Back Stuff

im like,, in love with hoku, shes bae, 10000000/10 would die to see her happy and cuddling with her loved ones. anyways if its cool for you could we maybe have some hokucanons with the rest of hasl being protective lil shits. or maybe mihawk and shanks??? idk i love them all i want them to give her hugs and beat up anyone mean to her.

Hoku and Hugs:

Luffy - Completely normal. Doesn’t even blink. Capable of falling asleep in his arms. Will often be doing normal tasks while he hangs off her or drags his feet around. Luffy is one of the few people she’ll initiate hugs with first. 

Shanks - Wouldn’t even dare. Shanks wouldn’t even mind and just open his arms with that dumb kissy face like “c’mere dove” but she’d just be hyperventilating several feet away about to faint

Mihawk - She always initiates the hugs but he always hugs back in his own way. Will sometimes be seen riding on his shoulders with her arms wrapped around his face despite their heights, no matter what age.

Ace - Usually has her in some kind of head-lock or the two of them are usually scuffling before it morphs into this giant bear-hug. His are the most suffocating, Hoku often tries to dodge less he fall asleep on top of her. The warmest hugs though.

Sabo - These ones kind of sneak up on her when she leasts expect it. Sabo’s hugs are the kind where he smiles, all quaint and polite and it might be at an extremely inconvenient time but Hoku thinks he just likes to watch her squirm with the debate of turning down his polite, kind little hug and feeling bad about it so she ends up walking into his arms.

Bonus:

Chopper - Hoku can often be found toting Chopper around, tucking under her arm like baggage she’s just carting with her. Chopper is her immediate traveling-companion on the colder islands otherwise Hoku complains non-stop and gets on everyone’s nerves.

katsuki who loves nose kisses btw. who's been innocently doing them with you ever since he was small and who still does them now. it's basically a reflex. whenever you're worried for him, or he has to go off somewhere, he presses his forehead to yours. who looks you straight in the eyes with an unspoken promise to be safe. he nods, smushing his nose to yours and nuzzling it softly, almost shyly. and then he's gone again, cheek, ears and nose completely pink.

warning. fem! reader, very very suggestive, gojo want to eat you up, mdni

stay in your apartment doing a lazy night together with your best friend, gojo satoru is all fun and games until he's begging to eat your pussy out.

you were on your bed with him one second and you're blinking and he's already on top of you, cage you between his tone thighs— thighs that you've been having fantasy about how it feels if you're riding it and cum.

“come on, y/n, just this one time,” he pleading, voice muffled because he's lips full between your harden nipples.

his hands skillfully peel your clothes one at the time, before another one, another one, and another one. licking, nibbling, and sucking at every skin he could reach without breaking eye contact with you.

“w-what if someone's walk-in?” you ask, breathlessly. “suguru and shoko will be— oh fuck!— here in a-a minutes,” you speak between your moaning when satoru press his thumb to your clothed clitoris— already soaking wet and ready for him.

“come on, they will be late,” he hummed against your thigh— two muscular arms wrap around and spread your legs wide for him. his blue eyes glistened with lust and hunger. you laugh a little, knowing that satoru always finds a way to you. “just a moment, i'll be quick, promise,” he mutters in your clit, fingers find yours to intertwined.

“just let me eat this sweet, sweet pussy of yours and i'll be happy for the rest of my life,” he continued, the tip of his tongue slowly licking your wet fold from outside of your underwear.

Ume….fucking RELEASE ME.

Baby gojo reacts to: megumi!🖤🐺

“just for three hours, can you do it?”

“…yeah.”

megumi stares at the blinking miniature of his sensei quietly, as the baby looks back at him too in silence.

“well then!” gojo claps his hands before turning to you. “let’s go, sweets! we have a willing, trusty babysitter to take care of him!”

you shoot your husband a glare before turning to megumi. “sorry, megumi. we have to go to school and investigate the recent cursed spirits outbreak, and it doesn’t feel right to bring him there.”

