Bakugou Angst - Blog Posts

boobs too big

pro hero!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader⋆｡°✩ — swearing, bit of spice + implied smut, 4.7k words, for plus size readers and/or readers who have a larger chest size

a/n: room was inspired by this fanart; [f/c] = favourite colour

You had just finished work for the day. It was around 5pm and you knew that your boyfriend, Bakugou, would be finishing up his patrol about now. You packed up your things and left the office, saying goodbyes and thank you’s to your colleagues on the way out. It was a quick walk to the train station. The mauve and orange sky filling you with awe. The breeze and was cool and slight, ruffling your hair and blouse gently. You got off in two stops and walked to Dynamight’s agency.

Sometimes, he would pick you up from work. Sometimes, you would come to his agency after work. And some other times, you two would just meet at home, especially if it had been a long day or one of you had the day off.

Today, you wanted to surprise him since you two had a great (wink) time last night and he had left so quickly and early this morning on call. You were left craving your hero’s touch and affections and what a better way to let him know than by surprising him after work.

The receptionists recognised you when you walked in, greeting you and letting you know that Dynamight wasn’t back yet, but he should be shortly. You thanked them and headed to the elevator, taking it up the top floor where his office was. Let me rephrase that, his office was the top floor.

Once you hopped off the elevator, you could see his empty office through the glass walls. You push the glass door open and enter, taking in how messy it was since the last time you had been in here (which was last Wednesday). You placed your bag down, resting against the leg of his large wooden desk. The scorch marks across it making you smile.

You came around to his seat, seeing the picture he had on his desk of you two at the beach. The frame was decorated with pasta pieces, a craft project you had taken too in the last few months. It made you giggle. You remembered that day at the beach. It had been so hot and Katsuki had been complaining the whole time about his quirk going off. And about you getting sunburnt. He was committed to lathering you up every two hours, especially since you were in a bikini that he ripped off that night back at the rental place. It was when he had first admitted to you how much he loved you. Not with words of course. No, you knew by how he had taken such good care of you that aforementioned night and you had (of course) reciprocated his feelings.

You looked away from the picture, rolling up the sleeves of your [f/c] blouse before bending to put pens and pencils back in their holder, sticky notes in a pile, empty the sharpener, and so on. You continued to tidy his office, moving from the desk to the shelving and seating. He really was messy, you thought to yourself. At home, it wasn’t too bad since you were there, but alone, damn was he a—

Your thoughts are interrupted by the ding of the elevator. You turn around, mid paper-picking up, to see the love of your life stomping angrily (as per usual) out of the elevator. His gloved palms collide with the office door and he’s huffing inside. When he notices you he shouts, “[Y/N] WHAT THE FUCK?! What’re you doing ‘ere, you brat?!” You laugh, placing the papers in your hands on his desk and walking up to him. He meets you first, and your hands are on his chest, you head tilted up.

You look so sweet, so kissable in this moment, and Bakugou can’t resist you. His sweat-laden gloves grab at your waist and you tilt your head back even more. You lick your lips and the way he crashes his lips down onto yours has you weak in the knees. You grip harder onto his suit, hands soon moving to the back of his neck.

He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, you can feel it as your breaths and moans intermingle and become one. His tongue seeks yours, rolling over your bottom lip and teeth. You fall further into him, your knees weakening even more. And he catches you, smirking wider and intertwining his tongue with yours. You can taste the remnants of the steamed salmon and rice bento you made him for lunch.

You moan particularly loudly into him, only further further inflating his massive ego. By the time you two pull away, you’ve got saliva dripping down your chin. You’re both panting, foreheads resting against one another. He chuckles at how pathetic you are for him pretending he’s not the one wrapped around your finger.

He takes off one of his gloves, wiping the spit from your chin with long, sweaty fingers. You hum softly and pull away from him, smiling. “You’re gonna ruin my makeup if you keep doing that.” You give him a teasing disapproving look to which he smirks, “I’ll do a lot more than fuck up your makeup, love.” He’s got that lewd look in his eyes and you have to turn away, hoping he won’t catch sight of the blush stirring in your cheeks.

You return back to what you were doing before, picking up the documents that had fallen off his cluttered desk and onto the floor. You watch out of the corner of your eye as Bakugou stalks over to his desk chair, pulling it roughly and plonking down in it. He’s got his feet up on the desk, taking his other glove and mask off.

He looks over at you and then around his office. His brows furrow, “Oi! Have you been cleaning up my office?” You look up at him and nod, smiling gently. He looks away, “Tch.” You watch as he crosses his muscular yet scarred arms across his chest, taking his feet down. “You mad at me, Suki?” You raise an eyebrow. He avoids your gaze as he gets up from the desk and walks around it, towards you. But, he doesn’t come to you.

Instead, he walks past you, not flicking a glance your way the entire time, over to the sofa at the far end of the office. You continue picking up the last pieces of paper that have fallen when drops a box at your feet. You’re startled by the noise and yelp, “Fuck, Katsuki!” You shift to look at him and he’s still scowling. He meets your gaze for a moment before rolling his eyes. “It’s the new merch…” He finally looks back at you. “For you.”

You’re immediately all giggles, tense shoulders relaxing. “Really? You got me new merch?!” You’re grinning from ear to ear, and you can see him get even more annoyed. That was one thing about him that had taken a while for you to learn. Even though he looks pissed off, he’s actually really happy that you’re excited.

“Thanks, Suki!” You step around the box and give him a hug. He grumbles but accepts it, patting the back of your head. You pull away from him and crouch down to the cardboard box, not paying attention to how he strides to his desk, plopping down in his chair to watch you.

You take the lid off and squeal. On top is an oversized black hoodie with a white skull on it. He knows how much you love his skull merch so this was really precious to you that he would bring out more.

Bakugou actually took part in his merch design. He didn’t come up with all of the designs, but he would meet with his team of designers to go over different ideas they had and finalise the next line of merch. This was unique in that most heroes outsourced their official merch design and manufacture while Bakugou preferred to be involved in his. He claimed that he didn’t want any of these ‘extras’ screwing up his designs, but you know that it was because he really wants for his fans to have nicely designed and good quality official merch.

It felt so soft and thick! This was definitely going to be your new fav hoodie. Your current one (which was another one of Dynamight’s merch) was falling apart at the seams after almost daily wear for the past five years. You set it on your lap and continued going through the box. This new range’s theme was skulls. You couldn’t stop smiling and giggling to yourself as you looked at each item, mesmerised. Bakugou watched you, nervous and happy-annoyed that you seemed to really like it. He had designed them with you in mind after all.

Beneath a pair of skull track shorts, you see what you think you’re seeing but not too sure if you’re actually seeing this so you end up pinching yourself. Dynamight underwear? There’s a reason why heroes don’t bring out official merch underwear and that’s because it takes a lot of work to figure out a flattering and attractive design that would make fans spend almost triple the price of regular underwear to buy. You’re in actual shock as pick up a skull patterned bralette by the straps.

The base colour is a pale orange with the opaque skulls printed on top. It blurs the line between Halloween and Dynamight merch, you think. But you also think that it gets extra points for versatility. The fabric is soft to the touch. Actually, it’s the softest material you’ve felt yet. The clasps at the back have also been flattened for comfort.

Bakugou stares at you intensely from his desk as you look at it. This is the moment he’s been the most nervous for. It was this piece that he wanted you to love out of the whole range as you’ve been complaining for a few weeks about how hard it is to find comfortable underwear that lasts a long time and actually looks good.

And he’s done it!

Just kidding. The bra looks like it was made for a pre-teen going through who just started going through puberty. You’re looking at it now wondering how the fuck that was supposed to hold anything in place.

Bakugou senses your dismay and pipes up, “You don’t like it?” You can hear the hurt in your voice. You quickly put the bralette back in the box and shake your head. “No! No, it’s not that, Suki-chan.” You’re waving your hands dismissively. “It’s just that…” Your hands fall from your chest to your knees and you look down, at the bralette. It’s so pretty and you know he must of worked so hard on it.

“Tch.” You look up, catching the end of his eye roll. “WHAT?!” He looks at you expectantly now, brows knitted together. You bite the side of your lip, anxiety jitters moving throughout your body in wavelike motions. But then you chuckle slightly, doing your best to shake it off. There’s nothing for you to be anxious about. “Suki,” you giggle, lifting the bralette up so he can see the front. You bring it next to your chest, straps hanging from your fingers. “What is this gonna hold?”

In an instant, his cheeks heat up and he’s grumbling to himself that it’s a fine size. You can see the blush extending from his cheeks to the tops of his ears and down the back of his neck. You smile and get up from your place next to the box, coming over to him and sitting on his lap (which he has no complaints about). You hold the bralette up to show him what you’re talking about, “It’s really pretty , Suki-chan. But it’s just so small. You know that… You know.” You’re giving him those pleading eyes. Those eyes of ‘please, don’t make me explain myself’. But, he just looks at you, blushing and scrunching up his brows.

You soothe the wrinkles with the pad of your thumb, but as soon as they’re gone, they come right back. He takes the bralette from your hands, holding it against your chest. And now, he’s beginning to understand what you were talking about. He huffs and places it down on your lap. It’s quiet for a few moments before you speak up, “I know you worked really hard on it, Suki. It’s okay. We’ll just—”

“Your boobs are too big.”

You’re staring at him, eyes wide, jaw ‘bout to drop. The fuck did he say to— “What?” He shrugs, “It’s not my fault your t—”

“Okay!” You hold up your hand, unable to tell whether he’s joking or not. “Thanks babe. Really.” You’re tone is dripping with sarcasm as you stare him down. But he’s unfazed by this sudden change in your mood. He shrugs again, barking out his laughter as he does so, “I wouldn’t want it any other way, you know?” He’s leaning over, in for the kiss. But you’re not in the mood.

You get off his lap but his hot hands grasp your wrist before you can really go anywhere. You back around to look at him and he’s got that sharp, lopsided smirk across his face. “I’ll make you a new one, eh?” You’re staring at him, brow raised, confused. But he doesn’t notice (he does but chooses to ignore it) and pulls you in for that kiss you tried to evade.

And it works, after a few moments the bralette sizing dilemma is forgotten. And so is the fact that the walls of Dynamight’s office are literally glass so anyone who happens to come up to the top floor of the agency can see into his office and consequently, the lewd undertakings that ensue.

…⊹₊⟡⋆…

It’s been about week since Dynamight had given you a look at the new merch. After that afternoon in the office, the matter of the bralette sizing hadn’t come up since. You’re beginning to get a little suspicious since your boyfriend has been staying back after patrol ever since. He says it to review patrol reports, but if you knew better (and you do), you would say that it was to work on the bralette design.

It was around 12pm on Thursday when Bakugou called you. You had just gone to lunch break thankfully and picked up immediately. “Oi. Come by the agency after work. There’s something I wanna show you.” His voice was gruff and you thought you could hear the laughter of Red Riot in the background. “Mhmm, what do you want to show me?” You were trying to conceal your smile, but knowing Bakugou, he definitely could hear it from the other end of the line. “Tch. You’ll find out when you ‘ere, alright?” You giggle in response, telling him “Okay” and “I love you” before hanging up the line.

And now, you had just left the train station and were walking towards Dynamight’s agency. You couldn’t help the grin that was plastered across your face. You had been smiling ever since that phone call. So much so that your cheeks had begun to hurt.

It wasn’t long before you arrived, greeting the receptionists who directed you down the hall this time. You smiled and followed their lead, walking down the corridor and turning left down another hallway until you came to the design room. This is where all of the merch was designed and tested after manufacture. You knocked on the door, seeing through the little glass window cut-out on the door spiky ash blond hair. It opened after a few seconds and you were met with a woman who you assume to be one of Dynamight’s design assistants.

She had long, dark blue hair with equally blue eyes. She greeted you with a smile and motioned for you to enter. As you did so, Dynamight came up to you and snaked his arm around your waist. You giggled, embracing his tall, warm frame. He smelt like ash and smoke as per usual. He huffed into your shoulder before pulling away, smirking sharply down at you. You returned it with your own, much softer grin.

He had that excited look in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel excited by seeing it. “So,” you began, “Why did you ask me to come here?” He laughed, shaking his head slightly at your perceived dullness. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re gonna be my model for the new merch.” You blinked once. And then twice. Sorry what? Did you hear that right? Model? You?

You shook your head, now getting a better look at the room since Bakugou had stepped back. You could see boxes haphazardly stacked in one of the corners while a few sat opened on top of a long grey table. There were a few more assistants seated at the table, pulling the contents out and discussing the merch.

You looked back to the woman standing in front of you and then to your partner. “Um, what do you mean?” You asked tentatively. “Tch.” Bakugou put his hand on your lower back, still gloved and sooty, and led-pushed you over to the table. The blue-haired woman followed behind.

Once you got to the table, Bakugou pulled out the same bralette you had initially been critical of. Except this time, it looked like it actually might fit. He released his grasp on you and held it up to your chest, eyes glinting and lips pulling into another smirk in satisfaction. His red eyes flicked up to meet your own [e/c] ones and he thrust the bralette into your hands. He pointed to something behind you so you turned around, seeing that he was pointing to a little dressing cube in the corner. You put two and two together and turn back around, about to protest when Bakugou spoke over the top of you.

“Oi! Just try it on,” he rolled his eyes. Your mouth formed a hard line and you stared at him for a little before ultimately deciding that it was best to do as he says. I mean, he has put in all of this work to make this bralette fit you. And yea, it is a bit embarrassing to have to try it on when there are so many (not really but) of his employees around. But, he has the best intentions and you love him dearly for that.

You drop your bag against the leg of the table before walking over to the changing area. You pull the curtain shut behind you before removing your blouse and push-up bra to put on the orange bralette. Ah, you think, it feels so soft! You turn and look at yourself in the small mirror on the wall and wow, it really does look and fit so good. The bralette curves and sits perfectly over your breasts and on your under-bust. No spilling or gaping. You’re in awe of how Katsuki pulled this off. But then, you remember that you are dating THE pro hero Dynamight.

You pull the curtain aside and step out, your boyfriend’s sharp eyes on you from the moment you re-appeared. You walk over to him, trying to hide the smirk on your face seeing how his mouth had dropped open slightly and eyes were trained on your chest, blond brows completely relaxed. As soon as you’re within arms-length, Bakugou’s large gloved hands grab onto your forearm, pulling so that you fall into his chest. His arms are wrapped around you, eyes tracing the curves of your chest and then roving up your neck and to your jawline, lips, and [e/c] eyes.

You smile gently and giggle a little before he brings his hand to the top of your head and ruffles your silky locks. This causes you to giggle even more and look down, the intensity of his stare always making you falter.

At the sudden realisation that indeed, you two weren’t alone, you cleared your throat, archiving that cute smile he loved so much and bringing out the business look. You placed your much smaller hands on his chest and pushed him back slightly, earning you an irate noise from the back of Katsuki’s throat. You shook your head before tilting it to the side, “There are other people here, you know?”

He laughs from his chest, his warm breath hitting your face. “Oh, I know.” He’s got this wide shit-eating grin stretched across his face now. Great. You grumble playfully, “Suki-chan, we have to be professional.” He rolls his eyes at you, backing off now, “Tch.”

He takes the sight of you in again, very obviously checking you out. You begin to feel self-conscious with how much he’s staring at you. Automatically, your hands are on the move to cover your chest but you stop mid movement, seeing his eyebrows furrow, and force them back down by your sides. You are his model, after all. How can he improve his craft is you don’t allow him to evaluate his work? But this evaluation was teetering on the edge of shamless eye-fucking.

You clear your throat again, “Yea, I like it. You’ve done a really good job.” Your fingers start pointing to different parts of the bralette as you continue, “The band is really comfortable, the cups fit well, the straps are a good length. I really like it.” You give him a smile and tilt your head after you finish explaining. His hungry gaze lingers on you for a few moments more, tongue darting across his lower lip before he turns away from you.

Bakugou walks back over to the table, standing at the end of it, “You heard her. It’s fine.” You come up behind him and place your hand on his shoulder, standing a bit to the side. “It’s really nice, honestly. You’ve all done a really good job on it.” They nod, returning your grin with their own.

