emmaafinchh

Latest Posts by emmaafinchh

fashion killa

chapter one ; close my eyes

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 18,773 — read on ao3

tags: strangers to lovers, friends with benefits, pro hero bakugou katsuki, explicit language & sexual content, aged-up characters, porn with plot, model!reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, bakugou is a soft yearning idiot who i want to eat up, not beta read!

summary:

Fashion Week was supposed to be simple—walk the runway, collect your check, and, if all went according to plan, spend the night with Pro Hero Dynamight. Just a little fun. Nothing more. But getting rid of Bakugou Katsuki proves to be harder than slipping out of a too-tight sample size.

Or, in which a one-night stand with one of Japan’s most famous men turns into a relentless game of cat and mouse—and the worst part? You don’t hate it.

notes:

shoutout to iris van herpen and my palestinian queen bella hadid (and also the dsquared2 show that inspired this whole ordeal). also i have nothing and didn’t know anything of the fashion industry, this is all my own research and the fact that one of my closest friends is a fashion designer, so she gave me lots of info as well lol.

anyway thank you in advance for reading and enjoy! :D

This cannot be happening.

You sit still in the chair, trying to focus as the makeup artist applies the last stroke of color to your lips, but your mind is spiraling. The air in the backstage area of the runway feels thick, suffocating even, as the weight of what’s happening presses down on everyone. Models are pacing, stylists frantically adjusting outfits, and designers whispering in tight circles with wide-eyed panic. You can practically feel Minase’s stress radiating off her as she rushes back and forth, trying to salvage this nightmare.

This isn’t just a minor hiccup in some small-town fashion show where you could brush off a wardrobe malfunction with a laugh and a wave. This is Fashion Week, and for Tsukiyo, this is the show that could make or break careers, and for Minase, the designer behind the brand, this was her moment to be presented as a luxury label. A game changer. All the top names are in attendance: Pro Heroes, celebrities, actors, business tycoons, and even other top designers. The pressure to deliver is suffocating.

But now? Everything is on the verge of collapse. 

The issue? The final outfits don’t fit. None of the models, including you, can slip into the custom garments. Even worse, Shirane—the model scheduled to close the show in The Siren Dress—is nowhere to be found. It’s a disaster. For something like this to happen at any show would be bad, but during Fashion Week? During a show of this magnitude? It’s a professional catastrophe.

Amanai, sitting next to you with her hair half-curled, whispers, “What the hell are we supposed to do now?” Her voice trembles slightly, as if she can’t believe the magnitude of the chaos around her. You glance at her through the reflection in the mirror.

You shrug, careful not to move your face too much as the makeup artist continues. “Don’t have a clue.”

Her eyes widen, and you know what she’s thinking. She doesn’t have to say it out loud. We’re fucked. And it’s not just the brand. It’s you. All of you. Even though the mistake seems like an issue with the tailoring, the models would inevitably be blamed. It’s always like that. In fashion, when things go wrong, the blame rolls downhill.

Minase calls for a last-minute huddle, and you all gather around her, her expression desperate but not yet defeated. “We’re going to make this work,” she says, her voice sharp with tension, though there’s a glimmer of resolve in her eyes. She has to make this work, for her own sake, and for the brand.

“We’re cutting out some of the outfits,” she announces, taking a deep breath. “We’ll only walk our most important pieces. Each model will only wear two instead of four. It’s going to shorten the show, but that’s the best we can do.” Her words come out in a rushed cadence, like she’s barely keeping it together. “Every tailor, designer, and stylist will focus on those pieces—make sure they fit.”

You see a ripple of uncertainty pass through the team. It’s a risky move, but it might be the only option left.

Minase continues, “And I need someone to close the show in The Siren dress. Shirane is out, and we don’t have time to wait.”

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of The Siren Dress. Everyone knows that dress. It’s the showstopper, the pièce de résistance of the entire collection. A shimmering, liquid silk masterpiece that drapes across the body like water, constantly shifting between hues of sapphire and deep amethyst under the lights. The structured shoulders, adorned with sculpted, ethereal fins, make the wearer look like some mythical sea creature. The waist is cinched with a belt encrusted with jeweled seashells and pearl-studded starfish. A long, sheer chiffon cape flows from the back, dotted with crystals that catch the light like glimmering drops of water.

It’s the kind of dress every model dreams of wearing. It’s not just a fashion statement; it’s an event.

Without thinking, the words shoot out of your mouth. “I can do it!” 

For a moment, everyone pauses, the weight of your words hanging in the air. You’re not sure where that surge of confidence came from, but the opportunity is too good to let slip by. This could be your moment—your big break.

Matsumoto, one of the designers, scoffs. “Honey, you don’t fit into that,” he says, dismissing you with a wave.

You narrow your eyes at him, your temper flaring. “I thought Tsukiyo was all about body positivity and bold, avant-garde design,” you snap back. “Don’t pull that body image crap with me. I can and will fit into it if you let me.”

The silence that follows is deafening, all eyes turning to Minase. Matsumoto opens his mouth to argue, but Minase cuts him off before he can say another word.

“I don’t care who wears it as long as it fits and it’s walked with confidence,” Minase says, her voice sharp, eyes locking onto you. “If you can make it work, get into the fitting room. Now.”

Without a second thought, you jump to your feet and rush to the back, your heart racing in your chest. There’s no guarantee that the dress will fit, but you have to try. This is a golden opportunity, and you’re not about to let it slip through your fingers.

The fitting room is a whirlwind of activity, stylists and tailors rushing around in a flurry of fabric, pins, and thread. The dress is waiting for you, gleaming under the harsh lights like a pool of liquid gemstones. The second you lay eyes on it, your nerves spike again, but you push them down. You can do this.

With the help of a few assistants, you begin slipping into the dress. The fabric is cool and smooth against it your skin, molding to your body like a second skin. The sculpted shoulders fit snugly, and as they fasten the waist, you breathe out a sigh of relief—the dress, miraculously, fits.

You look at yourself in the mirror, the chiffon cape trailing behind you, catching the light as it moves. For a moment, you barely recognize yourself. You look powerful. Ethereal. Like a siren rising from the depths of the ocean, ready to lure the world in with a single glance.

Minase comes storming toward you with the same intensity she’s had all day, her expression tight and determined. “Move,” she snaps, and you instinctively step aside. She circles you like a hawk, her eyes narrowed as they sweep over every inch of the Siren dress. You stand there, holding your breath as she inspects the fit. “Walk,” she commands.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a tentative step, then another, feeling the way the liquid silk of the dress clings to your body, draping elegantly with each movement. You wait for the dreaded sound of a seam ripping or fabric pulling, but to your immense relief, the dress holds perfectly.

Minase exhales sharply. “Good! Now change out of it and get into the Garden of Eden Ensemble. You need to walk soon!”

For a moment, you blink, processing her words, but then you snap into action, knowing that every second counts. The assistants swarm around you as you’re carefully helped out of the Siren dress. The fabric slips away from your skin, and your nerves are still buzzing as you think about the next outfit. The Garden of Eden Ensemble—another showstopper.

As they pull the new garment over your body, you feel the semi-sheer corseted jumpsuit hug your figure. The corset cinches you in tightly, but not uncomfortably, and you admire the intricate vines and embroidered florals that snake across the fabric. Cascading down the pants, the appliquéd leather tendrils give the impression of nature overtaking you, rooting you into the world of Tsukiyo. The golden sequins adorning the sleeves shimmer as you move your arms, catching the light in a way that transforms the entire look into something ethereal.

The assistants adjust the flared pant legs, smoothing them out as the last of the laser-cut leather appliqués falls into place. You catch your reflection and pause, marveling at the ensemble. It’s dramatic yet elegant, bold yet delicate. It feels like something ancient and powerful, as though you’ve stepped out of a mythical garden, draped in both beauty and danger. And it fits. It fits perfectly.

With your hair and makeup touched up once again, the backstage frenzy whirls around you, but you remain focused. Your heart is racing with the anticipation of what’s to come, knowing you’re about to step into the limelight, where all eyes will be on you.

Before long, you, Amanai, and Hanari are sneaking glances through the curtain, peering out at the audience as the previous group finishes their walk. The front row is lined with Japan’s elite: business moguls, actors, musicians, and, of course, Pro Heroes. You’re searching for someone in particular, but your friends are already losing their composure over another sight.

“Holy shit, Shoto is there. Oh my God… he’s so hot,” Hanari breathes, her eyes glued to the Pro Hero in the front row.

You follow her gaze to Todoroki Shoto, and you have to admit—he looks good. The gray and white patterned blazer he’s wearing fits him like a glove, subtle checkered details giving his outfit a refined, yet textured look. The embroidered brand logo adds a touch of luxury, while his white shirt contrasts crisply against the structured blazer. The wide-leg black trousers add a relaxed, modern silhouette that somehow manages to still look impeccably polished. His black platform shoes complete the ensemble, giving him a chic, almost ethereal appearance.

“He’s so dreamy,” Hanari whispers, as she adjusts her own outfit, The Cyber-Baroque Suit—a stunningly tailored black ensemble with holographic lapels that ripple under the lights. The intricate silver filigree embroidery across the blazer is opulent, and the monogrammed velvet panels along her flared pants add the finishing touch of sophistication.

“Yeah, wow… those trousers really show off his long legs,” Amanai chimes in, her voice low and appreciative as she adjusts the three-dimensional ruffles of her Mirage Dress. The futuristic design hugs her body in all the right places, the sheer mesh and metallic fabric shifting between emerald and gold. She looks like a walking masterpiece, her high collar glinting with iridescent stones.

You hum noncommittally, eyes scanning the front row again. “Think you can hook him in today?” Amanai teases with a sly grin.

But you don’t take the bait. Instead, you let a mischievous smile tug at your lips as your gaze finally lands on him. “No… my eyes are on the grumpy one over there.”

Bakugou Katsuki. Pro Hero Dynamight. 

He’s seated next to Todoroki, a sharp contrast to the icy elegance beside him. Bakugou is all sharp lines and rugged edges, wearing black pleated trousers with a cropped double-breasted blazer that boasts a subtle black-on-black plaid pattern. The mock-neck top beneath it shimmers faintly with the brand’s monogram, catching the light just enough to add some sparkle without being ostentatious. His boots are chunky, giving him a commanding presence, and his arms are crossed over his chest, his scowl directed at the runway as if he’s daring anyone to disappoint him. His hair is wild, spiked in every direction, adding to his unapproachable, badass demeanor. But to you? He looks irresistible.

“God, what I’d do to fuck that man,” you murmur, your voice half dreamy, half sinful. Your mind wanders as you imagine what it would be like—his hands gripping your hips roughly, his voice low and gravelly in your ear. He’s all fire and aggression, and you can’t help but think he’d be the same in bed—intense, hard, and maybe a little reckless. “He’s so grumpy, I bet he fucks like that too. All rough and hard and—”

“Oh, it’s our turn!” Amanai suddenly interrupts, pulling you back to reality. You all scramble into position, quickly wiping away the smirks and giggles to adopt your most professional expressions. Time to focus.

One by one, the models step onto the runway. Hanari first, then Amanai, and finally you. The second your foot hits the glossy floor of the runway, the world narrows into a single point of focus. The noise of the backstage chaos fades away, leaving only the sound of your heels clicking against the floor and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

You walk with purpose, your back straight, your chin held high. The Garden of Eden Ensemble sways with your movements, the golden sequins on your sleeves catching the light as you pass under the bright spotlights. The cascading vines and floral embroidery shimmer against your skin, and you feel like a living, breathing masterpiece. You embody Tsukiyo’s vision—elegant, mysterious, and impossible to ignore.

And then, you feel it. Bakugou’s eyes are on you, burning into you with an intensity that sends a thrill down your spine. You don’t look directly at him, but you know he’s watching—scowling, probably, but watching nonetheless.

Good. Let him watch.

As you finish your walk and reach the end of the runway, you pause for your final pose. The lights hit you perfectly, illuminating the intricate detailing of the Garden of Eden Ensemble. You stand tall, chin up, and let the confidence settle over you like armor. The audience is transfixed, eyes glued to you, but you can only focus on one thing—getting through this without stumbling, without faltering. You’ve made it this far, and nothing can go wrong now.

One beat. Two. And then you turn, walking back with steady, deliberate steps. Each click of your heel against the floor seems to echo, reverberating in your chest as you remind yourself not to rush. You can feel the weight of everyone’s gaze, especially Bakugou’s, and it sends a shiver down your spine. His presence alone is magnetic, even from across the room, and it fuels your determination to make the rest of this night flawless.

You breathe out a sigh of relief when you step off the runway and into the controlled chaos of backstage. Immediately, the assistants are on you, their hands quick and efficient as they usher you toward the fitting room. There’s no time to dwell on the success of your walk; you still have one more challenge ahead—slipping into the Siren Dress, the centerpiece of the evening, the dress everyone will be talking about.

As you’re led into the fitting room, your heart is pounding again. The assistants are already preparing, gathering the delicate fabric, the intricate shoes, and the headpiece that will complete the look. There’s no room for error now, and the stakes are even higher. The Siren Dress is more than just a gown—it’s the dress. The one that will define the show. The one that will define you tonight.

The assistants help you out of the Garden of Eden Ensemble, their hands quick but careful, unhooking the corset and sliding the fabric off your body. The cool air hits your skin, but you barely notice it. Your mind is racing with thoughts of the next walk—how you’ll need to move with even more grace, more confidence, and, most importantly, without breaking your heel or tripping. The last thing you need is a disaster in front of all those eyes.

One of the assistants hands you the Siren Dress, and as you take it in your hands, it feels almost too precious to touch. The silk is as smooth as water, shifting between sapphire and amethyst as it catches the light. With their help, you carefully slip into it, the fabric clinging to your body like it was made for you. The sculpted shoulders sit perfectly in place, the bejeweled starfish and seashells gleaming against your waist.

You can feel the dress transform you as you look in the mirror. It’s almost like you’ve become someone else—someone more dangerous, more alluring. The cape, sheer and embroidered with delicate crystals, trails behind you like a whisper of the ocean, shimmering with every tiny movement.

But there’s no time to admire yourself just yet. The assistants quickly move to change your hair and makeup. Gone is the ethereal, garden-inspired look. In its place, they craft something bold and powerful. Your hair is slicked back, sleek and wet-looking, as if you’ve just emerged from the sea. The makeup is darker, sultrier, with smoky eyes that intensify your gaze and shimmering highlights that mimic the glint of water under moonlight. Your lips are painted a deep plum, a color that complements the shifting hues of the dress.

It’s a transformation—one that fits the Siren Dress perfectly. You’re no longer just a model. You’re a siren, ready to lure anyone who dares look too long.

As the final touches are made, you catch a glimpse of yourself again. This time, the power of the look hits you harder. You barely recognize yourself. The confidence that comes with the dress is intoxicating. You look like you could walk out there and command the attention of every single person in the room.

Minase rushes toward you, her hands deftly adjusting the last few details of the Siren Dress herself, making sure each fold of fabric falls exactly where it’s supposed to. She pulls back, inspecting you with the critical eye of someone who knows this moment can make or break the show. She takes a deep breath, her gaze softening for just a second, but her tone is firm when she speaks. 

"Listen," she says, leaning in slightly as if imparting a secret. "The lights will dim, and when you see the green LED lights flicker, that’s your cue. Walk it with confidence. Make sure everyone in that room sees the best of you and the dress. And your final pose? Make it perfect. Ethereal. I want them to see the siren in you—mystery, allure, power." 

You nod, the weight of her words settling into your bones. "Got it." Your voice is steady, but inside, your nerves hum with the anticipation. This is it—the moment everything has been leading up to. You force yourself to take a deep breath, calming the racing pulse in your veins. As soon as you exhale, the assistants guide you toward the front, positioning you for the final walk.

Several people backstage wish you luck, their voices mixing into the background noise, but your focus is narrowing. Amanai and Hanari catch your eye, both sending you a thumbs-up. You can’t help but smile and return the gesture, even as adrenaline courses through you. Their support is comforting, but nothing will ease the pressure until you step out there.

And then it happens. The runway lights dim, casting the space into an almost otherworldly shadow. The energy in the room shifts, becoming electric with expectation. The green LED lights flicker, a soft sea green glow that signals the beginning of your walk.

This is it.

You step out onto the runway, and instantly, all eyes are on you. The silk of the Siren Dress glistens under the low lights, shifting between deep sapphire and amethyst with every step. It’s mesmerizing, like watching water ripple under the moonlight. The cape billows softly behind you, catching the air just enough to give the impression of movement—like you’ve just emerged from the depths of the ocean. You can feel the eyes of the audience glued to you, captivated by the way the fabric clings to your body, the way it flows with your movements.

Your heels click against the floor in a rhythm that feels powerful, almost like a heartbeat. You keep your chin up, your gaze forward, walking with the kind of confidence that you know will hold their attention. This isn’t just about looking beautiful—it’s about commanding the room. You can feel the dress moving with you, every stitch, every embellishment, perfectly accentuating the curve of your waist, the strength of your stride. The bejeweled starfish and seashells at your waist catch the light with every sway of your hips, glittering like treasures pulled from the ocean floor.

Your heart pounds, but your movements are smooth, deliberate. The dress does half the work, its liquid silk reflecting the greenish hue of the LED lights, making you look like you belong to some mythical, underwater world. You can feel the collective gaze of the crowd, not just watching, but consumed by the vision you present.

As you approach the end of the runway, you prepare for the final pose—the one that will leave a lasting impression. You stop, turning your body slightly, angling the dress so that the light hits the flowing cape behind you. You tilt your head just so, letting your hair catch the light, your makeup gleaming with a soft, ocean-like sheen.

For a moment, you don’t just feel like a model on a runway. You feel like the siren itself—untouchable, ethereal, alluring beyond reason. The final pose you strike is exactly what Minase wanted—an image of elegance and mystery. Your gaze is soft yet piercing, like the pull of the tide, drawing the audience in closer, daring them to step further into your world.

The crowd falls silent, the air thick with awe. You can feel the power of the moment, how the dress and the atmosphere merge into something transcendent. Every eye in the room is on you, and not just because of the dress—it’s the way you own it, the way you move in it, as if it was made solely for you. 

And then, with one last glance, you turn, your cape sweeping behind you in a final graceful movement. You walk back, just as confident, the weight of your success settling in. You didn’t just wear the Siren Dress—you became it. As you step off the runway and disappear back into the chaos of backstage, the noise of the audience erupts, but you’ve already let it fade into the background. 

Your heart is still racing, but this time, it’s with exhilaration. 

You did it. You nailed it.

By the time the show ends, your phone is a constant stream of notifications—texts, calls, social media tags. You slip into the sleek black car waiting for you outside the venue, already scrolling through your phone, a grin spreading across your face. Koizumi, your ever-diligent agent, has been flooding your inbox with everything you need to know—articles, social media posts, pictures. The buzz surrounding your appearance is growing by the second, and from the looks of it, you’re the talk of the night. 

As the car smoothly cruises through the city, you scroll through the images and headlines. It’s a whirlwind of praise: Stunning. Bold. Unforgettable. Every headline gushes over the Tsukiyo show and, more specifically, your walk in the Siren Dress. The way you owned the runway—confident, mysterious, and undeniably sultry—has people talking. You pause on a video clip someone posted on Instagram, watching yourself in the dress as you glide down the runway, every inch of you exuding power and grace. Even in a video, you can feel the magnetism of the moment.

You can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. Everything fell into place, from the last-minute fitting to your flawless walk, and it paid off in spades. Minase, no doubt, will be getting completely shit-faced with her team, celebrating the success of Tsukiyo’s first major show as a luxury brand. And you? You’re basking in the afterglow, savoring the feeling of triumph.

The car pulls up to the afterparty venue, and you smooth down the sheer nude gown you’ve changed into for the occasion. The dress is a showstopper in its own right—ethereal yet sensual, with a structured corset that accentuates your waist and a sweetheart neckline dripping in shimmering crystals. The illusion mesh gives a tantalizing barely-there effect, leaving just enough to the imagination while still offering the elegance of a high-fashion gown. The train of soft tulle trails behind you as you step out, the gown sparkling under the flashing lights of the paparazzi.

As you’re escorted out of the car, the bright flashes momentarily blind you, but your bodyguard is quick to guide you through the frenzy of photographers and fans clamoring for a shot. The atmosphere is electric, the air buzzing with excitement, but your focus remains calm and poised. You’ve done this before, and tonight, the energy feels different—bigger. You can feel the eyes on you, the way the cameras snap feverishly, as if you’re the centerpiece of the evening.

Inside the venue, the chaos outside fades away, replaced by the dim, luxurious ambiance of the afterparty. Glittering chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over the room. The space is filled with people—designers, models, celebrities, influencers, and industry bigwigs, all sipping champagne and celebrating the success of the night. The air is thick with laughter, congratulations, and the clinking of glasses, but even here, you can feel the buzz surrounding you.

As you make your way through the crowd, more than a few eyes follow you. You catch snippets of conversation—compliments, admiration, whispers about your performance tonight. The gown you’re wearing only adds to your allure, catching the light with every step you take, making you look like you’re dripping in stardust.

You take a moment to breathe, letting the excitement wash over you. This is your night, and you’ve earned every second of it. From the chaotic backstage moments to the runway and now the afterparty, you’ve proven that you belong in this world of high fashion and luxury. The satisfaction of it all swells in your chest, but there’s still one thing left to look forward to—the promise of the evening’s encounters. 

You smile to yourself as you move further into the venue, your eyes scanning the room. This night is far from over.

As you make your way over to the bar, the familiar click of your heels echoes softly against the marble floors, mingling with the low hum of conversation around you. The afterparty is in full swing, a swirl of dim lighting and glittering gowns, but your eyes are drawn to Amanai and Hanari sitting comfortably near the bar. You slide onto the stool next to them, finally allowing yourself to take a breath. Ordering a cocktail, you exhale slowly, letting the tension from the night slip off your shoulders.

Amanai grins, her sleek red dress shimmering under the warm lighting as she turns toward you. "So," she begins, the glint in her eyes matching the playful edge in her voice, "how’s it feel to be the talk of the town?"

You bite your lip, but the grin that spreads across your face betrays any attempt at modesty. "Real good," you admit, letting the satisfaction settle into your tone. 

Hanari, dressed in a short black number that shows off her legs, snorts in amusement. "Of course it does. But hey, you earned it. You looked like a dream out there in that dress—total showstopper."

"Thanks," you say with a genuine smile, appreciating their compliments. You take a sip of your cocktail, savoring the cold, sweet taste on your tongue. "But we all did great. It just so happens that I stole the show tonight."

The three of you laugh, the sound mingling with the clink of glasses and chatter surrounding the bar. The conversation flows naturally, shifting from the success of the night to the grind of fashion week. There’s talk of the upcoming shows, the long hours, and the relief you all feel knowing that the week’s end is just around the corner. It’s been a brutal few weeks, and the fatigue is starting to set in, but tonight's success is a much-needed burst of energy.

Throughout the conversation, various people stop by to offer congratulations or small talk. You exchange pleasantries with Iwasake, the business tycoon from the IwasaKe restaurant brand, and Katoaka Megumi, a famous actress. Kijimuta Satoshi, another model you know, drops by briefly—he’s charming, cute in a way that feels effortless, but your mind isn’t on any of them.

Because for the past eight minutes and forty seconds, you’ve felt someone’s eyes on you. His gaze is heavy, unmistakable, and even though you haven’t looked directly at him yet, you know exactly who it is.

Amanai, sensing the shift in your focus, leans in closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. "There’s someone who’s been staring at you from across the room for a while now."

You smirk, swirling your drink lazily in your hand. "I know," you murmur, your voice equally low, but you don’t look. You don’t need to. Instead, you fold one leg over the other slowly, feeling the material of your gown brush against your skin in a way that feels almost deliberate.

Finally, you allow yourself the indulgence of looking up, locking eyes with Bakugou Katsuki. His intense, ruby-red gaze meets yours, and you don’t miss the way his jaw tenses, his fingers gripping the glass in his hand just a little tighter. He's standing with Pro Heroes Pinky and Chargebolt, looking like he’s barely tolerating the conversation happening around him. His usual scowl is etched into his sharp features, but there’s something else simmering beneath it—something that flickers across his face when your eyes meet. The tension between you is palpable, electric, but you break the gaze first, letting your lips curl into a subtle smile before looking away.

And just like that, the game begins.

You toy with him from across the room, your actions casual, but intentional. You let your gaze linger on him when you laugh at something Amanai says, your lips curling in amusement as if you’re sharing a private joke with him. Occasionally, you lift your glass to your lips, letting your eyes flick to him just in time to catch his. He watches you, his eyes trailing over your form, his gaze never wavering for long even as he tries to keep up with his friends’ conversation.

At one point, you let a wink slip, knowing full well he catches it. His reaction is subtle—a flicker of something in his eyes, a slight twitch of his lips—but you notice it. It’s all part of the game, the unspoken tension between you crackling like a live wire. He flits his gaze between his friends and you, like he’s trying to ignore you but can’t quite pull it off. And you? You’re reveling in it, in the push-and-pull of your silent exchange.

Amanai leans closer, her curiosity getting the better of her. "So… what’s the plan for tonight?"

You take another sip of your cocktail, letting the cool liquid slide down your throat before you answer. "To get laid," you say, voice low but certain, your eyes sliding back to Bakugou as he shifts his weight, his stance still tense. "With grumpy over there."

Amanai arches a brow, intrigued. "You really think you can pull that off? From what I’ve heard, Dynamight doesn’t do hookups."

You grin, the challenge only fueling your resolve. "Don’t you think I can pull it off?"

She laughs, shaking her head in amusement. "So, you’re betting on yourself?"

"Of course," you say, your tone confident, almost teasing. "He’ll be here."

And you believe it. There’s a magnetic pull between you and Bakugou tonight, something more intense than mere attraction. It’s the thrill of the chase, the slow burn of his attention on you, and the anticipation of what might happen once you finally close the distance. You can feel it in the way his eyes linger on you, in the unspoken tension that’s been building between you since the moment you met his gaze.

After finishing your cocktail, you rise from your seat, the weight of Bakugou’s gaze practically burning into your back. You make sure to sway your hips just the right amount, exaggerating the curve of your body as you walk past his table, your smile curling with a wicked hint of satisfaction. You can feel his eyes on you before you even glance back, and when you do, you catch his red eyes following every step, his expression unreadable, but the intensity is there. It makes a thrill shoot through you.

Before you disappear into the bathroom, you flash him a wink, and when you return, you strut back with the same confidence. This time, you meet his gaze head-on, raising a brow in amused challenge. Bakugou doesn’t look away, his eyes dark and focused as if he’s sizing you up, while Pinky and Chargebolt wear ridiculous grins, nudging each other as they catch on to the silent exchange happening.

When you sit back down, Hanari leans in, voice a little breathless. “He’s been eyeing you all night, you know. And—holy shit, he’s coming over.”

You blink in surprise but quickly compose yourself, smiling. Sure enough, Bakugou is reluctantly being dragged over by Pinky and Chargebolt, his expression locked in a scowl, face flushed in what looks like frustration—or embarrassment. Either way, he’s not pleased; you can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the stiffness in his walk, the sharp look in his eyes.

“Hi!” Pinky exclaims as she sidles up next to you, her energy bubbling over. “Ashido Mina!” She introduces herself with a bright smile, and then gestures to the two men behind her. “And this is Bakugou Katsuki, and that’s Kaminari Denki.”

You return the smile, your voice calm and smooth. “Hi, nice to meet you all.” You shake each of their hands, but when Bakugou’s turn comes, you let your hand linger in his just a second longer. His palm is warm, his grip firm, and when your eyes meet, you hold his gaze, your lips curling up slightly. His eyes narrow just a fraction, but he doesn’t pull his hand away until you do.

Mina beams, completely oblivious to the charged exchange. "You all were incredible in the show! Seriously, that was amazing.”

Amanai is the first to respond, her grin wide. "Thanks! We're just glad everything went smoothly."

Hanari nods along. "Yeah, shows like this can be hit or miss. It’s always nerve-wracking, but tonight… tonight was a hit."

Kaminari chimes in, his eyes wide with admiration. "That last dress you wore? Wow. It was incredible!"

You smile, a touch of pride in your voice. “I’m glad you liked it. It was an honor to wear it.” But even as the conversation continues, your attention is on Bakugou, who remains oddly quiet. You catch his gaze more than once, and each time, there’s something simmering behind those sharp red eyes, something fierce and unreadable.

Before you know it, Ashido and Kaminari start whispering between themselves, exchanging a knowing glance with Amanai and Hanari. Then, almost as if on cue, Ashido grins and says, “We’re gonna leave real quick!” before they all whisk each other away, leaving you alone with Bakugou.

You don’t miss the wink that Ashido shoots at Bakugou as she leaves, or the way Kaminari smirks. Bakugou’s scowl deepens, his fists clenching at his sides, clearly irritated by their not-so-subtle departure. But now it’s just the two of you, and the tension between you feels different, more palpable. 

You glance up at him, your lips curling into a smile as you trace your finger around the rim of your empty glass. “So…” you drawl, letting your voice drop just a little, soft and teasing. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?”

You don’t expect the reaction you get. Bakugou, known for his unshakable confidence and explosive temper, flushes bright red. The color spreads across his cheeks and up to his ears, and he clears his throat, looking away from you for a brief second before barking at the bartender. “Oi! Two drinks—one for me, one for her.”

You suppress a laugh, amused at how flustered he seems. The bartender moves quickly, and soon enough, two fresh drinks are placed in front of you. Bakugou grabs his immediately, taking a long, almost aggressive sip as if it’ll calm the heat in his face.

Leaning closer, you let your fingers trail over the fabric of his blazer, the soft texture under your fingertips. “I like your outfit,” you say, your voice smooth, letting your gaze roam over him appreciatively. “You look good in it.”

He stiffens beneath your touch, his eyes flicking to where your hand rests on his chest before quickly darting back up to your face. He mutters something that sounds like “Thanks,” his voice low and gruff, but it’s hard to tell if he’s embarrassed or annoyed. Maybe a bit of both.

You take a slow sip of your drink, savoring the taste. “Aren’t you going to tell me I look good too?” you tease, your voice light, but there’s a glimmer of challenge in your eyes as you look up at him through your lashes.

Bakugou’s scowl deepens, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap at you. But instead, he meets your gaze, his eyes roaming over your figure in a way that feels both intense and unguarded. There’s heat in his stare, a flicker of something you can’t quite place, but it makes your heart race.

“You know you look good,” he grumbles, his voice gruff and low, and for the first time tonight, there’s a hint of sincerity in it. He’s not saying it because he has to—he’s saying it because he means it. And that makes it all the more satisfying.

You smile, satisfied, and take another sip of your drink. “I do know,” you admit, your voice playful, but there’s an undercurrent of something more. Something electric between you, buzzing in the air.

Bakugou looks at you, his gaze sharp and unwavering, and you can tell he’s trying to figure you out. You can almost see the gears turning in his mind, wondering how to handle whatever this is between you. But you don’t mind the wait—because you know, eventually, he’ll come to you.

“So, what did you think of the show tonight?” you ask, swirling the drink in your glass, eyes flicking up to meet his.

Bakugou shifts, his large frame looking awkwardly out of place for someone so naturally confident, and mumbles, “Was good.” He takes another sip, avoiding your eyes like they burn him.

It’s not enough. You want more from him. You want to see if you can push him past this gruff exterior. 

“Was it up to par with your parents’ fashion line or does it still need some work?” you tease, knowing exactly what button to push. 

His reaction is immediate—his scowl deepens, and his eyes snap to you with that fiery intensity you expect from Dynamight. “How the hell do you know ‘bout my folks?” His tone is sharp, defensive.

You raise an eyebrow, a slow, amused smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I think it’s very well known that your parents are in the fashion industry, Pro Hero Dynamight,” you purr, letting the title roll off your tongue with playful emphasis.

His eyes narrow at the sound of his hero name coming from your mouth. “Don’t call me that,” he grumbles.

“Why?” you ask, the innocence in your tone belied by the mischievous glint in your eyes. “It’s your name, right?”

“Yeah, but—” he begins, looking like he’s struggling to explain why it bothers him. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable with the way you say it, like you’re peeling back the layers of his persona, getting under his skin. He cuts himself off, gritting his teeth.

“But what?” you continue, leaning closer, enjoying how you’re making him squirm. “You don’t want me to call you th—”

He snaps, “You’re mouthy, y’know?”

And just like that, the tables turn. The playful, teasing atmosphere shifts, and you cock your head to the side, smiling slowly. “You know, the more you speak, the less I wanna sleep with you.”

His eyes widen just a fraction, and his face turns a deep shade of red. He stumbles over his words, clearly caught off guard, and it makes you laugh—a warm, melodic sound that fills the space between you. You reach for the toothpick in your drink, slowly biting down on the olive, making sure he’s watching, and when you wink at him, you can practically feel him tense.

He’s trying so hard to keep his cool, to play it off like he doesn’t care, but his body betrays him. You feel his leg stiffen under the table as your foot grazes up his calf, and the way his grip tightens on his drink doesn’t go unnoticed.

He’s incredibly cute when he’s flustered.

“Who says I wanna sleep with you?” he eventually mutters, his voice low and gruff, but there’s a nervous edge to it.

You raise an eyebrow, playing with the toothpick between your fingers before shrugging nonchalantly. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been eyefucking me all night, but hey, that’s just me.”

His eyes widen again, and he shoots you a sharp glare, though it lacks the usual bite you’ve seen from him on the news or in interviews. It’s like he’s trying to gather himself, trying to regain control. “I fuckin’ haven’t!” he protests, his voice a little too loud, a little too defensive.

You smirk, leaning back in your seat. “You have.”

“Haven’t,” he mutters, looking away again, taking another swig of his drink like it’ll hide the redness creeping up his neck.

You hum softly, tilting your head as you watch him closely. “Right, right… so you don’t wanna fuck me?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, and you can see the wheels turning in his head, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for the right words but coming up short. For someone who’s always so quick to snap, always ready with a retort or a growl, Bakugou is fumbling right now, and it’s adorable.

Finally, he grumbles, “You dunno shit about me, so…”

“No, I guess I don’t,” you sigh, leaning in closer again, your lips dangerously close to his ear, voice soft and teasing. “But I’d like to learn.”

You lean in a little more, the warmth of the bar, the buzz of the room, and the tension between you making the air feel thick with possibility. Bakugou is staring at you, trying his best to hide the way his eyes drop to the curve of your chest when you lean forward, and it makes your grin widen. His lips are slightly parted, and the flush that stains his cheeks isn’t just from the alcohol. 

You don’t make it easy for him. 

Eventually, the inevitable happens. 

You and Bakugou end up in a secluded part of the venue, the tension between you building until it spills over, sparked by the alcohol, the heat of the moment, and the way you know exactly what you’re doing.

You don’t bother with the obvious locations—the storage rooms or the bathrooms that others might use. No, you’re smarter than that. You lead Bakugou through the hallways with ease, turning corners with confidence, giving him a glance over your shoulder every now and then, your hips swaying with purpose. His eyes are glued to you, and you can feel the heat of his gaze on your back. When you reach the private bathroom, you grab his hand and tug him inside. The door shuts with a solid click as you lock it, sealing the two of you in this private world.

And then, without hesitation, you kiss him.

The moment your lips meet, there’s a heat that sears through both of you, but it’s not wild at first. His lips are soft and warm, moving against yours in a way that’s almost tentative. You deepen the kiss, and it’s slow at first—wet and slick as your tongues meet, sliding against each other in a way that makes you dizzy. You can tell that this isn’t something Bakugou does often. His movements are hesitant, a little shy, almost unsure of himself. He’s awkward in a way that’s endearing, and it makes your heart race.

