WHO DID YALL PICTURE FOR THE RENEGADES CHARACTERS?? THIS IS MINE

bro so im reading son of neptune right?? and like percy is SO LOYAL??? like miss reyna over here is like "yo want this job? oh and fyi the people that have his job usually end up romantically involved." and percy's like "errmmmm ive got a girlfriend☝️🤓" AND DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER HER??? LIKE BRO IS OUT HERE RAISING MY STANDARDS TO THE NEXT GALAXY

fishlegs and hiccup's friendship will always be precious to me and it makes me so sad that we don't see it in the movies

and yeah we get some moments in dob and rtte with them geeking out which is absolutely amazing but still i want what they have in the books, they're literally the bestest of friends who do everything together and even though fishlegs is scared to death he'll still go through with it for hiccup and it's literally just the purest friendship ever

I feel like this one needs to be added

you know shits getting real when the ending credit colours are dull

love in the margins | t. iida

a short, slow-burn library romance, ft. one blueberry muffin, exactly zero jokes, and a boy who takes flashcards way too seriously. (4597 words)

you meet tenya iida under circumstances that can only be described as tragically collegiate: a peer-led study group in the furthest, quietest corner of the campus library, surrounded by half-dead fluorescent bulbs and the palpable despair of students on the brink of burnout.

it's the third week of the semester, and you're already floundering.

you hadn't intended to be. in theory, you were going to stay on top of things—read the chapters early, color-code your notes, maybe even start a study group of your own. but somewhere between sleep deprivation, an avalanche of discussion posts, and the mysterious black hole that is the university's online portal, you fell behind. hard.

introduction to public policy has been your academic nemesis from the start. the textbook reads like legal jargon swallowed a thesaurus. the professor talks in dense, circular metaphors. every quiz is a minefield of trick questions and ambiguous phrasing. you are, in every sense of the word, academically drowning.

so when a brightly colored flyer promising a "collaborative review session" caught your eye on the bulletin board outside the lecture hall, you didn't think twice. you showed up. desperate. caffeinated. terminally underprepared.

and now you regret everything.

the room smells like dry-erase markers and nervous sweat. a whiteboard at the front is covered in illegible graphs. someone has already spilled a latte on the floor. the guy leading the group talks fast and loud, his explanations full of buzzwords and gestures but lacking anything remotely useful. you suspect he's just regurgitating the study guide at a slightly faster pace.

the other students seem to agree.

one by one, they start to trickle out. a girl leaves with the excuse of "office hours." a guy mutters something about dinner. another just quietly packs up and disappears, not even bothering with a pretense.

by the end of the hour, only two people remain: you, clinging to a futile hope of salvaging your gpa... and him.

he sits across from you with the kind of posture that makes your back ache just looking at him. tall, composed, and absurdly polished—like someone who writes essays three days early and carries a spare pen in case someone forgets theirs. his navy-blue sweater is wrinkle-free. his glasses catch the dim library light. his notes are not just color-coded—they're thematically organized, annotated with footnotes and marginalia in tiny, immaculate handwriting.

he hasn't spoken once. he hasn't needed to.

he radiates competence like it's a moral obligation.

"you're still here?" you ask, more surprise than judgment.

the boy looks up, blinking as if surfacing from a well of deep concentration. he adjusts his glasses with a practiced motion.

"yes," he says, voice clipped and oddly formal. "you are as well."

you arch an eyebrow. "no offense, but... are you actually getting something out of this?"

his expression doesn't change, but he tilts his head slightly—almost like he's assessing you.

"of course," he replies. "engaging in structured group review enhances cognitive retention and contextual understanding. it's an effective method for consolidating knowledge prior to a high-stakes assessment."

you blink. "so... yes?"

he doesn't hesitate. "yes."

you snort—audibly. it escapes before you can stop it. and to your surprise, a faint smile flickers across his mouth.

"i'm tenya iida," he says, extending a hand across the table with the kind of precision reserved for formal introductions at university mixers.

you stare at his hand for a moment, then take it. his grip is warm. steady. confident in a way that makes you sit up a little straighter.