The blue-haired assistant asks if she can take some photos of you wearing the bralette for their quality assurance and fit records, and of course, you agree. Bakugou stands off to the side, pretending to be listening to one of the designers when in reality, all he can focus on is how attractive you look in his merch. 100% eye-fucking you.

It’s not long before you’ve stripped it off and have changed back into your work clothes. Bakugou still has some work to do at the agency before he leaves, so you give a him kiss on the cheek and thank the design team before catching the train home.

…⊹₊⟡⋆…

Within the next week, Dynamight’s new skull merch line dropped and it was selling fast. The oversized hoodie and classic skull t-shirt had already sold out. Pro heroes such as Shoto and Deku were seen out in public in the orange and black skull bucket hats. This response from fans and heroes was unprecedented, and you had been buttering your boyfriend up all week about how incredible of a designer and businessman he was besides from being the greatest pro hero ever.

He has been pretty busy since, trying to manage his hero work, re-stocking of the merch, and the attention all of this has garnered from the media. In fact, he had just done an interview on the new merch yesterday. And today, your pookie was long gone by the time you had woken up — only at 8am since it was your day off — as he was on morning patrol from 5am to 1pm.

You sat up and stretched your arms overhead, yawning and smiling contently as you looked around your shared bedroom. Bright sunlight was streaming through the white curtains, illuminating the All Might poster on the far wall and shelf full of Katsuki’s All Might merch and trading card collections.

Groaning, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom to brush your teeth and shower. Afterwards, you made yourself a cup of tea and sat on the plush chair in the corner of your shared bedroom, pulling out your journal and writing down the dream you had last night. All was quiet, until your phone started buzzing like crazy. Every second a new notification sounded, sending your phone into a vibrating fit on the dresser. Annoyed and confused by this, you put your journal and pen on the table beside you and walked over to pick up your phone.

You had several missed phone calls by unknown numbers, as well as your friend and pro hero Mina. Bakugou had introduced you two shortly after you two started dating, and you and the pink girl had hit it off immediately. You unlocked your phone, seeing an alarming amount of unread messages. You opened the messenger app and scrolled, clicking on Mina’s chat. Not bothering to read her gazillion messages, you clicked on the phone icon up the top and waited for her to pick your call.

It was only on the second ring when her voice shouted into the microphone, “[Y/n]! [Y/n]-CHAN, ARE YOU THERE?!” You began saying ‘yes’ when she continued, “HAVE YOU SEEN IT?? Everyone’s talking about it!” You shake your head, brows now knit together and eyes narrowing, “Seen what?” Mina gasped, “YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT?!” You had to pull the phone away from your ear. “No, Mina, I haven—”

“I’LL SEND IT TO YOU RIGHT NOW! THERE ARE TONS OF ARTICLES BUT THIS ONE IS THE ARTICLE!” Your brows only furrow further together. “Mina, what artic—” “OKAY, I sent it to you. NOW, GO READ IT!!” You chose to laugh, knowing that although Mina can be a bit over the top sometimes, she has your best interest at heart. You thank her and hang up the call, returning to the chat and clicking on the link she just texted you.

It takes you to an article titled ‘”Boobs too big.” Dynamight Challenges Standard Sizing of Hero Merch in Latest Release.’ Your jaw drops. Your eyes are glued to the screen as you read:

On a quiet Friday night, Dynamight reveals his true inspiration for making pro hero merch’s first ever plus size underwear range. Not even the previous Symbol of Peace ‘All Might’ attempted to tackle such a challenge. In fact, Dynamight is one of only a handful of pro heroes to ever release official underwear merchandise in history.

In his interview with Juko News, Dynamight explains how he wanted to create merchandise that was comfortable, flattering, and high quality for fans. He said, “I work with the team to design every piece… We [Dynamight’s design team] outsource construction and once that’s done, we test every size and make sure each item is good enough to sell.”

Now, this isn’t anything new. Ever since Dyanmight began selling official merchandise, he’s always had a hand in the creative process. But now, Dynamight admits that it was his long-term partner, [L/n] [Y/n] who is the reason why he’s expanded this new merch range to underwear and larger sizes. The pro hero said, “She’s always complainin’ about her bras not fitting right. It’s not her fault that her boobs are too big. Tch, why not design and make something she’ll actually like?”

Were you actually reading this? Did… did Bakugou actually say, on camera, that your boobs were “too big”. You were going to give it to him tonight.

Your eyes skim read the rest of the article. Struggles for larger-chested women in Japan; Dynamight is more than just a hero; call to action for other heroes to make larger sizes; excitement around re-stocking and future merch.

You put down your phone and walked back over to your chair, collapsing in it like you had just done crossfit or something. You couldn’t help but start giggling, which turned into full-blown teary, stomach-aching laughter. Bakugou was the love of your life, even if he was a bit rough and brash at times, he cares. And you know that when he said those things, he really did mean it with your best interest at heart. But he doesn’t need to know that you know that last part yet, yea?

It’s so good but it’s sad🥲🥲

would it be enough if i could never give you peace?

word count: 17.8k

summary: bakugou is yours, and you're his, but what happens when distance and dreams get in the way of your relationship? dating a pro hero isn't easy, and neither of you will settle for just enough.

tags: 5 times trope (5 times you break each other’s hearts), angst+fluff, lovers to exes to fwb to strangers, pro hero bakugou x fem!reader, time skip towards the end, it's messy and ugly. also trans!bakugou, pussy eating and soft sex (he doesn't have sex, he makes love), demi coded bakugou because i said so

bonus:

playlist

bakugou's past (ao3 link)

ao3 fic link

1.(the beginning of an end)

“You know what this means, right?” 

The guests have left and it’s now only you and him in the shared apartment. Dinner was nice, everyone was happy and celebrating your boyfriend’s achievement. He had been offered a job position as a rookie in a really good hero agency. Abroad. Hours away from you. 

“Can we not do this now? Let's wait until tomorrow, please.” You don’t beg. Maybe he’ll take in your tensed shoulders and do you the favor, carrying out the fake act for a while longer. Just one more night with him in your arms. 

Bakugou’s eyes burn into the side of your neck as you do the dishes. He’s next to you drying and putting them away. “We’ll have to talk about it eventually.” Your smile is gone. It doesn’t really matter, it was as real as purple haired dogs- you can’t fool me. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Your hands burn at his accusation. Or maybe it’s just the tap water, too hot for your skin but the perfect temperature to get rid of the grease on your plates. 

“Hm.” 

Ashy blonde hair makes its way onto your right shoulder. Bakugou leans on you, letting part of his body weight fall and taking you down with him. You drop the ceramic and use both your arms to steady him, grabbing his looming frame and holding him with the help of your hip. Like a big ass baby. 

“Katsuki stop!” He doesn’t budge. “Katsuki! You’re gonna make us fall!” There’s the beginning of a laugh bubbling up in your throat, so you push it down. “Seriously, stop.”

The giant man stands up, properly this time, and wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls you flush against him, kisses your temple and makes his way down to your lips, catching them unguarded and eagerly waiting. You melt into him, what else could you do? If it’s your last night with him, if it’s his last night being yours. 

Somehow you manage to escape his embrace with the excuse of a much-needed shower. He offers to join but you decline. You have to get used to showering alone. 

Bedtime is long past, but he’s still awake. Fighting for his life, but awake. The book between his hands threatens to fall on his chest. You observe him from the bathroom door as he blinks comically to keep the sleepiness away. 

“Fucking finally.” He mutters as you shuffle in next to him, placing the book on his nightstand and taking off his reading glasses.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you always go to bed early.” Please, don’t do it now. 

Bakugou studies your face for a moment, opening his mouth and closing it again. His eyes fall to your lips, and he leans forward to steal a kiss. Let's do it tomorrow then. 

That’s pretty much how every day looks like to you for the rest of the week. He tries to bring up the elephant in the room and you run away like a scaredy cat, he doesn’t insist so you never actually talk. 

Sunday morning comes around and his bags are ready, sitting by the door. You spent your Saturday evening out with friends, not baring to watch him put his clothes away. He has already packed up his books and family pictures, putting all his stuff in boxes except for the most important one. Though he’s leaving you the furniture you bought together when you first moved in- the couch, the mattress, the bookshelf (now half empty), the place feels empty. 

“Oi.” His voice is unusually soft. Not because he isn’t (soft), but because that’s not how he does it really. Bakugou may appear as loud and opinionated to anyone who meets him, but the man you know has a careful touch and a sweet tone- eager to please and ready to love. But this, the sound you’re hearing right now, it’s colored with pity. “I- Do you think we should talk?” 

He’s standing by the door, as if ready to bolt out the second you start crying. His flight isn’t until midnight, but he’s already opening his dumb mouth. The fact that this time he’s asking tells you everything you need to know. You haven’t said a word the whole week, dodging his reaching hand and masking your pain with a smile. There isn’t much to say now, you both already know how this ends. Ever since teenagers none of you had been fond of long-distance relationships, and even before dating Bakugou had warned you this could happen. You got on the train anyway, because you loved him. And he loved you. Now you both have to get off, though you love him. And he loves you. 

His eyes are fixed on the broken tile by his feet. Not even sparing you a glance. 

“Do you have something to say?” It should make him mad, that you’re asking this now after seven days of him chasing you around. 

But he can’t get mad. He’s not sure he can feel a thing. “Yeah- uhm I-” Don’t say it, please don’t say it. “- you know we both don’t really do long distance, so.” 

“Hm.” It comes out as a choked sob, voice breaking and alerting him. But his eyes fall back down again. Why did he insist on this when he can’t even do it properly?

A minute goes by and you say nothing, just watch him play with the broken tile. The apartment is old but everything you ever wanted, with tiled floors and a pretty view of the city. 

“I never fixed it.” He says, pointing at the spot with the tip of his foot. “If you ask Kiri or Mina they could probably help you find a new one, replace it.” 

You know he’s not talking about himself, about your relationship. Still, it hurts. 

“I like it the way it is.”

Bakugou laughs. “It’s broken”

“It works.” He catches onto your dry tone and stops his movements, straightening out his back and looking you in the eyes.

“Do you wanna go out for a walk? It’s pretty nice out there, we could get lunch later at that place you like- what is it called? Marga? Maggie?” He’s doing the same thing you did to him, so you can’t get mad. But you do. 

“Why don’t you just break up with me already?” Make it quick so it doesn’t hurt as much.

He has the audacity to look surprised. “What? I’m trying to be nice, have a last date before-” He interrupts himself with an exasperated sigh. “You know what, fine! If you don’t want to, it's fine. I can spend the rest of the day at my parents’ if this is uncomfortable, but keep in mind I tried to do this earlier and you didn’t let me. Do you even know how I feel? I’m the asshole that’s breaking both our hearts and it’s not even my fault!” 

Bakugou’s fury has never frightened you, but his cheeks covered in tears is a horror that hunts you in your sleep. You can’t help but think of his younger self, so volatile and fragile, how he’d shoot to kill without a second thought. Now he’s matured, and it shows. You should tell him to stay, at least until he has to leave. But your pain is bigger and angrier.

“Yes, that would help a lot actually.” He’s not expecting those words, but his reaction is one proper of his persona.

“Fine. I’ll go.” 

“Fine.”

And with a slamming door he moves onto a better, greater future. 

2. (lovely, hurtful, magnetism)

It’s hot when you see him again. Todoroki has invited you over to his family’s summer house, and apparently said invitation extended over to his other group of friends. Of course you knew about this before agreeing to come, you’re not an idiot and your friend is not an actual airhead. 

sho has created the group chat  “ todoroki’s summer house ”

sho has added you

sho has added pinky

sho has added kiri

sho has added curls

sho - hi come this tuesday im staying for two weeks

sho - lmk if i forgot to add anyone

sho has added ‘ki

sho - bakugou your here for summer right

‘ki - yes 

sho - k

‘ki - and it’s you’re

sho - k

Then Ochako and Kaminari flooded your phone with messages. You texted Shouto privately, and he explained to you Bakugou had been fired. Apparently, the hero agency had been in debt for quite some time and managed to hide it, staying afloat but barely. Later this spring they began cutting people out, saying goodbye to most of their rookies- including Bakugou. You winced at the sound of his name, just imagining how much of a fit he would’ve thrown. 

sho - hes fine though

sho - got a big compensation 

(Not that you asked how he was doing, but you thanked him for the info anyways.)

Everyone in both groups heard about your breakup, either from you or from him. (this you knew because your friend, Todoroki Shouto has been part of both groups since high school) (and also because he’s a gossipy motherfucker). It didn’t come as a surprise though, they knew neither of you would agree to try- it’s self-suicide, but for romantic relationships.

Still you never expected the reunion to be so tense. 

“Hey! Hi! Oh my god it’s been ages!” Kirishima is the first of them to arrive, caging you in a reciprocated bear hug. 

“Hi Kiri, how have you been?” You’ve always liked the redhead, such a cheery, reliable person. 

“Oh you know, busy but overall fine. Hey, my moms told me they saw you at the park, you have a dog now?” His smile is so blinding for a moment you forget your manners, squinting your eyes at him. 

“Yes, yes I got a dog. Her name is Kesha.” An even brighter light invades your sight as he throws his head back laughing.

“You gotta be kidding me, Kaminari is gonna love that!” 

And then the rest come. Mina hugs you tight, a warm touch you know holds a different meaning. Momo and Jirou arrive with Ochako, the three girls sending you glances every time Kirishima observes Bakugou’s uncharacteristic unpunctuality- something you’ve been thinking about since you got here, ready to face him as the first guest. A few moments later Izuku makes his way down from the second floor, his beauty bath finally done.

“A bath? In this heat? Man you’re nuts.” Sero comments. He has a new bike, even bigger than the last one. 

Finally, once you’re all getting dinner started, Bakugou and Kaminari show up at the door. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“Dude! Traffic was crazy, I swear to god we tried our best to get here on time but- Oh! Hi!” The blonde’s eyes have found you, and god bless his soul for his lack of brain cells. “Í didn’t- I brought him” He lifts his thumb and points at Bakugou hiding behind him. “I hope that’s fine?”

They’re standing by the living room entrance, and though you both manage to avoid each other’s eyes it’s still pretty clear that this is not a comfortable situation.

“Kaminari! Bro! Guess what?” Kirishima suddenly erupts from his spot next to you on the couch, gaining all of his friend’s attention. “Her dog’s name is Kesha.” He savors every letter, slowly, making sure they get that itch behind Denki’s ears. 

Kaminari’s face lights up, mouth hanging open. “Shut up!” Before you know it, he’s squeezing himself next to you and grabbing you by the shoulders, almost forcing you to take out your phone and show him pictures of your baby. 

Meanwhile Bakugou hands the tray with the dessert to Momo, following her into the kitchen and greeting your friends. “Hi.” Nod. “Hi.” Nod. Jirou goes for a fist bump, but Ochako just sends him a bitter smile. I’m on her side.

“Bakugou, does this need extra cold? I can put it in the freezer if you want.” Momo saves him from starting a silent fight. 

“Yes, yes that’d be better. It probably melted a bit during the car ride.” His hands are sweating- have been since Kaminari picked him up at his parent’s house.

“Why’d you take so long?” Jirou’s voice joins. He’s sure she’s on his side, but he’s not willing to trust too much- after all her girlfriend is your friend. 

“That dumb idiot took a wrong turn and didn’t listen to me, I should’ve come here on my own.” 

“Yeah right, and leave him behind. Because that’s what you do with the people you care about.” Ochako’s words take a second to digest, but soon enough their venom pumps in his veins with an anger he hasn’t felt since high school. 

It’s not fair. If this is how she’s reacting, then what twisted story have you told them? Yes, he left, but you knew it would happen. You knew it and didn't want to see it until it was too late, waited until the very last minute to turn it around and make him the bad guy. You, out of everyone, villainized him. Still, he contains himself, choosing to ignore her comment and move on to join the others.

“And then he jumped on me! Out of nowhere!” Kaminari has stolen the show. He’s standing on the couch, arms everywhere and crazy eyes making sure everyone is watching him. 