But you? You’re more carefree than him. Nothing about this feels awkward to you, and that seems to comfort him, ease him into the moment. His hands come up to tangle in your hair, fingers fisting gently as he pulls you closer, and the kiss grows hotter, deeper. He breaks away for a moment, panting softly against your lips, his breath hot and shaky. “Hah—” he exhales, his eyes half-lidded and hazy as he looks at you.

You take advantage of his hesitation, running your fingers up his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his blazer. Your fingers trail up to his face, brushing his hair back off his forehead, before you pull him in for another kiss. This time, it’s more urgent, more desperate, and you can feel him relaxing into it, his body pressing closer to yours.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to escalate. His hands roam your body, and before you know it, you’re being pushed back against the bathroom mirror. The cold glass presses against your back, a stark contrast to the heat of Bakugou’s body against yours. His hands are everywhere—skimming up your thighs, pushing your dress up over your hips, while his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

You gasp when his fingers find the waistband of your underwear, tugging it aside, and when his fingers brush over your wet folds, he makes a choked sound against your lips. His breath is ragged, his touch clumsy but insistent. Your own fingers work at his belt, fumbling in your haste to unbuckle it. You manage to free him just as his fingers slide inside you, and you mumble a single word against his lips: “Start.”

When he finally enters you, the sensation is overwhelming. He fills you completely, every inch of him sliding inside you with an ease that makes your head spin. You gasp, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer as he starts to move. His pace is steady but hard, his hips rolling into yours with a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

Each thrust pushes you further against the mirror, the cool surface a grounding sensation as you cling to him, moaning softly into his mouth. The sound of his hips meeting yours echoes in the small space, mixing with the ragged breaths and soft groans that escape both of you. It’s raw, primal, and perfect.

Bakugou isn’t gentle, but he’s not rough either. His movements are driven, urgent, but there’s a carefulness to the way he holds you, like he’s trying to make sure you’re comfortable, even as his need for you grows more intense with every passing second. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you higher against him, and your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him even deeper.

He groans against your lips, the sound muffled as his mouth finds yours again in a desperate kiss. His body trembles slightly as he thrusts harder, and you feel like you’re melting into him, the pleasure building with every movement, every kiss. His face buries into the crook of your neck, teeth grazing against your skin as he loses himself in the moment.

And you, you’re barely holding on. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you arch against him, trying to take him deeper, feel more of him. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as the tension inside you coils tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

When you finally come, it hits you like a wave, your body trembling violently as you moan into his ear, the sound broken and breathless. Your head falls back against the mirror with a dull thud, your body shaking as the pleasure courses through you, leaving you feeling weightless, like you’re floating.

Bakugou follows soon after, his movements growing sloppier as he thrusts into you one last time, his body trembling as he comes with a low, guttural groan. You can feel the warmth of him spilling into you, his hips lazily rolling against yours as he rides out his release, his body sagging against yours as the intensity of the moment begins to fade.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sounds are your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the venue outside the bathroom. Bakugou presses a soft kiss to your lips, and you hum in response, your breaths slowly returning to normal as the world around you comes back into focus.

“That was nice,” you finally breathe out, a smile playing on your lips.

He grunts, his usual gruffness returning as he huffs, “Ain’t bad.” His teeth graze your jaw, a playful nip that makes you laugh softly. 

You guide his face back to yours, kissing him again, slower this time, savoring the moment. His lips are soft, and you can feel the slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he kisses you back, his body still pressed close to yours. For all his bluster and harshness, there’s something undeniably sweet about the way he holds you now, in the aftermath of it all. It’s like the tension has finally eased, and all that’s left is the warmth between you. 

Bakugou’s grip tightens slightly on your hips, and when you pull back to look at him, you see the faintest hint of a smile on his flushed face. His eyes are softer now, the usual scowl replaced by something that feels almost like contentment. 

"Ain’t bad at all," he mutters again, shaking his head like he can't believe what just happened, but there’s no bite to his words. Just admiration. 

You grin, brushing a stray lock of his hair off his forehead as you catch your breath. "Took you long enough to figure that out, Dynamight." 

He groans but doesn’t argue. Instead, he just leans in for one more kiss.

You go two more rounds after that.

The first time, you’re bent over the counter, your palms flat against the cold marble as Bakugou’s hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. Your face is pressed into the smooth surface, cheek cool against the stone as his hips snap into you from behind, his movements strong and steady. His breath is hot on the back of your neck, ragged and uneven as he mutters low curses under his breath. You bite your lip to stifle your own moans, your body arching back into him instinctively, the feeling of him filling you up over and over making your mind foggy with pleasure. 

You lose yourself in the moment, in the way he feels so solid behind you, and then you go one more round (completely unplanned, but it happens when you pull him in for another kiss, and suddenly he’s lifting you up against the wooden door, and before you know it, he’s inside you again. Your legs are wrapped high around his waist, your back sliding against the door as he thrusts and—)

When you finally stumble out of the bathroom, you’re grinning like you’ve just won a game. Your legs feel wobbly, but you manage to smooth down your dress, fix your hair, and quickly touch up your makeup in the reflection of the door. The mischievous smile on your lips is impossible to hide, especially when you glance over your shoulder and see Bakugou a few steps behind, still flushed, his hair slightly tousled, trying to pull himself together. His eyes meet yours, and for a split second, you see the mixture of amusement and embarrassment on his face, though he does his best to mask it behind his usual tough exterior. 

You blow him a playful kiss, letting your lips curl into a teasing smirk, and wink at him before stepping back into the crowded party. His eyes follow you as you weave your way through the sea of people, the heavy tension between you still lingering in the air. 

You breathe in deeply, letting the excitement of the evening wash over you, and for a moment, you can’t help but chuckle to yourself.

What a day it’s been.

────────────────────────

You don’t expect to see Bakugou again so soon. Musutafu is a big city, and despite the overlap between the worlds of hero work and fashion, they still feel distant from each other. It’s the kind of encounter that you assume will remain a one-off, a memorable night tucked away between busy schedules and public personas.

But you meet him again.

Fashion Week passes in a whirlwind. The shows, the parties, the late nights, and flashing cameras—it's all a blur of glamour and exhaustion. You remember the fun, the thrill of strutting down the runway, and, of course, the spontaneous, heated night with Bakugou. Yet, as all good things must, Fashion Week comes to an end, leaving you with a brief window to rest. 

Three days off is all you’ve got before your agent, Koizumi, shuffles you back into work. There’s a perfume campaign for Hakutō, and then shoots for Tsukiyo, Ryūmon, Chanel, and Dsquared2. It’s a hectic schedule, a small price to pay for working with such prestigious brands, but the pressure is unrelenting. You love your job, though, and you’ve worked hard to get here, so you can’t complain too much. For now, though, all that stress can wait—you’ve got groceries to handle.

Dressed in your most comfortable clothes, you stroll out of the store, bags in hand. The mid-March weather is crisp and refreshing, the kind of cool breeze that makes you feel alive without biting too hard. Musutafu is buzzing this afternoon. Salarymen rush to their next appointments, students walk home from school, and you spot a few pro-heroes patrolling the streets, keeping the peace.

And that’s when you see him.

Pro Hero Dynamight, standing across the street, his imposing figure unmistakable. His gaze locks onto yours, and your steps falter for just a second as surprise flickers through you. You weren’t expecting to see him here—especially not in this part of the city. You know the patrol routes around your neighborhood, and Bakugou certainly doesn’t belong in this jurisdiction. There’s a mixture of amusement and curiosity bubbling inside you as you smile, adjusting the weight of your grocery bags before making your way toward him.

Bakugou notices and, with a scoff, starts walking in your direction too, that familiar scowl set on his face. You can’t help but tease as you approach him. "From what I know, this area is usually covered by Wash or Ingenium. So, what are you doing here, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight?"

His brow arches slightly, and he lets out a dismissive grunt, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don’t go thinkin’ too much, idiot. My patrol areas just switched for now."

"For now, huh?" you echo, your smile widening as you catch the slight annoyance in his tone.

"Yeah, for now," he mutters, his arms crossing over his chest as if to block you out. His stance is casual but defensive, like he's waiting for another smart remark.

You laugh, a soft sound that pulls his attention despite himself. "Alright, Mr. 'For Now,' how's it going?"

"'M good," he replies, his eyes flicking away for a moment before locking back onto yours. "Your fashion shit’s done, right?"

You nod, feeling a small thrill that he remembers. "Yeah, all done. I’ve got a few days off before it’s back to the grind. You know—photoshoots, campaign stuff, you know, the usual. I know it’s not exactly your favorite thing."

His face scrunches up in a scowl at the mention of photoshoots, clearly disgusted by the thought. "Photoshoots ain’t my thing. They’re annoyin’ and pointless. Too transparent."

"To you, maybe," you say, raising a brow at him. There's something almost endearing about how he expresses his dislike so bluntly, not bothering to sugarcoat anything. "I wouldn’t mind doing a photoshoot with you. You’d look good next to me." You pause, letting the teasing smile spread across your face as you lean in just a little. "Besides, I’ve already seen your dick. I don’t think it can get more transparent than that."

He chokes, the words seemingly stuck in his throat as his face flushes crimson. His reaction is so instant, so visceral, that you can’t help but laugh, the sound echoing around the busy street. "Relax," you say, waving your hand as if to brush the moment off. "It was just sex, nothing to get your panties twisted over."

Bakugou’s expression darkens, his jaw clenching, but he stays quiet, mumbling something under his breath that you can’t quite catch. His eyes dart away from you, as if he’s trying to focus on something else, anything but you.

You sigh softly, feeling a little bad for rattling him, but not enough to stop. "Well, it was nice running into you again, Bakugou. See you around," you say lightly, stepping around him and continuing on your way. As you walk past, you glance back over your shoulder, giving him a playful wink.

Bakugou stands there for a moment, watching you go, that scowl still etched into his face. But there’s something else there too, something you can’t quite place—a flicker of interest, of something unresolved. He doesn’t say anything as you walk away, but you can feel his eyes lingering on you, that tension from before still simmering between you, even now.

As you disappear into the crowd, you can’t help but think that you’ll be seeing him sooner than either of you expects.

Of course, you’re right.

You start seeing him everywhere. At first, it feels like a coincidence. You catch Bakugou during your morning runs, passing him on patrol as you loop through your favorite jogging route. Then, you spot him at the gym, his gruff exterior barely softening when you make a passing comment about his form. Even at the grocery store, you bump into him, his presence becoming strangely consistent. 

But it doesn't stop there. When you head back to work—whether it’s a photoshoot for a campaign or an editorial shoot—Bakugou’s name keeps popping up. You’ll catch glimpses of him patrolling nearby or overhear a few crew members mentioning how they saw Pro Hero Dynamight passing by. 

It’s like he’s following you, though you can’t be entirely sure. It’s a strange feeling—a cat-and-mouse game, but there’s no clear intention behind it. Why is he always around? What does he want? Is this all because of that one night? The bathroom? The sex?

It’s baffling, and despite your cool exterior, it unsettles you a little. You’re not used to people like him sticking around, especially after something so casual. It wasn’t supposed to be more than a fleeting encounter, but here he is, popping up in the oddest places.

You chalk it up to coincidence. There’s no way Bakugou’s going out of his way just to see you. He’s busy, you’re busy—it’s bound to happen in a city like Musutafu. Right?

Then comes the Ryūmon shoot.

You’re walking onto set with Koizumi who’s rambling about the day's plans. His voice is quick, barely giving you time to process the details. “This campaign is huge,” he says, scrolling through notes on his tablet. “You’re paired with a famous Pro Hero—really big name, should give the shoot a lot of exposure.”

You nod, half-listening, focusing more on getting your head into the game. Campaign shoots are always a mix of excitement and pressure, especially for high-end brands like Ryūmon. The label’s creative direction is sharp and bold, with a reputation for creating powerful imagery that makes a statement. You’ve worked with them before, so you’re comfortable with their style.

But as you step onto the set, your steps falter when you see him.

Bakugou. Standing there, his broad arms crossed over his chest, wearing a black t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame. His face is pulled into its usual scowl, clearly not thrilled to be here as the creative director, Hanada, and photographer, Tamazaki, discuss details with him. 

You exchange a quick glance with Koizumi, who looks back at you in mild surprise, but you’re too focused on Bakugou to address it. You didn’t expect this. At all.

As you and Koizumi approach, you greet Hanada and Tamazaki with handshakes, professional smiles exchanged as you quickly fall into the rhythm of working with them again. But your gaze keeps flickering to Bakugou, and finally, you extend your hand toward him.

He takes it, his grip firm, the skin of his palm rough. “Didn’t know you were gonna be here,” he mutters as he releases your hand.

You raise an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing him. “I thought photoshoots weren’t your thing. ‘Too transparent,’ or did I get that wrong?”

He huffs, his eyes narrowing just a little as he crosses his arms again. “Ain’t my thing,” he admits, but there’s an edge to his voice, almost like he’s begrudgingly accepting his fate. “But… Ryūmon’s cool. And my agent’s been on my ass about marketing. That’s it.”

“Right. Just your agent,” you say with a smirk. “Nothing to do with me saying you’d look good next to me in a shoot, huh?”

Bakugou’s lips twitch into a slight frown, and he grumbles under his breath, refusing to meet your gaze directly. You laugh softly, feeling a small victory at getting under his skin. “Well, I guess we’ll be working together today. I’ll try not to be too much of a distraction.”

His eyes finally flicker to yours, and for just a moment, there’s a flash of something unspoken—an acknowledgment of the tension that’s been building between you ever since that night. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual stoic expression.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he mumbles, but the faint flush on his cheeks betrays him, making your grin widen.

Before you can tease him further, the producer interrupts, ushering both of you toward hair and makeup. You exchange a brief glance with Bakugou, and despite his gruff exterior, you catch a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. It’s clear this isn’t his scene—the world of high fashion and photo shoots is far from what he’s used to. 

As you settle into your respective chairs, stylists buzz around, fixing your hair and touching up your makeup with practiced precision. Ryūmon’s high fashion shoots are known for their bold, avant-garde looks, and you can already tell this one will be no different. The brand draws heavily from Japanese mythology, particularly dragons, blending traditional motifs with cutting-edge, sculptural designs. It’s one of your favorite labels to work with, and you can feel the excitement building as the stylists prepare you for the first look.

When you finally step into the fitting room, you’re handed the first outfit: The Storm Dragon Dress. It’s a masterpiece, the fabric heavy in your hands but ethereal once you slip it on. The dress clings to your figure, the stormy blue silk rippling like water with every movement. The silver embroidery, depicting a dragon soaring through clouds, glimmers under the soft lights, and the chiffon sleeve flows dramatically behind you like a dragon’s wing. The slit up the side reveals just enough skin to be daring without losing the elegance, and the intricate 3D-printed dragon spine running from your collarbone to your back adds an edge of power to the otherwise feminine silhouette.

You glance in the mirror, adjusting the delicate lace panel on the side, and for a moment, you feel like you are the dragon—the embodiment of power, grace, and danger all at once.

But when you turn around, your breath catches.

Bakugou is standing there, dressed in The Oni Dragon Suit, and you can’t help but stare. The deep charcoal of the suit contrasts sharply with the crimson dragon motif woven across the lapels and down his back, and the structured, pagoda-style shoulders give him an air of command that feels both fierce and regal. The gold clouds embroidered on his high-collared shirt glimmer under the light, and the laser-cut dragon scale details on the sides of his trousers catch your eye, adding a subtle but intricate element to the look. The obi belt, sleek and glossy, pulls the entire outfit together, accentuating his broad frame.

He looks sexy.

You approach him, your smile teasing as you take in the sight of him. “You look good. Different, but good.”

He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the compliment, but you catch the faint flush creeping around his ears. “S’just a stupid outfit,” he mumbles, but the way his fingers flex at his sides betrays the slight nervousness he feels being out of his element.

You grin, finding his awkwardness endearing. Cute.

It’s not often that Bakugou feels out of place—he’s usually so sure of himself, whether on the battlefield or in everyday life. But here, in this world of high fashion, he’s not the explosive, confident hero that the world knows. He’s more reserved, more uncertain, and seeing him like this only fuels the tension between you.

The producer calls you both over, signaling the start of the shoot, and you step in front of the cameras, slipping into your role with ease. Modeling is second nature to you, the poses and expressions flowing naturally as Hanada and Tamazaki direct the scene. The camera clicks, capturing every angle, every movement, and you fall into the familiar rhythm of the shoot.

But Bakugou? He’s stiff, his body rigid and his jaw clenched. You can tell this isn’t his comfort zone, and the awkwardness is written all over him.

Between takes, you lean in close, your voice soft so only he can hear. “Relax. You’re doing fine. Just think of it like a mission.”

He glances at you, his eyes narrowing in that familiar Bakugou way, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. “Easy for you to say,” he mutters, but he uncrosses his arms and adjusts his stance, trying to loosen up.

The shoot continues, and slowly, Bakugou starts to ease into it. His movements become less rigid, his posture more relaxed, and the scowl on his face softens, just a little. He’s still far from fully comfortable, but there’s a shift in the air—a subtle change that makes the chemistry between you two even more palpable.

With each shot, the energy builds. The space between you becomes charged, every subtle touch or glance sending sparks through the air. You find yourself leaning into him, positioning your body closer to his as the camera clicks, capturing moments that feel electric. There’s a tension simmering beneath the surface—an undeniable pull between you that neither of you can ignore.

And Bakugou feels it too.

His eyes flicker toward you between takes, the heat in his gaze unmistakable, though he quickly looks away whenever he catches you watching him. But you don’t miss the way his breath hitches when your hand brushes against his arm, or the way his body tenses ever so slightly when you stand just a little too close.

The camera continues to click, capturing each moment, each subtle shift in energy. And with every shot, it becomes clearer: there’s something between you—something that neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge, but it’s there, undeniable and growing stronger with each passing second.

And this is only the first outfit.

As the producer calls for the second outfit, you’re whisked away for another round of hair and makeup. The next look is even bolder than the last. You slip into The Phoenix Samurai Suit, feeling its weight on your body as the stylists adjust every detail. The dark navy brocade shimmers under the soft lights, the silver dragon embroidery standing out against the fabric. The jacket, cropped and fitted, accentuates your figure, while the exaggerated sleeves give the outfit an almost otherworldly flair. Beneath it, the sheer high-neck blouse feels delicate against your skin, the gold cloud motifs intricately embroidered to represent the celestial power of the dragon.

The pants are structured with layered leather panels, cinched at the waist by an obi-style belt, which is adorned with a hand-painted dragon’s eye at the center. It feels like armor, like a second skin—a balance of elegance and power. You glance in the mirror and see a warrior looking back at you. The ensemble speaks of strength and grace, a fusion of tradition and modernity that makes you feel like you’re stepping into the role of a mythic legend.

Bakugou steps out beside you, now wearing The Inferno Dragon Streetwear Look. The fusion of high fashion and streetwear is striking, the leather bomber jacket molded to his broad frame, embossed with dragon-scale patterns that add a tactile, 3D effect. The embroidered crimson dragon wrapping around his shoulders looks like it’s ready to spring to life. Underneath, the black mesh turtleneck with flame-like cutouts gives him an edgy, raw appeal that complements his usual intensity. His slim-fit cargo pants, with segmented knee panels resembling samurai greaves, are finished with straps and metallic accents, all inspired by katana hilts.

He looks every bit the modern warrior Ryūmon seeks to embody—regal, dangerous, and undeniably powerful.

“Not bad,” you say, giving him a teasing glance, but this time you see the way his gaze lingers on you, longer than before. It’s subtle, but his eyes flick down over your form, taking in the details of your outfit. There’s an unspoken tension in the way he looks at you, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Same to you,” he mutters, his tone gruff, but the slight flush on his cheeks is back again.

With every new outfit, the shoot grows more intense, more electric. The photographers have you and Bakugou posed together in close proximity, your bodies pressed against each other, your arms interlinked. The touch of his hand on your waist, the feel of his breath on your neck when you’re standing so close—each moment feels charged, simmering with a tension that has been building since the start.

You go through a few more outfit changes, each one more dramatic than the last. The stylists adjust your hair, makeup, and accessories as you slip into each new look, the energy between you and Bakugou growing with every shot. His movements become more fluid, his poses less stiff, and there’s a natural ease in the way he touches you now—a hand on your lower back, fingers brushing your arm. But it’s the intensity in his eyes that catches you off guard the most, the way they burn with something unspoken every time you look at him.

By the time you’re both dressed for the final look, you can feel the tension ready to snap.

You’re wearing The Dragon Empress Gown—a masterpiece of obsidian silk and crimson embroidery. The coiling dragon wraps around your torso and slithers down your leg, shimmering in the light. The structured shoulders fan out like dragon wings, giving the gown an almost armor-like quality. The skirt is adorned with laser-cut leather scales, arranged in a cascading effect, and the high neckline, decorated with gold filigree resembling dragon whiskers, adds an air of regality. You feel like a queen—powerful, commanding, and untouchable.

But then Bakugou steps into the frame, and it feels like everything else fades.

He’s dressed in The Black Tide Suit, a deconstructed tuxedo in jet black with fluid, wave-like embroidery. The shimmering silver threads catch the light, symbolizing the dragon’s connection to water, and the iridescent dragon-scale texture on the lapels adds a subtle elegance to the look. But it’s the back of the suit that stands out the most—the embroidered dragon skeleton design, glowing under the studio lights, giving the outfit a haunting, ethereal quality. The sheer high-neck top with metallic ink kanji flows seamlessly into tailored pants with a wrap-style waist inspired by traditional hakama.

He looks incredible, a dark, powerful force next to you, and you can’t help but feel the heat between you spike as the shoot continues.

The poses become more intimate. You’re pressed against him, your back arching as his hand settles on your lower back, firm but almost possessive. The camera clicks, capturing every moment as your hand slides up to his chest, your fingers brushing the fabric of his suit. His breath hitches slightly, just enough for you to notice, but he holds his composure, his jaw clenched as his gaze locks onto yours.

You’re guided toward a prop couch for the next series of shots, your legs stretched out over his lap, his hand resting on your ankle as you lean back. The proximity is intoxicating. Every touch feels deliberate, and it sends a pulse of energy through you, like a low hum of electricity running beneath your skin.

And then comes the final pose.

You’re seated on his lap, your body angled toward him, your faces mere inches apart. The heat between you is undeniable now, your lips so close they’re almost touching, your breath mingling with his. His eyes are dark, intense, and for a brief moment, the rest of the set seems to disappear. It’s just you and him, the air thick with unspoken desire. His hand slides up your thigh, just grazing the fabric of your gown, while your fingers brush the nape of his neck.

The tension is suffocating, every moment feeling like it’s about to break. You can feel his pulse under your touch, rapid, like yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he’ll close the distance—if he’ll kiss you right here, right now.

But the camera clicks, breaking the spell.

It’s intoxicating, the way he affects you—how just being close to him sends your heart racing. You’ve danced around this chemistry for so long, but now it feels like it’s right there, teetering on the edge. 

One more push, one more touch, and everything could unravel.

After the shoot wraps up, you find yourself back in the dressing room, changing into the clothes you arrived in. The weight of the shoot, the tension between you and Bakugou, still lingers in your chest like an unspoken question, hanging in the air. You say your goodbyes to the staff, thanking them for their hard work, but your mind is elsewhere—on him.

You meet Bakugou near the entrance of the building, and you’re ready for the inevitable moment where the tension between you two flares again, where the unspoken electricity in the air crackles. But before you can say anything, Bakugou breaks the silence.

“You hungry?” he asks, his voice gruff, casual, like nothing’s been brewing between the two of you all day.

You blink, surprised at how quickly the tension dissipates in that moment, but then a smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah, I could eat. All I had was some toast this morning.”

He gives a quick nod, his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his hoodie. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, jerking his head toward the parking lot.

The ride is quiet but not uncomfortable. 

There’s a strange calm between you two now, as if the earlier intensity has settled into something quieter, simmering just beneath the surface. He drives you to a small, tucked-away izakaya, the kind of place you wouldn’t have found on your own—a private, intimate setting that feels almost out of place considering the day you’ve just had.

The atmosphere inside is warm and inviting, the kind of place where you can just let go and relax. The food is good, the kind of comforting, hearty dishes that hit the spot after a long day. Bakugou is surprisingly good company, much more relaxed outside the pressures of the shoot. As you sip on your drink—though Bakugou sticks to water, being the responsible one behind the wheel—the conversation flows easily.

He talks about his hero work, the grind of it all, but there’s a lightness to the way he complains about his sidekicks or how his friends drag him to karaoke once a month. There’s a surprising openness to him when he talks about his hobbies, like hiking and cooking, things you wouldn’t have expected from someone who carries such a tough exterior. You find yourself leaning in as he talks, listening intently, laughing when he grumbles about how no one can keep up with him on the trails or how no one can cook worth a damn in his agency.

In return, you share pieces of yourself—stories about your family, your work as a model, and how the industry can be cutthroat but also rewarding. You talk about your friends and hobbies, and somehow, the conversation becomes easier, more comfortable, like you’ve both dropped the walls that had been up all day.

At some point, though, you don’t even realize how close you’ve leaned in. It’s subtle at first, but the space between you both shrinks with each laugh, each glance. The atmosphere shifts, the casual conversation laced with that same tension you’d felt all day. Your faces are so close now, his breath warm against your lips, your fingers resting on the table dangerously close to his.

Then, it happens. 

A brush of lips, barely there, so brief you’re not sure if you imagined it. But the spike of heat between you is undeniable. You can see it in the way Bakugou’s eyes darken, the way his lips part slightly like he’s about to say something, but he pulls back at the last second. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, a quiet exhale escaping him as he shifts in his seat.

There’s a beat of silence, heavy and charged. For a moment, you’re sure something will happen, that this tension will finally snap. But instead, Bakugou clears his throat, his eyes darting away for just a second. He lets out a tch, and mutters, “Calm down,” under his breath.

You almost laugh in relief, though it feels like there’s something else too, something lingering between you that hasn’t quite been resolved. You quickly find another conversation to latch onto, both of you pretending like that near-kiss didn’t just happen, though the air still hums with that unresolved energy.

But as the drinks continue to flow for you, and you laugh and talk more, the buzz of alcohol starts to hit you. Your mind feels lighter, your inhibitions lower, and when Bakugou finally offers to drive you home, you agree without thinking twice.

And now here you are, in the plush backseat of his sleek, expensive car, parked in an empty lot, the windows fogged up from the heat between you. 

The scent of sweat and sex fills the confined space, heavy and intoxicating. Your sweatpants and thong are discarded somewhere on the floor, forgotten in the frenzy of lust that overtook you both.

You're straddling Bakugou's lap, your body pressed flush against his as you ride him, your hands gripping his broad shoulders for balance. His hands are on your hips, guiding your movements as you bounce on his cock, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His face is flushed, lips parted as low, trembling moans slip from his throat, each sound sending a thrill through your already trembling body.

His hips rut up to meet yours, every thrust pushing him deeper inside you, hitting a spot that has you gasping for breath. Your own sounds are high and breathy, escaping in little moans and whimpers as you press yourself closer to him, your chest brushing against his as your lips meet in a wet, slow kiss. It’s a desperate, messy kiss, all heat and need, his tongue sweeping against yours as he groans into your mouth.

His hand slip beneath your hoodie, fingers tracing up your back as he pulls you even closer, your bodies impossibly tight together. His thumb circles your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through your body that has you arching into him, a breathless moan escaping your lips as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

“Shit,” you moan, voice catching on the word as your hips roll, chasing the friction. You can feel the heat building, your climax creeping up on you, and when Bakugou’s thumb presses harder against your clit, you fall apart with a cry of his name on your lips.

He’s right behind you, his grip tightening on your hips as he thrusts up into you, his moans growing louder, more desperate. His hips jerk, and with a low, trembling groan, he comes inside you, warmth flooding you as his body shudders beneath yours. His thrusts slow, his head falling back against the seat as he pants, his chest heaving with each breath.

For a moment, neither of you moves, both of you caught in the aftermath of your release. The car is quiet except for the sound of your heavy breathing, the windows still fogged, the air thick with the smell of sweat and sex. You press your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you both come down from the high.

It's inevitable, you think. 

The tension, the chemistry—it was bound to snap eventually. You just didn’t expect it to happen like this, in the backseat of his car, in some forgotten parking lot. But now that it has, you’re left wondering what comes next, as the reality of what just happened settles over you like a heavy blanket.

After the haze of sex in the backseat of Bakugou’s car, you find yourselves in the quiet space of your apartment. 

There’s no more rush, no hurried touches or frantic pulling at clothes. This time, it’s different. You take your time, savoring every moment as if the weight of what’s between you has finally snapped, allowing you both to indulge in something more primal, more intimate.

You start by stripping each other slowly, each piece of clothing removed with deliberate hands, revealing the warm, soft skin beneath. His hands roam over your body like he’s memorizing it, every curve and dip. And you do the same to him, your fingertips trailing over the ridges of his muscles, the planes of his torso, the powerful lines of his body that feel both foreign and familiar. 

When you finally tumble into your bed, it’s like a slow burn that turns into a roaring fire. Bakugou’s mouth is on your neck, pressing hot kisses against your skin, each one igniting a spark inside you. His lips travel lower, trailing over your collarbone, biting gently as his tongue soothes the sting. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding over your hips, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough of the feel of you against him.

Then, his mouth finds the swell of your breast. He bites down gently, sending a sharp shock of pleasure through your body, before his tongue circles your nipple, soothing the bite. His lips curl around the sensitive bud, sucking softly, and your back arches into him, a soft moan slipping from your lips. But he’s not done. He’s only just begun.

He moves lower, kissing down your stomach, each press of his lips drawing you further under his spell. And when he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, his breath hot against your skin, you’re already trembling with anticipation. His nose presses into your mound, inhaling deeply, before his tongue slips between your folds, licking into your swollen, slick sex. The sensation is electric, and you fall apart immediately under his touch.

His tongue circles your clit with precision, slow and teasing, then fast and relentless. You can’t help the sounds that escape your lips—high, breathy moans that fill the room as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. You feel your body unraveling, every nerve alight with pleasure as he works you expertly with his mouth, building you up higher and higher until you reach the peak.

When you come, it’s with his name spilling from your lips, a broken, needy cry. Your body trembles violently, legs quaking as the waves of pleasure crash over you, and Bakugou doesn’t stop. His tongue continues to lap at you, coaxing every last tremor from your body, licking you through the aftershocks.

He climbs back up to meet your lips, and you kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue, the heady mix of desire still burning hot between you. The weight of his body presses against you, comforting and safe, yet there’s still a raw, desperate edge to the way his cock presses against your entrance, already hard again, throbbing with need.

He slips inside you easily, the warm, wet slide of him filling you in a way that feels so good, so right. Your body welcomes him, molding around him as he thrusts deep, but this time there’s a desperation to his movements that you haven’t seen before. His hips snap up into you hard and fast, driving deep inside with each thrust, like he’s chasing something only you can give him. His hands curl around the back of your knees, pushing your thighs wider apart so he can move easier, plunging deeper into you, every stroke hitting the perfect spot inside that has your breath catching in your throat.

You cling to him, your hands settling around his biceps, feeling the hard muscles flex beneath your palms as he fucks you with unrelenting intensity. Your moans grow louder, higher-pitched, spilling from your lips in needy cries as your head falls back against the pillow. The pleasure is overwhelming, crashing through you in waves, and you can barely keep up with the sensations that Bakugou is drawing out of you.

He’s lost in it too, his own sounds spilling from his lips—grunts, groans, and low trembling moans that send a thrill down your spine. You look up at him, and he’s a vision; an Adonis of rippling muscle, his body slick with sweat, his face contorted in pure pleasure. His hair is tousled, his lips parted, and his eyes—half-lidded and dark with lust—are fixed on you, watching every reaction, every twitch of your body beneath him.

It’s like something has shifted, an unspoken understanding that’s been reached. The tension that’s been building between you for so long has finally broken, and all that’s left is this—this raw, desperate need for each other. His thrusts grow harder, faster, his body driving into yours with a relentless pace, and you’re teetering on the edge again, your body so close to breaking apart for him.

You feel the build-up of pleasure coiling tight in your core, and when it finally snaps, it’s overwhelming. Your entire body tenses, your back arching off the bed as you come with a loud, high-pitched cry, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your nails dig into his skin, clutching him as if he’s the only thing grounding you to the earth.

Bakugou isn’t far behind. His grip on your thighs tightens, his thrusts growing erratic as he chases his own release. And when he finally comes, it’s with a low, trembling moan, his hips stuttering against yours as he spills inside you, filling you with his warmth. His body shudders, collapsing slightly against yours as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the faint rustling of the sheets. You lie there, tangled together, bodies still trembling from the intensity of it all. It feels like something has shifted between you two—like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross. But in this moment, with the weight of Bakugou’s body pressing against yours, his heartbeat steady against your chest, it doesn’t feel like a bad thing.

If anything, it feels like a beginning.

The night is a blur of sweat, skin, and soft gasps as you go four more rounds with Bakugou. 

Each time, you unravel each other in different ways—bodies tangled, exploring every inch, every sensation. The intensity between you two doesn’t fade, even after hours of pushing each other past the edge of pleasure.

The first round has you back on top. You ride him with purpose, your hips grinding down as Bakugou watches you with heated, half-lidded eyes, his hands gripping your waist tightly, guiding your movements. His quiet groans encourage you, and the fire between you only grows hotter. After that, you’re on all fours, your back arched as he takes you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips while you press your face into the pillow, muffling your moans. His pace is relentless, driving into you with precision, and you feel every stroke in the pit of your stomach.

When you switch positions again, you find yourself on top once more, but this time it’s slower, more deliberate. You press your chest to his, exchanging lazy kisses as you roll your hips in a steady rhythm. His hands slide up your back, and your lips part only to let soft, breathless sounds escape. Then, Bakugou takes control one final time, flipping you onto your back. Your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into you deeply and slowly, the air thick with the shared heat of your breaths. His mouth captures yours again, lips brushing lazily, and his pace, though deliberate, is more intimate, almost tender. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, holding him close as the room spins from the intensity.

By the time you both finally collapse in a sweaty, breathless heap, you can’t tell if you’re still vibrating from the aftershocks or just from the sheer energy between you. It’s late—or early, you can’t be sure—but eventually, you both fall into an exhausted sleep.

In the morning, you wake to the familiar sensation of Bakugou’s cock pressed against you, his hips slowly grinding against yours. You’re still half-asleep, your body heavy with exhaustion but slowly stirring with arousal as he lazily ruts against you. The warmth between you two grows as you tease each other awake with lazy touches and soft groans, bodies still pressed close from the night before. When you turn your head and meet his lips in a kiss, it ignites something in both of you again.

Bakugou slips inside you easily, his hips moving in slow, languid strokes. His forehead rests against yours, eyes half-closed as he rocks into you, and you respond with soft, breathy sounds of pleasure. It’s gentle this time, more relaxed but still charged with that unspoken heat. You come with a quiet, sharp keen, your body trembling under his touch, and he follows soon after, his own release a deep, low groan that rumbles from his chest.

Later, after a shared shower that feels as intimate as the night before, you’re in the kitchen making breakfast. It’s a simple, traditional Japanese breakfast—rice, miso soup, grilled fish, and pickled vegetables. Bakugou, surprisingly, helps you with ease. He moves efficiently, chopping vegetables, setting things up, his movements deliberate and practiced. It’s oddly domestic, the two of you working side by side in your kitchen.

