Miku Binder Thomas Jefferson Comfort Fic

Daily Neuro-Divergent Character #47

Tsuyu Asui!

Aka Froppy!

From My Hero Academia / Boku No Hero Academia!

Asui has Autism in our hearts! (Head Canon)

“you should make some posts and @ pukicho” - some little gay person who escaped my phone

@pukicho

tracing secrets onto your skin. e!kirishima

in which you are stuck in a hotel room, with the guy you've loved for years. and oh did i mention? there's only one bed.

authors note: 1.3k words! one bed trope, pure fluff, mutual pining. this is so similar to a shoujo manga. m.list <3

You and Kiri had been assigned a mission together in a completely different country, but now, arriving at the already booked hotel room—the one the HPSC had provided, courtesy of you both saving the day—there was one slight problem.

Upon stepping inside, weak bruised aching limbs and battered hearts, you opened the door to reveal only one bed.

Yep. Only one bed.

And to make matters worse, it was incredibly small—supposedly a queen, but barely bigger than a twin. And who was standing next to you? Only the guy you’d been painstakingly in love with for three years now. Ever since you first saw him as a first-year at U.A., with his sharp teeth and kind eyes, you had been on the floor for him.

You and Kiri were friends—sort of? Maybe? It was complicated. He was nice to everyone, and it was hard to call someone like that a friend when they belonged to everyone. Mr. Aizawa had always partnered the two of you together. At first, you weren’t sure why, but then you realized—it was because you hesitated. You were shy, timid, and always second-guessing yourself even when you knew you were capable. And Kirishima was loud, outgoing, and so completely kind, that he had a way of making people feel so sure of themselves, which is exactly what you had needed.

Being the gentleman he was, Kirishima immediately insisted on taking the floor. And by the time you emerged from the shower, hair damp and clinging to your face, wrapped in a shirt far too big for you, he was already curled up on the ground.

You climbed into the plush bed, the blankets swallowing you whole in their softness, but your mind couldn’t settle. Not when you knew his back was aching from today’s mission. Not when you knew his body was probably in even worse shape than yours.

You swallowed down the thoughts, let them mix inside like creamer in coffee, before finally whispering, as softly as ever, as if your words could shatter the distance you’d held between him and your heart for so long.

"Kiri?"

He responded quickly—faster than you expected. Your heart clamored against your ribs as he spoke your name so sweetly, laced with the haze of sleep, like he was stumbling through a dream.

"Yeah?"

You hesitated before murmuring, “Come sleep on the bed. The floor is cold and hard, and I know you’re hurting, Kirishima.”

He swallowed, his hesitation stretching into the dimly lit room, then cut through the tension with a quiet chuckle. “No, the bed’s for you. I’m okay.”

But you weren’t convinced. 

You leaned over the edge, your long hair spilling down, a tendril brushing against his cheek. The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a silver glow over his face as his gaze flickered up towards yours, his crimson eyes shining in the glow. His gaze softening as he reached up, twirling a lock of your hair between his calloused fingers.

Your heart beat louder. Faster. It was dangerously close to falling right into his hands, to be held and guarded by him.

You spoke again, this time more hesitantly, afraid your words wouldn’t reach him.

"Please, Kiri?"

He just stared at you, like you were the most fascinatingly beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Like he saw straight through your beating heart to the secrets you held captive. And then, finally, he agreed.

The bed dipped beneath his weight as he climbed in beside you.

The room was filled with silence, save for the soft rhythm of your breathing and the distant sounds of the busy street below. Then, finally, Kirishima spoke—his voice soft, yet raspy, like the soft currents of waves nipping at your feet.

"Thank you."

And you echoed it back. "Thank you."

The silence stretched, turning the room upside down. You listened to the way he shifted, turned, unable to get comfortable. With a bit of confidence, you finally asked, "Having trouble sleeping?"

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, like he wanted to downplay it, to make it seem not that bad. But you knew him better than that. You knew he was hurting. And you knew he wouldn’t admit it.

"Is it your back?"

He exhaled. "Yeah… strained myself today. Should’ve known when to quit."

You pocketed the last bit of his sentence away in your mind, tucking it into the back of your thoughts like a trinket, to find later but in this case to bring up later. Then Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, your fingertips ghosting over his scarred skin “Is… this okay? I just want to help.”

His breath hitched. Then, after a moment, he murmured, “Yeah.”

Carefully, you ran your fingers over his scarred back, kneading at the sore muscles along his shoulders, pressing into the tension lingering in his body. Your touch grew bolder, tracing the sharp ridges of his shoulder blades, following the delicate line of his spine. He smelled like warmth, like golden honey bottled up with love, like spring flowers dipped in sunshine,mixed with the lingering glances and hidden touches of a teenage love scorned into the pages of a romance novel.

He was everything you’d ever want. Something you would chase—not in a bruised, bloodied-knees, face-full-of-dirt kind of way, but in the way a child chases bubbles, laughing as each one pops. In the way you run toward the sound of the ice cream truck, sneakers untied, heart racing for something sweet.

