Reminder That Being Against Ai Also Means Being Against Character.ai And Not Using Character.ai And Not

The Heart Cracks Before it Shatters (Pt3) ⋆｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ pt1 pt2

Katsuki Goes home.

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Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : Bakugous perspective again, alot of sad internal thoughts here. Hope you like! thank you for the support on this yall.

Warnings : Angsty, Female!Reader, Reader is a wife, Reader has children, bakugou is very sad, agruments, swearing, sadness, aged up characters, childern, babies.

W/C : ~5.8k

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Katsuki loves to cook for you. 

It was your third date, and your first time at Katsuki’s house. Though he’d never admit it, he spent hours scrubbing down his small, somewhat cramped apartment (too much money went into his car, after all). Spending an absurd amount of time considering whether or not he should hide his All Might merch, before deciding to move it into his bedroom for safe keeping. 

Your last date had been at some overpriced restaurant downtown when he’d proposed the idea. “I’ll cook for you next time,” he’d said, cocky and sure. “Show you what real food tastes like.” You had laughed, and he had raised an eyebrow, because he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t lying about his food being fucking fantastic, cause it was usually, he just didn’t anticipate that he would be acting below optimally today. 

He didn’t confront it at the time, but cooking was proving difficult from the bubbling nerves in his stomach, the knife shaking in his careful hands. He’d already restarted the dish twice—first after dropping a whole garlic clove in, then again when he over-salted the sauce. And it was all due to his shaky fucking hands. 

He settled on katsu curry, a recipe from his dad. Simple, reliable, and good enough to impress without making it obvious how much effort he was putting in. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. You’d be there in 30 minutes. His pulse spiked, though he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or nerves. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time—not for someone normal like you.

Not that he meant normal as an insult. You just weren’t a hero, or a celebrity, but you still had him hooked. And that was rare.

When he was younger he had been actively avoiding it, busy with more important things to be wasting his time on things he considered trivial. Then after, it was more he just wasn’t finding anyone that interested him, no one worth exchanging a second glance with. So now, with you, he feels like a teenager. 

It isn't until you take your first bite, when awe flashes in your eyes and you smile while you chew, that Katsuki finally feels air in his lungs and his shoulders drop.

“I’ll make you something even better next time,” he had said, and he meant it.

And he did. Over and over, he did. He liked seeing that look on your face. Liked making you happy.

Until… well. Until he stopped.

Now, he can barely remember the last time he made you and the girls a proper home-cooked meal. Maybe a year ago, when your parents came over for your birthday. He remembers the way you had come downstairs that morning, hair a little messy, eyes bright with surprise.

“Katsuki…?”

He had turned to look at you, but there was no warmth in his expression. Maybe even a flicker of annoyance.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I…” You had laughed nervously, shifting on your feet. “Just… um. What are you cooking?”

“Katsu curry.”

“Oh!” You had moved closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Wow… it smells really good. Like always.”

And that was it. No teasing. No awe. Just a small, hesitant smile, like you weren’t sure if this was something you were allowed to be happy about.

Like it had been so long since he did something like this, you didn’t know what it meant anymore.

He chops the onion harder at the memory, the knife clinking against the cutting board from the force. In the living room, the girls are still in their pajamas, curled up on the couch despite the time. He tries to recall what you would usually do to keep them entertained on a Saturday, chopping faster with each thought, each memory that feels further away.

After an awkward breakfast of pancakes—because pancakes felt like the safe choice, and all kids like pancakes, right?—he busies himself in the kitchen, prepping soup for lunch. Something simple. Something safe. Kids need their vegetables… or something like that. He had looked up recipes online, scrolled through a dozen articles about “healthy meals for picky eaters,” and gotten to work. Because the alternative (asking his own kids what they actually like) sits like lead in his stomach. They wouldn’t think twice about the question, wouldn’t realize it’s because their own father doesn’t know their preferences.

But Katsuki would know. And his pride won’t let him admit it.

His head is already aching when a sharp scream cuts through the apartment. He whips around, eyes immediately locking onto Koharu, red-faced and wailing. Riko is at her side, whispering something soft, trying to calm her down. Would she be doing that if you were here? Would she feel like she had to?

His chest tightens.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, quickly setting the knife aside and crossing the room. He lifts Koharu into his arms, cradling her close as he gently bounces her. “What’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny fists clutch at his shirt as the sobs shake her little body. He presses his lips to the top of her head, rubbing slow circles on her back.

“Don’t cry, baby. You’re breaking Daddy’s heart.”

His voice is softer than he thought it would be, almost pleading. He wipes the tears from her hot cheeks with the pad of his thumb, shushing her lightly. 

He rocks Koharu gently, her hiccupping sobs slowing, little hands still clutching at his shirt. He doesn’t know what set her off. Doesn’t know what usually comforts her best. When she cries like this, what do you do?

He can guess. He’s seen it, even if he never really paid attention. You’d take her into your arms without missing a beat, murmur something soft against her temple, rub slow, sure circles into her back. You’d hum, maybe sing—off-key, but the girls loved it anyway. Maybe you’d take her to the kitchen and grab her a snack, something small, something easy. Something she likes.