“i don’t mind, nee-san,” megumi replies to you almost nonchalantly, throwing a glance at your baby in his hold. “i’ll keep an eye on him.”

that’s what megumi said, but even he doesn’t know what he’ll do with a baby in his apartment. at first, he puts the kid on his bed and he immediately sits up straight and turns to him.

“what?” he questions the baby as if he could answer him. “do you feel cold?”

the munchkin is dressed in a frog onesie with two round eyes on the hoodie, so maybe he doesn’t feel cold, megumi thinks. in the next half an hour, he and the baby are in staring match, as he doesn’t even squeak once.

“you must be bored here,” megumi sighs, starting to feel bad that he can’t entertain him. “maybe i should ask her to accompany me next time…” his thoughts flit to the chirpy girl in his class, whom he knows will have many ideas to humor a baby.

maybe it can also be an excuse to spend time with her too.

suddenly, baby scoots closer to his side and leans to him, closing his eyes— and megumi feels warm inside.

“ah,” a small smile lights his face at the sight of this cute creature depending on him so trustingly. he pulls him closer and pats his back, before wrapping his arms around him to keep him in place.

“okay, let’s sleep together then.”

satoru holding you in his arms, your face nuzzled into his neck, his chin rested atop your head, his fingers trace so softly on the length of your spine you barely register the touch — it feels like gentle air blowing on your skin. and he speaks to you with utmost tenderness too — each sentence begins or ends with “my dear, my life”, said so softly that his voice drops to a near whisper. like his entire being is trained to be delicate with you, with the way he holds you, with the way he talks to you

(this, right after he nearly brought you to tears from cumming multiple times on his tongue)

You and Bakugou walk home in the rain.

The sky’s a watercolour spill of peach, heavy clouds staining the glow and threatening rain, wind. You had watched the sky from the cool, green-dark of your little store, wondering if you needed to pull in the flowers sitting out the front; the last thing you wanted was carnations rolling down the little street, scattering their frilled petals like confetti. Everyone else along your strip was wheeling in what they could, or lowering awnings—taking precautions, bundling up bags of pickled radishes, or dragging in stands with bootleg DVDs.

“Eh, the weather will break,” Akane had said, dismissively. “It’ll sail out to sea and then double back before it does any real damage.”

You had held out your hand as she blustered on—catching the rain dripping from the stripped canopy over your shopfront, stretching your fingers and letting the water run down them.

“Maybe I’ll bring the flowers in, anyway,” you say aloud. Akane scoffs, throwing her hands up in surrender. You smile to yourself, amused, and let her have her disgruntlement.

You rescue the carnations first—already wet with rainwater and huddled together, their frilled edges making you think of vacationing ladies at the seaside: their skirt hems dragging with the ocean spray. The hydrangeas wait til last; riotous in the weather, soaking in what they can, happily. There’s a distant rumble of thunder—you pause on the threshold of your store and watch the sky like it’s less a threat of a storm and more the promise of Katsuki overhead, somewhere, his explosions propelling him forward and breakneck speed.

It’s not. In the gloom of your little cupboard of a shop, your phone glows; a message from your Hero, waiting.

Doing shitty paperwork. Tell me when you’re home.

You thumb the side of your phone, like you could be tracing the back of his hand. Home, he says, so easily. Home—Katsuki’s apartment, where you’d both come to like the comfort of you being there for him, when he finished work.

There’s an icy gust; the wind, testing your doors before sending some leaves scuttering, down the road. You stand amid your plants and your buckets of flowers and think about Katsuki, frowning down at his paperwork in the confides of his brightly-lit office at the agency, as the world outside grew dark. He was always coming to you—meeting you at home. Meeting you at your shop doors.

Outside, something clatters. A shop sign, maybe. A fern brushes the top of your head as you peer out, to the sky again, still it’s wash of orange.

Just closing up shop now, you text Katsuki back. The read notification ticks over quickly, but he doesn’t reply—his normal modus of messaging.

It never bothers you. Instead to be funny, you send him a gif—a glittering rose, something Akane might’ve sent you, unironically, as a good morning message.