With every soft breath he let out, it was like tuning into a radio signal— the softness of the faint static giving way to something clearer. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly, and he let them, his body still, his breaths shallow. 

Your fingers mapping out something secret, something you’d never been brave enough to say. And with shaky hands, you finally traced the words—

"I love you."

You lingered on the last letter longer than you should have.

Then—

A sharp intake of breath.

Before you could react, he turned over, grasping your wrist in his free hand, enclosing your fingers within his own. His red eyes bore into yours, searching, uncertain.

"You… said you loved me," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Well… you traced it on my back."

Your eyes widened. And for a moment, you felt like you were thirteen again, drowning in the dizzying rush of first love, when every feeling was new and everything mattered too much.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, already turning over, already bracing yourself for rejection.

But then he shifted, moving closer, his body hovering slightly over yours, eyes locked onto your face.

"I'm not good with words," he admitted, voice rough, quiet. "Can I show you instead?"

You barely realized you nodded until you felt the vibration of your own agreement, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands—so big, so strong, so gentle—cradled your face like you were porcelain, like he was learning how to be careful with something fragile. And then his lips met yours.

Hesitant. Careful. You could taste his uncertainty, but as your hands threaded through his soft, unstyled red hair, as your fingers traced the edges of his jaw, dancing across his skin, eliciting goosebumps he eased into it—deeper, surer. Your bodies slotted together, moving in perfect harmony, wrapped in warmth and the quiet, breathless overwhelming ecstasy of everything unsaid.

Bodies slotting together, sheets shifting beneath your weight, drowning in something too big to name.

Kissing him felt like the summer afterglow, mosquitos nipping at your flesh with sticky hands from a melted popsicle.

And when he finally pulled away, the moonlight glowing against his face,  his hand ghosted over your collarbone, tracing the same words you had left on his skin.

"I love you."

With the same hesitation. The same gentleness. The same certainty.

me and toga - velvet ring C:

I NEED IT AJSKSK. anyways raegan in the house !!

OMG HI POOKIE I LOVE YOUUUUUUU

anyways on with the story.

toga x ua student oc

btw chat this will be very angsty so buckle up

Raegan always knew that she wanted to be a hero. Since the moment she was born, she knew that it was her goal to make the world a better place.

She worked unbelievably hard, was insanely patient and kind to everyone she met. Eventually she got into UA and her goal of making the world into a better place was finally getting a kickstart.

When the LOV attacked UA, Raegan noticed that she was distracted. She saw the girl with blonde hair that they called a villain, but what she saw was anything but villainous.

A few weeks later, Raegan was wandering around the city, when she saw the league again.

Her instincts were screaming at her to run, but her feet were glued to their spot on the pavement. Her heart raced as the group got closer and closer to her.

“Hiiiiii!” Before Raegan could truly process what was going on, the blonde girl’s face was just inches away from her own.

“Hi.” Raegan mumbled, not fully aware of what was happening.

“You’re really cute! What’s your name?” The other girl said. She was in a school uniform and looked to be around her age. Why was this bubbly teenage girl hanging around a group of the most dangerous individuals in Japan.

“thank you,” Raegan blushed at the unexpected compliment. “I’m Raegan. You?”

“Himiko Toga!”

From that day on they’d meet at the same spot and just talk. It was an escape for both of them. Raegan got to complain about UA without feeling like she was being ungrateful for the opportunities she had there.

This relationship would continue for a few months. Talking for maybe a bit longer than they should, glancing for just a second too long to be friendly. Hands lingering after hugs a little more than platonically.

Of course, nobody wanted to address the elephant in the room. Toga was a villain, and Raegan was training to become a pro hero.

One night when Raegan was getting up to go, Toga grabbed her hand and stopped her.

“I love you.” Toga said, barely above a whisper, her gaze fixated on Raegan’s lips.

Raegan’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. Sure, she loved Toga, but she wasn’t ready to be anything more than what they already are. They couldn’t be anything more.

“I-I’m sorry.” Raegan shuffled backwards, avoiding eye contact. Toga let go of her hand.

“Join us.” Toga bursted out. “The league I mean.”

Raegan began, “no Toga, you know I ca-”

“Why not? You always complain about school.” She said, more angry.

“because. It’s wrong, I’m not a..” Raegan trailed off.

“A villain? A monster? Is that how you see me?” Toga nearly shouted, tears welling up in her eyes.

“No, it’s not like that-” Raegan started.

“No, don’t worry I get it.” Toga interrupted, leaving Raegan speechless as she stormed off.

They both knew it’d never work, and they both left that day feeling like fools.

They wouldn’t reunite again until Toga’s funeral.

Raegan had boyfriends, husbands even, but none could compare to the blonde that she once had.

I just rewatched x men and oh my god hugh jackman is so cutie patootie

every time i watch a recent marvel movie it makes me want to reboot the whole thing and do my own casting and switch it up lmk if yall are interested in my personal new castings and plots of marvel movies (specifically avengers)

i have that shirt too kurt

If ghosts were real—well, Bakugou didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist—they lived in the spaces people left behind.

