__ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴛᴏ |(ɪᴢᴜᴋᴜ ᴍɪᴅᴏʀɪʏᴀ

💋Smooching Dante’s cute face pls 💕😘

Thanks for the request. Many kisses for Dante xx

cw. fluff, making out, lipstick involved, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors do not interact

You cupped Dante’s face between your hands, reaching up on the tips of your toes as you planted firm kisses to his skin in a flurry of movement. He’s taken a little bit by surprise as you press closer to him, his hands anchored to your plump hips to keep himself steady as you attack his face with a multitude of kisses. You punctuate each kiss with a loud pop of your plush lips, your lipstick smudged into his pale skin as you continue your assault in a wild flurry. Dante couldn’t help but smile as he teasingly spoke. 

“Slow down babe, I ain’t going anywhere.”

You hummed softly, catching his cheeks between the pinch of your fingers until they flushed red. 

“I love you!” you proclaimed, pressing more fleeting kisses to his skin, until you could feel the stubble of his beard scratching against your round cheeks. “I love you I love you I love you~”

By now your lipstick was bleeding into Dante’s skin and smudging around the corners of your lips. But you purposefully avoided his mouth, waiting until you were both feeling a little breathless from your sudden spur of excitement and you had calmed down. Amusement sparkled in the depths of Dante’s eyes when you pulled back, kiss swollen lips puckered into a soft pout as he laughed merrily at your sudden whimsy. He raised his index finger and tapped it against the seam of his mouth. 

“You missed a spot” he said, quirking a snowy brow in anticipation.

You were invited closer, until his arms were wrapped firmly around your plump waist and you were raising yourself on the tips of your toes once more. Another soft hum tickled the back of your throat as you planted your lips on Dante’s, melting into the touch as he leaned down and kissed you back. Your teeth clacked awkwardly when you tried tipping your head at a different angle and you could feel Dante’s tongue lapping away whatever lipstick still remained painted on your skin. A thoughtful noise stirred in Dante’s chest before he spoke, his lips barely leaving yours as he uttered words into the plump cushion of your mouth. 

“Maybe I should go out more often, if I get greeted like this every time I come back~” he mused. 

A short huff of indignation blew from your nose and you nipped at Dante’s lips in retaliation. It barely stung and only encouraged Dante’s cheeky behaviour, fingers pinching your soft waist as you were folded further into his arms. He savoured the shape of your mouth as your taste tickled his tongue and lingered in his throat when he had to swallow. When your tongues touched briefly, he could feel small little bolts of electricity racing down the notches of his spine and he moaned unabashedly into the warmth of your mouth. 

You were left feeling pleasantly dizzy and you couldn’t help the smile that lit up your face at the sight of Dante’s face covered in overlapping lipstick marks. The soft snort that bubbled up your throat made him tilt his head in question. 

“Where’s my phone? I need to take a picture of this.”

How you accidentally made Dante look like a hero again

Pairing: Dante x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: All you wanted was to outsmart Dante and prove he was setting you up for demon attacks in order to get closer to you. Instead, you ended up buried under library rubble, fighting off scorpion demons, and getting saved by him — again. This is why you have trust issues.

Warnings: swearing, kinda enemies to lovers dynamic, I just love Dante y'all need to have mercy with me lol

You’re starting to think you’re cursed.

That’s the only explanation for it. How else do you keep ending up in demon-infested alleys, haunted casinos, and - once - dangling upside down from a stolen motorcycle, twice in the same week? No average person deserves so much distress.

But even worse: every time - every damn time - there’s Dante.

Bursting in like he’s auditioning for an action movie. Guns blazing, coat flaring behind him, a cocky smirk plastered across his stupidly handsome face.

God, how much you hate that guy.

…do you?

"Oh no," you mutter under your breath when you spot him swaggering through the chaos yet again.

"Not this asshole."

"Miss me, babe?" he calls, spinning his sword once before cleaving a demon in half like it's no big deal.

You barely dodge a flying claw, pretty used to almost dying by now.

"Dante, why are there hellhounds in the laundromat?! I just came here to do my laundry!"

He winks at you like this is all part of some grand romantic plan.

"You know. Crazy city. You never know what’s gonna happen. Nice panties by the way, wish I could see them up close."

You stare at him, sceptical to say the least, as he shoots a demon that was two inches away from biting your head off.

"This is the fourth time this month. And every time you're 'coincidentally' nearby!"

He strolls over, casually beheading something with his sword like he's just stretching his legs. How many times have you seen this already? Probably like a hundred times.

This month.

"Fate works in mysterious ways, sweetheart."

You gawk at him. No, the thing he calls fate can’t be an accident. There is literally no way in hell that you get attacked even more often than himself. There has to be another reason. Could it be that…?

"Are you setting this up?!"

He gives you a look, all fake innocence and devilish grin.

That bastard.

"Who, me? Nahhh. Demons just have a thing for damsels. Lucky for you... I'm a professional knight in shining armor."

A piece of ceiling collapses dangerously close to you. You flinch for once. Dante doesn’t even blink, just throws an arm around your waist and throws you out of the way with way too much enthusiasm.

You land on your back with a grunt, staring up at the cracked ceiling and wondering what life choices led you here. Where did you take a wrong turn to deserve this? Being liked by a hot guy is all fun and games until the name of that jerk is Dante Sparda, apparently.

Dante leans over you, upside-down, grinning like a maniac.

"You good? Need mouth-to-mouth?" he offers helpfully.