His stomach twists.

“I got you,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead, hoping the words will be enough. “I got you, baby.”

She sniffs, breathing uneven against his chest, but she’s settling. He lets out a quiet breath. It’s barely past noon, and he’s already exhausted.

Kirishima had texted earlier, checking in. Said he could swing by if Katsuki needed a break. He’d almost said yes before he caught himself. You wouldn’t get a break. You never did.

His phone buzzes again, but this time, it’s a different name.

[12:14 PM] The Hag : Don’t forget Katsuki, we’re expecting you all at dinner tonight. 

He exhales sharply through his nose. Right. Dinner at his parents’ house. You’d planned it weeks ago. 

“Your mom wants us over for dinner next Saturday,” you said, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Your voice was soft, like you weren’t sure how he’d take it. “She says the girls need a proper meal.”

Katsuki barely looked up from his phone. “They eat just fine.”

You let out a breath, pushing your fingers against your temple. “Yeah, I know, I just—” You hesitated, chewing your lip. “She thought it’d be nice.”

There was a pause, the words lingering, like maybe there was something else you wanted to say.

He scrolled idly through his screen. “You already told her we’d go, didn’t you?”

You let out a small, tired laugh. “Yeah.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Whatever.”

Silence stretched between you, but you didn’t move. You were watching him—he could feel it, that quiet, exhausted sort of stare. He glanced up just as you shifted your weight, like you were thinking about something, like you were deciding whether or not to say it.

“…You know, you could start cooking again.”

The words were careful. Like you were testing the waters, trying not to step on a landmine.

His brow twitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, thumb pressing against your temple again. “It’s just…” You hesitated, voice quieter now, almost cautious. “You used to like it. Remember that?”

“I don’t have time to cook.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, your shoulders dropped slightly, a slow breath leaving you.

“I don’t either,” you finally murmured. “But I still do.”

There was no bite behind it. No anger. Just a fact. A quiet truth laid bare between you, almost too fragile to touch.

His eyes snapped up then, irritation flickering. “Not all of us have the luxury of free time you have.”

You flinched, just a little, but you covered it quickly, shaking your head. “No, I just…” Your fingers rubbed absently over a spot on the counter. “I just thought it’d be nice, that’s all.”

He exhaled through his nose, barely looking at you now. “Okay, then.”

You nodded, like you hadn’t expected anything more. Then, without another word, you turned back toward the sink, shoulders drawn, something weary in the way you moved.

He never cooked that week. Or the week after.

And now, standing in the kitchen with his daughters waiting in the other room, that moment hits him with a new kind of weight.

It wasn’t just about the food. It never was.

~

He cleans up the living room while the girls start getting ready to head over to grandmas, barely keeping his eyes open. 

Katsuki rubs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. His mother is going to take one look at him, at the girls, at the empty space beside him, and she’s going to know.

And she’s going to say something.

He can already hear her voice in his head. What the hell did you do this time?

Because Mitsuki Bakugou raised him. She knows every stubborn inch of him, knows exactly what kind of man he grew up to be. And she sure as hell knows you. She likes you too much not to notice the way you’ve suddenly vanished from the picture.

And if they don’t show up, if he even thinks about bailing, she’s going to lose her damn mind.

Not just because she’ll know something is off, but because she’s Mitsuki Bakugou, and the woman has no patience for bullshit. She’ll call, and when he doesn’t answer, she’ll call again. And again. And again. And if he still doesn’t pick up? She’ll just show the hell up at his front door.

A small sigh pulls him from his thoughts, and he turns to see Riko standing in the doorway.

She’s already in the dress you picked out for her weeks ago, but her face is twisted in frustration, lips pulled into a pout.

“Daddy,” she huffs, arms crossing over her chest. “I can’t do my hair.”

Katsuki blinks. “Huh?”

She groans, marching over to him and spinning around, pointing to the mess of tangles at the back of her head. “It’s all wrong.”

He stares at her. Then at her hair. Then back at her.

Oh.

Shit.

He suddenly realizes he’s never actually done her hair before.

You always did it. Every morning, without fail. Brushing it out, tying it up, pulling it into little braids or ponytails—sometimes you even put those dumb sparkly clips in it that she loved so much.

And now she’s looking at him like he’s supposed to know what to do.

He clears his throat, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh. What… do you want me to do with it?”

She lets out another dramatic sigh. “Just make it nice.”

Before he can respond, she’s already stomping off to her room, and he hesitates before following, comb in hand.

Riko plops onto the floor in front of him, and Katsuki crouches behind her, comb in hand. He squints at her hair like it’s some kind of puzzle, hesitating before dragging the comb through it.

Riko yelps. “Ow!”

Katsuki freezes. “What?”

“You yanked it!”

“I barely touched you!”

She huffs, twisting to glare up at him. “Mommy never pulls my hair.”

“Tch.” He exhales through his nose, loosening his grip. “Well, Mommy isn’t here, so quit whining and hold still.”

Riko grumbles but turns forward again, and in the mirror, she’s still glaring daggers at him. He almost smirks.