Bakugou’s gaze travels down, to the spot next to him. You’re resting your head on your arm, bent over the back cushion and staring up at his friend with a soft smile on your lips. You’re pretty (prettier, he thinks, but it’s probably his mind playing tricks). Did you cut your hair? It’s shorter than how you usually wear it, but it suits you (obviously). The clothes you’re wearing are new too, or at least he doesn’t remember seeing you with that shirt on. He wonders how many people have, but it only ignites a fire he worked so hard to put out. Then you turn your head and look at him. It takes him a second to realize he’s been caught, but you hold his gaze for longer than he expected so he can’t back down now.

His red eyes provoke you, starting a game you’re not sure how to win. It burns your skin. Your fun is cut short though, Ochako has entered the room and is urging you to move your ass so I can sit. Her chubby fingers find their way to your waist and tickle you out of your trance, sending Bakugou a glare once she’s got your attention. Leave her alone.

Dinner goes smoothly, you’re such a big number of people it’s hard to focus on one thing at once so it’s fine if you fuck up, no one will notice. You’re seated between Shouto and Ochako, one shielding you from your ex and the other passing the chips and sauce. 

“So, when will my suit be done?” Sero asks, lifting his voice so everyone can hear. “That’s right, she’s been assigned my suit to fix! Don’t mind me having one of the best engineers in the country working on my favor!” The table explodes in shocked gasps and jealous whines. 

“I’ve been asking for you since we got out of high school! It’s not fair!” Ochako cries.

“I told you it’s not my decision to make! They just assign them to me!” More whining. 

Todoroki takes a sip of his non-alcoholic cider and decides to open his big mouth. “But in short time it will be.” After that they all fall silent, the sound of his sipping the only noise.

Then the room erupts again. Questions here and there, a few guesses to your answer. Are you moving away? Please don’t leave us! Omg please tell me it’s Best Jeanist!

It takes a moment to calm them down, and some extra work to make Kaminari stop throwing wild guesses at you. “I actually have a few offers-” you raise your hands up to stop them from invoking chaos again, “-one is abroad, yes.” An echo of ooohs is heard. “But the best option is right here, in this city.” You know that answer won’t satisfy them, they won’t stop bugging until you give them a name. They stare, expectantly. “The Bakugou’s are expanding their fashion industry and going into hero design, so they need an engineer and apparently I’m the best one they know.” Momo and Ochako have lost their smiles, Izuku is holding his breath and Shouto is eating salad. You thank every celestial being for Tsuyu’s absence, or else she would have spat hurtful facts right then and there. “It’s actually a really good job offer. I’ve known them for ages, so I trust them enough to suggest any changes if needed, and I’ll get to run the engineering department, so I’ll basically be the boss!” Sero and Mina look at each other, and you know they want to be supportive, but the air has suddenly grown dense. Bakugou hasn’t uttered a word, eyes fixed on his food but he’s not eating. “I could finally take in your requests, fix your suits, and all that.” Your voice grows smaller with every sentence you speak, feeling like all of this was a huge mistake. It feels wrong to add that you’ve already accepted this offer, that you’re starting in a few weeks. 

“That’s good, you’ve always wanted your own workshop and you’re good at managing people. Congratulations.” Bakugou says through greeted teeth, and you hate the way your heart skips a beat. His eyes are on yours again. Yes, your body is definitely burning up. 

You give him a tight smile, fighting the urge to cringe at yourself. It’s infuriatingly exciting how giddy you feel, shy but in a good way, wanting more.  

“Who wants dessert?” Shouto has finished his salad, and though he’s the only one with a clean plate nothing will come between him and his sweets (you’ll hold him accountable for his youngest child behavior later).

(Momo pulls you apart before going to bed, she just wants to make sure you’ve thought this trough. It’s his parents I’m working for, not him. She doesn’t insist, trusting you’re grown enough to know what you’re getting into.)

-

The following days are spent as you had imagined. Lots of food, pool days, karaoke nights, card games, Kaminari getting sunburnt, more food and maybe some peace and quiet.

“Why didn’t Iida come?” Denki asks during breakfast one day and everyone looks at him incredulously. He’s already done, swinging himself on a hammock and staring at the Todoroki’s huge garden. The silence makes him shift in place.  “What?”

“Dude, he’s been in the states for about a year now.” He left around the same time as Bakugou did. But Iida is not really his friend, so he wouldn’t know.  

“No way! What about his girlfriend? Did he leave her?” Just as always, Kaminari Denki doesn’t think twice before speaking. He gets the same stares as before, but this time no one answers.

You sigh and say- “They broke up.”

“Oh man, so he did leave her behind.” 

“No, they broke up dumbass. They talked like adults and realized it wasn’t going to work. He didn’t leave her.” Bakugou sounds defensive, one more stupid question away from skinning his friend alive. 

“It happens Denks.” You can’t believe you’re the ones having this conversation, especially when neither of you could do it back then. 

“Oh, oh. Right, sorry my bad.” 

Everyone’s plates are empty, so you take it as your chance to get up and flee back inside to the kitchen. If your eagerness at cleaning dirty dishes exposes your true feelings they don’t say, and you don’t care. 

You try not to blame Denki, but it’s because of him you’re now thinking about that awful week. It’s been almost a year, yet you still can’t get his words out of your head. You should’ve stopped him, accepted his offer for a last date and locked that memory within the confines of your heart. But instead, you stood and watched it all burn down. 

A rattle of glass against glass startles you, and you turn to see Bakugou has placed a tray of cutlery and plates on the counter. He takes a look at your gloved hands under the water and furrows his brows.

“What are you doing? What's wrong with their dishwasher?” He immediately falls down to his knees, eyeing the machine with touchy hands- like a dad. You get rid of that thought as soon as it appears, not willing to go down that road today. 

“Shouto said it’s broken, overflows and ends up flooding the whole place.” 

“Hm.” 

His presence makes your tummy feel warm even after all this time. Of course, for years you thought you’d marry him, build your own house on the beachside and start a family together. Bakugou had always wanted a daughter, a little demon stronger than him, someone he could swing around in his arms and wrestle once big enough. 

“I’ll go fetch some tools, see if I can get this working.” You know he won’t be able to fix it, you took a look as soon as you got here, and since you’re the engineer between the heroes it would be smart to trust your judgment. But Bakugou likes to feel useful, so you let him be.

Not even two minutes later he’s back at your side, sitting on the floor with one leg over the other and his face buried in the dishwasher- mumbling ‘fuck is this’s and ‘the hell’s. 

“Nah, this shit is broken broken.” He says as he gets up from the ground. You stifle a giggle and focus on the never-ending pile in front of you, extending onto the counter on your left side. “You’re not done yet? What’s with all this mess, who left the dinner dishes there?” 

“Sero and Shouto were on cleaning duty last night.” After years of dealing with those boys, your answer is enough to explain today’s disaster. 

Bakugou’s face turns into a scowl, vein popping on the side of his forehead. “Those damn, spoiled brats, I swear to god I don’t understand why I’m still friends with them, they're so- infuriating.” His rant against his friends makes you smile against your will. “I’ll dry them off, but you’ll have to tell me where they go ‘cause this fucking house is a labyrinth.” 

His eyes meet yours for the third time this week, and you find the same burning flame staring back- just like the old times. 

He works in silence, taking a knife and wiping it, waiting for you to point at the first drawer in the right corner. Then he grabs a pot, wincing when he bumps it against a glass and makes a horrible noise. Bottom cabinet to the right. The domesticity of the situation freezes your heart and makes your mind race. His calloused hands are still as gentle as you remember them, handling every object with the same care he used to hold your face. 

“How were things in your new home? Did you like it?” You’re the first to break the silence. 

Bakugou hates small talk, but something tells him you genuinely want to know. Was it worth it? 

He cleans his throat before saying- “Yes, it was… something.” He swallows. 

You know what you’re doing, it’s not nice but you can’t stop. “Did you make any friends?” He didn’t, you know it takes him six months to see a stranger is also a human being and an extra four months to gather the courage to talk to them (if they don’t make one (1) mistake and ruin it all).

“No.” You know what you’re doing, and you know he knows it too. “I didn’t have much time, working as a rookie is not so fun so I focused on getting promoted. Also, my peers weren’t the most accepting, so I figured why bother?”  

Oh. You go back in your tracks and lower your weapon. “Sorry to hear that.” You take the dish soap and pour some over the sponge. “Did they say something? Or do something?” You tread cautiously, fearing his answer might be a yes. 

“Nah, not directly to me but they made sure to express their opinions.” It’s not the first time it’s happened, but he can see your shoulders tense. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it so it’s not a big deal anymore. Most people are shit, and the heroics field isn’t the most queer-friendly environment, so I didn’t go in expecting a welcoming party.”  

You should feel ashamed, attacking one of his weak spots and ending up being you who needs reassurance. Still you can’t stop picturing him avoiding dressing rooms, sulking back to an empty apartment and showering in hot enough water to boil away the day. You want to rip to shreds the smiles of those who hurt him, drill into their empty heads and hand them out to an agonizing death. It’s silly, he’s a grown man, not that angry kid anymore. He doesn’t need your protection, he never has. Bakugou has gone through hell and come back alive, stronger than ever, so you want to believe him when he says it's fine. 

“It still shouldn’t be like that, you know, normal.” His hand goes over the same spot again and again, wiping the already dry plate with the kitchen cloth. 

“Yeah it shouldn’t, but it is, so.” He thinks his answer is a bit too negative, too sad. Bakugou doesn’t enjoy drawing the victim card, but he knows it sticks to him everywhere he goes though it's invisible to most. “Don’t think I always accept that, you know that if needed I will stand my ground. This time it wasn’t so smart to fight, but the next time it may be worth it.” 

“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time.” You’re still inside your own head, going through every shitty experience he must have had. Why do you do this to yourself? 

After a moment of silence he cleans his throat one more time, deciding to change the subject.

“Hey, sorry for Kaminari. Not just today but back to the first day, he’s been acting weird because I told him not to act weird around you. Should’ve known it would backfire.” 

“Don’t worry, he’s just… not aware of many things.” You gift him a tight-lipped smile. It’s okay, everything is fine.

“Yeah well, I guess you’re used to Shouto who’s actually worse. That menace, I bet It’s not a coincidence I’m here as well.” 

His comment takes you off guard, and it makes you giggle. Bakugou smiles, eyes softening at the sight, and he laughs too. 

You have to admit you thought the same, not really convinced with his “I miss my buddies” act. Your friend is known for proclaiming himself as a professional matchmaker, so when you heard his brilliant idea you had your suspicions. “Ugh don’t even mention it, I interrogated him for days, but he never broke.”

“He’s too strong.” He’s joking, and you’re laughing. If you stop for a second to take in what’s going on you're sure you’ll cry. “Though if he actually had a plan, he wouldn’t have invited Ochako. God I swear she probably has a voodoo doll of me hidden under her pillow, pokes it with needles every time she goes to bed.” 

“Hey! Don’t talk about my girl like that! She would never.” Feigning seriousness, you look him dead in the eye, then letting out a snort that evolves into a full-on cackle, not even believing the bullshit you’re saying. Of course she would do it, and more. 

“Right, sure.” He rolls his eyes.

You take some time to regain your breath, holding a hand over your stomach to stop the pain. 

Bakugou stares, has been doing so since he got here. “What?” You’re still trying to compose yourself, lose hairs falling in front of your eyes. He swallows. 

“It’s nice to see you happy.” His words are genuine. Soft. 

You take a deep breath and straighten your back, grabbing another dish. “In general? Or because you’re the one making me laugh?” 

He can tell you don’t mean to attack him, after years by your side he’d recognize your teasing tone anywhere. “Why not both?” 

It’s funny, to be in this position. You with your hands soaked, the useless gloves only for decoration, and Bakugou with a kitchen cloth in hand doing part of his work as well. A familiar feeling makes its way up your throat, and you push it down. 

“How long are you staying?” 

“Two months.” He answers quickly, like if he takes too long you might slip away. Bakugou never hopes, but for you he’d even pray. 

“Hm.” Many things could happen in two months, but not enough to leave a scar, you think. “Where are you going after that?” You turn the tap off and turn around, leaning back against the sink and watching his arms flex as he stretches to place a glass in the top cabinet. His muscles have gotten bigger, you’ve seen his naked body a million times, but here up close and clothed it holds a different meaning- forbidden. Tempting. 

He stares back, eyes flying down to your lips and back to your eyes. “I got a contact in this other agency, says there’ll be an open spot for me.” Same old story. But you’re not the same old you. 

“Hm.” 

-

Your back hits the mattress but you’ve got no time to complain, as a blonde mop of hair kneels between your legs and lifts up your summer dress. Bakugou’s tongue is buried inside your cunt, nose nudging at your clit and hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs wide open. A desperate whine leaves your mouth, and you curse yourself for your lack of restraint, giving in so easily to the man you’ve cried rivers for. 

His bare back is displayed beneath you, and you take it as your chance to scratch it, leaving marks for the world to see. This time Bakugou is the one moaning, sending the vibrations straight into your core, an arch forming at the low of your back. “Fuck, Katsuki.” He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, devouring you even more intently. Your hands move up to tangle in his ashy strands, pulling and gaining a different sound each time. It’s hot, seeing him so pliant, panting between your folds and determined to make you reach heaven. 

His tongue abandons your hole and is replaced by two fingers, moving up to lap at your clit as he fucks into you- hitting that gummy spot that makes you see stars. “Shit sh-there! Right there ‘suki ah-” His name gets shorter with every thrust, planting in his mind the goal of turning you nonverbal.  

Even once you reach your high, he’s still on you. Slightly mean at first, not leaving you alone and overstimulating you. But finishing off with a peck to your nub, sweet, loving. He lifts himself up and lays next to you on the unmade bed, left arm across your rib cage and nose buried in your neck. For a second your mind conjures up images of him loving other people, but it all quickly fades away. Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t have sex, he makes love. He shows it in the way he touches you, not to take but to give, not because he’s thirsty but because he simply cares. The reminder threatens to awaken your fight or flight responses, but his strong arms keep you grounded. This is not love making, the weight of your soul has left an indent in his heart so it’s natural for him to want you. So you lie to yourself, convincing your heart he’s not here because he loves you but because you’re familiar. (It’s to no use, the flaming passion in his eyes is not lust and you know that, but you can’t admit this is a mistake. Not yet)

Without waiting any longer, and trying not to give it much thought, you manage to turn him around, so he lays on his back. The scars decorating his torso shine in the morning light seeping through the curtains, and your hand follows the line of every healed wound. His arm hairs raise up and his breath hatches, eyes burning into yours. 

Wet lips meet his neck, making their way down to his chest and when you kiss under his nipples his eyes fill with tears. It’s been so long since he’s felt this, the touch of someone who knows how to touch him, how to love him. Bakugou’s mouth is dry but the place between his legs isn’t. Should he stop you? What if it’s too late to try this? What if he no longer likes it? More questions flood his mind, and by the time he’s reached absurdity you’re already taking his shorts off. 

His body has already surrendered to you, but his mind is still spinning in the same spot. What if you no longer like him? But you do, because you don’t dive into him like a feral animal but go down slowly instead, taking your time and giving him space to grow used to the sensations. On you this would feel painfully slow, too boring, not enough. But on him it’s paradise. Your tongue has wandered every inch of his cunt, but has yet to kiss his clit, pulsating expectantly. Bakugou’s tummy fills with butterflies, and you smile at the sight of fists closed around a handful of cover sheets- head to the side, your scent impregnated on the pillow makes him go nuts. More. But he doesn’t ask for it, because he knows it will be too much. Instead, he enjoys your sweet torture, edging him closer with every second. 

The art of eating out Bakugou Katsuki is one you’re proud to say you’ve mastered. It took time, first he had to let you in and then you had to learn how to do it the way he liked it. Everyone knows he’s a control freak, so his performance in bed was never a surprise to you. He knew what he wanted and if you couldn’t give it to him then he didn’t want you- deeming you useless and unworthy. 

He’s putty in your hands, giving in to your touch and trusting you won’t hurt him. When he cums he’s silent, but not quiet. Deep, shaky breaths and eyes squeezed shut, trying to come back down from his high before his face turns red- still that shy boy you fell in love with. 