You shove him off you, the heat of his body almost devouring you whole.

"I’m getting a restraining order."

"You say that, but then who’s gonna save you next time you almost get eaten by a possessed vending machine?"

You open your mouth to argue - and realize you have no idea how to deal with possessed vending machines. You groan, burying your face in your hands.

“Maybe you’re the one who possesses everything around me…”

Dante pats your head fondly like you’re some kind of beloved but very dumb kitten.

"You mean like your thoughts? Most definitely, yeah. But don't worry, babe," he coos cheerfully, "I'll always be there to save your pretty little ass."

You’re pretty sure that’s supposed to be comforting. Instead, you start mentally drafting your will.

“Get off me now, I need to get going jerk. And stop staring at my panties”, you hiss through gritted teeth while getting up, packing your things and leaving.

No, this isn’t an accident, not your fault by any means. Dante is the one who sets all of this shit up.

“That fucker…”, you mutter to yourself, slamming the door shut in fury.

You can’t do this anymore, can’t take seeing a demon each time you leave your house. You’ll have to teach him a lesson.

Yes, there has to be a way to stop this madness once and for all.

“I’ll catch you mid-act, Dante…”

You hatch a plan.

A pretty simple one: bait Dante into showing up, catch him red-handed, and finally prove he's arranging all this chaos.

You pick the most boring, demon-unfriendly place you can think of: the public library. No shady alleys, no creepy neon signs, no way in hell anything supernatural is hanging out between the tax law section and the dusty romance novels.

You text him a fake tip, something about "possible demonic activity" near the library, totally urgent, definitely needs his professional attention.

Then you sit back, tuck yourself into a corner with a stack of books, and wait.

Ten minutes pass. Twenty. Thirty.

No Dante.

You start to relax. Maybe he finally got the hint. Maybe he's actually busy for once. Did your words from yesterday finally stir something inside of his brain?

And that's when the ceiling caves in.

You shriek as a massive scorpion demon crashes through the roof, scattering books and terrified civilians everywhere. Librarians are running for their lives. An entire row of encyclopedias explodes in a puff of dusty chaos, taking your sight while you desperately try to crawl out of the scene.

Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen. That definitely wasn’t written on your bingo card for today.

"What the hell?!" you shout, diving behind a bookshelf just in time before a whole fucking shelf bumps onto the ground next to you.

"HEY BABY!" a too-familiar voice yells from somewhere in the smoke.

You peek out and see Dante standing atop the checkout desk, dual pistols in hand, grinning like this is the best day of his life.

"Miss me?"

You stare at him, speechless. No, this has to be a dream. This was supposed to be a trap, you set him off in order to finally find him guilty. And now this?

"HOW?!"

He jumps off the desk, unloading a round of bullets into the demon's face like it’s a casual Tuesday.

"You sent me the text! Good instincts, by the way - I was gonna ignore it, but then I figured, ‘Hey, if my girl’s around, probably gonna be some action.’ And look! Action!"

You dodge a flying claw and seriously consider strangling him with a library card cord.

"I SENT YOU A FAKE TEXT!" you shout over the sound of gunfire.

"THERE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE A REAL DEMON!"

"Aw," Dante replies, kicking a demon minion into a copy machine, "you’re so modest. You’re like a magnet for this stuff."

You have no time to argue. The giant scorpion is bearing down on you. You grab the nearest weapon, a hardcover dictionary about curse words in Spanish, and hurl it at its head. It bounces off harmlessly. Yeah, what a surprise, actually.

Dante whistles low, impressed.

"Good arm, babe. But here - lemme show you how it's done."

Before you can blink, he’s in front of you, sword flashing, doing some ridiculously show-offy spin move that absolutely wasn’t necessary but looks cool as hell anyway.

The demon collapses with a final screech.

Silence falls over the destroyed library.

Books smolder, paper flutters in the air like sad confetti. Somewhere, a printer makes a pathetic beep before dying.

You sit down heavily on the floor, dazed.

Dante strolls over, all proud, offering you a hand up.

"No need to thank me. It’s kinda my thing."

You stare at him, mind still processing what just happened. Your mission failed – miserably, so say the least.  

"I literally TRIED to set you up."

"And look how well it worked!" he declares brightly.

"You lured out the bad guys! You're a natural at this demon-hunting stuff. I'm so proud."

You want to punch him. You want to kiss him. You want to punch him then kiss him.

Instead, you let him pull you to your feet, dusting off your scorched jacket.

"I'm never texting you again," you grumble.

"Sure you will," Dante coos, flashing that stupid, charming grin.

"You can't resist me."

You open your mouth to argue - and immediately get tackled to the ground as a second, smaller demon leaps from the wreckage.

You land with a painful thud, pinned beneath Dante’s weight as he shoots over your head, finishing off the last monster.

When the danger’s over, he stays there for an awkward beat too long, smirking down at you.

"See? Told ya. Always there to catch ya when you fall."

You groan, covering your face with your hands while absolutely hating how good his body weight feels on top of you, how surprisingly good that asshole of a man smells.

"I'm going to die of second-hand embarrassment."

"Nah," Dante retorts confidently, getting up and pulling you with him again.

"If anyone’s gonna kill you, it’s gonna be something way cooler. Like a demon. Or a possessed espresso machine."

You squint at him.

 "You’re not gonna let this go, are you?"

He slings an arm around your shoulders like he owns the place, like the ablaze library isn’t his fault at all, and leads you toward the exit.

"Nope. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."

You sigh.