But there’s a tension in the air now, a shift that you can’t ignore. Bakugou is quieter than usual, his usual gruffness replaced by something heavier, something unspoken. You notice it in the way his eyes flicker to you when he thinks you aren’t looking, the slight furrow in his brow as if he’s turning something over in his mind.

And you know what he’s probably thinking. The question hangs in the air between you, thick and heavy—what the hell are you both doing? Is this just sex? Or is it something more? It’s the kind of question that’s impossible to avoid after a night like that, after the way he touched you, the way he kissed you. The way he’s still looking at you now, with that guarded expression, as if he’s not sure if he’s crossed a line.

To be honest, you don’t have an answer. You like him—Bakugou’s a lot nicer than you ever gave him credit for. He’s attentive, he listens, and he’s definitely cute when he gets flustered. And yeah, the sex is fantastic. But do you want more than that? A relationship? Or are you fine with keeping it casual, just taking things as they come? More importantly—is he?

You glance at him as he sets the table, his movements still stiff with that unspoken tension, and wonder if he’s wrestling with the same questions. His face is set in his usual scowl, but there’s something softer in his eyes when they meet yours. Something uncertain.

As you both sit down to eat, the conversation from last night feels miles away. The comfortable flow has been replaced by this underlying heaviness, like you’re both waiting for the other to speak up. Neither of you does, though. Instead, you both focus on the food, the clatter of chopsticks the only sound between you.

But it’s not enough to keep you from thinking about it. About how easily this could be more than just a casual fling, how easy it would be to fall into something deeper with him. How nice it would be to have this, him, all the time. But you also know that there’s no going back if you cross that line, and you’re not sure if either of you is ready for that conversation just yet.

After breakfast, you finally gather the courage to speak.  

"Look… yesterday was—fun?” you begin, your voice a bit quiet, “I don’t really know. It felt like something building up just… snapped, and it happened. And I don’t know what you think, but for me, I don’t think I’m ready for anything serious. A casual thing could be nice—maybe some sex when we both need it—but I’m not looking for a relationship right now—of course, I don’t expect you to feel the same! But I just wanted to be honest, because… you don’t really seem like the type for casual.”  

Bakugou’s gaze lingers on you, heavy and unblinking, as he processes your words. The quiet between you both feels thick, the clatter of dishes now muted as the weight of your confession sinks in. His expression is hard to read at first—his usual scowl deepens slightly, his brows knitting together as he lets out a low breath. His jaw tightens, and his eyes flicker away from you for a second, but then they’re back, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

For a moment, you wonder if he’s angry. Bakugou has never been one to hide his emotions, and you brace yourself for a harsh reaction, something explosive or gruff. But instead, he surprises you with how quiet he stays. His lips part as if to say something, but then he closes them again, thinking.

Finally, he shifts in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest, the tension in his shoulders evident. He grumbles, his voice low. “You’re right. ‘M not really the type for casual shit.” His words are blunt, but there’s a vulnerability to them, like he’s laying something out for you, raw and unfiltered. His eyes narrow, but not in anger—more like he’s trying to understand his own feelings as much as he’s trying to understand yours.

He leans back slightly, running a hand through his messy hair, his fingers raking through the strands in frustration. “Look, I ain’t gonna lie—last night was good. More than good. But I’m not lookin’ to be some hookup either. I don’t do this kinda shit with just anyone.” His voice is quieter now, his tone more serious, the usual brashness dialed back.

You nod, biting your lip, feeling the weight of his words. There’s a part of you that knows what he’s saying makes sense—Bakugou isn’t the type for casual flings, not really. There’s something deeper beneath that tough exterior, something he guards fiercely, and last night probably cracked that armor more than either of you expected. But at the same time, you’re not ready for anything more. Not now. Not with your life the way it is.

“I know,” you say softly, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. “That’s why I wanted to be upfront. I don’t want to lead you on, and I don’t want things to get messy.”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow again, and he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. “Messy, huh?” He scoffs lightly, shaking his head as if the word bothers him. “Yeah, well... I don’t want that either.”

Another beat of silence passes, and you both sit there, the weight of the conversation hanging between you like a heavy cloud. You feel the urge to reach out, to close the gap somehow, but you don’t know how to. It feels like both of you are standing on the edge of something, unsure whether to step back or plunge forward.

Finally, Bakugou leans forward, elbows on his knees, his expression softer now, though still guarded. “I don’t know what I want either,” he admits quietly, his voice rough, but honest. “But I’m not interested in half-assed shit. If we’re gonna do this, even if it’s just casual, I need to know it’s not just a fling to you. It can’t just be ‘when we need it.’” His words are firm, but not demanding. It’s more like he’s setting his boundaries, telling you what he needs in order to even consider continuing this thing between you.

His gaze softens, and he looks at you, eyes searching for some kind of answer, some kind of reassurance. “‘M not sayin’ we gotta make it somethin’ serious right now. But I’m not gonna be some afterthought either, got it?”

The weight of his words hits you, and you feel a pang of guilt. You hadn’t meant to make him feel like an afterthought, but you also know you can’t offer him more than what you’re ready for. Your heart is torn between wanting to keep things simple and casual, and knowing that with Bakugou, nothing is ever truly simple.

You nod slowly, meeting his gaze. “I understand,” you say quietly. “I don’t want to treat you like that either.” There’s a pause as you gather your thoughts. “Maybe… maybe we just see how things go? No labels, no expectations, just… see where it leads?” You’re offering a middle ground, something that doesn’t box either of you into anything too rigid, but still gives space for things to evolve naturally.

Bakugou studies you for a long moment, the intensity in his eyes making your chest tighten. He seems to weigh your words carefully, his expression hard to read. Finally, he lets out a low grunt, leaning back in his chair. “Fine,” he says, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “But no bullshit. If this starts feelin’ like somethin’ more, we talk about it. None of that avoidin’ shit, got it?”

You can’t help but smile, a small, relieved laugh escaping you. “Yeah, I can do that. No bullshit.”

Bakugou’s lips twitch into something resembling a smirk, though it’s still weighed down by the seriousness of the conversation. “Good,” he mutters, his eyes softening as he finally relaxes a bit. 

The tension between you two begins to fade, replaced by a quiet understanding. There’s no clear answer to what you’re doing or where this is going, but at least now you’re both on the same page, willing to figure it out together, step by step.

And that's how it starts, in a way—this unspoken agreement between you and Bakugou that neither of you quite knows how to define. 

The ‘casual but serious’ arrangement feels like a tightrope you're both carefully balancing on, avoiding labels but knowing full well that there's more simmering beneath the surface. It's a strange dance, but somehow, it works for both of you.

You try to keep things low-key. Going out to dinner happens maybe once a week, but mostly it's at your place or his. It's better that way, safer. The press doesn't need to get wind of what this is—whatever it is. You like the quiet comfort of your homes, anyway. No need for paparazzi pictures splashed all over the tabloids, fueling rumors neither of you wants to deal with. The phone calls and texts between you become a daily routine. He texts at odd hours, whenever he can between missions or patrols, and you find yourself waiting for the sharp ping of your phone more often than you’d care to admit. It’s nice, though—comforting in a way you didn’t expect. It’s casual, but not… detached.

And the sex? That’s another thing entirely. The first time after your conversation is awkward, neither of you quite sure how to navigate the shift. But once you both relax into it, it becomes just as natural as everything else. You’re still unraveling each other, still finding those little things that make the other one tick. 

But what surprises you the most is Bakugou himself.

For all the media portrays him as some rough, domineering figure—the grumpy Pro Hero who takes no nonsense from anyone—it couldn’t be farther from the truth in bed. He’s surprisingly shy, almost vanilla in a way that catches you off guard but also warms you to him even more. You notice how he likes to keep things intimate, how his favorite positions are ones where he can see your face, feel the closeness of your body against his. It’s endearing, how vulnerable he lets himself be with you in those moments, and you can’t help but melt at the way he looks at you—eyes soft and filled with something unspoken, something that contradicts this whole idea of casual.

But life is busy. 

His work as a Pro Hero never stops, and your modeling career is just as demanding. April is packed. Haute Couture Week castings for the Fall/Winter season in July take over your life, and Vogue Japan has you booked solid for various shoots. You hardly have a moment to breathe, let alone think about where things are heading with Bakugou. 

You miss his birthday, stuck overseas for campaigns in the Middle East and the USA. But you call him late at night, your voice soft and warm as you wish him a happy birthday.

He’s grumbling on the other end of the line, telling you about the surprise party his friends threw for him. His voice is rough, low, and it sends a shiver down your spine as you imagine him in bed, leaning against the headboard, the phone pressed to his ear. You picture him, shirtless, the faint glow of his bedside lamp casting shadows over the defined lines of his body. Your fingers itch to trace the scar that cuts through his right cheek, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. You miss him. You miss his warmth, his teasing grins, the way he bites at your cheek or shoulder playfully.

It hits you, then. This wasn’t supposed to be more than casual, but your heart has softened. It’s a dangerous realization, one that sits heavily in your chest as you end the call. You’ve crossed a line somewhere along the way, and there’s no going back.

When you finally return to Musutafu after Golden Week, you head straight to his apartment. You show up with a small cake and the gift you got him while you were away. The smile that pulls at his lips when he sees you makes your heart flutter, even though he tries to hide it with a gruff, “The hell is this?”

“We’re celebrating because I couldn’t be here, idiot,” you say, setting everything down on his counter. He rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t argue, letting you sing him a belated birthday song. The way he cuts the cake with a bemused smile, the way he lets you smear a bit of frosting on his cheek—it's all domestic, intimate. You lick it away, and he grumbles under his breath but grins, pulling you closer, his hands warm on your hips.

When you hand him his gift, his eyebrows raise, skeptical. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he murmurs, but there’s curiosity in his voice. He opens the box, and you watch as surprise flickers across his face. Inside is a bracelet—a sleek, edgy piece made of polished white gold spikes. It’s rebellious but refined, a mix that suits him perfectly. His fingers run over it, and he lifts his gaze to you.

“It’s a bracelet,” you explain with a grin. “You told me you used to drum, and you listen to rock music sometimes, so I thought it’d suit you. I even had something engraved.”

Bakugou glances down, turning the bracelet over in his hands until he spots the inscription inside. His lips twitch as he reads, “For my favorite grump.” He clicks his tongue, flicking your forehead in mock annoyance, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Idiot,” he mutters, but the flick is soft, playful. You yelp, flicking him back, and he grins before bumping his forehead gently against yours. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice softer than usual, and the way he says it makes your heart do a dangerous little flip in your chest.

You lean in and press a kiss to his lips, something light and affectionate. “You’re welcome. Happy belated birthday again.”

He pulls away just enough to slip the bracelet on, turning his wrist this way and that to admire it. “Good?”

You nod, smiling. “Perfect.”

The smile he gives you is something else. 

It’s like the sun breaking through clouds after a storm, blinding and warm, and it makes your heart stutter in your chest. In that moment, something shifts. This casual thing—this thing you’ve been so carefully trying to keep from getting too serious—it’s melting into something more. 

Something real. 

That night feels unlike any other you've shared with Bakugou—no, with Katsuki. 

It's softer, more intimate in a way that makes your chest ache. The intensity that usually simmers between the two of you, the raw passion that explodes like his quirk, is still there, but it's gentler this time, quieter. His touches linger longer, like he's memorizing the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. His kisses are soft, almost reverent, and there's a warmth to his touch that makes you feel molten, like liquid gold melting beneath him, consumed by the slow burn of his affection.

Katsuki is different tonight. 

It’s in the way his voice trembles when he breathes out, "Katsuki, call me Katsuki." His voice shakes, something vulnerable in it that you've never heard before. His thrusts are deep but slow, as if he's savoring every moment, drawing it out for as long as he can. You feel his breath hot against your neck, his lips brushing your skin like a whisper, and the plea in his voice catches you off guard. 

You let your fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, pulling his face closer, until your lips meet in a kiss that’s both soft and needy. "Katsuki," you gasp against his mouth, the name slipping from your lips in a way that feels both intimate and fragile. It’s as if saying his name like this changes everything, like it’s cracked open something inside of him—and maybe even inside of you.

In the aftermath, the weight of what just happened lingers between you, but instead of pulling away, Katsuki does the opposite. 

He pulls you closer, burying his face in your shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around you. He’s clingy, which still surprises you, but it’s also sweet in a way that makes your heart clench. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips pressing soft, languid kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. He fits against you perfectly, like two puzzle pieces finally finding their place.

The room is quiet, bathed in the low glow of the city lights filtering through the window, and you find yourself smiling as you feel Katsuki’s hand splayed wide against your stomach, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. You can feel the weight of him, solid and warm, his chest rising and falling against your back. 

And as the minutes stretch on, the two of you start to talk, your voices hushed, the air between you heavy with contentment.

You tell him about your trip—about the campaigns in the Middle East and the USA, the long flights, the jet lag that’s still clinging to your bones. You share little stories from the shoots, the people you met, the things that made you laugh. As you speak, you play with his fingers, tracing the lines of his knuckles and the calluses from his years as a hero. His hand is so big compared to yours, and the quiet, tactile connection feels grounding, as if you're tethering each other in this moment.

He listens, his thumb occasionally brushing your skin, a small gesture that feels more intimate than anything else. When you laugh softly about how glad you are to be home, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and lingering. 

Katsuki tells you about his patrols, how there was a cross-country mission he had to go on recently, but it was quick—just a few days. He tells you about the surprise birthday party his friends threw him and how he’d wanted to kill them at first, but ended up secretly enjoying it. His voice gets a little gruff when he mentions his parents, how they’re off on some luxury trip in Indonesia, but there’s a fondness in his tone when he talks about his mom ‘nagging him’ to take a break himself. 

"She’s been on my ass about it for weeks," he grumbles, and you laugh, imagining the dynamic between them, his mother as fiery as he is. It’s endearing to hear him talk about them, and you can picture the way he probably rolls his eyes every time his mother brings it up.

Katsuki continues to press soft kisses against your skin as you talk. Sometimes it’s your neck, sometimes your shoulder, sometimes he turns your head just so, capturing your lips in a quick, sweet kiss before returning to the conversation. There’s something incredibly tender about the whole moment, the way he’s touching you like he doesn’t want to let go, like he’s soaking in every second of this quiet, intimate moment with you.

You can feel the warmth of him seeping into you, the rise and fall of his chest against your back, and it feels safe. It feels right. The softness in the air, the way your voices are so low, barely above a whisper, as if you’re the only two people in the world right now. It’s more than just physical at this point. There’s something deeper brewing, something that scares you because it’s not supposed to be like this. This was never supposed to be more than casual, but here you are, melting into his touch, smiling against a pillow that smells like him, your heart doing strange, dangerous things.

And the worst part? Katsuki seems to feel it too.

When he kisses your cheek one more time, pulling you even closer, his fingers threading through yours as you both fall silent again, you realize that this casual arrangement you’ve tried so hard to keep may not be so casual anymore. The line between casual and something more has blurred, and neither of you seems to want to acknowledge it just yet. But as Katsuki presses another kiss to your skin, holding you tighter in the soft quiet of the night, you can’t help but wonder if that line was crossed a long time ago.

And maybe you’re both too far gone to go back.

our love through the lives

reincarnated bakugou katsuki x reader

the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was steady but weak, a fragile hourglass marking the dwindling moments of his life. the evening light spilled through the blinds in soft, golden slants, illuminating the deep lines etched into his weathered face. his once wild blonde hair had thinned and turned silver with time, but his grip- though weak- was still warm in your hand.

a news broadcast played on the small television mounted in the corner, the words barely registering.

“retired pro hero dynamight has not been seen in public for weeks, sparking concern among-”

you barely heard the rest. it didn’t matter. the world could wait.

katsuki let out a slow exhale, his chest rising and falling beneath the thin hospital blanket. his crimson eyes, once blazing with untamed energy, now carried the weight of decades, softened by time but still sharp as they met yours. a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips- fainter than before, but still undeniably his.

“you’re starin’ at me like i’m already dead,” he muttered, his voice rough with age but tinged with dry amusement.

you huffed a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand, the cool metal of his wedding band felt beneath your fingers. “maybe i’m just admiring you, old man.”

his thumb brushed faintly over your knuckles. he sighed, eyes growing heavier. “never thought i’d get this far, y’know? always figured i’d go out with a bang.”

“you did,” you murmured, shifting closer. “you just took your time with it.”

his smirk widened, but only slightly. his hand tightened around yours, as if grounding himself in your presence. “guess i did…” his voice grew softer, barely above a whisper. “and i got to spend it with you. that’s all that ever mattered.”

his hand, once strong enough to tear through concrete, now rested in yours with a fragile kind of warmth. the years had stolen his strength but not his fire- not the stubborn, unyielding spirit that had burned so brightly through every battle, every hardship, every damn thing life threw at him.

he had survived it all. and now, here he was, at the very end of the road with you.

katsuki let out a slow breath, his eyes half-lidded but still gazing at you, as if afraid to blink. “you’re still here,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

your fingers tightened around his, anchoring him to the moment. “of course, always will be.”

“dumbass… ‘course you are.” his eyes drifted to the window, where the sun hung low, painting the sky in soft oranges and golds. “y’know… i always hated sunsets. meant the day was over. meant time was runnin’ out.”

your throat tightened. “katsuki-”

“but,” he cut in, his thumb once again brushing lazily over your skin, “you liked ‘em. so i started watching ‘em too.” his voice grew quieter, raspier. “guess they ain’t so bad.”

you blinked back the sting of tears. you wouldn’t cry. not yet. not when he was still here, still holding on.

“you always had to be difficult,” you murmured, forcing a small smile.

he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “yeah… but you loved me anyway.”

the words settled between you, warm and final.

the heart monitor beeped- steady, but slower. his fingers twitched in your grasp, his breaths growing shallow. his gaze softened, his body sinking further into the bed, into the pull of sleep that he wouldn’t wake from.

“katsuki,” you whispered, leaning in close, pressing your forehead to his. “i love you.”

his lips parted slightly, his next breath barely there. “love you too.” his voice was nothing but air, slipping through your fingers like the last rays of sunlight.

and then-

the monitor gave one last, drawn-out beep before falling silent.

the world outside kept moving. the news kept playing. the sun kept setting. but in this moment, in this room, time stood still.

you stayed there, holding his hand. as the sky faded to night.

because love like this- like yours- didn’t end.

not really.

it would find it’s way back again. it always did.

—

the sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the endless grassy plain. the wind rolled through the tall grass in gentle waves, carrying the scent of earth and wildflowers. you had been walking for hours, wandering. the weight of countless lifetimes pressed against your chest, when you spotted him.

a lone figure moved across the horizon, his silhouette cutting sharply across the distance.

even from a distance, you knew.

bakugou katsuki.

your breath caught. he was different in this life- wilder, untamed. his blonde hair was slightly longer, messily tousled by the wind. a crimson cloak was slung over his shoulders, multiple necklaces consisting of fangs hung from his neck. his furs and leathers were worn from battle, dusted with the remnants of his travels. a sword hung at his hip, his posture relaxed yet ready, like a predator always on edge.

he hadn’t seen you yet.

you should’ve kept walking. should’ve turned away before he noticed. but after waiting for so long, of remembering what he has forgotten- how could you?

and then his gaze snapped to you.

you barely had time to think before he was striding toward you, footsteps firm and unwavering. his crimson eyes burned with suspicion, scanning you like a threat.

“the hell are you doin’ out here?” his voice was rough, sandpaper and steel- just as you remembered.

you swallowed, steadying yourself. “i’m just a traveler.”

his scowl deepened. “tch. yeah? then you’re a dumbass traveler.” his gaze flicked over you, sharp and assessing. “ain’t safe out here. bandits, beasts- you’re either lost or stupid.”

you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

a dry, bitter laugh almost slipped from your lips. if only he knew how many lives you had spent trying to find him again.

but he didn’t. not yet.

you met his gaze, steady. “i can handle myself.”

he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “that so?” a smirk ghosted over his lips, dangerous and intrigued. “doubt you can keep up.”

and just like that, you were whisked away into your next adventure with your beloved. the journey that followed was nothing short of relentless.

at first, bakugou had no intention of letting you travel with him. he was a warrior, a king, and he didn’t have time to babysit some wandering traveler who didn’t know better than to walk alone through dangerous lands. but you were persistent, keeping up with him despite the grueling pace he set. he tried to shake you off, throwing warnings over his shoulder about the beasts that lurked in the forests and the mercenaries who would gut you for a single gold piece. you didn’t waver.

and so, begrudgingly, he let you stay.

your journey took you across endless grasslands and through thick, mist-covered woods. you met many people, most of which resembled your friends from previous lifetimes. a short, green-haired boy who was devoted to his knightly training. a sweet mage who used her powers to heal and make things float, a prince who could control ice and fire.

you camped beneath starlit skies, listening to the distant howls of wolves while the fire crackled between you. bakugou was guarded at first- gruff and distant, keeping conversations short, always watching you like you were hiding something.

but with time, the walls between you began to crack.

there was the time when you fought side by side against a pack of beasts, creatures with blackened fangs and glowing eyes. he had been wary of your skill, but when he saw you hold your own, his usual scowl shifted- just slightly- into something like approval.

then there was the moment you caught him staring into the fire one night, lost in thought. he never spoke of his past, but there was something in that expression that was painfully familiar- the weight of expectations, the burden of leadership. even without his memories of your past lives, he was still the same katsuki.

and slowly, something changed.

he started waiting for you before setting off in the mornings. tossing you extra rations without a word. grumbling about how you were too soft-hearted when you insisted on helping a lost child in a ruined village, only to turn around and build the kid a fire himself.

and when you collapsed after days of travel without rest, he had cursed under his breath, scooping you up into his arms without hesitation.

“dumbass,” he muttered, adjusting his arm around you as he carried you, his grip firm and warm against your skin. “you don’t know when to quit, huh?” but his voice was softer now, no longer the harsh growl it used to be.

you found yourself looking at him differently. his gruff demeanor, the way he carried himself like a lone wolf had always intrigued you, but now it felt different- like the walls between you were slowly crumbling with every shared glance, every quiet night spent together.

one afternoon, as you traveled through the thick and dark forest at the edge of a kingdom, you were ambushed by a group of bandits. they came from the trees, their swords drawn, but bakugou was ready.

with a roar, he lunged into action, taking down the first two with brutal efficiency that you had come to expect from him. but then, one of the bandits turned toward you, his blade aimed at your chest. you barely had time to react, your own sword drawn, but before you could strike, bakugou was there- his fist slamming into the bandit’s face with a force that sent him flying into a tree.

“you okay?” his voice was low, the familiar scowl back on his face, but there was something else in his eyes- something deeper, protective.

“i’m fine, thank you,” you said, though your pulse still raced. “but you’re reckless.”

that night, as you sat beside the fire, you couldn’t help but notice how close he had gotten. not just physically, but emotionally. the long silences that had once stretched were now filled with casual teasing, shared laughter, and the occasional quiet conversation that stretched into the night.

he started to ask you more about your past, though never prying too deep. when you mentioned your travels, he listened intently, his usual bravado replaced by something softer, more curious.

one evening, you found yourselves at the edge of a cliff, watching the sunset paint the sky in streaks of orange and purple. bakugou stood next to you, arms crossed, but this time, he didn’t seem so distant.

“you ever stop to think about what you’re doing here?” he asked, his voice quiet.

you glanced to him, surprised by the vulnerability in his tone. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… why are you still here? with me, i mean. not everyone’s cut out for this kind of life. it’s not easy.” he shifted slightly, his gaze faraway.

you smiled softly, the memories of your past life flickering at the edges of your thoughts. “i think i’m exactly where i need to be.”

his eyes flickered to you, narrowing slightly as though trying to decipher your meaning. but then, without a word, he reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

you froze, feeling the connection between you stir once more, and you didn’t pull away. neither of you said anything, but in that quiet moment, it felt like the world had shifted.

and with every passing day, the distance between you- the one he had built, the one you had tried so hard to bridge- was slowly disappearing.

he had started to remember, in the smallest ways.

you were sitting by the fire, cleaning your sword after another skirmish with a band of raiders. bakugou was sharpening his blade beside you, his usual scowl etched across his face, but there was something different in his eyes- something far away.

“oi,” he muttered, breaking the silence. “you ever feel like… like this isn’t the first time we’ve done this?”

you paused mid-motion, your fingers tightening around the hilt of your sword. you glanced up at him, trying to hide the flutter of your heart.

“what do you mean?” you asked, though you already knew.

He shifted. “i dunno. it’s just… every time we fight together, or when we get quiet like this, it feels… familiar. like i’ve known ya longer than the past year.”

you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. “maybe you just got used to traveling with me.”

but deep down, you knew the truth.

it wasn’t just the time he had spent with you. it was something deeper- something he was starting to sense, like the lingering pull of a forgotten memory.

a few days passed, and the feeling seemed to grow stronger. every so often, you’d catch him staring at you, like he was seeing something more than just the person beside him. one evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, bakugou spoke, his voice unusually quiet. his eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line as if he were grappling with something just beyond his reach. “i’ve seen you before… but where?”

that night, as you both lay beneath the stars, the fire crackling softly, bakugou’s sleep was fitful. he tossed and turned, his brow furrowed in frustration.

when he woke the next morning, he didn’t immediately look at you. he sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

“i had a dream,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “a dream about… us. it felt real. like we’ve been through so many things together before.”

your heart raced. you remained still, waiting for him to continue.

“it wasn’t just some damn dream. it was real. i don’t remember everything, but i know… i know i’ve been with you before, haven’t i?”

you could feel the weight of his words, the hesitation, the confusion in his voice. and yet, despite the uncertainty, there was something else- something that made you know that he was starting to remember.

for the first time since meeting him in this life, you reached out, placing a hand gently on his arm. his muscles tensed at your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“yes,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “we’ve been together before. more times than either of us can count.”

bakugou turned to face you then, his eyes wide and the usual fire dimming in them for a moment. “why can’t i remember? why does it feel like i’m losing my mind?”

you swallowed the lump in your throat, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. “maybe it’s not time for you to remember completely yet. but it will be, eventually. i promise.”

for a long moment, he didn’t say anything. he simply stared at you, as if searching for something in your eyes- something that would make sense of the chaos inside of him.

and then, without a word, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tentative at first, unsure. but as you kissed him back, something shifted. the connection between you, long buried beneath layers of forgotten lives, began to resurface, like a flood of memories fighting to break free.

when he pulled back, his breath was uneven, and his hands trembled slightly as they hovered at your sides.

“i remember you,” he whispered, his voice raw. “i remember you… even if i can’t remember everything.”

you smiled, feeling the weight of years of love and loss that led to this moment. “it’s okay. you don’t have to remember everything right now. we have all the time we need.”

years passed, and the world around you both seemed to change, even though the battles and struggles never truly stopped. the two of you, side by side, had seen countless faces come and go, witnessed victories and losses alike.

the bond between you and bakugou had only deepened, but time, as it always did, wore on. you both had grown, in ways both subtle and grand, shaped by everything you’d endured together. bakugou was still the warrior he had always been, strong and fierce, but the fire that once burned so brightly within him was now tempered by the passing of the years.

one evening, as the sky painted itself in shades of pink and purple, you stood together at the edge of the very same cliff from years ago, overlooking a valley. the winds had settled, and there was nothing but the hum of the earth, as if everything had come full circle. bakugou stood beside you, his posture strong, but the weight of the years was beginning to show.

“do you ever think… that maybe we’re finally done with all of this?” he asked, his voice quiet but carrying the years of uncertainty and battles fought. his gaze was distant, looking at the horizon, but his words were for you alone.

you took a deep breath, feeling the wind sweep across your face, tasting the salt of the distant sea. “maybe. but i think we’ll always find something else. something worth fighting for.”

he chuckled softly, though it was laced with an edge of something unreadable. “always you, huh?” he muttered under his breath.

you smiled softly, turning to face him. “always you, too.”

and so, you and the barbarian king looked out across the vast horizon, and you knew that although this life might be winding down, the end of this era was just another beginning waiting to unfold.

—

the blaring sun in the sky casted it’s golden glow over the vast expanse of the ocean as your ship sliced through the waves. your crew worked in rhythm, their shouts and laughter carried by the salty breeze as they adjusted sails and checked the rigging. you stood at the helm, your fingers gripping the wheel with practiced ease, eyes scanning the horizon.

you’d been sailing for days now, the winds favorable and the sea calm. it wasn’t until the sun dipped lower that you saw it. a ripple in the water, far off in the distance but growing closer. at first, you thought it was perhaps some large fish breaching the surface. but then, you saw him.

a flash of pale golden hair broke through the waves, followed by the sleek and powerful form of a merman. he was a striking contrast to the dark water, with glistening crimson scales that shimmered like polished gemstones. his tail flicked in the sea, the sharp movement sending waves against the ship’s hull.

but it wasn’t the sheer power of the creature that caught your attention. it was the way he moved, the way he looked at you. his eyes locked onto yours, and your heart swelled knowing that you had finally come across your love yet again in this life. your katsuki.

the merman’s lips curled into a smirk as he swam closer, the water parting as if he owned the sea himself. his muscular form stopped just short of the ship, hovering in the water as he regarded you with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

“so you’re the captain of the crimson tempest, huh?” his voice was deep and rough, carrying the weight of the ocean itself. he eyed you with a critical gaze. “i’ve been hearing rumors about ya. thought i’d come see for myself.”

you felt the familiar rush of recognition, but you knew better than to show too much. he didn’t remember yet- as usual. the bond between you that transcended time, that only you knew, was still buried deep within him. but here, in this new life, you had to tread carefully.

you leaned against the ship’s wheel, matching his gaze with calm confidence, despite the racing pulse in your chest. “what’s it to you, merman?” you asked, keeping your voice steady despite the longing that you felt deep inside. “i don’t know what rumors you’ve heard, but they’re just that- rumors.”

he didn’t falter, though something flickered in his intense red eyes. it was there, something beneath the surface that he couldn’t quite grasp, but you could feel it. you could always feel it when he was near.

“you don’t look like the kind of captain i’d expect,” he said, his smirk widening into something dangerous. “but i guess you don’t need to look the part to be effective, right?”

you chuckled darkly, a small smirk of your own pulling at your lips. “i’m plenty effective, merman. you’d do well to remember that.”

you saw a flicker of recognition, a glimmer of something you both had shared before. but it vanished quickly, swallowed by the vastness of the sea between you.

“maybe i will,” he muttered, though the words seemed to hold a different meaning. his lips parted, as if to say more, but instead, he just gave you a short nod.

then, without another word, bakugou dove beneath the water, his powerful form disappearing into the depths, leaving only the gentle ripples of the sea in his wake.

a few days later, you steered the crimson tempest into a small, sheltered cove. the crew had already begun preparations to unload. the ship finally came to a halt against the dock, and after doing your part of the unloading you made your way off the ship and onto the sandy beach of the cove.

and then you heard the sound of water splashing, too rhythmic to be a simple wave. your instincts kicked in and you turned just in time to see a flash of pale blonde hair rising from the water’s surface.

his presence was commanding as usual, and for the briefest of moments, you forgot about all of your responsibilities as captain. all that mattered was him- the katsuki you had fallen in love with over and over again.

he pulled himself onto a nearby rock, water dripping off his body. his gaze never left you, intense and unreadable. the usual cocky smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and you could feel the pull of his presence like an invisible thread between you both.

“you seem to be everywhere i go, captain,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. “figured i’d find you here too.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his words, but beneath the teasing tone, there was something more- an underlying tension, an unspoken understanding that had been brewing ever since your first meeting. it was as if he was beginning to recognize something too, even if he didn’t have the words for it yet. even if he didn’t remember.

“you’ve been following me,” you replied, your voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “what is it you want, merman?”

“what i want?” he let out a low chuckle, his voice like the rolling waves. “i’m not sure yet. maybe i just like seeing if i can catch your attention.”

“well,” you said, your tone steady but not without a trace of amusement, “it looks like you’ve caught it.” you will always have it.

you took a step closer, the air between you crackling with an undeniable tension, as if the universe itself were drawing you together again. the warmth of the sun on your skin and the distant sound of your crew working on the ship felt like a distant hum compared to the pulse of energy between you and the merman. it was magnetic, powerful, and for a brief moment, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

he studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he held your gaze that made your heart race. “you’re different,” he said finally, his voice almost quiet. “can’t put my finger on it.”

you almost laughed at the irony, knowing all too well what that something was. you weren’t just another face to him. you were the one he had always come back to, again and again, in every lifetime.

“i think we’ll figure it out,” you replied softly, the undertone of promise hanging in the air.

and then, as if he had just come to a silent conclusion, his smirk returned, but this time it wasn’t teasing. it was real. a promise.

“alright then, captain” he said, his voice low and steady. “i think i’ll stick around. for a while.”

and so, the tide carried on, as it always had, bringing you together once more, just as it always would.

—

the city stretched out before you like a jagged labyrinth of glowing neon signs and towering skyscrapers, the horizon obscured by the haze of pollution and constant movement. neo-musutafu, a city that never slept, pulsed with the rhythm of the future, its streets crawling with the lost, the desperate, and the dangerous. high above, the hum of drones filled the air, ensuring that no one forgot who controlled the night.

you stood at the edge of the rooftop, your gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the flashing lights. the winds howled, carrying the smells of the city- oil, rain, and something darker. below, the streets were alive with a mixture of humans and aliens, some here to live, some here to fight. your job? to ensure the latter didn’t survive.

you were a hunter, part of a covert division tasked with eradicating alien threats before they had a chance to invade. but unlike the other hunters, you didn’t follow the company line blindly. your methods were efficient, precise, and without mercy- traits that had earned you respect, but also enemies. the company you worked for was one of many, and all had their own way of dealing with the extraterrestrial threats. your company? a well-oiled machine, protecting humanity at all costs.

it wasn’t glamorous, but it was necessary.

as you adjusted the grip on your weapons, the sharp hiss of your comm device broke the silence. “hunter 19, we have a target. a class-4 alien near the central district. immediate extraction is required.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. in this line of work, hesitation was a luxury no one could afford. strapping your weapons securely, you made your way down the building to the streets below. your mind was already working through the logistics where the alien would strike, how to contain the threat, and the quickest route to the rendezvous point.

this life had worn down both your heart and mind. though the memories of your past lives with your beloved lingered, the countless alien lives you had taken- the blood spilled in the name of duty- had slowly suffocated your spirit, leaving a shadow over your thoughts that you couldn’t shake. for once, you did not go out of your way to find bakugou. he was a dear, but faraway memory. a memory that was too good for someone like you.

you arrived at the outskirts of the central district, the city’s neon lights flickering in the distance like the heartbeat of a restless giant. the alien was close now. the familiar thump of your combat boots on the cold asphalt was a stark contrast to the chaos that simmered just beyond the horizon. you didn’t have to be told twice. every instinct you had honed in your years as a hunter kicked into gear.

the silence stretched, heavy and thick. then, without warning, the alien struck, it’s massive form tearing through the shadows. a blur of movement, its skin slick and black as it lunged toward you. your reflexes took over, but as you dodged, something about the alien’s speed and strength unsettled you. this wasn’t a typical battle.

the alien wasn’t going to make this easy.

the alien roared as it stumbled back, its claws slicing through the air just inches from your skin. you had barely managed to evade its strike, your weapon raised, ready to retaliate when the sudden sound of footsteps broke through the silence.

a shadow darted into your peripheral vision. a figure, hooded and cloaked in dark attire, lunged toward the alien with lightning speed, and in a series of fluid movements, the creature was brought to the ground.

you froze for a moment, startled by the intruder’s sudden appearance. before you could react, the hooded figure twisted, driving a sharp blade straight through the alien’s chest. it let out one last guttural screech before its body went limp.

the hooded figure stood still, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, the alien’s blood dripping from his blade. the streetlights above flickered briefly as if even the city itself had taken a collective breath.

you snapped out of your shock, clenching your fists. your voice rang out, sharp and scathing as you strode toward him. “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

the hooded man didn’t flinch at your approach, but his back remained to you, his posture tense. you could tell he wasn’t afraid, and that pissed you off even more. your tone was cold, but there was an edge of frustration you couldn’t hide.

