You Know Shits Getting Real When The Ending Credit Colours Are Dull

hi so i never saw anyone correcting Viggo's age so im sorry if im wrong on him being 30, i was making a guess and also some other people that i saw on reddit and fandom were saying he's around that age (since im pretty sure they never actually mention his age in the show but i could be wrong)

also yes me saying they need therapy was a joke, and it was intended to be, so i apologize if you take that the wrong way. I was never trying to be rude, or ableist, that is legitimately just my humor, and i joke about needing therapy with my friends and some of which actually go to therapy and have never been offended.

my original post was just me stating my opinion while trying to be a little funny, i again, never intended for anyone to take my jokes so seriously and be offended by my opinion on a ship from a kid's show.

my whole reblog saying it was a joke was because i saw your reblog and thought it was really funny, and seeing other people saying the same things as you, so I decided to reblog it stating my whole therapy thing was a joke (even though I thought it was kind of obvious)

i was not and AM not trying to harrass people who ship viggo and hiccup, and don't want to cause problems. again im sorry if that's how you took it, but that was not my intention. i didn't even think anyone would really see the post so i apologize.

have a blessed day.❤️

i actually refuse to believe vigcup shippers are real like wdym you ship the enemies that have nothing in common and are 11 years apart together like that's a fresh adult with a 30 year old how do you find this okay im genuinely concerned

there is no way you just called nico parker zendaya

So, really quick, I wanna talk about my opinions on Zendaya as Astrid. I am someone of Viking descent, and thus, I feel like my take on this situation holds a great amount of value. I find it a bit offensive that Hollywood would race-swap a character from a culture that is white specifically because her culture directly ties into her character. Like, I can excuse Ariel as there is no specific culture tied to her character. But this situation is incredibly different. Now, for the record, I hold no ill-will to Zendaya. She is a talented actor and deserves lots of love. My problem is with the producers. Apparently, misrepresenting a white culture is 100% fine to them. Who cares about the people of that culture /sarc. To me, this would be like if they white washed Moana. Just as offensive

Reblog if its ok for your moots to stalk your blog and interact with everything you've posted.

young shoji and reader hcs from when they were raised in the village? i can almost imagine a bambi and faline scenario 🥺

(OMG yes, you mean the scene with them in the reeds right? Always loved that sequence, so cute! (Unfortunately, this quickly devolved past HCs...))

Fireflies

When Shoji meets his only childhood friend again after a decade apart, the reunion brings a flood of memories with it.

(ANGST/comfort, feat. fluff; tw: blood, heavy angst, Shoji's childhood in general))

~~~

Few would consider themselves fortunate to find themselves next to a collapsing building. Villain attacks like this were becoming fewer and farther between. Random outbursts and pale League imitators, like the aftershocks of the great earthquake that had been All For One.

Tentacole was just about to finish up his patrol when it happened. Lucky he was there, he thought, as he and a handful of other nearby heroes went in without hesitation. It seemed Grand was dealing with the culprit, his vibration quirk perfectly suited to cancelling out the villain's ability to generate localized tremors.

For the best, Shoji thought, pouring all of his energy to removing civilians from the wreck, and administering first aid until paramedics made it on scene. His quirk was brilliant for this sort of work, easily detecting those who needed help and communicating with other heroes, while also being able to lift immense weight to free those trapped beneath the rubble. No wonder he was slated to become one of the youngest heroes to break the top ten.

Carefully moving aside rebar and chunks of concrete, he pulled another from the crumbling carcass of the building. The young woman looked to be near his age, silent and trembling from the shock. Of greater concern was a head injury. Small, but, could never be too careful with these things. He spoke gently in hope of easing her shredded nerves.

"Hey there, you're safe now." Shoji saw her eyes go impossibly wide when she looked at him, heard a startled gasp, but focused on the cut just above her right eyebrow. "I'm going to help you, okay? You're bleeding, but it doesn't look serious."

She neither answered nor pulled away, continuing to stare like a deer in the headlights as the hero pulled a sterile gauze pad from his med kit.

"How do you feel? Can you speak?" As one hand lightly held the pad against the cut, another gently lifted her brows to check pupil dilation. It was then, staring into her eyes, that the sense of familiarity began to set in.

The look was familiar enough. Fear, to be expected from someone who had nearly been crushed by a building. He noticed the personal element too, possibly from being alarmed by his appearance. Again, familiar. It wasn't until he recognized the look of guilt that he realized it.

By what twist of fate could it possibly be you? It couldn't, he tried to tell himself at first. But the longer he stared, the more his hope became undeniable truth.

"...is that really you, ___?"

~~~

He first met you in late spring, shortly before the rainy season hit Fukuoka.

Knowing today could be one of the last pleasant days before the summer rains made the river swollen and violent, Shoji went there to catch catfish. He had no gear for proper fishing. Rather, he would lay on the bank, hanging an arm in the water close to shore, and simply wait for a fish to mistake his fingers for prey.

At the first nibble, he would move suddenly, usually successful in grabbing the slippery creature without cutting himself on the sharp fins. He was proud to return home with a catch. A bucketful of tasty fish was one of the few things that earned him praise for using his quirk.

Sometimes he caught nothing, but even those days were pleasant enough. He could spend all afternoon like that, rotating which arm he used as they went numb from the cool water. Peaceful (boring). Unbothered (lonely).

This proved to be a rare day. When Mezo felt the first nibbling sensation, he lunged two more hands in to help grab, all for nought. The fish slipped away, breaking the surface, splashing dramatically before making its final exit.

Shoji huffed, wiping some water out of his face, absentmindedly watching as his reflection danced on the disturbed water in a distorted blob. As he peered into the water, a second blob began to take form. And as the water settled, it became a face.