Maybe getting a new phone and a new name wouldn’t be the worst idea.

…Or just giving in.

Parallels Masterlist

Miguel O'Hara X SpiderWoman!Reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI!!!)

Summary: You never had a 'spidey sense,' as you came to learn from your time as part of Spider Society. You'd gotten along this far without it and were an excellent spider-woman regardless. Then you meet Miguel O'Hara and it awakens something in you. A strange buzzing in the back of your head.It doesn't stop whenever he's in sight, and you think he knows what's happening to you. Something about Miguel draws you in. What made him so fucking special? Notes: This is my first fic I'm sharing and I'm doing my best 😅

Warnings: Just porn with plot, Oral (M and F receiving), P in V sex, Fingering, Size kink, Praise kink, TENSION, Angsty as hell, hurt/ comfort, Miguel is doing his best with feelings, cannon typical violence (Will update as I think of them)

All chapters marked with * contain NSFW content

Chapters

Spidey Sense*

Training Session*

On My Mind*

Business as Usual

Marks

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: yes I’m back again… anyways this is about Dante being mad about how his healing ability prevents him from being marked by you. I also put my hc of him wearing you scrunchie in this. No actual smut but it’s implied, aftercare, jealous Dante, also wholesome Dante <333

You let out a “umph” once you feel a heavy weight fall on top of you. You look down to see your white haired boyfriend breathing relatively normally especially after just pounding into you for most of the night.

Leave it to Dante to be all over you the second he’s back from a mission. Not that you mind it at all, you actually love it. But you don’t have the endurance he does because you’re not half demon.

You’re trying to catch your breath after the many highs he just gave you but it’s quite hard with him lying on top of you.

You try to push him off of you, “Danteee.”

Dante grunts, “What, want another round?”

You roll your eyes at his response. “I think you will break me if we go for another round. I need you to get off of me, you’re really heavy.”

“Oh shit my bad.” Dante pushes himself off of you and hovers over you then looks you up and down, “Hey beautiful.”

You giggle at his antics and reach your hands up to run them through his hair, “Hi handsome.”

“Wanna wash up or cuddle for a bit longer?”

“Wash up, I feel gross. But, you’re going to have to carry me. I can’t feel my legs…again.”

“I love it when you say that,” he smirks while going to stand up. You roll your eyes again and he lets out a deep laugh.

Dante leans down and whispers, “Wrap your arms around my neck.” You do as he says and he goes to grab the back of your thighs. He hoists you up and wraps your legs around his waist.

While he carries you to the bathroom you lean your head on his firm chest. You love being close to Dante no matter the context. His warmth is something you’ll never get over.

Once you’re in the bathroom he sets you down on the sink and goes to start the shower. He sets everything out so each task will have a smooth transition.

It warms your heart to see because he puts so much effort into this. Before you started dating him, he just went through the days not really caring. But now he seems to enjoy every day.

Dante catches you staring and asks, “Whatcha thinking about?”

“You,” you say firmly but giving him a light smile.

Dante freezes for a second then walks over to you and cages you between his arms, “Oh? I like the sound of that.”

You lean your forehead on his shoulder, “I bet you do. Is the shower ready? I’m getting sleepy.”

“Yeah it is. Up again you go princess.”

He carries you to the shower and gets in. He slowly sets you down being extra careful. Once you’re on your feet your legs feel like jelly. He really did good work tonight.

But that doesn’t help you from almost slipping. You hold tightly onto Dante trying to stay upright. He is quick to wrap his arm around your waist and hold you against him.

He leans down and whispers deeply in your ear, “I got you.”

Your heart races and stomach fills with butterflies after the comment. He can really just make your legs weak with a comment too.

You two stand like that for a minute until you feel confident enough to stand on your own. Once you do you push yourself away from Dante and grab his shampoo.

You put some on your hand then go to wash his hair. As you scrub his shampoo into his hair he lets out a deep groan. You smile to yourself happy he feels relaxes and calm.

You tell him to wash it out while you grab a wash cloth and put his body wash on it. Once he’s done rinsing his hair you scrub down his body. You do this multiple times. Not just to get off the remanence from your night together but to get off all the stuff that came back with him from his mission.

Once you’re finished washing him it’s your turn. He starts with your hair doing your shampoo and conditioner. Then moves on to washing your body.

This takes longer because he loves touching every inch of you. He starts by your collarbone and you wince a little. He didn’t react so he must haven’t heard it.

He moves down to your hips where he brushes over your right side and you wince louder and bend over a little bit.

Dante panics, “Shit! Are you okay!?”

“Yeah, that just hurt a bit. It did too when you were by my collarbones too.”

Dante steps back and looks at your collarbones and hips. He seems hickeys all over your neck and collarbones then bruises on your hips.

He laughs sheepishly. “I think I might have went a little overboard with the marking tonight…” he runs a hand through his wet hair.

“It’s fine, I like it when you leave marks. Just be gentle when you wash those areas.”

Dante nods the tenderly washes your body. He’s super focused to make sure he doesn’t hurt you again. He even has his tongue sticking out, cute.

Once he’s done you rinse off and get out of the shower. You two dry off but Dante finishes super quick. He walks over to the mirror and looks at himself. He looks at his back and neck.

You chalk it up to him just wanting to look at his muscles. You walk out of the bathroom and go to your closet to grab your pajamas. You end up just grabbing one of Dante’s shirts.

Once you’re done putting it on you look at the mirror in your closet and see your neck and collarbones. They are littered with hickeys from Dante. It makes a warmth go to your core thinking about how he marks you.