You always used to say she was a mini-him, loud and stubborn just like he was, but he’d never really seen it before. She’d always been his little princess. And sure, she’s still a princess—just one who’s currently scowling at him like she’d take him down if given the chance.

Yeah. She’s definitely his brat.

With a sigh, he works through her hair a little gentler this time, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest when he realizes how much work this actually is.

How much work you did every single day.

How much work he never even noticed.

When he finally finishes, the ponytail is a little uneven, but it’s secure. Good enough.

Riko turns, running her hands over her hair with a thoughtful expression. Then, to his surprise, she grins.

“It’s not terrible.”

He snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

She giggles, then suddenly launches forward, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Katsuki stills, caught off guard, before gently squeezing her back.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she mumbles against his shoulder.

“…Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “Anytime, bug.”

He pulls back slightly, ruffling her hair with a smirk. “Alright,” he huffs. “Let me go wake up brat number two, and then we’ll get going.”

Riko gasps, scandalized. “I’M NOT A BRAT!”

Katsuki just snorts, already walking out of the room, smirk still firmly in place.

Katsuki wakes Koharu with as much patience as he can muster—which, admittedly, isn’t much. She whines, burrowing deeper into her blankets, tiny hands gripping onto his shirt when he tries to sit her up. Eventually, he manages to get her dressed, all while Riko stands in the doorway, hands on her hips, offering extremely unhelpful commentary.

By the time they’re in the car, Koharu is still pouting sleepily in her car seat, and Riko is humming some song under her breath. Katsuki grips the wheel tighter than necessary, jaw set as they pull out of the driveway.

He doesn’t want to do this.

He’d always complained about dinners with his parents, even back when you were first dating. It took him nearly nine months to introduce you, and it would've been even longer if you hadn’t come to him one day, quietly asking if the reason he hadn’t introduced you was because he ‘didn’t see this as something long term.’

It had hurt more than he liked to admit—he hated seeing that look on your face. So, against his usual stubbornness, he agreed. He suffered through that first dinner with them, and he continued to suffer through them for years after, because his mom absolutely liked you more than him.

She used to tease him about it, laughing softly when Mitsuki would pull you aside, talking your ear off about some childhood story Katsuki really didn’t need you knowing. You’d give him a little look over your shoulder, amused, like you knew he was barely holding it together. And later, when you two were alone, you’d tell him how nice his mom really was, how she just cared, and he’d scoff, grumbling about how you were wrong—but deep down, he liked that you got along.

Now, though? He’d take his mother favoring you over him in a heartbeat if it meant you were still here.

The drive is quiet, the weight of his thoughts heavier than the silence in the car. By the time he parks in front of his parents’ house, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tight. He barely has the chance to unbuckle before the front door swings open. 

“My angels!” Mitsuki wails dramatically, her arms wide as she stands in the doorway, a soft smirk playing on her lips. Behind her, Katsuki’s dad stands by the door, casually leaning against the frame, wearing his usual apron.

Koharu lets out a small whimper as Katsuki lifts her from her car seat, the little girl immediately burying her face into his shoulder. Riko, on the other hand, sprints over into her grandmother’s arms, dragging her little bag behind her, a grin on her face as Mitsuki scoops her up.

“I’m kidnapping you both, AND THAT’S FINAL!” Mitsuki huffs, smothering Riko with tight, exaggerated affection, but her eyes immediately scan past Katsuki, searching. She doesn’t find who she’s looking for.

Her eyes narrow, sharp as always. Then, they flick back up to him, and he knows exactly what’s coming.

“Where’s your wife?” she asks, her voice a little too calm, too knowing.

Katsuki exhales sharply through his nose, shifting Koharu in his arms as he meets her gaze. “Busy,” he mutters, trying to keep the discomfort from creeping into his voice.

Mitsuki’s brows furrow deeply, the usual softness in her gaze replaced with something closer to concern. She takes a long, deliberate look at him, then at the girls, before her eyes settle back on him again.

Finally, she exhales, shaking her head. “Dinner’s almost ready. Get inside.”

It’s a temporary reprieve. He knows that. Mitsuki will press him on it before the night is over.

As his mother drags Riko inside, Katsuki gently follows, carefully toeing off his shoes with Koharu still in his arms.

“How are you doing, Katsuki?”

His dad’s voice is soft but full of that quiet concern, a gentle smile on his face as he watches his son carefully.

Katsuki adjusts Koharu in his arms, avoiding his dad’s gaze, and mutters, “Fine… fuckin’ busy or whatever.”

His dad steps a little closer, that calming presence always so different from his mother’s sharpness. With a tender touch, he strokes Koharu’s hair as she clings to Katsuki’s chest, half-asleep and unaware of the silent exchange happening between them.

“You shouldn’t curse in front of the little one,” his dad muses, his tone more lighthearted than critical.

“Yeah, 'cause she knows what I’m saying,” Katsuki mutters, glancing at Koharu, still resting in his arms.

His dad chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You look tired, son. Have you been overworking again?"