"y/n," you say.

his smile grows just slightly. "it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

he releases your hand and immediately pulls out a second set of flashcards from his folder. of course he has a second set.

"would you like to quiz each other?" he asks, dead serious. "alternating questions could be a mutually beneficial method of review."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

something about him—the earnestness, the posture, the complete and utter lack of sarcasm—disarms you. it's like he's the living embodiment of academic sincerity. you're not sure whether to laugh or agree.

you do both.

"...sure."

you don't know it yet, but that's the beginning.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't plan on seeing him again.

it's not personal. it's just that study groups are the social equivalent of jury duty—temporary, miserable, and best forgotten. you assume tenya iida is one of those hyper-dedicated overachievers who only exist within the academic ecosystem. he probably recedes into a cloud of flashcards and moral fiber as soon as the library closes.

you are, however, proven categorically wrong the following wednesday at exactly 8:03 a.m.

you enter the campus café half-awake, mildly hostile, and fully dependent on the idea of caffeine as a substitute for sleep. the plan is simple: grab something with enough espresso to make your eye twitch, stare blankly at your phone for fifteen minutes, and pretend the crushing weight of institutional learning isn't slowly hollowing you out from the inside.

but fate—or perhaps syllabus-based divine intervention—has other plans.

because when you step inside, there he is.

same posture. same glasses. same stupidly crisp button-down like it didn't just come out of someone's laundry but graduated magna cum laude from it. he's seated at a table by the window, surrounded by highlighters arranged like soldiers, reading the textbook that has been your personal tormentor since week one.

and next to his coffee?

a single blueberry muffin.

you hesitate, caught in that weird space where it's too late to pretend you didn't see him, but also too awkward to walk past without acknowledging him.

before you can make a decision, he looks up—and smiles.

not just a polite, "ah yes, i recognize you" smile.

a real smile. brief, but sincere. like he's actually glad you're here.

he waves you over.

you hate how quickly your legs respond.

"didn't expect to see you here," you say as you slide into the seat across from him, instantly aware of how tired you look in comparison to his perfectly combed hair and terrifying punctuality.

"i study here most mornings," he replies. "the ambient noise level is consistent, and the natural lighting is optimal for focus."

you blink. "that is... alarmingly specific."

he inclines his head. "i find that consistency breeds productivity."

you want to tease him, but the truth is, it's kind of admirable. alarming. but admirable.

he gestures to the pastry between you.

"would you like half?" he asks. "it's fresh. and i believe we have, at this point, established a cordial enough rapport to justify the sharing of breakfast items."

you stare at him.

"do you always offer muffins to people you've only studied with once?"

he doesn't even flinch. "only when they look tired enough to deserve one."

your mouth twitches.

"you've been saving that line, haven't you."

he looks mildly offended. "no. though i could annotate it in my planner if you'd like."

you laugh—genuinely this time—and accept the muffin. it's warm, sweet, and annoyingly perfect. just like him.

you don't pull out your flashcards. not immediately. you sit there in companionable silence, splitting the muffin and sipping your drinks like it's something you've always done. like this is normal.

you tell yourself this isn't a date. obviously.

it's too early in the day for romance. you're both clutching textbooks like weapons. he hasn't even made a single joke. (you're not sure he knows how.)

and yet—

when he leans in to show you a section he highlighted—carefully annotated with footnotes and marginal notes that are somehow neater than your typed essays—your shoulders brush. you don't pull away.

he doesn't, either.

later, you realize that you don't even remember what chapter you reviewed.

but you remember the sound of his voice as he quietly explained it. the way he passed you the last bite of muffin without saying anything. the way his fingers curled ever so slightly when he set his pen down between you.

you remember thinking, with a strange flutter in your chest: this could be something.

not yet.

but maybe.

