mha // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

bakugou katsuki

shoto todoroki

dabi / touya todoroki

hawks / takami keigo

eijiro kirishima

denki kaminari

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight, arranged marriage au.

a.n; fare warning, THIS IS A MONSTER<3 lol

Fuckin' Marry Me Series | First Part | Second Part |

The gentle sound of the scribble your pen makes over the paper, right where it requires your formal signature, is heard louder than you expected in that tense silence. Well, it isn't a bad silence, but more like an anxious one. One that has Bakugou, who is sitting right next to you, literally shaking his right leg up and down continuously, even though you already told him you would do this.

And what does ‘this’ mean? It means you agreed to marry Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki. To help him finally be free from his own mother's clutches.

You had a hard time believing in the whole story he told you when he knocked on your door last Sunday morning –almost tearing down the door actually– after his father died. Even though you had agreed that same day, you asked him for a few days to clear your head a bit. He accepted, respecting your space even at work, which was weird.

A normal day at work always starts with a banter with this same man right at the entrance of the company and it follows until you enter the elevator. Everyone is already used to it, so they ignore both of you. It mostly ends when you have to get off on the floor where your office is, which is one under the one where all heroes keep their hero costumes and get changed. Of course, sometimes the banter would continue if you were assigned to work with Hero Dynamight through the earbuds that connected you at a distance.

↳ ❝ HONEY.. COME BACK TO ME. PLEASE. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you and your ex-boyfriend katsuki bakugou can't seem to resist each other no matter what. even if you're only supposed to be friendly at the class reunion party.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x ex-girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: mentions of handjobs and oral sex in 3rd year at ua, oral sex (f! receiving), tits fixation, penetrative / p in v sex, car sex / semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampie 🤭

note: spoilers for chapter 431 (a little different in some parts), usage of "brat", "honey", "sweets", "woman", fem reader, mentions of izuocha, second chance romance trope, porn with plot, microscopic angst, credits to gsony for center pic in my banner, i love them sm^^hope i did our husband justice 💜💜

the moment that cemented bakugou’s resolve to marry you wasn’t exactly grand.

it wasn’t your first kiss.

or the first time you made love to each other.

not even the first time you met his nerd-ass friends or his (slightly) overbearing parents. although those two come as close runner-ups.

no, it was rather a random saturday morning after you spent a night at his place, now clad in what he thinks is nothing but your intimates and a burnt orange t-shirt of his that drapes loosely over your frame.

and as he enters the kitchen and closes the distance between the two of you with a few strides, he can’t help but wonder what you’re doing—deeply focused on your laptop—when you’re probably the one who’s extra pedantic about not bringing work home.

“morning,” he grunts, leaning down to kiss your cheek, which you happily accept. although, to his chagrin, your eyes remain on your computer screen, not even sparing him a single glance.

he knows it’s fucking embarrassing, how strongly you elicit feelings within him without you even fucking trying, but he can’t stop the frown that takes over his face even if he attempted to fight it.

shaking off the irrational disappointment from not even being ignored, he rounds the kitchen island and starts brewing the two of you coffee.

“by the way,” he starts, glancing at you over his shoulder, “the old hag’s birthday is coming up. she wants to have dinner with just the four of us, or some shit.”

“i know,” you simply pipe up from where you’re seated on one of his fancy bar stools, gaze still glued on whatever the fuck it is that’s keeping your attention from him.

he turns to you, a manual coffee grinder in tow. “you do?”

at that, you finally look up at him, an innocent expression etched across your features. “you don’t remember? i asked you when your parents’ birthdays were way back in march.”

way back in march.

back when you unanimously decided to decisively end the dating phase and become boyfriend-girlfriend.

— atsumu miya ⋮ 03 / 13 / 25. ❝ 𝓕𝑬𝑬𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 ❞

From the ripe age of nine, you were trained to feel nothing. 

“You don’t have time for feelings,” your mother would bark at you, fists raised in front of her. “You are cold, you are organized,” she would grunt, pinning you to the ground for the nth time that evening. “Feel nothing, lose nothing,” she would say, voice demanding and even. Even when she would work you like a dog, spar with you day and night, she always remained composed.

She felt nothing. She was cold, she was organized. She didn’t have anything to lose. Not even her own daughter. She trusted one person; herself.