Through the mirror you see Dante walk into the closet. He gives you a kiss on the top of your head then goes to grab a pair of boxers to sleep in.

You walk out of the closet and go lay on your shared bed. You wait for Dante for a couple of minutes but he hasn’t come to bed yet. What could be doing?

You throw off the covers and walk back into the closet where you see Dante looking at his back again. You walk up behind him and place a hand on his arm.

“Dante does your back hurt? Did you get hurt on your mission?” You question.

Dante spins around and sees you looking concerned. “Oh no I’m fine.”

You stare at him confused, “Then why do you keep looking at your back?”

He mumbles something you can’t make out. You ask him to repeat himself because you couldn’t hear him.

“I hate my healing abilities.” He says without missing a beat. Dante looks you dead in the eye, “Your marks just heal. So I can’t walk around with them.”

You stand in silence for a second then reach for his hand. You drag him out of your shared closet and lead him to your shared bed.

You push him to sit on the end of the bed. He plops down following whatever you want him to do. You raise his chin exposing his neck to you.

You go right for his pulse point and pull his skin between your teeth. You lightly bite his skin then suck. Dante’s hands dart for your waist and holds them tight.

He groans once he feels you starting to suck even harder, “Sweetheart, I thought you said you couldn’t go for another round.” You ignore his comment focusing on what you’re doing.

You stop sucking his skin and run your tongue over the area. You lean back and look at what you just did. You see the hickey on his pulse point but after about 10 seconds it goes away.

You frown realizing that what Dante said is true. You can’t mark him like he can mark you. It makes you a bit sad but you could never hate his healing ability.

You run your thumb over his pulse point then grab his chin again. You make him face you so he can hear what you have to say.

“You were right. You just heal right away. I do feel bad that I can’t mark you like you can mark me. I like the feeling of being marked by you and walking around for people to see. I never knew it bothered you that you couldn’t so I’m sorry for not noticing.”

You see Dante open his mouth to refute but you place a finger on lips to tell him to keep listening.

“But I could never hate your healing ability because it was keeps you coming home. You fight powerful and scary demons that hurt you. If you didn’t have that ability you would have had so many broken bones and have bled out many times. Which means we wouldn’t have been able to get together.”

You run your hands through his hair again to ground yourself, “My biggest fear is you not coming home. That you died on a mission and I’ll never get to see you again. That I’ll never get to hear your laugh, see your smile, eat pizza and ice cream with you, have you make love to me, or even just have you in my arms. I am so happy you have your healing ability because it keeps you here with me. I love you Dante and I don’t want this to upset you anymore.”

You let out a little sigh after you finish and Dante just stares at you. His grip tightens on your waist and before you know it you’re falling. Your forehead then collides with his hard chest.

Dante lays a hand on the back of your head and just holds you close. You don’t dare to say anything because you don’t want to push him to say something. You’ll let him go at his own pace.

Dante calls your name lightly, “You know I’ll always come home to you right. No matter how strong and dangerous a fight may get, I’ll always fight my hardest so I can come back to you. I need to come back to you. I can’t give this up. Now that you put that perspective of my healing ability in my mind, I won’t ever complain about it again.”

He lets out a deep sigh, “It’s just I got a little jealous I can’t walk around with the marks you make. I know I would make it everyone business but I’m content with everything. The most important thing is that I have you at the end of the day. So I’m happy. I love you so much.”

You snuggle into Dante and hold him tightly, “I’m happy too. But how about we find a way to have me always with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“We find something that ‘marks’ you. So it reminds you of me and other people can tell it’s from me.”

Dante spins you around and hovers over you again. He looks like an excited puppy looking down at you. His eyes are shining with excitement, “Really!? Do you mean it!?”

“Yes handsome I mean it.”

“Okay so what will it be??”

You think for a second about what you can do to “mark” him. You look around the room and see something on your night stand. You shift under him and grab it.

You smile back up at him, “You wrist please.”

Dante balances himself on his left wrist and hold his right one out. You slide on your scrunchie onto his wrist. After you put it on Dante stares at it in amazement.

You speak up, “It’s the best idea I could come up with at the moment. We can always think of something bigger later.”

“No.”

You’re puzzled by his reaction not knowing what to say back.

“I like this. I don’t want something else.”

“Dante are you sure? If you give me some time I bet I could find something better.”

“Nothing will be better than this.” He thinks for a second, “Unless it’s naked photo of you.” He states.

You smack his shoulder and his lets out another deep laugh. “But seriously I’m happy with this. It reminds me of when my mom gave me my necklace. Now I have something I can wear from the two most important women in my life.”

You grab his face with both of your hands and drag him down to connect your lips with his. The kiss is passionate and slow. Your noses brush against each other and you two follow the flow of the kiss.

Needing air you break the kiss and look at him and state with such love and care, “I love you Dante.”

He quickly responds with, “I love you more.”

EN kaeya animation again bc.. him……

ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ ✧.*

summary: Izuku as your hallyway crush!!

warnings: none!

an: this takes place in middle school

How on earth could someone be this cute??? Like look at him! With his fluffy green hair and pretty doe eyes and freckles, Izuku Midoriya was your hallway crush.

Though one thing you didn't understand was why was he shunned? You had heard he was quirkless, but still. He had the cutest face ever, how could they not like him?? You kept your crush to yourself though. No need to get bullied. But that didn't mean you couldn't woo and endlessly pin for him.