⋆˚✿˖°

you tell yourself this is still just about school.

you repeat it like a mantra as you meet him at the library every tuesday and thursday without fail, settling into your now-permanent seats by the windows like assigned partners in some ongoing group project that no one else remembers being assigned to. his bag always lands on the table first, followed by a reusable water bottle the size of your emotional baggage. he brings extra highlighters now — plural — and starts leaving a green one near your elbow like he’s not even thinking about it.

you, in turn, stop pretending to study anywhere else.

because the truth is, you don’t concentrate better when he’s around — not even a little. he’s distracting in the worst possible way: tall and tidy and terminally composed, with a voice like a podcast host and a smile that you pretend not to notice every time he glances over at you with something like pride in his eyes.

and the worst part?

it’s working.

your grades are going up. you understand policy terminology now. you caught yourself referencing a case study unprompted in another class, and the look your professor gave you made it feel like you’d just been knighted.

you’d thank him for it — sincerely — if he didn’t look so smug every time you nailed a quiz.

“you’ve clearly been applying yourself,” he says one evening, looking over your annotated notes like they’re some kind of sacred text.

“i’ve been applying your study methods,” you reply, then instantly regret it, because the smile he gives you in return is devastating.

and that would be fine — annoying, but fine — if it weren’t for the fact that he’s started sitting closer.

not drastically. not inappropriately. just... close.

close enough that when you both lean in to look at something on the same page, your shoulders brush. your knees knock. his hand lingers near yours when he passes you a pen, and he doesn’t move away quickly. sometimes — and this is particularly evil — his thigh rests against yours under the table for minutes at a time, and you’re too proud (and too panicked) to say anything.

you’re not flirting. not really.

you’re both too stubborn for that.

but something is happening. you just don’t know what to call it.

one thursday afternoon, the sky is gray and heavy with the threat of rain. the windows in the library fog up slightly, making the whole room feel smaller, softer, somehow more intimate. your shoes are damp. your brain is fried. you’re barely holding onto your focus.

but he’s already there, sitting at your usual table with a mug from the downstairs café and a folder labeled “legislation review: week 5.” there’s a muffin. of course there’s a muffin.

he looks up as you approach. smiles. “you’re early.”

you blink. “so are you.”

he shrugs. “anticipation is efficient.”

“what does that even mean?”

he hesitates, like he’s genuinely considering it. “it means i enjoy this.”

your heart does something stupid.

you take your seat before your face can give you away.

thirty minutes in, your brain stops processing information entirely.

you’re trying to focus. really, you are. but his leg is pressed against yours and you swear it’s getting closer every time he shifts. it’s not even the contact itself that’s distracting — it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice. like it’s just normal. like this is how he always studies with people.

(does he?)

(no. he can’t.)

“y/n?” he says, and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

“hm?”

“i asked if you’d like to walk through the case brief again. you seem... distant.”

you clear your throat and try not to sound like someone whose brain has just been wiped by a thigh. “yeah, no, i’m fine. just tired.”

he nods solemnly. “understandable. your coursework has been particularly intensive.”

he says it like he knows your schedule better than you do — which he might. you’ve seen his planner. you’re pretty sure he’s memorized the entire academic calendar, national holidays included.

you try to return to your notes.

you fail.

eventually, you lean back in your chair and exhale.

“okay,” you say. “i need to ask you something.”

he looks up, immediately attentive. “yes?”

you glance around — no one’s within earshot — and lean in slightly.

“this thing we do.”

he blinks. “studying?”

“no. i mean yes, but no.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this. the muffins. the flashcards. the... sitting so close i can smell your laundry detergent.”

he goes still.

“i’m just trying to understand if we’re, like...” you hesitate. “is this just a really intense academic friendship or are we... flirting?”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

then, carefully: “i hadn’t realized my proximity was making you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not!” you say, too quickly. “it’s just... confusing.”

“confusing how?”

you fidget with the cap of your pen. “because we do things that feel... date-adjacent. and i don’t know if that’s just how you are with people or if i’m—” you stop yourself before you can say not imagining it.

his brows draw together, faintly perplexed. “i apologize. i didn’t mean to cause confusion.”

you blink. “so you are flirting?”

his ears go pink. just slightly. “i wouldn’t define it as flirting. but i do enjoy spending time with you.”

you squint at him. “that’s not a no.”

he hesitates. then, quieter: “it’s not.”

oh.

you stare at him. he stares back.

and then — like the universe can’t stand unresolved tension — your knees bump again.