Whenever his dad uses that tone, Katsuki feels like he’s 13 again, and his dad is correcting him for the way he would talk to Izuku. In some ways, it hits harder than his mother’s loud words ever could, because she’s direct, and his dad—his dad can see right through him, in a way that makes him retreat into his shell even more.

“A little, not a big deal,” Katsuki mutters, his eyes drifting away, not wanting to meet his dad's gaze.

His dad doesn’t let it slide. "And Y/N? How is she?"

The question catches Katsuki off guard, the mention of your name feels like an unexpected weight. His dad’s gaze is soft, almost too knowing. Katsuki shifts Koharu in his arms, his mouth suddenly dry.

“She’s…” he trails off, staring down at Koharu, as if the answer is buried in her messy curls. “She’s fine, just... busy, you know?”

His dad’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t press further. He just watches him quietly, giving him the space to either lie or open up. But for now, his dad doesn't press. He just watches him quietly, as if letting Katsuki decide if he’s ready to say something real.

The lie he’s telling isn’t even a good one, cause no matter how busy you are, you always made sure to make time for these sorta dinners. And his dad knows that. But, he doesn’t say anything in return, which is somehow worse.

He sighs quietly and reaches out, gently lifting Koharu from Katsuki’s arms. The little girl, now wide awake, babbles happily as her grandfather coos at her, running his hand through her hair. "Go settle in, son," his dad says, his voice soft, but firm. “I’ll take care of her for a bit.”

Before he turns to go, his dad adds, his tone gentle yet knowing, “But… maybe let’s speak later? Okay?”

Katsuki swallows hard, he hates that the way his dad is talking already makes him sound like a failure, like he already knows it was Katsuki that messed up. Like he can read through all of Katsuki’s bullshit and see the cracks he’s trying so hard to hide. It makes him feel like a damn failure, like it’s obvious to everyone that he’s the problem

“Why? You got something you need to say?” Katsuki snaps, the defensive tone escaping before he can stop it. His dad doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react, just stands there like he’s waiting for the storm to pass.

The sharpness in his voice cuts through the house, and even the chatter from the kitchen quiets just a bit. Why is he making everyone walk on eggshells around him?

He isn’t a villain, he tells himself. So what if he… messed up a little? It’s not the end of the world, right? He could’ve done worse. He could’ve been unfaithful, or a bad provider, or—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as he meets his dad’s gaze.

His dad has always been the perfect role model. Attentive. Doting. Patient. And here Katsuki is, a mess of frustration, guilt, and pride that’s been spilling over more and more lately. He could never be like his dad.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches, but something in him softens, ever so slightly, as he exhales a frustrated breath. He’s tired, so damn tired. One minute, things were okay—well, good enough, and then somehow, it all unraveled. Too fast.

He wishes, selfishly, that he could find a way to blame you for all of this. If he could just shift the blame, maybe he could breathe again, maybe he could sleep a little easier at night. But that’s not the truth. He knows it. You tried. For years. You tried to tell him, to show him how tired you were, how stretched thin, how hungry for something that was no longer there. And instead of listening, he put up walls, focused on his life, his goals, because what he was doing mattered. What you needed didn’t. Not to him.

And when he looks back, he hates himself for it. For all the moments he chose his work, his career, over you. Over us. Thinking that being a pro hero, providing for the family, ensuring everything was safe and secure, would be enough to make you stay. Enough to keep you from wanting more. But that was never the problem. He never saw it, not until it was too late. You didn’t care about the things he thought mattered, the things he believed were enough to prove his love. You wanted him. Just him. And now, that selfishness—his lack of attention, his ignorance of your needs—has landed him here. And still, despite it all, there’s a part of him that wants to blame you. Even now. If you’d said something earlier, if you’d tried harder…

But he knows that’s a lie, too. Deep down, he knows it was his choice to ignore it. To dismiss you. To push you aside. And that realization hits him like a punch to the gut. He’s the one who let it all fall apart, the one who took the love you gave and turned it into nothing more than routine, something he could neglect without consequence.

His breaths become shallow, and suddenly his vision blurs. He blinks hard, trying to force back the sting in his eyes. No, no, not now. He can’t do this. Not here. Not in front of his dad.

“Whatever,” he mutters through gritted teeth, the words coming out rough. His voice cracks, but he can’t let it break.

He shoves past his dad, stomping his way toward the bathroom, his hands trembling.

~

Katsuki has a gnawing feeling that his dad spoke to his mother about the little… moment earlier at the door. Because the hag doesn’t utter a word about you during dinner, which is weird. She keeps having these moments where she’s clearly about to say something, but hesitates, glancing at Katsuki before abruptly changing the subject. Every time it happens, he grips his fork a little tighter. It’s bizarre.

Despite that, dinner goes off without a hitch—or maybe it does, Katsuki wouldn’t know. He’s in a daze, zoning out through most of the meal.

Now, the kids are playing with toys on the living room floor, and Katsuki’s trying his best not to check his phone to see if you’ve texted him. He’s spent the entire dinner avoiding it, but now it’s starting to feel impossible. That’s when his dad touches his shoulder.

Katsuki jolts slightly, whipping his head around, quickly dropping his phone onto his lap to hide his shame. He scowls instinctively.