Katsuki reads that, too, but doesn’t reply—leaving you silently laughing to yourself in the dark of your secret little shop.

It’s raining in patches, by the time you leave the store; shower bursts, on and off as you make your way through a busy train station, eeling onto the train you need, when it comes.

You are a bright smear of colour, in the window’s reflections; with your coat, with the bundle of flowers you’ve allowed yourself, for Katsuki’s apartment—for home. An older woman across from you smiles, when you meet her eyes; you smile back and then almost immediately look away, rocking with the motion of the carriage and your embarrassment, still unused to the attention holding something as simple and as cheery as a bouquet of flowers could bring.

The rain’s paused, when you make it to your stop; the sky over the intersection still it’s peach spill. You twirl your umbrella above your head, watching the clouds roll, and then glance ahead, across the road—to where Katsuki is standing in civilian gear, golden and unimpressed in the latelight as he waits for you to notice him.

You break out into a grin just as the lights signal for you to cross, your heart skipping with the tune as you make your way to him.

“What happened to the paperwork?” You ask a little breathlessly, when you join him on his side of the road.

Katsuki just frowns, a hand reaching out to curl against your side—pulling you into him, where he presses his face against yours for a moment, stilling your buzzing, your excitement, like he could absorb it all. You press back just as tightly; breathing him in, warm and deep and sweet.

There’s a light touch against your temple, suspiciously kiss-like; and then he’s nipping at your ear, annoyed.

“Ow,” you say, reflexively.

He smacks his forehead against yours in retaliation. “Y’re meant to go home, dipshit,” he says, disapproving, though he just holds you closer when you sag against him, trying to keep your umbrella aloft.

“I am going home,” you mumble into the lapel of his jacket. “I’m going home with you.”

His arm tightens around you; you breathe in with him, listening to the thud of his heart, steady under the sudden spray of rain overhead, on your umbrella.

The crosswalk goes off again—leaving the pair of you standing there in the last of the rain, the light. The two of you in your own world, under the watercolour spill of sky.

This isn’t the first time Iwaizumi’s heard the team talking about you.

“Just seems ta not wanna be here an’ doesn’t even like us…” Miya reflects after practice as Bokuto fervently nods. “Never comes out with us, even ta eat…”

Kageyama grumbles “doesn’t stay late when we’re doing extra practice.”

“Hasn’t shared any social media with us,” Hoshiumi adds.

He thinks about it a lot, what the guys said.

What they’ve been saying.

You’re a different kind of manager than most of them have had and from the outside it would seem like you’re not particularly invested in the job, in the team.

Everything the guys say is true.

You’re not overly enthusiastic, you don’t spend any time with anyone on the team outside of practice, you don’t show up early and don’t stay late, no one’s been able to find you on social media, and no one’s been given your cellphone number. You have a work phone through which they can reach you but it’s not yours.

And then they find out.

“Completely makes sense now…Uncle Hibarida’s the one we hafta thank fer our manager,” Miya complains. “A bit’a nepotism an’ we’re denied a key asset.”

There’s a round of shared sentiments and you’re suddenly even more out-of-the loop than before.

Iwaizumi hates that he’s starting to feel the same way. “I just…I’m trying to understand the hiring decision…” he offers after asking Hibarida about you and why you’re so…apathetic.

The coach measures Iwaizumi with a look but he doesn’t offer an explanation; he just pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder and walks away. Without a satisfying explanation, or any explanation at all, Iwaizumi wonders if you’re going to make it as their manager.

   Suna’s off his game.

He knows it and he’s doing everything he can but it’s not working. No matter how much extra time he puts in on the court or in the weight room he just can’t get out of this slump and he’s internally panicking that he’s going to get benched.

When practice gets out he feels lost. Everyone’s got a place to be and he lingers in the locker room, dragging his feet to go home wondering if he should stay and keep trying.

“Suna?”

He’s surprised that you of all people call him out of the locker room. “Yeah?”

You search his expression for a long moment and deeply inhale, like you’re hyping yourself up to face a big obstacle. “Come on.”