This sequence keeps repeating itself in your head for the next two days, until it manifests in real life again. And again. And again.

Bakugou’s hands seem to always find their way onto your skin, no matter where you are. His arms wrap around you from behind as he follows you into the garage- down and settling on your lower belly, thumbs slipping underneath your top and trailing up your belly button. The rest of your friends are all by the pool, waiting for you to grab the beach ball. Wet kisses down your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh. Why were you here again?

His nose tickles your ear, and you giggle, grabbing onto his hands and keeping them from climbing upwards. “If I don’t go out there soon they’ll send in Kaminari, or worse. Ochako.” His face scrunches up at the sound of her name. 

“They won’t find us if we go upstairs and stay quiet.” Kiss, nip, kiss. Face now buried on your shoulder. 

“Katsuki…” 

And the never-ending cycle would start again. Your friends pretty much already know by now, though you’re surprised they haven’t tried to talk you out of it yet. Todoroki is the only one who’s shown his support, (eager to indulge in his mischief) continuing to create situations where you’re both forced to be left alone together.

There’s no more bread? Why don’t you go? Bakugou go with her so she doesn’t get lost. 

Hey. You’re both on cleaning duty for the night.  

Bakugou take my seat. I want to be next to Sero. 

Ochako still sends him nasty glares, but she hasn’t objected. 

-

Once your little vacation is over, you all go back to your normal boring lives, and you have to come to terms with the sad realization that your daydream is over. Except Bakugou still has a month and a half left. He’ll be staying over at his parents, maybe you’ll get to see him more often, now that you’re working for them. It’s a tricky thought, you tell yourself you’re not eager to see him, you’re just excited about this new opportunity and it’s got nothing to do with him. 

“Hey son, why don’t you help us out? There are some prototypes that need testing.” Masaru has always liked you two together, inviting you over for dinner even more often this past year now that his only boy isn’t close. 

“Sure”

It’s all a trick. His dad leaves it all to you, excusing himself out of the workshop and never coming back. You’re stuck with seven arm weapon prototypes and a tall, blushing man. 

Bakugou feels dumb, like a little kid. He can’t understand what is so special about your greasy fingers dancing all over his skin as you secure the arm cannon. Maybe you’re too close, and between his elevated body temperature and the growing heat in the studio it’s only natural his cheeks will burn. Again, dumb. He’s been closer to you, much closer, just a week ago. His face had been suffocating against your own heat for fucks sake, and he didn’t feel like fainting back then. 

“It’s so tight, I don’t think it’ll be safe to-”

“Just put it on!” He can’t stand your mumbling and poor wording, not right now. Still there’s nothing he can do to stop himself from picturing you above him, chest heaving and covered in sweat as you try to fill him up with your pink stra-

“There we go! Holy shit that was hard.” 

Though Bakugou is not a fan of this reacquired excitement after months of relying solely on the use of his own fingers, it’s still not what rules his worries. It’s been years since he’s accepted the fact that yes, he wants you and there’s nothing he can do about it- but it’d be dumb to leave out the fact that his reaction has a cause, and it’s directly connected to his heart. At first, he thought he’d be able to just enjoy your touch, but now he finds himself craving a different sort of intimacy, one he’s not sure you’ll be willing to give to him. 

Still, he manages, stealing soft kisses when you’re too occupied moaning into his ear, holding you closer than what’s proper for two people in your situation. You don’t push him away when he stays the night, or when he shamelessly shows up announced with a bag of take out in hand. Cuddles after sex is one of his rules so you don’t get to complain against it, but he’s not sure how appropriate it is to press his body onto yours with the thought of fusing your souls into one. All he does know is that you always give in, as if you want it as much as he does. 

Your hands travel up and down his spine, jumping from freckle to scar to freckle again. His breathing is steady, unlike moments ago. It’s contagious, the warmth his body irradiates as it lays on top of yours, filling you with serenity. Your fingers scratch his undercut and his body shifts, pressing you further against the mattress in his childhood bed. Katsuki turns his head and leaves a trail of pecks on the side of your neck, igniting a rush of goosebumps down your arms and legs. You feel him smile against your skin. 

“It’s really going to hurt this time.” Your words break the lovely bubble that surrounds you. 

Unlike the last time, you and Bakugou have been talking. A lot. About his future, and about your current present. He’s made it clear he’s still leaving, and you’ve promised yourself not to blame him. You choose to be with him right now, even if it’ll break you later. 

The blonde lets out a heavy sigh, his rib cage expanding against your tummy. You wish you could turn him into a pocket size human, you’d keep him with you at all times and take him everywhere you go. 

“Yeah, it’ll be pretty shitty.” 

He wishes you’d ask him to stay. Just one word and he’d throw everything out the window, forcing himself down your throat and getting comfy in the nooks of your heart. He knows you’ll never say it- no, you’d never do that to him. And he wouldn’t ask it of you, to leave your dream behind and join him. He’s not that selfish. 

-

The drive to the airport seems too short. Before you know it, he’s already done his check-in, standing in front of his parents and getting ready to say goodbye. You can’t help but think this is how it should’ve been the last time. He shouldn’t have boarded that plane with the bitter remnants of a breakup lingering on his tongue, as he’s set to face a new place all by himself. No, this time you’re doing it right. 

Mitsuki holds on to him for a while, judging his choice of clothes and asking for the hundredth time if he’s got his passport with him. “Ma, I’ve got everything so quit your worrying.” His tone is rough, just like his mother’s. “I promise I’ll call you when we Iand, okay?” 

She sniffs and fights to hold back the tears, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the ground. Masaru’s eyes have been red and puffy since he got out of the car, he’s already done his fair share of crying and pulls his wife closer to soothe her sadness. 

Finally, he turns to look at you. He’s as stiff as a board, straight back and heavy eyes. But his lips quiver for a second, as he extends his arms out to you for a hug. You let him wrap you up in his warmth, burying your face in his chest and inhaling his smell for one last time- you wish you could store it in a bottle, take it with you at all times.

Bakugou kisses the top of your head and nuzzles his face into your hair, exhaling loudly. “I’m gonna miss you.” He whispers it, only meant for you to hear.

You don’t say it back, doing so will only be grieving in advance a loss that hasn’t happened yet. For this moment, right now, he’s still yours. 

A voice over the speakers calls for the passengers of his flight, and he has to let go of you. Yet his hands are still on the small of your back, fingers clasped together and eyes now staring at yours. He leans down and kisses your forehead, then your nose and eventually your lips. 

“Katsuki, don’t.” 

But he doesn’t listen, moving his hands to cradle your face and inch closer until his open mouth is set atop of yours. The voice echoes through the speakers and he deepens the kiss. When you break apart your face is wet, tears decorate your cheeks just like his. 

With your foreheads pressed together he says it again. “I’ll miss you.” You push him away, pulling every ugly face available to stop you from breaking down in front of him. 

You watch him disappear in the sea of people and suitcases. A gentle hand squeezes your shoulder. Mitsuki. She looks even worse than you, and you can tell this isn’t as bad as the first time. You hug her, hiding your face in the crook of her neck and finally letting it all out. 

The ride back home is silent, though Masaru tries to cheer you all up with work talk. It makes you smile; how different he is from his son.

And you cry again. 

3. (rotten core, predictable mistakes)

“Bakugou?” 

The other side of the screen emits only silence. Maybe if you weren’t being woken up at four in the morning, you’d be able to distinguish his breathing.

“Hello?” you try again.

This time you hear some ruffling, it’s not paper but it isn’t bed sheets either. At least it means he’s right there. Luckily your tired mind is too slow to jump to the worst-case scenario, so before you start picturing him lying on the floor of his apartment all bloody and bruised, he’s already speaking.

“I saw your picture, the one you sent me yesterday.” You can tell he’s been crying. “I was busy, so I guess I didn't realize I had opened your chat. I liked the dog, the one with the green collar.”

This is the fourth time this month. Lately you’ve both been very busy, finally falling into your usual schedules and being swallowed by work. The first months after your summer adventures were heaven, some part of you still believes that might have all been a dream.

He was so sweet, so present. You were so eager, genuinely happy. Even if he wasn’t next to you, Bakugou would have the decency to call you during lunch break instead of ungodly hours, always keeping in mind your normal work shifts in comparison to his. He would tell you about his day and you would ramble about your own stuff, exchanging pictures and sometimes videos. You weren’t dating, but you weren’t strangers either. 

Back then it wasn’t hard for you to text him good morning and check the weather in his city to remind him to take a coat with him to work. None of it was necessary but you knew it made him start the day with a smile drawn on his face.

Half into the second month, things started to fall apart. Hero work got real, with all that it entails. Bakugou’s battered face would appear on the news and you’d run to the phone, calling his parents when he wouldn’t pick up. You knew what it meant to love someone like him, with a job like this. But it was different when you couldn’t be by his side. Mitsuki and Masaru understood you, letting you stay over at their house to be there when news came. Still, that didn’t stop you from bombarding his phone, planting the seed of a possible fight. If only you could just not care.

The first real argument you had over the phone was one you should’ve seen coming. Bakugou had his ass beaten by a villain and didn’t give signs of life for a whole week. He didn’t text any of his friends, nor his parents, and he obviously didn’t talk to you. You weren’t really dating after all so you shouldn’t have expected special treatment.

“Could you fucking stop.” Those were the first words he said to you.

You had stopped calling and resigned to just text him, like everyone else did. But when his contact showed up on your screen during a shift at work, you dropped everything to answer.

“I’m fine just- I need to be alone.” He didn’t wait for you to say anything, just hung up on you.

You’d known Bakugou for years, enough to know he’s not a loser. These recent encounters with villains had left him rather… sensitive. Maybe you were used to his strenuous confidence, acting as a cover for his own insecurities hidden deep below his ego- it wasn’t weird to see him down, but it wasn’t common for him to not try to get back up. So naturally you worried. Everyone did.

For the following week all you did was wait for his call. Feeling as useless as ever. Little by little he started to talk again, first a picture of a stray cat, followed by a good morning text. Things were almost back to how they used to be before. You avoided hero talk, and he started to call more often. You could see he was sorry, though he never apologized for disappearing and leaving you sick worried for a week, he was desperately trying to make it up to you.

After that the midnight calls became a thing. You were too busy at work, not as eager to chat during lunch break- your only break. Going back home and just passing out, only picking up the phone to order some food and check emails. You talked to his parents a few times about him. The three of you agreed that he needed help, whether it was therapy or friends, Bakugou wasn’t made for bottling up- but that’s just exactly what he was known for. Still, you never suggested it, never even mentioned it. You were too tired, too busy, and he was too far, too stubborn. When he took notice of your distance, he panicked.

“Bakugou? It’s one a.m what happened?” The first time he called you were scared. Body jumping straight into action, ready to run over to his parents and find a way to help him out.

“I'm fine! Don’t worry I- I just wanted to talk. We haven’t in a while, you know.”

You were happy at first, something about these talks made a rush of excitement run through your body, like a kid breaking curfew. There was an unfamiliar sincerity in his voice, it made your heart ache, but you were glad he was reaching out for help. 

Then it became too much. He was too anxious, too volatile. And somehow, always too late.

“You looked pretty too.” I should be holding you close. “My mom told me you started-”

“Katsuki.” You cut him off, tired of hearing him dance around what he actually wants to say.

“Hm? What?” 

You leave an open spot, the chance for him to finally say it.

“I miss you.” He doesn’t, so you do. Still a coward. 

His stutter reaches your ear, more ruffling and tussling. What on earth is he doing? 

“Got my scarf stuck on my zipper, sorry.” 

Distance does something weird to the man you love, it reminds you why you never took the risk. 

You curl your body into a ball, hidden under the covers with your phone laying on the mattress next to your head. “Katsuki.” Tears begin to fall down. 

“Hm?” You wonder if he knows what’s coming. He probably does.

“Don’t call me anymore. Please.” You whisper the words, trying to dull the edge of the blade. 

He hangs up on you without giving an answer. You know he’s crying right now, and the thought makes the pain unbearable. 

The next morning you wake up and decide to text him a picture of your window. It’s raining outside and there's a rainbow in the sky. It’s pretty, maybe it’ll cheer him up. You regret your actions, but know they were necessary.

Bakugou takes two weeks to answer your texts, which are very few ‘cause apparently, you’re busy and don’t have as much time for him. He knows what he was doing wasn’t healthy, but you didn’t have to drop it on him like that. Still, he wants you, if this is all you can offer, he’ll take it. 

katsuki - I tried frozen yogurt today

you - was it good?

katsuki - image 

katsuki - yes

It drives him nuts. Six months ago, you were sleeping in his arms, resting your chin on his chest and staring up at him with doe eyes. Six months ago, you were his and he was yours. Six months ago, he was loved. 

His fellow heroes are nice people, that’s the worst part. This is what he wants, but he can’t bring himself to fully enjoy it. You’re everywhere. 

you - look at this

you - image

you - he’s an idiot

A picture of Shouto’s face shines on his screen. He still is in his hero costume, but there’s wax bands covering where his attempt at a mustache should be. You sent it three hours ago, so he doesn’t respond- it’s late where you are and he doesn’t want to wake you. That day he goes to sleep with an ugly sensation settling into the pit of his stomach. Shouto is his friend, and your friend as well. But it’s been so long since he last talked to him, the pro hero could steal you without a hint of guilt in his iced heart. For a moment he forgets he’s talking about Deku’s husband, the same gay guy he’s known since he was fifteen. 

“He still could do it.” You could turn a gay man straight; he has no proof but no doubts either. 

And Todoroki loves like him, soft and quiet. No sex. Maybe he could be your type. Hell even a platonic relationship would work out, he knows the half and half bastard is down to it. Bakugou remembers their long night talks at the dorms, that time when Mina came out and Shouto said he didn’t like sex. It took Katsuki a while to realize his apple didn’t fall far from their tree, mainly because he couldn’t picture himself living in that body back then, so there was no use in worrying about things he would never try. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I would love to spend the rest of my days with a loved one. But I don’t want romance, does that make sense? I’ve heard people date, but they don’t really- it’s like a really intense friendship.”

“All your friendships are intense, Mina.”

“Yes! Exactly, I would settle down with any- with all of you! I would love to sleep in the same bed and kiss your cheeks and raise children together! Kiri we could get a dog!” She had gained puzzled stares, a room full of boys in a binary world. 

“Can we get a kitten too?” Todoroki wasn’t much of a talker, compared to his present self he was basically a statue.

“Of course!”

“And I want my own room, I don’t like sharing beds with people.” 

“Sure! Anything you want!” 

He wonders if you’d like that. Maybe you’d move in with him and Deku, give them kids even.

Bakugou catches himself before falling down into that spiral, getting under the shower and turning on the cold water, letting it wash away his delusions. It’s his friends he’s talking about, they’d never do him so dirty. But maybe, for your happiness… 

It’s your life, you can do whatever you want. 

The thoughts accumulate and he pushes them to the back of his head, there’s more important things to fill that space with. Bakugou listens to your request and stops calling, maybe takes it too far when he starts ignoring your messages. It’s better this way. You’re not going to wait for him and he’s not going back, so why should he bother keeping in touch if it’s only gonna hurt you both? 

If we ever broke up, would we still be friends? 

Your words haunt him. His answer back then had been a simple no, because he was young and stubborn and couldn’t imagine a world in which he wasn’t your lover. Now that’s the world he lives in, and his answer remains the same. 

4. (closing act)

Ten months and twenty-seven days. One winter, one spring and one summer since you last spoke to Katsuki. You don’t blame him. 

sho - he doesn’t have to come

sho- i can always see him some other day

The holidays are just around the corner and all of your hero friends are taking time off- finally. All of them, including Bakugou. To be honest you didn’t expect him to accept Shouto’s invitation, knowing you are gonna be there as well and considering everything that had gone down between you two. Maybe he’s no longer offended, willing to be civilized and even friendly. It's  been a while. Still, you don’t get your hopes up. 

you - don’t worry i’m cool with it 

sho - k

It sucks to share friends with him, even though you've always been sure Shouto would never take a side, this time it feels like he has. He may not be as keen on hurting him as Ochako is, but he’s shared his thoughts on his friend’s behavior- I understand the need to flee, talking about emotions can be very frightening, but he’s a grown man. And most important, he was your friend once. I can’t imagine fighting with you and not trying to make up right after, I also can’t imagine him wanting that. It’s strange, maybe he needs time to sort things out. 