“Will you help me and your mother tidy in the kitchen, son?”

Despite it sounding like a question, it’s really not one. It’s an unspoken command. Katsuki grits his teeth, but he doesn’t protest.

His dad’s gaze flicks briefly toward the kitchen, the quiet message clear, before he looks back at him. Katsuki knows what’s coming, even before he enters that kitchen.

"Yeah, whatever," he mutters, desperately trying to hide the shame coiling in his chest.

He stands up slowly, dragging his feet. He’s too damn tired to even bother trying to escape what’s coming. He knows this conversation is inevitable, and he doesn’t have the strength to avoid it anymore.

As expected, the kitchen is already spotless, and his mother is leaning against the counters with nothing but a blank face. 

Even though nothing about this situation feels casual, Katsuki decides to pretend it is. He strides into the kitchen, plops himself down in one of the chairs, and looks between his parents like he has no idea what's about to go down.

His mom doesn’t miss a beat.

“Katsuki, where is Y/N?”

Straight investigation style, he would laugh if this conversation wasn’t about to get very depressing. 

“She’s at some spa hotel, outside Tokyo,” he mutters, trying to shrug it off like it’s no big deal.

Her gaze hardens, her eyes narrowing as she presses on.

“And why is she there.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flaring despite himself. "Can’t my woman enjoy a weekend away? Jesus, you’re uptight." He leans back in the chair, trying to appear nonchalant, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. He’s not convincing anyone though, especially not his mom.

His mother, stays eerily calm, not biting back as she usually would to his behaviour. She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t demand an explanation. She simply waits.

"She’s been stressed," he mutters, almost as an afterthought, like he's trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. "Too much going on, with the kids, work... You know how it is."

It's a little more truthful, but still a half-hearted attempt to avoid the core of it. He leaves out the glaring factor—he is the unanimous source of most of this. His mom’s eyes never leave his, and he can tell she’s not buying it. Fuck.

“And what have you been doing, Katsuki?” Her voice is low, but the sharpness is there, cutting through the air.

“The fuck you think?” he mutters, his voice dripping with frustration. “You see me on TV. Same shit every day. I’m out there saving people, doing my job. What do you want from me?”

“For your wife, Katsuki,” she says, her tone firm and unwavering. “At home. What have you been doing for her.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at her. He’s afraid to.

“The fuck I’ve been doing?” he repeats, this time more quietly, though his frustration still simmers beneath the surface. “I’ve been working, putting food on the table. Making sure everything’s... taken care of.”

His voice cracks slightly, though he tries to mask it. He’s avoiding the real question. Avoiding what he knows—what they all know.

His mother doesn’t let it slide.

“For her,” she presses, her voice a quiet, insistent reminder. “Not just for the house, or the girls. For her. You can’t give everything to the world and leave her with nothing, Katsuki.”

What’s he supposed to say to that?

“She needs you, son,” his mother adds softly, her eyes searching his for something he’s not sure he has anymore. “Not just as a provider, but as a partner. A husband.”

He doesn’t know what sets him off—whether it’s his mother’s tone, the warm laughter of the girls in the other room, or the weight of his empty phone burning in his pocket.

But in that moment, Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero everyone fears, breaks down in his childhood kitchen.

“I’m…” His voice cracks, unable to form the words properly. “I’m not good enough. I don’t know how to fix this.”

He hiccups his words, his father’s hands rubbing careful circles into his shoulders, trying to ground him, but it only makes him feel worse. He wants to pull away, to hide the vulnerability, but he’s too far gone.

He wishes you were here, the things he would sacrifice for it. To have you bring him close, to kiss the tears off his cheeks, to hear your soft voice telling him everything would be okay—that you know he’s trying, that you love him even in his mess.

But all he has now is his sniffling in the kitchen, the awkward silence pressing in, and his mother looking at him with nothing but pity. He’s never felt more ashamed in his entire life.

"Mom..." he starts, his words still coming out in ragged bursts. "I messed up. I... I thought I could handle it, but I didn’t. I thought... I thought being a hero was enough."

The words come like poison, the shame burning through his throat as his mother just watches him silently. 

She takes a long, steady breath, carefully considering her words, a rare softness in her tone. "I don’t know exactly what has been happening at home, son, but I know Y/N married you for a reason. She loved you when you were just a rookie, working constantly, because you made the time, you made the effort. She wants her husband back. It’s the little things, Katsuki. Don’t let your own neglect make you lose her."

"I know you can do it," she adds, her voice gentle but firm. "She loves every part of you. So let her see that again. Let her see you."

He wants to argue. To lash out and defend the way he’s been living. He wants to tell her he’s trying—he’s trying so damn hard—but the words don’t come.

Instead, he nods, stiff and uncomfortable, wiping his face with the back of his hand clumsily. 

He doesn’t know how to fix it all. He doesn’t know how to go back and make the changes he should have made years ago. But he does know this; the longer he waits, the further he drifts away from the person who used to be his everything.

~

After a shitshow of a day, he find himself crafting a text for you again. A new, sad, routine of his to feel close to you.