“you think you can just waltz in and kill like that?” your voice grew louder, shaking with the weight of your own guilt. “you’ve got a life on your hands now, a soul you’ve taken. is that really what you want?”

the anger bubbled up inside you, a mix of protectiveness and the instinct to save others from the same burden you carried. your gaze narrowed at the man’s back. “you don’t know what it’s like to have blood stain your hands, do you? to have to live with it, knowing you’ve taken a life… i don’t want that for you. i don’t want you to feel the same damn thing i do.”

the hooded man stood motionless for a long moment, before he slowly lowered the blade and turned toward you, his posture stiff. you couldn’t see his face- just the dark outline beneath the hood- but there was something in his presence, something familiar. it made your stomach twist, a feeling you couldn’t place.

and then, he slowly removed his hood.

the world seemed to stop for a beat, the neon lights casting a glow as your eyes locked onto his face.

those same eyes.

“…(y/n).”

your name. he had said it.

he had never remembered you first before; it was always you who had to find him. but now, the man you had loved through countless lives, the one you had adored over and over again, stood before you.

and you were a monster. he had found you, but at what cost?

you did not reach out to hold him, you did not run into his embrace. instead, you averted your gaze, shielding your eyes from him.

“i’m sorry,” you said, fists clenching by your sides. “i’m not the one you once loved.”

bakugou’s expression twisted, his jaw tightening as if the words stung more than they should have. his eyes, fierce and unwavering, bore into yours as he took a step closer.

“don’t say that,” he growled, his voice low, almost dangerous. “i remember you. from the moment i was born in this life, i remembered all of our past lives. every damn moment of them. i’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

he paused, his chest rising with each breath as if trying to steady the storm building inside him. his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a force that made you flinch, pulling you toward him.

“i don’t give a shit about what you’ve done. none of that matters. it will always be you. it’s always been you, no matter how many lives we’ve lived.” his eyes softened, but the intensity remained. “you’re mine, and no way in hell am i letting you go.”

tears streamed down your face as you struggled in his grip, desperate to break free. “you don’t understand,” your voice cracked, raw with pain. “i have a trail of blood behind me, lives i’ve destroyed… everywhere i go, i carry their ghosts. i’ve hurt so many, katsuki! i’m not the same person!”

katsuki’s grip softened, but only for a moment before he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly. you felt the heat of his body, the steadiness of his heartbeat, and for a second, it grounded you in a way nothing else could. his voice was low but firm, holding an edge of desperation.

“don’t tell me you’re not the same person,” he murmured into your hair. “i’ll fall in love with you every damn time, no matter what you’ve done or how many lives you’ve taken. you’re still the one i’m meant to be with. always have been.”

he pulled back slightly, enough to look you in the eyes. “you can carry your burdens all you want, but you don’t have to carry them alone. i’m right here, and i’m not going anywhere.”

your breath hitched as his words sank in, the weight of them crashing down on you like a wave. the tears continued to fall, but this time, they weren’t just from pain- they were from a relief so deep, it left you breathless. you slowly lifted your gaze to his, meeting the intensity of his eyes, and for the first time in this life, the past ones, everything seemed to fall into place.

the countless lives, the struggles, the distance between you- it had all led you here, to this moment. and no matter what had happened before, no matter the paths you had walked, there was one undeniable truth that echoed through the core of your being: you were meant to be together.

you trembled as you cupped his face with shaking hands, your voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you’d felt across all lifetimes.

“katsuki,” you breathed, your heart pounding. “i… i love you. i always have, and i always will.”

his thumb traced the tear stains on your cheeks before lifting your chin, his gaze softening, but the passion in his eyes was unmistakable.

“i know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “i love you too, always. every lifetime, i find you. and i’ll keep finding you.”

in that moment, everything that had ever separated you- every pain, every fight, every lifetime- faded away. the world around you disappeared as you stood together, hearts in sync.

the universe had tried to pull you apart, had tried to erase the love you shared, but it had failed. you were soulmates- bound together in ways beyond time and death. no matter what came next, nothing would keep you apart.

you both leaned in, closing the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that sealed your fate. the kiss was not just a promise for this life, but for every life that had come before and every one that would follow.

and as the kiss deepened, as his arms tightened around you, you both knew- the story wasn’t over. it had never truly ended. it had only just begun.

—

this whole thing is based off the song would you fall in love with me again by jorge rivera-herrans, especially the last part of it. (no seriously. listened exactly 26 times while writing)

i’d love to write more about these universes! inbox is open.

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is part nine of the series, so chapters will be on the m.list.

☞ Link: click here.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: 🫢 Is all I have to say. It's a long one.

You can’t get Kimiko’s words out of your head.

"I think you and I both know you’re full of shit."

What did she mean by that? And why couldn’t you just let it go?

It wasn’t just the way she said it. It was the look in her eyes, the smug, knowing smirk tugging at her lips like she had figured something out before you did.

It irritated you to no end. Everything Kimiko did made you mad.

But this? This was something else entirely.

Her constant flirting with Bakugo got on your nerves, but more than that, it made you sad. Every time she leaned into his space, every time she laughed a little too sweetly at something, he said, every time she called him Katsuki so casually, like she had the right to? it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t jealousy, was it?

No. It was something worse. Something heavier. Because she could do all those things, and you couldn't. Or rather, you wouldn’t.

You sigh, rubbing your temples as you slump against your desk. Kimiko had a way of making sure her words stuck in your head like a splinter, and you hated it.

This was probably her plan all along, to make you overthink, to make you question yourself. And the worst part? It was working.

A sudden knock on your dorm door startles you out of your thoughts.

"Who is it?" You call out, still lying face-down on your desk.

"It’s me. Open up, dumbass."

Bakugo.

For some reason, your brain immediately goes into panic mode. You sit up straight, smoothing your hair down and glancing around your mess of a room. Why did it suddenly feel like a disaster zone? Why did you care?

You hurriedly shove a pile of clothes under your bed and straighten out your sheets before clearing your throat. Get it together.

"Um… come in!"

Bakugo opens the door, stepping inside, and you abruptly stop what you’re doing, frozen mid-motion like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Silence.

Bakugo lets out a small grunt before plopping down onto your bed like he owns the place.

Meanwhile, you just stand there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. Why were you acting like an idiot? He’d been in your room plenty of times before. Hell, he’d seen it in way worse conditions, so why were you acting like some flustered fool now?

"What brings you here, partner?" You lean against your desk, trying to act casual, trying, and failing.

Partner? Partner?! Could you sound any more stupid?

As if to further cement your humiliation, your elbow knocks over a pile of books, sending them tumbling to the floor.

"Shoot," you mutter, scrambling to pick them up.

From behind you, Bakugo lets out what sounds close to a laugh.

You freeze.

That was a laugh.

Your face burns as you quickly gather your books, your fingers fumbling. It was just a laugh. Just a laugh. Don’t be stupid, Y/N.

"So… you wearing that out?" Bakugo suddenly asks.

You glance down at yourself, oversized, wrinkled T-shirt (with a mysterious green stain you’d rather not think about), old sweats with a hole in the knee.

"Well, uh—wait. Out where?"

Bakugo stares at you like you’ve grown two heads.

"Seriously? You don’t remember?"

You blink. What the hell is he talking about?

"No? Did I forget a birthday? Whose did I forget? Kaminari? Kirishima? Mina—"

"No, you dumbass. Chill out." Bakugo rolls his eyes. "We’re going to the arcade. Me. You. The other extras."

Oh. Right.

Your stomach sinks a little. You had completely forgotten. It's probably because Kimiko would be there.

"Heh… right. I totally remembered that." You mumble, scratching the back of your head.

Bakugo narrows his eyes at you. "It’s not like you to forget."

His words catch you off guard. "Something on your mind?" That’s not something he usually asks.

"Er, uh, no. Just slipped, y’know?" You force a grin.

Bakugo doesn’t look convinced, but he lets it go.

"Right. Well, get ready unless you wanna go out looking like a damn hobo."

"Hey, not too much now." You chuckle, grateful for the shift in topic.

Bakugo huffs and stands up, heading for the door.

And you should let him go.

But you don’t.

Before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist.

Bakugo stiffens slightly, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. His expression is unreadable.

"Um… you can stay, y’know." Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "And we could head down together. Like we used to?"

For a second, he just stares at you, eyes scanning your face. Then...

"Okay."

You got an okay!?

You let go of his wrist and step back, heartbeat hammering in your chest as you quickly escape to the bathroom to change. You try really hard not to freak out.

By the time you and Bakugo head downstairs, everyone is already gathered in the common room. Kaminari jumps up from the couch the second he sees you.

"Finally! Took you two long enough. Let’s go!"

"God, Kaminari, could you be any more impatient?" Jirou sighs, standing up.

Kaminari and Jirou are the first ones out.

"Wow, man, I didn’t even have to drag you out this time," Kirishima teases.

"Shut up," Bakugo grumbles, walking past him.

Kimiko, because of course she does, immediately rushes to Bakugo’s side, smiling sweetly.

Major eye roll.

The arcade was alive with flashing neon lights, the sharp chimes of tokens clinking into machines, and the occasional victory yell from a lucky player.

The air smelled of buttered popcorn and cheap pizza, the kind that tasted way better than it should.

You had barely stepped inside when Kimiko started her Bakugo antics.

“Hey, Bakugo,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Wanna team up? I bet we’d destroy everyone else.”

Before Bakugo could respond, you felt his hand on your wrist.

“Nah,” he said, pulling you along. “Already got plans.”

Your heart jumped at the sudden contact, and Kimiko’s expression flickered, just for a second, before she forced on a smirk.

“Oh, I see,” she said, crossing her arms but making no effort to hide her displeasure. “Have fun, I guess.”

Bakugo didn’t even acknowledge her before leading you toward a row of games.

“Pick something,” he said, hands shoved in his pockets.

You grinned, trying to ignore the warmth still lingering from where he grabbed you. “What, giving me full control? That’s dangerous, Bakugo.”

“Tch. You act like I won’t kick your ass at whatever we play.”

That, of course, became the challenge of the night.

First game: Air hockey. You managed to score a few points, but Bakugo, with his stupidly good reflexes, sent the puck flying into your goal more times than you’d like to admit.

“Damn it,” you muttered, watching the scoreboard light up with his victory.

He smirked. “Hope you’re not gettin’ discouraged already.”

Second game: A co-op zombie shooter. The two of you stood side by side, plastic guns in hand, mowing down wave after wave of the undead. You weren’t sure if it was just the adrenaline or the fact that Bakugo actually made a pretty solid teammate, but you found yourself laughing at how serious he got, cursing every time he missed a shot.

By the time you reached the final boss, you were both on your last lives.

“Shit, move, dumbass, you’re in my line of fire!”

“You move, I’m covering your left!”

Somehow, you both landed the final shot at the same time, causing the screen to flash VICTORY! in bold letters.

You turned to Bakugo, grinning. “We actually make a decent team.”

He snorted. “Obviously. You’d be dead without me.”

Final game: The claw machine.

Bakugo wasn’t one for the “kiddy” games, but after catching you eyeing a plush sitting in the pile of prizes, he shoved a few tokens in without a word.

“You don’t have to win me anything,” you said, watching as he maneuvered the claw with expert precision.

“Didn’t ask,” he muttered.

It took him three tries, but eventually, the claw managed to grab hold of a stuffed bear with lopsided button eyes and a slightly crooked smile. He pulled it out and tossed it to you, acting as if it was no big deal.

You hugged the bear close. “He looks a little messed up.”

“Yeah, well, figured he suits you.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “What should we name him?”

Bakugo tilted his head, pretending to think. “Dynamutt.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s awful.”

“Like you could come up with somethin’ better.” He mutters.

You glanced down at the bear and grinned. “Fine. Dynamutt it is.”

By the time you all returned to the dormitories, everyone had collected their fair share of arcade prizes.

Kirishima had an armful of plushies from a rigged punching game. Mina somehow ended up with a collection of flashy LED glasses. Kaminari and Sero had spent most of their time hoarding candy from a ticket machine.

You held Dynamutt close as you flopped onto one of the common room couches, exhausted but content.

Bakugo sat down on the opposite couch, and before you could blink, Kimiko plopped down beside him, far too close for comfort.

“So,” she started, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Did you have fun tonight?”

Bakugo just shrugged. “I guess.”

Kimiko giggled, tilting her head. “You’re always so hard to please, huh?”

You watched as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping just a little lower.

“You know, I bet I could make things more fun for you,” she added, her fingers barely brushing against his arm.

You clenched your jaw. There it was again, that same feeling that had burned in your chest at the party and many times after.

The frustration, the annoyance, the overwhelming urge to say something.

But not here. Not in front of everyone.

“I’m gonna get some fresh air,” you mumbled, standing up abruptly. “Be back soon.”

Sero, who had been watching the entire thing, shot you a knowing look before getting up as well. “Yeah, me too.”

The cool night air was a relief against your heated skin as you leaned against the railing outside the dorms.

Sero stood beside you, silent for a moment before finally speaking.

“She really gets to you, huh?” He said, casually shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me. I know the feeling.”

You turned to him. “Kimiko?”

Sero sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I mean, I know I don’t have a chance or whatever, but watching her go after Bakugo like that… it sucks.”

You hesitated before admitting,

“I don’t even know why it bothers me so much. I mean, I do, but…”

“But?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s like some part of me still doesn’t want to admit it.”

“That you love him?” Sero blurts out.

The words made your stomach flip. "Yeah.." You kick a small pebble.

Sero smiled knowingly. “Denial’s a bitch, huh?”

You groaned. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Nah, I’m the best. And I think you should tell him.”

You gave him a look. “Oh yeah? And what about you? Gonna confess to Kimiko?”

Sero huffed. “Hell no.” Then, after a pause: “Maybe.”

You both laughed, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter.

“C’mon,” you finally said, nudging his arm.

“Let’s head back.”

As the two of you step back into the common room, you hear Kimiko’s voice cut through the air.

"Y'know, Katsuki, if you want to hold someone's hand, you could just ask me." She tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. "I wouldn’t make you work for it."

There's something in Bakugo’s eyes that tells you he's barely back his frustration. He takes a deep breath before responding.

"Could you stop that? It's annoying."

Kimiko’s expression falters just for a moment before deciding to continue. "Oh come, Katsuki, you know you like it." She reaches out to touch his arm once more, but he shifts away from her.

No, I don’t," he says, voice firm, final. "I never have."

Silence falls over the room. Kirishima shifts awkwardly, looking like he’s about to step in, but Bakugo isn’t done yet.

"I’ve just been putting up with it because I didn’t wanna deal with the drama." His voice is sharper now, frustration rolling off him. "But you’re annoying as hell, and I don’t like it, so stop."

The weight of his words hangs in the air.

You and Sero, still standing near the doorway, exchange a glance. This is... a lot.

Even Kaminari and Jirou, who had been hanging around earlier, had the good sense to disappear before things got worse.

Kimiko mutters something under her breath, too quiet for you to hear before pushing off the couch. She leaves without another word.

Mina sighs, rubbing her temples before grabbing Kirishima’s wrist. "Come on, Red, we should check on her."

Kirishima hesitates but follows. "That was kinda harsh, man," he mutters to Bakugo before leaving.

"Well, that was—" You turn to Sero, only to find him gone.

You huff a quiet laugh. Traitor.

Bakugo looks up at the sound, his usual scowl still in place. You hesitate for a second before walking over, dropping into the seat Kimiko had left empty.

Silence stretches between you both.

It’s not uncomfortable, though. Silence has always been your thing.

"You heard all that?" he finally mutters.

"Yeah..." You pick at your sleeve, not sure how else to respond.

There’s another pause before Bakugo exhales sharply, his voice lower when he speaks again.

"I don’t get why people think I’m into that flirty crap. It’s annoying." His gaze flickers toward you, then away just as quickly. "Not my thing."

"Then why did you tolerate it?" you ask.

You’ve spent months watching Kimiko flirt with him. At times, he barely reacted. Others he seemed to like it, so you assumed he was fine with it. But now? Now he’s snapping, like he’s had enough.

"’Cause damn Shitty Hair wanted me to," Bakugo mutters. "He said she was just trying to be friends with me, so I let it go. And she’s an okay sparring partner, I guess."

"Oh... I see..."

There’s something heavier in his voice now, something that goes beyond just Kimiko. You wait, and sure enough, he keeps going.

"After the war," he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself, "everything felt… different."

He exhales sharply, frustrated. "I know I probably worried the hell outta everyone, almost dyin’ and all. I feel like, like I gotta make up for that somehow. Be better. Do shit right."

You swallow. "You did worry everyone," you admit softly. "Me, especially."

Bakugo clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists in his lap. "I know, and I hate that," he mutters. "I hate knowing I made everyone go through that."

His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and there’s something raw within his expression.

"That’s why I let that shit slide. Why I put up with dumb crap like Kimiko’s flirting. ‘Cause it felt like… I dunno, something I should do."

You feel your heart tighten in your chest. "You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Bakugo."

"I know, and that's why you’re the only one I don’t gotta pretend around."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"You’ve always been my best friend, but—" he hesitates, just for a second, before pushing forward. "You’re different. You always have been."

Sero’s advice flashes through your head.

And suddenly, you feel like you’re on the edge of something terrifying.

Your hands clench into fists. "Bakugo..."

His eyes meet yours.

"Katsuki, idiot," he corrects automatically.

Your pulse races.

"Katsuki," you say, and his name feels heavier in your mouth than it ever has before.

His brows furrow slightly, like he can sense something shifting. "What?"

You take a breath.

And then, before fear can stop you, you say it.

"I’m in love with you."

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

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Guys my favorite show is on

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts are here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6.

Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: This is a short one, but I think it's so cutie, more Bakugo interaction, BTW.

Summer break has faded away, replaced by the crisp air of fall. Leaves have begun to turn, the days growing shorter. The drama with Kimiko has died down, or at least, people stopped talking about it, but her relentless flirting with Bakugo hasn’t.

Lately, though, he seems more annoyed than anything. Maybe she’s finally starting to get on his nerves.

You’re curled up in your dorm, textbooks open but barely registering as you absentmindedly tap your pencil against the page.

A sudden knock breaks your focus. Furrowing your brows, you get up and open the door to find Bakugo standing there, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets.

"Bakugo?" You blink, surprised. "Hey…"

"Hey. Come on, let’s go."

You stare at him. "Go where?"

He exhales sharply, like this is harder than it should be. "Just... hang out. You and me."

Your heart stutters at you and me, but you school your expression before he can notice. He’s not the type to just ask people to hang out. Not unless he has a reason.

Still, you nod. "Alright."

The two of you leave campus together, the cool autumn breeze rustling through the trees. The scent of fallen leaves and distant bonfires lingers in the air. After walking in silence for a bit, you finally ask...

"So… where are we going?"

"I saw this café ad a while back. Figured you’d like it." He mutters it like it’s not a big deal, but the fact that he even thought about it means something.

A small smile tugs at your lips. "Oh. Alright then. Lead the way."

He grunts in acknowledgment and keeps walking.

The café is small but inviting, its exterior adorned with warm string lights and an old wooden sign. He holds the door open for you without a word. The scent of fresh pastries and coffee wraps around you like a blanket as you step inside.

You both order hot cocoa, Bakugo grumbling about how "coffee’s just burnt bean water" when the cashier hands it to him, and head back outside, walking toward a nearby park.

The world around you is quiet, save for the crunch of leaves beneath your feet. The pond reflects the golden hues of autumn, rippling slightly in the breeze.

Despite being the one to invite you out, Bakugo hasn’t said much. Not that you’ve been any better.

You tighten your grip around your cup, the warmth grounding you. "What’s going on with us, Katsuki?" The words slip out before you can stop them. They taste like salt on your tongue.

Bakugo glances at you from the corner of his eye. "The hell are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean." You exhale.

"We don’t talk like we used to. We barely spend time together. It’s like, we’re drifting apart."

Bakugo scoffs, but there’s no real bite behind it. He doesn’t say anything right away, just stares out at the water.

The silence is unbearable.

"You’re my best friend, Katsuki," you say quietly. "But lately, it doesn’t feel like it."

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond.

Then...

"For one, you keep calling me ‘Bakugo,’" he mutters.

"What?"

He exhales, shaking his head. "You’re not a damn stranger. Call me by my first name."

The request, no, demand, hits you harder than you expect.

"Second," he continues, voice lower now, "yeah… we’ve drifted. I’ll admit it."

His jaw tightens, and for once, he looks almost uncomfortable. "But I don’t wanna stop being friends. Alright?"

You feel a weight lift off your chest. "I don’t want that either, Katsuki."

"Good." He takes another sip of his cocoa, eyes fixed on the pond. "Promise me something?"

"What?"

He suddenly reaches over, grabbing your pinkie with his own and locking them together. His hand is warm, rough from years of training.

"Promise we’ll spend more time together."

A small laugh escapes you. "A pinkie promise?"

"Tch." He scowls but doesn’t let go. "Just shut up and do it." You squeeze his pinkie with yours.

"Promise."

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes @snoozebun @wowbn

HOLY MOLY GUYS

Birds and Fish

★Pairing:

Pro Hero! And soon to be ex Husband!Keigo Takami x Pro Hero!Still legal Wife!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and your estranged husband shows up to your apartment to... take you out?

Warning: Extreme angst and fluff, suggestive themes, drinking, heartbreak, mutual pinning, touching and kissing, bad mental health, broken vases, broken dishes, preditor and prey, teasing, not really unfrequented love, heartbreak, hoping, depression, intimacy.

Wc: long, No ageless blogs! MDNI!!!

More info at the end. Use song: Of Monsters And Men - Little Talks

Slight spoiler: I wrote the flashback two different ways to represent how our brains twist painful memories.

This is the 3rd installment of my Valentines day series.

(Check my mha master list for more characters.)

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The morning is cold, but Keigo barely feels it as he stands outside your condo, wings tucked tight against his back, fingers flexing at his sides. He’s been here for ten minutes already, gathering his courage, trying to find the right words, the right tone. Something easy, something smooth, something that won’t make you him out of your head.

He raps his knuckles against the door, but it isn’t you who answers.

"Sorry birdie," Rumi drawls, leaning against the frame like she’s been expecting him all day. Her ears flick lazily before she leans aside just enough to let him see inside. 

"Kitty cat doesn’t want to play today."

Keigo opens his mouth to argue, but the twitch of her ears is all the warning he gets before she sidesteps, and a vase comes flying straight for his face.

Glass explodes against the doorframe as he dodges, shards embedding themselves in the wood and skittering across the ground. He exhales slowly, resisting the urge to shake out his wings, and instead, he just tilts his head toward the room beyond.

"That any way to treat an old friend, sweetheart?" 

His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something beneath it—

Something raw, something desperate.

He sees the flick of your tail's shadow before he sees you, a lazy sway from where you’re perched on the arm of your couch, one leg crossed over the other. You’ve got your claws out, the tips of your nails clicking idly against the glass of another— intact —vase on the side table.

Your pupils are blown, slitted eyes reflecting the light in that eerily beautiful way that always makes his breath catch. Smoke curls from your lips, disappearing into the dim lighting.

Rumi huffs, stepping back inside. "I’m not cleaning that up."

"Don’t have to," you reply smoothly, voice like silk dragged over velvet. Your lashes flutter as you finally, finally turn your gaze to him. 

"Keigo will do it, won’t you, baby?"

That shouldn’t do as much to him as it does. He knows you’re being cruel—playing with him the way you always have, even before everything went to hell. But his fingers still twitch at his sides, still aching to reach for you.

"Anything for you, dove." 

His voice is softer now, almost a whisper.

Rumi looks between the two of you and groans. "Alright, I’m out. But if you kill him, I’m not helping you hide the body." She grabs her purse and coat before leaving out the door, white trainers making crunchy noises against the floor. 

Rude , she’d have helped you hide any other body. 

You hum noncommittally as she heads for the elevator. The second it shuts, the air between you thickens.

Keigo takes a step forward, and you don’t move—don’t stiffen, don’t react, just keep watching him with those unblinking, inhumanly sharp eyes. He has to remind himself to breathe.

"Can we talk?"

A beat of silence. Then, you lift your chin slightly, lashes lowering. 

"Inside."

He barely hears the words over the sound of his own heartbeat. But he follows you in without hesitation.

Your condo is nothing like the home you once shared with Keigo. It’s clinical, sleek, too neat. There’s no clutter, no misplaced shoes by the door, no feathers caught between couch cushions. 

No warmth. 

The air inside is still, save for the faint scent of something citrusy and sharp—one of the only things that covers the trace of venom in your breath. The furniture is modern, leather and glass, not a single soft edge in sight. 

Even the throw pillows on the couch are pristine, arranged just so. Keigo’s eyes flick to the sink, the pipes lined with that special metal finish to prevent your venom from eating through them, the custom silverware drying in a dish rack, a reminder of all the precautions you have to take just to exist in the same space as other people.

But there aren’t any other people here. Just you. Just him.

You saunter toward the bar cart in the corner, tail flicking as you reach for a bottle, pouring yourself a drink with slow, deliberate movements. You don’t offer him one.

Keigo watches, silent for once. He’s been in too many rooms like this. He knows the signs. You haven’t made this place a home—you’ve made it a hideout. A place to exist, not to live. And that realization makes something inside him twist so violently he has to clench his fists to keep from reaching for you.

"You gonna speak, or just stand there lookin' pretty?" 

Your voice is a purr, lazy, amused. But he knows you too well. That’s just how you hide the venom.

He swallows, stepping further inside, ignoring the broken glass from your little greeting still scattered near the door. 

"What happened to us?"

You sigh dramatically, swirling the liquid in your glass.

"We got divorced, birdie. Try to keep up."

"That’s not an answer."

"Sure it is."

You finally turn to face him fully, your tail curling loosely around your leg, those slit pupils of yours narrowing as they catch the light. Your gaze flicks to the faint cuts on his hands from the glass, and Keigo thinks—hopes—for a second that you might care. But then you take another slow sip, and whatever softness he thought he saw disappears.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" His voice is quieter now, rougher. Your lips curl slightly.

"Enlighten me."

"You’re trying to make me hate you."

You don’t react. Not at first. But he sees the way your fingers tighten around the glass, the way your ears twitch, betraying you.

"Is it working?" you murmur.

Keigo exhales sharply, shaking his head. 

"No."

You click your tongue, setting your drink down on the bar cart with a little more force than necessary. 

"Shame."

There’s a long pause, tension stretched between you so tight it might snap at any second. Then, finally, you lean back against the cart, crossing your arms over your chest, nails tapping idly against the fabric of your sleeve. 

"Why are you here, Keigo?"

"You know why."

"You should be getting ready for your fancy gala, smiling for the cameras, being Japan’s golden boy."

"Not in the mood."

You hum, tilting your head. "They’ll notice you’re gone."

"Let them."

That catches you off guard. He sees it in the flicker of surprise that crosses your face, quick as a heartbeat before it’s buried under something unreadable. You exhale, reaching up to push your hair back. 

"You make everything so difficult."

Keigo steps closer. 

"And you make everything so damn lonely."

That—finally—makes you falter. Just a little. 

But it’s enough.

"Why, love?" His voice is softer now, breaking at the edges.

"Why’d you really leave?"

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Because he deserves the truth, doesn’t he? After everything, after all the years spent in each other’s arms, in each other’s shadows.

But the truth is ugly. And you’ve never been the type to hand Keigo something he can’t handle. Even now, after everything, after you left.

So instead, you force a smirk, stepping forward to slide your fingers under the knot of his tie, tugging him just close enough to feel the heat of your breath against his lips.

"I left," you whisper, "Because I knew you’d chase me."

Keigo’s breath stutters. His hands twitch.

And then you let go, stepping back, putting a wall between you again.

"Now," you sigh, picking up your drink, "If you’re done being sentimental, you can see yourself out."

But Keigo doesn’t move.

Doesn’t turn, doesn’t back away.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. Something velvet. Something with your name on it.

Your breath catches.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Not without an answer."

The morning light filters through the sheer curtains as you pull them back, casting a pale glow across the pristine walls of your condo. The city hums softly beyond the glass, an orchestra of distant sirens and traffic, a constant reminder that the world moves on regardless of your choices.

You lift your glass to your lips, savoring the last bitter sip before setting it down with a deliberate click. Behind you, Keigo still stands in the center of the room, that damn velvet box in his hands.

Your fingers twitch, but you don’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you stare out over the skyline. Being a Pro Hero should mean something, but for you, it’s always been more of a balancing act.

The media has never truly trusted you—not with the kind of power you wield, not with a quirk as inherently dangerous as yours. You’ve spent your career fighting for a place at the table, only to be met with suspicion. The public adores their heroes, but they only ever tolerate you.

And now, post-separation, they don’t even do that.

The headlines were merciless when the news first broke.

Pro Heroes Hawks and Nightfang’s scandalous divorce. 

'Nightfang’s betrayal.'

Every news outlet framed you as the villain, the gold digger, the attention seeker. They spewed theories, spun tales of infidelity or deceit, but none of them knew the truth. Not a single one of them understood the slow unraveling of something that once felt indestructible.

And Keigo—damn him—never defended himself.

Only you.

He stood in front of cameras and brushed off questions with a shrug, a lazy smile, a tilt of his head. He called you an incredible woman. He said he would always support you. He told the world that love is complicated, but that you weren’t the villain in this story.

But when the cameras were off, when the interviews ended, when he came home to an empty penthouse that still carried the ghost of your laughter, Keigo had to face the truth.

You weren’t coming back.

Legally, the two of you are still married. You filed for divorce, but he never signed the papers. He refuses. You’ve been separated for a year now, and once the two-year mark hits, you’ll be dragging him back to court to finalize it whether he likes it or not. That’s the plan. But Keigo—stubborn, maddening, infuriating Keigo—isn’t going to let you go so easily.

He tried. At first.

But then Endeavor and Touya got involved. And when two of the most emotionally constipated men in Japan actually agreed on something for once, Keigo started listening.

“You’re insane if you think you’ll ever find something like that again,” Touya had scoffed, tossing a cigarette off the balcony of Keigo’s penthouse. “You’ve had the real thing, and you’re just gonna let her walk? That’s weak.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Endeavor had muttered, arms crossed. 

“You’re a hero, but you’re still a man. Fight for her.”

So Keigo fought.

He scared off every court-mandated counselor assigned to help mediate the separation. He dodged meetings, refused legal summons, and ensured that nothing about his life changed.

Your clothes were still in the closet. Your favorite mug is still sitting by the coffee machine. Hell, your toothbrush—your damn toothbrush—remains untouched in the holder beside his.

And yet, the scent of you is gone.

Late at night, when sleep refused to come, he would reach for your pillow, hoping for something— anything —that still carried your warmth. But it was just fabric. Cold. Empty. The absence of you felt like a weight in his chest, like hunger gnawing at his ribs, an ache that wouldn’t fade.

It terrified him, that feeling. 

Because it wasn’t just loneliness. 

It was abandonment.

Keigo swallows hard, shaking himself from his thoughts as you finally turn, your gaze landing on the small velvet box in his hands. Your expression remains unreadable, but he catches the flicker of something in your eyes—recognition, hesitation, something softer before it’s buried beneath layers of indifference.

"You kept them." Your voice is quiet, but not surprised.

"Of course I did." His grip tightens slightly. "What did you think? That I’d toss them like some old trinket?"

You say nothing.

He steps closer, the distance between you shrinking.

"Open it."

You don’t move.

Keigo exhales sharply, bringing the box to his own hands, flicking it open with his thumb. Inside, nestled against the plush lining, are the rings—your rings. Your wedding band, sleek and elegant, gleams under the morning light. And beside it, his own.

Unworn, untouched. Still yours.

"Tell me," his voice drops, rough and raw, 

"Do you still want this to be over?"

You look at him—the man you came to love so deeply, so wholly, that it still aches in places you thought had long gone numb. Keigo Takami. Hawks. The man who once had nothing, just a lonely kid with clipped wings, and somehow, against all odds, became your everything.

Your fingers tighten around the wine glass in your hands, not from anger, but from the weight of the memories pressing against your chest.

You remember it all so vividly—your wedding, if you could even call it that. No grand venue, no media coverage, no designer gowns or custom tuxedos. Just you, in a t-shirt and jeans, standing beside him in the city hall courthouse. Your closest friends, your grandfather, and a love so real it felt like the very foundation of the life you were building together. Back before the multimillion-dollar contracts, before either of you were B-list celebrities—hell, even before you were D-list heroes.

People had called you foolish. They’d whispered that it wouldn’t last, that Keigo would leave you someday. 

Find someone younger, someone prettier, someone who wasn’t… you.

But Keigo never strayed. Never looked at another woman the way he looked at you. 

Not once.

You knew the kind of childhood he had survived, the scars buried beneath his charm, the silent desperation in the way he clung to you when nightmares crept in. You were his family. And he was yours.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much.

Because when the rest of the world turned its back on you, when the media vilified you, when complete strangers condemned you, Keigo had always been your safe place. 

And now? 

Now you were each other’s greatest source of pain.

At least there were no kids to get lost in this mess. No innocent lives tangled in the wreckage of what the two of you had built and lost. Just two people, bound by love and tragedy, trying to navigate the wreckage without losing themselves in the process.

And yet, even now, late at night, you still hear him.

That warm hum, soft as a whisper, waking you from the edge of sleep. It takes a moment before you recognize it—his voice, murmuring wedding vows in the quiet. The same ones he spoke to you five years ago in that tiny courthouse, when the only thing you had to your names was each other.

"I don’t have much, but everything I am, everything I have, it’s yours. It always will be."

Keigo has offered a vow renewal more times than you can count. And every time, you refuse. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks you deserve more, that he didn’t do right by you back then. That now, with money, status, and power, he can finally give you something extravagant—something worthy of you. But that courthouse wedding? That day, five years ago? It was perfect.

You’ve told him that before.

And Keigo, with that quiet, unreadable stare, had only shaken his head and whispered, “That was the bare minimum.”

He doesn’t get it. 

And moments like this—when he stands in front of you, ring box in hand, eyes pleading even when he doesn’t say a word—it’s so damn hard to be mad at him.

Because Keigo Takami, for all his recklessness, for all his stubbornness, has never once stopped loving you.

The rings clink softly against the table, the weight of them heavier than it should be. Your sigh feels like it’s been building in your chest for years, clawing its way up your throat, but when it finally escapes, it doesn’t bring relief. It just leaves you empty.

You rub your face, fingertips pressing into your temples, before retreating into the corner like you always do when you’re overwhelmed. The space feels too small, too tight, but the pressure grounds you. Keigo shifts in your periphery, body tensing like he’s about to reach for you, and you know that if he gets too close, you’ll break.