When she died, the organization she worked for, The Cage, held a funeral for her. You, a fourteen year old with nowhere to go, were taken in by the head of The Cage, Kurosu. He’d worked with your mother for years, trained her when she was your age.

He taught you to feel nothing.

“Feelings are useless,” he would say, rolling his eyes at you. “They only lead to disappointment,” he would grunt, kicking your legs out from beneath you. “They are useless.”

Even when faced with the worst situation possible, he remained composed. Calm, collected, organized. Even when put in the utmost dangerous positions—calm, collected, composed.

By the time you turned twenty, you were the same. Emotionless, calm, organized. You never let your feelings get in the way. Feelings were pointless, weren’t they? They were distracting and disappointing. What was the point? No feelings, nothing to lose—the perfect hit man.

Until him.

Golden hair, brown eyes that one could look into for hours upon hours, a carefree smile. While you were trained to feel nothing, attraction was one you could never get over. 

You stare at him through the scope attached to your gun, finger resting over the trigger, your breaths even and your hands steady. Next to him, an identical boy sits. Different hair, but the same smile, same eyes. You take a deep breath and train your gun back on the blonde boy. For a brief moment, you wish your life was like his. Simple, easy—carefree.

A crackle comes in on your comm and you flinch—something you haven’t done in awhile.

“Is it done?” They ask. You don’t know who it is, you never do. It’s someone different every time. Last week it was an older woman, this week a young man. “Six, is it done?”

You clear your throat and bring your hand to your ear, pressing a button. “No,” you say bluntly. “You do your job, I’ll do mine. I’ll contact you after the fact.” You click the button again and rip the earpiece out, throwing it to the side. You’re sick of them anyway.

With a deep breath, you look through the scope again. You wonder what his childhood was like. Public pools, sleepovers with friends, sports. His mother probably kissed his forehead before he left for school. You wonder why someone would want him dead.

You wonder what it’s like to have a brother—a twin brother, no less. You wonder how his twin will react when he gets shot in the head right in front of him. Would he go on to live his life in honor of his brother? Would the pain be too much for him to bear? And his mother?

His mother. A wonderful woman, probably. Much nicer than your own. Floral sundresses and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Homemade lemonade and perfectly curled hair. She would be devastated by her son's death.

You take your fave away from the scope and take a deep breath. Your elbows hurt, your core hurts. The wind is off.

Yeah. The wind is off.

You glance over at your earpiece and pick it up, clicking the button. “Wind is blowing the wrong way. Can’t get a clean shot. I’m packing up.” You don’t hear what they say; you don’t care.

You push yourself up on your knees with a huff. Without your scope, you can’t see the blonde boy clearly anymore. He’s just a blob of beige. Maybe this is for the better. You don’t need the money—your mother had left a fortune in her passing. You’ll make Seven take the job. At least then you won’t have to deal with the guilt you feel.

Feelings. Stupid, distracting, disappointing. You pack your gun away and hike it over your shoulder. This isn’t your problem anymore, you decide. You pull out your burner and type a number in. Kurosu answers in three rings.

“Is it done?”

“Give it to Seven,” you state simply. “I’m off my game. Getting sick, probably. Wind was off direction, couldn’t get a clear hit.”

He sighs, then clicks his tongue. “Fine.” He hangs up.

Something you’ll admit to yourself; you hate this line of work. What else are you supposed to do, though? Work at a grocery store? A daycare? The thought almost makes you laugh.You, working somewhere domestic? Please. You don’t even know how to function with actual people. All of your colleagues kill people for a living.

Your joints ache as you make your way down the stairs of the building. You drop your gun in the bathroom, where someone will pick it up later, then walk out the building. The wind on your face feels different than it did when you were on the roof.

People walk the streets, going about their normal lives. None of them know you were about to kill someone. None of them know how many people you have killed.

A mother with her daughter. An old couple walking their dog. A little boy and his friends playing in a puddle.

You walk down the street, nowhere in mind. The wind picks up, you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself.

“You’re gonna freeze out here without a jacket, pretty lady.”

You freeze for a moment, unsure if he’s talking to you, then you turn and all the breath leaves your lungs. Atsumu Miya—your target from moments earlier. How did he get down here so fast?

“What?”

He laughs, giving you a sheepish smile. “I said you’re gonna freeze.”

He has an odd accent, something you’ve heard before but can’t place. You watch him shrug off his jacket and hold it out to you. “Here. I don’t need it.”