Izuku always had the weird sense he was being watched. That was really weird, right? Who would want to watch him? He knew there were some people who deserved to be watched, like Kachan! With his strong quirk, and good looks. Izuku had no quirk, and zero good looks. So there was no way anyone watched him. With these thoughts circulating, he opened his locker, and was surprised to see a piece of paper, with a little heart drawn onto it, and a simple message.

you're really pretty. <3

It made a brilliant blush spread onto his freckled cheeks, this was a prank, right? No way a girl or guy, or anyone, could think he was pretty! It was impossible! He frantically glanced around the almost empty hallway, waiting for Kachan and his friends to jump out of a closet, filming him.

When that didn't happen, still a little wary, Izuku put the note into his pocket, the blush starting to fade. Well, if it wasn't a prank, it didn't hurt to keep it, right?

You watched him frantically glance around the empty hall, probably wondering who had left the note. You stifled a little squeal, glad to be able to make him blush. Honestly, it just made him even prettier. This was a pretty bold move, coming from you, but you wanted to! He should know he was pretty! He just made you want to squish his face, and make him blush even more!

Maybe some chocolates would do the trick? People liked that, right? Maybe you could ask him? The idea made you flush, how could someone even casually ask that? "Hey, what's your favorite chocolate?" That really sounded stupid. You didn't want him to think you were stupid. That'd be mortifying.

You paused, maybe some simple chocolate kisses could work? You mulled it over, finally deciding to do just that.

How.. did chocolate kisses get into his locker? There was no way someone could slip them into the tiny slot at the top. Unless.. they had a quirk? Maybe a teleportation one, capable of transporting small objects? Perhaps one that could change the properties of an object, making it small enough to get it through the slot? The possibilities were endless!

He started to mutter, or maybe they were creepy and knew his locker code? He flushed, if they knew his code, that meant that they paid attention to him as he opened his locker, and memorized his code! If they did, that was a little creepy, but the thought that they paid extra attention, made him a little giddy. He shook his head, don't be stupid! There was no way someone paid that much attention.

He noticed the note, skimming over it. It made his face explode, his face heating up.

here's some chocolates kisses cutey! <3

ps. I wouldn't mind giving you some real ones! <33

He made a few squeaking sounds, wondering if what he was reading was real. This was a trick, right? No one on their right mind would want to..kiss him, right? The idea was impossible!

You watched him, feeling ever so pleased with yourself. That note might have been a bit much, considering how red he looked. You watched him for a few more seconds, as the flush slowly faded. Which was a shame, honestly.

You wondered how long it would take till he figured it out. From what you saw, he was incredibly smart. Another reason why you liked him. Very rarely was someone good looking and had the intelligence. Plus he never called attention to himself. Though for some reason the teachers were happy to give him the spotlight when he clearly didn’t want it.

Another note.

you know, it’s really cool how much you know about heroes. <3

Izuku read the words, wondering as usual, if this was supposed to be a prank. It was well known how much he liked pro heroes. But it was considered creepy how well he knew them. Villainous even. He knew their weaknesses, their strengths, everything. But his secret admirer, if he could even call them that, thought that everything he knew about heroes was cool.

So this mystery person, thought he was pretty, and liked how much he knew about heroes. If such a person existed, he’d like to meet them. And make sure that this wasn’t a prank.

‘ i just wanna be yours ’

↬ synopsis: scaramouche notices your new hairstyle and childe convinces him to talk to you.

↬ ft: scaramouche

↬ genre: fluff ; highschool au

↬ warnings: swearing ; kys language(?) ; bullying childe ; 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

↬ notes: SCARAMOUCHE IS SO HAJAJJA ; first post on this account!! ; tell me if there's any mistakes ♡

Scaramouche is a lovesick fool.

Of course, if asked, he will adamantly deny it til the day he draws his last breath. But he knows, his self-proclaimed best friend Childe knows, hell, he thinks his own mother knows. But the day he admits it is the day the sun rises from the west.

Being in love with someone you’ve never spoken to is a torturous thing. It eats away at him when he watches you socialize with your friends on the other side of the classroom. Childe’s sat next to him, incessantly rambling sbout something or other.

The way you smile has his heart running a marathon, he’s so gone for you and it’s actually embarrassing.

At some point, the ginger stops talking about what life would be like without toes and follows his best friend’s line of sight to find you at the end of it. Childe rolls his eyes and slumps back in his chair, he’d wait til Scaramouche was listening to talk about toes.

“She changed her hairstyle.” The indigo-haired boy mutters, to no one in particular obviously, but Childe just has to pick up on it.

“Really?” He says, trying to keep his tone even.

“Mhm, it suits her.” Scaramouche responds, still in his daze-like state.

Childe weighs up his options. He could tell him to just tell you that, to see how it goes. But what if it goes south? He isn't ready to lose a limb. He could just shut his mouth and pretend Scaramouche didn’t even say a word. Of course, somehow, Childe deems it worth a limb to get his stupid best friend to talk to his crush.

“Why don’t you just tell her that?”

Now this, this snaps Scaramouche to attention. His head moves so quickly that Childe worries that he'll get whiplash.

Scaramouche stares at Childe like he’s just grown a second head. “Are you fucking with me?”

To this, the ginger shrugs and motions over to you. “If you don’t make your move soon, someone else will grab her, mouchie dear.”

Scaramouche restrains himself from growling at the nickname, and slapping Childe for the absurd suggestion. The blue-eyed boy is thoroughly unaffected by the scowl directed at him and continues,

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? She might like you back for all you know. You’ve literally had this crush for centuries. It's getting old.”