Your mouth fills with saliva, hot and acrid, your body rejecting the wine and venom swirling in your stomach. Before Keigo can take another step, you bolt, vaulting over the table, sprinting to the kitchen sink just in time.

Everything comes up in sharp, burning waves—wine, acid, poison—and you grip the edges of the sink, gasping between shuddering breaths. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Keigo is there, gathering your hair into his hands, his fingers gentle against your scalp.

The silk press you got last week—because you didn’t have the energy to deal with your hair, because life has felt so heavy—slides smooth between his fingers. He holds it back carefully, rubbing your back in slow, familiar circles, keeping his touch light like he knows any more might send you over the edge.

He doesn’t say anything when you try to push him away, just turns on the water and helps you rinse your mouth. The sink is steaming, curling around your face like fog, and when you spit again, the heat clings to your skin. Your body feels drained, exhausted down to your bones, but Keigo stays close, watching you carefully.

You can see the concern in the way his eyes flicker over your frame, the way his jaw clenches. You know you look bad. You feel worse. The dark circles under your eyes are deeper than usual, your limbs too thin, your clothes hanging looser than they should.

And then his gaze shifts—past you, past the sink—to the countertop.

To the empty bottles.

You don’t even like wine like that.

Keigo’s expression doesn’t change, but you can feel something inside him shift.

He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. He just hands you a cup of water, watching like a hawk as you take small sips, as you swallow down the Tylenol he places in your palm. Then, without a word, he starts emptying the bottles. One by one, he pours them down the drain, his movements sharp, controlled. You don’t try to stop him.

You just watch.

When he’s done, he tosses the bottles into the trash with finality, dusting his hands off before turning to you. His shoulders drop, just slightly, before he nods to the kitchen table.

“Sit,” he murmurs.

You hesitate, but your body is too tired to fight him.

The smell hits you first—warm, savory, familiar. A bowl of noodles, steam curling from the surface, two soft-boiled eggs nestled in the broth. Light spice, mild enough for your stomach. Next to it, a glass of green tea.

Your favorite.

Keigo slides into the chair across from you, setting his own bowl down. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push—just eats with you, slow and steady, letting the weight of his presence do all the talking.

The food smells too good to ignore. And you don’t want to be alone right now.

So you eat.

He watches, not too obviously, but you can feel it. The tension in his shoulders eases when you take another bite, and by the time your bowl is empty, your eyelids are heavier, your body slumping against the chair.

You don’t protest when he leads you to the couch, wrapping you in soft blankets from God knows where. He pulls you against his chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

Your couch is too hard, because you never bothered making this place comfortable. Most nights, you sleep on the hardwood floor because it’s easier than trying to rest in a bed that doesn’t have him in it.

Maybe you got married too young. Your frontal lobes weren’t even fully developed yet.

Or maybe this was always bound to happen.

You already know how this will go.

Keigo will stay until you make him leave. He’ll linger for a few days, maybe a few weeks, before finally stepping back. Then the gifts will start showing up at your door—never at your agency anymore, at least he learned that much.

And then, eventually, he’ll come back.

And when he does, you’ll scream as you push him away. Because his feathers will be scattered across your apartment, lingering on the floor, stuck to your clothes, hidden in the creases of your couch.

And no matter how much you tell yourself to, you won’t have the heart to throw them out.

Because you still love him. 

“Hm.”

Your laugh is barely more than a breath, but it still surprises you. It rumbles against Keigo’s chest, and you feel the way he tenses beneath you, like he’s trying to commit the sound to memory.

When he glances down at you, you tell him it’s because noodles and green tea were all you guys could afford back then, before the fame, before the headlines, before everything got so complicated.

Keigo nods, his lips pressing into a firm line, but there’s something in his eyes—something distant, something almost mournful. “The food act you started is doing really well,” he says after a moment, his voice steady. “Lots of donations are coming in. People are getting at least two hot meals a day.”

You smile, a small, fleeting thing.

Of course, Keigo made sure of it. Whatever you wanted to do, he always fronted the money, always stepped in as the face of it. Not because he wanted credit, but because people were more willing to listen to him than a woman who looked like you.

You don’t even need to say it out loud. He already knows.

A snake. 

That’s what they called you. 

Strange, considering the soft curve of your cat-like ears atop your head, the way your tail flicks when you’re irritated, the sharp, clawed nails you keep polished and neat. Maybe it’s your eyes, slitted and gold lined, too predatory for their liking. 

Maybe it’s your teeth, sharp enough to tear through flesh, or the venom you can spit through the gaps between them, burning hot as it hisses against the air.

Or maybe it’s just because they needed an easy way to hate you.

Whatever. You don’t care anymore.

You’re just so tired.

Waking up has been hard. Brushing your teeth feels like a chore. Standing too fast makes your head spin.

Maybe it’s just too many bad days, piled on top of each other, weighing you down.

Or maybe it’s something else.

It’s weird—the way you’ve started signing Keigo’s last name again without thinking. You mean to use your maiden name when handling business, but the moment the pen touches paper, it’s his that spills out in ink.

Because it doesn’t feel like your name anymore.

Not after the media found out about your marriage.

Not after they twisted it, stripped you of any identity outside of him.

It became his name. And you? 

You weren’t even a partial owner.

You sigh, pressing your forehead against his collarbone, letting yourself drift for just a moment. You and Keigo go way back—back before the tabloids, back before the industry swallowed him whole, back when you had braids and he hadn’t yet fallen into the machine that chewed him up and spit him out as Hawks.

Back when it was just you and him, sitting on the floor of your first apartment, no furniture, barely making rent, sharing instant noodles and laughing like the world wasn’t out to break you.

Keigo sits up a little, his arms still around you but tense now, his golden eyes locked onto your face, searching for something. 

Anything.

“Can I ask you something?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your gaze is fixed on the silver screen, but you’re not really watching anymore. The cartoon you grew up on plays like white noise in the background, a relic of a simpler time—back when the only thing you had to worry about was making ends meet, back when it was just you and him against the world.

Back before the lights got too bright. Before the whispers got too loud. 

Before loving each other started to hurt.

You understand why he doesn’t want to go back to that apartment, why he hates the memories in those old walls. You do, but at the same time, you don’t. Because back then, you had each other. More than you do now, more than when you both became names with too much weight to carry.

Before the cameras, before the meetings and hushed conversations about his image with you. Before your interviews turned sharp-edged, laced with bitterness neither of you knew how to swallow.

Before there were meetings about your marriage. Before your image turned sour.

You know why he works so hard to give you a soft life, but you refuse his money, refuse to go half on anything. You both got married without a prenup, so as far as you’re concerned, he can keep his things, and you’ll keep yours.

But Keigo is a selfish man.

He wants everything.

Not the house, not the cars—those are just things, and he’s never cared much for things.

He wants you .

Not as a trophy wife, not as a possession, but as the one person who’s ever really seen him in a room full of people. The one who showed him what his heart was worth. And even though yours is torn to shreds, even though you’ve spent so long pushing him away, he wants to be there with a sewing kit and new fabric, trying to stitch you back together, piece by piece.

"Would you run away with me?"

Your head turns slowly, eyes meeting his. "Run away to where? America? Some place where they don’t know my face or name?" Your voice is flat, tired. "You’d never be able to leave, Keigo. You have a duty here."

Keigo takes a deep, almost steady breath, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he clarifies.

"Run away with me for today. For Valentine’s Day. "

Your playful smile vanishes. You frown, turning back toward the screen. 

"I hate when you joke like that."

"It’s not a joke."

The way he spits it—low, urgent—makes something in your chest ache.

He isn’t talking about some grand escape. He isn’t asking you to drop everything, to disappear with him to some foreign country, to run from the weight of your names.

He’s asking for today.

One day where there are no cameras, no expectations, no headlines.

Just you and him, like it used to be.

"It’s not a joke," he repeats, softer this time.

"You can't breathe air into my lungs if I don't want it, Keigo."

"Then I'll be a vacuum cleaner and press reverse."

"There you go again—forcing me into what you think is best for me."

"Please, just come home."

"I'd rather be in hell than alone."

You haven't been back since the night you left. You packed a suitcase with the same clothes you arrived with, taking nothing more than your hero costume.

And now you were gone.

It killed Keigo to come home and see the place torn apart, to live in the wreckage of everything you left behind. For a while, he did. That’s why he moved into the penthouse—because the house, as beautiful as it was, hurt too much.

Acres of land, a guarded estate, a quiet escape in the countryside—it was supposed to be a dream. Now, it’s just a memory.

But that night stays with him. The night you begged— fucking begged —him, his wife, who should never have had to beg for anything in her life. And yet, you did. Standing there in your designer black dress, glittering under the dim lights, mascara running like an unchecked faucet, pooling at the base of your throat as if your own tears were branding you, drowning out your voice.

Begging him to stay. To choose you over the public. Because you needed him.

And he didn’t.

—————

Keigo doesn’t notice the way your hands start to shake as the commotion around you grows louder. He doesn’t notice how the weight of the room feels like it’s pressing into your skull, the voices, the shuffling, the endless chatter about the schedule and the press and the fucking charity event drowning you like a tidal wave.

He doesn’t notice the way you break.

Not at first.

You're already on your knees, sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor in your black designer gown, the shimmer of it making the streaks of makeup down your cheeks look even darker. Your chest is rising and falling too quickly, your breathing uneven, like the oxygen in the room is running out. Your nails are digging into the fabric around your arms, and you’re begging him, voice hoarse from holding everything in for years.

"Please."

That’s all you can manage at first. You don’t know what else to say, how else to convince him, how else to make him see you.

"Please don’t go."

Keigo exhales slowly, standing tall in his gilded tux, his hands adjusting the cuffs like he’s getting ready for war, and in a way, he is. The hero industry is a battlefield, and he’s always been a soldier. Always been good at following orders, at knowing when and where to strike, when to play the game.

You’re not part of the game.

You never were.

"You know I can’t just not go," he says, like he’s trying to be reasonable, like this is an explanation instead of an excuse. "This event is important."

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. 

Important.

"What about me ?" you whisper, gripping your dress tighter.

His jaw tightens. "Don’t do that."

"Do what , Keigo?"

He sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings fluttering once in irritation. The movement sends a loose feather drifting to the floor between you, and you hate how that simple sight makes something in your chest ache .

" This ," he gestures at you vaguely. "Acting like I don’t—"

"Like you don’t what ?" You cut him off, eyes locking onto his. "See me? Hear me? Like you haven’t left me behind over and over again?"

He stiffens at that.

"You always have somewhere else to be, Keigo," you whisper, your hands releasing your dress to clutch at your chest instead, like you can physically hold yourself together.

"Always someone else to be with. Always something more important than me."

"That's not fair," he snaps. "You know that’s not true."

"Do I?" Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, laughing wetly, eyes burning. " Tell me , Keigo—when was the last time you chose me ?" He looks at you, but he doesn’t say anything. Not even one word.

Because he knows.

He fucking knows .

And for not the first time tonight, you feel empty.

Because what’s the point of screaming at a wall? What’s the point of pouring your heart out into hands that are too full to hold it?

Your voice is quieter now. Depleted.

"I’m done."

That makes his entire body tense, golden eyes snapping to yours, lips parting slightly in disbelief.

"What?"

"I don’t wanna fight anymore." You sniff hard, wiping your eyes, smearing the mess on your face further. 

"I just wanted love and comfort. That’s it."

Keigo moves forward, like he’s about to kneel in front of you, but before he can, there’s a loud knock on the door, followed by frantic voices calling his name.

They need him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. He hesitates, but only for a second. Then he sighs, leans down, and presses a quick kiss to your ruined cheek.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home, okay?"

Your breath catches in your throat.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door closes behind him, and the noise follows, his footsteps fading down the hall as the staff and managers rush after him.

You don’t move.

You just sit there, staring at the empty space he left behind, blinking slowly as another hot tear slips past your lashes, burning as it carves a path down your cheek. It drips from your chin, landing against the fabric of your dress. And in the silence of the house you once called home , you whisper,

"I need you."

But he’s already gone.

You don’t move at first when you hear all the cars drive away. 

Because your mental state was just that bad —so bad that the thought of standing under a thousand flashing lights, surrounded by cameras and whispers, made your stomach turn. Because you knew how it would go. You’d smile, pose, play the part, and by morning, they’d have spun some new evil story about you. As if you craved attention so desperately that you needed everyone’s eyes on you—even at a charity ball.

And Keigo stood there, dressed in gold, the picture of perfection, while the staff bustled around you, stepping over your crumpled form on the floor of your own home. As if you weren’t there. As if you were just a nuisance, inconveniencing a man who had far better things to do.

Honestly, what did he ever see in you?

The rumors never stopped. That he must have been tricked, roped into this marriage. That Hawks, the patron saint of the hero world, hadn’t just cleaned up the streets—he’d done an act of charity by taking in a disaster of a woman like you.

And maybe, tonight, he believed it.

He dismissed the staff. His managers. But it was too late. 

The damage was already done.

He tried to explain earlier. Tried to tell you why he couldn’t just not go. That you needed to pull yourself together. And that’s when something inside you snapped.

"I’ve been pulling myself together for you for seven years, Keigo. Seven."

From the very beginning, people told you that you’d never measure up. That you needed to hold on tight to him before he came to his senses. And now, standing in the middle of this too big, too cold house, you finally hit your breaking point.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The world spun too fast, too violently, and he—he couldn’t even take a moment to comfort you?

Really?

He’d rather stand there and watch you unravel? 

The two of you were screaming now, voices ricocheting off the high ceilings. But you weren’t even angry anymore. Not really.

"I don’t want to fight, Keigo. I just wanted love. I just wanted comfort."

His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. People were banging on the door, reminding him that he needed to go. And you—you just stood there. Silent. Watching.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home," he told you, pressing a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek before walking out the bedroom door.

And you let him go.

The moment the door clicked shut, a single, burning tear slipped down your cheek, curving along your jaw as you whispered, "I need you."

But there was no one left to hear it.

The house was empty. Silent.

No one called. No one checked in—except Rumi and Taishiro, asking where you were, saying Keigo mentioned you weren’t feeling well.

Oh. 

So that’s what he told them?

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it ever has.

The same ring he slipped onto your finger with that cocky, love-drunk grin, promising you forever. The same ring he kissed every morning before slipping out the door, murmuring, see you later, babe . The same ring that sat between your fingers as you traced the grooves absentmindedly, convincing yourself that he was worth waiting for.

Now, all you can think about is how much you regret ever putting it on.

Because what did it mean ?

Nothing.

It was just another thing in your life that Keigo Takami had made you believe was sacred—only for him to turn around and treat it like an afterthought.

Defends you to the death one moment but can’t even put the world on hold for you the next.

Talk about mixed fucking signals.

Even the lights in your bedroom feel too bright, burning into your retinas as if the whole house is mocking you, exposing you, watching you break apart piece by piece. You stumble toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment to breathe, to clear your face, to wipe away the evidence of how thoroughly you’ve lost .

But then you make the mistake of looking into the mirror.

And you don’t even recognize yourself.

The woman staring back at you is a ghost, her makeup smeared down her cheeks like war paint, her lips trembling with unshed rage and despair. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, her cheeks raw from the heat of her tears.

Smoke curls from her lips with every breath.

You open your mouth, and your venom pools there, thick and acrid, sliding over your tongue like a warning. You could spit it into the sink, watch it swirl down the drain like all the other things you’ve had to swallow in this marriage.

But why should you?

What’s the point of restraint? What’s the point of trying to be good ?

Keigo abandoned you tonight. Just like he always does.

So instead of spitting into the sink, you turn and head straight for the bed.

One spit-take is all it takes to watch the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets dissolve into nothing.

Oh.

That feels good.

Something clicks into place inside you, something sharp and reckless and angry.

Your fingers curl into tight fists as you storm through your walk-in closet, scanning the racks and shelves until your eyes land on something perfect.

An old baseball bat.

The weight of it feels right in your hands, the smooth grip grounding you.

And then you swing.

The bedroom window shatters on impact, the sound ringing through the house, glass raining onto the floor like diamonds. You turn on your heel and move to the next target—the kitchen cabinets, the overpriced mahogany that Keigo’s designer picked out. You slam the bat into them again and again, the wood splintering, the doors hanging off their hinges.

Then it’s the TVs.

Every. Single. One.

Because why the fuck does every room need a television ?

You swing at the first one, watching the screen crack and flicker, glass shards scattering across the hardwood floor. Then the next, and the next, until there’s nothing left but broken plastic and shattered screens.

But that’s still not enough.

The sinks.

You crank the faucets on full blast, watching the water spill over before you spit into them, the pipes sizzling and corroding instantly.

Keigo’s favorite car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the moonlight, freshly purchased, still smelling like new leather and money.

Too bad about the broken windshield.

Your bat swings once, then twice, then three times for good measure, before you shove the damn thing into neutral and push it over the edge of the property’s cliffside driveway.

It tumbles down the rocky slope, scraping against jagged edges, until it lands with a loud splash in the saltwater below.

Huh.

Guess he’ll find it there later.

You step back, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, but you’re not done. Not yet.

The wedding china.

The plates, the dishes, the goddamn gravy boat.

You hurl them at the wall, watching them shatter into pieces, and for the first time, your hands shake —because that hurt. That was a gift from your grandfather. That was yours .

You swallow hard, eyes burning, but you don’t stop.

Your wedding dress is in the attic, stuffed away in a box that smells like dust and memories. It was a short thing, gifted by Nemuri from her first failed attempt down the aisle, something borrowed, something meant to be special.

Keigo’s tux is there too. An old rental, something he nearly threw away.

You whisper a quiet, sorry, to the dress before setting it ablaze.

Better for it to burn than to live in that dingy old box forever.

But Keigo’s tux? That, you take downstairs.

You nail it to the front steps.

For when he gets married again.

And then, finally, you slide the ring off your finger. It’s lighter now.

You don’t look at it as you place it on the nightstand, as you go back upstairs and pull out an old suitcase. You pack only what you came into this house with. The clothes from your old life. And your hero costume.

For good measure, you slice up Keigo’s expensive jackets, the ones he always threw over your shoulders in public when people were watching, but never when you actually needed them. All this money can’t buy you the arms that you wish would hold you more than just at night when you’re falling apart and can’t feel anything. Then you flood the bathtub with them.

And spit.

The fire crackles, eating through the fabric, the flames licking up the ruined cloth, filling the air with the acrid scent of burnt leather and regret.

Do you feel better?

No.

But it helps .

And then you leave.

You step out of the house barefoot, your pretty dress stained with smoke and dust, your expensive heels clicking against the pavement as you walk . And you don’t stop. Not until you reach your grandfather’s old house. The porch steps creak under your weight as you sink down, too exhausted to even push open the door.

Your body is spent. Your soul is empty.

So you just curl up on the steps, resting your head against the worn wood. And for the first time that night—

You close your eyes in peace.

—————

Keigo watches you from across the room, his golden eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He sees it all. The hurt. The betrayal. The night he can never take back.

And the worst part?

He knows—knows deep down in his bones—that there’s nothing he can do to fix it. 

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he rewinds the memory in his head, searching for the moment where he could have done anything differently.

Because he did come home that night.

Heart pounding. Mind racing.

At first, he thought someone had attacked you, that some villain had stormed the house, tearing it apart, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in their wake. But then he saw it.

The tux.

Nailed to the front steps like a goddamn headstone.

And then he stepped inside.

The walkway, the living room— empty.

Not in the way that an unfinished house is empty, but in the way that something once full of life had been stripped bare, gutted from the inside out. The only things left were the shards of glass scattered across the floor, catching the moonlight like cruel little stars.

His stomach had twisted at the sight, his fingers tightening around the doorframe as he forced himself to move forward, to climb the broken staircase, to look .

And when he did—When he stepped into your bedroom—His knees nearly buckled beneath him.

Black stains marred the pristine white carpet. It took him a second to understand what they were.

And then it hit him like a freight train.

Your tears.

You had knelt there, crying so hard and so long that the venom from your mouth had dripped onto the floor, burning into the fibers. His gaze had swept the room, taking in the smoldering remains of your shared mattress, the burned sheets, the shattered windows. His jackets—shredded beyond recognition.

And there—on the bedside table—

The ring.

The one thing he never thought he’d see off your finger.

And then he checked the closet. Your clothes—all the ones he had ever bought you—were still there. Neatly folded, untouched. The only things missing were the clothes you brought with you the day he gave you the keys and you moved in together.

The same keys he now kept locked in a safety deposit box. Along with the keys to your first apartment. Because some part of him had always held onto the hope that maybe—just maybe —you’d come home.

But that hope had been a fool’s dream, hadn’t it?

He hates the person he was then. Because even if people needed  him, he took vows to you.

And he broke them.

Maybe there was no adultery, no scandal, nothing that would make the tabloids scream betrayal. But what does that even matter?

He still failed you.

And he doesn’t blame you for wanting out. For wanting away from him.

But fuck —he’d been an idiot.

An idiot to not try harder. To not fight tooth and nail until his last dying breath to make it right. To not chase after you, to not choose you the way he should have from the very beginning.

And now, standing here, watching you—

He wonders if maybe the right thing to do is to finally let you go.

To stop being selfish.

To give you the space you deserve to heal , to move on, to find someone who truly understands you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world no for you, who will always put you first.

Someone who will love you better than he ever did.

And God—

He hopes that whoever it is, they love you more than anyone in the world.

Because you deserve it.

You always did.

"Okay."

Keigo blinks at you, his golden eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. Okay? That’s it?

"Okay?" he echoes, like he needs confirmation, like he hadn’t just spent the past few minutes bracing himself for another argument, another rejection, another reminder of how much he fucked up.

" Yes, okay," you say with a yawn, stretching your arms over your head as your hair flattens slightly against the pillow. "That's what I just said, right?"

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you, still half-buried in sleep, your voice groggy, your body warm beside his. He doesn’t know what he was expecting— screaming? A shattered vase? —but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

"I don't see the point in wasting a beautiful day," you add, voice softer now, as if admitting something you’re not sure you should. "But I'm tired. I need a nap."

And so you do.

Just like that.

You turn over, curl up under the blanket, and drift off. Keigo watches you for a moment longer before finally settling in beside you. His wings fold close, the weight of everything still lingering heavy on his chest, but for the first time in a long time, he lets it be. He lets you be.

And maybe it’s not forgiveness. Maybe it’s not even healing.

But it’s something.

The sun is well into the afternoon sky by the time he stirs, rousing you gently with a touch to your arm, murmuring your name in that low, familiar voice.

You wake slowly, stretching again before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

"Five more minutes," you grumble. Keigo chuckles.

"That’s what you said an hour ago."

You throw a weak punch at his arm before shuffling to your bedroom. At first, you tug on a plain tee and jeans, running a brush through your hair before stopping. Your eyes flick to the back of the closet, to something you haven’t worn in a long time.

A soft pink dress. Short and flowing. One you used to wear on dates before you got married.

You hesitate for only a second before pulling it out. It feels almost foreign in your hands, but when you slip it on, it fits just the same. A little piece of the past, like muscle memory. Your hands move on their own—pulling your hair into a high ponytail, swiping on a light cat eye, painting your lips a deep maroon before adding a slick gloss over it.

Your eyes flicker to your feet next. Heels? No, too much. Sandals? Maybe.

Instead, you grab a pair of flat tennis shoes, white, and slip them on over your hot chili pepper socks. A tiny smirk tugs at your lips. You used to wear them all the time, and Keigo always teased you for it.

When you finally step outside, the sunlight kisses your skin, and Keigo—

Keigo is already waiting.

He stands there, casual as ever, golden eyes sweeping over you in quiet admiration before his hand disappears behind his back and reemerges holding a large bouquet of flowers.

You stop short, eyes flicking between him and the bouquet.

"Where did you get those?"

He grins, his classic, cocky smirk making its first real return in what feels like ages. "I have my ways."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. You take the bouquet from him, inhaling the soft, floral scent before carefully opening the sliding glass door and placing them in a vase with fresh water. But before you turn away, you pluck a single sweet pink rose, tucking it between your fingers.

When you step back toward him, his arms are already open, waiting—

And without hesitation, you wrap yourself around him.

His arms tighten around your waist, lifting you with ease like he used to, like it’s routine , like it’s muscle memory .

And for a moment—just a moment—everything feels familiar again.

Keigo lifts you into the air with ease, the wind rushing past as you hold onto him, your heart steady against his. His wings beat strong and sure, carrying you higher, away from everything—the city, the noise, the expectations.

For once, there is no mission. No duty. No answering to anyone.

Just this. Just you.

The sun is warm against your skin, golden and high, as he finally descends upon a quiet field nestled between rolling hills. A place untouched by the rush of the world. He lands effortlessly, his boots meeting the soft earth with a quiet thud before setting you gently down beside him.

There’s a small rental station tucked under the shade of a willow tree, and Keigo pulls out his wallet before handing over a few crisp bills. In return, he’s given two sleek bicycles, their frames shining in the midday sun.

"Hope you still like bike rides," he muses, smirking as he swings a leg over his.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your own smirk as you do the same.

And then you’re off—pedaling down winding dirt paths, the wind catching your hair, the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers filling your lungs.

The river beside you glistens, its waters clear and cool, flowing endlessly along the curves of the land. Keigo rides ahead at times, turning back to call out teasing remarks, daring you to keep up, but other times he slows just enough to let you ride beside him, your hands brushing every so often as your laughter fills the air.

At a small wooden stand along the path, an old mountain man greets you with a weathered smile, his hands rough but steady as he hands you fresh fruit and skewers of grilled meat. Keigo pays him generously, thanking him before leading you to a shaded spot where you both eat, savoring the simple flavors.

Then, with a sly grin, Keigo wipes a stray drop of juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch lingers, eyes golden and soft, and for a moment, he swears you both are younger again—two reckless souls, dressing up for each other just for fun, holding hands simply because you wanted to, not caring if anyone else saw, because you see each other, and that was all that ever mattered.

He never thought he’d get to have this again.

After the meal, he takes your hand and leads you somewhere even more breathtaking—a secluded stretch of Japan’s most beautiful flower fields. Endless waves of color spread before you, vibrant reds, soft lilacs, golden yellows, and blushing pinks painting the earth in an explosion of life.

"A private tour," he murmurs, nudging your side as he watches your expression, drinking in the way your eyes widen with wonder. "Just for you."

And it is just for you.

No cameras. No reporters. No agency calls.

He left his phone at home on purpose—no tracking, no interruptions.

Just this. 

Just you.

As the day winds down, the sky begins to shift, trading its bright blues for something softer, richer—deep oranges and soft pinks flood the heavens, painting the clouds in their warm embrace.

You both lay stretched out on a picnic blanket, the fabric worn but comfortable against the cool grass. The scent of flowers drifts through the air, mingling with the fading heat of the sun. Your head rests in his lap, your body relaxed, skin kissed by the sun, glowing beneath its last golden rays. His fingers move gently, threading delicate stems together, weaving a flower crown with practiced ease.

You hum quietly, running your fingers through the soft grass, feeling the earth beneath your touch, the moment settling deep into your bones.

"Hold still," Keigo murmurs, placing the finished crown atop your head. You glance up at him, catching the way his golden eyes soften, the way his lips twitch into a barely-there smile.

"Perfect," he whispers.

And for the first time in a long time, he truly believes that this moment —just this —is all he’s ever needed.

You move suddenly, shifting up in his lap so quickly that his wings ruffle in surprise.

"Hey, dove, what are you—"

"Shut up, birb brain," you mutter, licking your lips before grabbing his face.

Keigo lets you, just like he always does. It’s something that used to unnerve him when you first met, when you started dating, but he’s long since grown used to it—the way you inspect him like a cat, your sharp eyes scanning every inch of him as if you’re searching for something out of place.

Your fingers thread through his hair, combing through the strands, checking for anything you don’t approve of. He doesn’t move, barely even breathes, just lets you do what you need to.

Your pupils dilate, then shrink, then dilate again as you stare into his golden eyes. He’s watched this before, felt it before, how your scrutiny is never cruel, never careless—it’s careful, meticulous. Like you’re cataloging him, making sure he’s still here, still whole.

Then, without a word, you turn him slightly, brushing your fingers over his back, plucking loose pin feathers and laying them out in your lap like little trophies. Keigo exhales through his nose, resigned, watching as you note each one with silent judgment.

"You need to moisturize," you murmur, rubbing one of the smaller feathers between your fingers. "And let Touya help you if you're gonna be a bitch about it." Keigo gawks at you, wings twitching. 

"I haven’t seen him in forever—"

"Don't lie to me." Your nose wrinkles, and he knows there’s no fooling you. "Tell him a man who's died twice doesn’t need to kick the bucket to a cigarette addiction." He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll pass it along."

You let him go suddenly, like you’re done with your little assessment, and flop back onto the blanket without another word. Keigo blinks down at you, rubbing at his jaw where your fingers had gripped him, before shaking his head with a huff.

"Y’know, sometimes I think you might love my feathers more than you love me," he teases. You smirk, closing your eyes.

"Hate to break it to you, birdie, but they were my first love."

Keigo snorts, leaning over you, his shadow stretching over your sun-kissed skin. "Guess that makes me your side piece then, huh?" You hum, cracking one eye open.

"Mm. Keep up the good behavior, and I might just promote you."

He grins.

"Guess I better work hard then."

You burst into laughter, the sound spilling out of you uncontrollably, catching you both off guard. It startles Keigo for a second before he starts laughing too, that boyish, unrestrained laugh you used to hear all the time—before everything.

And it keeps going, your laughter feeding off each other, bubbling over until your stomach aches and your cheeks are warm.

You can't help but smile when you see him like this. Keigo—he feels ten feet off the ground, weightless in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

Your hands find his, holding onto them from where you’re lying between his legs, your head resting in his lap. The flower crown in your hair fights to stay in place, petals shifting gently as the wind plays with the strands of your hair.

It’s such a perfect moment—the flowers around you, the sky melting into brilliant hues, the way your skin glows, alive and healthy.

The setting sun casts a golden glow over Keigo’s face, catching in his windswept hair and making his eyes burn with a warmth that melts straight into you. The wind hums through the open land, rustling the flowers around you, making them bow gently as if nature itself recognizes the weight of this moment. But none of it matters—not the sky, not the wind, not the fading light.

Right now, it’s just you and him, existing in a perfect kind of stillness.

Your laughter lingers in the air, soft and unrestrained, a sound Keigo would bottle up and keep forever if he could. He watches you, completely enthralled, because he’s seeing something sacred, something only he has the privilege of knowing.

And when you smile at him—genuine and unguarded—his heart stirs, light as air, as if it’s grown wings of its own.

Being with Keigo feels almost like freedom, like the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future can't touch you here. Like for once, you are both untethered, just two souls caught in each other’s orbit, unburdened by the world beyond.

His hand finds yours, his thumb grazing the back of your knuckles in a quiet kind of devotion, and you squeeze back, grounding yourself in him.

The wind carries the scent of wildflowers, the last of the sun’s rays spilling over the horizon, but you don’t care.

You only care about this—him, you, together.

And in this fleeting, fragile moment, it feels like nothing could ever take that away.

Then you wipe a tear from your eye, and Keigo watches the way your little teeth poke out from behind your soft lips, a detail he never stopped loving.

"It’s moments like this," you say, voice quiet, almost hesitant,

"When I believe I can fall in love with you again."

Keigo swallows hard, his throat working against the lump forming there. He tries not to blink, not to close his eyes, terrified you’ll disappear in the fraction of a second he does. Instead, he leans down, his hands tightening around yours.

"Would you?"

The laughter dies.

The warmth in your face fades, your expression sobering as you hold his hands back. Silence stretches between you both, heavy and aching. Keigo feels it settle in his bones, a sharp contrast to the golden, fleeting happiness you’d just shared.

And then you finally answer.

"I could…" you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"But I won’t."

Keigo tries not to react, tries not to let it show. But there’s too much history between you, too much weight in the air. You both know each other too well for him to pretend.

"Keigo, I’m—"

"Don't."

You pause, mouth slightly open, but you let him speak.

"Don't," he repeats, softer this time. "You have every right. I just…"

His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing it all over again. Then, slowly, his hands rise, cupping your cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle. His thumbs glide beneath your eyes, collecting the tears that had started to gather, his warmth sinking into your skin.

The breeze whispers through the field, making the flowers sway, bending in reverence to the moment passing between you both.

"You just wish things were different, right?"

He nods, dipping his head closer, his throat betraying him when he swallows hard. 

"I do."

"Me too."

Keigo opens his eyes again, and for a second—just a second—he sees you. The real you. The earnest girl he fell in love with, the girl he thought he’d grow old with, the one he’d everything for.

And you see him. The boy who made his dreams come true, the only man you could ever love like this.

There will be no others. Not for you. Not for him.

"A bird cannot love a fish," you murmur, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Keigo flinches. His wings shudder, and a soft, wounded noise escapes the back of his throat.

"Please, don’t…" he whispers. "Not that saying again."

So you don’t.

You just stare into his golden eyes, and he stares into yours—where he finds himself lost, and where you find yourself found.

The sky above is vast and endless.

And you know you shouldn’t.

You both know you shouldn’t.

There’s too much pain here. Too much time lost.

But Keigo leans in anyway, until your noses touch, your foreheads press together, and you stay like that, frozen in something between longing and regret. 

Your hands move slowly, framing his face, nails skimming his skin just enough to make him shiver. He breathes you in, your scent hitting him like a memory too vivid to be anything but real. His favorite drug. You feel his warmth seep into you, melting the cold hollowness that has lived inside your chest for too long. You both feel it.

How could something so right feel so wrong?

As promised here is more info:

You and Keigo were once the hottest couple of the hero world—until, without warning, you filed for divorce.

The media spun the story every way they could, branding you as an opportunist, a traitor, a villain who played the long game. But Keigo? He never once spoke against you. If anything, all he’s done is defend you—both in the public eye and from it.

Now, months later, he’s supposed to be at a high-profile Valentine’s Day event, flashing that easy smile for the cameras.

Instead, he’s at your doorstep, dodging vases and sharp words from Rumi, who seems more than happy to keep him from getting too close. But Keigo’s never been one to back down. No matter how many times you evade him—setting fire to his car, disappearing behind locked doors—he keeps showing up, keeps reminding you of what once was. Because no matter how much you try to push him away, there’s one thing neither of you can deny:

You still love each other.

Your history is tangled, your wounds are still fresh and raw, but fate has a cruel sense of humor. You may no longer wear his ring, but in the eyes of the public, you’re still bound together. Keigo is still holding out hope that you don’t actually want to let him go.

And maybe you don't really want to...

~~

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts will be here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Bakugo x female reader (Slight Sero x reader)

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: Low-key feel like I'm losing the plot, anyhow Bakugo lore and finally an interaction with him tehe. Enjoy everyone!

The past week had been rough. Even after apologizing to Kimiko, she was still pissed. It had taken a whole lot of convincing from everyone for her to stop glaring at you, or at least pretend she wasn’t mad to your face.

She also made it clear you were out of the Bakugo setup plans. She never directly said so, but you could tell she didn’t want you around.

Not that you minded.

Mina and Jirou still kept you updated on the drama, but honestly? You were done hearing about Kimiko drooling over Bakugo.

The last thing you needed was more drama from your outburst.

Unfortunately, avoiding it wasn’t going to be easy, not with today’s plans.

The Bakusquad, along with Kimiko, had decided to get ice cream together.

You stepped out of your dorm, only to find Sero waiting for you.

“I figured we’d head down together,” he said casually.

“Oh. Yeah, sure,” you replied, smiling, falling into step beside him as you made your way to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Sero pressed the button for the common room and glanced at you. “So… you okay? I know everything with Kimiko probably got to you.”