“Huh?” His expression scrunches up. “Where?”

“Conbini.” You’re almost frowning.

“Ookaay…” Suna awkwardly tags along curious and confused as to what’s happening. You don’t try to make any small talk along the way and when you lead him to the candy section you just stop and point to the “chuupets?”

You nod inscrutably. “They’re your favorite, right?”

His narrow eyes flick to you, taken aback. “Yeah…so?”

“So,” you sternly reply, “pick some out. My treat.”

“But…why?” His eyes narrow even more at you. “We’re not even allowed to have treats. Iwaizumi’s gonna flip.”

You cross your arms. “If he has a problem with it, he can take it up with me.” When Suna doesn’t make any move your arms fall back to your sides. “Okay, look…I know we’re not…friends…but I do care. You’ve been having a hard time recently and need a…well…I don’t know,” you admit self-consciously and shift your weight. “I just thought…” You sigh in defeat. “Let’s just forget this…Sorry.”

You step past him to leave-

“Green Apple.”

You freeze.

He tentatively picks up a package, avoiding your gaze.

“When I was little my favorite flavor was green apple…” the plastic crinkles in his hand. “I don’t like it anymore…Hate it, actually…But sometimes I eat it anyway…just to see if I can feel all those good things about being a kid again.”

“What’s your favorite now?” you ask quietly, looking at the assortments with him.

“Pineapple.”

“Then we’ll get both,” you offer without hesitation and take the biggest variety pack, the only one with both flavors and bring it to the counter.

Suna’s still by the candy section when you’re done paying.

“You coming?” you call. Though he gives you a mystified look, he nods and follows.

       Iwaizumi’s on the bus when he sees you and Suna sitting on a bench together. He only has a glimpse as the bus drives by–are those candy wrappers between you?! There’s no doubt candy isn’t allowed on the diet plan but for the first time the two of you are smiling and the next day at practice Suna’s in top form.

He doesn’t bring it up but ever so slightly

something shifts.

    Bokuto’s next.

The owl disappears during practice one day after a hearty round of laughter that wasn’t necessarily directed at him but it was definitely because of him.

“He’s done this since high school,” laments Yaku.

Miya sighs “he’s a sensitive boy.”

From the corner of his eye Iwaizumi sees you slip out of the gym while the others debate sending someone to find him.

“Seriously,” Yaku assures them, “he’ll hide somewhere for a little while and come moping back around.”

“You guys keep practicing. I’ll take a look,” Iwaizumi offers to a round of gratitude. 

He doesn’t have to wander far until he hears your low voice.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah.” Bokuto sounds unnaturally small. Iwaizumi stays out-of-sight, waiting for something else to happen but Bokuto asks “what are you doing?”

“Keeping you company,” you simply reply.

“But…why?”

Iwaizumi imagines–tries to imagine–you shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t like being alone when I’m upset…” You consider something for a long moment. “It’s hard…because usually people want to do something…like they can fix it…When all I really want is to not be alone.”

You’re both quiet for a while before Bokuto softly admits “usually everyone just tells me to cheer up.” You wait quietly as he adds “but it just makes me feel worse…I just want to be sad!” 

“Sometimes people can’t handle seeing someone act in a way that doesn’t fit the person they think they are.”

“Huh?”

Iwaizumi smirks at Bokuto’s confusion but there’s no trace of humor in your response, only patience as you rephrase it. “Everyone sees you as the ball-of-energy Bokuto. And they’re too fragile to understand you get sad, too. You have every right to your feelings Bokuto for however long you need to feel them.”

Iwaizumi’s heart aches when he hears the emotion in Bokuto’s voice. “Thank you.”

    After that it’s Kageyama who’s having trouble with his nails and nail file. Iwaizumi catches a glimpse of you giving him something after practice and the next day Kageyama’s meticulously caring for his nails with a glass-crystal file.

Then Sakusa who states displeasure about the lack of hand sanitation throughout the facility and finds new stations set up a few days later.