"Hi there!"

Mezo jumped, turning over to stare wide eyed at the newcomer. A child, probably close to his own age, who he had never seen before. Not that he knew the other village children very well, but, he was quite certain he would recognize them if they were standing half a meter away.

Your expression was an unfamilar one. An eager smile which barely faltered as you crouched closer, earnestly repeating,"I said 'hello'!"

"...h'lo," he mumbled, hardly audible against the brook babbling in the background. Still, it proved to be more than enough encouragement for this stranger.

"What's your name? I'm-"

~~~

"You don't have to hang around, Mezo." You readjusted the ice pack against your forehead. "Orrr am I supposed to call you 'Tentacole' while you're in uniform?"

He was still in costume. There was no time to change; he hadn't left your side the whole way to the hospital. Besides, it was a good excuse to keep his mask on. No need to compound your guilt.

"No, you can just call me by my name-" I missed how it sounds in your voice- "And it's fine, really, that was my final patrol," he excused. It was true that he had nowhere to be anyway. And honestly, he may have dropped any prior commitments anyway, if it meant holding on to your presence a little longer.

~~~

"-so yeah, that's why I'm living with my aunt and uncle here for a while."

Shoji watched over his shoulder curiously as you followed him like a baby duck, holding a too-big umbrella aloft in a failing effort to shield both of you from the persistent drizzle that had fallen on the town. You kept finding him, talking to him like it was normal. You didn't seem to understand that you really weren't supposed to talk to him.

"You don't talk much. Are you shy?"

"No, just, not used to people talking to me I guess," he mumbled, hardly convincing you that he wasn't shy.

"Oh? Me neither. The other kids around here are jerks! I don't think they like out of town folks. Plus I'm quirkless."

"...yeah, they have a problem with anybody different."

"Whatever, it's boring being the same! Way cooler to be a lone wolf. We should be lone wolves together Mezo-kun!" He flinched when you excitedly patted his back. But there was no pain. And your tone immediately shifted to concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you have sunburn or something?"

"No, you just-" shouldn't touch me, we'll both get in trouble, "-startled me."

"Hehe sorry, didn't mean to scare you! I'm sneaky when I wanna be! Oh my gosh this one time, I-"

A little smile finally tugged at the corners of his lips. He decided he liked that you were so chatty.

~~~

You were so, so quiet. Maybe he'd made a mistake, accidentally pressured you into this. Although you sat just across from him in the booth, you looked far away as you prodded at your meal.

"So, uh, are you seeing anyone?" He could have kicked himself for that.

"Nah."

Before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out. "Why not?"

You smiled a twisted, bitter smile. "Dunno. Probably has to do with getting nervous about physical affection, yanno?" You laughed with no humor, only nerves. God you were so different.

~~~

The rainy season came and went, leaving the earth and air damp, and the river all abuzz with new life. Shoji stood, staring out over the vibrant green of the growing reeds, waving with the wind. Accustomed to being alone, he found comfort in this peaceful observation of nature.

Distracted by the hovering dance of several dragonflies, he didn't notice as his recent acquaintance approached. Until-

"HI MEZO!"

Startled by the sudden greeting, Mezo turned too fast, slipping down the slight embankment and disappearing into the tall reeds. There was a splash as he landed hard on his rear end, and he grimaced at the soggy sensation seeping into his ratty clothes.

As he tried to find his bearings, the first haunting giggle sounded somewhere to his left. He looked that way, but before he could stand, the sound returned on the right, and he lost his footing again.

So it went for a while, his head whipping around, trying to follow the giggles, not knowing whether the rustling of the reeds came from you or some animal or the wind. Once he thought he had you, turning to look back, only to feel a cheeky little kiss on the side of his face.

Narrowing his eyes, Shoji took a deep breath, focused all of his senses, and waited. The next time you poked your head out, you found yourself face to face with a single huge eye, courtesy of his quirk. You gasped.

"Got you!" Mezo roared as he finally found his feet, launching after you. It was easier to follow you now, the constant shrieks of delight as you raced through the tall grasses. He tore after you, grinning madly as the unfamiliar sound of his own laughter rang out.

~~~

You were more relaxed at his apartment. Without the public eye potentially glaring at your rekindling friendship, it seemed you could finally breathe, as the two of you sat side by side on his sofa.

"I'm honestly surprised you turned out so altruistic," you mused. "I mean, you were always kind, I just...I was afraid that-"

"That the world would make me mean?"

"I don't mean that as a dig against you."

"Hey, it's okay. That happens to a lot of people." Memories of the fight outside the hospital flooded his mind, until Shoji shook his head. "But saving people, making use of my gifts, makes me feel grateful for this form."

"I always was pretty jealous of your quirk." Your smile was softer now, as you fidgeted with a loose thread in your shirt.

It almost made him regret wanting to tell you why he chose to become a hero. But, it was something you should know. You of all people. "...Do you remember the river, near the village?"

~~~

The trees provided a natural barrier between the river and the village. A veil to hide the two of you, letting you play freely. Two pairs of sandals sat on the riverbank, baking in the summer sun while their owners waded in the stream.

Hardly a day went by that the two of you didn't meet here, making a game of catch and releasing the local wildlife. You had started the sport, as usual, recruiting Shoji to help you capture some frogs. Soon salamanders and crayfish were added to the lineup, and a points system invented. One for frogs, three for crayfish, five for the elusive salamanders and newts.

That is, until the day Mezo wrangled a giant salamander the size of his torso, sparking a fierce debate on whether that constituted five points or fifty. All the while, the slippery beast wriggled and fought against the six armed prison it had found itself in.

After that, the game lost its competitive element, returning to the pure, peaceful practice of simply admiring the creatures before returning them to nature.