You hesitated, then exhaled. “Yeah, I’m okay. You really helped, y’know.”

Sero smiled, his voice softer than usual. “Yeah? Well… anything for you, Y/N.”

You looked at each other for a second too long.

The warmth in his gaze made something twist in your chest, a twist that's been happening a lot lately.

Then the elevator dinged, and the moment disappeared.

Sero stepped aside, letting you exit first.

Down in the common room, the others were already gathered, Jirou, Kaminari, Mina, Kirishima… and Bakugo.

“There’s my favorite girl!” Mina grinned, bouncing over and looping her arm through yours, dragging you away from Sero.

“Finally! Let’s go, I need ice cream, like, now,” Kaminari whined.

“No, you idiot,” Jirou said, smacking his arm. “We’re still waiting for Kimiko.”

Kaminari groaned and collapsed onto the couch dramatically. “Ughhh, come on.”

After a few minutes, Kimiko finally arrived, dressed in an orange sundress that flared around her knees.

“Hey, everyone!” she chirped.

Mina gasped. “Oh my God, you look so pretty!”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “Yeah, nice outfit.”

Kirishima grinned. “Looking good, Kimiko!”

Sero, much to your annoyance, looked slightly flustered, his face tinted pink.

Bakugo, on the other hand, merely tapped his foot impatiently.

“Okay, can we go now?” Bakugo grumbled.

“ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM, ICE CREAM!” Kaminari chanted, marching out the door.

Jirou rolled her eyes but followed after him.

The rest of you trailed behind, leaving campus and heading into the city.

On the way, Kimiko playfully teased Bakugo, but he barely reacted. If anything, he just looked bored.

“So, where exactly are we going?” You asked Mina.

“Oh, it’s this place called Frosty’s!”

Frosty’s?

You blinked. The name alone sent a wave of nostalgia crashing over you.

You snuck a glance at Bakugo, wondering if he remembered.

Frosty’s was... special.

You and Bakugo had first come here when you were wide-eyed kids, eager for ice cream. The place was small, family-owned, with faded walls and an old-school charm.

You both always ordered the same thing: vanilla with sprinkles. Bakugo swore his tasted better, even though they were identical.

But that wasn’t what made it special.

No, what made it special was the fact that it was where you and Bakugo had your first kiss.

You were twelve freshly into middle school. Dating and crushes had started becoming a thing, but neither of you had been interested. Bakugo was too focused on becoming N.1, and you had always been too shy to think about it.

That day, you had both been sitting outside on the worn-down bench, eating your ice cream, when he asked out of nowhere...

“Have you had your first kiss?”

The question had caught you off guard. You had licked your ice cream, avoiding his gaze.

“No… have you?”

He had muttered, “No.” Then he kicked at a loose rock on the ground, his voice unusually hesitant.

“We should just… get it over with. Y’know, so we’re not behind or whatever.”

You weren’t sure why you agreed. Maybe curiosity. Maybe the tiny part of you that had always been drawn to him.

“…Okay.”

You had leaned in, your noses awkwardly bumping before your lips met. It was quick, clumsy, and a little embarrassing. Neither of you had ever brought it up again. Maybe because you were both mortified. Or maybe… maybe, because it had meant something neither of you were ready to face.

“Y/N?” Mina’s voice snapped you out of the memory.

“Huh?”

“What are you getting?” she asked, already holding her own cone.

You barely had to think. “Vanilla with sprinkles.”

Mina groaned. “Ugh, you and Bakugo are so boring.”

At that, you glanced over, and sure enough, Bakugo was sitting at a table, eating vanilla with sprinkles.

You shook your head fondly and paid for your order. The group headed outside, and your eyes immediately found the old bench. Without thinking, you sat down, lost in thought.

Your feelings for Bakugo.

Kimiko.

Everything.

A moment later, someone sat beside you.

Bakugo.

You both sat in silence, the weight of unspoken words settling between you. Then, without looking at you, he muttered, “You remember this place?”

Your grip tightened slightly on your cone.

“…Yeah. Do you?”

“Tch. ‘Course I do.”

A pause. Then...

“You were a horrible kisser,” he remarked.

You scoffed. “Oh, like you were any better.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue.

For a moment, the air between you felt lighter. No Kimiko. No drama.

Just you and him. Just like before. Just how it'd always been.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix @ilovemushroomss @bakunianadecorazon @bonbonbytes

TW: Death and Comfort/Bittersweet Ending

“And do you, Katsuki Bakugo, take Y/N L/N, to be your lawfully wedded wife.”

“…of course I do.” He muttered loud enough for only you and the preist to hear, he glanced over to you and seen your warm smile, it nearly had his nerves at ease.

Finally. It was the day, the day he had been dreaming for with you since your first date.

You officially taking his name .

“And do you…Y/N L/N take Katsuki Bakugo, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

You felt your cheeks warm, exhaling and looking deep into his pool of crimson eyes before finally saying —-

“I d—-“

You were interrupted by a familiar voice. One nobody expected to hear since that day of the war.

“Well well well looks like we’re not too late!” Out came AFO and the League of legends coming to attack, nearly everybody either got up to fight back to hid, but you were left in the open when Shigiraki aimed a forceful attack right inside your lower abdomen leaving you in a state of shock.

“Y/N!” Bakugo screamed throwing his last blast towards a random villian leaving them dead on the ground, and sprinting towards you, corpses were everywhere on the ground he jumped over, but all he seen was your lifeless body.

When did he even leave your side? You were alone!

Your beautiful pearly white dress deeply colored in your blood, your makeup now sprayed with it as well and the corner of your lip was bleeding.

The pain was insufferable. Everytime Bakugo tried to lift your body you winced. You felt your breaths harder to maintain and he felt it.

“Nononono please. Look at me! Y/N stay with me okay I won’t—fuck please—“

You wanted to mutter the words I love you, but nothing came out. All you had the strength left to do was weakly lift your hand to his cheek, before the vision of your once future husband turned black.

You were gone in his arms in a matter of seconds

“Y/N!”

Bakugo jolted up, forehead sweating bullets as he looked around to clear his vision, nothing but the full moon light shining through the sheer curtains of your shared room. He looks around and sees your side of the bed empty with half of the cover off. He begins to panic again. Having flash images of your dead body in his arms, the funeral, your crying eyes as you took your last breath…

“Y/n…” his repeats your name in his head roaming his penthouse through every room. His heart beating so fast you could nearly hear it pop out of his chest until he feels it stop when he lands to the living room.

“Hey, boo.” You whispered happily looking up from your book, cozied on the huge sectional couch. The tv was on but muted just for something to play in the background and one lamp was on to help you see the words in your book. He stares at you confused and scared for a moment as he sees the wedding photo of you and him on the coffee table next to your beverage.

He began to breath again when he felt your warm palm touch his cheek.

“Baby? You okay?” You had a concerned look on your face. His eyes were pink and he was so hot you thought he was possibly having a hot flash. “Talk to me.”

Bakugo nearly couldn’t speak himself. He just kept his mouth tight lipped until your eyebrows softened.

“Another nightmare?” He quickly nods before holding you into a tight bear hug, “I’m so sorry baby I couldn’t sleep and I knew you had work in the morning.”

All you got back were sniffles in your neck, you whined out of sympathy for him. You believed the therapy session Ed helped his nightmares, but sometimes that isn’t enough.

“C’mere…” you take him to the couch and let him lay on top of you while you rub his back and hair, the tears were staining your shirt you just kept kissing his forehead, “I’ll never leave you….I’m right here. Always.”

Your words were a comfort, but that didn’t stop the tears. He just let them flow and occasionally you’d wiped them away.

It was hard living with the nightmares for Bakugo. But through out the years you have been one of the biggest support systems he had and today whether he realized it or not he has made progress. He went from bottling up those fears to telling you about them to now letting you: his wife be there to help him through it.

You never got mad when he did, you never loss your patience and it was always appreciated.

That night he didn’t let go. He doesn’t ever call off for work but you did it for him and his agency was more than understanding. The rest of the day was spent in the living room planning to renew your vows with him.

He needed a new memory to make with you as opposed to the false ones he has had.

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts will be here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

Bakugo x female reader (Slight Sero x female reader 👀)

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: Since y'all gave me ideas, this is what you get 😈. Also, there are so many people wanting to be tagged, I didn't think ya'll liked this story so much, so thank you!

Your back rested against the cool wall as you tried to muffle your sobs. Crying like this, like some pathetic loser, only made you feel worse.

The distant thump of music pulsed through the halls, the party still in full swing. Mina hadn’t come back yet. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she was too busy fixing the mess you made.

You felt awful, truly, you did. Yeah, Kimiko got under your skin with all her talk about Bakugo, but it wasn’t really her fault. She didn’t know how you felt. No one did, no one except Sero and now Mina.

But God, it felt like every time she opened her mouth, it was about him. Was that all she ever thought about? Did she have nothing else to talk about?

Still, why had this moment been the one to make you snap? It wasn’t the first time she had gushed about him. Hell, it wasn’t even the most annoying time.

Maybe… maybe it was because you were falling deeper. And every time you saw her flirting, every time you heard his name leave her lips with that dreamy little sigh, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the weight pressing down on your chest.

You groaned into your hands, wiping away another stray tear.

Then, as if to torture yourself further, your mind dragged you back to the exact moment you knew or truly realized.

The hospital.

The hospital room was sterile and quiet, the white walls too bright, too lifeless. When the doctors let you in, you saw him, sitting up in bed, bandaged and bruised, the remnants of battle still fresh on his skin.

Your best friend had almost died. You could still see it, the color draining from his face, the gaping wound in his chest.

Then, he noticed you. His crimson eyes were a little more tired than usual, but still sharp, still fiery.

“Are you just gonna—”

Before he could finish, you bolted across the room and wrapped your arms around him, holding on like he’d disappear if you let go.

Tears spilled onto his hospital gown, soaking into his bandages. “Don’t you ever do something like that again!” you choked out, voice trembling.

You heard him grumble something under his breath, but he didn’t push you off. “Always a crybaby.”

You rolled your eyes, even as more tears kept falling. “You’re so lucky I can’t hit you right now.”

Bakugo pulled back just enough to look at you, his face inches from yours. “You’ve never been a pretty crier, so stop. It doesn’t work on you.” His thumb brushed away one of your tears, his touch lingering for just a second too long before he pulled away.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You leaned back in, resting your head against his shoulder. “I missed you, y’know, I really thought I'd never see you again” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything. Maybe he didn’t hear you. But his grip on you tightened, just a little.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped open at the familiar voice.

You turned to see Sero walking toward you, his usual easygoing expression laced with concern.

You wiped at your face quickly. “Hey…” you muttered as he sat down beside you.

“This is the second time I’ve cried near you,” you said with a weak laugh. “God, all I ever seem to do these days is cry.”

“We all have feelings,” Sero said with a small shrug. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He nudged you lightly.

You nodded, exhaling slowly. “So… I’m assuming you heard about my 'incident' with Kimiko.”

He snorted. “I think everyone at the party did.”

“Great. Just great.” You groaned, rubbing your face. Peeking at Sero through your fingers, you hesitated. “You’re not… mad? Y’know, considering your crush on her?”

“Nah.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “Although I am curious.”

You sighed, already knowing he’d put the pieces together. “Do I even have to say it? A six-letter word. Starts with ‘B,’ ends in ‘O.’”

Sero hummed in understanding. “Ah.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you asked, “How do you do it?”

Sero raised a brow. “Do what? Because there’s a lot of things I do. I’m a man of many talents.”

You let out a quiet snort, shaking your head. “How do you deal with Kimiko flirting with Bakugo? You like her, right? Doesn’t it suck, watching your crush flirt with someone else?”

Sero sighed, stretching his legs out. "Yeah, it sucks. But, y’know... there are other fish in the sea." He turned his head, meeting your gaze. "If Kimiko doesn’t fall madly in love with me, it’s all good. There's other fish, just as brave, just as smart, just as sweet."

His dark eyes lingered on yours, and for a second, the air shifted.

Your breath hitched.

You held his gaze for a second too long before quickly looking away, warmth creeping up your neck.

“…Right,” you muttered. “You really have a way with words, huh?”

“I’m just great like that.” He grinned.

And for a moment, just a moment, all the weight you’d been carrying felt a little lighter.

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13 @chuugarettes @mtsudaa @myblogsucks @emmaafinchh @adherethecomingofage @uhsakusa @shewki @galaneiaeris @surprisemodafakas @uhnanix

Wrong Person

The bar was crowded, the vibrant music filling the air, and the lights flickered in colorful tones. You looked around, trying to distract yourself. After a tough week at university, all you wanted was to relax and enjoy the night with your best friend, Mina.

However, your plans quickly changed when Mina became enchanted by a guy—tall, handsome, and clearly interested in her.

“Go talk to him!” you encouraged her. It was obvious she wanted to.

“We came here to unwind. I’m not going to leave you alone,” she hesitated.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. We came here to have fun, so go get him, girl,” you smiled, giving her a little push.

She smiled back before making her way toward him.

Not long after, they disappeared into a more private area, out of your sight. Now alone, you tried not to let it bother you. It was true that you had told Mina you didn’t mind, but in reality, the last thing you wanted was to be alone. You attempted to distract yourself—scrolling through your phone, observing the people around you—and, since you were at a bar, you figured you might as well get a drink.

The first one went down easily. The second did too. Before you knew it, the third was on its way. The bitter taste of alcohol barely registered as you focused on feeling less out of place.

However, as the alcohol took effect, a wave of dizziness hit you. The voices around you blurred together, the music pounded in your head, and suddenly, everything felt distant. You tried texting Mina, letting her know you wanted to leave since she was your ride, but after waiting a few minutes with no response, you figured she wouldn’t see your message anytime soon.

The discomfort grew, and you suddenly realized how vulnerable you were. Not knowing what else to do, you decided the right thing was to text your brother so he could come pick you up.

Fumbling with your phone, you scrolled through your contacts. After some difficulty, you finally tapped on his name and typed a message.

"Hey, Eiji. I’m at the bar, and I’m not feeling great. I think I drank too much… Can you come pick me up?"

His response came almost immediately.

"Coming."

You noticed his reply was unusually short. He was usually much more affectionate over text, but maybe he was just annoyed that he had to come pick up his little sister at 2 a.m.

Even so, you sighed in relief. You really didn’t want to be there anymore.

A few minutes later, you spotted a familiar blond-haired boy at the bar’s entrance. His eyes scanned the room, searching, until they locked onto yours. You tried to smile, but with the alcohol clouding your system and your mind in a haze, you figured you probably weren’t doing a great job of it.

He walked over quickly, his expression calm—no sign of judgment.

“Hey, let’s get out of here,” Katsuki said, placing his hands gently on your shoulders.

He started leading you outside, but as soon as you stepped out of the bar, you pulled away, stopping in your tracks and looking at him, annoyed.

“Where do you think you’re taking me? You can’t just drag me anywhere just because you’re Eijiro’s best friend.”

He sighed, turning back to face you.

“You texted me to come pick you up, dumbass.”

You stared at him, confused.

“What? No, I didn’t. I texted my brother.”

Too impatient to deal with you in your drunken state, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and held it up, showing you the message history. And there it was—the same message you thought you had sent to your older brother had actually been sent to his best friend. Your cheeks flushed as you realized your mistake.

“Can we go now?” he asked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You simply nodded.

He turned his back to you and walked toward his car. Now that you were calmer, you took a proper look at him. He was dressed in comfortable clothes, his shirt slightly crooked—almost as if he had rushed out of the house without even bothering to fix it.

Was he really that worried about you?

The thought lingered in your hazy mind as you followed him to the car. Katsuki wasn’t the type to drop everything for just anyone. He was blunt, impatient, and rarely went out of his way unless it was for someone he truly cared about.

Had he really rushed out just because of your message?

Your gaze drifted back to his slightly disheveled appearance—the messy hair, the crooked shirt, the way his jaw was set, like he was annoyed but still here. Still making sure you were okay.

Maybe, just maybe, he cared more than he let on.

Snapping you out of your thoughts, Bakugou opened the passenger door and waited for you to get in. Obediently, you did as he wanted and sat down. You watched as he walked around the car and got in himself.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.”

He nodded. “If you need to throw up or something, tell me. I don’t want you messing up my car.”

You smiled at his words. It was no surprise to anyone that his car was his most prized possession. But now that you were finally inside it, you understood why. The car was immaculate. Not a single speck of dust, the leather seats looked brand new, and the faint scent of something fresh—maybe citrus or mint—lingered in the air. It was the kind of car you’d expect from someone as meticulous as Bakugou.

You let your fingers glide over the armrest absentmindedly, still feeling the slight buzz from the alcohol in your system. “I get it now,” you murmured.

Bakugou glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. “Get what?”

“Why you’re so obsessed with this car. It’s… nice,” you admitted.

He scoffed, but you could see the corner of his lips twitching upward, as if he were suppressing a smirk. “Damn right it is.”

A comfortable silence settled between you as he drove, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. The city lights blurred past the window, and despite the night not going as planned, a strange warmth spread through your chest.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that, even though you had texted the wrong person, Bakugou still came for you.

Not long after, he finally reached your place. Parking the car, he stepped out and walked over to help you.

“Here we go,” he muttered as he steadied you, guiding you up the stairs to the apartment you shared with your brother.

Fumbling with your keys, you unlocked the door and stumbled inside, leaving it open so Bakugou could follow.

“Isn’t Eijiro home?” he asked, glancing around.

You looked around as well, but there was no sign of your brother.

“Oh, that’s right. He’s spending the night at a classmate’s place to finish a project,” you said, suddenly remembering.

“I see,” he muttered.

“Katsuki, can you help me get to my room?” you asked, pointing in its direction.

He nodded and led you there, steadying you when you stumbled slightly. Once inside, you grabbed your pajamas and made your way to the bathroom.

Bakugou sat on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to return. Normally, he would have just left. But for some reason, he was still here.

And strangely, that was comforting.

As the warm water ran over your face, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness in your head. Slowly, you changed into your pajamas, exhaustion settling deep into your body. The night had been overwhelming, but knowing that Bakugou was still there, waiting, made it feel a little less lonely.

When you stepped back into your room, he was still sitting on the edge of your bed, scrolling through his phone. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up, his sharp eyes scanning you quickly before nodding in approval.

“Feel better?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, much better.”

He stood up, stretching slightly. “Alright, then. I should probably—”

“Stay,” you interrupted before you could stop yourself.

He froze, raising an eyebrow at you.

You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. “I mean… just for a bit. You don’t have to, but—”

“Tch.” He rolled his eyes, but instead of leaving, he sat back down. “Fine. Just until you fall asleep.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you climbed into bed, pulling the covers over you. Bakugou leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, looking like he wasn’t planning to move anytime soon.

The room was quiet except for the occasional sounds of the city outside. The only light came from the moon, casting a soft glow over Bakugou’s face. He looked ethereal—almost unreal—and something shifted inside you.

Sensing your gaze on him, he turned to you. “You know, to sleep, you actually need to close your eyes, idiot,” he muttered.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or something else, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Thank you for coming to help me,” you whispered, shifting a little closer to him, seeking warmth.

“Whatever. You’re my best friend’s little sister—I couldn’t just leave you there, dumbass.”

You smiled and, before you could think twice, moved even closer.

“What are you—” Before he could finish his sentence, you kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant. But before you could fully savor it, he pulled away. You looked at him, confused.

“Look… you’re drunk. I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret tomorrow,” he said, looking away—but you caught the redness creeping onto the tips of his ears.

You smiled, nodding in understanding before curling up under the blankets. Your eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion and alcohol finally catching up to you.

Just as you drifted off, you felt the mattress shift slightly, a warmth settling beside you.

Maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t texted the wrong person after all.

The Things He Doesn't Know — K. Bakugo

This is a series, so other parts will be here!

☞ Link: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.

Bakugo x Jealous female reader

Synopsis: When you realize you're in love with your childhood best friend, but force you're feeling's down for the sake of your friendship.

Author's note: My girl has crashed out. Whatever will she do? I felt as if this was a little rushed, but I tried.

Here you were, standing outside the dorms, waiting for a party you had zero interest in. Mina, of course, had dragged you along, insisting it would be fun. You weren’t convinced.

The air was thick with humidity, making it even more unbearable. You, Sero, Kaminari, and Jirou were already outside, waiting on the rest of the group. Kirishima was still trying to convince Bakugo to come, while Kimiko and Mina had insisted on “dressing up” for the occasion.

"God, they're taking forever! Can we just leave without them?" Kaminari groaned, fanning himself dramatically. "It’s flipping hot out here, man."

"Stop whining, Kaminari," Jirou rolled her eyes, nudging him with her elbow.

"I mean, in his defense, we've been out here for thirty minutes. The party started twenty minutes ago," you pointed out, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

Just then, Kirishima practically dragged Bakugo outside. The blonde looked pissed, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his scowl deeper than usual.

"Sorry we're late! Is everyone ready?" Kirishima asked, still holding onto Bakugo’s arm like he was afraid he’d bolt.

"No, because flipping Mina and Kimiko aren't here!" Kaminari whined again, throwing his hands in the air.

"Wait!" Mina’s voice rang out from behind. The group turned just in time to see her and Kimiko walking toward them, both dressed in cute outfits that were clearly meant to impress.

"Damn!" Kaminari blurted before Jirou smacked him upside the head.

"Who were you guys looking to impress?" Jirou asked, eyebrow raised.

Sero let out a quiet wolf whistle, his eyes lingering on Kimiko. You deadpanned, giving him a sharp "seriously?" look. He only shrugged, grinning.

"Can we hurry the hell up? I don’t have time for this crap," Bakugo scoffed, already marching off toward the dorms.

The group followed after him, except for you.

Mina, noticing your hesitation, grabbed your hand and pulled you along. "What’s up with you, girly? You haven’t been yourself these past few weeks."

You were about to brush it off with a “nothing” when she continued.

"And don’t even try to say ‘nothing.’ I saw you at the pool party last week, crying in Sero’s arms."

Your stomach dropped. Great. So she saw that.

You sighed. "I’ve just been stressed out, but I’m okay now. Sero and I talked it out."

Mina gave you a skeptical look before nodding. "Alright, I’ll believe you… but you do know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"I know," you said, offering a small smile.

"Good! Now let’s party!" She grinned, dragging you inside.

The moment you stepped into the dorms, the bass from the music vibrated through your chest. The party was already in full swing, people dancing, laughing, drinking soda, and lounging on couches.

Mina wasted no time pulling you onto the dance floor, where you met up with Yaoyorozu, Tsu, Ochaco, and Hagakure. The six of you swayed to the music, letting loose. For the first time in weeks, you actually felt free.

Then Kimiko showed up.

"Oh my god, you guys, Bakugo is so freaking impossible sometimes!" Kimiko groaned, dramatically flipping her hair.

You clenched your jaw.

"What’d he do now?" Ochaco asked, sipping her drink while sliding left and right.

"Ugh, he just doesn't get it! Like, we were talking, and I swear I was flirting so hard, but all he did was grunt at me! Like, how dense can you be?" Kimiko huffed, crossing her arms.

"I mean, it’s Bakugo. He’s not exactly Mr. Romantic," Tsu pointed out.

"Yeah, but come on! I feel like I’m this close to breaking through that tough exterior," Kimiko continued, holding up her fingers with barely any space between them. "Like, he actually listened to me today! And when I laughed, he kind of—"

"Oh my god, can you just shut up about Bakugo for ten minutes?"

The words were out before you could stop them.

The music didn’t stop immediately, but the mood did. Heads turned. Your friends stared. Even people not involved in the conversation glanced over.

Mina’s eyes widened. "Y/N, what the heck?" she muttered, trying to tug you back.

But you weren’t backing down.

Kimiko crossed her arms, glaring. "What the hell is your problem, Y/N?"

The music cut off. More people started paying attention.

You knew you should stop. You knew you should swallow your jealousy and walk away.

But you didn’t.

"You! My problem is you! You’re so desperate! Hop off his balls for once!"

The room went silent.

Mina inhaled sharply. Ochaco’s mouth dropped open. Yaoyorozu gasped. Tsu's eyes widened, and Hagakure covered her mouth.

Kimiko’s expression twisted into something unreadable, shock, hurt, and anger all mixing at once.

You felt the weight of what you just said crash over you like a tidal wave.

"Crap, Kimiko, I’m—"

"Save it, Y/N," she snapped, turning on her heel and storming off.

Yaoyorozu immediately followed her.

Tsu gave you a disappointed look before sighing. "Not cool, Y/N." Then she walked away, too.

Hagakure hesitated before saying, "I’m gonna check on them."

Ochaco shook her head. "That wasn’t you at all, Y/N…" She trailed off, then left as well.

Just like that, your friend group had scattered.

Mina pulled you off the dance floor into a quieter area, arms crossed. "Y/N, what the heck was that?"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "I don’t know, okay? I messed up."

"That was more than messing up. What even triggered that—" Mina stopped mid-sentence. Realization dawned on her face. "Oh, honey no. Bakugo?"

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

Mina sighed, shaking her head. "I knew something was up. You always look miserable whenever Kimiko talks about him. But seriously, girl, that wasn’t cool. You shouldn’t have let your jealousy bubble over like that."

You swallowed hard, shame sinking in. "I know. I’ll apologize to her."

Mina gave you a firm nod. "Good. I’m gonna go check on them. You need to cool down."

You didn’t argue.

Once she left, you exhaled shakily and slid down the wall, resting your back against the cool surface.

The weight of your own words crushed down on you.

What have you done?

© 2025 v4mpire45 — All rights reserved. Please don't post my work as your own on any other sites.

Tags: @tsukikoxo @pet1t3 @anon-mouse223 @nepenthes-things @hakkoyo @ita606 @raeroowrites @dreamybabbyy @ghostkat23 @channnee @sanriihoe @ch3rryjampi3 @eyesforbkg @charlotterosea13

comfort

K.Bakugo x F!Reader

synopsis: he fails to rescue someone during a mission and you’re always there to comfort and support him whenever he needs.

simply put it’s angst with comfort!

The door to your shared room was slammed opened loudly causing you to abruptly stop brushing your hair by your vanity and turn towards the culprit.

Your boyfriend trudged into the room his shoulders sagged and his face scrunched up in a scowl.

Your shock subsisted as Katsuki collapsed onto your bed prompting you to get up and sit beside him, running your hands through his messy blonde tresses.

“Hi baby,” you didn’t receive any verbal response but you did hear him grunt softly as a way of greeting which made you tilt your head with a soft smile.

“You wanna change?” you trailed your hand down to his back, tracing his hero costume which was slightly covered in dirt.

‘Gonna have to change the sheets’ you thought pouting your lips slightly lost in your own world until you were snapped out of it by the sound of sniffling.

Your eyes widened. “Kats?”

The sniffles grew louder and louder, and soon sobs were heard coming from your boyfriend who kept his head buried in the sheets.

“Baby look at me,”

You gently cupped the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair as you tried to coax him into facing you.

But he refused, gripping the sheets tightly in his fists. His whole body trembled and with each shaky breath he let out your heart broke.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, leaning down so your lips were close to his ear. “Talk to me, baby.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might push you away. But then he turned just enough for you to see the red-rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks he was trying so hard to hide.

“I–” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, frustration evident even in his pain. “I lost someone today.”

Your stomach dropped.

His breathing was uneven as he kept his gaze on the sheets, as if saying it out loud made it all too real. “It was a rescue mission,” he muttered. “I—I thought I had ‘em. I thought I got them out in time.” His hands balled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. “But I didn’t.”

“Oh, Katsuki…” Your chest ached for him.

You didn’t say it wasn’t his fault. You knew he wouldn’t believe you, not right now. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him against you, letting him bury his face in your neck as his body shook with silent sobs.

You held him tighter, running your fingers through his hair again, pressing soft kisses to the crown of his head. “I’m here,” you murmured, over and over. “I’ve got you.”

And you stayed like that for as long as he needed, holding him through the weight of his grief.

His sobs eventually quieted, but his grip on you never loosened. He held onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his breathing still uneven as he tried to calm himself down. You ran your fingers through his hair, pressing another gentle kiss to his temple.

After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “I should’ve been faster.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your cheek against the top of his head. “You did everything you could, Katsuki.”

He let out a bitter scoff, his body still tense. “Doesn’t matter. They’re still gone.” His voice wavered, heavy with guilt.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. His red eyes were glassy, full of pain and frustration. You gently wiped away the stray tears on his cheeks, your touch soft and gentle.

“You’re human, baby. You can’t save everyone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know that doesn’t make it hurt any less, but it’s the truth. And no matter what, I know you gave it everything you had.”

His brows furrowed, his jaw clenching like he wanted to argue, but the fight left his eyes as quickly as it appeared. He sighed heavily, leaning into your touch, his hands coming up to rest on your waist.

“I just—” He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” You rested your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “I know, baby.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, the weight of the day settling between you. Eventually, you felt his breathing even out, his body relaxing slightly against yours.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “You’ll feel a little better after a shower.”

He exhaled deeply, nodding against you. “Only if you come with me.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, even in the heaviness of the moment. “Of course.”

And with that, you helped him up, guiding him to the bathroom, never letting go of his hand.

Sigh idk why i do this to myself 💔

A dragon's heart - Masterlist

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Heli's Masterlist

Part 1,

Part 2,

Part 3,

Part 4,

Part 5,

Part 6,

Part 7,

Part 8,

Part 9,

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16 (coming soon)

You ever read something soo fucking good

that you feel like you are sniffing a line of coke!?

It don't even matter if it's angst or fluff or if it's fucking noncon filled with dead dove do not eat with a side of smut

THAT FIC DESERVES TO NOT ONLY LIVE IN MY BOOKMARKS

BUT BECOME ONE WITH MY CELLS SO IT REPLICATES FOR ETERNITY

pro!hero dynamight is known for his explosive nature, fans second guessing if they should really approach the hothead. is it really surprising when you aren’t scared of him?

𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦 ᥫ᭡ 𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗩 ᥫ᭡ 𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗧

“okay so let me get this straight”

mina exhaled, “you met her KID. HER CHILD BAKUGOU. but you dont think she likes you???”

katsuki chewed on his bottom lip, frustrated. frustrated at mina, frustrated at the conflict in the predicament he’s in, frustrated at himself.  

“listen, i don’t wanna fuck it up”

mina sat back down on her chair and looked at eijiro, signaling for him to take over the conversation, eijiros chewing came to a halt, he put his sandwich down and cleared his throat. “listen bro, i really don’t think she sees you as just a friend, she trusted you with her kid” eijiro reasoned out, making valid points to which katsuki noticed. 

“maybe because im a pro, and she knows she can trust me?” katsuki scoffed. mina sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, “i give up!!” she took a long sip of her coffee, recollecting herself while denki and sero looked at each other dumbfoundedly. 

sero exhaled, “from what you’ve been telling us, i really believe she likes you bakugou, even if it’s just a bit, it’s something you can work with” 

“i don’t need ta’ work with anything!” katsuki snapped, “she’s strictly just a friend.” he crossed his arms against his chest. 

the signs were there, right infront of him. clearer than the sky that morning. why would he invest in a safety seat for kenji? sure the guy had to cash to blow. clearly, katsuki was trying to convince himself and not the others around him. everybody that surrounded him, knew that he had the fattest crush on you. the first person to pick it up, was izuku. the green haired boy noticed it the moment he saw his hotheaded childhood friend smile at his phone, in all his years that he’s known katsuki, there were a handful of times that he actually smiled, yet with you it came naturally and frequently. though the two of you are just friends right? grinning to himself, izuku knew where this was headed. 

katsuki, drove home that day. conflicted with the thoughts that filled his head. he knew he liked you, so why did he deny it? he knew it the moment he let you in, and he confirmed it the second he smiled around you so freely. 

truth be told, katsuki was scared. he knew he could trust you, but the fact he let someone in so easily, frustrated him. he could easily lose you, with the pressure his work brought onto him, with how fragile you were, compared to him. katsuki could deny it as much has he liked, but he was filled with fear, he was scared he’d lose you over one small careless mistake. 

‘if you’re so scared of losing her, then don’t give her a reason to leave asshole’ the voice at the back of his head nagged him. 

the boy survived a war, hell he fought in it, at the age of 17. so why did a woman, bring so much of fear in him? 

‘that’s what love does to you bud’ 

“i’m not in love idiot!” katsuki bursted out, in the middle of a street, everyone turned around to look at the hothead argue with himself. 

“what’re you looking at nerd!” he screamed at the civilians watching him, they scurried to continue what they were doing before katsukis public outburst 

it hadn’t even been five hours since his public outburst and clips were already trending, katsuki huffed and puffed

‘this is all her fault’

he groaned as his phone lit up, his PR manager had rung him for the 50th time already.

“you finally picked up” 

katsuki grumbled “make it quick” 

“im guessing you’ve seen the clip”

“no shit sherlock, it’s everywhere” 

“well as much as you don’t care about your public image, you need to turn their attention towards something else” 

katsuki sighed, there was no point in opposing, “what do i need to do” 

“attend an interview”

fuck. 

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 -

@rinkomei @ qyuin @kalulakunundrum @amayaaaxx @lotusstarr @mona345 @aryuunachigiri @emmaafinchh @haruesme @nottherealslimshady @taxavoider @gomu-gomu-gojo @your-mum3000 @slutlight2ndver @citruki @d4rlinx @bangersplusmash 

holy moly guacamole

Can you write a katsuki x female reader where she walks into katsuki masturbating on her picture. Because he has a crush on her.

The Act

You had no idea what you were about to walk into.

You had knocked twice—once, twice—just like always before entering Bakugo’s dorm room, but this time, he hadn’t shouted his usual “What?!” or “The hell do you want?” back at you. Weird. Katsuki was never the type to ignore knocks. If anything, he was usually quick to bark at whoever disturbed him.

So, naturally, you assumed he wasn’t inside.

And naturally, you made a mistake.

You pushed the door open, stepping inside, only to freeze in place at the sight before you.

Katsuki was sprawled out on his bed, legs spread, sweatpants pushed down just enough to reveal his hand wrapped around his cock. His face was flushed, lips slightly parted as deep, heavy breaths left his mouth. But what made your stomach twist and your heart pound violently against your ribcage—was the picture he was holding in his free hand.

Your picture.

A Polaroid from a few days ago when Mina had forced you into a cute pose during a game night. You remembered rolling your eyes at her, laughing, completely unaware that Bakugo had kept that picture. And now…

Your breath hitched.

The second Katsuki noticed the shift in air, his red eyes snapped open. The moment his gaze locked onto yours, everything stopped.

Time slowed.

His brain short-circuited.

“…Oh, fuck.”

His entire body went stiff. His grip on himself loosened as panic overtook his expression. His face, already red from exertion, somehow darkened into a deep crimson.

You were still standing there, mouth parted, eyes flickering between his face and the picture—his damn hand still barely gripping his length.

“Shit—get the fuck out!” he roared, scrambling to cover himself, the picture slipping from his grasp onto the bed.

You should move. You should leave. You should do something.

But you couldn’t.

Because this meant—

“You…” Your voice came out shakier than you wanted. “You…like me?”

Katsuki looked like he wanted to kill himself right there. His hand shot out to snatch the picture, shoving it under his pillow as if that would erase what just happened. “Fuckin’—goddamn it—” He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just get out.”

You didn’t. Instead, you took a hesitant step forward. “Katsuki…”

“Don’t.” His voice was hoarse. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

Your stomach flipped.