but this time, he doesn’t shift away.

and neither do you.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don’t call it a date.

not out loud.

not even in your head, really — not technically. because you’re not dating. you haven’t kissed. there’s been no confession. there’s been no moment of clarity where either of you has stood dramatically in the rain and said i think about you all the time, which, honestly, is a bit disappointing.

but you still change your outfit three times before meeting him for coffee on saturday.

you still hesitate in front of the mirror, adjusting your sleeves and second-guessing your hair, muttering get a grip under your breath like it’s a prayer.

you still pause at the door to the café, one hand on the handle, and remind yourself — again — that this isn’t a date.

you’re just meeting up. casually. like friends.

friends who sometimes sit with their knees touching under library tables. friends who share muffins and steal glances and somehow always find reasons to linger a little too long in doorways.

friends who, if they weren’t so emotionally constipated, might’ve figured this out already.

but you push the door open anyway, and the little bell overhead chimes bright and familiar.

he’s already there.

of course he is.

tenya iida is punctual to the point of pathology. if you told him to meet you in the afterlife at 3:00 p.m. sharp, he’d be there early, holding a clipboard and a fully prepared powerpoint.

he’s sitting near the window, back straight, hands folded politely in his lap. his hair is a little messy from the wind outside. his sweater is navy — clean, simple, a little oversized in a way that makes you stare longer than you should.

he sees you and stands immediately, which is both adorable and completely unnecessary.

“you’re early,” he says, voice warm.

“so are you.”

he doesn’t reply, but the smile he gives you is soft around the edges.

you order something with too much caffeine and not enough nutritional value. he offers to pay, like he always does. you decline, like you always do. it’s a silent tradition now, a ritual of stubbornness. he lets it go with a quiet nod, but not without giving you that look — the one that says i was raised right and this physically pains me.

you find a booth in the corner, a little more secluded than the rest. the sun spills in through the window in soft golden streaks, and for a moment, it feels like you’re somewhere outside of time.

“i’ve never seen you wear that color,” he says as you sit down.

you glance at your shirt. “yeah? too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. it suits you.”

your mouth goes a little dry.

you recover quickly, leaning back and sipping your drink like it doesn’t mean anything. like the warmth crawling up your neck is from the coffee and not the compliment.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat. “what’s on the agenda for today? rigorous academic analysis? philosophical debates about economic ethics? impromptu pop quizzes?”

he tilts his head. “i thought we might take the day off.”

you blink. “from... studying?”

“from everything.” he shrugs, a little sheepishly. “i realized we’ve never spent time together without a textbook between us.”

your heart does something strange.

“you mean like... just hang out?”

“yes.”

“like friends.”

he hesitates. just barely. “yes. like friends.”

the words hang in the air between you — awkward, uncertain, but not unkind.

you nod, slowly. “okay. yeah. we can do that.”

and you do.

you talk. not about school, not about deadlines or group projects or the upcoming midterm. you talk about dumb childhood stories and weird food preferences and the fact that he once tried to start a recycling initiative in his middle school and was very upset when no one followed the sorting chart correctly.

you tell him about your obsession with terrible reality TV. he listens with the seriousness of a man taking notes for a thesis.

he tells you about his older brother, and how much he looks up to him. you tell him about the stray cat that used to follow you home in high school, even though you never fed it.

he laughs — really laughs — when you tell him about the time you broke your nose in gym class trying to dodge a volleyball and ran straight into a bleacher.

“i’m sorry,” he says between gasps. “i don’t mean to laugh at your pain.”

“no, you do,” you say, grinning. “and it’s okay. i would too.”

at one point, your knees bump under the table again. this time, neither of you pulls away.

it’s later than you mean it to be when you finally leave the café. the sun is dipping low, the sky tinged with lavender and orange. the street is quiet, and the wind bites just enough to make you zip your jacket up.

you walk together. not toward the library, not toward another class — just aimlessly. like people who have nowhere else to be.

it’s peaceful.

and weirdly... intimate.

you’re not talking. not really. the silence between you is comfortable now, lived-in. every so often your hands brush, and you wonder — wildly, stupidly — what would happen if you just reached out.

but you don’t.

because this isn’t a date.

it’s not.

except maybe... it is.