The message is light, almost mundane. Pictures of the girls at dinner and a small note about his mother asking after you.

He doesn’t expect you to reply, not really. But his sleepy eyes jump with surprise when he watches the typing bubbles appear. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : aw, my babies. tell them I miss them. 

[10:36 PM] Wifey : I’m sorry that I missed dinner, your parents are lovely. 

Katsuki lets out a shaky breath, something warm spreading through his chest despite the ache that lives there. He can almost hear the words in your voice. If he allowed his selfishness to win, he would call you immediately just to hear it for real. But he knows it's not the moment. Not yet.

He types quickly, keeping the tone light, masking the vulnerability creeping through him.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki : they miss you more. All Koharu does is pout. Haha.

[10: 39 AM] Katsuki :  dont worry about dinner. They will be here when you get back. 

When you get back. He adds it with a little more confidence than he feels, the hope that you will confirm, that you are indeed coming back, coursing through him.

[10:43 PM] Wifey : I should be home monday, the train comes in around 1pm. 

[10: 44 AM] Katsuki : Okay, looking forward to it. I’ll pick you up. 

[10:45 PM] Wifey : You don’t have to Katsuki, just because of how our last conversation went. I know you have work. 

Katsuki’s brow furrows as his fingers hover over the screen. He hates how distant that sounds. He doesn’t want you to feel like a burden.

[10: 46 AM] Katsuki : Do you not want me to? 

[10:46PM] Wifey : I dont want to force you

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: You’re not forcing me. I want to. I’ve missed you.

[10:47 AM] Katsuki: And if you’re up for it, maybe we can talk more when you get back.

[10:49 PM] Wifey : Okay, thank you. 

God, he hates how stiff and formal this has become. He swipes up to the previous texts, seeing how things have shifted over the past few months, and for the millionth time, he chastises himself. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

[10:50 AM] Katsuki: Goodnight Sweetheart. See you soon. 

You like the message. Progress. 

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

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(Hopefully i got everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, if you want added, let me know!)

Reblogs and comments appericated! Also, send me requests on how you want it to go... what you think might happen !

u should draw bkdk cozy in bed maybe :>

izuku nervously walks into their kitchen one late evening after katsuki just got home from his 12 hour shift.

usually he's all over katsuki with kisses and an excited, 'welcome home kacchan!' so the blond automatically clocks the change and knows something's up.

turning towards the raven haired menace, katsuki crosses his arms in front of his chest to look like he's in control of the situation and lifts an expectant eyebrow. 'whats up, zuku?'

theres something he has hiding behind his back and katsuki gets a weird flash back to the time izuku got him to try a clay face mask.

he did the exact same thing he's doing now, he flashed his sweetest smile and listed all the health benefits and showed off his own smooth freckled skin as an example. it was a very convincing example.

katsuki bitched and complained at first but now, as long as izuku is the one putting it on him, it's been a nightly ritual since that day 2 years ago.

izuku nibbles on his lip and finally looks up at him. 'i-i made kacchan something.'

'ok..?' izuku started knitting awhile back and while he's slowly and surely getting the hang of it, he still hasn't perfected it yet. but bakugou knows he'll get there, it's only been a short amount of time and he's able to make small things like beanies or scarves.

'and it came out... alright? i probably shouldn't have tried something so complicated this early on but i wanted kacchan to have a dynamite theme christmas present no one else has and ever since your merch blew up i know that's basically not possible and I already made you so many beanies and scarfs so of course I couldn't make you even more beanies and scarves so-'

'show me it.' katsuki demands, he hasn't moved and he hasn't said much but the intensity in his voice shows izuku that the blond is excited.

so flashing a hopeful smile, izuku brings it out from behind his back and-

well it's definitely not perfect. and it's kinda very ugly. in that ugly christmas sweater kinda way that everyone actually kinda likes anyway.

'hm.'

🥦🥦🥦

they're at a christmas party with all of their friends and family.

and if anyone tries to say anything bad at all about the sweater katsuki's wearing, he flashes them a threatening eye that dares them to continue. it might not be the explosive anger he used to express but now it's silent, deadly and even more terrifying because well.

because grape juice tried, grape juice continued, he said something like- 'deku maybe you shouldn't be showing off the things you make that clearly shows you're still a beginner?' and now he's been punched, kicked out of the party and everyone wishes they could permanently throw him out of the group chat for a second, third, fourth, hundredth time.

after shaking out his fist, katsuki makes sure his sweater didn't get any grape residue on it and tugs izuku into his chest to give him a soft reverent kiss on the top of his head.

that he's currently shaking because holy all might, kacchan didn't have to do all of that.

'denki why do you still invite him to these things??' kiri asks.

'deku can you make me one too pretty please with a cherry on top? I'll buy you breakfast and lunch for a whole year!'

'oh! ok, yeah definitely!'

thank you for doing the last smau with the MHA boys getting into a fight because of you! can I request another smau with telling them "don't get mad okay"?

ღ"Don't get mad okay?"