It was why, when the other children captured fireflies to stick in paper lanterns on clear summer nights, the two of you simply caught them in your hands, giggling at the ticklish feeling of six tiny feet creeping along a finger before taking off again. It wouldn't be fair to interrupt their lives like that. They'd just die in the lanterns, and too soon.

It was better, you mutually decided, to simply admire their glow. To catch a handful, releasing them into the sky or, if you were feeling playful, onto one another's hair. Shoji was especially good at this, filling six hands with insects, then opening his palms so they could burst free all at once like a solar flare.

~~~

"I'm so sorry."

He knew you would say that. "It's alright, it's not like it was your fault."

"It is my fault, though," you insisted, voice cracking. "I tried to tell someone what happened after I got away from there, anyone. Family. People at school. Most of them acted like I was embellishing a story. Or they did believe, and still brushed it off like oh how terrible, well that's just how it is in some places."

"That was out of your control, though."

"Yeah but what happened before that wasn't!" Your hands dragged down your face, leaving an angry flush. "It was, looking back, ugh, I was just so stupid and careless and naive-"

"We were supposed to be naive! We were ten! We were supposed to play and be stupid and not worry about those things." Mezo's gaze fell. "It's something we were supposed to outgrow slowly, not have it taken away all of a sudden. Not like that."

~~~

"Omochio Tsukimasho Omochio Tsukimasho

Petanko, Petanko, Petan Petan Petanko

Konete Konete Konete Konete Konete

Ton Ton Ton Ton Ton Ton..."

No one had played the clapping game with him before. It was almost a shame that none of the other kids from the village would join the two of you. It might have been fun, he thought, to try to play against two or more partners.

You at least made a valiant effort to keep up with all six of his hands. It started with just two, of course, until he added another pair. Just as a joke, at first, but then you played along. And now you were both giggling, mimicking the motions of mochi making and trying not to smack each other's arms too much.

"How do you keep track of so many hands?!" You tried to sound exasperated, but couldn't stop laughing as you were tripped up by the extra limbs once again.

Mezo couldn't hold in his laughter either. "How can you not keep track of only two?" he jabbed, prompting a gasp from you.

"Gah! You're so mean to me!" you cackled, giving up on the game entirely in favor of grabbing for his many hands. The scuffle was rather one-sided, with the much taller boy ruffling your hair and poking your sides and easily keeping his hands well out of reach.

Finally, you managed to jump up and get hold of one of the duplicate hands. He didn't resist, still chuckling as you laced your fingers with his, beaming up at him with a triumphant smile. "Got you!"

"Mm-hm." No one had ever held his hand, either, much less one made with his quirk. His gross, monstrous quirk. But you didn't think so. Even when you finally let your tired arm fall, your hand remained clasped with his.

There, as he held your hand, Mezo's young heart was alight with affection. You two could grow up together and he would be your dearest friend, until he was your boyfriend, until he was your husband, until you both passed on. He'd be your friend in the next life too, he thought, let's be fireflies and find one another's light and spend that life together too.

Anywhere else, it might have happened like that.

Anywhere else, you might have been childhood sweethearts. The adults would have found your puppy love adorable. Old ladies would pinch your cheeks and joke about living to see the wedding. The other kids would wail about you sharing cooties. Your families would tease you about your little friend, but be welcoming and happy for you both.

Anywhere else, it may have been different. But they were here. And a sudden sharp voice shattered that pristine fantasy

"Hey! What do you think you're doing to her, monster?"

~~~

Of all the things Midoriya had asked about his quirk, Shoji was grateful that his inquisitive friend never questioned how he was so certain that his severed limbs would grow back.

It wasn't a memory so much, at least, not a coherent one. He knew there was a wood chopping block, but he couldn't remember how his hand looked on it, held fast by a much bigger hand around his wrist. Nor the pain of the severing. It was like his brain censored the worst bits, trying to protect him like no one else would.

He remembered how light he felt. How loud his blood, pounding in his ears. Even louder were your panicked, shrieking protests. Your face, your eyes, so wide, crying, tears and snot and drool. He saw your teeth dig into the arm of your aunt when she tried restraining you.

He heard later that that's why you were sent away, for biting your guardian. You weren't the one to tell him. In the time between the incident and your leaving, you didn't speak to him at all. You didn't even look at him.

~~~

"I don't blame you for any of that, but, I'm not not upset," he tried to explain, pinching the center of his brow. "I wish...I wish you'd talked to me after. Or kept in touch somehow! You could have messaged me, we could have stayed friends!"

"You still...wanted to be friends?" Your voice was crumbling with caution as you stared at him in stark disbelief.

As if it could hold you together, Shoji took your hands in his. "Yes! I still want us to be friends now! Or, something, whatever you want to be!" Another hand cupped your cheek. "I've missed you."

You were staring at your joined hands, and he could feel them trembling. "-even after what I did?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he insisted in a soft but stern tone, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. "You were my friend, that's what I remember best. What they did to me, to us, wasn't our fault."

"What do you mean to 'us'? You're the one who got hurt, I just watched, I didn't-" a high gasp escaped you as Mezo pulled you into his secure embrace.

"It's so much harder to explain scars when they're inside," he murmured, his voice soft against your skin.

"...All I wanted, was to keep being close. But I thought that would be selfish, to put you at risk like that. Even now, just this, it feels like we're doing something wrong, and if someone saw, it could happen all over again."

"Shhh, it can't, it won't," Mezo promised.

You were still, malleable as he moved to lay on his side with you still cocooned in his arms, your back pressed flush to his chest. The tears flowed freely now, as you shivered and clutched at his forearms tight enough to leave marks.

"Nothing's going to hurt me. Nothing's going to hurt you. We're safe. We're together." He could feel your breath even out as he murmured that mantra against your ear.