Scaramouche falls silent and seems to mull over his words. Childe’s right to some extent, it was never going to go anywhere if he didn’t throw himself out there first. But the ginger was wrong about something.

“8 months you moron. Not centuries.”

Childe’s won. He still has all his limbs and is 99.9% sure he’s convinced Scaramouche to say something to you. He feels so smug as he watches his friend stand up and move toward your desk.

When Scaramouche arrives at your desk his body moves before he can stop it and he taps your shoulder.

“Hey.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. He’s sweating bullets and his hands are clammy from his anxiety. He catches Childe mouthing at him, and is pretty sure he says ‘You got this!’ and give him a thumbs up.

Your friends have already figured out what was going on and have scuttled away to entertain themselves and give you both some privacy.

“Your hair looks... strange today, [ name ].”

He mentally curses himself. Out of all the words in his vocabulary, how is 'strange' the one that his brain approves and allows to leave his mouth?

In his peripheral, he sees Childe facepalm and dramatically mouth ‘Mission abort! Run now you bastard!’.

Scaramouche hopes that the earth opens up and swallows him whole. He wishes that he could turn back time and smack Childe in the face. He longs for the comfort of his own seat on the other side of the room.

But by some twist of fate, his feet stay glued to the spot long enough for you to grace him with a response.

A laugh.

You’re laughing? Do you find him funny? Is he dreaming? Hallucinating?

“I got it done yesterday.” You say through laughs, “You like it?”

Scaramouche doesn’t trust his voice enough to not crack and embarrass him further, so a quick nod is what you get in response. His heart is running a million miles an hour and his face feels like it's on fire.

Your grin is so worth it. He wants it imprinted on his eyeballs. He’s so entranced by it that he almost misses Childe and some friend of yours, Yoimiya he thinks her name is, making kissy faces you.

“Thanks, I'm glad. I was worried I looked like a clown.” You joke, running a hand through your hair.

You? A clown? Don’t joke. Childe looks like a clown. You definitely do not look like a clown.

“You don’t” he blurts before his brain can catch up, “You look really pretty.”

You raise your eyebrows and an amused hum passes your lips. His heart is in his throat and he swears you can hear how fast it’s beating.

Then, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, you rise from your seat and press a kiss to his jaw before sitting back down.

“Thanks, you wanna go out later?”

He’s at a loss for words as he tries to process what the fuck just happened. This has to be some ridiculous dream he was having.

He looks quickly over at Childe for assistance and he sees him and Yoimiya aggressively nodding their heads and mouthing ‘Yes?!? Say yes!’. Too put out of it to even formulate a sentence, he places his trust in them and answers, “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Being the best wingman to ever walk the earth, Childe appears by his side and pulls him away after flashing you a grin.

“See?!?!? I love being right! She’s SO into you mouchie!”

Scaramouche can barely hear his friend over the loop of events playing in his head. You literally kissed his jaw? His eyes make their way back to you and his lips quirk upon seeing your friends gush over your interaction.

“Oh my God. She kissed me Childe.” He sighs, too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the pictures the ginger was taking of him.

“I know! I saw! Moral of the story is: Always listen to your bestest buddy Childe.”

He gets slapped.

TO YOU, FOUR YEARS FROM NOW

for @soleillunne : kaedehara kazuha + “in tune with all our dreams.”

kaedehara kazuha x gender neutral reader.

word count: 2k.

content: heart-wrenching angst to fluff + modern au. suggestive.

this idea occurred to me last night, and because you like angst, i thought, ‘why not?’ it may have come out somewhat messy, but i still hope you like it, aly, love ! <3

reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

his words crash against you like waves breaking against sharp jutting rocks.

he’s leaving. tomorrow first thing in the morning. he’s departing to study on a whole different country for the next four years, at least.

your childhood playmate, turned best friend, turned boyfriend.

kaedehara kazuha is going away and you can do nothing about it.

your emotions twist nightmarishly inside your heart, venomous ice you didn’t know you were capable of spreading through your bloodstream.

the cruel sentence is out of your lips before you can think about it.

“we’re breaking up. goodbye, kazuha.”

you don’t bother to turn around when your now ex-boyfriend reaches for your wrist, his hold slack when you pull away. you don’t respond when he calls you that nickname he gave you all those years back when you were still hopeful kids.

kazuha is left there, standing alone, a breeze now unwelcome prickling coldly against the back of his exposed neck.

raindrops of shattered dreams start falling from the midnight sky. you are grateful for them, your tears will be less conspicuous that way.

that night silence fills your darkened room. no text messages or calls come through, no beacon of hope awaits you tomorrow either when you awake to a grey dull sky.

it’s better this way, you think, as you start to get ready for your day.

—

miles above ground, it feels like hell, kazuha thinks.

the boy stares blankly at his phone, screen pitch black. there were no notifications from you today as morning dawned in teary colorless hues.

for the first time in almost two decades, kazuha is at a loss for words.

why did he wait so long to tell you about this? sure, it’s his dream to pursue his passion for literature, but why did he have to tell you something so huge last minute?

he wanted to surprise you with his gift. now it only weighs ominously inside his backpack.

with the ebb and flow of the plane, kazuha closes his eyes. images of you on the edges of shattered mirrors are all the company his dreams can offer.

