet moving faster than his head as he activates a steady 8% for speed, jumping over buildings and skipping traffic until he ends up on the overhead of the scene. From the view above he can practically taste the chaos. It’s a big build-up of cop-cars around the scene. There’s people everywhere, first responders, evacuating all nearby residents. There’s already been some explosions and destruction but no serious injuries.

When he finally gets down, he meets with the police chief, Kacchan, and Todoroki - all of them breaking down the situation carefully to him. He comes to learn that the leader of the organization is holed up in one of those buildings and that he’s hysterical.

Human beings are incredibly fragile. They crack and shatter and splinter like glass under the pressure of life. Every person in the world is capable of bad things. The unimaginable becomes possible when you remember how briefly we bask in goodness. It’s not that humanity is evil but it’s fragile.

He learns about the boy inside - he’s young, just 18. He’s a highschool student. He learns about his whole life, abusive family and suffering. His list of traumas make his gut wrench just to listen too and Kacchan has that solemn look in his eyes that he only gets when he knows things will end badly. He details to Deku all of his miseries and Deku listens like his heart is made of lead.

“So where are we?”

Kacchan tells Deku that he’s inconsolable and his name is Yamato and doesn’t say a word more. Deku gives him that pleading look that he always has when it gets to be like this, but Todoroki is quick to put a hand on his shoulder and shake his head. It’s not in them to give up on anyone, hero or villain - so it makes his stomach clench.

Deku gets told to help the other heroes clear the area out and take care of civilians and with that he’s sent away. It tears him apart, the knowing and the dread. The dread of it all is so, so heavy.

At 7pm, the sun is set completely, and he gets word that he’s dead. It’s over, just like that. In a moment another person - gone , and his name was Yamato and he was 18. Just like that. Human life is so fragile. We only live briefly and we do it so delicately it’s impossible to know the outcome. Deku thinks of all the things he could’ve been and he finds himself on a bench in front of his agency, crying his eyes out for a kid he doesn’t know.

Loss is always a part of the job. There will always be someone, something that you can’t change. He knows it’s important to remember the good things but today, the world is dark at 7pm and Deku is wiping his tears with the back of his gloved hands. He’s sad about all of it. He’s sad he couldn’t change anything. The helpless feeling about this job and the loneliness. It will never be enough no matter how much he fights. There will always be a life he can’t save.

He’s told to go home that day, a little earlier than normal. It’s ironic, on a day he knows you don’t have work. After everything happens, he takes their advice and goes back to his agency. All he hears when he’s there is condolences. They know how it is.. how he is on days like today.

The day is so long it bleeds. When darkness hits, it still feels like time is stuck in the same place. It dries and scabs and itches.

He’s planning on going home today and resting. The most you know is that he has a day off, he got sent home earlier because of a case but he hasn’t told you the details.

He gets a text from you not long after he tells you.

from 7/11 girl ; oh! do you wanna come over for dinner then?

He stares at the message for a long while. It’s a moment in which his body moves before he can think

to 7/11 girl ; i’d love too.

__

He ends up at your doorstep with all of his belongings still in his arms.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other, a shaky breath enters his lungs. His heart rate is rapid and the feeling of regret is tying his hands to his sides, finding it impossible to reach his hand up and knock. His head is going a million miles an hour, racing with the thoughts of remorse. Reprimanding himself for being selfish, trying to see you in this state. He should just go home and call it a night, there’s still time for that.

Another text pings his phone, startling him out of his thoughts.

from 7/11 girl ; i’m glad you’re coming over. i was getting a little lonely today.

He takes a deep breath, just trying to gather himself, and raises his trembling hand to knock on the door. He winces at the meekness of the sound, unconfident. Each second that passes by is another of him contemplating leaving. He could leave it all here, he could leave, he could leave, he could leave.

The door swings open, and there you are in a big comfortable hoodie and shorts that hit your knee and mismatched socks. Deku stares at you with wide emerald eyes and you look back at him, smiling with your teeth.

He can’t leave.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. He trembles like a telephone wire in a storm, uncentered and shaking desperately. You catch it, that despair in his eyes before he can blink it away and it has you stopping dead in your tracks. All of his things are still in his arms and he’s covered in grime. His hand quivers as it clutches his bags to his body. He racks his eyes over you, no words coming. Just a gaping mouth, gasping like a fish out of water, struggling to speak,

“Midoriya,” ― you press forward, brows furrowed together ― “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? No, not particularly. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again and he stares at you for a long while. Slowly at the seams is where it always starts, falling into nothingness.

Love is an abyss, he thinks to himself. That must be where the phrase falling in love comes from. He is on the cliff as he looks at you, rock crumbling and breaking beneath his feet the longer he stands in your doorway. The uncertainty that comes from that darkness, looming and inviting. It calls to him with the voice loud enough to sweep nations to dust. He sees you, and you look like a clump of stars - burning hotly in the stark obsidian night. You are the silver lining, the muse, the answer. To Izuku Midoriya, you are everything and some change. You’re the girl he meets at 7/11, the one who puts muscle patches on his back, and teaches him to cook and makes him feel like he exists. So alive it almost makes him sick. He is nauseous at the way love has him acting.

There is a brief moment before you jump into open waters, or darkness, or anything that requires you to fall with no promise of land - that your head is completely clear. Only after you’ve leaped, the action set in motion, do you know what the right choice was.

Deku understands it briefly, the cost of his actions. The consequence of choosing love, taking it - the hand held out. He understands, for just one moment, that love is one step in the door. That love is right there but he has to reach for it, to feel it. He won’t know unless he jumps.

“Midoriya..?”

He reaches for you. He steps one foot in the door and drops his bags to the side of him and he shuts the door and he reaches for love.. for you. Just this one time.

His arms wrap around your shoulders like vines and he clings to you for dear life. His face is buried in the nape of your neck and his body feels like it’s submerging in the darkness. He feels like he’s falling, so far he can’t see what was before this. He holds you tight and your hands snake around his waist.

“Midoriya,”

“Izuku” he corrects hoarsely.

“Izuku..”

__

You decide that the first thing he should do is bathe.

“You can take a shower in my..”

His eyes are round and worrisome. Gruesomely exhausted. You don’t think you could tell him to be in there alone in good conscience - no matter how willingly he would accept. He hasn’t stopped touching you in some way, something silently inside of him aching to hold you. You can feel all the places he holds back, a violent force. With Midoriya.. with Izuku - you find sometimes you have to force yourself inside of his boundaries.

He’s holding your hand and staring at it, dark rounds underneath his lower lash line. You reach your hand out a little further as he sits, and press your palm against his cheek. Your thumb brushes underneath his eyes and he smiles a little.

“We can take a bath together,”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,”

“You won’t,”

It takes a little convincing and you worry he’s too tender for it but he just nods and closes his eyes. Leaning into your touch, he moves his mouth to kiss your wrist and then looks at you as you flush. Still uncomfortable with this touch - the intimacy of his hold has your breath shaking in your lungs.

“C’mon with your clothes. My bathroom is pretty big so you should fit in it just fine but it might be a bit tight,”

He nods, absent and soft. You watch as he takes his things from his bag and stands - eyes immediately searching for you like a small animal. He takes your hands in his but nudges you to guide him and gives you a soft smile as you flush. Just moments ago he was clinging to you but it feels different somehow.

You lead him to your bathroom and it’s a nice size. It’s a little bit wider, with a small closet and a tub that he thinks you could both fit in. There’s a big, wide mirror on the wall and on the counter there’s skincare and makeup. He smiles at it, only frowning when you let go of his hand. He watches as you run the bathwater hot and go into your closet for towels and soaps of all kinds. He stands awkwardly, his own nerves just starting to catch up to him. It’s mostly overshadowed with desire.. with yearning that stretches across the sun at least 3 times.

You’re still turned around as you speak.

“You should.. uhm.. undress,” you say, stiff as a board. His eyes go wide and he flushes a bit.

“Oh! Uhm.. yeah, right,” ― he coughs, heart in his throat ― “Are you…?”

You nod, meek.

“Yeah..”

He can’t mask his shock, nor the immediate twitch in his jeans that he spends a few minutes managing before carefully undressing. His shirt first comes off, slides over his shoulder blades and comes completely off.

After that, it’s his pants and socks, until he’s left with nothing but boxers hanging on his hips. He hesitates a little to take them off, so he does it with a deep breath. He’s self-conscious of it, his physique so bare. He doesn’t remember the last time anyones seen him completely naked and it makes his heart stammer uncomfortably.

You turn to him, shyly grazing over at him before closing your own eyes and taking your clothes off. Deku watches you with a bated breath, mouth catch flies as you slide your hoodie off to reveal nothing underneath - same as your basketball shorts. They simply fall to the floor and you’re naked. Your whole body is under his eyes with scrutiny and you find yourself covering your body with your hands almost inadvertently.

It comes out as a clumsy and confused gasp - with more vigor than he means.

“You’re beautiful,” and you can tell he means it with the way he blinks and just looks, over again. You flush a little, wanting the Earth to swallow you up. But he’s so.. gentle. So easy.

“...You should get in the water,” ― you tell him, reaching for something ― “I picked a bathbomb out so..”

He stops, lips turned in the corner before nodding. The water is hot and full and Deku steps inside of it, bending down and securing himself to the wall with the showerhead and faucet. The water relaxes the tenseness out of his muscles almost immediately, eyes going heavy. He looks at you, and watches you prepare yourself. You drop your hands and steel your nerves, softly walking towards him.

“D’you want me to sit on the other side…?”

He shakes his head, feeling hesitant.

“No uhm.. if it’s okay. I thought you could sit.. y’know. So I can.. hold you,” he explains sheepishly. You nod.

“That’s okay. I’d.. I think I’d like that,”

So you do. He widens the space between his legs as much as possible and lets you step inside the warm water. It sloshes around the tub, just a little as you adjust but eventually, you end up right between his legs bare naked. He has to shake any inappropriate thoughts away, especially with you so close in his reach. He watches idly as you reach over the side of the tub for a bath caddy you placed on the floor, just before getting in. You take the bath bomb from the middle compartment, and drag it to the water.

You hold it as it fizzes, still a big gap between you and him. He stares at you for a while. It’s tense, steamy air clouding your air and inhibitions.

“You can come closer,” he assures you, voice barely there. You freeze, looking over at him from one of your shoulders and you nod. Your lips are tucked between your teeth but you scoot back and you can feel.. him a little more. More than anything, you can feel the way his arms lock around your middle. Your back is on his chest, his arms circled tight around your waist. He tucks his chin over one of your shoulders and leans you back into him - just enough. Just so it’s comfortable and close.

It’s more intimate than everything you’ve ever felt in your life. The touch of his naked body, scarred skin - your hands are still holding the bath bomb. He presses his cheek to your shoulder as he watches. He’s amused by how the colors turn indefinitely. It smells a little bit like vanilla, a soft sugary scent permeating through the water. It’s green. He wonders if that was on purpose.

The weight of you rests in the crooks of him. You reside in this space in his arms, intimately. Your skin is soft to the touch and the water is warm - with two bodies it never gets too cold. For a while, all he does is hold you. He holds you indiscriminately, nothing extra to his actions. Not lust nor tragedy but just something pure and basic, the need to feel love through someone else's hands. Skin to skin, soft and gentle. It’s quiet and wordless.

With your body resting on his, you lift your head to look up at him briefly. You watch him with interest.

“What happened today, Izuku?”

He lets out a deep sigh, his voice scratchy and worn.

“On the job today.. one of the villains. Uhm.. he was really young. No one could talk him out of it no matter what he tried,” ― he tells you wearily ― “He.. didn’t make it. It just happened and then everything just kept happening. Loss and stuff like that is normal for hero work, but I can never.. get used to it.”

“...That’s good, that you can’t” you reply. He looks confused.

“That’s good..?”

“It means you have your humanity still intact inside of you. If you still get sad over people, no matter how mundane, then it means you still haven’t been.. desensitized from all of it. Means that you still care,” you explain to him gently “It was hard wasn’it?”

His voice trembles as he holds you closer, so impossibly close to him. The world is dark but you are like sunlight, brilliant. He mumbles something under his breath, rubbing his face into your skin like a cat might. You find it endearing.

“Yeah it was.. It was hard,” ― his voice is a breeze, feathery ― “It was a really hard day today and I was just gonna… I was gonna go home and then you texted me.”

You smile a little at that. It goes quiet again.

“Can I.. tell you something?”

“Yeah.. what is it?”

He shifts, and his voice becomes slow - it’s like the moment right before a fan's blades swirl. That moment where everything feels like it’s being set in motion, the drag of it. The inertia that builds - this is the very start of something so beautiful it spins.

“I love you,” ― he whispers, right into your shoulder blade with the weight of a million lives - and his too, right in the crook of your neck ― “I love you..”

The weight of the world, of heroism, or selfless acts and martyrdom - all of it falls onto the water below. He’s so tired, worn out. You think this is his way of asking you, if it’s alright to share this part of myself.

I’ve cut myself into so many parts, can you take this one? he says, without words but with hands Will you take the heart I’ve kept locked away and hold it? Will you take the only part of me that is still whole?