You knew Bakugo. You knew him well enough to understand that this wasn’t just some horny moment he got caught in. This wasn’t about lust—at least, not just that. He wouldn’t be this mortified if it wasn’t deeper than that.

“You idiot,” you whispered, heart hammering. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

He exhaled sharply, fingers digging into his sheets, still refusing to look at you. “Because it’s fuckin’ embarrassing, alright? I didn’t want you to know—” He stopped, jaw clenching. “Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

Your lips parted slightly.

Katsuki Bakugo, the guy who never hesitated to say what was on his mind, the guy who had zero filter and always spoke his truth—was scared to confess to you?

That realization sent warmth flooding through your chest.

And then, because you were feeling bold—or maybe because you wanted to see just how far you could push him—you took another step closer.

“Would it really scare me off,” you murmured, tilting your head, “if I liked you too?”

His eyes snapped open.

Shock flickered through his face before something darker took over.

“…You’re shitting me.” His voice was low, dangerous.

You shook your head. “I’m not.”

A tense silence stretched between you two. His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find any hint of a lie. But all he found was the truth.

His fingers twitched.

“…Then get over here.”

And just like that, the air turned thick.

Would you obey? Or would you tease him just a little more?

Your heart pounded.

Katsuki’s grip on your wrist was firm—almost bruising—as he yanked you forward, pulling you onto his lap before you could even think to resist. His breath was ragged, hot against your skin, and his hands wasted no time, gripping your hips tight enough to leave marks.

“You don’t get to say shit like that and not fuckin’ mean it,” he growled, voice thick with frustration and something darker—something desperate. “So if you’re playin’ with me, you better get the fuck out now.”

But you weren’t.

You weren’t playing.

You wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under your touch. “I’m not,” you whispered, looking him straight in the eye. “I meant it.”

Something in him snapped.

With a rough exhale, his hands slid up, gripping the back of your neck as he crashed his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, all tongue and teeth, pure hunger consuming him as if he’d been holding himself back for too damn long.

You gasped against his mouth, and that sound—fuck, that sound—made him lose what little restraint he had left.

His hands found the hem of your skirt, hiking it up impatiently, fingers digging into your bare thighs before pushing between them, spreading you open.

“Katsuki—”

“Shut up,” he groaned, voice strained as his fingers found the damp fabric of your panties. “Fuckin’—look at you,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours as his fingers traced the wet spot. “You like this, huh? Catchin’ me like that? Knowin’ I’ve been thinkin’ about you every damn night?”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t deny it. You nodded, lips parted as you struggled to breathe.

His jaw clenched, pupils blown wide as he pushed your panties aside with two fingers. The sudden rush of cool air against your slick folds made you shiver.

“Shit,” he hissed, running his fingers along your slit, feeling just how wet you were for him. His head fell back against the headboard, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before snapping open, locking onto you with a look that made your stomach flip. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

Your thighs clenched around his hand instinctively, but his free hand gripped your hip hard, keeping you spread for him.

“Nuh-uh,” he muttered darkly, voice rough. “Lemme feel you.”

And then, without warning, he pushed two fingers inside you.

A broken moan left your lips, back arching as his thick fingers stretched you open. He groaned at the feeling, at how warm and tight you were around him, at the way your body reacted so perfectly to his touch.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, curling his fingers just right, watching your face contort in pleasure. “You’re squeezin’ me so damn good.”

You were panting, gripping his shoulders for support as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, each thrust rough and desperate, as if he needed to memorize the way you felt around him.

And when he pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing harsh circles, your whole body jerked in his grasp.

“Gonna make you cum on my fingers,” he muttered, lips brushing against your jaw, trailing down to your neck where he nipped at your skin. “Then I’m gonna fuck you so good you won’t ever think about another damn guy again.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, and the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, like he was ready to ruin you completely—sent you tumbling over the edge.

Your orgasm hit hard, your walls pulsing around his fingers as a choked moan ripped from your throat. Katsuki cursed under his breath, watching you fall apart for him, feeling your arousal coat his hand.

“Good girl,” he murmured, slowing his movements as he helped you ride out your high. “That’s it. Fuckin’ perfect.”

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Because the second you caught your breath, he was already undoing his sweats, freeing his cock from his boxers, and positioning you over him.

“You ready for me?” he asked, voice thick with need, rubbing his tip against your still-sensitive entrance.

And with a shaky breath, you nodded.

“Yes.”

His grip on your hips tightened.

And then he slammed you down onto his cock.

Your head fell back with a sharp gasp as Katsuki stretched you open, bottoming out in one deep, unforgiving thrust. The sheer size of him sent a shudder through your body, your nails clawing at his shoulders, trying to ground yourself.

“Fuck,” he growled, his head dropping against your shoulder, breath hot and ragged. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you still as he throbbed inside you, struggling to keep himself from fucking up into you like a madman. “You’re so—shit, you’re tight.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling on either side of his as your walls fluttered around him, trying to adjust to the stretch.

Katsuki sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body tensed. “Don’t do that.”

“D-Do what?” you managed to stammer.

His hands slid down to your ass, gripping the flesh roughly. “Squeezin’ me like that,” he gritted out, voice thick with restraint. “Or I’ll fuckin’ lose it.”

You bit your lip, loving the way his body was trembling beneath you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His self-control was hanging by a thread, and you could snap it so easily.

So you rolled your hips.

Katsuki let out a guttural moan, head snapping up, eyes burning with something wild. His grip on you tightened—then, without warning, he lifted you up only to slam you back down onto his cock.

A cry tore from your lips, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust.

“Fuckin’ minx,” he growled, setting a brutal pace, using his grip on your hips to bounce you on his cock. The lewd, wet sounds of your bodies colliding filled the air, mixing with his ragged curses and your breathless moans.

He was relentless. Desperate. Like he had been starving for this, for you.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth, watching the way you took him so perfectly, watching the way your body moved against him. His cock throbbed inside you, hitting that spot that made you cry out every time. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

Your legs were trembling, your body burning from the intensity of it all. He was everywhere—his hands gripping your hips, his mouth on your neck, his cock buried deep inside you.

“Katsuki—”

“I got you, baby,” he murmured, his voice softer for just a second before he slammed you down even harder, knocking the breath from your lungs. “I got you.”

The coil in your stomach was winding impossibly tight, your body overwhelmed by the pleasure. Your nails raked down his back, your moans turning high and needy.

Katsuki groaned at the feeling. “Shit—gonna cum, aren’t you?”

You nodded frantically, barely able to speak, barely able to think past the feeling of him wrecking you completely.

He leaned in, capturing your lips in a messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucked you through the intensity of your orgasm.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice rough against your lips. “Wanna feel you fuckin’ fall apart on me.”

That was all it took.

Your vision blurred as pleasure crashed over you, your walls clenching around him as you came hard, your whole body shaking from the force of it.

Katsuki cursed loudly, his thrusts turning erratic.

“Fuck—fuck—” He gripped you tighter, holding you down as he buried himself deep, his cock twitching before spilling inside you with a rough groan. His body shuddered, fingers gripping your flesh almost painfully as he emptied himself inside you, breath hot against your neck.

For a moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the warmth of his body pressing against yours as you both tried to recover.

Then, Katsuki let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re fuckin’ mine now, got it?”

Ok so this trope might be my new fav obsession

hiii I haven't posted in months, so I tried to get this done super fast and never proofread anything, so I apologize for everything lol.

k. bakugou x kirishima's sister reader

words: 800+

warning: injuries, mention of blood

---

When your brother, Kirishima, finally connects the dots and realizes that you have a crush on his best friend, he is deeply conflicted.

He wasn’t exactly surprised that you’d liked Bakugou– he knew that you’d always ask him about Bakugou, whether he was going to be at certain 1A events, if he was invited to your family dinners, and sometimes you’d just ask him what Bakugou had been up to, but he only saw your questions as you trying to make some comfortable small talk. He probably would’ve never figured out about your crush had he not overheard you talking to one of your friends over the phone.

“Yeah, I mean he’s really cute, I just can’t–”

A mumbled voice interrupts you.

“I would, but I just can’t go on a date with my brother's best friend. I know that Eiji would say that it’s fine, but if he isn’t okay with that, he’s just going to pretend that it doesn’t bother him, and I’m not going force him to pretend that he’s okay with it, you know? Bakugou was his best friend first, and I’m going to respect that.”

—

Months passed, and you still hadn’t found out that Kirishima had listened in on your phone call. 

He was sitting on a bar stool in your bathroom while you attentively brushed red hair dye onto his bleached roots. There was a natural silence as you focused on covering his scalp in the thick concoction. 

“So… you like Bakugou?”

You were taken by surprise by this sudden question. You knew that you liked Bakugou. You’d liked him for years at this point, but you just couldn’t justify jeopardizing what you’d already had for something that could result in disaster. 

You sigh.

“I don’t know, Eiji. It’s complicated.”

He doesn’t pry further, sensing the disappointment and confusion laced between your words.

“Okay.”

—-

Bakugou had paid your household a visit for the weekend, offering to make mapo tofu for another one of your weekly family dinners. As you and your brother got older, friends became regulars at your dinners, and it wasn’t surprising to have Bakugou, Denki, or Sero sitting at the dinner table every weekend. 

However, your mom was out of town on a business trip this week, leaving you and Kirishima to run the household alone. The house was fairly clean, with just a few dishes left in the sink from breakfast and lunch and a pile of freshly washed laundry lying at the foot of your couch, waiting to be folded, but the two of you knew that Bakugou would stay to help you clean up around your house after dinner.

You sat at the kitchen island, watching Bakugou hunched over the stove while Kirishima cut the tofu into cubes. The three of you mindlessly talked about recent drama and little things that had happened in your lives recently. 

“Well, it turns out that she was actually walking to this guy from the next town over who’s been dating this girl for FOUR years. Crazy.”

Kirishima listened to your stories with a few “yeah”s and “Oh I remember her, she’s the one that used to live down the street, right?”, while Bakugou grumbled and summarized everything you said.

“So you mean to tell me she was talking to her friend's boyfriend of four years and didn’t know? Sounds like a lot of bullshit to me.”

Once dinner was over, Bakugou grumbled something about having to clean up your “nasty ass house” and made his way over to the kitchen sink alongside you, grabbing the dish towels stored in the drawer beside the sink and drying off the dishes as you washed them. 

He focused on the bowl you had just handed him, drying it with ease until…

“Fuck!”

He saw you run out of the kitchen, and down to the bathroom, droplets of blood trailing you as you fumbled with the bathroom door handle.

“Y/n? What the fuck happened?”  

He quickly caught up behind you, cracked the door open, lightly pressed the small of your back to lead you into the bathroom, and lifted you onto the marble countertop to examine your bloodied hand.

“Damn. Ya really got yourself good, huh?”

Not expecting a response from you, he found the first-aid kit and shuffled through the contents, finding gauze to wrap around your hand.

He applied the gauze and put pressure on your hand, a stinging sensation making itself known as he tentatively held it.

When you hiss in pain, Bakugou’s eyes dart up to see your tear-stained cheeks and glassy eyes.

At this moment, something about you has changed. You’re something far greater than just Kirishima’s annoying little sister. 

Luckily, your older brother has made it to the door just in time to see how differently he looks at you, and he realizes that it wasn’t just you who was catching feelings.

contact, finale

part 2

bakugo x fem!reader

Poor you, poor unsuspecting oblivious you. The short memory of the weekend long forgotten now that you were back in class.

Staring at your worksheet, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. The chatter of everyone around you dulling your senses and letting your mind settle into self isolation. Not realizing there was a crowd of up and coming hero's peaking at you from the door.

Some from the class gave them odd looks others whispering, questioning what students from the hero course could want with the general studies kids.

Your classes student president finally approached them, to ask what they needed. The movement from your peripheral catching your attention. As you turned your head to look towards the door, the spies scattered like bugs.

Retreating before you caught them.

Saved by the bell, everyone crowded to leave giving them the perfect opportunity to run to the lunch room. Waiting to see you shuffle out of class.

They observed as you stood in line for lunch, taking in the food you picked and where you sat. All of them but Kirishima were surprised to see their dear classmate Momo sit with you, greeting you with a quick hug before making her way to her other friends.

You didn't seem saddened by her exit as you sat alone eating your lunch, the small smile on your face as you returned her affection and quick chatter showed that you were fine.

You were content in your own world as you scrolled on your phone in one hand and ate a sandwich in the other.

The groups attention diverting from you when a certain someone slammed their lunch tray on the table. "What are you losers looking at." Bakugo asked, not an ounce of care in his tone.

Bakugo's eyes followed back to where they were looking, ironically making eye contact as you looked up from your phone. The blush on your cheeks faint but he noticed, he always noticed.

Everyone stiffened up, realizing they were caught. Bakugo's glare meeting everyone's gaze, his fuse was about to blow any minute.

"Didn't I tell you dumbasses to leave her alone!" He yelled, his friends wincing back as he lectured them like kids. They all looked down at their food, ashamed that they couldn't follow a simple request from their friend.

"But-" "Zip it Dunceface." Bakugo silenced Kaminari, not wanting to hear his poor excuse. "Bakugo, we aren't trying to be rude. We just want to know who she is." "Yeah! I mean no offense but you knowing someone who isn't Midoriya or us is super surprising!" Mina piped up, her excitement clear in her voice.

Bakugo rubbed his face in exhaustion, knowing his friends won't leave him or you alone until they get an answer they're satisfied with. "Fine. Give me your questions. But you guys have to leave her alone." He pressed, trying to save you from this circus act.

Kaminari stood up, knowing he couldn't pass on this opportunity. "How do you know a pretty girl like her, I mean you're not the most approachable guy." He joked.

Bakugo could already feel the headache forming. "Back when we were kids, my mom forced me to talk to her." "So you're not her friend?" Sero questioned.

With a sigh Bakugo knew he'd have to recall the memory of meeting you.

"When we were five, my mom took me to the playground and none of my friends had showed up yet. My mom say her playing on the swings by herself and pushed me to talk to her, thinking she was lonely. Turns out that was the worse move because not even a second after I greeted her she took off running." Bakugo told the story with a certain look in his eye, a kind of soft reminiscent look.

"I didn't like that she ignored me, so I chased her around the playground until she finally stopped. She hid herself under the stairs hoping she could hide from me. But I followed her in. Her hair covered her face as she nervously asked what I wanted." Bakugo glanced in your direction as he talked, taking you in as he thought of smaller you.

"I followed her around after that, every time I saw her I'd force her to talk to me until she finally did it first. When I was waiting in line her class walked by mine and she gave me a small wave. Soon after our moms met during pick up and they became close. That's why my parents let her into my house last time. Everyone knows each other by now." Bakugo concluded, wrapping his story up once he caught a glimpse of his friend's intrigued faces.

Mina was squealing by the end of it. "Awww you guys were probably so adorable back then!" Kirishima was proud of his friend for being persistent, even if he didn't want to at first.

Sero and Denki were sitting, confused looks on their faces. "Wait, if she knew you for so long why did she get so shy when she came over." Sero asked.

Bakugi couldn't help but smirk, "She's always been shy, hates any amount of attention. Hell she was going to cry after I forced her into a corner when we first met." Bakugo fed off the image of your blushing face, every-time you talked to him even if it was for something small you always blushed around him.

The guys exchanged sly glances, a silent form of communication passing through them. Denki leaned forward, a mischievous look on his face. "So Bakugo, you wouldn't mind if I asked for her number right. I mean if bugging her worked for you, surely it could work for me."

Bakugo stiffened, the thought of Denki even trying to make a pass at you made him want to vomit on the table.

Without thinking he threw himself across the table, gripping Denki's shirt. "I won't hesitate to make sure you never recover, if I even hear about you trying to talk to her I'll kill you." Bakugo released his hold on Denki before stomping off.

After the last bell of the day, you raced to catch up to the hot headed blonde walking home. Heaving, out of breath as you tried to keep pace with him.

Bakugo silently slowing his steps, so you didn't have to struggle. "What do you want."

Your face flushed, huffing out an answer. "Mom wanted you to come over for dinner tonight." Bakugo nodded, ruffling your hair as he wrapped his arm around you. Your face heating up as he dragged you to the direction of your home.

"I'm home!" You yelled out, the both of you taking off your shoes at the entrance. No response came as you and Bakugo walked further into your house.

Your mom must've been out getting dinner. Leaving you and him alone together. Trying to shake off the thoughts going through your head, you followed Bakugo to your room.

He flopped down on your bed, making himself comfortable. He listened as you shuffled around your room, knowing you were prolonging having to sit down next to him.

Once he heard your steps close to the bed, he shot his arm out, grabbing you by surprise and dragging you down with him.

A squeak leaving your throat.

"Quit moving already and relax." He stated, voice muffled as he burrowed himself in your hair. Your body slowly relaxing in his grip.

You two enjoyed the comfortable silence, you thought Bakugo had fallen asleep until he spoke out.

"You know my friends from before?" You nodded, content in his arms. "Well one of them tried asking me if they could take you out." Bakugo's tone gave away nothing as he told you what happened at lunch.

Your palms getting sweaty with the thought of his friends watching you at lunch. "Well... what did you tell him?" You asked, hoping he didn't give his friend the green light.

Years of friendship with Bakugo and the small suggestive comments he made everytime you talked had you hoping he said no. But this was Bakugo, maybe he didn't care and told him to go for it.

You prayed he didn't.

Bakugo turned towards you, your faces just inches apart. "I told him to back off obviously, why would I let that idiot anywhere near what's mine."

Your eyes widened at his confession, "Yours?" You watched as Bakugo's expression shifted, that know at all smile taking over his features.

"I mean... if you want to be mine that is?"

Your breath hitched, his confession catching you by surprise.

The only other friend you've had since training wheels, the boy that forced you into a life long friendship, the same boy that had you blushing just by being near you.

He just asked you to be his.

With a bright smile, you enthusiastically nodded your head, whispering yes over and over again. Bakugo pulled you on top of him, holding you tight as you agreed to go out with him.

Years of pining finally paid off.

The both of your smiles gleamed back at each other, falling into silence. Realizing your position over him, and no one else home, the mood caught up to you.

Gazing into each others eyes for the first time as a couple, Bakugo slowly started to lean in, your eyes closing on instinct.

You could feel his breath just inches away from you, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

Until the bang of the front door had you pulling apart in surprise. "Honey, come help me with the groceries!" Your mother called from the entrance.

Breaking the romantic bubble you two were in. Your head fell onto Bakugo's chest, a groan of annoyance leaving your lips.

Your boyfriend breaking into laughter at your mother's timing. "Come on, let's go help." He ushered you up, his smile never leaving his face as he dragged you away.

NOT THAT HE CARES | Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugo never wanted to be here. The bass is too loud, the air is thick with sweat and alcohol, and the entire place reeks of bad decisions. But you—you—had convinced him to come.

“Just for a little while,” you had pleaded, tugging at his sleeve with that damn smile of yours.

“Please?” He had rolled his eyes, muttered whatever, and somehow ended up here—leaning against the wall not too far away, arms crossed, watching you with a scowl as you laughed way too much at something your friend just said.

It was fine at first. You stuck to a couple of drinks, stayed close to your friends, nothing he needed to interfere with. But now? Now you’re swaying slightly, eyes glassy, your grin too loose. Your friends aren’t any better—one of them is barely holding themselves up, the other is too busy flirting to care what’s happening around them.

And then, of course, some asshole decides to make things worse.Bakugo notices him immediately. A guy—tall, shady asshole, dressed like he thinks he’s hot shit—zeroing in on you like you’re easy prey. He watches as the guy sidles up next to you, leans in too close, and whispers something in your ear.

You blink at him, swaying slightly. “Huh?”The guy chuckles, placing a hand on your lower back. “How about we get out of here, yeah?”Bakugo doesn’t think. He moves.In an instant, he’s at your side, stepping between you and shoving the guy a great distance from you.

“Back up!” The guy blinks, taking a step back. “Whoa, chill, man. Just making sure they’re okay.”he holds his hands up “she’s fine.” His voice is cold, sharp. “And she’s leaving dip shit.”

The guy hesitates, looking between you and Bakugo like he’s deciding whether it’s worth the trouble. But one look at Bakugo’s clenched fists and deadly glare, and he backs off with a scoff, muttering something about people being too uptight.

Bakugo ignores him, turning back to you. “We’re goin’.”You pout. “But—”“No buts.” He grabs your wrist, steady but firm. “You’re done.”You mumble something incoherent but don’t resist as he leads you through the crowd. Your friends barely notice you leaving, too caught up in their own mess.Idiots.

The night air is sharp against his skin as he helps you into his car. You fumble with the seatbelt, and with an irritated sigh, he leans over, buckling it for you.“You’re bossy,” you mumble, blinking up at him.

“And you’re a damn lightweight,” he shoots back, shutting the door before walking around to the driver’s side.The drive is quiet. You’re half-asleep against the window, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. He glances at you, then sighs, grabbing a bottle of water from the cupholder.

“Drink.”You blink at it, sluggish. “Why?”“So you don’t feel like complete shit tomorrow.”

A slow, sleepy smile spreads across your lips. “You do care.”His hands tighten around the wheel. “Tch. Shut up.”Still, you take a few sips, mumbling a quiet thank you before closing your eyes again.By the time he pulls up to your place, you’re barely awake. He gets out, opens your door, and sighs when you don’t move.

“Oi.” He nudges your arm. Nothing.With a grunt, he unbuckles your seatbelt and scoops you into his arms, carrying you inside like it’s second nature.

Your breath is warm against his neck as he unlocks your door.“…Bakugo?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

He exhales through his nose. “What?”

“…You’re really warm.”His face heats up, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Yeah, yeah. Just go to sleep.”And maybe, just maybe, as he tucks you into bed and watches the slow rise and fall of your chest, he finally admits—just to himself—that you might be the only person in the world he’d ever do this for.Not that he cares.(Of course he does.)

contact, aftermath

part 1

bakugo x fem!reader

The gang finally wore Bakugo down enough and convinced him to let them hang out at his house. His parents were ecstatic to find out that their beloved son actually had friends and wasn't a loner.

They decided to hangout on the weekend so they could have the whole day to goof off. Everyone arrived one by one. His mom sending them upstairs to Bakugo's room, so they could entertain themselves with his gaming consoles.

Everyone was having fun, and surprised to find that Bakugo had sweet loving parents. They were able to order food and checkout all of Bakugo's cool items he had in his room.

For an only kid he sure had a lot of extra controllers. This resulted in a small wager between everyone, whoever won at mario cart was allowed one day of Bakugo not yelling at them. No one had any objections except for Bakugo himself but no one listened to his complaining.

With all the yelling and attempts to sabotage each other, no one heard the ring of the doorbell.

Mitsuki didn't realize anyone else was coming over, but was pleasantly surprised when she answered the door.

"Oh honey it's you!" Her smile bright as she greeted you standing outside on her porch.

You gave her a shy smile, twiddling your hands as you fidgeted under her gaze. Even though you knew her your whole life she still made you nervous whenever you ran into her. Her similar features to Bakugo didn't help either.

"Hi ma'am, I just came to give Katsuki back his manga I borrowed." Your hands delicately held the book out to her.

"What did I say about calling me that ma'am crap," she shook her head, teasing you. "Katsuki's in his room, just go up and give it to him." She said, pushing you into her home.

You dreaded this, you just wanted to return his book and go back home to your bed, but alas Mitsuki was always so friendly.

With a small smile you headed upstairs to his room. The same room you've seen countless times, witnessing the progression of All Might decor to now band posters and study books.

The hall as silent as always, since the Bakugo's had his room soundproof from all his yelling. With a light hand you gave the door three quick taps, waiting for him to respond.

Nothing, with a deep sigh you hesitantly opened his door. "Hey Katsuki I came-" you froze mid step, what usually greeted you was Bakugo laying in his bed or studying at his desk, but right now multiple heads were turned towards you. It was like a stand off, no one moving and the silence was deafening.

Bakugo clicked his tongue, "What are you dumbasses looking at, get back to playing before you lose!" Pushing himself off the floor he made his way towards you.

You were tripping over your own words trying to explain your sudden visit, "I'm so sorry, your mom sent me up here-" "Cool it, I'm not upset. Now what were you saying before those losers made you freeze up like a statue." Bakugo pressed, blocking his friends from your view so you don't get overwhelmed.

"Oh um, I came to return your manga." You held the book out towards him. He grabbed it, your finger tips grazing, causing you to pull back. The blush on your face more prominent than usual.

Bakugo got a kick out of your reactions, since you guys were young he loved the blush that would bloom on your face when he would tease you.

He quickly retreated back in his room, before reappearing before you with the next volume in his hand. "Here, give it back whenever." Placing the book in your grip, making sure to wait a couple seconds before pulling away.

With a quick nod you clutched the book to your chest, hoping to be free to go home. "I'll see you later, kay?" With a smirk he waited for your response. You mumbled out a small agreement before booking it down the hall and gone from his sights.

The smirk never leaving his lips as he watched you retreat. Turning around like nothing happened he went back to his bed, shoving Denki down to his old spot on the floor.

Denki didn't mind as much, since he was more focused on grilling Bakugo for answers. "So who was the pretty girl just now?" "No one you need to know." Bakugo grunted, attention focused on his phone.

"Wasn't she the girl that you waved to that one day, when we were switching classes?" Kirishima piped in, remembering the small interaction from last week.

Bakugo's head snapped up, his gaze sharp. "Yes, and you guys will do your best to leave her alone at school if you know what's good for you." His threat serious, bringing a cold chill over the room.

With that no one said another word about you, choosing to keep the peace and enjoy the rest of their day hanging out in his room.

I need a job so this is the good luck post for it

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

My favorite show is on

CHAPTER 13: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 5k

FLASHBACK

“Nova, can you h—?”

The sound of static crackled through your earpiece, cutting off the desperate voice on the other end. You winced, shielding your face as the blistering heat of the raging fire licked at your skin. The warehouse, once teeming with federal agents and your team, was now a deathtrap engulfed in flames.

This wasn’t how the mission was supposed to end.

The vital evidence you needed to bring Anthony Moretti to justice—the files, the ledgers, the weapons cache—was turning to ash before your eyes. Desperation clawed at your chest as you searched for an exit amid the chaos, flames casting long, erratic shadows across the crumbling structure.

It was hard to believe that only 24 hours ago, you were sitting across from Moretti in a high-end restaurant, the air thick with the smell of calamari and overpriced cologne. The man had smiled as you choked down bitter cocktails, blissfully unaware that you were dismantling his empire from within. Now, everything he’d built—the lives he’d destroyed, the drugs he’d sold, the blood money he’d hoarded—was being consumed by the very flames that threatened to take you with them.

You didn’t have time to mourn the loss of the evidence. Surviving came first.

A sharp, metallic crack reverberated through the air just before a sudden blow to the back of your head made your vision blur. Staggering, you barely registered the weight of a body slamming into you before you hit the ground, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs.

“Tell me who sent you, or I’ll kill you right now,” growled a familiar voice, low and venomous.

Anthony Moretti.

He was on top of you, one knee digging painfully into your ribs, a cold barrel pressed to your temple. He couldn’t see your face beneath your mask and hero uniform, but that didn’t seem to matter. His words carried the fury of a man backed into a corner, desperate and dangerous.

The flickering firelight illuminated his features—sharp lines of anger etched into his face.

You gritted your teeth, twisting your body beneath him. With a swift motion, you drove your knee into his stomach, hard enough to make him double over with a grunt of pain. As he staggered backward, clutching his abdomen, you thrust your hand forward, summoning your power.

He flew across the room, slamming into the concrete wall with a bone-jarring thud. His body stuck there, pinned as though held by invisible bonds.

You reached up and pulled off your mask, letting it fall to the scorched ground. The flickering flames illuminated your face, and you saw the confusion, the betrayal, and the anger that twisted his features even further.

“Lily?” he gasped, his expression shifting as the realization hit him. His voice was a mixture of disbelief and something that almost sounded like heartbreak.

“No,” you replied, your voice cold and resolute.

“My name’s Nova,” you said firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I’m a hero.”

Moretti’s eyes narrowed as he struggled against the invisible force holding him in place. The firelight danced in his dark eyes, highlighting the rage simmering just beneath the surface.

“A hero?” he spat, his voice thick with venom. “Heroes don’t destroy lives. Heroes don’t betray people who trusted them.”

You clenched your fists, his words slicing deeper than you cared to admit. “You don’t get to lecture me about betrayal, Moretti. You built your empire on lies, blood, and fear. How many families have you destroyed? How many people have died because of you?”

His lip curled into a sneer. “And you think you’re better? Pretending to be one of us, cozying up to me, all for this?” He gestured around the burning warehouse as much as his pinned position would allow. 

You stepped closer, your boots crunching against the broken glass and debris littering the floor. The heat was becoming unbearable, sweat dripping down your face, but you refused to let him see any weakness.

“This is justice,” you said firmly. “You’ve spent years thinking you were untouchable, that no one could stop you. But look around, Moretti. Your empire is crumbling, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

For a moment, silence filled the space between you, broken only by the roar of the flames. Then, he laughed—a low, bitter sound that sent a chill down your spine despite the suffocating heat.

Moretti’s eyes blazed with fury as he struggled against your powers, his voice a growl of defiance. “You think this is over? That locking me up ends this?” He barked a harsh laugh, the sound cutting through the roaring flames.

“You’re delusional, Nova. As long as you’re alive, you’ll never know peace. Everyone you care about—your family, your friends—I’ll make sure they all pay for what you’ve done here tonight.”

You forced yourself to stay steady, to keep your face impassive even as the weight of his threat coiled in your chest.

“You’re not in a position to make threats,” you snapped, dragging him closer to the exit. But his words lingered, burrowing into your mind like a parasite.

Moretti sneered, his confidence unshaken despite the fire and chaos surrounding him. “You underestimate me. Even in chains, I have power. My reach extends far beyond these walls. Do you really think you can protect them all?”

He leaned forward as much as your powers allowed, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You’ve made this personal, Lily—or should I call you Nova now? Either way, everyone you love is living on borrowed time.”

You froze, your grip faltering for just a fraction of a second. That was all it took for Moretti to see the crack in your armor, and he smiled—a wicked, knowing grin that sent a chill down your spine.

“I know who you are,” he said softly, almost triumphantly. “Your face might be a secret to the world, but not to me. And when I get out—and I will get out—I’ll make sure you live long enough to watch them all die, one by one.”

The rage that surged through you in that moment was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Your hand trembled as you fought the urge to tighten your hold, to slam him against the wall again and silence him for good.

PRESENT:CHAPTER 12 CONTINUATION…

The door to the east wing loomed before you, and with a shared nod, you pushed it open. Inside, Moretti waited, flanked by a handful of his men. His cold green eyes lit up with twisted amusement as he saw you enter.

“Well, well,” he drawled, spreading his arms as if welcoming old friends. “The runaway and the hothead. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“You won’t be wondering much longer,” Bakugo growled, stepping forward, explosions sparking in his palms.

“Careful, Dynamight,” Moretti said with a smirk, his hand casually resting on the pistol at his side. “I still hold all the cards.”

You stepped beside Bakugo, your voice calm but firm. “Not anymore, Moretti. This ends now.”

The tension in the room thickened as Bakugo and you stood ready, the weight of your words settling over Moretti. His smirk faltered, but it was quickly replaced with a look of cold, calculating rage. He had underestimated you, but that would be his mistake.

“You think you can just walk in here and take me down?” Moretti sneered, his hand tightening around the grip of his pistol. “You’re both pathetic if you believe that.”

Before he could raise his weapon, Bakugo lunged forward, blasting the ground beneath him with an explosion that sent him hurtling towards Moretti at high speed. The force of the blast threw the men standing beside him back, and Bakugo collided with Moretti’s right-hand man, sending him crashing into a stack of crates.

Moretti barely had time to react before you were on him, your quirk flaring as you moved with a speed and precision that startled him. Your hand shot out, knocking the pistol from his grasp before he could pull the trigger. The metallic clatter of the weapon hitting the floor echoed through the room.

“Nice try,” you said, your voice a low growl, as you stepped back, preparing yourself for whatever came next.

Bakugo, now almost free of the goons who’d been circling him, shot you a look. “Careful.”

“Focus,” you shot back, keeping your eyes locked on Moretti.

Bakugo advanced first, throwing an explosion directly at the nearby table, the force of the blast sending it toppling over, blocking the line of sight for Moretti’s men. They tried to recover, but Bakugo was already upon them, his fists lashing out with the sheer force of his explosive quirk.

Meanwhile, you circled behind Moretti, not giving him a moment to breathe. You could feel the surge of power building inside you, the remnants of your quirk pushing against your skin. But there was something more, something deeper driving you—the need to finish what you’d started, to take down the man who had ruined your life and threatened the people you cared for.

“You’re not getting away with this,” you said, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Moretti spun around, a wicked glint in his eyes. “You really think you can defeat me?” he hissed, his tone full of venom. “I’ve been untouchable for years. You’re just a scared little girl trying to play hero.”

You took a step closer, ignoring the sting of his words. “I’m not scared of you, Moretti.”

In the split second he took to reach for another weapon, you lunged, gripping his arm and twisting it behind his back. Your quirk surged again, crackling in your palms as you pressed him against the wall. His breaths grew more frantic as he struggled against your grip.

A pained groan cut through the air, and your eyes instinctively flicked to Bakugo. He was still standing, but barely. His explosions were less precise now, slower, his arms trembling with fatigue as each burst sent another one of Moretti’s men crashing to the floor. His breaths were sharp and ragged, the strain of maintaining his power taking its toll.

Distracted by the sight of him, your guard faltered, and in that moment, Moretti took advantage of the opening. With a brutal headbutt, he drove you back, the impact reverberating through your skull. 

Before you could regain your footing, Moretti shoved you into a nearby window, and you felt the glass give way beneath your body, sharp shards embedding into your skin as the window shattered. The rush of air knocked the wind out of you, and the sharp sting of glass against your abdomen sent waves of agony crashing through your chest. 

Moretti didn’t pause. He lifted you effortlessly and threw you to the ground, the harsh impact jolting your bones. The pain was almost unbearable, but you fought to stay conscious, to keep moving. You found yourself beneath him once more, his face hovering above you as he tried to catch his breath. His hands were pinning your wrists above your head, trapping you beneath him as he sneered.

"Did you mean it?" His voice was low, filled with something that bordered on insanity.

"What?" You gasped, still trying to catch your breath. 

"Did you kill her?"

The question struck you like a slap. "Yes," you answered, your voice hoarse but steady.

He seemed to flinch, his grip tightening around your wrists as his anger surged. "The one thing I loved most in this world... and you took her from me."

You locked eyes with him, your gaze cold and unyielding. "She didn’t deserve a father like you."

His jaw clenched as his fury flared. “I should’ve made you pay for this a long time ago.”

With a vicious growl, Moretti’s fingers tightened around your throat, the crushing pressure cutting off your airway. Your vision blurred, stars flickering at the edges as panic gripped you. His other hand fumbled at his side, and you caught the gleam of the gun as he raised it, his aim steady and deliberate.

“Don’t think I ever forgot about our conversation from years ago.” he snarled, his voice laced with venom. His eyes flicked briefly to Bakugo, who was battling a swarm of Moretti’s men, explosions lighting up the darkened warehouse like fireworks.

Desperation clawed at your chest as you struggled beneath him, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. His grip on your throat loosened slightly as he adjusted his aim, allowing you to gasp for air.

“No—no, Moretti,” you croaked, your voice raw and trembling. Anxiety churned in your stomach, the weight of his words from years ago echoing in your mind. The fire. The pain. The promises of vengeance he’d made that night.