—

you miss him. badly.

months have gone by, and you still can’t wrap your head around the reason behind your decision that night.

maybe you wanted to avoid missing kazuha, needing him, like you do now. perhaps you deemed yourself just a distraction for him at that moment.

what you are certain of, however, is that, like this, you are a mess.

on late evenings, you find yourself staring out the window, as if by doing so, the boy you still love would show up out of nowhere.

when taxis stop, you perk up, just to chide yourself internally; kazuha is not magically arriving in one of them, he is no longer your prince charming.

forgetting about kazuha altogether might be for the best, you decide, after tilting your head upwards in the bus for the thousandth time when new passengers come in.

you should focus on the book you have to read for class, right now, you muse internally, directing your gaze back to the pages.

—

four years have passed since that eventful night. and as time has ran by, new memories have made their way into your mind; new friends, graduation, part time jobs and lovers that didn’t last.

you’ve been well, mostly.

however, the shards of your broken dreams with kazuha are still safely kept behind stained glass doors into the chambers of your heart. every now and then, they like to lodge into the ridges of the unclosed wound, waking you up in starless nights, with his name in your lips the moment your tear stained lashes open.

but as you’ve been doing for years, you dismiss them, trying to focus instead on the titles in front of you.

reading’s been your most trusty companion these last years, your visits to the local bookstore frequent on weekends. searching for new releases or old undiscovered gems, dreaming about laughing, or crying, or both, to the tune of the words… it’s exciting, in a way. it also keeps the vault of bittersweet dreams more or less locked, when your thoughts travel to distant lands on board of book pages.

sighing to yourself, your fingers graze the various tomes of the poetry section.

one of them makes you stop in your tracks.

‘unsent letters to my dove.’

and it’s the last part of the golden embossed sentence that causes for your heart to momentarily stop.

he used to call you that.

but it can’t be him, can it?

with trembling hands, you reach for the volume. the covers are crimson red leather, soft to the touch. golden lettering spells out the title, reminiscent of long gone sunlit afternoons that smell of childhood. an intricate pattern of maple leaves is drawn around the margins.

maple leaves. his favorite.

you breath catches in your throat when you open the hardcover and your eyes land on the dedication written in italics on the first page:

“to my beloved hummingbird, i’m sorry i couldn’t give this to you four years ago. wherever you are now, i dedicate this collection to you.”

that childhood nickname. that’s what he called you. that’s what you didn’t respond to the night you walked away from him.

no. this must be just coincidence.

you’re just being delusional.

you better check the author, yes, that will surely clear things out.

going back to the cover, there it is, in swirling coppery calligraphy: k. isshin.

that wasn’t his name. however, it doesn’t stop your hold on the book from going slack, you and the copy almost dropping to the ground if it weren’t for the person that suddenly stabilizes you with one arm around your waist, and catches the book with the other.

isshin. didn’t he tell you something long ago about a certain art from his ancestors being referred to by that name?

you don’t have time to ruminate on it for long before an all too familiar voice interrupts all train of thought.

“are you okay?” the boy that’s been intermittently haunting your dreams for the past four years asks.

his voice is still as soft as you remember it, though deeper, with a newfound warmth and richness to it.

it doesn’t help your already racing heart.

“i… i-i’m… fine.” you manage, at the same time your eyes meet his.

shooting stars flash before the sunsets of his gaze when recognition crosses his perfectly sculpted features.

you’re even prettier than he remembers. the memories he’s cherished and old pictures in his phone definitely can’t do justice to the you standing right before him now.

for a few instants, you just stand there, the book still held between yours and his hand. you are simply lost in every detail of kazuha, the boy you left standing under the midnight rain once. kazuha, your ex-boyfriend. kazuha, the boy you never stopped loving.

kazuha, who has written a whole book about you, it seems.

“you… ah… you almost dropped this.” kazuha suddenly breaks the awkward silence, pushing the hardcover into your hands, his cheeks a pretty shade of red, like the poppy fields through which you and him used to run.

“i… uh, yeah… thank you.” you make to walk towards the register to pay for it, but a hand gently holds your wrist.

this time, you turn around.

for a second, kazuha hesitates, his body having reacted as if on autopilot, as if his heartstrings commanded his soul to not let go of you ever again.

“are you free after this?” he asks. it’s uncommon, the way he almost mumbles it, eyes of embers not quite meeting yours.

he is aware this question is playing with fire, and flinches after a few moments pass and no reply leaves your lips.

then:

“sure.” you say, nodding. “have somewhere in mind? if not, we can go to my place.”

“sounds good to me.” he smiles, gently.

it’s pouring when you exit the shop. this time, you stay together under his red umbrella.

the trip to your apartment is mostly silent. there are too many feelings to unpack, too many apologies you wish to say, too many questions.

and the book, safely tucked under your coat, protected from the rain as if it was a precious treasure.

—

“make yourself at home.” you comment, as you open the door to your home. setting the book over the coffee table, you rummage around the kitchen for some snacks.

meanwhile, kazuha loses himself observing how much of you there is in your modest home: some of your favorite books thrown here and there; a spare cardigan similar to the one you always loved to steal from him; pictures with some of your college friends… this little space is filled with the sweet breeze of your scent, one in which kazuha would gladly drown.

when you come back from the kitchen, tea and cookies in hand, to find him standing there, your cheeks heat up.

“i apologize for the mess.” is what your lips speak, yet ‘i’d like for him to stand here every day’ are the true words of your heart.

“not at all.” kazuha offers. “it’s quite charming and cozy in here.”