You find something deep inside of you. It’s unruliness. Everything in the world that is ugly has stopped, falling in front of your feet and the loneliness that itches inside of you suddenly melts. Like a popsicle in the summer sun, it fades away into pure sugar, sticky. What is love but hands that hold?

“I love you too, Izuku,”

His eyes shut and he breathes a breath, shaky and unsure. He squeezes you as if you might disappear, closer and closer.

“Can I ask.. is it okay if I ask why?”

“Why I love you?”

“What you see in me.. I just… I want to be sure,” ― he laughs a little soft, insecure ― “I guess it’s hard for me to understand it all the way. I only know all of this from my side.”

You wrap your hands, small over his. You hold and stretch it out, staring at his scarred palms under the sea green water. You sigh, and collapse a little as if you’re letting something out.

“I’ve always liked you,” ― you explain absently, squeezing his fingers and leaning into his touch, eyes closed ― “You’re awkward and sometimes shy, but you’re charming. You’re kind. It’s always been easy to like you.”

You take a deep breath, and your eyes open as you lean your head back, you look up at him and he looks like sunlight. A home in a person.

“But, then you would ask about me. You would worry for me and remember me. You listened to everything I had to say, even when you were somewhere busy and far away. I wondered if maybe you treated everyone like that,” you admit to him. He shakes his head and you laugh, reaching your hand back to hold his cheek.

“I didn’t know if I was special to you or if maybe.. I don’t know. Maybe you were like this to everyone, but you always made an effort for me - it made me feel special. When you tell me to do things and carve your time out for me,” ― you close your eyes again and they rest just against your cheek ― “The more I got to know you, the more I realized that you went out of your way for me. I like you, as is, but I liked feeling special to you. I wanted to be closer to you. I wanted to be the one who knows you best like how you know me”

“What about you, Izuku?” you ask, gently “What was it about me?”

He hums a little, shyly and awkwardly.

“It felt like you saw right through me, instead of looking at me. It was scary, but you just.. you make it so easy. It makes me feel selfish to pull anyone into my life, but the more I saw you, the more I didn’t feel like myself. It was scary.. and I didn’t understand,” ― he said with a laugh, eyes pressed completely shut ― “You were the first person… the first thing I’ve wanted so badly. It almost hurt,”

He realizes what he said and his eyes go wide and yours go wide too.

“You.. wanted me?”

The air becomes thick. Warm water suddenly feels hot and something feels awake inside of him the way you look up at him and he looks down at you. It makes him feel dizzy.

“I want you.. still. Want you, always,” with the double meaning sitting heavy on the end.

You flush, look away and stiffen.

“You weren’t uhm.. y’know.. down there. Didn’t think you were.. attracted to me,”

“I’ve been holding back. Didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” he strains, deep in his throat.

“You won’t,” you assure, shaky.

“Are you sure? We don’t have too… and I mean! I’ve never really - I don’t have much experience so I don’t wanna.. disappoint,”

“Izuku,”

He squeaks.

“Y-yes,”

Your lashes look heavy when you blink, lips tugged in your teeth.

“I’ve wanted you too.”

His eyes grow the size of the moon and you laugh, just a little.

“Y-you have?!”

Wordlessly, you take your hand, the one around your waist, and guide it so gently between your thighs. He feels frozen behind you as you maneuver his hand to be touching just against your sex. It’s burning, sticky on his fingers. He lets out gasp, soft under his breath as you guide him to touch you shivering. All the blood in his head rushes straight to his dick, and it grows so stiff it almost aches.

“Holy shit” he gasps and then groans, a little guttural “Holy.. holy shit,”

“Are you.. shit - I don’t have any. I don’t have much e-experience with this stuff,”

You hum at the way his hands keep moving anyways, still rubbing softly against your folds.

“S’okay. I’m a good teacher right?,” ― you say through a breathy sigh ― “You’re a quick learner, too,”

“Haah, holy shit. I really might die.”

You laugh at this fully, smiling at him.

“I want you really bad,” you say with a squirm “I’m on the pill, too.”

His eyes go wide and you laugh again, a little - feeling mischievous. Enjoying the effect you have on him, as he looks at you with eyes wide. Blown out with lust.

“Don’t regret it, okay?”

“I won’t. Not if it’s you.”

He takes a deep breath like he’s trying to wrap his head around all of it. It makes you laugh a little.

“We should get out of the bath first,” you say amused.

Before you can think about it, Deku is standing up. You scoot away, planning on doing the same. But after he stands up, he grabs a towel and immediately lifts you. He carries you on one arm like you weigh less than a paperclip and you yelp as he draws you to his chest.

“I-Izuku, let me down, I’m -,”

This time he laughs at you, almost knowing what you’re gonna say.

“Sorry, I’ll warn you next time but if you think you’re heavy, you’re sorely mistaken” ― he tells you with amusement ― “I did curls with double your weight by the time I was a first year.”

You squeak, feeling incredibly shy as you cling to him.

“My bedroom is on the left.. don’t drop me.”

He laughs at you again, a little more teasing.

“I won’t baby.”

__

He carries you all the way to your bedroom, where you find yourself more grateful than ever that you cleaned before he came. He drops you onto his bed with a soft thud, towel underneath you as your back lands on it. It’s different like this, the lighting a little dimmer but with him still so perfectly in view. Your eyes go wide at the sight of him as you scoot yourself towards the headboard.

He follows you in hot pursuit, body hovering over yours. Your head hits the pillow and Deku is right above you, with his hands on either side of your head. You smile at him and he looks down at you with big eyes.

“You’re so handsome.”

“I’m already hard.”

This makes you laugh and makes him grin, and you reach your arms out. Wrapping them around his neck - you drag him down to you. His mouth ghosts over yours, full and pretty. This is the first time you’ve really looked at him and god - he’s gorgeous to look at. His mouth is full and his eyes are so round - full of this pretty dark green that turns just seafoam in the middle. You feel like you’re going to drown inside of them, already yearning.

“You’re pretty,” he groans, and looks up at you through thick lashes “So pretty, think it every time I look at you.”

“Izuku, kiss me,” ― you demand.

He chuckles against your mouth, soft.

“Your wish is my command.”

He presses his mouth to yours, feather light at first. It’s been so long since you’ve kissed someone, you can’t help but feel it. Something about his lips makes you feel weak, the heat is of his body melting together with yours. It starts with one, soft and gentle - but it goes quickly to another one. Slowly he pulls away and then kisses you again, makes you open your mouth a little wider as he presses a little further. You can’t wrap your brain around how it’s making you feel. Your whole body feels like it’s sinking into your mattress, his mouth soft and full. His tongue invites itself inside, sliding against yours with the embers of flame.

What starts as kisses turn into hot pants, deep into his mouth. You can feel saliva run down your cheek as desire burns through, molten in your core. Your clit throbs with want, and you feel Deku before you see him. It makes you gasp - how big it feels, heavy too, against the meat of your thigh. You grind against it without meaning too. Deku moans in your mouth right as it happens

It feels like you're breathing each other's air - months and months of lust, pure and unadulterated, slipping out from beneath you. It’s overwhelming to be touching him, finally. Your fingers thread through his hairs and you tug, another pretty sound coming from him. . He’s so vocal with you, every moan or breath like fuel to the fire.

His hands find you soon after, exploratory - they start at your side, slowly moving up to cup your tits. His hands are firm, albeit shaky - and he touches them like he couldn’t wait a moment longer to get his hands on you. They’re so big. He dwarfs you right on top like this, and you fit perfectly in his cupped hands. His groping incessant, just like his kissing - invasive. You can feel how he can’t seem to get enough, each motion heavy with the want of many months prior.

Everything about how he touches you sends your whole body leaping, you feel weightless - the way your heart raises. It ends up all the way in your throat, in your mouth. It’s a stuttering and blind desire, all white. All you can think about is how much it aches. How much you want him, wanting and wanting and wanting.

“Izuku,” ― it comes out as a gasp when you pull away, a string of saliva as evidence when you reel back and look at him, his lidded eyes gazing down at you ― “Izuku..”

“What is it, baby? You okay?”

You squirm at the sound of his voice, gone deep like he’s been holding back all this time. It’s denser, coming from his stomach instead of his chest.

You kiss him again, and then pull back, brushing your nose to his.

“I like when you call me baby.”

“My baby,” ― he adds, kissing your nose, then the corners of your mouth ― “You’re so pretty. Don’t know anyone who looks as pretty as you.”

“Stop, I can’t fall for you anymore than I have.”

He giggles at that, kissing you again, and again and again until you’re laughing. A mess in his arms, he presses kisses all over your face.

“Just trying to make sure it stays that way.”

You frown a little.

“What happened to you being nervous?”

“I’m still nervous,” he insists, squeezing your tits in his hands with a breath, thumb brushing over your nipples. You gasp a little, shaking, as he gives you a troublesome grin - he’s bad for your heart “But I just.. I want you so bad. I’ve been thinking about you for months.”

“Months?”

“Maybe longer.”

“What were you thinking about…?”

His eyes go wide, mind racing with detailed fantasies that he gave into so long ago. He swallows a lump in his throat.

“Thought you would taste.. wanted to uhm - put my mouth on you. Still want too,”

“And..?”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. You laugh, granting him a little mercy

“Fucked myself wishing’ it was you,” you tell him, whispering like a secret.

He snaps his head up immediately, just to stare as if he were worried you were bluffing. You look at him sheepishly and he groans. Everything about you makes him feel drunk, unkempt. His hands are back on your skin and he presses an opened mouth kiss to your jaw, down your neck. He’s thankful for all the perving he’s done in his life, at this moment. The way your throat bobs and you sigh as his tongue slides over the sharp edge. He trails them, stamping them across your skin and all the way to your neck.

You feel his teeth, flat but sharp, as he sucks the flesh into his mouth. A gasp rises out of you.

“Oh,” you whimper, hands around his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as he sucks marks into your neck. “Izuku,”

“Wanna take my time tonight,” ― he sounds like he’s pleading with you, an edge to his voice as fingers draw circles in your waist ― “Wanna make you feel so good,”

“Can I…? Please..?”

You blink at him and then nod, watching as his lips turn into a soft grin. He slides his hands over every inch of your body, placing his lips at your neck first and trailing kisses all over it - over the marks he’s already left, the base of his throat. His tongue is summer along the new bruises, a trail of hot saliva sticking to your skin as he goes lower and lower. His mouth feels like a bunch of tiny pricks, how deeply the craving sets in. Kisses against your collar bones, down your chest, until his mouth ends up at your tits.

He bites and licks with care and precision - careful not to be too hard but not soft either. His hunger for you seems almost insatiable, and he’s learning with practicality. Every pleasant sound from your lips garners him trying it again, going a little harder like he wants to pull it right from your throat. His free hand squeezes the soft flesh and his mouth sucks on your nipples, pebbled and hard under your tongue. You feel impossibly wet, boneless in your bed at the way he pays so much attention to you. All need, all lust.

There’s a vulgarity to it, how he licks and then bites soft, tugs until you cry out with your head thrown back. He learns where to touch you once and runs it to the ground. It feels like time is moving at a snail pace as he disarms your hesitance. Even when it feels clumsy, it never stays that way for long. You can’t keep up with how often you're moaning his name. Over and over like an incantation. Izuku, Izuku, Izuku - god how you want him.

You want to beg him to touch you but all he does is unravel you, for so long you almost feel teary. He wants to make you feel good, massages your whole body with his mouth - hot as sin. You feel like a falling star falling into the atmosphere and burning up. What feels like millenia of being torn apart is only minutes. Down to the devilish detail, he learns how to make you feel so good with nothing but your tits and his mouth.

“Izuku, please,”

His voice is soft against your skin and the view is nothing but call for misdeed, eyes lidded and mouth swollen from where he runs it over your skin. The room has to be at least a few hundred degrees - sweating and clenched.

“Can’t get enougha’ you,” ― he whispers against your stomach, cheek pressed to it ― “I wanna make you feel good.. wanna see you touch yourself,”

Your eyes grow wide as you look at him, and he gives you a soft smile.

“You’re a good teacher,” ― he teases, a devilish laugh attached ― “I’m asking as your favorite student.. show me how.”

“You’re really too much,”

But you oblige, and Deku knows by how you shift. He scoots back until the view is perfect, spreading your legs wider. He kisses up your thighs as your hand shifts, soft and nervous between your legs. He’s so close - you can feel his breath on you. It makes your spine tingle.

“Don’t be shy.. you’re beautiful.”

You want to tell him that that only makes you more shy but he’s got his eyes glued onto you, anticipatory, and you can’t believe yourself but god it makes you wet. How he stares, how he longs for it.

You go slow, shifting your fingers to be at the right angle. You know yourself well, so many nights alone in your bedroom, thinking of him. The visual of him wide-eyed and slick mouthed, makes it easy to do again. You put the pressure slowly, just to fingers so he can see - and relieve yourself. Touch yourself in front of his very eyes, slowly forgetting the humiliation. You’re not sure how long he wants you to go, but it feels so good to get the pressure off. Your toes curl and Deku speaks under his breath.

“So pretty.. all of you,” ― his hands are at your navel, spreading you further ― “I love looking at you.”