"O-okay. Okay." Your grip loosened, but you didn't let go. Instead your fingers unfurled and swirled and fidgeted, gently stroking his sun kissed skin in a way that made him relax, too.

"Can you say it back? I...I need to hear it, too," Shoji added truthfully. You nodded.

"We're safe. No one's going to punish either of us for this. That's gone. You're here now. I'm here." Your arms curled up around his. "...I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," he sighed, burying his face into the back of your neck.

You kissed the palm of his hand, the same one you'd seen taken all those years ago. By the time you went to kiss it again, the hand had morphed into a pair of lips.

~

(I'm so sorry I was going to just do fluffy HCs but then I was possessed by Satan and it turned into a series of drabbles about childhood trauma please forgive)

I have this headcannon that like Marinette has a BeReal account for Ladybug so whenever she's on patrol she'll take a BeReal of the sunset or smthn and once when she's on patrol with Chat Noir she takes a BeReal with him so then he gets it too

And like they are friends on BeReal and then Alya is also friends with them so she can post the BeReals on the Ladyblog

Then at one point LB just makes her account public so all of paris can see them without Alya having to post them

Tikki doesn't approve of any of it

THE SHIT (GOLD) YOU FIND IN THE OCEAN (YOUTUBE COMMENT’S SECTION)

HAHSAHHAHSHQH I HAD TOO

Draw your characters like this

An accurate depiction of the labyrinth that is Adrien's mind

Inside Out but its all the multiple variations of Adrichat

Bonus:

What a weird guy, huh!

Im a sucker for angsty fwb Bakugo and messy feelings.

!! Major spoilers for the manga btw !!

The two of you almost never meet like that. It’s almost pushing it to ten times a year in a never ending circle of non commitment and broken promises, words that are only exchanged during intimacy that none of you can’t help but utter and trutfully tonight shouldn’t have been different.

But he agreed to let you stay at his place for the night—you think it’s because he doesn’t want to drive you home and you settle on the couch, in a corner, not even wanting to wrap yourself up in a blanket. He takes none of it, preaching about how he’s not going to let you crash on the couch, that you can sleep with him in his bed.

As you’re given a change of clothes to sleep in and a toothbrush, you avoid looking right into his face. 

You know better than anyone why he doesn’t want to commit to you, he doesn’t want you to really see him, he’d rather shut himself away from you. You’re not someone he considers an equal, you’ll never even be close to leveling up with him. You know he hates that about you. That you’re weak. That you gave up on being a hero after the war because of everything that happened.

“Bathe and we can sleep” he says and he gives you a towel and a pair of his boxers.

He already had his shower, he already smells like that orange blossom shower gel and bitter almond shampoo that he has, he already smells like clean laundry and you reek of sinful non committal, casual sex.

You enter the shower and the water running is so hot that it could scorch your skin. You like it that way, feeling the water pierce like fire needles through your skin, stripping away everything in its collision with flesh. 

You try not to burst into tears— he’d think it’s bad manners, lecture you for it and you’re not in the mood for any of it. It’s overwhelming  and self distracting to think of him that way— your therapist says that you should make an effort to understand him and you really do, you do understand why he acts like he does but it doesn’t leave you with anything to do about it. 

You just want to go home, in your clothes, in your bed. The feeling in your heart is unbearable.

But your therapist has repeatedly told you not to sweep the problem under the rug; just talk to him. Don’t just sit in the comfort of the scent of his shower gel and his clothes. Confront him. Tell him you love him and that you’ll stick by his side no matter what.

And it all sounds perfect in theory. Really, it does. Except for the part where you can’t even look at him.

When you look at him, even almost ten years later all you can see is his lifeless fucking body laying under Best Jeanists hands.

So Katsuki knows better than anyone why you can’t accept him, why you can’t commit to him and it drives him absolutely insane.

He is always clothed around you, during sex, during coffee dates to catch up; he puts in the most exquisite effort to avoid showing you his scars. 

And when he can’t just hide the one on his face, you respond by not even looking him in the eye. That, as a fact, pains him more than anything. 

Frankly, he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to bear it.

But tonight— tonight he’s gonna do it — he’s gonna tell you that he loves you. And then his own feelings will be your problem.

When he hears the shower stop running, he sits on the edge of his bed, one leg bouncing in anticipation; is tonight the right time? Should he do it? And if not now then when? Can he really just let you slip away, or will his confession make you force yourself to be with someone you can’t even look at.

Why are the two of you even involved at all if you think he is so repulsive?

The bedroom door creaks open before he has time to actually process a sequence of words to tell you— and you step out, your hair damp, clinging to your neck in heavy strands. His shirt swallows you whole, draping over your frame, and his boxers sit awkwardly on your hips, a poor attempt at comfort that neither of you will acknowledge. You still don’t look at him.

Of course, you fucking don’t.

Katsuki clenches his jaw. His leg keeps bouncing—until he forces it still, pressing his palm hard against his knee. He’s getting sick of this. Sick of watching you shrink into yourself, sick of the way you refuse to meet his gaze, sick of the ghosts that sit between you, molding the shape of your relationship into something that barely resembles one.

You tug at the seams of his T-shirt to hide the scars on your neck and the ones on your stomach and torso sit hidden, snuggly, underneath the cloth of it.

He knows what you’re doing because unlike you, he is looking at you.

“…Come here,” he mutters, voice gruff, barely above a whisper.

You hesitate. You fucking hesitate. But he wants to kiss you. He wants to sit you on his lap and kiss your lips, your neck, your chest. He wants to kiss your scars, no matter the fact that they’re spread all over your body.

This is the first and most major difference between the two of you and that’s what pisses him off the most. He accepts parts of you you don’t accept about yourself or him.