Again, you don’t blame him. You were the one who cut him off. You were the one who stopped texting when he stopped answering., knowing damn well he's not one to chase. You both gave up. 

sho - just now im here for you

Back again at Todoroki’s summer house, but now fully prepared for the winter season, you feel tiny. Small. There’s so many people everywhere you look it’s a bit overwhelming. One catch of ashy blonde hair has you meddling with strangers, starting small talks and pushing champagne down your throat. All to forget about his presence, to keep you busy and out of his way. And Bakugou does the same, avoiding entering any room you walk in, sticking to Kirishima’s side until he warns him- “I’m gonna go say hi, but you can wait here if it’s too awkward-” “Tch, fuck off.” 

The Christmas decorations are pretty, the big, ornamented tree in the living room gets all the compliments but your eyes are set on the gingerbread cookies Fuyumi brought. 

“You seriously made this?” She nods, a proud smile spreading on her lips. Her mother joins her side, hugging her arm and resting her head on her shoulder. 

“They’re so pretty my love.” Rei's voice is sweet and tender, motherly. 

It’s nice to see them happy. 

You settle next to them at the dinner table, asking about Touya’s recovery and Natsu’s absence. A few years ago they would’ve deflated, Rei would’ve excused herself to the bathroom leaving Fuyumi to answer all the harsh questions. Now their eyes shimmer and shine, the boys are doing well! Touya is still in rehab and looking better every day, showing signs of a possible re-integration into society which excites and frightens them at the same time. 

“They told us there may be a chance he relapses, but it’s the risk to take if he wants to have a normal life.” 

The shortest of the siblings is spending the holidays in Okinawa with his fiancé’s family, and you let out an audible gasp at the news.

“He’s engaged? Shouto! That little bastard didn’t tell me- oh! I’m gonna rip him to shreds!” 

Your voice is unescapable. Bakugou can hear you laugh, hiss, complain and even pout form his seat at the far end of the table, away from you. He had forced Kirishima to a secluded spot, between some B-list heroes Shouto is friends with- his social butterfly of a friend moping next to him. 

“Why is she so fucking loud.” It’s not a question, and it’s only meant for Kirishima, but the brunette on his other side sends him a nasty side eye. 

“Dude, you’re being rude.” Eijirou warns him, longingly staring at his friends conversing on the opposite end.

“And she’s being annoying.” That earns him a smack to his head, which he fully accepts as the words of his childhood therapist echoe in his mind. 

That anger, that fury you’re throwing at others, it’s fully yours. You have to listen to it, not push it deep and far away, otherwise it’s going to come up in a violent spurt and it’ll harm you and the ones you love. Being strong is all about letting yourself be weak, Katsuki. 

He wishes he were in the mood to channel that energy. 

“You’re such a dick!” Though he does find your voice infuriating, he still can’t help looking at you. Arms up in the air and ready to slap Todoroki across the face. If he weren’t feeling so bitter, he’d laugh. “I’m calling him once we’re done eating, I can’t believe neither of you said anything! This is a big thing!” 

“I'll let you put rockets in my suit's pants as a revenge.” Shouto is joking but his face muscles stay unmoving. 

“Wait, you’re the one who works with the Bakugou’s? I knew your face sounded familiar!” Patch, Shouto’s sidekick, shines a bright smile your way. “That must be so cool!” 

He’s barely twenty, a cheery boy with dimples like Deku’s. “Yeah, it is pretty awesome. I designed Ingenium’s last costume upgrade, don’t know if you’ve seen it. With the boosters.” Todoroki drama long forgotten; you dive in for a possibly new client.

“Oh I did! And the little refreshing station, I watched a video of a dutch engineer breaking down the mechanics behind it and it was crazy!” His excitement is contagious, fills your chest with pride and suddenly you’re bragging about your other inventions, showering in compliments and enjoying every single second of it. 

Most eyes are on you, and little by little everyone joins in on your conversation. Everyone but him. 

“Man, I wanted so badly to be part of the support team when I was a kid!” 

“It’s never too late to try, we could use more hands honestly.” 

“I don’t know,” Suna says, because yes now you’re on a first name basis, “I’ve worked so hard to become a hero- I can’t back down now you know.”

Ugh, same old story.

You sigh and tch at him. “You heroes are all the same. Still, I stand by what I said, it’s never too late. There’s no shame in waking up tomorrow and deciding you want to quit, open a bakery and live a simple life.”

You can feel Bakugou’s response before you hear it, buzzing in your ears like a memorized speech from a long time ago. He straightens his back, trying to seem as big as possible and opening his big, loud, mouth.

“Don’t say that to the kid. He’s gotta fight for what he wants, if he thinks he can make it he shouldn’t give up just ‘cause he’s scared.” It’s the first thing he has said to you all night. And it’s not a bark but he sure as hell is showing his teeth. 

“Oh Dynamight sir! Don’t worry, I’m not quitting. It’s just a silly little dream of mine, sort of a if I weren’t a hero what would I be? kinda thing. A plan B.” His chubby cheeks are as red as Katsuki’s ears, hands waving apologetically.

Rolling your eyes, you stop Suna's hands and throw him an apologetic smile, turning back to face your ex. “I’m not telling him to quit, Bakugou.” You grit your teeth, trying your best to keep your composure and not ruin dinner for everyone else. “He was admiring my work and I encouraged him to do whatever he wants, whether it’s hero work or to help from the sidelines.” 

With tense shoulders and walls built all the way up, you wait for the explosion. But he doesn’t fight back- not that it was a fight, not nearly an argument, no. Still he takes his plate and gets up, followed by Kirishima and Mina as they excuse themselves. You stay and reassure the poor rookie, looking pale and mumbling so sorry’s with his head hanging low. Ochako gives you a look from the other side of the table, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. Looks like someone is in a bad mood. 

The rest of the evening goes according to plan- Shouto’s plan (which is actually Fuyumi’s). Dessert is served along with champagne, white sparkly alcohol setting the Christmassy mood. You can tell your friend was able to slide his ideas past his sister’s filters as you dig your teeth into a chocolate chip cupcake with an icing decoration that simulates a snowman. That last interaction with Bakugou has left you uneasy, making out his face in places he actually isn’t and wondering if you did give bad advice to a soon-to-be hero.

Though it’s an opinion you’ve had for many years, it is heavily interlaced with your own experience. With him. But how could it not be? Your ex-boyfriend is the perfect example, the on-going, repetitive case of the big, scary hero who will throw everything out the window for a chance at greatness. Yes, there’s people with ambition, it happens to those who have big dreams that aren’t easy to obtain. Then there’s heroes. It’s not bad if a medical student wants to drop out and give out midway, to quit and major in arts- it sure is a hell of a decision to make, but it’s not the end of a world. But heroes, they believe that because their jobs are strictly connected to saving people’s lives and making the world a better place, there’s not such a thing as quitting. And people think so too, condemning those who dare take a step back and judging the ones who refuse to go down that path, no matter how helpful their quirks are. So, to have superiors like Bakugou who can’t give in to their weaknesses and take a minute to think about themselves only contributes to the problem. 

“You’re awfully quiet.” Tsuyu’s voice interrupts your internal monologue, and it’s only then you realize you’ve been ruminating on the very same topic you’ve been wishing to avoid tonight. Past mistakes and lost chances.

Still your head is running, making it hard to figure out what people are saying- there’s a voice at the back telling you to go mend things with him, one you try very hard to ignore. Stretching your neck and standing on tippy toes, you look for him and find him standing on the other side of the room, of course. His huge form blocks the staircase, where both Mina and Kirishima are seated and talking animatedly. 

“Hm. I´ll be right back.”

Pushing through the bodies you manage to reach where he stands, taking a deep breath before poking his shoulder. You feel like a little kid, just like back then when you were fifteen with a massive crush on that demon boy two years older than you. Blonde spiky hair, black nails and dark eyeliner, a toothy grin that made your heart beat rapidly (everyone’s did, but mostly out of fear). That time Hatsume found out about your little boy crush and tried to set you up, only to get rejected in front of the whole school. (he wasn’t interested in dating; he didn’t do girly stuff- and you probably wouldn't’ want him if you knew just how much he had in common with you)

Katsuki turns around with a scowl, facade fading as soon as he recognizes your face, but building his walls back up once he remembers your status. 

“What?” He means to hurt, scare you away, but you’ve fought enough times with him to know what really goes on in his head. 

“We shouldn’t fight over stupid things, we’re here to have a nice evening just like everyone else. Let’s not spoil it for everyone else, okay?” You’re sure it’s pretty clear that you don’t want to argue. All he hears is you making fun of him. 

But Kirishima's eyes are on him, as well as Mina's. They've done well taming his temper and putting out the fire, he's not going to shit on their work.

So he just rolls his eyes and nods, doesn't even spare you a glance. You wait for him to burst, show his teeth and bite. But like before, Katsuki just shrugs, turning back around and giving you his back. 

It takes you a second to process his reaction, surely there's more to say. But that's all you get. "Oh- okay. Fine, I guess." Mina gives you a sympathetic smile. She's on his side, but she likes you. 

There are no sides. But there are. 

The silence is replaced by distant chattery, and you're pulled back to reality. It's dumb, you tell yourself, to wait for him to lose it. Mean. After all, this is better. Healthier. 

But it just doesn't feel like him. And it doesn't feel like you. A sudden urge to cry settles on your throat and you have to excuse yourself back to where your friends are. The weird interaction plays in your head on repeat, an inescapable loop of shameless self-boycotting. You’re young again, and he’s too- which means he’s not nice, and he doesn’t like you.

-

Dinner is over and most guests have already left, except for Shouto’s close friends and family. Some of you have decided to stay and help him tidy up, which translates to: Bakugou, Momo, Kirishima and you will be doing the dishes, vacuuming the floors and packing all the leftovers in different containers- while Mina, Kaminari, Sero and Shouto play Mario Kart in the living room. Ochako and Tsuyu keep you company in the kitchen, watching you load the dishwasher. Momo comes and goes, taking stuff from one room to another and bringing you new dirty bowls every now and then. At some point Bakugou shows up with glasses piled up on each hand, placing them on the sink and looking down at the space left on the machine. You open your mouth to comment on the Todoroki’s new acquisition. Fuyumi was the one who took the initiative after inviting her friends over for a nice vacation, only to find months old dishes with fluffy mold on them covering the counter. Shouto’s doing, of course. But when you turn around to laugh at his outraged expression you realize he’s gone. Ochako and Tsuyu stare at you, and before you can stop them, they go on listing different ways to make him suffer. 

“It’s fine, what I said earlier must have bothered him. The whole hero thing. And we haven’t talked in months so it’s not as easy as to simply fall back into friendly territory." Bakugou wouldn't want that, to be just friends, though the just in that affirmation has always made your heart ache. Why isn't it enough? "It was dumb I shouldn’t have expected him to just laugh and be fine with it.” You don’t want to justify his behavior, especially when it’s your friends on the hearing end. They already hate his guts, so no matter how hard you try to explain this is the result of both your mistakes, they’ll still want his head on a stick. “He’s not even mad, really. We’re both just hurt, and pretending nothing happened is not gonna make it all better.”

Tsuyu seems to actually be listening, maybe even considering your point. But Ochako, oh dear lord. You’d rather not know what she thinks. 

Midnight comes around and Momo takes out the heavy artillery. 

“Who wants chamomile? This one has cinnamon too and I bet it’ll go good with honey. So, Bakugou? This sounds like you.” 

You take strawberry tea with a dash of milk, her expensive herbs so comforting and soul cleansing. Maybe it’s a mind trick, how they come in pretty bags and are all neatly placed in a wooden box. So delicate. Convincing you they have the solution to all your problems.

Twenty minutes into this late-night snacking session, you realize the seating arrangements are quite similar to the ones you fell into last summer. You’re nestle on the couch between Kaminari and Kirishima, with Ochako by your feet (now with the addition of Tsuyu between her legs, resting her head on her chest). Shouto and Momo sit across from each other on the big, royal-like armchairs, while Sero, Bakugou and Mina sit on the floor (on the other side of the coffee table, far from Uraraka’s threatening stare). The only ones missing are Jirou and Izuku, who is actually Deku tonight. Your mind travels down that road again. Japan’s number ten hero, up in the charts with the big fish. Shouto came in seventeenth place this week, and Momo is two numbers up. Still, they’re not half as known as Deku, the rumored to be new symbol of piece- with his blinding smile and shiny future ahead. Your eyes find Shouto’s, and he looks fine. It’s not the first time it happens, Izuku hasn’t been here for his past two birthdays and keeps on missing out on important dates. But your friend isn’t much a quality time person, leaning onto words of affirmation and physical touch kinda lover. Still, it must be hard, you think. 

Bakugou’s placement is unknown to you, has been ever since he moved abroad. Why would you check? It doesn’t affect you anymore. 

“So… I heard Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight is doing well out there with the foreigners.” Kaminari’s teasing tone disrupts your peace, as usual. He always picks on him for his high school hero name, though he changed it to just Dynamight a few years back. You were the only other human who was able to mention it and leave to tell the tale.

Bakugou growls.

“Did you break any laws yet? Maybe the governor’s building?” Another reference to his early hero days, when he was reckless and unprofessional. His baby face appeared on the news every week, and you would take a pic of his scowl live on tv! to print it out and add it to your Dynamight cork board. Days without incidents: 5 0.

“It’s actually going pretty well. I mean, they don't exactly love me out there, but I don't really like them either, so.” You expect him to stop there, though it’s his friends asking he’s never one to open up much. “I'm sort of friends with this one hero, has a cool quirk similar to Eiji’s so we can train without worrying much about his face blowing off." There’s a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. 

And you remember. This guy must be the one you know as Kento, big buff dude with scales for skin. “Oh! The guy with the orange cat, right?” You’re suddenly excited. Katsuki had tried many times to befriend him, but every day he’d call you to tell you about a new embarrassing exchange.

“I swear every time I gather courage to speak to him someone else comes barging in! And I don’t want to text him, I see him every day and we’re gym buddies. I have plenty of chances to ask him to hang out.” 

“You sound like a schoolgirl with a crush, ‘Ki.” You giggle. 

“Shut up.” You can hear him sigh over the phone, he’s probably running his hands down his face, skin turning red. “He has an orange cat, and he bought him a Dynamight hat to piss me off. How doesn’t that make us friends already? Yet he never asks me out to lunch, or texts me to go train together, it’s all just coincidence!” 

He had been so upset back then, rummaging his head for the perfect plan to befriend this man. And he had finally done it. 

Without looking your way, Katsuki answers and awkward “Uh yeah, anyway so-” and keeps on talking about his new friend. It throws you off a bit, smile fading quickly as your hands search for your phone. You open three different apps, pretending nothing happened and trying to gain back the confidence he stripped from you. He’s hurt, you repeat in your head, mostly to make yourself feel better.

“-and I finally got the hang of that last move, I just gotta be fast enough to activate my quirk a second before throwing the punch.”

“Oh! I saw it on a video, I think. You were fighting some kind of hybrid villain, right?” He had told you about that move, too. Maybe you didn’t keep track of his name, escalating the charts, but you did check his city’s online newspaper every few weeks. 

All he gives you is a quick glance and a mhm. And that’s all you need really. Okay, got it. 

You shuffle in your seat, uncomfortable. Nose scrunched up, fake smile wavering as you fight to keep the tears inside. You bury your face on your screen once again, ending up in the notes app like a fucking loser. There’s an acid, burning sensation at the top of your stomach, building its way up your esophagus. He looks so cool, so big and happy talking about his new life and the new, super awesome people in it. He’s happy, but something about his happiness feels bitter to you, rotten. You’re not sure how much of it is true, but you can’t condemn him to a miserable life just because of who he is. He’s not crying over the phone, not even mentioning the orange cat or the old lady from the ice cream shop down his street. You hate to think he’s leaving all the little details out of the story because you might interrupt him again, disturbing his ideal life. And you can’t even blame him, it was you who cut him off in the first place, so he has every right to put some distance between you two. Maybe he has changed. Maybe this time he is fine. And happy. Without you. 