“ah… thank you.” is all you can manage without excessively stuttering. busying yourself setting the plates, you take your chance to ask:

“that book. you wrote it, didn’t you?”

silence settles between you both again, tension palpable in the air, an invisible wall that didn’t use to be there years ago.

“so you noticed…” kazuha muses, melancholy evident in his tone. “i- that night-”

“i’m sorry.” you snap before he can continue further. “about that night. i was stupid. i hurt and left you, all out of my own impulsivity and egoism.” your hands tighten around the tea-cup you are holding. taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the words you’re going to say next. “so i understand if you hate me now. i… i was mean to you, kazuha. i don’t deserve your friendship anymore and-”

his warm calloused hand comes to rest on top of yours, the frenzied string of words leaving the mouth he used to kiss, cut off.

“you are right, you don’t.” kazuha pauses, the scarlet lakes of his glance, ablaze with longing. his thumb traces your lower lip. your breath catches at the back of your throat. you want to utter his name, yet no sound comes out. then: “you deserve more than that, my hummingbird.” he almost breathes, in the few inches separating both of your ardently longing lips.

the invisible wall between the both of you has just shattered.

without knowing exactly how or what instant, his lips end up on yours, drinking in every version of you. your hands lose in the now longer strands of his smooth hair, their color, the same as the moonlight that sang the melody of your first kiss years ago.

now, kazuha kisses you with a new ardor, as if he’s trying to memorize you by touch alone, were the stars to fade away.

the cracked edges of the dreams you tore down that fateful night beg to be let out from the opaque case in which you’ve kept them all these years.

and, soon enough, the instant kaedehara kazuha undresses you with a softness you wouldn’t have believed possible even in your wildest dreams, the vault opens.

your hands ridding him of his garments are the wave of magic wand needed to set you and him in tune with all your fervent dreams once more.

“dove” falls from kazuha’s lips again and again and again, the waves of his praise, a mantra that softly caresses the pink sand beaches of a paradise only he is able to bring you to.

the skies no longer cry, you and kazuha, its most wondrous and intricate constellation. formed of stars seemingly apart from each other, brought close by a fate greater than the verses your poet writes could explain.

a sliver of moon illuminates the cover of your lover’s eulogies to you.

you slumber sweetly in kazuha’s arms. in your dreams, he reads you his poems.

maybe, tomorrow, that will become your perfect reality.

satan kisses you the same way he kisses cats. that means you get small, consecutive kisses on any spot he can reach at that moment: your forehead, your hand – it doesn't matter much to him, anyway. you're chilling on the couch and suddenly you're bombarded with the tiniest kisses on your head, yknow?

i also can not get over his little cat head bump. absolutely does that randomly to you, as gently as he can manage. it mostly happens when you're in public and he wants to be affectionate with you, just cause i hc he's not into pda much. im so in love with him.

Bakugou Katsuki is completely wrapped around his girlfriend’s finger.

Sure, he tries to act all cool and indifferent in front of his friends, pulling off that tough, angry, and mean guy routine. But deep down, this man would melt in a second for his girlfriend. He’d fall to his knees just to see her smile.

Today, Bakugou Katsuki is out with his friend Kirishima, shopping for Kirishima’s girlfriend’s birthday party. Why did Katsuki agree to come? Because you were away traveling, and he was utterly bored and lonely without you by his side.

"Hey, have we met before?"

The question didn’t even register in his mind. In fact, Katsuki didn’t hear it at all. His mind assumed the question was meant for someone else nearby. He was genuinely surprised when, out of nowhere, a woman stepped in front of him with a soft, shy smile.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to say hi while I had the chance."

Katsuki quickly looked to the side, hoping to spot his friend, but to his dismay, he realized he was completely alone in this awkward moment.

"Uh, right," he muttered, cringing inwardly. What the hell? Why am I even talking to her right now?

The woman giggled, her fingers reaching out to place a hand on his chest while she leaned in a little too close, invading his personal space.

Instinctively, Katsuki stepped back, his heart immediately sinking. Oh hell nah.

"Okay, back up." He shot her a sharp glance and turned to walk away. But just as he did, he heard a voice from behind him.

"Oh, come on. She ain’t that pretty for you to turn me, this, down, is she?"

“She is that pretty, you—” Katsuki grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. He didn’t dare say it out loud—after all, his mom could be lurking nearby—but he couldn’t help but mutter the insult as he walked away, his heart set on getting back to the one person who mattered.

Three days later, you returned home. The second Katsuki saw you walking toward him at the airport, his whole demeanor softened. The tightness in his shoulders melted away, and a smile so wide spread across his face that it made his heart flutter. Without a second thought, he opened his arms wide, waiting for you to run into them.

"Hi, mama," he whispered, his voice thick with longing.

You rushed into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist, your arms clinging to his shoulders as if you never wanted to let go. You giggled when you felt Katsuki bury his face in your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

"You okay, Kats?" You pulled back slightly to look at his face, your heart fluttering at the lovesick gaze in his eyes. He nodded silently, his usual grumpy nature nowhere to be found. Instead, he gently lowered you back to the ground, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, as if to reassure you that everything was right with the world again.

Kirishima stood a few feet away, laughing quietly at the sight of his best friend. The contrast between the Katsuki who’d been grumpy and distant while you were gone and the Katsuki who now held you in his arms—radiating nothing but joy—was impossible to miss. He smiled softly, realizing that there was no one else who could make Katsuki shine like that.

Everyone knew that Bakugou Katsuki was absolutely smitten—utterly, hopelessly in love with you.