But eventually, you move, each step slow, reluctant, as if walking toward him is some great act of suffering. You sit on the bed—on the very edge of it, like you’re prepared to run, not on his lap like he wants.

You play out of the premeditated scenario he’s crafted in his head for this moment.

Katsuki feels something inside him snap.

His fingers twitch, nails digging into his palm, the words crawling up his throat like acid, burning to be let out.

You won’t even look at him.

And yet—you still come back to him, time and time again, you come back.

“Sit on my lap” he says, patting on his thighs with one hand, coaxing yours with his other. “Want you close so we can talk”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer, just follow his lead and hover your legs over his, as you crawl your way onto his lap.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asks, his voice quiet, sharp and cutting through the thick silence between you. 

“M not doing anything” you mutter in response.

“That’s the problem”

Yet, he cradles you, the problem, into his arms, big, strong biceps pressing you close to him, holding your head right into his chest. 

His heartbeat is loud— too loud for someone who once died, too real. Technically there’s nothing you should be scared of, he’s here with you, holding you and all you want to do is run away. Something inside you screams at you to run home, that this isn’t real. That he died and wasn’t saved, that you’re imagining all this.

But right underneath his shirt is his scar. And the ones on his forearm are visible now that he’s wearing a T-shirt.

“Should I go ahead and laser remove the scars?” Katsuki asks while the two of snuggle against each other.

“Huh? Why?”

“Cause ya don’t like looking at em, I’ve noticed. So would you look at me then?!”

Your stomach twists at the mention of the words, even if they’re so soft spoken and without thinking, your eyes dart down—just for a second—before flicking away again. Just the thought of it, the way the skin is raised and uneven, makes your throat tighten.

You swallow hard, fingers gripping the edge of his shirt. His fingers trace circles on the skin over the band of your -his- boxers.

“That’s not—” You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. “I just…”

“You just think im ugly and you’d rather leave, that’s what you want to say isn’t it?”

“I don’t handle… that kind of stuff well.” You don’t say the word. You don’t want to. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl. “It makes me feel sick to my stomach. And thinking about how you got them—” Your voice catches, and you look down again “It’s too much.”

Silence.

Then, Katsuki scoffs, but it’s weak. “Figures.”

Your head snaps up. “What?”

“Real fuckin’ great, huh?” He curses “I wanna tell you that I fucking love you and you’re here telling me I make you sick— what the fuck is wrong with me?”

You break free from his bear-like hug, only to stare at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering. You hate seeing him like this—hunched slightly, fists clenched, looking at his reflection in your eyes like it’s something disgusting. Like he’s something disgusting.

He isn’t though, he’s strong, he’s beautiful, he’s anything and everything you can’t lose. Nobody ever tells him, you don’t either, you just act like he’s made of glass and then leave as if he can’t or won’t shutter.

He just told you he loves you.

You love him too. You’re in love with him. 

Does he even want to hear it after the shit you just spurt at him?

You grab at his face like it's instinct and press your nose to his, locking your eyes into his, breath hitched in the back of your throat. You avoid making any noise, scared that you’re going to ruin this by just existing. 

If it’s been so many years and he’s still alive, you shouldn’t patronise his feelings because of your own trauma.

He’s here. He’s alive and he loves you and the pad of your thumb brushes over the scar on his cheek.

Your stomach still churns at the thought of his injury, but you force yourself to step forward, reaching out carefully. “Katsuki.”

Silence. 

It’s just like he wanted. His love for you is your own problem now. He can only beat and scar himself further over the fact that he said ‘I love you’ like a curse. 

Your stomach twists for a completely different reason now. “Katsuki, I love you too.”

Your lips brush against his, softly. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t even stop you. 

He wants to kiss you. Lips, skin, soul. Everything that is yours he wants to put his lips on.

And he does. 

His mind goes blank the moment your lips touch his. It’s like a surge of electricity floods his body, short-circuiting everything logical, everything that was screaming at him to hold back, to keep his mouth shut, to not want this more than he already does.

But he does want this. He always has.

Your lips move against his—hesitant at first, unsure, like you’re still trying to convince yourself this is okay. That he’s okay. And that hesitation guts him. It rips through his chest in ways that no explosion ever could, because it reminds him of the truth:

You love him. 

You’re not afraid to keep your eyes open and he isn’t afraid to keep his eyes open too.

The two of you probably look like lunatics, kissing with your eyes open, but it’s only because you can’t get enough, it’s never enough, even when you kiss just to have sex it’s not enough.

Katsuki wants to melt into you, he wants to disintegrate into one person with you. He feels like his heart will combust— no, he fears that his heart will combust and he’ll leave you scarred forever.

But he’s done that once already.

His fingers tighten their grip on your waist, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground himself. You’re warm. Real. Sitting right here, on his lap, wrapped up in his clothes, wrapped up in him. It’s a fucking miracle.

He kisses you deeper, almost desperately, parting his lips to taste more, feel more, take more. Your hands are still on his face, trembling slightly, but you don’t pull away. Not yet. And he clings to that like a dying man, pouring everything he can’t say into the way he mouths at you, the way his tongue flicks against yours, the way he tilts his head just right to fit against you perfectly.

His heart is pounding—too fast, too loud. He wonders if you can feel it, if you notice just how much he’s shaking. Because Katsuki does not tremble. Never. He does not doubt himself. He does not need.

Except with you.

With you, he’s terrified.

He’s scared you’ll push him away after this, that you’ll realize just how broken he really is, that loving him is more trouble than it’s worth. He’s scared you’ll come to your senses and run.

Because deep inside he’s convinced himself you’ve been keeping your distance because you think he’s ugly. Disgusting. A byproduct of a rotten hero society.