You feel like you could cum from nothing at all. The pleasure for now is a frazzle crescendo. It’s not enough - like even if you came from it, you would still be chasing after another one. You need more, so much more - need him. You keep asking for him, after each little pant you call for him. He murmurs, voice soft as sand, almost breaking apart after each word.

“‘zuku, Izuku,”

“I’m here, I’m here baby.”

Again and again, making your orgasm stir. The knot inside of you slowly comes undone, piece by piece, but it’s not what you want. It frustrates you, annoyance welling up inside of you until you can’t take it anymore. Your brows are furrowed and it almost feels itchy. All it is is need, an insufferable amount of need.

“N-need you so bad,” ― you manage, words caught like they’re stuck in your chest ― “Please, please.. touch me,”

“Okay.. shh, shh - it’s okay.”

He moves your hands by your wrist, mouth curling around your fingers. He shivers, eyes curious and eager. You look at him hazy, drunk off of a sense of lust you can’t shake.

He takes a few more kisses up your skin, down your navel, then with one hot stroke - runs his tongue against your entire sex before resting right at your clit. Your eyes go wide with a gasp. The reaction from you is immediate, hands going to tangle themselves in the mess of green hairs. His sturdy hands are quick to clasp your thighs. They go underneath your thighs, dragging you towards him with an inexplicable strength. His face is practically buried in it, bumping his nose against your clit until he settled himself. He brushes your pubes back a little with a hum.

“Aaah, fuck - hnggh,”

The noise is so obscene, scorching hot tongue sliding against your folds. It’s so fucking overwhelming, all-consuming - what you’ve wanted for so long. He shifts around and watches for your reaction each time he tries something new. Flattens the muscle against the throbbing little bundle of nerves, pointing it and flicking. He watches and waits until he finds a good pace - learning as he goes. It doesn’t feel as clumsy as it should. As you wish it would. It just feels pleasurable, too much and not enough.

He sucks your clit between his lips until it’s on his tongue, and flattens against it at a maddening pace. The kind of natural ability he has makes your toes curl, mind lost to something. A far out, funny feeling holds you down to the sheets as his arms tight around the back of your thighs. He’s so deep, tongue buried in your cunt and it’s filthy. Shamelessly loud as he licks and licks and licks like it’s his only reason to be alive. His hands feel around till they find yours and he locks fingers as he does it, and everything in the room is spinning.

“Ooh, I-Izuku,”

He hums against your clit and looks up at you through his lashes, and you feel your whole body go slack from the visuals. All you can think to yourself is that you want to cum, over and over, you want to cum. You want to cum all over his face, down his chin. You wanna be all over his everything

“I’m gonna..! I’m gonna c-cum, I’m gonna cum, Izuku.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t stutter, doesn’t slow - like he knows if he shifts even a little, he’ll lose his chance. You can hardly think, mind completely blank as you reach your peak - the climax. You can feel it. It’s so unbearably there that every word out of your mouth becomes mish-mash and gibberish.

“Ohmyg’d, oh, oh please.”

Your whole body locks up and you cum - you cum so hard you can barely breath. A gasp gets webbed inside of your lungs and all you can do is spasm unbearably. You grind your clit into his tongue, your orgasm making everything inside of you tremble. Your walls clench harshly around nothing at all and he still hasn’t moved or slowed. You try to move, overstimulated but he doesn’t budge - he just changes the pace and angle.

It doesn’t settle you much, the syrupy lustful feeling, only stronger with the passing seconds. Deku groans as he breaks to lap up as much of your cum as he possibly can. You can feel his saliva dribbling down your sex. He lets go of your hands only so he can spread your thighs as wide as they can go - looking at your swollen clit with almost affection. He stares at it for a few minutes, another hand resting on your navel as his thumb brushes over it. You shake as he touches it.

“You take it so good.. good girl,” ― he praises naturally, easily ― “Such a good girl. Wanna make you give you one more.. before I fuck you.”

Your voice is so rough by now, you cough a little as you look at him.

“W-what about you? W..wanna touch you too.”

He smiles, a soft and pretty smile - it makes you dizzy to even look at. Everything about him makes you so damn dizzy. You give into him unintentionally when he grins, kissing the hood of your clit.

“Some other time, maybe,” ― he announces to you softly, sweetly ― “Just wanna take care of you today.”

You nod for him, absently and without another warning - he tongues your clit again. This time wraps around, sucking on it soft but not doing much else. You question him, briefly, until you feel his fingers.

Izuku’s hands have always been of interest. They’re big, thick, and strong. Everything is sturdy but his hands especially make you desperate. All scar tissue, gnarled from years of use, and so bulky. You’ve always found them attractive - many daydreams surrounding them. You can almost feel the ridges of them even in your fantasy but now he’s right in front of you. His middle finger is so much thicker than yours. Clean and pretty hands, he presses to your hole. You’re so soft inside, it makes his chest tight. He can’t imagine he’ll be able to fuck you long if you feel like this.

“You’re soaking wet, huh?” ― he laughs a little, smiling ― “Cute.”

You don’t have it in you to get upset with him. With the way his finger slowly slips inside of you and prods around, all you can do is whimper a little. You feel strange, pliable in a way you’ve never been in your life. Terribly vulnerable.

“F-feels different,”

“Different?”

You cover your face with your hands, shivering.

“Your hands are so much bigger than mine.. so it feels.. yknow,”

“Does it feel good, baby?”

There it is again, baby. You clench unintentionally, and he has to hide his laughter so as not to embarrass you any further.

“Feels really good. I want more.. please,”

“You’re so cute. You sure you’re ready..? Don’t wanna hurt you,”

You nod a little but he still seems unsure, so he fucks it in and out of you first. His fingers prod inside and he finds it, that little spongy part a few inches deep, pressing onto it without intent. It makes your whole body freeze and tremble, and he stares at you wide-eyed. You’ve got a hand clasped over your mouth, unsure of what it was until he does it again.

“Hnggh, Izuku,”

He hears you loud and clear so he laughs, this time his pointer finger. He’s quick about it this time, granting you the most bare minimum mercies. His fingers stretch you out good, but you’re so wet from cumming once and his saliva, slick on everything. It’s enough to burn just a little but not so much it hurts. You just feel a little full, a little pleased. Deku slides them into you slowly, deeply - and curls them up press against your g-spot. This time, you have a full body reaction - back arching up off the bed. Fingering yourself rarely feels like much of anything but when it’s him, it makes you ache and drip with pure need. This pleasure is a little more hazy to start, but when he fucks them in and out of you, something shifts.

He finds a rhythm that has you breathing heavy, panting between long breaths like there’s not enough air in your lungs. It’s electrifying, sending little sparks through you every time he finds it. This pleasure is deeper, like you can feel it in a place you didn’t know it existed. It carves something out of you. You whimper as he takes your clit into his mouth one more time and the added layer makes your throat constrict.

You really don’t know how to proceed. Your whole body looks like it’s in a state of shock, the dull pressure of his fingers on your sweet spot with the current of your clit buzzing on his tongue. Warm mouth, humming a little just to see you twitch. He’s knuckle deep inside of you, reaching almost into your throat.

“It feel so good, feel so good, Izu.”

He goes a little harder when you call his name, thinking about how he can barely hold himself up. He spares you a little, stretching you out and holding it. He manages to fit all of it inside, rubbing against your walls with precision.

You look so damn good falling apart, all swollen lips and round mouth and pretty blinking lashes. Your eyes go soft, hooded with desire as he fucks into you with two fingers. He adds another when he knows it feels good for you - the little mewl because it’s not enough, another one, so slowly entering inside of you. You feel stuffed to the brim, a never ending fullness. You can’t help yourself but imagine his thick cock inside of you and how that’ll stretch you so nice.

You weren’t sure if it was possible to feel more pleasure but he proves you wrong instantly. His mouth descends on you and he sets his fast pace, consistent. Pleasure again and again and again in little intervals. Your mouth is dropped open in an open scream, this orgasm so much more deep. You can feel how much it will rock you, the sheer force of it has you drooling. You’re his pretty girl, and he can’t help but stare at your blurry expression.

It’s a tremor, unsteady. The first waves of it having your mouth going slack - it’s the kind of orgasm that sort of just creeps on you. It’s brief but strong, an impossible impact like the splitting of atom. It’s one moment, just a little bit longer. Suddenly your mouth is open so wide, unhinged jaw aching and your head thrown violently on the sheets.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, ohfuck, ohfuck,”

It’s more brief but you cum and you cum hard. You can barely understand how it happens, the rapid shaking as you blink tears away from your eyes. Entirely overwhelmed, you swallow your shock.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, staring at him. “Holy shit!”

You watch as he takes his fingers out and sticks them into his mouth, not a lick of hesitation. It makes you flush how he tastes it, a soft moan from his mouth. His tongue drives over all the edges and then he wipes them on his thigh. He leans up, just to kiss you right after and you can taste yourself in his mouth.

“You taste nice,” he tells you, so earnestly it makes your whole body rise with heat. You ignore replying, just kissing him harder and making him laugh. After everything, you find some strength in your hands and reach down, peering at his cock. He’s big. The only way you can describe it is thick, like a coke can. You reach out for, small hands wrapped around it and he moans, especially loud. It makes your eyes go wide.

“It’s so big, Izuku,” you say, breathless. He gives you a sheepish smile.

“Ah.. you think so?”

You frown a little, tugging at it. He drops his head a little as you jerk him off, precum making your hands slick.

“It is big. I wanna.. wanna feel it,”

He gives you a shaky smile, hands reaching towards the other side of the bed.

“Ah.. do you have any condoms?”

You give him a little laugh, releasing your hands from his cock and wrapping them around neck, pulling him down towards you again.

“Did you think I was kidding earlier?”

He doesn’t remember at first, confused - but as soon as he does, his mouth goes agape. His eyes almost seem like they hit the top of his hairline. A shiver runs through him as you give him another kis, grinding your hips up just a little. He groans into your mouth.

“Fuck.. are you sure?” he asks, hot at just the thought of not using a condom. He can barely imagine it, how it’ll feel to take you all the way raw on his cock. You nod at him, smiling as he pulls away.

“I wanna feel it in me raw, ‘s so big. It’s a waste otherwise,” ― you let go and he sits back, watching as you use your fingers to spread your pussy out for him, chuckling ― “It’s a reward for all your hard work,”

Izuku feels like he might lose his mind, staring as he strokes his cock with one hand. If he can last more than three thrusts, he’ll be impressed with himself. Maybe all of his years edging himself will finally prove to be worth his effort. A molten heat starts in his stomach, all the blood rushing to his cock with infallible force. He stares at your cunt, pretty and open for him- all pulsing and hot. He shivers again, and drags you to him. He lets the heavy weight of his cock sit right against your cunt, pressing down a little. You blink at him before whimpering, the heavy head of his dick pulsing against your clit with need.

He drags it, grinds it in and watches through lidded eyes as cum and saliva mix all over it. A little shiver evades him, throwing his head back as he grinds steadily into your pussy. His head is thrown back, mouth dropped open and moaning your name. You watch as his hips stutter, just grinding against your pussy, eagerly but agonizingly slow. It feels so fucking good. It’s an excruciatingly slow buildup of pleasure, how he just feels you.

“Izuku, please,” you plead, hands reaching for him. He grabs them and pins them to the bed with a soft smile, humming.

“Told you I’d take care of you.. be patient.. I wanna feel you,”

You aren’t sure how much more you can take but then it happens. He leans, tell you to take a deep breath, and then you feel it. The head of his cock, curved and weighted, pressing against your hole. It makes you whine, makes your mouth drop into a shocked gasp. You want to squirm or cling but your hands are still pinned so you can’t thrash. You can’t do anything but lay there and take it.

You feel every single inch as it slides so miserably slow inside of you. He’s being sweet with you, his voice in your ear with adoring praise - little whimpering sounds “fuck you feel good, so good,” over and over. It makes you wet, clenching further on his cock as your whole body pulses like a beating hard. You feel ravenous, starving to be so full of him you can’t breathe. He’s just so fucking thick, no matter how you take it. It stabs your lungs, thick. So, so big - it makes you stretch impossibly wide. It’s not like anything you’ve ever felt in your life. He swallows some saliva in his mouth.

“Half-way, baby. J-just a little more”

You can’t think.. only half? You brace yourself, snivelling. You feel a mess, are a mess - listening to the loud shlick sounds. Your brain feels static, whole body giving into the feeling of being fucked full. You want him so bad you don’t know what to do, every word you’ve learned is lost to coveting him. You want him so blindly.

“Iz-Izuku, please fuck me, please,”

Without another word, he lets his hips rut - a sharp thrust that makes you scream, silent. He’s so deep inside it makes you scramble, and he leans down to kiss you. You feel his cock inside your stomach, it’s so big. It feels incredible, so hot and heavy and big. All you can think about is how it feels inside, mind free from anything other than him. Izuku Midoriya, so big and handsome and sweet. He groans into your mouth.

“Can I move, baby?”

“Please. Please move,”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing your legs and sliding them over his shoulders. He looks so fucking pretty, all green-haired and freckled skin and his dick inside of you. So deep it aches, he presses a kiss to the back of your calf - your legs pressed together giving you perfect pressure on your clit. You don’t know how to do anything but brace yourself, fingers buried in the sheets as he pulls his hips back. He’s clearly going slow for you, at least for now - the pace he sets is steady.