Fear twisted through you as you watched Bakugo fight, oblivious to his danger. His movements were relentless, a blur of precision and fury as he blasted away at the men surrounding him. But he was too far away, too distracted to notice what was happening.

“Please—I’m begging you,” you rasped, the words tumbling out in a broken plea.

Moretti paused, his cold eyes locking on yours. A twisted smile curled at the edges of his lips, full of malice and triumph. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper.

“You took my daughter. It’s only fair if I take something from you.”

The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless in a new way. You shook your head, tears spilling from your eyes as your chest heaved with silent, frantic sobs.

He cocked the gun with a deliberate click, the sound cutting through the chaos like a death knell. Panic surged through you, overriding the pain and exhaustion.

“KATSUKI—!” you screamed, but the cry was muffled as Moretti slammed his hand over your mouth.

“You don’t get to call for him,” he hissed, his face inches from yours. The noise of explosions and the shouting of men drowned out your muffled cries. Bakugo didn’t turn around, didn’t see the danger he was in.

“Say goodbye,” he whispered.

It happened in an instant.

The deafening crack of the gunshot rang out, cutting through the chaos like a dagger. Time seemed to slow as you watched Bakugo jerk to a stop, the impact of the bullet slamming into his side. His crimson eyes widened, not in fear, but in rage, as blood began to seep through his hero costume.

“No!” you screamed, your voice breaking as you tried to reach for him.

Bakugo staggered, one hand clutching his side as he dropped to a knee. His teeth clenched in pain, but the fire in his eyes didn’t falter. “You think a bullet’s gonna stop me?” he growled, forcing himself back to his feet despite the blood now dripping onto the floor.

Moretti sneered, his gun still raised, aiming for Bakugo’s head this time. “You’re tougher than you look,” he mocked. “But I don’t miss twice.”

Before Moretti could pull the trigger again, he raised his hand, motioning for his guards to stand down. The men hesitated, confused, but obeyed, lowering their weapons as they stepped away from Bakugo.

Moretti’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking you up with brutal force. A sharp grunt escaped your lips as pain radiated from your scalp, your knees buckling beneath you.

“Please—” you gasped, tears spilling freely now as you struggled against his iron grip. “Leave him alone. This is between us.”

“No…” His voice echoed with venom as he repeated the words from years ago. “As long as you’re alive, you’ll never know peace. Everyone you care about—your family, your friends—I'll make sure they all suffer for what you’ve done here tonight.”

“Then let him go,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “Kill me. It’s me you want.”

Moretti chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned in closer. His nose brushed against the side of your face, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You still smell so sweet,” he murmured, his voice dripping with malice, “even with all that blood.”

His grip on you tightened like a vice, pulling your body flush against his. The weight of his presence was suffocating. “I never wanted to kill you, you know,” he said softly, almost tenderly. “I loved you once… But you seem to have that effect on men. Breaking them.”

He turned his gaze toward Bakugo, who was glaring at him with unrelenting fury despite the blood staining his side. Moretti smirked, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Do you love her?” Moretti asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Katsuki, don’t answer him,” you said quickly, your voice strained with desperation.

Moretti’s expression darkened. “I said… do you love her?”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and suffocating. Then Bakugo spoke.

“No.”

Moretti erupted into a cruel, mocking laugh. “And you were going to sacrifice yourself for what? For him? A man who doesn’t love you?”

Tears welled in your eyes, spilling over as you looked at Bakugo. His face was tense, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never left yours.

“So what’s it gonna be, Nova?” Moretti taunted, his voice low and venomous. “You or him?”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned to face Moretti fully, the broken window behind the two of you framing the chaos of the moment.

“Me,” you said, your voice steady, even as tears streamed down your face.

Before he could react, you threw your arms around him, holding him tight as you surged forward. His eyes widened in shock, the realization dawning too late. You plunged through the shattered window, the sharp glass fragments cutting through the air.

The rush of air stole the breath from your lungs as you fell, the world spinning in a chaotic blur. Moretti’s body was heavy against yours, but you held onto him until the last moment. Then, you released him, watching as he fell below you. His eyes closed, a look of grim acceptance on his face as he hurtled toward the ground.

You felt a strange calmness begin to settle over you, the wind whipping against your skin. 

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The chaos of the world, the deafening winds, and the fear—all faded into a distant hum. In that instant, it was just you and the open sky, weightless and free.

But as the ground rushed up toward you, your heart pounded with something else—something deeper than fear. It was the finality of it all, the understanding that, for once, you were not just a survivor. You were someone who had chosen to end it all, choosing to make sure he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Then a bright flash of blonde hair cut through the blur of motion. The explosion of sound that followed was deafening, the impact of Bakugo’s blast like thunder in your chest. His hand gripped yours, pulling you close as the world seemed to collapse into itself.

And then, there was stillness. A strange kind of peace, despite the chaos surrounding you. Bakugo’s arms wrapped around you tightly, his body warm and strong against yours, the only thing keeping you tethered to life. You could feel his heart racing, a mirror to your own, but there was an unspoken promise in the way he held you, something more powerful than words. A connection that no threat could sever.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his breath ragged but steady.

The ground rushed up to meet you both, but Bakugo twisted midair, shielding you with his body as you landed with a bone-jarring impact. The force of the explosion softened the fall, but pain radiated through you both as you hit the ground.

Dust and debris hung thick in the air, the faint glow of the moon filtering through the shattered window above. For a moment, everything was eerily silent, the chaos finally settling. Then, a low groan broke the stillness.

Bakugo’s arms were still wrapped protectively around you, his grip loose but steadfast. His chest heaved against yours, his breathing labored yet steady.

“That was fucking risky,” he rasped, his voice rough but tinged with exasperation.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His face was pale, streaked with dirt and blood, but his crimson eyes burned as fiercely as ever. “You’re bleeding,” you said, your voice trembling as your hands moved to his side. “Sit down. Now.”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, trying to wave you off as he shifted to stand.

“No, you’re not.” Your voice cracked, panic seeping into your tone. “He shot you.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, his usual defiance shining through despite the pain. “I’ve been shot plenty of times, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low but teasing. “This? This is nothing.”

“It’s not nothing!” you snapped, tears welling in your eyes again as you pressed your palm against the wound on his side, trying to stem the bleeding. The warm, sticky sensation made your stomach twist. “You’re losing blood, we need to get you to a hospital.”

He winced but didn’t pull away, his hand resting lightly over yours. “You’re freaking out over nothing,” he muttered, though his voice softened at the sight of your tears.

“Stop pretending you’re invincible,” you said, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t—” Your words faltered, the weight of everything hitting you all at once.

You almost just died, but then you didn’t. The gravity of it all hit you like a crashing wave—one moment, you were falling through the air, feeling the sharp sting of fear and adrenaline; the next, you were in Bakugo’s arms, alive, but barely able to comprehend how.

Bakugo was shot. The blood soaking through his clothes, the pain in his eyes, it tore at you in ways you didn’t know you could feel. 

And then Moretti was gone, his lifeless body falling with the same cold inevitability that had followed him for so long. His reign of terror was over, but the victory felt hollow.

"This isn’t anywhere near where I thought we were," Bakugo muttered, his voice gruff as he shifted his weight. His abdomen aching.

You blinked up at the unfamiliar surroundings, the disorienting feeling of being outside yet nowhere near any familiar landmarks sinking in. The buildings were old, run-down, and the streets were eerily quiet, a far cry from the chaos you’d just escaped. The darkness loomed around you like an ever-present shadow, and the unfamiliar city seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Bakugo’s gaze darted over the streets, but there were no signs, no clues to tell him where the hell they’d ended up. The distance between here and the place you had started felt like a world away.

As Bakugo’s attention was momentarily diverted, you quickly yanked your sweatshirt off, revealing only your sports bra underneath. You weren’t sure why the heat had risen in your chest, but it was the only way you could help him now.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bakugo’s voice snapped you from your thoughts, the sharp edge of his tone drawing your focus back to him.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you focused on the task at hand, your hands shaking as you began ripping a strip of fabric from the hem of your shirt. The raw urgency of the situation spurred you on, but there was something else—something more fragile, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected to reveal.

“Sit down,” you urged, your voice pleading, unguarded.

The sudden softness in your tone caught him off-guard. For a moment, Bakugo hesitated, but the emotion in your voice broke through his usual defiance. He lowered himself slowly to the ground with a grunt, though his fiery gaze never left you.

“Can you take your top off? I can’t see what I’m working with,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Bakugo didn’t argue, a sharp exhale leaving his lips as he pulled his costume's top off. The motion was effortless, but it was clear the effort was taking its toll on him. He winced slightly but didn’t complain.

As the fabric came off, your breath caught in your throat. For a brief moment, it was like time stopped. The sight of him, sweat-drenched and bloodied but still fiercely alive, made you pause. His body was chiseled—like something carved from marble itself. Strong, defined muscles, hardened by years of battle, were a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Stop starin’,” Bakugo growled, snapping you out of your trance. His voice was rough, the usual cocky arrogance laced with something softer, something only you would notice.

You forced yourself to focus, shaking your head to clear the haze of heat that had settled in your chest. Your hands moved swiftly to tie the makeshift bandage around his wound, your fingers trembling as you worked. The urgency of the moment burned through the haze, the necessity of patching him up overshadowing everything else.

Bakugo gritted his teeth, his gaze flickering between you and the ground, his silence telling you just how much pain he was in. But he didn’t flinch or ask for you to stop.

“Quit worrying,” he muttered, his eyes meeting yours briefly. “I’m fine. I’ve had worse.”

You finished tying the bandage, your fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary, almost as if you didn’t want to let go. You could feel your pulse racing, but you had to ignore it. You had to focus on him.

The silence between you both was thick, heavy with unspoken words and emotions you had both tried to bury. Bakugo’s chest heaved with each labored breath, and his eyes flickered to you, softened by something deeper than just the pain of the moment.

“This is my fault,” you murmured, your voice trembling with guilt. “I tried to keep you away, but—”

Before you could finish, Bakugo’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently despite the blood staining his fingertips.

“I’d get shot a hundred times if it meant saving you,” he said, his voice low but filled with an unshakable resolve.

The weight of his words struck you like a lightning bolt, making your chest tighten. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. The vulnerability between you both felt so raw, so unfiltered in this moment.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “What you said up there… about not loving me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You couldn’t stop the tremor in your words.

Bakugo’s expression hardened, his eyes darting down to the ground as he exhaled sharply, almost like the words he had said before burned him too. “It was a lie,” he confessed, his voice thick with regret. “I was hopin’ that if I turned you against me, you’d save yourself… but I guess it didn’t matter what I had to say, did it?”

You shook your head, the air thick with the vulnerability that hung between you both. “It didn’t matter what you said,” you whispered. “I would have done it anyway. I’d jump out of a window a hundred times if it meant saving you.”

A small, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and despite everything, despite the blood and the pain, something soft flickered in his eyes. “Idiot,” he muttered, but the warmth in his tone couldn’t be ignored. “You’re insane.”

“I know.” You smiled, but it wasn’t just a smile—it was everything that had been left unsaid, everything you wanted him to understand. 

His expression softened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered hoarsely, though there was no anger in his words, just the quiet desperation of someone who had almost lost the one person they couldn’t bear to lose.

The soft rhythm of Bakugo’s breathing filled the air, and for a moment, it seemed like the world had paused. But then, in the distance, the unmistakable sound of sirens broke through the quiet, growing louder with each passing second. The relief you’d been holding at bay suddenly rushed in, an overwhelming wave of emotion that left you dizzy.

"You called for backup?" you asked, your voice laced with a mix of relief and tension.

"I dropped my pin to shitty hair the moment the power came back on," he replied, his voice steady despite the strain.

You exhaled a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening as his words sank in. The sirens were closer now, their sound vibrating through the air, promising salvation just on the horizon.

"Of course you did," you muttered, a small, almost disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. 

He smirked faintly, though the strain in his features was impossible to miss. 

Your heart twisted at the defiant glint in his eyes, his strength unwavering even as blood seeped through his side, the stain spreading with every second. You stayed beside him, hands trembling as they hovered over his wound.

The sound of boots crunching on debris signaled the arrival of help. You looked over your shoulder to see Kirishima and a team of medics rushing toward you. 

“You’re going to be okay,” you whispered, turning back to him as the medics surrounded you both.

His lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Told ya’ so.”

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh @faetoraa@iissza@cax-per @cielito--lindo

@nombakugoswife1

This is disgusting behavior, get yourselves together.

Quick chat.

I hate being the fun police but here goes.

While I do love that so many of you lovelies are enjoying my fics and writing, I have to address some of the things that are being commented/reblogged under my posts.

We’re all here for a silly goofy time but there’s boundaries. Respectfully, all the people telling me in great detail all the ways they fucked themselves to my fics, all the people asking me to roleplay certain stuff with them, need to stop. It’s weird. Having sexual reactions towards my writing is fine but don’t involve me because I’m not some sexual object.

Commenting the regular stuff like “I had a reaction”, “both lips smiled”, “ugh right there”, “great now I’m pregnant”, “I could kiss you”, “raw next question”, or anything like that is fine (if we’re moots you can say whatever you want I love you) because it makes me smile because i love hearing your feedback and I also find it funny but all that other shit gotta go.

Now onto the problem with my ask box.

Stop spamming and flooding it begging me to drop more parts of anything. There’s so many that I can’t even get to all my previous asks. It’s genuinely harassment at this point and it’s annoying. My salesman series and Clark series are pretty liked on my page and even though I put the Clark fic out only two days ago, the spam asks are already starting.

I’d love to update everything but I won’t if I feel like I’m being swarmed or harassed.

Again, sorry to ruin the fun but it’s getting to be a bit much.

the best right here

CHAPTER 12: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 3.2k

an: This was supposed to be 7k words but I decided to split it into two parts. The second part should be out either tonight or tomorrow morning :)!

---

The guard's grip on your arm tightened as he dragged you down the dimly lit hallway. Your shoes scraped against the cold concrete floor, each step echoing in the oppressive silence. You could barely move your leg, the sharp pain forcing you to drag it behind you. The adrenaline that had masked your injury was wearing off, and only now did you fully register the gunshot wound. The bleeding had slowed however as it only seemed to be a deep graze, the makeshift tourniquet holding firm, but it still hurt like hell. 

As you reached a heavy metal door at the end of the hall, you finally broke the silence. “You’re making a mistake,” you said, looking at the guard, who was too busy enjoying the moment to notice the warning in your tone.

The guard scoffed. “It's over for you.”

Without a word, you snapped your arm up, elbowing him hard in the stomach. The guard grunted, stumbling back in surprise. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him hesitate.

Before he could recover, you spun around, using his moment of confusion to deliver a swift kick to his knees. He crumpled to the ground, a shock of pain running up his legs.

You groaned as pain shot through your injured leg as well, nearly buckling under your weight. Instinct kicked in, and you lunged, grabbing the edge of the doorframe to steady yourself. The guard staggered, caught off balance, and you seized the moment. He was strong, but you moved faster. Your breath remained steady, your focus razor-sharp. 

“Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end, is it?” you muttered, crouching down to make sure he wasn’t going to get up anytime soon. You pulled his gun from its holster and threw it into an empty room. Making sure he wasn't able to grab ahold of it. 

As the guard groaned on the floor, still clutching his bruised stomach, you knew you had a fleeting window of opportunity. You couldn’t afford to waste any more time—Moretti would realize what had happened soon, and when he did, he wouldn’t hesitate to send more men after you.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you considered your options. You could run, but that would lead you straight into more of Moretti’s men and with your leg that wasn't much of an option. You had to think strategically. 

You took another breath, forcing your body to calm down. That’s when you felt the familiar, electric surge of power course through your veins—the hum of your quirk. 

You closed your eyes for a moment, focusing on the surge within you. You had to do this without hesitation. Without letting fear cloud your control. When you opened your eyes again, the air around you crackled with raw energy.

The guard had begun to stir, and you didn’t have the luxury of waiting any longer. You raised your hand, palm open, and aimed it at the metal door. In an instant, a concentrated burst of power shot from your fingertips, striking the door with enough force to send it slamming back against the wall. The impact was deafening, the metal screeching in protest.

For a split second, the guard froze, eyes wide in disbelief. But it was too late. The shockwave from the blast had knocked him flat, and the surge of power you’d released left the hallway bathed in a low, humming energy.

You didn’t stop to see if the guard would recover. Instead, you turned on your heel and bolted as fast as you could down the corridor, the lightning-fast pulses of your quirk lighting up the path ahead of you. The air seemed to part as you moved, as if the very fabric of the space had been altered by your command.

You could feel the telltale shifts in the atmosphere as Moretti’s men reacted—footsteps echoing, voices shouting orders, the tension rising. They weren’t far behind.

You fired another blast into the ceiling above, causing the ceiling to concave in on itself. You knew Bakugo would be able to blast himself out of the damage. The shock left the hallway filled with swirling electrical currents, disrupting the security systems that Moretti had relied on to track you.

The alarms went off, lights flickering erratically, and that gave you the opening you needed. With a burst of energy, you dashed into a side room, your quirk’s power surging in waves as you manipulated the energy around you to shield your movement. The air hummed and crackled, your energy wrapping around you like an invisible shield, keeping you hidden from view.

You steadied your breathing, the crackling hum of your quirk a comforting reminder that you weren’t powerless even while injured. The side room you’d ducked into was dark and cluttered with old crates and machinery—perfect for buying yourself a moment to strategize.

You crouched low, listening. The voices outside grew louder as Moretti’s men regrouped. They were searching, splitting into teams, their footsteps echoing in the corridor.

“She’s in here somewhere! Fan out!” one of them barked.

Perfect. Let them spread thin.

Closing your eyes, you focused on the currents in the walls. With your quirk, you could feel the flow of electricity running through the building—security cameras, automated locks, even the guards’ radios.

Reaching out, you latched onto the electrical grid, sending a concentrated surge into the radio frequencies. Sparks flew from the earpieces of the guards in the hallway, causing shouts of confusion and panic.

“What the hell?!”

“Radio’s fried!”

“Is she doing this? Damn it—find her!”

Using the chaos, you slipped back into the hallway, keeping low as you moved. The flickering lights cast eerie shadows, but you used them to your advantage, sticking close to the walls.

The guards were scattered now, their communication disrupted, and their coordination in shambles. One of them turned a corner, his back to you. Without hesitation, you surged forward, using the built-up charge in your hand to send a short snap to his neck. He crumpled silently, and you caught his weapon before it hit the floor.

One down.

You pressed on, your steps swift and deliberate. 

A group of guards blocked your path ahead, their backs to you as they shouted orders into malfunctioning radios. You crouched, pressing your hand to the floor. With a deep breath, you sent a ripple through the ground, the cement flooring collapsing under the guards. It hit the guards like an invisible net, their bodies locking up momentarily before they collapsed.

The air around you buzzed with static, your quirk’s energy crackling in your veins. You didn’t feel tired—yet. Adrenaline and determination kept you sharp, each movement precise.

Then, you heard it: a low hum, deeper and more menacing than before. The building’s systems were trying to reboot. Moretti was smart—he’d undoubtedly built redundancies into his security. You didn’t have much time before the lights stabilized and his men regrouped.

You pushed forward, rounding another corner, and finally spotted a heavy reinforced door at the end of the hall. 

Standing between you and the door was a guard who looked far more formidable than the others—taller, broader, and armed to the teeth. He turned as you approached, his eyes narrowing when he saw you.

“End of the line,” he said, his voice cold.

A smirk tugged at your lips. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

With a sharp inhale, you let your quirk surge to full power. The air around you shimmered, and the hallway was bathed in a flickering, glow.

If Moretti thought his men could stop you, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.

The guard didn’t hesitate, lunging toward you with surprising speed. You ducked under his swing, the massive fist grazing your shoulder before smashing into the wall behind you, cracking the concrete.

“You’re persistent,” you muttered, spinning away and aiming a focused blast of energy at his chest. The jolt forced him back a step, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he grinned—a feral, teeth-baring grin.

“Got some bite, huh? Let’s see how long you last.”

He charged again, faster this time. You dodged to the side, rolling into a crouch and sweeping your leg to knock him off balance. He stumbled, his bulk making him difficult to topple completely, but you weren’t giving up.

“Stay down!” you shouted, sending another burst at his arm. The crackling energy wrapped around him, making his muscles seize. His grip on his weapon slipped, and the gun clattered to the ground. Seizing the opportunity, you kicked it far out of reach.

The guard growled, clearly unwilling to back down. But before he could lunge again, a familiar explosion echoed down the hall. Smoke and debris flew into the air, and a moment later, Bakugo came charging through the wreckage, crimson eyes blazing with fury.

“MOVE!” Bakugo’s shout rang out, and you hit the ground instinctively, rolling to the opposite side of the hall just as a deafening explosion erupted. The blast sent the guard hurtling into the office door with a sickening crunch, the impact cracking the wooden frame.

“Fuck, are you good?” Bakugo was at your side in an instant, his hands cupping your face as his crimson eyes scanned you for injuries, his breathing ragged from the fight.

You pushed him slightly away, though your hand lingered on his wrist, grounding yourself in his presence. “I’m fine,” you assured him quickly, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “Where’s Moretti?”

Bakugo shook his head, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know. He bolted as soon as the alarms started blaring.”

“Damn it,” you hissed, clenching your fists. You closed your eyes, trying to focus, to extend your senses outward. “I can’t feel him. Usually, I’d be able to track his presence, but there’s too much interference in the building. Too many people, too much chaos.”

Bakugo growled under his breath, his frustration as palpable as your own. 

“One of Moretti's men told me he was staying at a motel,” you said, your voice low as you motioned for Bakugo to follow you. 

“This definitely ain’t a motel, sweetheart,” Bakugo muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as his sharp eyes darted around, scanning for any incoming threats.

“Yeah, no shit,” you shot back, rolling your eyes before a thought struck you. “Wait—you weren’t blindfolded when they brought you in.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Bakugo replied, his voice gruff as he gestured down another hallway. “But this place is a damn maze. The only reason I found you was because of the guards. Made it real easy when they started screaming.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Well, we need to move. Moretti knows this place like the back of his hand, and he’ll have reinforcements swarming us any second.”

Bakugo nodded, his jaw tight as he adjusted his gloves. “Tch. Let ’em come. I’ve got plenty of firepower to deal with those bastards.”

Despite the weight of the situation, his confidence sparked a faint smirk on your lips. “I don’t doubt that,” you said, your tone softening. “But we need to be smart about this. If we can get to an exit, we’ll have the advantage outside.”

“Fine,” he agreed grudgingly, though his hands twitched with impatience. “But if we run into Moretti, I’m not holding back.”

“Neither am I,” you replied, your voice firm.

The air in the building was heavy with the scent of concrete dust and smoke, every corner steeped in shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly. Your footsteps echoed faintly as you moved, your senses hyper-alert to every creak of the structure or distant voice.

Bakugo suddenly raised a hand, motioning for you to stop. He cocked his head, listening intently. “Hear that?” he murmured.

You strained your ears and caught it—a low, muffled murmur of voices coming from a corridor to your left. Your heart jumped. “Guards?”

“Most likely,” Bakugo whispered, his lips pulling into a grin that was half anticipation, half menace. “Let’s shut ’em up before they call for backup.”

You grabbed his arm, stopping him before he could rush in. “Wait. We don’t know how many there are or if they’ve got comms to Moretti. If they alert him, we’ll lose any chance of catching him off guard.”

He scowled but didn’t pull away. “Fine. Got a plan, genius?”

You nodded. “I’ll take the lead. My quirk can handle this quietly. You stay back, but if things go sideways—”

“I’m blasting the hell outta everything,” he finished with a smirk, his crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Exactly,” you said, your lips quirking up for a brief second before you pushed forward.

Sliding silently along the wall, you peeked around the corner. Three guards stood clustered near a door, their weapons slung casually over their shoulders. 

Drawing on your quirk, you exhaled slowly and let the power flood your senses. The world around you dimmed, leaving only the vivid threads of the guards’ presence—their heartbeat rhythms, the faint electromagnetic signals of their equipment.

One step forward. Another. The shadows seemed to ripple around you, swallowing your form as you closed the distance.

The first guard didn’t even see you coming. A quick strike to his neck dropped him silently to the floor. The second turned, his eyes widening, but you twisted his weapon out of his hands and knocked him unconscious with the butt of it in one fluid motion.

The third managed to let out a strangled gasp before Bakugo was suddenly there, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the wall. “Where’s Moretti?” Bakugo growled, his voice low and deadly.

The guard stammered, his face pale. “I—I don’t know! He’s somewhere upstairs in the west wing. Please, that’s all I know!”

Bakugo sneered and slammed him against the wall one more time for good measure before letting him crumple to the floor. He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “West wing, huh? Guess we’ve got a direction now.”

You nodded, already moving. “Let’s go. The longer we wait, the harder this gets.”

“Damn right,” Bakugo muttered, falling into step beside you. His presence was solid and reassuring, a blazing force that matched your determination.

“Shitty Hair went for backup—if he figures out where we are, they should be here soon,” Bakugo muttered, his eyes scanning the hall for any signs of movement.

“If Kirishima wanted to keep his balls, he would’ve gone straight to the place I told him to,” you shot back.

“What?” Bakugo stopped, turning to look at you.

“When we were in the car, I made him promise that if anything happened, he’d find Milly and protect her,” you explained, your voice steady.

Bakugo’s sharp crimson gaze fixed on you, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “I knew you didn’t kill her,” he muttered.

“I’m a hero, not a monster,” you replied, your tone firm but quiet.

“A hero, huh?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, keeping your focus ahead. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing you bring up over coffee. ‘Hey, I used to be a hero, faked my death, and took down some major villains.’ Doesn’t make for casual conversation, does it?”

“Tch.” Bakugo’s hands clenched at his sides, tiny sparks crackling in his palms. “And your quirk?”

“Nothing special.” you shot back, glancing at him over your shoulder. “And besides, my quirk’s not flashy like yours. It’s subtle. Perfect for staying under the radar—which was kind of the whole point after Moretti.”

He scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Subtle, huh? Looked plenty flashy back there when you were knocking people out left and right.”

You sighed, stopping in your tracks to face him. “Katsuki, this isn’t about my past. This is about stopping Moretti before he hurts anyone else. We can have the ‘what else haven’t you told me’ talk later, but right now, we don’t have time for this.”

His jaw worked, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then he huffed, running a hand through his ash-blond hair. “Fine. But don’t think for a second we’re done with this conversation.”

“Noted,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you turned back down the hallway.

The west wing loomed ahead, the corridors narrowing and the air growing colder. You could feel it—a sense of finality hanging thick around you. Whatever awaited in the next room, it was clear you and Bakugo would face it together, unresolved tensions and all.

The hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit and eerily silent apart from the faint hum of electricity. Bakugo stayed close, his footsteps heavier than yours as his crimson eyes darted around, searching for any sign of an ambush. You could feel the tension radiating off him—part frustration, part adrenaline—but there wasn’t time to unpack that now.

“You said you can sense him,” Bakugo muttered, breaking the silence. “What’re you picking up?”

You stopped, closing your eyes for a moment and focusing on the energy around you. It was chaotic, scattered—a mix of fear, anger, and desperation from everyone in the building. But there, buried beneath it all, was a faint, unmistakable pulse.

“He’s close,” you said, your voice low. “Two floors down, east wing. He’s not alone.”

Bakugo grinned, the kind of feral, dangerous grin that made villains tremble. “Good. The bastard won’t know what hit him.”

As you moved toward the nearest stairwell, you caught a glimpse of motion in the shadows ahead. Without hesitation, you grabbed Bakugo’s arm and yanked him back just as a barrage of bullets ricocheted off the walls.

“Shit!” Bakugo hissed, throwing up his hands and sending a concussive blast toward the shooter. The explosion rocked the corridor, and when the smoke cleared, the guard was sprawled unconscious on the floor.

“That was reckless,” you muttered, already moving to secure the guard’s weapon.

“Worked, didn’t it?” Bakugo shot back, his tone dripping with defiance.

Rolling your eyes, you pressed on, your senses sharp and your quirk humming faintly under your skin. More guards appeared as you descended the stairs, but Bakugo’s explosions and your precision made quick work of them. The two of you moved like a well-oiled machine—despite the unresolved tension, your instincts as fighters meshed seamlessly.

By the time you reached the east wing, the air felt heavier, charged with something darker. Moretti was close—you could feel his presence like a storm on the horizon.

Bakugo glanced at you, his fiery gaze meeting yours. “This is it. You ready?”

You nodded, your jaw set. “I’ve been ready for years.”

He smirked, stepping ahead and cracking his knuckles. “Then let’s end this.”

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh@faetoraa@iissza@theasgardianmexican@cax-per

@nombakugoswife1

Remember kids! NEVER save left-over antibiotics! You should never have leftover antibiotics, because you have to finish the whole course! Not doing so, or giving your antibiotics to someone else who hasn’t been prescribed them is how we got superbugs, that are resistant to antibiotics! 

ALWAYS finish your antibiotics, even if you don’t think you’re sick anymore! NEVER give your antibiotics to other people, there is no guaruntee they will have any effect, or the same effect, and without a full course, will not help them even if it is the right medicine for the job. 

BOTH cases result in resistant superbugs, which are dangerous to everyone, and hurt everyone. You might think you’re helping your poorer friends who cannot afford an antibiotic/to be seen by a doctor, but you’re not. You’re just hurting everyone. 

This is so felt lmao

I'm so sorry for being dead. I'm stuck studying for an accounting exam on Thursday 😭

I like this

For any relocated TikTok users

you can say sex and kill its fine

If you don't have a profile picture people will assume you're a bot

theres barely an algorithm, if you want to see cool shit reblog things instead of just liking them

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And most importantly:

post cringe

I love him

New bonus illustration for the 4th movie

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౨ৎ ۶ৎ ^᪲᪲᪲ 𝜗𝜚 ྀི ೀ ၄၃ 𐙚 ꪆৎ ୨୧

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࣪ ִֶָ☾. ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ּ ֶָ֢.๑ˎˊ˗ .☘︎ ݁˖ ꫂ ၴႅၴ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⪩. .⪨ 𖣂 ༉‧₊˚.

This had to have been the cutest thing I’ve ever read

happiness flipped on its head

synopsis: a glimpse into a lighthearted evening with katsuki and your son.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

you walk through the door after a long day, the sound of your son’s high-pitched laughter and your husband’s grumbling filling the house.

it’s a sound you’ve grown used to, but every time you hear it, your heart still does a little flip. you know what you're walking into, but it never gets old.

as you step into the living room, the scene before you is exactly what you expected—and yet, it still makes your heart swell.

katsuki, still in his hero suit—his jacket unzipped, the fabric slightly crumpled, and his messy blond hair falling over his forehead—is holding your son upside down by his ankle.

your son is kicking his legs wildly in the air, his small face lit up with pure joy, as if he’s having the time of his life.

"oi, stop moving around so much!" katsuki warns, his voice rough, yet there's a protective edge to it as he tries to steady s/n.

your son squirms, clearly enjoying every second of his father’s “toughening up” session.

you can't help but smile, leaning against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow, your voice teasing as you watch the scene unfold.

“katsuki,” you say, a playful lilt in your tone, “are you sure that’s safe?”

he shoots you a side glance, but his lips twitch up despite himself. “he’s fine,” he mutters, looking back down at s/n. “I’m makin’ him tough.”

your son giggles loudly, completely ignoring the position he is. he’s in his element, having the time of his life.

“more, dad!” s/n calls out, his little face flushed with excitement, his hands waving in the air like he could take flight.

katsuki raises an eyebrow.

“you’re a little monster, aren’t you?” he asks, but there’s a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. he lets your s/n squirm for a moment before lifting him even higher into the air.

s/n lets out a delighted shriek, his tiny hands stretching out, as if he’s about to grab the clouds. his little voice fills the room with energy, and you can’t help but laugh.

“that enough?” katsuki groans as if exasperated, but the pride in his voice is undeniable. he lifts s/n even higher, causing him to laugh even harder.

the room is filled with the sound of your son's giddy shrieks and katsuki’s grumbling, but it’s clear your son wouldn’t have it any other way.

then, without missing a beat, your s/n’s small hand reaches out toward you. “mama!” he calls out, his voice tinged with desperation, though it’s clear he still wants to play.

you smile warmly, walking over and holding your arms out. katsuki looks at you, an eyebrow raised as he steps back, but there’s a soft smile hidden beneath his usual scowl.

s/n melts into your arms as soon as you scoop him up, his small head resting comfortably against your shoulder. “missed you!” he grins, finally finding his comfort zone.

you kiss the top of his head gently, enjoying the warmth of his tiny form pressed against you.

"now, now, kid," katsuki mutters as he steps closer, crossing his arms.

his usual scowl is still there, but his eyes are soft as he looks at you and your son. “that’s my wife, not yours.”

you smile up at him.

"well, husband, I think you’ve done enough training for today,” you reply softly, holding s/n son with one arm while reaching out to touch his hand with the other. “let’s give him a break, yeah?”

katsuki looks down at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, but his eyes soften ever so slightly.

without saying a word, he steps closer, his fingers brushing against yours before he pulls you into a quick, tender kiss on the forehead.

“fine, you win,” he mutters, but his voice is laced with warmth. you can feel it in the way his hand lingers on your arm, like he’s not quite ready to let go.

but just as you start to relax, you feel a sudden surge of movement. before you can react, katsuki sweeps you up, pulling you off the couch in one smooth motion.

“katsuki!” you laugh, startled, but it’s no use. he’s already got both you and your son in his arms. “what are you—?” you start to say, but katsuki is grinning like a man on a mission.

“time for some fun,” he grins, effortlessly tossing both you and your son onto the bed with a playful, mischievous glint in his eyes.

you squeal as you bounce on the soft mattress, s/n giggling uncontrollably as he lands beside you, his little arms flailing as he falls.

“katsuki!” you protest, but you can’t keep the smile off your face as s/n’s laughter fills the room. you know you’ve lost this battle.

he stands at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching the two of you with an amused smirk. “told you I’m the one in charge around here,” he says, his voice light as he watches his family.

you laugh, shaking your head, even though you're still trying to catch your breath from the surprise.

your son, ever the protector, crawls over to you with determination, his tiny hands pushing against the mattress as he tries to get between you and katsuki, his little face furrowed in concentration.

“stop!” he cries, as if his small body can somehow shield you from your husband’s playful advances.

katsuki, however, isn’t phased in the slightest. he watches his son with a chuckle, leaning down just enough to tickle his sides.

s/n bursts into peals of laughter, his chubby legs kicking in the air, clearly unable to escape his father’s grip. “ahh! no!” your son giggles, trying to squirm away, but the tickling continues relentlessly.

you can’t help but laugh too, your heart swelling with affection for both of them as you watch the playful scene unfold.

but before you can fully enjoy the moment, katsuki suddenly stops, his smirk widening. “you think you can protect her?” he taunts, his tone teasing.

he continues to tickle your son with a bit more vigor, making him roll off the bed in a heap of giggles.

your son’s laughter continues to echo through the room as he tumbles off the side, landing with a soft thud on the floor, still giggling like nothing happened.

“katsuki!” you exclaim, half-exasperated and half-amused, but there’s no real anger in your voice.

katsuki, meanwhile, doesn’t miss a beat. with one swift motion, he crawls onto the bed, his body hovering over yours.

“now you’re mine,” your husband says, but s/n doesn’t let him revel in the victory for long, as he hangs onto katsuki for dear life, letting out his own series of war cries.

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