So he kisses you like he can keep you here. Right in his arms. Like he can erase all your doubts, all your hesitations, all your pain. He kisses you like an apology, a plea, a confession—because maybe it is all of those things. 

Maybe it’s all of these things.

And when you don’t stop him,when your hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, keeping him right here in your arms, he swears he could cry like a newborn.

“I know it’s stupid,” you say, breaking the kiss, only for him to whine against your lips, “but I can’t stop feeling like if I look too long, if I think too hard about it, it’ll happen again. I— I get panic attacks for hours when I remember the way you laid there, lifeless. Katsuki I don’t ever want to see that again. Im scared.” 

You don’t have to pull away to continue, you need him as much as he needs you. And so you speak against his lips. “But that doesn’t mean I hate you. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to look at you. I'm scared that if I look at you for too long you’ll stop being real. I wanna be with you always, I want you to be here so bad. All the time.”

Katsuki is silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know what to say. His fingers twitch again before he finally, finally moves, cupping the back of your neck and tugging you against him, sealing your lips in another kiss.

You let out a shaky breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you press your face into him.

His grip is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away from his lap. “I’m here,” he mutters into you, voice soft. You’re not to be fooled with that patchy ass voice he pulls for everyone else “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But I still hate this scar,” he continues, whispering “Hate what it reminds me of. But if it means I get to stand here with you, get to hold you” He swallows thickly. “Then I’ll keep it.”

Your heart lurches.

A shaky breath leaves your lips, and without thinking, you reach up, gripping his face between your hands again. His skin is warm, slightly rough, chapped by the sudden change of weather, but real.

You don’t look at the scar this time. You don’t have to. Instead, you look at him as a whole; his furrowed brows, his slightly downturned lips, his tired, burning eyes, his blond lashes that you used to make fun of in high school.

It all makes sense now.

His breath stutters. His hands slide down to your waist, gripping you tightly, and before you can say anything else, he crashes his lips onto yours again.

It’s desperate. A little too messy. Like he’s trying to pour every ounce of regret and relief and love into it all at once. You gasp softly against his mouth, your hands tightening around him, and he groans low in his throat, pulling you impossibly closer.

He kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. And you kiss him back just as fiercely, because you need to remind yourself that he is real. He’s not going anywhere but here.

Katsuki’s breath is heavy against your skin, his forehead still pressed to yours, his fingers still gripping you tight. But something shifts. It’s something sharp, electric, crackling in the space between you.

He’s teetering on the edge of restraint.

Your own breath shudders as he exhales, hot and uneven. You’re still pressed against his chest, against the scar that used to make your stomach twist, but right now, all you can feel is him.

And then, he moves.

In a blur of motion, Katsuki grabs your thighs and yanks you, throwing you and himself into the bed before you can even process it. You gasp, hands flying up to steady yourself against his shoulders, but he doesn’t give you a second to think.

His mouth crashes against yours, hot and desperate, nothing like before. The trembling kisses from earlier can’t even compare to this one. This one is feral.

Like he’s been waiting for this moment to break and go berserk.

A muffled sound escapes you as his hands roam, gripping, squeezing, pulling you closer like there’s still too much distance between you. His fingers dig into your thighs, sliding up under your shirt, palms rough and searing against your skin.

You barely have time to process before he’s tilting his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue swiping against yours in a way that makes your stomach twist and turn.

He groans, low and hungry, and the sound sends a sharp, molten heat straight through you. Katsuki has always been intense, but this—this is something else.

This is unrestrained.

This is him. Losing control. And you’re the cause.

His hands move again, gripping the hem of your shirt and tugging it upward, fingers brushing over your ribs. His lips break from yours just long enough to drag hot, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—teeth scraping, tongue soothing, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, breathless, gasping, barely able to keep up with the way he’s touching you like a starved man.

He doesn’t just kiss you any more. He’s devouring you whole.

His breathing is ragged, his pupils blown wide, his lips red and swollen. His hands are still on you, still gripping you tight, but he doesn’t move or push any further. He just looks at you, like he could burn you, melt you into goo with his gaze.

And then he pleads, “Say it again?”

Tell me you want me. Tell me you love me and it’ll all stop being an amalgamation of emotions.

The unspoken words hang between you and all you can do is lay there, on your side, and watch him watch you like you’re a rough diamond in the making.

You don’t deny him of anything. You speak the words as if your life depends on them.

“I'm in love with you”

He tightens his arms around you, pressing you so close that it’s almost suffocating but he can’t help it. He needs you like this, needs to feel the warmth of your body, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the proof that you’re being for real as it’s written on your palpitating heart. That this isn’t some cruel dream that’ll slip between his fingers the second he wakes up.

His lips ghost over yours again, desperate, frantic. His breath is ragged, shaky, and his hands roam—your back, your sides, the dip of your waist—like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, burn the shape of you into his palms.

“Say it again,” he hears himself crack as he speaks, and he hates how wrecked his voice sounds, how utterly pathetic he must seem right now. But he doesn’t care. He needs to hear it.

You hesitate, and that hesitation guts him. But then your fingers tighten in his hair, your lips brush against his cheek, over the scar he thought you couldn’t bear to look at.

You do something he never, not in a million years, could even allow himself to imagine. You kiss his scar.

And right now he doesn’t even think he can see anymore.

“I love you.”

He lets out a shaky breath, forehead dropping to your shoulder. His heart is a fucking mess, erratic, wild. His grip on you tightens, like if he just holds on hard enough, he can keep you here forever.

Katsuki has never begged for anything in his life, but if you tried to leave now, he thinks he would. He knows he would. On his knees, sprawled all over the floor if he had to.

