“I should be into this guy,”

Some pro hero carried you under his arm, dragging you around like you were some mere accessory. You gave your best smiles for the camera, avoiding the scowls and frowns on his overly obsessive fangirls faces as they asked themselves why they just couldn’t be you.

“But it’s just a waste of time.”

It’s not like you wanted to be in this position. You would rather be anywhere than under this guys arm. Your mind would wonder, thinking to when you could get home. Get home to him.

“He’s really not my type.”

You and society’s outcast would lay tangled up in your sheets, your hands all over each other because the both of you could just not get enough. He was so gentle with you for someone so dangerous. So kind for someone who was so vengeful.

“I know what I like.”

You brushed the hair from Tomura’s face, him propped up on his elbows as he looked down at you fondly. His hand trailed up, brushing over your soft flesh as he tucked your hair behind your ear— just the way he liked it.