You blink a couple times, then look down at the jacket. Tan skin, strong forearms. You’re not sure why, but you take it from him and pull it over your shoulders. It’s warm, soft. It smells like expensive cologne.

“Thanks,” you mumble, sticking your hands in the pockets. “You.. shouldn’t trust strange people. What if I steal your jacket?”

He shrugs. “Keep it. I have others.” He pauses, then smirks. “What’s your name?”

Your name. For the past ten years, you’ve been called Six, part of a class of twenty kids. You don’t have an identity. You don’t have a name. You don’t have anything, nothing.

“Lina,” you lie, averting your gaze. “And yours?

“Miya. Uh, Atsumu,” he corrects, shaking his head. “You can call me Atsumu.”

“Atsumu,” you repeat. It feels foreign in your tongue. Sour, like a lemon squeezed on a swollen taste bud. You rub your fingers together inside the pocket, a nervous habit you picked up as a young child. “Listen, Atsumu, I have to go, but-“

“Give me your number!” He exclaims, cutting you off. He laughs nervously and takes a deep breath. “If you want, I mean.”

“I don’t have a phone,” you blurt. Another lie. That’s all you do, isn’t it? Your whole life. “I really have to go.” You turn and walk away from him, ignoring the calls of Lina that follow you. 

Feelings. Stupid. Distracting.

Subtleties aren't Atsumu Miya's strongest suit.

For an individual with a presence as imposing as his, (or rather, to word it better), for a person of his notoriety, you'd guess the opposite - yet, you're almost certain right now, seated upon the cold, marble-tiled floor of your University’s Art Studio, that it's Atsumu Miya knocking. In spite of how it's barely about six in the morning, and, typically, due to long nights spent practicing in the university’s volleyball gym, he wouldn't be awake at such an odd hour.

Subtleties aren't Atsumu Miya's strongest suit.

And right now, standing at the door with his bottle-blonde shock of hair disheveled, eyes sporting eyebags that could only be described as heliotropic, brandishing a bottle of the turpentine from the brand you preferred you had complained earlier about finishing too quick, he was anything but subtle.

“Is it alright?”

Normally, Atsumu would be considered quite an obnoxious being due to the tone he'd possess whilst engaging in conversation with anyone. Yet, with you, it's as if he's enunciating each vowel, each syllable carefully enough to keep your attention to him, whilst, simultaneously, proclaiming so in a tone that was loud enough to keep him awake.

“Tsumu.” You whisper - carefully enough to lull him to sleep with that goddamned mellifluous voice of yours, yet sternly enough to always, always maintain his interest.

It's rather pitiful just how much of an effect your mere presence has on the athlete, despite him professing the opposite.

He raises an eyebrow as his name catches his exhausted mind, stepping closer to where you stood. “If it's not okay, I could get ‘ya a different brand - no, really, (Y/N), it's not that big of a deal.”

Atsumu’s usual brashness was evident in the way he stood, barely able to hide the exhaustion in his posture. It was clear in the way he fidgeted with the bottle of turpentine, unsure whether to approach or not.

To say you were overwhelmed would be considered the understatement of the year. Rather - it would be better off considered the understatement of the century, in light of the view before Atsumu - how you stood, frozen in place as if your feet were attached to the floor you stood on.

The thing is, the specific brand of turpentine you use is available exclusively at the local arts and crafts store - which is an approximate thirty minute drive from campus.

You're not sure what an appropriate response would be. Yet again, you're not sure if any response - in any dialect would suffice to drown out the sound of your heart thumping against your chest.

Your hands tremble as you hold the bottle, your breath catching slightly. His gaze locks with yours, and your heart skips a beat.

Affection isn't Atsumu Miya's strongest suit.

And you'd think you know him well enough to agree with such a statement, but the truth was, Atsumu Miya, with all his flaws, was madly, deeply, and irrevocably infatuated with you.

All you can do is stare upon the bottle of translucent liquid you held, alternating between heeding the crystalline substance and the gaze of the man that stood in front of you.

Affection isn't Atsumu Miya's strongest suit. It isn't supposed to be.

Yet, with you suddenly rushing toward where he stood (granted, mere steps away from you), and enveloping him into your embrace, it was as if your bodies had mended together - maintaining a position that felt so right, so utterly natural, that being devoid of the warmth of Atsumu's body, even if it meant for the slightest second, would feel alarmingly out of place.