“Again” he exhales, sharply through his nose “I swear,” he breathes, voice rough and full of desperation “I’ll die if you don’t”

Your breath catches, and he feels it, the way you go still in his arms.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

He presses his lips to your temple, your cheek, your jaw. It’s feverish, aching, his heart is going to give up, caught between his greediness and insecurity. “I don’t wanna live in a world where you don’t love me back, so just say it”

It’s pathetic. Weak. Not the kind of thing he would ever say out loud. 

“I love you I love you I love you”

The moment the words leave your lips, the second you tell him you love him again, something in him absolutely breaks. He grabs your face with both hands, fingers digging into your cheeks, thumbs tracing over the curves of your jaw like he’s holding something fragile. Something irreplaceable.

Then he ruins you.

His lips crash into yours again, rough, needy, swallowing every breath, every little sound you make. But it isn’t enough. It’s never going to be enough.

He kisses your lips, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your jaw. He presses frantic, open-mouthed kisses down your face like he’s starving—like he’s been denied of you for too long and now he’ll die if he doesn’t get to taste all of you.

“Love you,” he mutters between kisses, like the words are spilling out of him against his will. His lips drag over your nose, down your chin, along the curve of your cheekbone. “Love you, fuck—love you so much—”

He’s shaking. He can feel it in his hands, in the way his breath stutters against your skin. His lips find your temple, pressing there like a prayer, like if he kisses hard enough, you’ll understand—really understand—just how much he needs you.

He can’t stop.

He kisses the embers of the scar on your neck, then your forehead, then both of your eyelids like he’s blessing you. Then again, your cheekbones, your jaw, the corner of your mouth again—over and over, like he’s worshiping every single inch of you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling in your hair, holding you onto him for dear life.

When he pulls back, his pupils are blown wide, his breath ragged. “Tell me you’re mine,” he rasps, voice thick with something desperate, something wrecked. “We’re together after this, right? No more fucking sex on the low and then I don’t get to see you for god knows how long”

"Say you're stayin’," he mutters, voice raw. His fingers slip under the hem of his own shirt you’re wearing, pressing against your bare waist. His lips move to your ear, voice nothing more than a plea. "Tell me you’re not leavin’ me, baby."

Your heart clenches at the way his voice wavers, the way he sounds like he's afraid—like the very idea of you leaving is enough to unravel him completely.

“I’m staying,” you breathe, and before you can even finish saying it, his lips crash into yours again, cutting off whatever air was left in your lungs.

His eyes rake over you, wild and dark and fiery red and shaky, lips swollen and shiny from kissing you too hard. His hands are shaking as they run down your sides, like he’s never touched you before. 

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, as if he’s finally letting himself believe it. His hands slide under your shirt, palms pressing flat against your stomach, up your ribs, his thumbs grazing the underside of your breasts. He swallows hard. “Mine.”

His kiss is messy, desperate, like he’s trying to fuse himself to you. Like he wants to crawl inside your skin and live there. And maybe he does. Maybe that’s the only way he’ll ever feel close enough to you.

“Katsuki” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips, slow and sweet.

“Fuck,” he rasps against your skin, voice wrecked, breath hot. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your head is spinning, body burning beneath his touch, every nerve alight. “Then take it,” you whisper, nails digging into his shoulders.

His breath stutters and he hisses.

A growl rumbles in his chest as he flips you, pressing you into the mattress before climbing over you, caging you in with his body. His hands are everywhere—gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, pinning you in place like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

He dips down, biting at your collarbone, at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, dragging his teeth over your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. A reminder. A claim. One he wasn’t allowed to make until seconds earlier.

You’re his to have.

You gasp, arching into him, and he groans at the way you react, at the way you’re coming undone beneath him.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters against your skin, lips trailing lower. “All mine.”

His words send a sharp, electric jolt through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

Your hands roam his body in return, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, feeling the way he shudders beneath your touch. When your fingers ghost over the scar on his chest, he stiffens for just a moment—then exhales shakily, like he’s letting you in.

He wants you to touch it. To feel that he’s here. That he’s alive. This is a reminder too.

You press your palm flat against it, right over his heart, and his breath shudders. His gaze snaps up to yours, pupils blown, expression dark and desperate.

Katsuki is fire—hot and consuming, searing through every inch of you, making it impossible to think of anything but him. And he’s explosion too, nuclear and annihilating, swiping away every ember of fear you could feel at this moment.

And right now, you’re ready to burn and get blown into teeny tiny pieces.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲? 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. • 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐣𝐢 × 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

contains: mention of sucky parents, shoji's horrible village, scars, CUTENESS, FLUFF, shoji being a cutie patootie, mwah mwah kissy kissy

ENJOY!

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The rain poured down onto the pavement as I trudged across the grounds. I had forgotten my umbrella once again, and I hadn't expected it to start storming just as I was heading home. Well, as much as a home it could be. 

I had no money for the bus or train, my phone was dead, and even if I could call my parents I knew they wouldn't come to pick me up. They had never cared much for me, even once I got accepted into UA, they gave me the cold shoulder.

The sound of feet slapping against the wet pavement pulled me out of my pity party. I glanced up to be met with black eyes. Shoji. He held out an umbrella, covering my trembling form, "want me to walk you home?" His deep voice startled me, my eyes widening slightly. "Oh no, you don't have to..." He shook his head, his gaze searching for mine, "I don't mind."

Turning to the side, I averted his gaze, "my house is pretty far, I don't want to make you walk so far." I stepped closer, "again, I really don't mind. I could use the walk anyway." His eyes were piercing, and I looked away quickly, nodding slowly. "Alright..." The silence was thick and tense, one of his arms holding the umbrella over me, the other two resting idly at his side. His firm but gentle voice dragging me out of my thoughts, "Are you... scared of me?" his voice trembled ever so slightly. My head snapped up, "scared? Of you? Why would I be scared?" He shook his head, "Sorry that was stupid... it's just, you always act so nervous, I was worried it was because of me."