And then you just can’t take it anymore, how he smiles that wide grin, a loud laugh erupting from the depths of his throat and filling the room with his oh so characteristic pride. 

Ochako shares a glance with Shouto as they notice you getting up and heading to the bathroom. She moves to follow you, but her friend stops her, shaking his head- leave her alone. He’ll check up on you if needed. 

Minutes go by and there’s still no sign of you. Shouto gets up and slithers his way out of the room, unseen. Ochako’s face starts to burn, anger taking over her as she’s forced to watch your friends gawk at Bakugou’s stupid fight with a oh so dangerous! villain. Fucking idiot. 

-

After ten minutes inside the bathroom, you begin to panic. The tears won’t stop coming, and what was supposed to be a quick emotional dump has turned into an embarrassing, sad, full-on breakdown. Your bottom lip quivers and you’re very close to letting an audible cry out. Just then, the door slides open, revealing a stone faced Shouto. Then his mouth twists in an upward, displeasured mock. He doesn’t like seeing you cry, especially when it’s over his very stupid friend. Without emitting a word, he stands in front of you, towering over your body as you sit on the lidded toilet with your elbows resting on your knees. 

“I’m fine.” You lie.

Sniff.

“I can see that.” His monotone voice holds a unique humor only meant for someone who truly understands him. 

It stirs the beginning of a laugh, but you’re too busy licking at the stray tears reaching your lips. Still, you think of him fondly. Little, emotionally constipated fifteen-year-old Shouto would have turned around and left you to drown in your sorrow. Yet here he is, all grown up and brave enough to face someone else’s pain without panicking. 

“You should tell me what’s wrong, then I’ll see what I can do.” Sweet, caring Shouto.

Using your left hand to wipe your face, you take a second to respond, turning your body to the side to grab some toilet paper.

“It’s okay Shouto, you can’t help with this.” Your makeup is probably ruined, mascara running down your face and making you look like a clown. You’re in full costume now!

“I can hug you.” 

He’s not the best with words, would rather hear them than say them out loud. But that’s exactly why he’s good when needed, taking his time choosing the perfect set of consonants and vowels. Your friend is right, he can hug you. He doesn’t like it very much, but he will do it for you (because he can and it will make you feel better, without hurting him in any way, only making him slightly uncomfortable). And maybe you feel too brave, overestimating your emotional strength and giving in. But when his arms wrap around your back and pull you in, one hand resting at the back of your neck and stroking your hair, you break down again. 

You can feel his body tense as you snap, holding him tightly and pressing your face against his lower belly. 

“I-It’s just- He’s so-” You say between hiccups. “It hurts Sho, a-and he’s so pretty a-and I- just” 

He doesn’t interrupt you, doesn’t lie and tell you it’s okay, that you’ll get over him because he’s a dick and you’re perfect. That you deserve much better, he’ll come back running in a week! He doesn’t say any of that, because he doesn’t believe it. And maybe that hurts even more, truly realizing he won’t come back even though you do need him. Even if he does need you as well. 

“He’s so happy! A-nd I want- I want him to be happy! But he just- he won’t even loo-look at me!” You let go to grab a handful of toilet paper and blow your nose. Shouto is too nice to have your boogers all over his perfect dress shirt. “I just want to at least- hic - be his friend! That’s all i ask! T-to have a nice c-chat, I can tell him about my life- I work with hi-is parents! His mom loves me!” It doesn’t make any sense what you’re saying, but he can picture an image of what you’re getting at. “Four years, we dated for four years!” More boogers. “A-and now he won’t say hi! No hello, how are you!” You hold your head in your hands, squishing your cheeks in a lame attempt to get your shit together. But your eyes are blurry, and your nose is red. “A-nd it’s all my-y fault” It comes out mixed with a sob, it’s ugly and makes Shouto want to cry too.

He doesn’t take sides, because Bakugou is his friend too. But you’ve been here longer, you know him better and he himself is also in love with an idiot. Shouto knows what it is like to trust someone with your heart and decide they’ll be in charge of it, forever. If Izuku ever- If he even thought of leaving him, of saying goodbye and never talk to him again. He has to take a deep breath and clear his head, that is not happening and it’s not smart of him to join you in this delusion. You need him. Even if it means he’ll have to kick some blonde ass.

-

“Here, take these to the kitchen please.” Momo hands him a tray with all the used cups, including your half empty one. 

You had left a while ago, with Todoroki (of all people) trailing behind. Don’t do this to yourself. Bakugou agreed to come tonight because it was an invitation from his friend, a very busy one he hadn’t seen in over a year. Your presence wasn’t an obstacle big enough to ruin his night. But as he places the metal tray on top of the kitchen counter his mind travels back to your kicked puppy face, legs curled up against your chest and shiny eyes covered in something unbearably sad. He had been rude. He could see it in Mina's not so subtle, deep sighs and Ochako’s knuckle cracking. He’s been behaving like that all evening, pushing you away and ignoring you for the sake of his own well-being. There was a time in high school, after the war and just before he and Deku became friends again, when he had behaved similarly. He felt guilty, so horribly guilty, that he decided to push him away- to focus on bettering himself, he had said. But everyone knew he just couldn’t face the nerd’s forgiving smile and shiny eyes, ready to talk to him, ready to be friends again. And you had done the same, not so forgiving and not so shiny, but ready to forget. The very one thing he could never do.

On his way back to the living room, he decides to take a detour, a wrong turn that leads him to the bathroom you had run to half an hour ago. Shouto is in there with you. His steps grow quicker, cursing the rich for such large, useless corridors, and his mind as well, for making him doubt his friend’s loyalty. He’s in love with shitty Deku, he’s gay. But you’re you, perfect and lovable. And Bakugou is an irrational, jealous man.

When he (finally) reaches your location, his hands in fists by his sides, it takes him an embarrassing amount of strength to knock on the door. He only takes notice of your crying once it comes to a halt- forced, as if you’re trying to patch up a dam with hello kitty stickers.

The door slides open and Todoroki’s tall frame hides you from his prying eyes.

And maybe it’s his crazy mind playing tricks on him, but he swears he looks mad, straightening his stand to seem bigger- just like he had done during dinner.

“Bakugou.” He acknowledges his presence with a sour tone (he’s ready to punch him in the teeth, but Bakugou doesn’t know it.)

“Let me talk to her.” Without waiting for an answer, he moves to push past his slender body, only to be met with an unmoving brick wall, iron grip on the door separating him from you. 

“She doesn’t want to see you right now. Talk later or tell me what you wanna say, I promise I’ll give the message once she feels better.” Because she trusts you, not me? Because you stayed and I left? He doesn’t really say (or think) any of that, and Bakugou knows it.

Still- “Todoroki, fucking move.” He doesn’t yell, because he knows Todoroki and he recognizes that stare. He’s being serious. “Give me ten minutes, go help the others and I’ll be right back.”

The lightness in his words make Shouto’s stomach twist. As if ten minutes were enough to fix the damage he’s done. 

“Bakugou, I'm not gonna leave her. She’s my friend!” As if he’d let him hurt you again.

“She’s my friend too!” He's mad but his eyes are watery, tears threatening to fall. For a second Shouto considers it, giving him one last chance.

But it’s not his decision to make, and he’s already promised he’ll keep you safe. “It doesn’t look like it.” Todoroki mumbles under his breath as he turns around and reaches for the door.

Bakugou doesn’t move to stop him, just watches him go back into the bathroom and close the door right on his face.

-

The next time you see him he's sitting on the sidewalk, right across from your apartment entrance. Bakugou has his fingers locked behind his neck, eyes facing the pavement and big suitcase by his side. You consider turning around and pretend you never saw him, playing dumb like you always do and fleeting. He's scary when he's not mad, his heart open and so vulnerable it burns.

But you know it's not fair, it's not easy to get him this way. So you stay, clearing your throat to get his attention and waiting for the wave to crash into you.

"Hey, sorry to show up like this." Red eyes scan your face for any sign of rejection, any reason for him to stop.

You nibble on your lip, ripping apart the surface layer of dried skin.

Hm.

"I-I wanted to say sorry, for what happened during Christmas." He swallows. "It- I was mean, thought I could see you and be fine but, I guess I'm still a bit of a bitch."

Bakugou rarely says sorry, you're always temped to accept his apologies when they happen.

"It's okay, don't worry about it." Though you do want him to, worry about it. About you. You want him to try, but you can't ask it of him.

"No, it's not. I made you cry, and now Shouto is mad at me- as he should be, honestly, I acted like such a dick-" A sigh interrupts his rant, shaky and genuine.

You stay silent, both staring at the ground and waiting for the other to deliver the final punch. It's funny, how you always seem to end up stuck in the same situation, over and over again. Knowing you have to let go of each other, but not finding the strength to do so.

"You're leaving today?" You jut out your lips and point at his suitcase. Still the same you, with the same traits. Bakugou wants to smile, eyes fixed on your face, the familiar sight now a sting in his guts. How could he hate you?

"Yeah, I'm a bit late actually but- they can wait."

Hm.

People can always wait when it comes to Bakugou Katsuki. If he asked, you'd do it too.

"Well, I just- guess that's it." Of course it is.

Too close to be friends.

Too hurt to be lovers.

"Have a safe flight."

Back to strangers again.

5.(bittersweet)

The charity event takes place in the Todoroki mansion, soon to be turned into a museum filled with Endeavor’s accomplishments. You’re sure Shouto is out there somewhere, maybe standing by the koi ponds and staring off into the water, counting the minutes for it all to be over. So you don’t bother looking for him, it’s to no use trying to snap him out of his trance when he’s like this. 

Though you’re no hero, it’s not uncommon for support engineers to be invited alongside them- especially when you’re friends with the ones up in the charts. The media has gotten used to your face by now, spreading dating rumors here and there that you never address and if you’re lucky promoting your work (how cool they are, how hot the heroes look).

You spot his navy blue suit next to Hawks, his loud laugh impossible to miss. There’s at least four young heroes surrounding them, and it’s surprising to see Bakugou isn’t frowning or shooing them away with a growl. Then you remember that’s not Bakugou, it’s Dynamight. The hero has climbed the charts along with his friends after coming back home, he got a PR team and finally started working on his image. You see his face on plastic cups and children’s lunch boxes, makeshift costumes of his own hero suit crowding the streets every time he wins a fight against a big villain. Dynamight didn’t do well outside of Japan, coming back home after two years, and still isn’t very welcomed out there. But in here? He’s a God. Talks to the press however he pleases but has his own favorite reporters, the ones he trusts will tell the story right- the same ones that get him to do a photoshoot or play a question game with his fans, silly stuff you never thought you’d see him doing. His image has been humanized, brought down to earth for mortals to touch and admire from up close. In your opinion, he’s too close. Too bright at first. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, because what else could you do? Still it’s pathetic, how your stomach twists everytime his face shows up in the big billboard right in front of your balcony, a few buildings away. He doesn’t smile, but he grins, proudly. It’s not quite the same smile you knew, but it’s close enough to hurt. 

He’s single, no kids, no wife. You try not to think about it because it makes you happy, and it shouldn’t make you happy. It doesn’t mean anything. There have been rumors about him and other heroes, but Shouto has always been quick to point out their falsehood- though you never ask him, it’s always him who brings up the subject. Dynamight and Shouto are seen together pretty often, wearing merch of each other and fighting for the fourth place, making sure to catch the awfulest villains they can find and showing off while they’re at it. Neither of them are known for their charisma, unlike Deku who has won the hearts of every civilian in Japan, but they try. 

Still, Shouto and Katsuki are not that close, opting for keeping their private lives separated and secluding to their friend groups. But they do see each other from time to time, at birthday parties and weddings- their hero skins long forgotten. You know they’d be closer if it weren’t for you, and it fills you with guilt every time you see them together. It’s crystal clear how much of Katsuki has stuck to Shouto, you see it in his humor, in his grin, and there’d be more if you hadn’t messed with each other’s hearts. 

And you. You’re closer to Katsuki than your friend is, or will ever be.

After years of working for his parents you’ve accepted his luring presence in the workshop, which then turned to his shadow walking down the office floors halls. You’ve made sure to figure out a way to avoid him, feigning innocence when you enter Mitsuki’s office- I brought you coffee! How is the winter collection going? -, eyes roaming her calendar in search of his name. She knows, and you know because after the third time she started highlighting his visits in orange (for office visits) and green (suit try ons). During orange days you go down to the workshop, taking the opportunity to teach your youngest engineers a trick or two, pretending you’re actually there for them and not for the sake of your teary eyes. Green days are even easier, you’re a big figure in the Bakugou’s industry so there’s no need for you to get your hands dirty with grease, staying within the confines of your private office and checking out projects that need your approval to get started. Dynamight’s suit is one you have memorized by now, always coming in with a detail to fix or a weapon to improve, so you make sure to get the documents sent directly to you- if they were to fall on someone else’s hands they could do it wrong, requiring your assistance later on during the fitting process and that’s an interaction you can’t afford to have. 

Bakugou knows it’s you who patches him up (or his suit, but he likes to think he’s one with it). Still he always asks who’s responsible for the new design, whose idea it was to improve the safety measures he had foregone last time. And the answer is always the same. In some way he feels cared for, it’s a bitter sensation because it’s directly linked up to you. Yet he can’t bring himself to ask for a different person. You may have broken his heart, losing his trust just like he did with yours, but he knows you won’t do the same to Dynamight- you rarely make mistakes, and you certainly won’t make the same mistake twice. Sometimes he finds himself wishing you did. He stands still as your freshman fastens the grenades at his wrists, hopefully looking out the workshop window that lets the light of the hall spill in, waiting to see your face. It never happens, he knows you hide in your office whenever he enters the building, and run down to the machines when he calls for a meeting with his team. That last one makes him lose his marbles. He’s had more than enough arguments with his parents, who let you do as you please and take cover under their wings. You haven’t shown up to a single one of those meetings, though you should be there as his designated engineer. Whether you like it or not, you’re part of it, of his team. 

“Katsuki, has she ever messed up your suit? Huh? No, she hasn’t, so quit your whining and let our colleague do her work. It’s not her fault she’s busy! If she ever has time for your meetings she will be there.” 

His mom is your number one defender, and he can’t comprehend why. Maybe she’s still mad at him for leaving all those years back (or maybe she’s found in you what she wasn’t allowed to love in him). It’s a dangerous thought, one that doesn’t deserve the time and effort to be dissected and put up for study. He knows where it’s rooted and that’s enough. 

Mitsuki never mentions your name, only refers to you as their “colleage” and it drives him insane. But he knows it’s already a lost fight, not worth getting his hands dirty for. 

Katsuki hates any sort of event. It doesn’t matter if it’s for charity, or if it’ll improve his image- this is not what he signed up for, he should be out there fighting crime. He can feel his manager’s eyes digging into his back, analazying his stand and the tone of his voice as he interacts with the rookies. There’s flashes going off in the distance and- how the hell is Hawks so good at this? 

You’re watching too, and it takes every ounce of strength in him to restrain himself from going over and talk to you. It’s been like this for years now, his chest flooding with the urge to say all those things he didn’t say back then and overlapping with what he actually wants to say to you right now. How pretty you look, how much he liked the suit’s latest upgrade. Katsuki has questions that die half way up his throat, choking him to exhaustion. How have you been? Do you still hate him? Are you seeing anyone? Are your parents okay?

His thorax expands and keeps the air inside for a few seconds, slowly exhaling. Katsuki can see you from the corner of his eye, chatting with a waitress, probably waiting for Shouto to come out of his sulk room. His friend hates these events even more than he himself does, but he can’t find pity for Shouto when you’re left all alone in a crowded space.

Dynamite excuses himself and moves out of the group of people circling him, sending Hawks a knowing look- I need a minute. The hybrid is quick to understand, eyes flying to your form and back to Bakugou, eyebrows rising in warning, teasingly. 