Ushijima who stares at his phone for a long time until you sit with him and help write a reply to something.

Finally Kiryu who goes out for a run after practice. Iwaizumi doesn’t think anything of it until you dash out; he follows and gets to the lobby in time to see you speeding off on a bike after Kiryu. On his way home he catches sight of you, the two of you, sitting on the same bench you shared with Suna as you listen intently, patiently to the over-thinker who’s clearly venting. 

It becomes clear that you care for them, just in your own way.

Sure you don’t stay late or arrive early every time one of them does but there are too many monsters to keep up with and if you tried, you’d never leave. So you’re not here extra but when you’re here, you’re here. You’re not the out-going or bubbly manager many of them are used to but you go above-and-beyond for them.

It’s clear you want to be here as much as they do.

So when they have their first press conference of the Olympics and someone from the crowd insults the vertically challenged members of your team?

You have to be contained.

With walls of muscle like Ushijima, Ojiro, and Hyakuzawa, it’s laughably easy for the team to hold you back. It doesn’t stop you from spitting venomous challenges for the coward to show themselves so you can properly insult them back, though,

“Seriously? You think that was bad?” Hoshiumi comments. “Do you even see what people say on twitter?” 

“No, I don’t have one,” you reply. “What do they say?”

In his shock he misses your question. “You don’t have one? What do you have, then? Instagram?”

“No.”

“Tik Tok? Facebook? Discord? Tumblr?” He gags “myspace?”

You laugh “no! I don’t use any social media.” A moment of realization comes over you and you ask “wait…what do to they say about you guys on those sites?”

If there was any doubt left in how you felt about the team, it’s gone after your reaction.

“I was wrong about ya,” Miya admits as the team moves into the dorms for the Olympics and he sees the special attention given to everyone’s needs, put into the specific accommodations for each athlete. “Fer a grumpy little scrub…yer a good manager.”

Iwaizumi sees the small and private but glowing smile as the setter walks away.

In the way you defend them from negativity, intervene when reporters are being unprofessional or fans too intense, and support them from start to finish more than anyone else, you’re their champion.

Their heart and soul.

"c'mere."

katsuki was so... normal all evening. so subdued. dinner with your friends was nice in a familiar, comfortably unremarkable way. everyone who gathered around the table at the restaurant had chatted happily, getting each other up to date on any developments in their personal or professional lives. jokes were made about the high school days, and failed romantic endeavours (mainly denki's), and tenya's new haircut that he doesn't quite like.

then the bills were paid, and rides were arranged, and katsuki walked you to the car with a hand on the small of your back.

it was normal. everyone was normal.

but now katsuki's like this.

he has you pinned up against the wall just inside the barely-closed door of your shared apartment before you can even take off your shoes. his mouth is hot on yours, licking messily into your mouth in a way that makes you dizzy.

"katsuki, wait—oh!" your head thumps back against the wall behind you as your boyfriend hitches one of your legs up around his waist and grinds the defined musculature of his upper thigh between yours.

"done waiting," he grunts out quietly against your parted lips, pressing your bodies even closer together.

this isn't like him; the freneticism, the almost stifling haste with which katsuki is trying to devour you. he's usually more reserved than this. more trepidatious. katsuki has always treated you like you were precious. too precious, you sometimes think. like an antique sake set made of porcelain so fine that it could shatter in a too-tight grip—like something he couldn't afford to break.

"what's gotten into you?" you ask as katsuki's mouth trails white-hot down your throat towards your collarbone, the kisses he presses against your skin searing as he moves on to the next.

his only answer is to slip his hands up underneath the skirt of your dress, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your thighs.

"katsuki!" you gasp in surprise as the cool air kisses the slickness of your newly-exposed skin.

the pad of katsuki's thumb brushes your clit, and your knees nearly buckle.

"katsuki, stop."

it's quiet after you push him away from you, the air heavy as you laboriously draw it into your aching lungs.

katsuki stands at arm's length, frozen in surprise. in spite of his strength—overpowering you in every possible physical way—he hadn't resisted you in the slightest when you instinctively pushed against him. if anything, he'd willingly taken the step back to give you the distance you need.

he looks at you though his lashes, his chin tucked down towards his chest, half-hurt and half-guilty.