His cock feels nothing short of fucking incredible. This rolling pleasure inside of you on your spot and the steady pressure on your clit from where his hands rest on your navel. You can see how hard he focuses to get you to cum agains, how he rolls his hips with all the strength and finesse he can. Izuku fucks you with dancer's hips, so steady and worked out. He doesn’t look tired, his core tightening so he can get the angle just right. It feels like you’re being torn apart, uprooted like grass from the ground. The pleasure is particularly mind-numbing. So terribly desperate. Sweat dripping down the side of his forehead, he goes soft on you. You’re boneless and he gives you a soft smile.

“You take it so well,” ― he praises, kissing up the back of your leg, bending you ― “Such a pretty girl. You’re beautiful.. wanna see the face you make when you cum again. Please? Can you do that for me?”

The praise has you reeling, nodding with pouty lips and too fucked out to respond proper. This orgasm hits you like a natural disaster, this brilliant and overwhelming force of nature that has everything inside of you feeling ruined beyond repair. He ruins you so gracefully, until you are warm and tight around his cock and all your troubles reduce into nothing. It makes him preen, his pretty baby - so fucking sweet around his cock. He wants to cum but he wants you to cum again, just one more time, just for him.

“Izuku, hngg, Izuku,” it comes out hazardous, a warning for what's next. All the lust and need and everything, all at fucking once. It’s an earthquake, the entire hurricane of everything crashing into you. Your whole body seizes, as you cum on his cock - wearily.

“Oh.. oh my fucking god,” and you cum, hard, right on his cock. He groans as he feels it, finally - the way it pulsates and holds onto him like it would hate to let go. He groans as he fucks into you with no will to stop, a little sloppier now.

“Fuck, fuck - you’re so tight. I’m gonna cum soon, wh-where do you,”

You clench down on him this time on purpose and he groans, falling forward and folding you completely in half. You blink at him, still feeling the waves of your own climax but egging him on anyway. You smile at him.

“Cum inside me, Izuku,” ― you whisper, voice hoarse with exhaustion ― “I’m gonna drain you for all your worth,”

The sound of your sultry voice sends him reeling, and in the last few minutes - he lets himself go. Fucking you so hard your headboard digs into your wall and cumming inside of you in what feels like seconds. He cums and cums and it fills you up so deeply. It makes your whole body shiver as you feel him unload - thick white hot streams pouring until there’s nothing left to give.

He collapses on top of you, completely breathless and half-way out of his mind. You feel his cock soften inside of you as you wrap your arms around his back and relax your legs. The two of you kiss like that for a long while, sharing soft glances in the dimness of your room. You’re exhausted but he seems fine, kissing all over your face and cheeks. You let him pamper you, giggling a little.

“It’s raining out.. can you hear it?,”

He nods, smiling at you.

“Yeah,”

“Do you like the rain?” he asks you. You shrug a little, smiling at him.

“I’ve always wanted to spend a day inside with someone I love, that’s all,” ― you hum ― “Kinda romantic right?”

His whole body feels weightless. This burden, this love, everything inside of him. All the parts of him he so slowly gives to you - there’s no way it wouldn’t feel romantic. He chuckles a little, staring at the window.

“Yeah… I think it’s romantic too,”

Two Souls and Hillsides

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𖤓 Pairings: Cowboy!Gojo x f!reader 𖤓 Content warnings + tags: 18+ MDNI, Childhood-friends-to-lovers, light enemies-to-lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn fr, Flirting, jealousy, playful banter, lots of staring at hot men, Minor language (light swearing), Light possessiveness/territorial behavior, Small-town charm and shenanigans Art by: @/-3aem on X

Your first day at the farmer’s market brings more than just fresh air and sunshine—you were just supposed to help sell eggs. Instead, you caught yourself eyeing every fine man in town, accidentally flirting with a bakery owner, and maybe (definitely) making someone jealous. Small-town life might be a lot more complicated (and a lot more fun) than you thought.

Chapter Three: A Harvest of Firsts

You never thought you’d get used to it—the early mornings, the dirt under your fingernails, the way the sun could bake the back of your neck until it felt raw.

You never thought you'd want to get used to it.

But somewhere between scrubbing out water troughs and learning which stalls creaked the loudest at night, you stopped counting down the days until you could leave. Somewhere along the way, Ashford stopped feeling like a punishment after a few weeks of living there. 

It started feeling a little like... home.

There were the slow mornings with Grandma, who always set a second mug of coffee out for you without asking, even when you shuffled into the kitchen half-dead from exhaustion, bags incredibly prominent under your eyes.

The afternoons spent hauling feed buckets, boots slipping in the mud, Gojo laughing himself stupid every time you nearly wiped out.

The quiet evenings on the porch with Grandpa, who taught you how to whittle wood and told you stories about the ranch like it was a living, breathing thing that needed loving just like a person would.

And somewhere in there, somehow, Gojo went from being a thorn in your side to... something else entirely.

There’d be the dumb contests he always started—who could stack hay bales faster, who could catch a loose chicken first. (Spoiler: he cheated.)

There were the long, lazy rides out into the fields, where he'd tip his hat low and glance at you like he was thinking something he wasn’t brave enough to say.

There was the way he'd toss you an apple from the barrel by the barn, a crooked grin on his face, daring you to catch it one-handed. (You missed. Every time.)

You were still clumsy, still slower than the others, still the occasional butt of a joke—but it didn’t sting the way it used to. It just made you try harder.

And some mornings, when the sun rose soft and gold over the fields, you even thought—you could maybe be happy here.

If you let yourself.

You woke up to the crow of the rooster you still hadn't forgiven for existing, the scent of fresh coffee from grandma sneaking through the cracks in your door.

Another day. Another chance to embarrass yourself on the ranch.

You dragged yourself out of bed with a stretch, going through the motions of your new morning routine: Brush your teeth, rub the exhaustion from your eyes, stand at the front of your closet for way too long trying to decide what cute outfit to wear (even though your nice clothes from home were slowly getting ruined every time you worked). You always just ended up in the same thing—some denim shorts and that old green flannel you never used to touch.

By the time you stumbled outside, sneakers half-laced and hair barely wrangled into a ponytail, Gojo was already there—leaning against the fence like he'd been posing for a Western catalog, one boot kicked up on the bottom rail, hat tipped low to shield his eyes from the morning sun.

You squinted at him, yawning a little under your breath, "Do you ever actually work or just stand around lookin’ pretty?"

"Princess," he drawled, grinning slow and wide, "some of us are blessed enough to do both."

You muttered something rude under your breath and made a beeline for the feed shed. You barely got the door open before you heard boots crunching behind you, followed by a suspiciously innocent, "Need a hand?"

You turned to glare at him—and immediately got whacked in the chest with a bag of grain. You staggered back a step, barely catching it before it hit the dirt.

"Oh, fuck!" you gasped, wrestling the bag into your arms.

"Training your reflexes," Gojo said, the picture of smugness as he loaded another bag onto his own shoulder like it weighed absolutely nothing. Smug bastard.

"Training to murder you, maybe."

He winked. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Despite your grumbling, you followed him back out into the yard, the morning already warm against your skin. You worked side-by-side, him tossing bales of hay like they were toys, you dragging yours with a determined scowl. Every once in a while, when you thought he wasn’t looking, you caught yourself sneaking glances—at the way his sleeves stretched around his biceps tightly, the way he squinted into the sun, the way he laughed, low and warm, at his own bad jokes.

Unfortunately, Gojo always caught you looking.

"You're staring," he said, voice all singsong and smug.

"You're imagining things," you snapped, feeling your ears burn.

He only smirked and went back to work, whistling off-key as he moved.

You hated that you smiled.

By the time mid-morning rolled around, you were sweaty, sore, and a little sun-dazed—but you didn’t mind it as much as you used to. You’d gotten used to the rhythm of it—the work, the quiet hum of the ranch, and Gojo's constant, irritating presence. And at lunch, when you sat down with your grandparents on the porch, your grandpa shot you a look over his coffee mug. The kind of look that said he knew exactly what you were pretending not to feel for his certain ranchhand.

"Y'know," he said casually, "I always thought you two’d make a good team."

You nearly choked on your sweet tea. Gojo just grinned wider and kicked his boot against yours under the table.

"She's still got a lot to learn," he said, tone teasing but eyes warm, lingering on you a little too long.

"Yeah," your grandma said with a sly little smile, "but luckily she's got a good teacher."

You ducked your head, cheeks burning, pretending to be very interested in the pattern of the wood floor as you chewed on a piece of toast with homemade jam. Gojo just laughed under his breath, low and rough, like he'd won something you hadn't realized you were playing for.

And despite yourself—despite everything—you smiled too.

You were still smiling into your sweet tea when Grandma set her cup down with a soft clink.

"I was thinking," she said, smoothing her hand over the tablecloth like she was trying to play it casual. "About setting up a booth at the farmers market this afternoon. Sell some of the extra eggs and jam, and veggies we’ve got piled up."

You looked up, brushing a crumb off your shorts. "The farmers market?"

"Mm-hm." She smiled at you, a little sly. "Thought you might like to come with me. Help out. Meet some folks."

You hesitated—only for a second—but surprisingly, the idea didn't make your stomach twist the way it might have a few weeks ago. You could picture it already: sunlight filtering through the old oaks in the town square, tables full of fresh produce and baked goods, people milling around with shopping bags and mason jars of lemonade.

"Yeah, I’d like that," you said, surprising yourself with how much you actually meant it.

Grandpa gave a grunt that sounded suspiciously like approval. Gojo just leaned back in his chair with a lazy stretch, grinning at you over the rim of his coffee cup.

"I suppose I can hold down the fort here, princess," he drawled. "Try not to miss me too much."

You rolled your eyes, tossing a crumpled napkin at him that made your grandparents share knowing glances with each other, but the truth was—you kind of already did.

Later that afternoon, after a quick rinse and a change of clothes, you found yourself wedged into the bench seat of Grandpa’s old pickup, rumbling down the road toward town with baskets and crates rattling in the truck bed.

Grandpa whistled low under his breath, hands steady on the wheel, a battered Stetson tipped low on his brow. "You girls got everything?" he asked, glancing over at the two of you.

Grandma patted the tote at her feet, crammed full of jars and bundles of herbs. "Eggs, jam, preserves, and all the cucumbers we grew too many of," she said, shooting him a teasing look.

"You’ll thank me come pickle season," Grandpa grumbled good-naturedly, making you smile.

Ashford’s downtown unfolded in front of you, all red brick and white-painted storefronts, an old barbershop pole spinning lazily in the breeze—a few blocks of brick buildings with faded awnings, an old courthouse with a clock that hadn't worked in years, a diner that smelled like fried bacon even from the sidewalk. But it had a kind of charm that stuck to your ribs, all sweet and stubborn, like the town itself refused to grow up.

The farmers market stretched across the town square, a handful of colorful tents and tables sprouting like wildflowers between the oaks. Bunting fluttered from the lampposts, and the air buzzed with the hum of conversation, the strum of a banjo from somewhere near the fountain, the air thick with the scent of kettle corn and cut grass.

Grandpa found a spot to park right along the curb, then hopped down with a grunt. He helped you unload the heavy crates, stacking them neatly beneath the folding table that already had a wooden sign swinging proudly from it: Sundown Ranch Goods. Hand-painted in faded blue letters, with a little horse silhouette carved into the corner.

"Looks good, don’t it?" Grandpa said, stepping back to admire your little setup, hands braced on his hips.

"It’s perfect," you replied, brushing a smudge of dirt off the corner of the sign.

Grandma beamed, arranging jars of jam and shiny bell peppers with practiced hands while you filled small baskets with cucumbers and tomatoes and snapped peas. Grandpa stayed long enough to fuss over the egg cartons—making sure they were packed safe—before tipping his hat at you both.

"I’ll come fetch ya when you’re ready," he said. "Don’t let your grandma sell you for a jar of pickled green beans now. And holler if y'all need anythin’.”

Grandma laughed and swatted his arm, though the gesture was filled with love. “Go on, get now. Them horses need tending to.”

You laughed as he ambled back to the truck, engine sputtering to life as he pulled away with a wave out the window.

Left alone, you and Grandma fell into an easy rhythm, arranging your goods just so, the late afternoon sun slanting warm across the table. The market bustled around you, alive with the low murmur of conversation and the distant twang of a banjo from near the courthouse steps.

Ashford’s town square had a charm to it—the kind that couldn’t be built, only grown. Little boutiques lined the street alongside a diner with a neon sign that buzzed faintly, a hardware store with creaky floors, and a bakery that made the whole block smell like cinnamon and fresh bread. Kids darted between booths with paper snow cones dripping down their fingers, dogs strained at leashes to sniff everything in sight.

People wandered past your booth in slow, easy currents. Some just nodded politely, but a few stopped—a woman with silver hair and a woven basket, who bought a jar of blackberry jam and complimented Grandma's canning; a wiry old man in suspenders who teased you about city girls not knowing a tomato from an apple (you rolled your eyes but still smiled); a young mom chasing two toddlers, who asked if you'd have more eggs next week.