The bulky hero makes his way towards you, but you tell yourself he’s going somewhere else. Katsuki wouldn’t dare feed the rumors, he wouldn’t-

Before you can finish that thought, the host gets up on stage and greets the guests. Pro Hero Dynamight stops in his tracks, just a few steps from you. The soury feeling makes him snort, always so close but never quite enough. 

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” A Present Mic knock off screams into the microphone and half the crowd cover their ears. “As you all know, this is a very special day, for today we’re putting down our weapons and raising our wallets in collaboration to Tokio’s Children’s Hospital!” 

Some laugh, some don’t. Bakugou shifts in place, right hand holding a glass of champagne his lips haven’t touched all night. Meanwhile, you’re downing the golden liquid like it’s water, hands clutched over a purse he guesses is brand new, and probably empty (save for your phone). These things always get your nerves on edge, taking care of who you are seen interacting with- mostly criticizing hero suits from your seat amongst your coworkers. But today you’re alone, the only other designers present are part of the rival team and it wouldn’t be good for the Bakugou’s to have their head engineer seen fraternizing with the enemy. 

And Bakugou himself would never approach you in any social situation, it’s a silent agreement between you two that’s been going on for ages. He doesn’t come close, and you stay put, each of you minding your own business. Still that doesn’t stop him from sending you emails meant for his team, because you are part of- 

Katsuki sighs, a heavy sigh. He’s getting tired of your limits, of you running away and avoiding any sort of confrontation involving him. He’s tired of sitting back and giving you space, would rather not see you ever again at all instead of catching glimpses of you around the office, down at the workshop, here at events and galas- with your pretty dresses, fresh face of make up, nervous fingers tapping on your thighs. 

Bakugou Katsuki would never come near you, because he can’t. But Dynamight, basically your boss, he can do whatever the fuck he wants. 

“He’s a bit of an idiot, don’t you think?” His voice is low, whispered, straddling you and sending you forwards, stumbling over your own steps. 

The heroes surrounding you, the few that stayed at the back ignoring the host’s silly jokes, turn to look at you and some even offer their steady hand. You mumble out a string of apologies, eyes down avoiding red ambers. Bakugou-Dynamight swallows, straightents his back and takes a step closer. He’s head to shoulder with you, strong jawline hovering over your form. 

“Why are you so jumpy?”

“Why are you talking to me?” He scoffs at your answer, moody stare making it’s way to his face. 

“Because you’re Dynamight’s support engineer, and he has to talk to you about his suit.” The third person speech makes him cringe, the glass in hand suddenly too inviting.

“Well, Mr. Dynamite can send me an email once he gets home.” You greet your teeth, scowling him for his trespassing.

Once you''ve regained your balance, hands going over your dress to smooth out ny wrinkle, you take a minute to look up at him.

“Bakugou I thought we were on the same page here.”

He rolls his eyes at that, though it’s the first time he’s heard you call for him in so long, it doesn’t sound right. Because his father is a Bakugou, and his mother is too. You have to pronounce that word everytime someone asks you who you work for, what’s the name of the company. It no longer holds the same meaning, you’re not referring to him. 

“Fuck off, you know we’ve never been on the same page.” He’s ruining it, his chance at mending things. Though he’s not so sure that’s what he wanted in the first place. For once in his life he has no plan.

“You’re the one who came up to me, you fuck off!”

“That’s not- I just wanted to talk, like normal people. Can’t we do that?” He’s greeting his teeth too, looking ahead and jaw clenching. 

It’s surprising, seeing him making the first move, to be him the one asking to talk. “So what, you want to be friends now?”

“Fuck no.” It’s an accident, he doesn’t mean to spit it out like that, to refuse your hand like it’s burning hot. But it’s the truth, he can’t do it, not with you.

You’re silent, staring as his mask falls off. For someone used to facing villains all day he sure as hell isn’t as brave as he thinks he is. 

“Should’ve known, you still don’t have the balls to do it.” 

Again you’re young and stupid, waiting for him to start a fight you can win. 

“I thought that was a given.” Dynamight turns to look at you in all his handsome glory, blonde locks cut short and emerald green studs decorating his earlobes. And then his words sink down. 

Your frowns break at the same time, anger turning into giggles you try to fight back. 

“Can’t believe you’re doing trans jokes now.” It’s not a critic, it’s impressive how much he’s grown and how much confidence he’s gained over time. 

“Yeah, well. The fans love it, and I gotta admit it feels good.” You can tell. 

Pro Hero Dynamight didn’t really come out, at least not like other heroes do. One day he simply appeared on tv, sitting on Red Riot’s shoulders as they marched alongside their friends during pride, a pink, blue and white flag tied to his neck. His PR team jumped for his head, begging him to go out on interviews and explain what that was all about. The Bakugou’s building entrance had been flooded with reporters for days, waiting for the hero to show up to a suit try on or trying to catch him leaving. But he had paid them no mind, never really addressing the “issue”. Some were disappointed, because their favorite hero wasn’t speaking up and using his voice to reach millions of people and fight against transphobes, threatening to cancel him on social media and showing up in his manager’s nightmares. Others understood.

It took a whole year for it all to die down, and one more for the public to stop referring to him as the trans hero, going back to his actual hero name. You’d wanted to reach out to him back then, but Katsuki had his friends and you had your own problems.

Now seeing where he is, how far he’s come, it fills you up with pride. A bit of an uncomfortable feeling, somewhat forbidden but so familiar. 

“That’s-that’s great, I’m happy for you.” 

It comes out shaky, your voice betraying you. 

Dynamight hums, licking his lips and pursing them together. Thinking. 

“Are you- How are you doing? I mean, you seem fine but- I don’t know.” He’s cute when he gets awkward, even cuter if he stutters (but that rarely happens).

The crowd begins to move away from the stage, dissipating through the room and falling back into pleasant chatter. 

“Yes- Yes I’m fine, I’m good.”

“Good, good.” 

You stare at him and he stares back, more questions burning at the tip of your tongue. Do you miss me? Can we still be friends? But you already know the answer, and it’s clear things won’t work out. 

“I’m leaving for the U.S next week.” You know, Mitsuki won’t stop crying about it. “Just for a month but, yeah…” 

You hum and nod, and look down at your hands holding on to your stupid purse. No it wouldn’t work out. 

I’m sorry. This is a spite piece for my instagram. Follow me @peanut_and_butter_artistry there.

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader Soulmate AU

Summary: You want to start a business early revolving around your quirk but it leads you to find a rare case in your new school

Quirk: Red Strings. You are able to see the red strings that connect each person to their soulmate by a red string on each of their pinkies. This quirk is received by the oldest daughter in the family once they turn 4 (the parent still has it even when the child does). Sons can also have it but as a secondary quirk, it immediately gets passed down to the daughter and leaves the son with one quirk. You are able to cut it and/or tie it to yourself or other people at the cost of one year of your life for each alteration.

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, cursing

WC: 1,725

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You still remember when you got your quirk. The day you turned four you saw the bright red strings appear, connecting everyone to each other. Some had strings that were long and crossed the streets and went around buildings, and some had their stings attached to the person next to them. They were on the floor for most of the time, occasionally stretched when two people had a strain on their relationship. They never broke though, always connected and paired by the universe, whoever it may be who controls it. They got longer when people are far from each other, and shorter when they were close. 

You saw sometimes the people who were connected, passing by each other without a second thought, strangers who rarely looked back at each other as the strange feeling overcame them. You were always happy when you saw two soulmates holding hands, and felt sorry for those who passed by their soulmate with a significant other in their arms. Some people even has two strings and you thought that was so cool. 

You liked to follow the strings when they were going in the same direction as you, and eventually got used to seeing them around not paying mind unless it was a short glance at two loving soulmates. 

Your mom and you were the only ones who could see and interact with them, your grandma dying before you were born with not many stories left behind. She would step on them while you avoided doing so, until she said it was fine. You still didn’t like to walk over them, only the accidental step sometimes but you mostly subtly avoided them. You remember that one time you tripped on a string and those few times you had to duck or go around strained ones. 

Then came when you looked at your pinkie, no bright red sting there. When you asked your mom why you didn’t have one she told you she didn’t have one at first either. She did though, you mentioned, and she said that she cut your dad’s string and tied it to her. You gasped and asked her why and she said that your dad asked for it, his original soulmate was “probably really far away anyway”. She said there was some guilt of course but 20 years of going strong it had melted away. 

She even told you of a story of someone who was bitter of not having a string, she cut every string in her path and ended up dying early, passing the quirk to her first niece. 

“Do you help your friends find their soulmates!?” you beamed, she smiled but shook her head. 

“I can’t, I don’t have the time to with all my work. Plus, you don’t even know if they want to know. They could be happily married or something“ she said. She was right, but you wanted to lead people to their soulmates! But you couldn’t do that under the circumstances you mom had just helped you realized.

Then the thought hit you, it could be your job! You could help people and make money all at the same time and it would be the best job ever! That thought was what started your continuous studying to get into a good school, and getting into that school. To be honest you’ve never been as driven about something as much as this.

So here you were now, at the doorway of UA.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got stares from everyone as you confidently stepped into the building, then immediately jumping and tiptoeing about in the hallways avoiding the red strings you would soon shorten. Word had already gotten around after you explained to one person why you were walking funny. 

Days later you were already getting requests but you would just turn them down. Maybe just pointing to where they headed. Soon you were already making friends, especially with that one Ashido girl from the hero course who wanted so bad to find her soulmate. You wanted to tell her who it was but you couldn’t make exceptions, you guys weren’t even friends for long. 

Eventually, right when the class was going into the pricing lesson, Ashido immediately jumped on you to show her where her soulmate is. So, her first initiative for today was to drag you to her table for lunch. You met the nicest people ever, the first 10 seconds that passed were great. But your pink-haired friend had already cut to the chase.

“Here, just point me to where my string leads” She said as she slid you a 500 yen coin. You took it and pointed to the kitchen, your eyes trailed from her finger to where the string led, presumably outside a window or something.

She squealed, “Okay, now do them next, they’ll pay” she said as her other friends, except Bakugou, leaned in with interest. 

You chuckled and said, “Sorry I can’t. My teacher said I can’t offer services ‘til my business is official. My pricing itself isn’t complete either. I’m thinking of doing an up-front price along with a price according to how far the trip goes for them to find their soulmate. This of course will include an all expense pair trip if we ever leave the country or go on a far trip. It might be expensive for a lot of people but I really want to show them to their soulmates. I’m thinking of refunding them a portion if they cancel but if I keep doing that the business will get nowhere and no one will find their soulmate. I’m also really concerned for the people who might not have as much money so I’m thinking that the prices shouldn’t be that high. Hmm, maybe I should-”

“Geez, Y/N calm down. You’re starting to sound like Midoriya there with all your rambling” Ashido interrupted, “But I get it, you don’t have to. Dang the business course is though” 

“Not as tough as the hero course though. At least then you’ll be hella rich and I can help all of you find your soulmates”

 “Great!” She chirped. 

They all went back to their food, and out of curiosity you looked at their hands. seeing the red string on either the left or right pinkie. But one caught your eye. There was a set of hands, no red string on neither the left nor the right pinkie. You looked up at who it belonged and were met with glaring red ruby eyes. You got a good look at him, his spiky ash blonde hair. He was pretty attractive, sad he doesn’t have a soulmate though. His glare seemed to get sharper and so you had to stuff your face in your bowl if you didn’t want trouble. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Whoopsie, how’d you get into this situation? Backed up into the wall of an alleyway by this beautiful blonde. This blonde is of course mad and glaring at you like you stepped on his dog.

You did, however, find out who this man was. Bakugou Katsuki. From the sludge incident. Got the highest score in the practical entrance exam. He also got chained to a block of cement when he won gold at the sport’s festival that you couldn’t attend, not wanting to watch the strings get trampled by your doing the task given. As well as getting kidnapped by the League of Villains during the hero course’s camping trip.

You don’t know why you didn’t recognize him, not really paying attention to what all others do. But now you truly felt sorry for the guy, going through all that, probably blaming himself for All Might’s retirement, and not having someone to call his own. You don’t have to date your soulmate, and sometimes soulmate relationships fail, but it’s hard when they’re the perfect fit for you. 

This man didn’t have a perfect fit. I mean, neither did you but you were fine with making people happy, and you haven’t endured half this man has. 

“Let me ask you this once, why were you looking at me funny?” he gruffly demanded answers

“You sure you wanna know?” you asked nervously

“SPIT IT OUT WOMAN” he slammed his fist next to your head

“You don’t have a soulmate!” you said out of impulse

His eyes widened and his angry demeanor went away, “What?” he mumbled

“You don’t have a string” you clarified

“Well I don’t fucking need one, “ he puffed his chest out, “soulmates are bullshit anyway, don’t wanna have to trust someone like that, they’ll just become a weak spot”

“Well you wouldn’t think that when you tip over and self destruct in anger at yourself for stuff that’s not you fault” you commented as he neared you dangerously

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about”

You sighed as your lips pressed to a thin line, “Maybe I don’t, but no one will if you keep it to yourself”

“I’m fine with that”

“Sure” 

He must still be in shock, you just know he’ll add it to the baggage sooner or later. You had to do something about this, he doesn’t deserve it, before he could walk away you called out, “If it makes you feel better I don’t have one either, most people with my quirk don’t have any either”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

“I can cut some string and tie it to you if you want, can’t force a good relationship though”

“No, I don’t want anyone else’s partner”

“Fine then,” you pondered, how could you help this guy out? 

“Lunch. Tomorrow” he stated and left

“Huh? Okay I guess” you said hesitantly. At least it was something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You rubbed your arm nervously. It was a Saturday and you had asked Mina for his number, where he confirmed to meet outside your dorm. No one really cared that a hero course student was coming over, instead everyone used this time to do work on each of their own businesses. 

You sat at the small table set up in front of the entrance, it was circular and had a small vase of flowers at the center. You then heard a grunt and footsteps getting louder. You turned and saw Bakugou grumbling to himself as he made his way to you.

He plopped down on the seat next to you and before the awkward silence could commence he spoke up, “Why the fuck do you want to help me?”

You chuckled, a smile had danced on your lips, “Right to the chase, huh?”

His glare just hardened.

You felt your hands get clammy, “Heh, well, it is my future job. I want to make people happy”

“So you’ll just change peoples soulmates if someone pays you? Seems pretty shitty”

You gasped, feigning exaggerated offense, “I do not! For each alteration to strings I lose a year of my lifespan,” you explained

“So you’re willing to lose two years of your life to get me a soulmate?” 

You nodded

“Why?”

You sighed, you contemplated whether to take his hand in yours sympathetically but decided against it, instead opting to lean forward and lower your voice, “You’ve been through a lot more than most people should at your age, I just think you would be good with someone who will fully understand you. But, now that I think about it that may be difficult so that’s why...” you trailed off

You realized how no one will fully understand him, he’s a really complex person from what you picked up. You let out a small ‘Huh’ when the thought came to you.

You looked up when you heard him sigh, he mumbled something under his breath along the lines of ‘I cant believe I’m doing this’

“Look, you can’t just take someone else’s soulmate, it won’t work out for me or that person” He then groaned, “and it’s not like you have a soulmate either so...”

You looked at him puzzled, trying to put two and two together. When you did, you had a big shit-eating smirk on your face, “What are you trying to say, Bakugou?” You asked smugly

The infamous ‘tch’ was heard when the reddening on his ears proved true to your suspicions, “Wanna go out sometime?” he begrudgingly offered

You giggled. This hotheaded blonde, known for being aggressive and somewhat the villainous type, was asking you out to a date after two conversations. One was admittedly intimate but only two conversations nonetheless

You figured, why not ply with him for a little bit? 

“Hmmm... Nah, I’d rather waste two years of my life”

He growled, “Stop playing around! You’re lucky I’m even asking you out, I normally hate everyone. Plus, you can’t just connect me to some stranger!”

“We’ve had two conversations, we essentially still are strangers”

“Fucking- CALL ME KATSUKI THEN”

You froze in shock. He really was serious about this.

“...Why me?”

He relaxed, ready to give his explanation, “You’re probably the only one who gets an inkling of how I feel because of what I’ve gone through. Everyone else either holds it against me or thinks they understand me”

“Well then-”

“Alsoyou’recute” 

You paused again, you saw his flushed face but it was nowhere near the steam coming from the boiling pot that was your head. 