"sorry," he says quietly, mumbled through pursed lips as he shuffles another half step back.

your hand shoots out towards him, grabbing him by the lapel of his unzipped jacket.

"hey," you say, equally quiet but less sheepish than his own words. "don't do that."

katsuki lets you pull him back into your space as effortlessly as you'd pushed him away. you like it when he's close like this. like when that soft, sweet sort of smell that always clings to him envelops you too.

"i'm happy to let you take off whatever article of my clothes you want, i'd just like to take my shoes off first," you say to him, so close your lips are almost brushing. the tops of katsuki's cheeks are rosy, and his lashes are fluttering as he listens to your words. you smile a little. "if that's not too much to ask."

katsuki helps you out of your heels, and then clings to you all the way down the hallway into your bedroom where the two of you go toppling into bed. your boyfriend is normally militant about not letting 'outside clothes' into the sheets, but he says nothing about either of your outfits on the soft cotton as he pulls your body on top of his.

but nothing about katsuki is normal tonight. you've already figured that much out.

you just can't quite understand why.

"you're raring to go tonight," you say with a laugh as katsuki's hands slip up under your dress again, this time with you ensconced upon his lap. your panties are somewhere in the genkan, so this time there's no barrier between his touch and your skin.

"what's wrong with that?" katsuki bites back, but even in his snark he's still soft with you. deftly, his hands slip around to the back of your dress, sitting up so the two of you are chest to chest in bed, and tugs the zipper of the garment down. the material slips down your arms until the dress is left pooled around your waist, nothing but your bare skin left on display. it's hard to make out the colour of katsuki's eyes in the dark, but it's impossible to miss the desire in his gaze as it traces over your newly exposed chest. "what's so wrong about me wanting you?"

you pause for a moment as you consider his unexpectedly earnest words. "there's nothing wrong with it," you finally reply, reaching up and tracing your fingers through the blonde hair at his temple. "it's just a little weird."

"weird?" katsuki echoes, but his repetition sounds incredulous.

he uses a hand on the small of your back—just like how he'd walked you to your car after dinner, but this time a bit more forceful—to pull your body back against his. you brace your hands on his shoulders as you sit in his lap, staring down at him.

"i've been in love with you since we were fifteen," katsuki says. it's ardent. insistent, even. like he's desperate for you to understand. "i've wanted you since we were fifteen. there's nothin' weird about it."

you blink. a little dumbstruck. a little lovesick.

and suddenly you understand his behaviour a little more. it's all a bit clearer.

you dip down, pressing a featherlight kiss to katsuki's lips. then another; deeper and longer.

"you were feeling nostalgic, huh?" you murmur breathlessly against katsuki's mouth, cupping his face between your palms. his cheeks are burning hot underneath your touch. it makes butterflies lick in the pit of your stomach.

you'd caught katsuki's eyes on you a few times tonight at dinner, but really hadn't thought much of it. at one point you'd moved seats to chat with momo about her upcoming wedding (and to admire the ring on her finger) and more than once you'd met katsuki's gaze from the other end of the table where he was seated with the boys.

katuski kisses the back of his teeth, tilting his face away from you slightly.

"fuckin'... izuku said something earlier that just..." he seems to be struggling to find the words. you give him the time he needs. "said some sappy shit about growin' up. about how we all ended up happy."

you feel a twinge in your chest as katsuki mumbles the admission. he's struggling to meet your gaze, and instead leans his forehead against your chest.

"and i looked at you across the table, 'n i just... i kept thinkin' about being a fifteen year old brat staring at you across a classroom. kept thinkin' about how he'd never believe it if i could tell him how we ended up."

it's quiet for a moment as katsuki holds you. and you hold him. the hot, hot flush of his face against your bare skin.

"fifteen-year-old you probably would've tried to kick thirty-year-old you's ass."

katsuki laughs, a warm wash of breath breaking against your skin.