“this was nice,” you say, when you finally reach the crosswalk where you’ll part ways.

he nods. “i enjoyed it.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“we should do it again,” you say. casually. like it doesn’t mean anything.

but he looks at you like it does.

“i’d like that,” he says. and then — “you’re very easy to be around.”

your breath catches.

you want to say something. you’re easy to be around too. i think about you when we’re not together. i don’t know if i’m imagining this but i hope i’m not.

instead, you say, “you’re weirdly charming, you know that?”

he blinks. “i— thank you?”

you grin. “it’s a compliment. mostly.”

he laughs. soft. pleased. “i’ll take it.”

he takes a small step back, like he’s about to leave — but then pauses.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“if this had been a date...” he clears his throat. “would that have been... agreeable to you?”

you stare at him.

then, slowly — carefully — you nod.

“yeah,” you say. “i think it would’ve been.”

he smiles. it’s small. tentative. but it lights up his whole face.

“then maybe next time, we won’t pretend.”

you feel like you’re floating.

“deal.”

he nods once. then, with a strange, lingering sort of hesitation — like he’s not ready to go yet — he turns to leave.

you watch him go.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel... hopeful.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't know what you're expecting.

when he texts you the next morning — same time tuesday? not for studying this time. if you're free. — you stare at it for a good ten minutes before responding. not because you’re unsure of your answer (you’re not), but because the implication hits like a freight train.

not for studying.

not as friends.

just you. just him. again.

this time, it’s a little different.

this time, he’s calling it what it is.

you don’t overthink your reply (for once). you just type yeah. i’m free and throw your phone face-down before your heart can beat out of your chest.

and when tuesday rolls around, you are twenty minutes early.

you tell yourself it’s because the weather’s nice and the walk was shorter than usual and you didn’t want to cut it close. but the truth is, you’ve been ready since noon.

you’re wearing the sweater he said he liked once, months ago, after a study session where he handed you a highlighter and your fingers brushed and you both paused like the world might end. it’s not even your warmest or your nicest sweater. it’s just... the one he looked at a little too long.

you don’t want to admit what that means.

you sit in your usual seat by the window. a small table, worn edges. your coffee in hand. no textbooks. no flashcards. just the sound of the café around you and the low simmer of anticipation in your chest.

he walks in three minutes early, which is basically scandalous by iida standards.

you glance up, and the second your eyes meet, he smiles.

it’s not his usual polite, committee-appropriate smile.

it’s something else.

something softer.

he sits down across from you like he’s been doing it his whole life.

you stare at him for a second too long.

“you’re early,” he says, like it’s a fact worth noting. his voice is gentler than usual.

“so are you.”

“a rare occurrence.”

“should i be concerned?”

he laughs — quietly, warmly. “i thought you might say that.”

you both go quiet.

not awkward quiet. just... full.

full of everything you’re not saying.

you sip your drink and hope your heart doesn’t explode.

twenty minutes in, you realize you’ve forgotten what time it is.

again.

you’re talking about something stupid — a professor you both silently hate but never speak ill of in class — and he’s mimicking their voice in a whisper, hand shielding his mouth, and you’re laughing.

like genuinely, honestly laughing.

like you don’t have a hundred things weighing you down.

he always does that. makes everything feel easier. lighter.

it’s dangerous, how much you like it.

how much you like him.

you haven’t said it. not out loud. not even to yourself.

but the truth is: you’re in trouble.

deep trouble.

because tenya iida has the power to wreck you in a way no one else ever has.

not because he’s dramatic. not because he’s charming (though he is, in that annoying, understated, golden-retriever-with-a-perfect-credit-score kind of way).

but because he’s steady.

because he means things.

because when he looks at you, it’s like you’re someone worth understanding.

and you’ve never been loved gently before.

not like this.

you walk out together.

neither of you mentions how long you stayed. it’s dark out, but neither of you cares.

you walk close, side by side. your hands brush once, then again. his fingers twitch toward yours, and you pretend not to notice — not because you don’t want it, but because you’re not sure what happens if you reach back.

you talk about nothing. and everything.

he tells you about the time his older brother accidentally dyed his hair blue with a shampoo prank and how no one in their house was allowed to mention it for an entire year.

you tell him about the time you accidentally set off a fire alarm trying to microwave leftover curry in a dorm that very explicitly prohibited strong-smelling food.