Your breath slows as you hold him, the warmth of his body comforting. The world outside fades as you find solace and utter comfort in his arms.

“I love you, Tsumu.” You state, taking in deep, slow breaths to calm yourself - and him, too.

But with all he's done for you, despite the gravity of how he feels for you, Atsumu can't say it back.

Why can't he say it back?

Despite the fact that you, the pinnacle of perfection, stood before him, your body perfectly aligning with his, saying exactly the words he's longed to hear, he hesitates, his eyes searching yours as if looking for the right words, but they never come.

Bringing his hands to your lips, you press a soft kiss to his calloused fingertips, his palm cupping the curve of your face right after.

The two of you are breathing in unison. It's a symphony of sharp inhales and rather prolonged, heavy exhales as the two of you attempt to possess some control over your emotions. It's rather automatic, too, as if this was how you were always meant to breathe - to the hymn of Atsumu's heart beating soundly against your ear.

“I know.” The athlete finally says, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head - but not before adding a small “And I love you, too.”

His words come out in a rush, as if they’ve been on the tip of his tongue for too long. It’s quiet, almost swallowed by the moment.

It couldn't have been a decibel above a whisper, yet, you manage to heed it. You manage to heed and grasp the sheer weight his words possessed.

Truth was, Atsumu had known he had loved you for years now. Not when he had first run into you at the University’s first-year orientation after years of seeing one another. It wasn't when you had first painted him - no, it had been when, in the third grade, you had guided him in making his first acrylic paint portrait. While it might have turned out rather horrendous, for eight-year-old Atsumu Miya, everything seemed to fall into place with the sight of your face smeared in red paint.

Subtleties aren't Atsumu Miya's strongest suit.

Yet, loving you is probably what he's best at.

© heavenlyvaldez 2025, all rights reserved.

ALL OUT OF LUCK

꩜ .ᐟ chapter one

꩜ .ᐟ chapter two

꩜ .ᐟ chapter three

꩜ .ᐟ chapter four

꩜ .ᐟ chapter five

꩜ .ᐟ chapter six

꩜ .ᐟ chapter seven

꩜ .ᐟ chapter eight

꩜ .ᐟ chapter nine

DECEIVING THE DUKE : TODOROKI SHOUTO x READER

part i : In which a debutante goes missing and a scheme is hatched.

part ii : In which a ball is attended and snacks are thrown.

part iii : In which a handsome duke appears and an escape is foiled.

part iv : In which a duke comes calling and a resolution is formed.

part v : In which sculptures are mocked and feelings are realized.

part vi : In which a gift is given and a close encounter occurs.

part vii : In which passions are exchanged and a scandal is discovered.

part viii : In which an identity is exposed and a journey is undertaken.

part ix : In which a promise is made and a future awaits.

READ ON AO3

THIS WAS WRITTEN SO WELL MY GOSH 😩

timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader

notes: married— established rs, this feels so ooc i apologize, y/n used a couple times, actual streaming terms used(willing to explain them if needed!!), fluff, kuroo mention, lowercase intended!

“38 minute and 42 second compilation of kodzuken being whipped for his wife.”

this is the seventh part of the series created by this fan. the first part of the series was titled, “15 minute compilation of pro gamer kodzuken talking about his girlfriend.” the fourth part was the change from girlfriend to fiancée, and the sixth part was the change from fiancée to wife.

𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑣

Then

“Shouto duty,” was the first thing Touya grumbled as he emerged from his house.

A little shadow with red and white hair peered out from behind him, big eyes staring up at you. Shouto was dressed in a periwinkle t-shirt and khaki shorts in the late spring heat, and he was nearly vibrating with excitement. You reached out reflexively to pat that fluff of hair, and Shouto seemed to lean into your touch like a cat, probably starved of affection from his fussy older brother.

“My lucky day,” you said, grinning at the way it made Touya roll his eyes.

Shouto nearly launched himself off the steps, looking quietly thrilled to be tagging along. He shoved himself in between you and Touya as you walked, as if unable to bear Touya’s proximity to you, making Touya bark out an annoyed, “Oi, watch it.”

Shouto ignored him, turning to you. “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

You looked down at him curiously. “What?”

“I lost a tooth,” he said, staring up at you seriously. You laughed, knowing most kids would have smiled to show off their tooth gap, but Shouto had always been a little bit more withdrawn, though he was fairly open around you.