ʚft.Deku, Bakugou, Shoto, Kirishima, Denki, Shinsou

ʚCont: crack⤑Back to navigation

Read something about bakugo being a miku fan??? Lol

hihi rue 🤭 could i get an smau with bf!kirishima or shinso + mean!reader who’s kinda js a cunt 🗣️

i need a man to love me at my bitchiest

HI ELLE <3 a billion years later i hope u r still in ur kiri era

black cat // eijirou kirishima

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers

ProHero Bakugou x UA teacher reader (best friends to lovers)

Part4

“What the hell are you chokin on?” Katsuki grumbles, his eyes still on the road in front of him.

“Nothing. I just- uhm.” Your hand extends the golden hoop so he can see what you’d reacted to, your free hand reaching to tuck you hair behind your ear as his eyes dart from your palm to your face. “This fell out of the mirror. It just surprised me.”

“Your own earring scared you?” Why did your stomach hurt realizing he knew it wasn’t yours but was trying to play it off as if he didn’t? It was obvious in the nervous jitter in his voice, like a child afraid to ask his mother for a cookie. “Didn’t know you-.”

“You know this isn’t mine.” Why did it matter that a girl was in his passanger seat and planted it for another girl to find? “Who ever you had in your car last is worried you’re cheating. That’s why women do this.”

“It’s not cheating, we aren’t dating.” His hand runs through his hair, a frustrated sigh leaving his lips as you tuck the jewelry back to where it had come from. “I didn’t even see her put that there.”

“I’m not sure how you’d like me to respond, so I’m just gonna say okay.” The thought of another girl sitting in Katsukis passanger seat had never bothered you before, but now it was hard to not feel betrayed. As long as you’d known him, he’d never given anyone rides, and even made a point to uber to and from the dates he’d go on to avoid doing so. “You gave her a ride?”

“Unfortunately. Her phone died while we were out and we drove to her place.” The nervous tapping of his thumb against his steering wheel made sweat begin to cover your spine. He’s always shared his stories (leaving out the obvious details) but this explanation felt different. “I haven’t seen her since and when you ditched me because of it I stopped replying to her messages.”

The dots come together in your head just as he turned into your apartments car park. This belonged to the girl that had texted you from him phone the night before he ditched you. He never came home that night because he was with her and couldn’t exactly take her to his house while you slept in his bed. Your chest was aching.

“I’ll walk from here.” You felt suddenly nauseous and didn’t want to ruin his car because you’d suddenly felt sick to your stomach knowing the correlation between the earring and his absence. “Thanks for the ride.”

He hadn’t even put the car in park but you were undoing your seat belt and reaching for the door handle. You needed air, and space to figure out while the hell your blood ran cold and your heart had felt pinched. Were you jealous?

No. Not when you’d been in and out of relationships and situationships since the two of you met and you’d never felt this unsettled knowing he’d been seeing someone. You were just angry earring girl is the reason he never showed up to talk to your students.

“No, wait.” His finger presses the door lock repeated, not allowing you to exit or get the space you needed. “I know you’re still pissed, and I don’t blame you. But she’s not the reason I didn’t go, so don’t get shitty over her when it’s all on me.”

“I just really need to get to bed.” You lie, trying to collect yourself as you smile falsely in his direction. He seemed worried, overwhelmed and completely unlike himself as he chews his bottom lip. “We’re good.”

-

It took a few more reassurance for him to finally ease up enough for you to exit his car, but it’s not like he was dropping you off. He followed you out of the car park and toward your front door while his hands shined into his pockets and emotion void of his face.

“I’m heading to bed, you know where the blankets are.” If he wanted to crash here, you wouldn’t stop him. You’d stayed at his place more times than you could count, so you’d ignore the thick uncomfortable tension to return the favor. “If you want to change I think you still have sweats in the laundry closet.”

“I’m not staying, I’m just not done talking.” He stands in the kitchen where you’d just poured yourself a glass of water, his keys landing on your small breakfast nook as you raise a brow in his direction. “I’m sorry. I fucked up and ditched something important to you because I couldn’t sort myself out. If I could go back and never even respond to her text that day I wouldn’t. It wasn’t worth it.”

“It is what it is.” Which is what you’d been telling yourself over and over every time you’d hurt yourself thinking about it. “I already told you were fine. I’ll text you in the morning and things can go back to normal.”

“I saw the way you looked at me when that damn earring fell, you’re upset.” He was right, you were upset but it wasn’t like you had any right to be. The two of you were friends- who’d shared a couple of drunk cuddles. Was that the reason you felt uneasy as he made his way closer? “Is it because she sat in your seat? I won’t let anyone sit there again, that way you don’t have to worry about it. Put your damn name on the dash if you want- just don’t ever look at me like that again.”

“What? No, I can’t make you banish everyone from your passenger seat- I was just surprised.” Which was partially true, never in a million years would you expect a woman to attempt to mark her territory in your best friend’s car. “Plus, you said you aren’t dating her it’s not like it’s gonna happen again.”

Your heart beat thumps in your jugular, watching Katsuki lean across from you and cross his arms. Had he always looked at you so softly? The scowl he notoriously wore was no where in site as your hands shove into your pockets nervously. You were uncomfortable being held by his gaze, and you knew it was obvious.