“you’re a menace,” he says, laughing.

you bump your shoulder into his. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he glances at you. “i didn’t say that.”

you both stop at the crosswalk — the same one where you stood days ago.

the same one where he asked if this had been a date...

you’re not pretending anymore.

and yet.

you don’t know what to say.

you just look at him, the wind brushing through your sleeves, your fingers cold where they’re shoved into your pockets.

he looks at you.

longer than before.

long enough that your heart stumbles.

and then — quietly — he says, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “of course.”

his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. careful.

“why me?”

you blink. “what?”

“why... this?” he gestures gently between you. “i know i’m not the most exciting person. i’m not particularly funny or... spontaneous.”

you frown. “iida.”

“i’m just trying to understand,” he says. “why you keep showing up.”

you want to say because i like the way you talk when you’re tired, or because your laugh makes me want to listen to every dumb story you’ve ever told.

you want to say because i’ve never felt so calm next to another person in my entire life.

instead, you say, “because when i’m with you, i don’t feel like i have to be anyone else.”

his expression shifts.

his jaw tightens. his eyes soften.

he takes a step closer.

“i don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“you’re not.”

“i don’t want to misread it.”

you exhale, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “you’re not.”

his hand lifts, hesitates — then lands gently against your cheek.

you stop breathing.

“may i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod before your brain catches up.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you may.”

and he does.

it’s not rushed.

it’s not fiery or desperate.

it’s patient. reverent. like he’s memorizing the feeling. like he’s been waiting for the right moment and this, finally, is it.

his lips press softly against yours, and your hands lift automatically to his jacket, holding on, grounding yourself.

when you part, he leans his forehead against yours.

you’re both quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

you smile. “i could tell.”

“was i too obvious?”

“painfully.”

he laughs, arms sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this is still new,” he says. “i know that.”

you nod.

“but i’m willing to take it slow.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be patient.”

“okay.”

he pauses. “and i’d like to take you to dinner. an actual dinner. with reservations and menus and probably overpriced appetizers.”

you grin. “are you asking me on a real date?”

he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“yes,” he says. “i’m asking.”

“then yes,” you reply. “i’m saying yes.”

you walk home hand-in-hand.

you don’t have to say anything.

it’s not pretending anymore.

and for once — finally — that feels like enough.

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Cute Aggression

Mezo Shoji x Reader

(mild suggestive content; utterly vile fluff)

Something about his face just drives you wild. Always has.

Even the first time, when you were at your place, and Shoji sat you down because he had something serious to discuss. You'd been going out for a while, and dating exclusively for several months. A part of you was terrified that 'something serious' meant something bad. But when he expressed a desire to show you his face, that anxiety turned to relief, then excitement. It was hard to hide your giddiness, but you wanted to show that you were taking this seriously.

Shoji could tell, he could always tell. Your boyfriend seemed to have a gift for reading people, or maybe just you. It made it all the more nerve wracking, knowing that your excitement would sour into shock or pity or disgust. But it seemed too far to go back now.

When he pulled down his mask, he was quiet, giving you a moment to process, maybe ask questions. He was ready to answer the usual 'what happened' or something about his natural features.

What Shoji wasn't prepared for, was your elated look, and you slowly reaching out your hands while asking, "is this okay?" You waited until he nodded his consent before cupping his face, gently and intently looking at his features.

"Mezo." You had straddled his lap, now staring him dead in the eyes. He swallowed. "You are really, REALLY fuckin' cute."

He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. You weren't hiding your giddiness now, and he wasn't sure how to react to this unabashed fawning. His already serious blush darkened as you asked, "can I kiss you? Here, on this mouth?"

The two of you had made out some, but always using a mouth on one of his dupli arms. He nodded, looking unintentionally coy as he closed his eyes. "You may."