“When?” you asked, ignoring Touya’s scoff. “Did the tooth fairy come?”

Shouto nodded. “Last night. I am adding the money to my inheritance for you.”

Taken for Granted (MSBY + Iwa x Reader)

Summary: You were their angel in disguise and they did a great job of destroying that too (starts fluffy and ends angsty. comfort in part 2 if requested)

Pairing: MSBY 4 + Meian and Iwa x reader  (a little bit Kageyama and ushijima x reader)

Trigger warnings: Harsh words from the boys! (except shouyo)

MINI UPDATE: I made a tag for this (taken for granted) and if an ask post comes under it its cause I have an update in that or I’m asking for an opinion so yeah just help me out when you see me asking for an opinion on what you guys want let me know!!! OKie enjoyyyy

Mini Update 2: TAGLIST is now closed…cause well there are 60 0f you and one of me and the one of me is overwhelmed and has not eaten in two days T_T

ALSO FYI: I get one more rude message or ask about when I’m going to write Part 2 or why I haven’t written it yet and I swear to god I wont write it. I write these things and share them cause they bring me comfort and I would like to think they bring some of you comfort as well but I also have a life outside of this app/ website believe it or not and that life takes precedence so please

The MSBY jackals team was chaotic… unbelievably talented and chaotic. 

It was a known fact not just through the team and their close friends but through the volleyball community as a whole.

On the court they were unstoppable. A force to be reckoned with. Each player shining in his own way with a trainer who always made sure the boys were at their best but off the court they were all man babies who had never grown up in some area or the other.

You had Atsumu who really was just a whiny-5-year-old-golden-retriever-boy who would give his love to anyone who fed him. More than once Meian or Sakusa have had to pull him away from strangers. Yes he had grown up since his Inarizaki days but not that much. He treated emotional maturity more like choice based on what the situation called for.

Then came big boy Bokuto whose mood swings and depressed moods required a gentle and sensitive touch along with a never ending patience. Though having improved from his high school days Bo liked to be babied and when he didn’t get the attention he wanted he became oh so sulkier. 

Hinata though an absolute ray of sunshine seemed to dance his way into troublesome situations that somehow never had anything to do with him. He needed stern reminders to take breaks and when you put him together with ‘tsumu and bo… well lets just say they were the trifecta for trouble. 

Sakusa you would think is the balance in the group. Mature, calm and collected and having significantly improved his social skills would be a PR dream but NOPE. He was still stubborn and absolutely detested being roped into the shenanigans of the above mentioned boys yet somehow was always at the centre of it all. He always had a long list of demands and was a control freak beyond belief. He like Bo liked his attention but refused to ask for it which made him all the more difficult.  

Together they put Meain (the tired-too-old-for-this-dad) and Iwaizumi the short tempered mom through the ringer. Finding a manager at this point felt like trying to find a nanny for children who could not be tamed. They had gone through more managers than there were players. Imagine the sigh of relief that the whole Volleyball community takes when finally you enter. 

At first glance it seemed like meat being thrown to the wolves. You seemed so delicate with a soft smile and only spoke in gentle tones. You refused to wear sports gear to the boiling hot gym and court. When asked about it you would shrug and say just because the boys were sweaty doesn’t mean you needed to be. Much more comfortable in your flowy wide legged pants and knotted shirts. You were the image of soft. Meain and Iwa, both took one look at you and passed you off as another forgotten name manager who wouldn’t have a backbone… 

So imagine their surprise when one stern and strongly worded scolding from you finally got Atsumu to stop running off at games for food or to flirt with the next cute person he saw. He still bickered with the others but finally learnt to stop when he was pushing it too far. 

They could only watch open mouthed as one hug and gentle smile or tender look form you had Bokuto coming out of his emo moods and bounding over to show everyone why he was the best. You didn’t even have to say anything for Bokuto to know exactly what you were telling him which always made him jump back up… Magic!

Hinata finally was no longer found in stare off’s and confrontations with people he did not know, you would twirl your way in and with an enduring smile and soft spoken words would diffuse the situation and bring their tangerine back to them. 

Most impressive of all was how you had Sakusa’s needs down to a T. No longer did he have conflicting schedules that meant he refused to train that day or had to wait till the evening for the clean up crew to finish. He was always the first one in and out. Every habit was indulged from making all the boys clean up and sanitise after themselves to wearing gloves whenever you had to hand something to him. His stuff was kept separately from the others and sanitised more regularly and best of all you always place him in between Bokuto and Atsumu for interviews so they could carry the conversation.