My cheeks darkened as I realized what he was talking about. I had had a crush on Shoji ever since I met him. His strong form, and gentle words always managed to put me at ease. "I could never be scared of you, Shoji." His gentle gaze met mine, and I swear I could see hints of red peaking out from his mask. He cleared his throat, looking back down to the pavement. "I'm glad." 

It was silent again, save for the splash of our feet hitting the ground, and the thoughts racing in my head. Why would he ever think I was scared of him? Who could ever be scared of such a gentle person like Shoji? These questions tore against my mind, and before I could stop myself, my lips were moving. "Why would you think I'd be scared of you?" He stopped dead in his tracks, and I turned to face him, my hands fiddling nervously in front of me. His dark eyes met mine slowly, before swerving away.

"Most people are. Or disgusted." His voice was low, wavering, and my hand involuntarily reached up to grab at one of his free hands. Our fingers laced together, his eyes meeting mine once again, an unsureness I had never seen before settled in his dark gaze. "I could never be disgusted by you, Shoji," I spoke quietly, tentatively. "Mezo. Please." I smiled gently at his words, "Mezo." I tried the name out, it sounded foreign yet somehow... right, on my tongue. "Thank you..." He spoke lowly, almost nervously.

My eyebrows scrunched in concern as he didn't meet my eyes. Something was still wrong, and I was unsure what to do. "What's wrong?" He shook his head, "nothing." "I know you're lying, Mezo." I could feel him shiver slightly, and whether that was due to the cold or my words, I would never know. I looked up at the sky, the rain still poured down, and we were still quite far from my home. I looked back to him, his face hung low, his silver hair sweeping over his eyes, the pale blue mask covering his other features. I had never asked why he wore the mask, but suddenly, I had the strong urge to know what lay beneath it.

I stepped closer, his form looming over mine, my free hand moving from my side to his face. I gently trailed my fingers over the edge of his mask, his face jerking up to see me better. "Why do you wear this mask?" I questioned, my voice holding only curiosity. His eyes held a slight fear, so I retracted my hand. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" "No, please, it's... I... don't mind." His voice quivered, and held an emotion I couldn't quite place. Longing? I didn't know.

I rested my hand on his shoulder, waiting patiently for his answer. "It's... it doesn't really matter..." I shook my head, "please, I want to know." His gaze uncertain, his shoulders tense. He sighed, "my village... doesn't exactly like heteromorphs. You don't need to hear my sob story but... people were afraid of my face, so I covered it. Hoping people would be less afraid of me if I wasn't so scary looking." His hand that was interlaced with mine trembled slightly, I rubbed my thumb soothingly against the back of his. "You're not scary," he chuckled humorlessly, "You wouldn't say that if you knew what I looked like." I took a breath, "then show me."

His eyes widened, "w—what?" "Show me, Mezo, I want to know what you look like. Then I can determine how scary you really are." I grinned slowly, he shook his head, "no—no I don't want to lose you—" I laughed at the thought, "Lose me? That will never happen. I swear by it. Even if I'm frightened, I won't leave you, ever." His gaze was wide, unbelieving, hopeful. He looked away. "Are... are you sure?" I nodded.

His hand dropped from mine. He wordlessly reached his hand up, hesitating over his mask, before hooking his finger in and pulling it down. My jaw fell as a small gasp escaped my lips. Scary? He was beautiful. His lips were long and thin, scars trailed over just about every inch of skin I could see. Once again I wondered how anyone could be scared of him, and for the first time I wondered, 'What happened to him?' He looked at me nervously, his hand fiddling with the fabric of his mask. I was snapped out of my daze as he opened his mouth to speak, scarred skin pulling at his lips, and revealing his perfectly white teeth, "Y/N...?" He had never said my name before. He had never spoken to me with his actual mouth. I felt a sudden surge of affection for him, my heart twisting painfully. 

Suddenly I was moving, wrapping my arms around his neck and crashing my lips into his. He startled, dropping the umbrella, causing the rain to hit me once again, drenching our bodies. I pulled away, "I'm sorry—I—I shouldn't ha—" He cut me off, his lips crashing against mine once again. All of his 6 limbs wrapped around my smaller form, his main two coming up to my neck, holding me gently to his face as his lips moved against mine. Another pair wrapped around my back, hands caressing and tugging, at my hair, on my back; the last pair fit snug around my waist, his thumbs gently brushing against the skin of my stomach that had been revealed.

It was overwhelming, yet oh so wonderfully him. I melted into his touch, my fingers entangled in his hair, running across the scars on his neck and his face. He hummed against my lips, his touch gentle and yet bruising at the same time. I tilted my head to the side slightly, his lips moved feverishly against mine, the kiss deep and warm. We pulled away from each other slowly, gasping for air. I rested my head against his chest, his strong arms pulling me flush against him.

I was suddenly aware of the rain pouring down, my hair and clothes soaked through. "My apartment is right around the corner, stay with me? At least until the rain stops." I nodded, grinning up at him. His face turned red as he pulled a hand from where it rested on my neck to cover my head from the rain. I ran my hand through his soaked hair, and our lips met again. Slow and gentle, nothing like the first one which was hot and quick. I smiled against his lips, pulling away slightly. "You could never be scary, Mezo. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

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1.4k words

i am a FIRM mezo shoji lover, he has my heart forever and always. he doesn't get enough love (cept for you blair-vvitch, ily) so I HAD to write something for him. everytime I see his little face I get horrible cuteness aggression so I attempted to showcase that in this. hope you liked it heehee