"yeah, probably." he nods, finally lifting his head. he stares up at you, his hands patting gently up and down your back. he smirks a little. "woulda popped a boner at the thought of seein' you like this, too."

"so the two of you have that in common, huh?" you tease him, wiggling your hips a little in his lap where proof of your accusation presses against you.

katsuki kisses you to hide the smile on his face, twisting both of your bodies to lay you down against the soft sheets of your shared bed that katsuki dutifully launders every sunday. he slips your dress down your hips to leave you bare, and tugs his own t-shirt off to join it on the bedroom floor soon after.

"katsuki?"

the man suckling a bruise into your throat groans a little at your quiet call of his name. "if you push me away again i'm gon—"

"i love you too, y'know."

you feel him swallow hard, his face still tucked into the crook of your neck. his hands are trembling a little—just like the first time he touched you, a few years after graduation when your paths crossed again. you can feel his heart thundering in his chest.

your own beats just as loudly underneath it.

because fifteen year old katsuki wasn't the only one sneaking glances across the room. and katsuki isn't the only one who feels so grateful about how you two ended up happy together.

sorry that this is such a weird,unhinged question but..what do weeds and bakugou fight about? And how do they apologize? it's just so human you know, and i like thinking about them living their little day-to-day life lol

They’d bicker about inane things all the time; old comics and the fried shit Akane makes for Weeds at work (even tho she also makes a Ground Zero speciality, now, for his Grumpiness, which would be an extra-spicy curry bun that she fries with a neat little trick to brand it with a familiar cross ❌). They’d have more serious disagreements about, idk; Bakugou’s free time overlapping when Weeds is babysitting Haru, maybe. Weeds and Haru are very much besties; sometimes they might have sleepovers, at Weed’s apartment—it means Bakugou comes home to a quiet, dark apartment of his own and while he appreciates (and needs, tbh) the alone time, I think there’s going always going to be a part of him that gets more and more restless, when he can’t easily hear the noise of Weeds going about her own stuff.

They’d only truly fight about one thing: Bakugou trying to dictate measures for Weed’s safety. Not in a casual, overprotective-boyfriend-way, but in a, “I am a Pro Hero, this is my professional judgement about the situation, and you are going to listen to me” kind of way. A, “I think you should reconsider working in the shop” when Weeds is outted as being his partner kind of way. Stuff that isn’t necessarily fair to ask, but is a hazard of dating a famous and popular Pro Hero.

(How do you apologise, from that kind of argument? With the every day bickering, the playful squabbles, it might be a simple “fuck you!” before grumpily passing a drink, or trying to a bite a ear. With the terser disagreements, their apologies are more often a melting—the pair of them giving each other space until one of them softens up before the other. Weeds pressing a kiss against his shoulder, whispering we’re okay, feeling him relax like a cat into her touch; Katsuki reaching out to cup her face, frowning to himself, before he tells her he loves her.

But a true fight? One where they end up screaming at each other because they’re both afraid? Where Katsuki’s neck flushes red with how angry he is and Weed’s throws something, in a rare fit of temper, the tears hot against her cheeks?

They have to use their words, their proper words, to fix that. Whether it’s a few hours later, or a day or so, or even in that moment—Weeds turning away from him, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable, disappointed sobs. She can only hear her own hiccuping, Katsuki silent—too silent—for a long, long moment. Then there’s some small noise, or stirring—the shifting of shoes or slippers, maybe—and she’s aware, suddenly, that Katsuki’s moved closer, careful not to touch her.

He’ll say her name. Her proper name, not Weeds. Quietly, like he’s afraid it’ll unseal her from him, burn up the bond between them.

“‘M sorry,” he says, when she turns to him. “I don’t—I hate this shit, too.”

It’s not a solution, not even a suggestion of one. But Weeds will nod and whisper, “I’m sorry too,” and Katsuki’s face won’t change from it’s stony seriousness but his knuckles will brush against her fingers, just gently, before Weeds lets them entangle.)