Meian no longer needed to wrangle them together for the events and make sure they had cleaned up properly. He was now a semi-tired-middle-aged dad who had a little more calm in his life. Since your arrival Iwa no longer had to check his blood pressure everyday and ended his day with a smile. 

You were their angel in disguise…

But that also meant you were sometimes their figurative punching bag. 

Keep reading

ALL OUT OF LUCK

꩜ .ᐟ chapter one

꩜ .ᐟ chapter two

꩜ .ᐟ chapter three

꩜ .ᐟ chapter four

꩜ .ᐟ chapter five

꩜ .ᐟ chapter six

꩜ .ᐟ chapter seven

꩜ .ᐟ chapter eight

꩜ .ᐟ chapter nine

absolutely loved this. pacing, perfect. plot, perfect. writing, perfect. 10000/10 😝

suna + mahiro — one goodbye, a million hellos

pro athlete x photographer. met at the wedding of his ex. love at first sight. yakiniku nights. ‘aren’t you going to take me on another date, suna rintarou?’. cats lovers. holding hands. kisses under the moonlight. lemon tea and peanuts cookies. shared playlists. matching socks. ‘wanna go out tonight?’ that turns into ‘let’s cuddle in bed and watch a movie’. spend more money on their pets food than their own. races at the grocery store. ‘can i try yours?’ when eating at the restaurant. aquarius x virgo, or, ISTP x ISFJ. he falls asleep on her lap. she scratches the back of his head. tadaima.

paris olympics. long walks by the seine. trying the best croissants till they get stomach aches. cup collection. ‘you’re best thing that happened to me’. suna as mahiro’s favourite subject. mahiro as suna’s biggest fan. receiving gifts x quality time as their love language. wearing his oversized jumper when he is away. red lips and mint cologne. mirror selfies. photo albums for everything they do. skincare & long baths. never misses his games; never misses her exhibitions. marks left on his back. hands on her thigh. ‘he forgets what his life looked like before her.’ okaeri, my love.

all pics are from pinterest. quotes are from the story, please do not copy.

gravitate ft. miya atsumu

wc: 4.1k, part 1 of 2

contents/warnings: fwb dynamic, fluff, heavy on angst, suggestive but sfw, reader uses she/her prns, referred to as girlfriend, wife, reader has minor social anxiety

when i said this, i was referring to this

--

Chapter 1

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

Once a month, Hoshina Soshiro drops by your apartment for tea with you. 

It isn’t often that you both get the same day off. Him, with his vice captain duties that never end because Kaijus don’t deign to give him a break, as he often complains. You, spending hours if not days buried in the blade forgery at Izumo tech so much so your parents remark dryly that they’ve forgotten your face. But every so often, the universe smiles upon you and you get to spend an afternoon sitting on your narrow balcony with your oldest friend. 

It always begins like this.

He drops a plastic bag full of fizzy drinks on the table that only he drinks, whilst you brew a pot of tea. There’s dessert in the fridge that you get to feed his sweet tooth, and he’ll consume both because you’ll claim you have no appetite. After a few perfunctory questions about your wellbeing - the same as always, nothing’s changed, he’ll turn his mind to the sole focus in his life. 

“You gave the latest tech to my brother?!” he yells, outraged. “His main weapon isn’t even a blade.” 

“Orders are orders”, you respond. “Besides, didn’t I just tweak your katanas last month?” 

“About that”, he grins at you, somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve got more ideas -” 

“Not again”, you groan. 

He’ll rattle off a long list of things he wants you to work on next month. Blades made out of some kaiju bone, just to test its mettle. A blade to be worked into his boots - an idea he cheekily admits stems from some stupid shounen manga he reads in his spare time. So many of his ideas belong in the trash bin, but you entertain him anyway, studiously jotting down each of his requests. 

“You’re lucky I put up with you”, you tell him. 

Lazily, he flops onto the floor, rolling to lie his head in your lap. “As if you wouldn’t”, he laughs, poking up at your cheek. 

You don’t get the chance to answer him. His phone goes off, as it always does, and he has to go. 

“Seeya next time”, he waves, without leaving you another glance. The sliver of sky between the buildings surrounding yours is dark when you get up from your seat to clear the cups. 

Your cheek still stings.