It wasn’t perfect—you still caught the occasional curious glance, a few whispered comments—but it wasn’t mean, either.

It was... cautious.

Interested.

Like maybe the town wasn’t sure what to make of you just yet. But maybe, just maybe, they were willing to find out.

You let yourself breathe, finally, under the easy buzz of it all, feeling the slow and steady beat of something you hadn’t realized you’d missed—belonging.

By late afternoon, the market had settled into a lazy hum, the early rush tapering off into a comfortable trickle. The sun hung low over the rooftops, painting everything gold, and the jars of jam on your table gleamed like little jewels in the light.

You were just brushing crumbs off the tablecloth when Grandma leaned over and patted your hand. "You're doing good, honey," she said warmly. "Why don't you take a little walk, stretch your legs? I can hold down the fort for a while."

You hesitated, but when she smiled at you—soft, encouraging—you relented, slipping a few dollars into your pocket just in case something caught your eye.

You wandered through the booths, taking your time, soaking it all in: the clatter of horseshoes over pavement, the faint buzz of cicadas in the trees, the buttery smell of something baking from the other side of the market. A trio of kids dashed past you with sticks of cotton candy, and someone strummed a guitar lazily from the corner near the old general store.

It was… nice. Quaint. Warm in a way the city never had been.

You were smiling to yourself when you saw him.

Gojo.

Leaning against a lamppost like he owned the damn thing, with all the casual arrogance of someone who knew he looked good doing it, laughing at something a guy beside him said. And not just any guy—tall, with long black hair pulled back in a low, messy tie, a sleepy, wicked sort of smile stretching across his face like he knew secrets you didn’t.

You slowed instinctively, ducking behind a nearby booth, peeking without meaning to.

First of all, rude that Gojo looked even hotter off the ranch. His white t-shirt clung in all the right places, sleeves stretched over the kind of arms you didn’t want to admit you stared at sometimes (all the time). His jeans rode low on his hips, accentuating that sweet ass of his that never quit, and your gaze treacherously dipped lower before you yanked it back up.

The guy next to him was no slouch either—just another unfairly attractive man standing in your direct line of sight.

Your stomach flipped once, awkward and unwanted.

Was there some kind of water around here that just grew fine men like crops?

Because it wasn’t normal how every single one of them looked like they could grace the cover of some country-living magazine and ruin your life at the same time.

You might’ve been able to ignore it—could’ve told yourself you didn’t care—until you spotted them.

Two girls, standing a little too close, batting their lashes, twirling their hair. They were pretty in that easy, sun-kissed way that only girls who grew up in towns like this seemed to manage. One of them playfully smacked Gojo’s arm; the other leaned into the dark-haired guy, laughing.

You tore your eyes away, busying yourself by pretending to admire a booth near your own selling beeswax candles. Grandma must have wandered off because she was no longer standing there in her cute little sunhat. You could hear Gojo’s stupid laugh floating through the air behind you, low and bright. It made your blood heat in a way you didn’t want to think about.

You scowled and huffed, determinedly turning away—and nearly collided with someone standing at your booth.

"Excuse me," a voice said politely, low and even.

You blinked up—and into another gorgeous face.

Different from Gojo’s bright, arrogant handsomeness.

Different from the other guy’s lazy danger.

This man was... solid. Golden-skinned and serious, with messy blond hair pushed back from his forehead, warm brown eyes, and a steady kind of strength that wrapped around him like armor. His shirt sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing flour-dusted forearms that made your brain short-circuit for a half-second.

Marrying this man within a month would honestly not be the craziest decision you could ever make.

He offered a small smile, polite but not unfriendly.

"Are you the one selling eggs?" he asked.

You scrambled to pull yourself together. "Uh—yeah! Yes. We sell eggs. Or my grandma does, anyway. We’ve still got a few dozen left."

He nodded, pulling a canvas tote higher on his shoulder. "I’ll take two, please. I run the bakery down the street."

Right. That explained the flour. (And possibly the unfairly attractive, husband-material energy.)

You busied yourself packing up the eggs, slipping them carefully into a cardboard flat. The man watched you with patient interest, like you were something worth paying attention to, which only made your hands fumble more.

"I’m Nanami," he said as you handed the carton over. "Kento Nanami."

You gave him your name, cheeks warming under the weight of his calm, unreadable gaze. His fingers brushed yours as he passed you the money, and you were so thrown off by it you barely managed to stammer out a "thank you."

Nanami dipped his head in a small nod, tucking the eggs into his bag like he actually cared not to crush them.

And maybe it was petty—maybe—but when you flicked a glance over to where Gojo was still laughing it up with his pretty little groupies, you felt a very particular kind of satisfaction bloom in your chest.

Because when you caught Gojo's eye—because of course you did—you saw it.

The sharp little glance at Nanami.

The narrowing of those stupidly bright blue eyes.

The faint tilt of his head, as if to say, Oh?

You turned your back, smiling sweetly as Nanami asked, "Would you happen to know if the strawberries here are fresh?"

God help you—you were about to flirt back.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling braver than you had in weeks. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the golden glow of the market. Maybe it was just the way Nanami looked at you—steady, warm, intent.

"They're fresh," you said, smiling up at him, "Picked just a couple days ago."

Nanami gave a small, appreciative nod. "Good. I'd hate to disappoint my customers."

"So, you run the bakery down the street?" you asked, leaning your elbows onto the booth a little, casual but undeniably flirty. "My grandma absolutely raves about your pastries."

A faint smile curved his mouth, something almost shy in the way he glanced down before meeting your eyes again. "I'm glad. I do most of the baking myself. Fresh ingredients make all the difference."

You hummed thoughtfully, "I might have to come by sometime. You know, for... quality assurance."

Nanami chuckled lowly, a rich sound that made something flip in your stomach.

"I'd welcome the feedback," he said, voice smooth as honey.

You were so caught up in the moment—basking in the way Nanami seemed genuinely interested, feeling that rare rush of being seen—that you didn’t even notice the approaching footsteps.

Not until a familiar voice, way too loud and way too casual, cut through the air.

"There you are, princess," Gojo drawled, leaning against the booth casually, one hand braced on the table, the other resting at the small of your back, way too familiar, like he had every right to touch you.

Your skin prickled under the heat of it.

Possessive little shit.

Nanami simply regarded him with polite curiosity, like a customer inspecting a product before buying. "Gojo," Nanami said, polite but clipped. "It's been a while."

Gojo grinned, all teeth, knowing exactly what he was doing. "Yeah, been a minute. Bakery keepin’ you busy, Nanamin?"

"It does," he replied simply, glancing at you before back to Gojo.

Gojo noticed. Oh, he noticed. And he leaned in just slightly, like he couldn't help but crowd your space, tipping his hat back with one hand so he could squint down at you with that slow, lazy smirk you hated for how much it made your heart stutter.

"Princess here’s new in town," he said easily, though his thumb brushed once, deliberately, against the fabric of your shirt. "Gotta make sure she don’t get led astray by all these smooth-talking country boys."

Nanami only arched a brow. "I think she can handle herself."

You bit your cheek, hiding a smile.

God, this was better than a soap opera.

Nanami, unbothered, glanced between the two of you, clearly filing something away in that sharp mind of his.

"Well," he said eventually, offering you a final, faintly amused smile, "It was a pleasure meeting you. I'll see you at the bakery sometime?"

Your heart did a stupid little flip at the way he phrased it like a promise.

You nodded—maybe a little too quickly—and Nanami dipped his head politely before strolling off into the crowd, the late afternoon sun catching in his hair like a halo.

You watched him go for a second too long.

Gojo leaned closer, voice dropping into something lower, rougher.

"Didn't know you were into the whole 'nice guy' thing," he teased, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Kinda boring, don’t you think?"

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

"He wasn’t boring, he was incredibly nice," you shot back. "Better than arrogant and annoying."

Gojo smirked—slow, lazy, dangerous.

"And smooth-talking country boys?" you echoed, eyebrow arching high. "You grew up here, too, stupid."

Gojo just grinned wider, like your irritation was his favorite thing.

You huffed, trying—failing—not to stare at the line of his throat, the stupid stretch of his biceps under his rolled sleeves that looked so, so, strong.

"You’re unbelievable," you muttered, half under your breath.

Gojo leaned even closer, voice dropping to something rough and velvet-soft, meant for you alone.

“And how was your first farmer’s market experience?”

You barely had a chance to recover from the way he said it, all low and teasing, before Gojo reached across the table and plucked a strawberry right out of one of the cartons.

"Hey!" you protested, smacking at his hand half-heartedly.

He just popped the berry into his mouth with a wicked grin, biting into it like he had all the right in the world, juice slipping down the corner of his mouth before he licked it away. Slowly. Purposefully.

Your brain fizzed like soda in the heat.

Before you could summon a single coherent thought, Grandma reappeared, bustling up behind the booth, arms full of fresh flyers she’d gathered from a nearby stall.

She took one look at the two of you—at Gojo standing way too close, at you practically vibrating with frustration (or something suspiciously close to it)—and just laughed, rich and knowing.

"Go on now, Satoru," she said, swatting at him lightly with the flyers. "Quit harassin' Y/N before she up and decks you good."

Gojo grinned, completely unbothered. "Wouldn't be the first time," he said, winking at you as he backed away, slow and lazy.

You huffed, crossing your arms, pretending your heart wasn’t trying to climb up your throat.

As he sauntered off into the crowd, whistling some tune you didn’t recognize, Grandma set her flyers down and leaned in close, conspiratorial.

"You be careful with that one, honey," she said, voice low and fond. "He’s always been trouble. Cute trouble, but still trouble."

Your face burned hot enough to fry an egg.

"I’m not—" you started, but she just patted your hand, eyes twinkling.

"I was young once, too, you know," she said, before turning to straighten the tablecloth like the conversation hadn’t even happened.

You stood there, flustered beyond all measure, watching Gojo’s stupid broad shoulders disappear into the crowd—and wondering how on earth you were supposed to survive a whole summer of this.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to realize this town had a whole lot more to offer than you thought.

Author's Note: Am I pumping these chapters out too fast?? If you wanna be added to the taglist, let me know in the notes below! Also, I think I mention Gojo's juicy ass too much. Bet let a girl have hobbies and interests.

Taglist: @indiewritesxoxo @vina21 @sweetwonieee @billiondollarworth @fati27ma 

no bra

cowboy GETO?!

ac: thatsallitchief

OH THIS WAS GOOD OMG??

come close; hobie brown

getting high and talking about anarchy with some old 90's shit playing is a crazy way to fall for someone. but it happens.

pairing hobie brown x Black!afab!fem! reader

contents lots of weed, different terms for weed (mary jane, cess), talks of killing politicians (y’all r both anarchists so.), masturbation (both you and hobie), making out, fingering, riding, missionary, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (they're horny man dwbi), dirty talk, cervix kissing, lotsssss of praise, porn with plot (sorry i love plot 🙏🏾)

words 4.7k.. back on my longer fic shit!

warnings reader wears lipgloss, barely proofread so if you see any mistakes pls shoot me an ask!, umm i use the n word once!, i’m also,, not that great at writing his voice yet so.. hope it’s at least sorta accurate :3

extras the form i wrote this in is kinda,, unique igs but it flows rlly well i feel.

song shoutouts special thanks to lipstick lover by janelle monae, come close by common and mary j. blige, and green eyes by erykah badu! full playlist

signing off happy father’s day to hobie 🫶🏾

—

not quite plug!hobie, but hobie who always has weed, who you smoke with the first time you buy from him.

you usually don’t smoke with randoms, but you hear some old 90's rap playing from inside his car, and he invites you in when you comment on it.

"what you know bout this?" you ask with a smile.

"a lot, actually. you wanna smoke and listen?"

not quite plug!hobie who's fine as fuck as he sits opposite you in his ride, tall and darkskin with cool ass hair. wild ass accent and even wilder style, but he makes it work. his music taste adds on to his overall allure.

but his political views? god. the charm in the shape of a little 'a' surrounded by a circle hanging from his mirror lets you know that he ain't like these other niggas.

he's an anarchist. so far, you're the only anarchist you know. it's so rare to find someone who has the same values as you.

not quite plug!hobie who's car you leave with music recs clumsily typed into your notes, and someone to talk about politics with, though you're too shy to text the pretty boy with the good weed, so you're sure it'll never happen.

not quite plug!hobie who texts you when you get home to make sure you arrived safely.

"driving while high ain't safe, ya know? you at home?"