And you happened to have left behind too many.

It wasn’t just the obvious things. Not the clothes still folded in your drawers, untouched. Not the way your books still sat on the shelves, the spines cracked from overuse, the pages filled with notes in the margins. Not even the stupid coffee mug you always used, the one you once swore made everything taste better, still sitting exactly where you left it on the kitchen counter (because it had his and your face printed on it).

No, the spaces you left behind were quieter. More insidious.

Like the empty seat across from him at the dining table, where you used to sit, eating straight from the pot that one night because, “Why dirty another dish?”

Like the sound of the bathroom door not opening in the morning when he’s actually using the toilet—dammit, you didn’t even have the care in the world to give your boyfriend some privacy—the absence of your muttered complaints about how the water took too long to heat up.

Like the other side of the bed, cold and untouched, where he still reached out in his sleep, half expecting to find you there. Anticipating to hold you closer to him.

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

It wasn’t like pain. Pain was easy. A broken rib, a busted lip, the sharp sting of impact—those things, he knew how to handle. You grit your teeth, you clench your fists, you keep moving. That was what you did. That was the kind of man he was.

But grief wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t a punch he could take and shake off. It was a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible but suffocating. It was the silence of an empty apartment. It was the echo of your voice in his head, the way his brain still filled in the blanks in conversations you should have been part of.

It was standing in the grocery store, staring at the shelf, reaching for the brand of tea you liked before stopping halfway, fingers hovering in the air, before dropping his hand back to his side.

What was the point?

He hated how much space you had taken up in his life. Hated how even in your absence, you still lingered, threading yourself through his routine, his thoughts, his goddamn muscle memory.

But more than anything, he hated how much he wanted it to stay.

Because if ghosts were real, then maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely gone.

He hadn’t cried. Not when he first got the news. Not when he stood at the funeral, jaw locked so tight it ached. Not when he walked through your apartment alone for the first time, every corner of it filled with your presence, your things, the remnants of the life you lived.

But tonight, he was exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. It comes down on him like something tangible, something inescapable—all at once.

And for the first time in a long time, he spoke into the silence.

“…This is fucking stupid.”

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse.

Nothing answered.

Of course, nothing answered.

Still, Bakugou exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’d be so pissed at me right now.”

The quiet stretched.

Bakugou let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. But look at you. Still haunting me, huh?”

His eyes flickered to the couch, where you used to sit cross-legged, laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to listen to whatever bullshit he was ranting about while actually getting work done.

A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in his chest.

“…You remember that time you swore up and down that ghosts were real?” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I told you you were full of shit.”

Silence.

His fingers curled into fists. “Kinda wish you were right.”

No answer. No sign. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the city outside the window.

But in the quiet, he thought—just for a second—he could hear it.

A breath. A whisper of movement. The sound of something shifting just out of sight.

He knew it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

But still, Bakugou closed his eyes, exhaled, and let himself pretend.

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hello

hi. nirvana is cool. i like worms on a string. play welcome to wormtown when it comes out. its gonna be a fire game.

Do the pro heroes for the music hcs

part 4 of music headcanons (pro hero edition)

also if you want to request assasination classroom i’ll also do that

All Might

I feel like he had a phase where he smoked weed and really got into psychedelic rock

His favorite band is Pink Floyd

He has the Wall and Dark Side of the Moon on vinyl

also for some reason this man gives me hozier fan vibes so we’re gonna go with that

Eraserhead

this seems kind of obvious but like nature sounds used for sleeping lol

when he’s not trying to fall asleep i feel like he’d like bob dylan and joan baez

his students have also recently got him into chappell roan and he pretends he hates it but secretly he too is a midwest princess

midnight

madonna fan (argue with the wall)

loves lady gaga and her style (gets down to born this way)

she also really likes the yeah yeah yeahs

best jeanist

he’s the goofiest hero in my opinion so i feel like he’d listen to the most npc music

drake

bon jovi

in general just like the least memorable pop music the world has seen

endeav*r

nothing

he lives in silence

hates music

hawks

in general male manipulator music

think like deftones and slipknot

arctic monkeys too

mount lady

she gives me swiftie vibes idk

her favorite song is rehab by amy winehouse

also likes jeff buckley

Crimson Riot

His favorite song is Lost in the Supermarket by the Clash

Oddly I feel like he’d also like Black Box Recorder

Pearl Jam as well

Mirko

She likes Britney Spears

I also feel like she’d like glee so basically just the glee versions of every song

She also likes No Doubt and Gwen Stefani 

Fat Gum

In general i feel like he plays guitar and likes dad rock

His favorite band is Phish

He also really likes the rolling stones

reminder to trans, nonbinary, and any other non-cis people in the usa: there are people that love you and care about you. things are going to be okay, please don’t do anything drastic. i know things are scary right now but your lives are all worth so so much. don’t let him win. i love you