You gently swept his bangs aside, still cupping his cheek with your other hand. Your thumb brushed over a pair of scars crossing his lips, but you weren't planning to ask about them now. If he offered the information, you'd take it, but there was no need to push. For now, you just wanted to love on his face, as much as he'd let you.

His lips had an intriguing shape in the front, tempting you to kiss there. As your lips softly molded to his, you felt him go tense, quivering a little. So you moved your hands to his chest, gently rubbing along the clavicle out to his shoulders, then back to center. "Relax baby~" you whispered against his perfect lips, and he obeyed instantly.

When you finally leaned back, Shoji looked happy, dazed, and positively love-drunk from the tender kiss. Then he said something that surprised you. "That was, uhm, my first kiss." He rubbed his neck with a nervous little laugh.

You took a moment to process, then gasped. "Ohmygosh why didn't you tell me, I could've lit candles or something, made it more romantic!"

Before you could stress too much, six muscular arms found their way around your torso, pulling you flush against him. "It was perfect."

~~~~~

"Mezo?"

"Hm?"

"You'd dated other people before me, right? So, why hadn't you ever...yanno? Before." It had been weeks since your boyfriend had first shown you his face, and you'd been wondering how you were his first real kiss.

"Kissed?" You nodded. He sighed. "I didn't show many potential romantic partners my face. As for the ones I did show, they weren't particularly enthusiastic about getting up close and personal."

You narrowed your eyes. "...just so you know, if you ever point out one of your exes to me in public, I will kick their ass."

"Noted. But please don't."

"Fine. Their loss anyway." You cuddled into his side, one hand reaching up to trace the scar tissue on the back of his neck.

Now it was Shoji's turn to blurt out something that had been lingering in the back of his mind. Ever since he told you about his scars, you seemed a little fixated on them. "So, these...they don't bother you?"

"Mixed feelings, I suppose. It makes me sad and pissed off that anyone would've hurt you like that. But at the same time, objectively, they give you kind of a rugged look? And knowing how you got them, it makes me feel kinda guilty that I think they're hot?"

Shoji turned his head to give you an amused, questioning look. "Hot?"

"Yeah, you're stupidly hot. Not just the face, the whole situation. But the scars, they make me just, wanna..."

You trailed off, getting up on your knees so you could reach Shoji's face while he sat. His fists balled up in the couch cushions as your lips softly caressed the scars running perpendicular to his mouth. You kissed along each one, going bottom to top, before moving to the corner of his mouth. Following the massive scar around his neck, you kissed as far as you could reach from your position, then gave it a small lick. He jumped and you giggled, nibbling around the raised flesh as he shivered.

Soon he was leaning into the couch, head thrown back, mouth open and panting while you kissed and adored and worshipped every inch of scarring around his neck and face. He hardly even moved as you switched sides, determined not to half ass your task.

At long last, you stopped, and Shoji started to compose himself and sit up. That's when you rested your chin on his shoulder, giving him doe eyes as you asked, "got any other scars that need tending?"

He stared at you for a moment. Then he started to remove his shirt.

~~~~~

Waking up to the sight of Shoji's face was divine, you thought to yourself. He lay on his back beside you, but his head was turned to the side. So when you woke up, you were met with his peaceful visage.

You sighed, softly stroking his sleep-mussed hair. You watched his pretty silver eyelashes twitch against his cheeks as he dreamed. He was smiling softly, evidently enjoying pleasant dreams.

When you leaned in, carefully attempting to deliver a small kiss without waking him, he mumbled something in his sleep. Mostly incoherent, but you were pretty sure you caught a little "love you" in there. You smiled, cuddled into his side, and rejoined him in peaceful slumber.

~~~~~

There was no point to this collection of drabbles, other than to say Shoji deserves nice things and also look at that face LOOK AT THAT CUTE FUCKIN FACE:

wow what a pretty boy...he would look beautiful writhing in pain and crying in agony

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)

this post has apparently been getting DRAGGED recently and i would like to say that i literally do no care who you ship, i was making a joke bc i personally am not a fan of the ship☠️

also all the post's about this are actually so funny ily all☠️☠️🙏❤️

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