"i've done it before. i made it home."

not quite plug!hobie who's so nice to you, complimenting your outfits and hair, even noticing when you meet him the 3rd time with a new style.

not quite plug! hobie who you find out has been giving you discounts when your friends ask if you ever bought from him after their recommendation, and you run them in on the details. you think it’s just cause y’all smoked the first time you ever bought from him and you bonded over political views and music. you don’t think nothing else of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you find yourself thinking about more and more often, ever since that first time y'all smoked together.

not quite plug!hobie who finds himself in the same predicament.

not quite plug!hobie who answers the door on your 6th buy in a pair of red sweats and a tight white t-shirt that hugs his lanky frame, hair tied up with a blue shoe string. he invites you into his crib, citing reasons of having no one else to talk to about his views with. after all, it's the first time you both have time to sit and talk and listen to music instead of a quick deal since that first time.

not quite plug!hobie who you get faded as fuck with, this time sharing a joint on his janky couch, heavy hands brushing against each other with each pass. he tries to ignore the aching in his very core every time you speak your mind, your aligning politics driving him crazy.

you mirror him, shaking off the.. arousal?.. no, it can't be. you can't be getting all heated just cause a man is an anarchist. whatever. just ignore it.

not quite plug!hobie who laughs when you tell him straight up, “people aren’t killing politicians anymore. that’s our fuckin’ problem.”

"really? you're wild. but i get it."

"course you do." you nod, taking another drag of the joint. erykah badu's "green eyes" is playing quietly in the background of your convo. hobie starts laughing.

"what?" you smile.

"song's called green eyes, right? well we got red eyes." it's corny and wouldn't be funny if you two weren't high as shit, but you are high as shit, so it's fucking hilarious.

not quite plug!hobie who's eyes linger on you as he pulls laugh after laugh out of your chest with his snarky little jokes.

not quite plug!hobie who walks you to your car after your smoke session, telling you to get home safely. he passes out after his head hits the bed, that after smoke sleep being some of the best he's ever had. he tries to chase you out of his mind as he succumbs to the cess.

not quite plug!hobie who lights a joint and then pulls his dick out the next day, hard and heavy, and strokes it thinking about his pretty little client— friend? whatever — hips stuttering as he wraps his hand around his thick base. he's tried to shake you off, went all day distracting himself with this and that, but it's not working.

not quite plug!hobie who cums in white spurts splattering on his chest to the thought of making you cum in a room filled with smoke, some old r&b playin as he dicks you down the way he's been wanting to since the first time your pretty ass came to him asking for some weed. he wants you bent over on the end of his bed, eyes low and red while he fills you up and fucks you good, gives you his dick like he feels you so rightfully deserve.

not quite plug!hobie who you seriously can't stop thinking of. last night's smoke session has you on edge, so you light another joint, but weed always gets you horny, so when you slip your fingers into your panties and touch yourself to the thought of the pretty darkskin boy with the piercings and cool hair pushing his fat cock into your pretty hole, you blame it on the mary jane sitting pretty in your veins.

the fault lies in the mary jane for making you think about him laid on top of you, talking you through it as he damn near kisses your cervix, his wiry hands roaming your body. the fault lies in the mary jane for having your legs shaking, imagining your pretty plug folding you in half and ruining you, leaving you and your cunt sore and satisfied and dripping his cum.

not quite plug!hobie who cleans up while telling himself that he can't do this again, that you're not interested in him.

not quite plug!hobie who you block out of your mind as you shower. what you did wasn't right. it won't happen again.

not quite plug!hobie who you don’t buy from for a minute, cause you’re trying to stop smoking so much, for a while. you still keep in contact with him, though. daily texts, funny memes, and of course talks of anarchy. one day, you call him “bee” instead of hobie, and it sticks. he likes it.

not quite plug!hobie… who you fuck yourself to again, this time slipping three fingers inside your greedy cunt to satiate the need for him. it’s almost every night, and it’s a different fantasy every time. 

in the backseat of his car, bent over on his counter, pressed into his couch cushions. your head pressing into your pillows while visions of hobie’s lips pressed to your ear praising you endlessly for being his good girl and taking him so well torment you. you’re insatiable, but when you text you have to pretend like you don’t want his piercing scraping against your clit as he eats you like a man starved.

not quite plug!hobie who has the same dilemma as you.. he can’t even go a couple of hours without growing hard in his sweats, glimpses of you spread out on his bed with your thighs thrown over his shoulders, or you face down ass up, sobbing in pure ecstasy. it’s not made better by y’all’s constant texting, more and more of your personality being revealed to him each day.

you both share one brain, really. and that one brain finds each other attractive, of course, but it’s not just that. it’s not just pure lust. you two have more in common than anyone you’ve ever met, and that sinks ache and want so deep into you that every night and day is spent trying to rid yourselves of it.

not quite plug!hobie who you buy from again almost two weeks later, two weeks that were filled with funny conversations and deep discussions of politics through text. two weeks that solidify the growing feelings you have for each other. this time, he’s wearing a pair of blue sweats and a tight black tee, and his hair is tied up just like the first time you came to his house. this time, brandy’s playing throughout his crib.

you’ve only known each other for about two months, but it feels like longer, for the both of you. you take your seat on the couch as he grabs his stash and his papers, pulling out one paper to roll up.

not quite plug!hobie who sits a little bit closer than he did last time. he smells good. your head is swimming already. 

not quite plug!hobie who lights up and then lets you take the first hit, watching you wrap your glossy lips around the joint like he doesn’t wish they were wrapped around his dick instead. you pass the joint to him and settle onto the couch, raking your eyes over his lanky frame, and what you swear is a hard-on. no way. it has to be the weed. 

he settles back onto the couch too, extending his long arms on the back. his arm comes up behind your head, and you rest your head on it, smiling dopily when he directs his hazy gaze your way. his playlist must have ended. you're left with him and your thoughts.

“you’re funny, you know?” he says through a breath of smoke, passing the joint to you.

“yeah?” you reply, hitting it again. “everyone tells me i’m just corny.”

“you’re not corny. you’re pretty hilarious, if i’m bein’ honest.” 

and there it is again.

not quite plug!hobie whose words light that fire in you again, the fire that you’ve been dousing every night for the past two fucking weeks. fuck, not here. not now. you grab the joint from him in an attempt to push more weed into your system to flush him out, but you meet his pretty fuckin’ brown eyes and they’re low and his lips looks so good and he smells so good and suddenly you’re asking not quite plug who you’re two seconds away from fucking!hobie why he’s been charging you less than everyone else who buys from him and why he invited you into his car and into his house, twice.

and not quite plug who really wants to kiss you right now!hobie can’t even joke and twist his way out of this one. he’s tired of cumming alone to the thought of you. the worst you can do is leave. but the best? god, so many things.

“'s cause i think you’re pretty. n' i really wanna kiss you right now.”

“then do it.”

not quite plug!hobie who tastes like weed and chocolate. the hand that was resting on the back of the couch finds it’s way to the small of your back, fingers drawing nonsensical shapes into it. your hands find his knee and his neck as you press your lips into his. you slide closer to him, and then he’s using the hand resting on your back to push you into his lap, hands settling on your hips as you settle above him, your hands circling around his neck.

“how long?” you ask between kisses.

“since the day you walked up to my car.” he responds quietly, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. he’s quick to trap your lips again.

god, he is hard. and he’s big, you can feel him pressing against the inside of your thigh. you hold your tongue, figuring you could deal with that later. right now, you just need to get out what you’ve been keeping in since the day you two met and you spotted the little ‘a’ hanging from his mirror.

the kiss grows deeper and he grows a little less shy, starting to use his hands gripping your waist to grind you against him. heat floods you when you realize that he's pulling you onto his cock, pressing your cunt against him, separated by the fabric of his sweats and your shorts.

you find his rhythm, falling into the pattern of his soft pushes and presses, a gentle lull of bodies moving against each other that makes you even more comfortable than you already are. soft little groans escaping the both of you, mixing with the smoke and infatuation in the air.

he lets you move the way you want, lithe fingers tracing up your back, hovering over where your hair falls onto your neck. he keeps kissing you for a minute, seemingly frozen. but then he's pulling away to speak, "can i- can i touch your hair?"

you stop moving with a smile. you nod. "yeah. thanks for asking." you kiss him again.

"course, love." he nods, and then he kisses you again. his long fingers snake into your hair, gently and softly. he strokes his hands through your locks, in time with your kisses and the movements of your hips that have started again. hands migrating from his neck, sliding down his chest, laying flat-palmed. your fingers slide under his tee, curling and gripping to pull him ever closer to you.

not quite plug!hobie who could kiss you forever. you could too, but you want more. you need him. so you pull away just a little, murmur "can feel you against me." chills rack through him at your words.

"i know. 'm so hard, darlin'." he pushes his hips up just a little, drawing a muffled whine from you.

"been wantin' you so bad.." you trail off. hobie takes it upon himself to move his hands from your hair to the waistband of your shorts, eyes fixed on yours, watching your every move. you nod, giving him permission to snake his fingers into your shorts, fingers that are met with no resistance.

"no panties? did'ya plan this, doll?" he smiles, slim fingers exploring your wetness, doing what he can with the limited space.

"mhm." you shake your head. "'s more comfortable." he hums in agreement. he circles your clit with his middle finger, dipping towards your entrance to collect more slick. you push down against his fingers, causing him to have to crane his wrist to reach you.

"can we take these off? can't touch you the way i wanna." you blush, averting your eyes to focus on the hand that disappears into your shorts.

"yeah." you breathe shakily, standing up and letting hobie pull them down your legs, hands on his shoulders as balance. your shirt is long, and it falls down to give you some modesty. hobie throws your shorts somewhere behind you before he leans back, giving you space to sit back down.

he looks so fucking good, brown eyes staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky. he reaches out for you, pulling you back into his lap by your hips. his hand disappears under your shirt while his lips find yours again, exploring you more freely this time.

"so wet, doll." he murmurs between one kiss and another, smiling when you whine. his fingers move at different speeds, pressing in different areas and circling at different speeds until he finds a combination that makes you jolt against him, whining "bee."

"thaaaaat's it, love." this time, you don't return your lips to his, instead tucking your head into his neck as you hump shamelessly against his hand, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your thigh. "keep going, baby," he urges, "show me how it feels."

and you do. you shiver and shake and whine and groan in pleasure, pressing kisses in his brown skin as he touches you the way he touched himself thinking about.

not quite plug!hobie who presses his thumb into your clit, sliding his hand farther down to tease your drooling hole. "'s wet, love. g'na feel so good 'round me." you moan loudly at that, at the thought of your fantasies coming true. you cant your hips down, sliding down his fingers until they're seated inside you, stroking gently at your sensitive walls.

pulling them out softly, he curls his fingers, twisting his wrist as you whine and mouth at his neck. "'s okay. you can bite." he nods, catching onto what you were holding yourself back from. you still don't, resign to licking and sucking instead.

until his fingers catch the spongy spot inside you, and your teeth are sinking into the column. "fuck," you damn near shout, pushing yourself onto his hand. he groans in response, pleased to be pleasing you and indulging in the pain you inflict on him. thumb on your clit and fingers playing with that spot, he brings his other hand from your hip to your hair to soothe you, to ground you.

it's sweet, really, his hand in your hair while the other one touches you the way you've been dreaming of. coos and hums meet your ears, soft sounds of affirmation egging you on to let yourself get lost in the pleasure he delivers you. arousal steadily dripping out of your hole, hobie's fingers sliding easier and easier inside you until he can pull out and slip right back in.

"you're so pretty, dove, fuckin' dreamgirl." he murmurs, staring down at your pretty face, arched eyebrows turned down in ecstasy, lips parted. the praise takes you closer and closer to the edge, his deep voice reverberating throughout your entire being, the pangs of arousal in your clit growing harder and faster. you're close.

you're so goddamn close to cumming for a boy you just wanted to buy from. his long fingers reach deep, deeper than you could ever even dream of. “hobie- i- i’m g’na-” you stutter against his neck, hips stuttering against his fingers.

“‘s okay, love, cum. i’m right here.” the rubber band snaps, and you're tightening your thighs around his hand while you shake and shiver, eyes closed tight with soft whines of "hobie, god it feels so good" tumbling from your lips. you tighten around his fingers, too, squeeze him so tight he winces, cause he just knows you're gonna feel so good wrapped around him. he pushes that thought away, though, focused on helping you ride out your orgasm.

fingers pressing into your clit and that spot inside you, he makes sure to milk every last second of your climax, eyes fixed on your ethereal features. aftershocks still racking through you, you finally open your eyes, and he takes it as a sign to gently pull his fingers out of you and wipe them on his sweats, and you shudder at the feeling.

"that was. . so much better than i imagined. n' i imagined it being pretty good." you smile and giggle, placing a kiss on his neck. he laughs in response, raising his eyebrows at your confession.

"bet i'm a better fuck than you imagined, too." the air in the room shifts again, and suddenly you're aware of his cock pressed against your thigh through his sweats again.

"bet you are."

you raise up, kissing him again as your hands find the waistband of his sweats and invite themselves in, meeting his dick that's been hard since you first sat down on his couch. "and i'm the one who planned this? you're free-balling." you murmur against his lips, and he mirrors your words from earlier.

"'s more comfortable, 's all— fuck." he's cut off when you pull his cock out of his sweats and run your finger over his pretty brown tip, dipping into his slit. his hips thrust up, chasing your soft hand. "g'na drive me crazy." he almost whines, jerking against you when you swipe your thumb against his aching tip again.

"just returnin' the favor." you shoot back, raising up to hover over him, swiping his leaking dick through your wetness. he wraps his hand around his thick base, moving in time with your teasing strokes. "you're big." you groan, hesitating to seat yourself on him.