“If it upsets you like this, I promise you it won’t happen again.” You wanted nothing more for this unbearably awkward conversation to be over, so you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. “Don’t do that, it’s hard to con-.”

Loud knocks come from your front door, thankfully ending the conversation when Katsuki moves to see who was knocking. You follow behind him, seeing as it was your door being knocked on and not his. Unfortunately you had a decently good idea who was pounding on your door- and you knew it wasn’t going to end well.

“Why the fuck do you keep showing up?” Katsuki asks, swinging your door open to reveal Bryce, the man you’d broken things off with and been harassed by ever since. “She told you she’s done, now fuck off.”

“She’s just confused.” Bryce spits, attempting to shove past the two of you to enter your apartment. With one hard shove, Katsuki makes sure it doesn’t happen. “So what? You leave me for this prick?”

“We weren’t dating Bryce.” You explain calmly, grabbing Katsukis arm to pull him back. His chest was heaving and you could tell he was struggling to contain the anger he felt for his coworker standing in your hallway. “You wanted more and I told you no, I’m not seeing anyone else. I only said that to get you to back off. You’re acting insane, and if you don’t stop I’ll press charges and you can kiss your career goodbye.”

“He can kiss it goodbye regardless, he won’t be employed by the time he tries to clock in tomorrow.” Bryce’s jaw tenses, his eyes hardening as Katusukj drapes an arm over your shoulders. A shudder ripples through your body, enjoying his touch far too much. “If you won’t take her telling your sorry ass no as an answer, I’d be happy to make you understand it.”

“I’ll be back, you know I will. I love you, I’m not giving up on us.” Bryce calls, turning to leave. Katsukis grip tightens as the two of you watch him walk away. “I’ll never stop!”

“Go pack a few things, you’re not staying here.”

———

Yeah idk how to end this whoops.

-Parchy💖

———

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good morning to hockey player! bakugo katsuki only.

not talking about the bakugo katsuki on ice though. i’m talking about him after his games, hair damp & sweat sticky despite the biting chill of the arena, copper in his molars & iron in his throat. games rarely go smoothly for the left wing—he has a bad habit of ramming players into boards & spitting on them for good measure when they get on his nerves. you know you shouldn’t, but you’re no better than a fangirl so you can’t help but find it attractive.

“hey you,”

katsuki bakugo trudges off the rink with sweat-soaked skin. he’s red-cheeked & bleary eyed & he keeps said eyes on the ground like his life depends on it. he trudges past you, shoulder bumping into yours as he wobbles past.

you bite back a grin at the sight of the grumpy forward. “gonna ram into me next ?”

“annoying,” he mumbles, turning back to pull you into him with a swift tug. you nearly topple over him but he’s quick to steady you, large gloved hands snaking around the curve of your waist & the front of your throat.

“eugh, you smell like sweat—“

bakugo crashes his lips into yours. he’s always rough after games, taking out his frustration on you with teeth gnawing your lips & tongue licking your canines. gloved hands glide from your neck to your jaw before his left hand sinks just to rise up your shirt, tugging at the clasp of your bra while you grunt between his lips.

“mmf, kats—“

“number 49! no pda on the pitch !”

katsuki releases your lips with a grumble. he glares in the direction of his coach, lips glossy & strawberry sticky from your chapstick, saliva dribbling down his chin.

“annoying.”

“i love how diverse your vocabulary is.”

he turns to you with a similar scowl. “shut up. car.”

“can we communicate in full sentences please ?”

he lets out an exaggerated sigh, head thrown back & gloved fingers pinching his nose. it’s taking everything in you not to giggle, especially since he’s your only ride home.

“you are so—“ katsuki grunts before dipping his head to kiss your neck, “fucking—“ his lips meet your jaw, “annoying.”

he settles his head in the crook of your neck, body limp & heavy breathing,

“i love you too,”

“shut up.”

© ─ heartkaji ; do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload

Secret Santa at the office where you jokingly tell your desk neighbour that you’d settle for a smiling Bakugo for Christmas…

Queue the Christmas party.

The soft hum of Christmas music floats through the air, layered under the gentle chatter and gossip that blooms from groups seated around glass topped tables with too many empty champagne flutes. Gifts are exchanged, some more well received than others.

Izuku buys Ochako a far too expensive necklace, that does the job of outing his crush on her so he doesn’t have to. Mineta buys Momo a G-String and is promptly escorted out with notice to report to HR come Monday. A new tie passes from Shoji to Tokoyami. A desk-weight set between Tetsutetsu and Kirishima.

You’re giftless so far and as Bakugo trudges down the stairs with his signature frown itching at his skin between his eyes - you expect to remain that way.

He strides towards you and stops short, before fumbling around in his pocket.

‘Bakugo, if you’re my secret Santa you don’t have to-.’

Swearing under his breath, he snatches the bright red bow from his suit pants and pins it to the shoulder of his shirt with a too hard smack. ‘You sure?’ He grins, flashing teeth and cocking an eyebrow. ‘Because I got you exactly what you wanted.’

[OC] Gently holding berry