"i know, doll, you can take it though. we'll make you take it." he speaks into your clothed chest, muffled and horny, and you’re sure he means what he says. you drip even more at his words, sticky slick wetting his fat tip.

not quite plug!hobie whose hands are on your hips as you sink down onto his pretty dick, whining into his neck as he encourages you. “you got it, baby, you’re takin’ me so well. god, she’s so wet.”

"she— fuck that's so hot," you moan, eyes rolling back at his words.

"mhm?" he hums.

you don't respond, too busy focusing on his fat cock pushing into you, focusing on the way you both make it fit, exactly like he said you would. finally, he bottoms out, your thighs resting against his sweats.

"g' job, babe. knew you could take me." you jolt against him, his heady words sending another pang of arousal straight to where you two meet.

not quite!plug hobie who you tell to move, raising your hips up as he pulls out, meeting him in the middle as he fills you back up. his hips slot against yours again, and his big chocolate eyes are fixed on yours, gazing upon you in adoration, while your eyes are fixed on where he disappears into you.

"so big, feels s'good. ." you whisper, meeting his gaze. the look in his eyes has chills running down your spine as you raise your hips again, choosing to connect your lips with his again. hobie starts to find a rhythm, now, wrapping his long arms around your waist. you swap spit with him as his hips meet your ass, taking over.

body bouncing with each of his thrusts into your pussy, arms wrapped around his neck. his lips slipping against yours, plump and wet. you both take it slow, basking in the feeling of finally being like this with someone you've wanted since you first saw them.

he fills you up so nicely, thick cock nestled in your achy walls, leaking tip just barely kissing your cervix as he thrusts just a bit harder and you push down a little more.

"y'feel me, darlin? 'm all the way in, at the end of you, god, 'm g'na make you mine." he babbles in pleasure, pushing his hips up even harder. still soft, but firm, and deliberate.

you nod against his lips, hand resting on his cheek. "feel you, bee, feel you in my fuckin' stomach, i swear." you feed off of him and he feeds off of you, kissing and slapping your hips against the others, wild and wanting. "fuckin' me so good, bee, makin' me yours."

"makin' me yours, doll, pussy's squeezin' me like she don't w'na let go."

"don't wanna let go, wan' you so bad." you confess, bringing your ass down onto his cock again. "i— fuck," you sob. his cock curves just right, and with his tip pressing against your spot now, hobie's found new determination.

"that it?" he asks, making sure to keep hitting that spongy patch of skin with every thrust, sheathing his cock in your wet heat.

"'s it, hobie, feels so good, shit." the high has worn off by now, leaving pure emotions and desire driving you two. you get tight around him again, cunt pulsing with every slam of his hips against yours. you feel so good around him, so tight and wet.

"'m g'na—, you're gonna make me cum, bee."

he moves one hand from around your waist at that, sliding between you two to toy with your clit, thumb rubbing wild shapes against the throbbing bud.

"fuck," you cry, grinding against his thumb and down onto his dick.

"you close again, doll? wan' you to wet me up, ma'me a mess," he encourages, big brown eyes fixed on yours like they've been the whole night.

"'m so close, bee, wanna cum for you, wanna wet you up."

"then do it." he mirrors your words from earlier, and the pleasure pulsing through your veins and infatuation swirling around in your blood gets to be too much, and you cum on his cock, still slamming your hips down onto him, meeting his thrusts in the middle. "thaaaat's it, doll." you hear hobie praise through the fog in your mind, bounces turned to messy grinds as you get all tight around him, cumming hard.

"y'alright, love?" he asks, moving your hair out of your face.

"mhm. w'na go again, you haven't come yet." he chuckles at your words, wrapping both hands around your waist and kissing you again.

"lay back, love." he murmurs against your lips, flipping you onto the couch. your back meets the smooth fabric as he lays you down, pulling his tee and his sweats off. you follow suit, stripping your shirt off and throwing it somewhere behind his couch. his watchful eyes fall on your face, then your tits, then your cunt, taking your body in for the first time.

he finds his place on top of you, balancing himself on his elbows as he kisses you again. he reaches down, but you stop him. "lemme do it," you urge, replacing his hand. you line him up with your sopping entrance, nodding twice to tell him to push in.

the stretch is so fucking good, his cock bullying it's way into your tight cunt again.

"fuck, that's it," he curses, watching your face as he seats himself in your once again.

"so deep. ." you trail off, looking down at your stomach, and oh fuck, no way.

"hobie, hobes, look," you urge, and he points his gaze to where you're looking.

"oh, love, look at that. can see myself, right there," he presses down on the bulge he creates, ripping a broken moan straight from your throat.

"fuck me, please," you sob, squirming under him. he nods, understanding, and finds his rhythm easier this time, lean hips slapping against you. your body jolts up the couch with every thrust, choppy whines of nonsensical sentences leaving your mouth.

not quite plug who's absolutely pussydrunk!hobie can't get enough of your cunt, the way you squeeze him oh so tight, the wet squelches of your heat drawing him further into madness. he needs to go deeper, needs to fuck you harder, so he raises up, throwing your legs over his shoulders, leaning back down to bury his cock deep inside you.

"baby, fuck." it's a gritted groan, head rolling back onto the couch as he mouths at your neck, licking and biting at your heated skin. his thrusts are slow and firm, dick kissing your cervix, the slaps sounding out through his living room.

you're both quiet this time around, too blissed out to do anything but fuck, allowing yourselves to succumb to pleasure. every inch of his cock fills you, driving you crazy, driving him crazy too. it's intimate, his lips on your neck, your fingers palming at his back, limbs tangled together. and you can feel it building up in you again.

"'m g'na cum, hobes." he moves one of his arms, bringing his thumb down to rub at your clit, still mouthing at your neck. he lets it happen this time, doesn't urge you or change anything he's doing, and you coast into your climax so gratifyingly that you almost cry, squeezing him tight once again. now, your focus is on making him cum.

"wan' you to cum, hobes."

"gotta pull out, love. we ain' even put a rubber on." he realizes.

"no you don't. 'm clean. jus' fill me up, please." in your right mind, you wouldn't let him, but you're not in your right mind, and neither is he. so he cums with a groan, shaking as he spills pressed against your cervix.

the air's.. different now, satisfied and calm. you both lay there for a while, until hobie's picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

after, he lights another joint that you two share tucked under his covers, hugged up like a couple.

not quite plug!hobie holds you as you both fall asleep.

---

gojo satoru x reader / college au (18+)

↠ 'kickoff' ch.3 returning the favor

☆ pairing: college au - soccer boy! gojo x film major! reader (f)

(note: lots of other jjk characters are included)

☆ summary: Gojo Satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. He's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. But he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. But when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

☆ warnings/tags: 18+, fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, gojo being an idiot

☆ chapter: 3/? (probably 12)

☆ words: 4,463

a/n: hope you enjoy! i really had fun writing in a lot of the other characters in this one

|| 9:21AM Gojo Satoru sent you a photo

|| 9:22AM Gojo Satoru: Here’s our practice schedule for the week. Honestly, it’s better if you come when we do practice games or something, since on other days we just do drills or strength training, but coach doesn’t really tell us what we’re doing beforehand so would probs have to play it by ear

|| 9:27AM Gojo Satoru: Oh yeah, we’ve got a big game in three weeks on the 28th. It’ll decide if we’re automatically seeded into the top 16 teams bracket, which is really crucial if we want to eventually bring home the championship. Not sure when your assignment is due, but that would be a good official game to come to 

|| 9:28AM Gojo Satoru: Let me know as soon as you can if you want to make that game. I’ll have to ask coach to get the referee sign-off for you to be on-field during play at least a week before

You look down at all the messages he was sending you during class on a Monday morning. After he sent you that house party details post from his fraternity’s Instagram page last week, their posts kept popping up in your feed and you saw one this morning with a bunch of the guys in the frat, Gojo included, shotgunning beers until 3AM last night. You marvel at how he’s somehow not hungover beyond repair and is texting you before noon. 

Pressing and holding on to his messages, you give him little thumbs up reactions and you decide on a heart reaction for the picture he sent you of the practice schedule. Then, you set your phone down and look at the video of the men’s soccer team highlights your professor was playing from the game a week and a half ago.

“Here, here, this right here. Midfielder #24 surveyed the field, spotting #13 making a run for it down the flank. Pinpoint pass to left winger, who starts steering through defenders, but loses the ball. Then, center forward #10 steals the ball back! He steals the ball, he fucking steals the fucking ball back!” Your professor was running back and forth in front of the projector screen, his finger following the movement of the soccer ball in the video. Your heart jumps a beat when Gojo shows up on screen, with his signature #10 jersey, and some people in the lecture hall stand up in excitement with the professor. “Beelines towards the goal, and BAM! Goalie stood no fucking chance, ball sent immaculately into the back of the net. Victory for UTokyo, 2-1, in the last seconds of the game!" Your professor cheers and jumps up and down. Some people cheer with him, others sigh, others are in awe, and some simply clap. 

Another entire lecture goes by where the professor spends absolutely no time going over film photography theory and instead just talks about how soccer used to be back in his day. You approach him after class, clutching your laptop case to your chest, and it’s only when you clear your throat in front of him that he finally looks up at you from the podium. 

“Oh, y/n, how can I help you?” He asks as he shoves his phone back in his pocket.

“Hey, professor. Bit of a request, could I have like two extra days for my assignment? There’s this event that I really want to use for the subject matter but it’s the day before the deadline, and I would need some time to develop my photos,” you say in the politest tone you can muster up.

“Yeah, sure. Just get it in before the end of the deadline week,” he says nonchalantly. “Looking forward to seeing it. Good work on the last one, by the way.”

You give him a smile and a word of appreciation before turning on your heel and making it up the stairs to exit the lecture hall, pulling your phone out of your tote bag. 

|| 9:53AM You: i can make it on the 28th. please get that referee permission for me

You press your lips together as you press send, and then type a bit more.

|| 9:54AM You: and thanks a lot

Your stomach is suddenly growling and you’re about to head over to the student hub when your phone starts ringing. You look down at the contact name that says Nobara and pick up.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up,” you say as you make your way towards the heart of campus, enjoying the light breeze as the sun peeked through the clouds. 

“Where are you? Didn’t we have a Film Club meeting today?” She asks you, her tone a bit impatient. “We were supposed to discuss that collaboration with the school newsletter.”

Shoot. You forgot. These days, you were a bit too distracted by recent happenings, like Mina practically falling head-over-heels for a guy that was quite possibly the opposite of her type, the towering amount of class assignments that never seemed to end, and this whole arrangement you were trying to coordinate with Gojo Satoru. The Film Club meeting totally slipped your mind. You were supposed to head out of class a bit early to make it on time. “I’m so sorry, Nobara. I totally forgot about it. I’m unfortunately all the way on the other end of campus right now. I typed up some notes in the document, can you just run those by them? If we need anything else, I’ll reach out to them by email.” 

She sighs on the other end of the line. “Yeah. I’m not good at these conversations, but I guess as President I should be better at them anyways. I’ll let you know how it goes.” And then she hangs up. 

Mentally happy that you were at least free of one other obligation today, you prepare to make your way to the dining hall when your phone vibrates again.

|| 10:01AM Gojo Satoru: Will do, and sure thing. By the way, you free right now? Coach is having us do a practice game, probably for around 2 hours

You squint your eyes at his message, considering the opportunity. You didn’t have any other classes left for the day and were just going to grab something to eat before heading home, but now you wonder if you should make it to this practice session. He did say that you have to be flexible since he doesn’t even know exactly what they’ll end up doing before practice, so you figured this might be your only chance this week to practice capturing shots of them as they play, since it seemed like they had Tuesday & Friday off based on Gojo’s schedule picture. Unfortunately, you only brought your digital camera with you today since your film camera was too heavy to carry around unless you knew you needed it, but you can still do a lot with digital that would help for the film camera shoot. You could make it work.

|| 10:05AM You: yeah, i’m free. i was just gonna grab something to eat first, and then i’ll head over to the field in maybe 15 min. but i’m not exactly sure how to get onto the field, or where the entrance is…

He adds a heart reaction to your message which startles you a little bit. An accident, maybe?

|| 10:06AM Gojo Satoru: Lol, just meet me at that weird art sculpture they put up last semester. The one that cost like all of our tuition money. I’ll walk you to the field

You let out a sigh, somewhat nervous that you'll be seeing him again soon. The last time you saw Gojo was when you left him standing unceremoniously at the kitchen island with a somewhat offending comment. Nonetheless, he didn’t necessarily seem angry at you. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s been way more helpful than you had ever anticipated. You started to feel like the effort you put into getting Mina to go to that house party was nothing compared to the effort he was putting in for you to ace this assignment. 

Stopping by your school’s mini grocery store, you pick up a sandwich plus some strawberry vanilla soda, and take some bites as well as some sips as you leisurely make your way to the expensive art sculpture near the sports fields. As you get closer to it, you see Gojo from a distance talking to some people. A few of them were guys, a few of them girls, and he was laughing out loud at something one of the girls said. A part of you wonders what it’s like to be adored by so many people. 

When he spots you at the other side of the cross walk, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he’s hurriedly saying goodbye to the group in front of him. Their heads turn to each other in confusion before turning their attention in your direction as he makes his way over to you.

“Hey,” he says as he lightly jogs up to the sidewalk you were standing on. You notice he’s wearing a black long sleeve undershirt with a short-sleeved blue one on top, along with some athletic black shorts and running shoes. When he brushes some of his hair away from where it had fallen near his eyes, your heart skips a beat at his handsome expression. A smile graces his face. “You ready?”

You nod, swallowing the mouthful of sandwich you didn’t realize you had stopped chewing, and follow his lead as the two of you cut across behind the batting cages of the school’s softball training area. Your eyes fell to Gojo’s back as he walked on the pavement. His shoulders were broad, shoulder blades pulling the upper half of the fabric of his clothing somewhat taut across as the rest of it freely flowed down to his lean lower back. The long sleeved shirt he wore underneath was pretty loose-fitting, but you could still see the thickness of his muscles. With every step that he took, his calves flexed in a way that made you realize he must really work out.

“What are you eating?” He says as he turns around to face you, walking backwards for a few paces as he looks at your hands.

“Oh, just a veggie sandwich,” you answer as you hold it up next to your face. “Campus delicacy.”

His smile widens. “And what are you drinking?” This time he asks with a bit more curiosity.

“It's strawberry vanilla soda,” you say as you juggle all of the things you were holding in your arms. 

“Can I have some?” He asks with a somewhat innocent tone. “The soda, I mean. I’ve never had that flavor.” 

You hesitate, but alas you were a people-pleaser. “Sure.” 

He halts his movements and so you do too, and he closes the gap between you two in one exaggerated stride. His hand gently pulls the soda bottle out from where it was tucked into your elbow to keep it from falling. You notice the veins on his hand get more defined as he squeezes & twists to release the cap and it sends something akin to a wave of arousal through your body, entirely startling you. But when he brings the bottle up to his lips with his head tipping backwards, drinking directly from it, neck bobbing as he swallows and a single drop trickles down the expanse of his jawline, the arousal directly hits you at your core. 

“Hm,” he licks his lips. “That’s pretty good.” 

You’re standing there in shock, your grip on your sandwich causing dents in the bread. He dabs the stray droplet of liquid at his chin with the back of his hand and turns around to keep walking ahead, making his way up the stairs onto what looks like a grassy field. It takes you a second to start moving too, and by then you need to do a light jog just to catch up to him. 

There’s a comfortable silence that develops between the two of you and when you glance at Gojo, you notice his eyes are closed and there’s a serene smile on his face, a gust of wind pushing the hair up out of his forehead and sending the blades of grass dancing across the hilly field. You smile too at the sensation of cool wind on your skin. It was a beautiful day outside with sparkling sunshine and quiet whistling wind.

“Can I ask you something?” You say after contemplating if you should interrupt his somewhat meditative state. 

“You can ask me anything,” he easily replies. 

“Why are you so willing to help me out with my assignment?” 

He turns his head to look at you with a neutral expression. “Because you did me a favor.” 

You sigh. “I know…but it really wasn’t that hard to convince Mina to go to that party. I feel like you’re helping me out way more than I helped you out.” A small ladybug lands on the fabric of your jeans and you marvel at it before it flutters its wings and flies away.

He’s silent for a second. “Honestly, when you agreed to help me out with Todo’s little crush, which by the way I had to do because I lost a bet, and you mentioned something about terms and conditions in your message,” he starts to say, a brief pause making its way between the sentence as if he was actively trying to relive that first night he was texting you, “I thought you were going to ask for something sexual in return.” 

Your mouth drops at his line of thinking, suddenly mortified. That’s how your message came across to him? Oh my God, you had to rethink how you texted everyone in your life from now on.

“I mean, weren’t you being a little flirty? ‘My terms and conditions will come later’. Or do I just have some weird sexual brain rot?” His eyes are still on you, his tone way too casual in your opinion for this sudden topic of conversation. You also realize that he thinks having sex with him would be returning you the favor. And then you try not to think about how good he probably is in bed. 

When you can’t think of what to say and just stare at him with wide eyes, he smiles and stretches his arms out in front of him as another gust of wind passes by. “Well, anyways, when you shared what you actually wanted from me and it ended up being a pretty earnest request…let’s just say I was emotionally moved by your dreams and aspirations.” He says that last part somewhat dramatically and you roll your eyes, sending him an annoyed look. “A little disappointed, but nonetheless moved.” 

“Wow, you’re the type of person that would trade favors for sex?” You ask him with a sneer to your tone. 

He sends a lazy smirk to you over his shoulder to where you’re trailing behind him now. “Not really, no, can’t say I’ve ever done it before,” he says slyly, “probably would’ve made an exception for you, though.” And then he’s giving you a wink.

You can’t help but blush a little. He was definitely just teasing you, some hobby of his that he does just to constantly get a kick out of the people around him since he knows he just has that much of an effect on them, so you try not to let his words get past your skin to the more vulnerable parts of you. He’s reading your expression before he speaks up again.

“We’ve already started this little return favor of yours, so no take-backs. It’s an eye for an eye. Not an eye for an eye and throw some casual sex in there, too.” He makes his way up what seems to be the largest hill across the field and he stops at the top, peering out at whatever was across from it. When you made your way to the top too, your eyes widened as you saw an expanse of flat grassiness covered in orange cones, green land markers, white chalk outlines, and netted goals. Oh, and a lot of men. “Alrighty, you freaky little photographer. Here are your muses.” 

You let out the breath you were holding in and smiled, hands immediately reaching for your digital camera case within your tote bag. A wave of creativity and inspiration hit you as you were finally able to lay your eyes on your subject matter and setting, and you couldn’t wait to get started. 

Gojo makes his way down the hill and you stumble after him. He high-fives a couple of his teammates that were leaving the first wave of practice and makes his way over where the second-wave practice players were stretching on the field and running laps.

“C’mon, Itadori, I’ve seen snails with a more urgent sense of direction than you! Pick up those goddamn knees!” You hear a loud voice from a few feet away from you and flinch, eyeing the scary looking man that had a…Pomeranian dog in his arms? He was wearing a black athletic jumpsuit and had extremely tinted, thick sunglasses on. His facial hair was a bit jarring and you immediately decided you were scared of him, despite how gently he was petting the little dog cradled in his arms. 

“That’s coach Yaga,” Gojo says beside you with a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. “Real nice guy.”

You turn to give him a suspicious look and he just returns it with a wider smile. 

“Hey! It’s y/n,” you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out and you glance at the direction it came from. You see Geto standing next to Nanami and he whacks his hand against the blonde's chest to get his attention when he makes eye contact with you before jogging over. You see Gojo put his hands in his shorts pockets in your periphery. “What are you doing here?” 

You give him a somewhat shy smile, suddenly embarrassed by the attention. “Here to take some photos.”

“Are you with the school newsletter?” Nanami’s smooth voice says as he approaches Geto, standing next to him. They both were wearing matching blue tracksuits. 

“No, I’m not. Just here to…take some photos for one of my classes. It’s for a film photography assignment.” You suddenly wished you were part of the school newsletter committee, so that you could at least provide them with some positive publicity with your photos. You wondered if they would think you’re just using them. As if Gojo could read your mind, he patted Geto harshly on the back and let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

“Hear that, punks? She wants to try and take some nice photos of you lot. Be grateful! Of course, your grotesque appearances cannot simply be fixed by any technology yet known to man,” Gojo says rather loudly, continuing to smack Geto on the back. Geto has a small pitiful smile on his face and Nanami just looks annoyed. You feel lighter somehow, less tense. 

“Okay, cool, let us know if we can help in any way,” Geto says kindly as he sits down on the grass to continue stretching out his legs. “Oh by the way, Satoru, Chosou’s out sick today so you might need to cover for goalie.” 

“What? Why’s that fucker always getting sick?” Gojo says as he walks towards one of the duffle bags on the bench, and you assume it’s his. He pulls out a water bottle. “He needs to stop eating that goddamn grocery store sushi.” 

“Oh! Oh! It’s you,” another somewhat familiar voice calls out from ahead. You see a guy wearing a dark blue jacket that had a red hood approaching you from the inner field. Then you recognize he was that guy at the entrance of the house party that called you a- “It’s casual tomboy!” 

Your eye twitches slightly as you take in your appearance. Sure, you were wearing jeans again, but your top was somewhat stylish and feminine. He arrives in front of you and notices the digital camera hung at your neck. “Hey, what’s that?” He points directly at your midriff where the camera sat. He almost pokes his finger right through the delicate attachable lens that cost you nearly two months of rent.

“A little rude, Yuuji,” Geto says, grunting as he switches from one stretch to the other. 

Yuuji gets closer to you to study the camera and you instinctively lean away from him before Gojo is grabbing him by the hood of his jacket and yanking him away from you, Yuuji’s arms flailing out in front of himself in a struggle. “Hey, get back to practice. You’re not allowed to talk to pretty seniors.” 

Coach Yaga grunts and crosses his arms from where he stood a few feet away, the tiny pomeranian now barking at his feet. “I never said you could stop running laps, Itadori! Get your ass back out there! I’ll be sending you to recreational soccer for the rest of your freshman year if you don’t get your damn head straight!” Gojo lets go of Itadori’s hood and the poor boy is scrambling across the field to join what seems like the other first-years for their warm-up laps. Coach Yaga turns to you and gives a hmph before vaguely gesturing to you. “May I know what you’re doing out on my field?”

“Coach!” Gojo says, making his way over to the scary man. He slings his arm around his neck and the man just continues to glare at him through his sunglasses. “She’s with me today. Photographer y/n will be taking some handsome photographs of you that you can send to your wife, and then maybe your wife will actually want to-”

Coach Yaga puts Gojo in a headlock and Gojo’s instantly tapping on his back to get him to ease up. “I dare you to finish that sentence, boy.”

You let out a small laugh. This was certainly a lively bunch. Nanami approaches you and expresses interest in your camera. You lift it up for him to take a closer look. He pinches his chin between his bent index finger and thumb, as if he was a detective analyzing a crime scene. “I see…so this is a film camera.” 

“Ah…” you laugh awkwardly. “No, this is just a digital camera.” 

“I see…so this is a digital camera,” he repeats, equally as intrigued. 

The time eventually comes along where all the players start the practice match. There’s obviously not enough players out on the field for full teams on each side, but they’re split into 1st & 4th years vs. 2nd & 3rd years. You learn that the second wave practice group has the talented players at the top of each of their year groups. Gojo doesn’t seem to participate in the practice match despite one team having to omit having a goalie since the coach requested he sit out to watch the plays and make suggestions.  You’re a bit sad you don’t get to see him play, but figured you’ll have a chance in the future. You take a few snapshots as one of the other first-years, a quiet boy named Megumi, kicks the ball towards the goal that ends up bouncing off the goal frame. You spend some time tweaking the exposure, zoom, and focus until you feel like you have a pretty good idea of the settings you’ll need to get some fluid shots. 

When you look up over the field again, raising your digital camera to your face, you notice Gojo looking at you from across the field where he stood at the sidelines. You both keep your gaze on one another for a couple of seconds, and you boldly lift the camera up to your eye, taking a few snapshots of him. When you pull it away, look down at the results on the small screen, and then glance back up at him, his eyes are slightly wide. Something stirs within you when you remember his words from earlier: I thought you were going to ask for something sexual.

Your mind wanders back to the party from last weekend, and the feeling of him leaning down next to your ear in the kitchen as he said “Thanks, I owe you one. Find me later, ‘kay?” The memory itself made your cheeks feel warm. Did he…think that something was going to happen that night at the party? Probably would’ve made an exception for you…Disappointed, but nonetheless moved. Somewhere in the haziness of your thoughts, you realize that meant that Gojo would’ve wanted to sleep with you if that was indeed your condition.

When you look to the other side of the field again, Gojo’s eyes are still on you but his handsome face looks a bit troubled, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. You couldn’t really tell what he was thinking, but for some reason you felt like he could tell what you were. When you raised an eyebrow at him, his face relaxed and he slowly shook his head as if to say it's nothing. 

Coach Yaga’s sharp whistle cuts through the silent conversation you two were having as he yells, “alright, boys. Practice over! Go hit the showers.” 

You quickly stuff your digital camera back into its case and collect your things into your tote bag. In your peripheral vision, Gojo’s making his way over to you and when he’s right next to you, you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

“How’d it go? Get some good shots?” He asks, sounding genuinely interested.

“Um, yeah, I think so.” You’re still not looking at him, pretending to fiddle with something in your tote bag. He leans down a bit to look at your face more clearly when he notices you’re not meeting his gaze, but you still struggle to make eye contact with him. “I’ve gotta go, can you tell the guys I said bye?” And then you’re making your way up the hill.

There’s a beat of silence as confusion washes over him from your behavior. “Hey, wait, y/n, do you know how to get back to campus?”

You spin to face him when you're at the top of the hill, finally looking him in the eye. There’s a concerned expression on his face. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks a lot for today. Let me buy you a strawberry vanilla soda sometime, okay?” Flashing him a small smile, you turn around and run down the hill, ignoring the fast beating of your heart.

-------

a/n: thanks a bunch for reading! ch4 is already up :)

eren yeagar // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

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