“Uh, y-you too I guess”

“Yeah I’ll see you next week, we’ll get dessert after lunch or some shit, whatever girls want to do on dates”

You scoffed at the stereotype, “Yeah, whatever you have my number,” You saved him a wink which was what made everything worth it for the sight of his face that now matched his eyes.

Part 2 cuz this ends too abrupt but its long already

I keep on seeing Cheating and Angst for Katsuki Bakugou a lot. Way to much to say. Not enough Fluff for the guy.

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: implied and/or present elements of dubcon/noncon, yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, quirkless reader, mentioned death of important character, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, mentions of hypochondriasis, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ gn reader

Sharp crimson eyes assess the fresh scrapes and swelling ruining your soft skin. A deep scowl on his face.

“Tch—look at all this…” he grumbles disapprovingly to no one but himself—too upset with you to acknowledge you, yet treating you no different than if you were glass. “These are gonna last weeks.”

You’d tried running away again—tripped and slipped up all on your own, stumbling through hallways and tumbling down stairs in your panic, only to stop short at the locked door—bolted and padlocked beyond all sane reason.

He was disappointed with you, sure. But that’s not the reason for his current anger.

“Sit there while I get bandages,” he orders, getting up from his crouch, pointing a strict finger at you in threat. “Dare move, and it’ll be bed rest for a whole ‘nother week.”

Bakugou’s obsession with your quirkless nature started a couple of months ago…

It was okay at first—he was hardly the first person you’d met who addressed you with patronizing resolve—but he got weird about it quickly.

You worked at another hero agency he was going to be collaborating with for a big upcoming mission. You weren’t a sidekick or anything grand like that, but a simple pencil-pusher—because they need those too, you know? And you liked your job. You got to work along with some of the greatest heroes in the world, see them up close, and help them out with those things they didn’t have time for—paperwork like budget justifications and incidence reports. Yeah, you might have been somewhat of a pushover, but hey, the salary was good, the environment was lively, and even though you don’t have one yourself, you got to see some really amazing quirks in action. It was, out of what you could hope for, your dream job.

The place was in a real buzz when they heard the number one hero would be joining them for a couple of months. You were excited, too—it wasn’t often your smaller agency would undertake big missions—especially not ones that required such big hero names.

DynaMight wasn’t one to share much of anyone’s enthusiasm. He was strict and down to business and otherwise had a major pet peeve for unnecessary rabble loitering around. He’d stopped mid-meeting at the sight of you, seeing as you were obviously no fieldworker, and had gone as far as to demand you tell him your value as if your presence had been some big distracting nuisance.

Luckily, your Pro-Hero coworkers had stepped in on your behalf and told him you were a transcriber keeping track for later reference. It was probably only a slip-up that they’d added the fact that you were quirkless.

You don’t hold it against them, or well… you did a little, but you couldn’t really blame them either. Evoking the explosion hero’s rage must have made them flustered and desperate to play any sympathy card available to them in the spur of the moment.

Of course, it wasn’t their card to play, nor would you ever have played it yourself, but if the humility was worth anything, it successfully managed to calm the top hero down. Actually, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. And if you hadn’t been so busy taking notes, you would have noticed his lingering stare.

A couple more incidents had occurred in the office after that. Among others, he’d caught an incoming paper airplane your coworker had thrown your way—stepped right in out of nowhere and cremated it with a controlled explosion before it could hit you.

You’d been speechless for a moment—the entire desk area along with you—confused by his strangeness and, at least in your case, even somewhat appalled by his utter lack of consideration—in your office space, no less. Seriously, top hero or not, you can’t just barge in and incinerate stuff?

“That was an important document,” you'd informed—brow quirked—no regard to how offending him could probably make grounds to have you fired. You'd only slightly regretted it after having said it. But geez, you thought—shouldn’t the top hero have some semblance worth of self-control?

“You shouldn’t be playing around,” he'd stated—tone just as sour as the stink of burned paper tainting the air. “Someone might get hurt.”

You’d almost scoffed at him but had held your tongue until he walked away.

Back then, you’d thought it was an offhand insult directed at you and your respected coworker—that the explosion hero had just called you both unprofessional to your faces, like the biggest scumbag to ever walk in through your humble doors. But looking back at it now, you realize he probably might have meant it in its most sincere regard.

His over-protectiveness knows no limit, you’ve learned—calling it patronizing would be a joke in comparison. He treats you as if anything in proximity might make you shatter by association—like a bubble made from the most thinned-out solution of water and soap.

You’d woken up in your well-prepared pillow room shortly after your agency’s collaboration with DynaMight had ended. It didn’t take long for you to piece together his sickness after that.

At first, you’d thought it was a more severe case of benevolent discrimination. After all, most people treat you with some amount of pity after being privy to your being quirkless—treating it no less than a disability of sorts.

But Bakugou’s view of you was increasingly more unsettling than that—suffering from some type of delusion that has him fully convinced you’re utterly inept without him.

In some odd ways, it would have been better if he was just faking—if he was doing it all, treating you as an inferior for some sick sense of deriving his own sadistic pleasure. But no, you think he actually fully and whole-heartedly believes you’re a danger to yourself and that anything, if not monitored in the perfect conditions of the controlled environment he’s established for you, will result in your fatal illness or harm.

He’s a full-sworn hypochondriac concerning you—even as he himself dregs home some of the worst injuries you’ve ever seen as if it were nothing but a splinter in the rough of his worn soles. Meanwhile, he’s scared that if you leave the bed without socks on, it will give you pneumonia.

You were sure you had a couple of control freaks at the agency, but nothing measures up to Bakugou’s mania. How he dresses you is one thing—how he feeds you is another. An assortment of pills first, all vitamins and supplements, a spoon of cod liver oil, then a balanced meal reminding you of those tragic trays you’re served at the hospital—four times a day without fail—breakfast, lunch, dinner, then supper—he also keeps track of all the water he’s decided you need to drink—all things perfectly regulated according to your size and age.

Then there’s the sleep schedule with a set number of eight hours—no more and no less. Exercise is also necessary—workout plans designed and dictated by him. Nothing too severe, though—he’s afraid your quirkless constitution won’t be able to handle anything beyond thirty minutes max.

And then, of course, there’s hygiene.

You sobbed and fought hysterically the first time he’d washed you—in the tub with him after he’d stripped you naked. In fact, you’d made such a fuss he’d had to fetch a sedative.

Even in your drowsed state of complete numb delirium, you’d still heard how he’d fretted over it—the tiny needle hole he’d torn in your arm—as if that was the real violation, even as he’d thoroughly molested the entirety of your body with different cloths and sponges for no shorter than a full hour.

You’d been terrified, of course—horrified by his meticulous routines and odd nature. Yet strangely, despite his rigid rules, he won't ever get violent to enforce them.

You had expected it of him—being known for his brutality—the hero without mercy—the symbol of retribution. You know he's no stranger to leaving the battlefield bloody. But with you, he won't so much as harm a single strand of hair from your head.

He will instead bargain with you, sometimes for hours. Eat what he tells you, and you’ll watch a movie afterward. Go to sleep, and he'll escort you out to see the sun for a few hours in the morning. Let him ensure you wash correctly, and he’ll allow you to dry and dress yourself.  

And in those moments when you leave him no other option, he subdues you through the help of a needle again and never ever by manhandling you—it was as if that weren’t even a viable option. It was obvious he regarded the sedative as the uttermost last resort, always muttering on about chemicals and whatnot under his breath. It seemed he would rather avoid it at all costs—but also, that if it stood between allowing the disturbance of the schedule he felt was needed to keep you healthy and forcibly putting you to sleep, he knew without a doubt which option he considered the lesser evil.

He was certain of it all. And at some point or another… you had even begun sharing his fear of attracting some sort of illness yourself—even something so small as a common cold. But no, it wasn’t the same. Yours was not a fear of the actual disease itself but of what he might do if he caught you sneezing and coughing. You could only imagine the upgraded pill table he’d have in store for you then and what other measures he’d instill due to his excessive ideas of necessity.

And that’s why you’d tried running again even after what must have been a couple of months since the last time. The thought of his inane insanity having affected you so badly you’d started playing along was all too much a painful realization—you’d felt compelled to reject it—run away even when you knew you’d never be able to make the door open if you could even reach it.

You knew it would be in vain, and even though running headfirst into something you know isn’t going to work might be the first signs of madness—you’re still relieved to have found some remaining worth of fight still in you, even if it couldn’t amount to anything.

He comes back as quickly as he’d left, still muttering to himself, cross about the damage you’ve sustained—like you’re one of the collector’s items he keeps up on the mantle in his office—green costume and a big bright smile. You remember the exposés—they’d been rather gruesome, about the hero who’d died in battle not so long ago—a couple of years back now, give or take. He had the number-one spot before DynaMight.

The current top hero retakes his spot at your feet, sighing deeply once he starts dabbing your minor bruises with disinfectant, followed by unnecessary bandages. You’re silent as you watch him work—all so diligently as he does everything, cutting no corners and running zero lights.

His efforts, done with the very epitome of care, all disgust you.

Your lip curls. “I’m not what you think I am…”

His keen glare stops obsessing over your wounds to look up at your face—he’d already tended to the ones he could see, but he’s sure more would blossom and swell in a couple of hours. It’s beyond worrisome—but it’s his fault in any case. He should move you to a place without stairs—it’s way too dangerous for someone as accident-prone as you.

You make eye contact, and his anger fades at the sight of tears welling in your corners—softening as if he’s convinced even a harsh look will have you shatter in his hands.

“I’m quirkless. But ’m not weak.” You’re sure you preached much of the same back at the beginning of your stay, though then you’d hurdled it at him—screamed it from the top of your lungs until you’d lost your voice, unknowing that it’s a statement he’s heard a hundred times over spoken by different lips from yours.

It’s a funny thing almost… how your eyes remind him of his—so soft and yet brimming with determination—a determination that will only get you killed.

He’d put faith in those words before, believed them beyond himself, and it had cost him everything.

But even so, he can’t fault you for believing in them yourself… they’re what makes him love you, after all.

He smiles gently—a most gut-churning sight from the all-scowling man.

“I’m sure you think so.”

He doesn’t relay it with any type of harshness but pity—gross concern and better judgment—overwhelming oodles of it in his garnet eyes, weighing them down with something so awful as compassion and… you don’t exactly know… but it looks like grief.

♡ part two ♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

𝓲𝓷𝓴 & 𝓻𝓱𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓶 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 『 band au | strangers to lovers | slow burn 』

pairing // artist!reader x drummer!bakugo status // coming soon! rating // explicit (18+ themes) #✩.ink&rhythm + crossposted to AO3

✩ summary // Distortion is the hottest band in town, making waves in the underground scene with their unique sound. Led by your college best friend and music prodigy, Kyoka Jiro, alongside her misfit group of friends, they've been playing shows every weekend for the last few months and have gathered a decent following. You're whisked into the whirlwind of their rockstar lives when Jiro commissions you to design a band logo for their merch, reconnecting with her and meeting the members of the band. Your eyes immediately gravitate to their powerful drummer, Katsuki Bakugo. Fresh out of a nasty three year on/off relationship, he's not looking for anything or anyone while shutting out the world around him. He's focused on the one thing that keeps him sane; music. You're six months free of a breakup as well, looking to repaint your world with new colors and experiences, but turns out it's more tumultuous than anticipated. Explosive fights, newfound fame, clashing egos, dive bars, stolen kisses, black out dreams, messy exes and hard lessons; but somehow, love finds a way to bloom like a flower in the desert - deep in the hottest, driest wasteland of two broken hearts.

✩ tags & warnings // rock/punk/alt band au, slow burn, meet cute, strangers to lovers, various smut, smoking/drugs/alcohol consumption, talks of emotional & physical abuse from past partners, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, mild violence, mentions of cheating from past partners, miscommunications, jealousy, long distance, stalking, attempted sexual assault (not from bakugo or the bakusquad!), bakugo & reader suffer from relationship traumas (cami & dabi are nasty exes), bakusquad are in a band, friend breakups & makeups

꒰ track list ꒱ ✩ Prelude: Holding onto Hope is a Different Kind of Pain ✩ Track One: Shine a Light into the Wreckage ✩ Track Two: Flowers Filled with Vitriol ✩ Track Three: Boulevard of (Broken?) Dreams ✩ Track Four: You Can Throw Me in the Deep End ✩ Track Five: Every Canvas that I Paint is a Masterpiece (of My Mistakes) ✩ Track Six: Band-Aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes ✩ Track Seven: Good Girls Stay Alive ✩ Track Eight: The End of Me, The End of Me ✩ Track Nine: If It Means A Lot To You ✩ Track Ten: Hand on the Throttle ✩ Bonus Track: We Are Distortion, 1-2-3-go!!

꒰ info ꒱ ✩ all characters are 24/25 years old ✩ reader co-owns an art gallery and has a BFA ✩ reader's artist alias is "glxtch" (glitch) ✩ bakugo drives a custom built orange & black Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R ✩ relationships: momojiro, kirimina, ex-bakucamie, ex-dabi/reader

✩ band name: Distortion ✧ Kyoka Jiro | lead singer, electric guitar (Barista - Degree in Music Production) ✧ Denki Kaminari | electric guitar, backup vocals (Waiter) ✧ Eijiro Kirishima | bass, backup vocals (Bartender) ✧ Katsuki Bakugo | drummer, backup vocals (Bike Mechanic) ✧ Mina Ashido | keyboard, backup vocals (Makeup artist) ✧ Momo Yaoyorozu | band manager (Marketing assistant)

✩ vocal inspirations ✧ Kyoka Jiro ⇢  addie amick (halocene) ✧ Denki Kaminari ⇢  rory rodriguez (dayseeker) ✧ Eijiro Kirishima ⇢  tim mcilrath (rise against) ✧ Katsuki Bakugo ⇢  eric vanlerberghe & acoustic (i prevail - harsh vocals) ✧ Mina Ashido ⇢  maggie lindemann

꒰ mood board ꒱

✩ pinterest board ✩

꒰ playlist ꒱

⇢  tag list ; @/bells-28 @/simp-plague @/nemisimp @/hotttamalee @/mymysenpai @/ttulipwritezz @/bakunianadecorazon @/yoyolovesdaiki @/eeeeeevesstuff @/alloueate @/dollukisposts @/Rikakhai ♡ last updated // 08.09.24 dividers, banners & moodboard by taurus-magicka

"YOU'RE AS BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY I LOST YOU" (katsuki b.) !

features: katsuki bakugo

contents: fantasy au. angst. hurt/comfort/more hurt. mutual pining. barabrian!katsuki. fem!reader. childhood friends to lovers to strangers to lovers again. kidnapping. grief. crying. implied panic attack. major character death. no beta we die like men. 3.9k

notes: i've been yearning desperately to make bakugo say stoick's famous line from httyd2 (my second favorite movie)... if there's interest i'm considering continuing this into the canon verse with it being these two 'reincarnated'.

tagging: @saexy (for enabling and encouraging me in killing off characters) & @meristryker (for enabling me in the gc like a real one)

never in all his life did the great katsuki bakugo think that he would ever love someone enough that he could die. watching the loving smiles of his parents, the gentle caress of his father's hand to soothe his mother's unbridled anger: it made his stomach churn.

yet, at the tender age of seven, while on a trip to a nearby village to discuss the war shifting on the horizon, he finds himself absolutely smitten by their chieftain's daughter. wide e/c eyes peeking out from behind her mother's leg, hands clutching onto the hem of the long skirt.

katsuki finds himself enamoured in that instance, seeing sweet you, looking at the boy with such curious eyes. he stomps over to you: temper even fiery in his youth. his hand grabs onto yours as he hauls you out from behind the safety of your mother.

under the dim candlelight of the meeting room, flickering flames cast dancing rays across your skin. his chubby little face is scrunched into a scowl, tugging you out of the room and into the courtyard with a tenderness that betrayed his expression.

"i'm katsuki and you better not forget it!" his pitchy voice calls, still dragging you behind him. he looks over his shoulder, soft red eyes narrowed in what was an attempt to be intimidating.

but when he sees the relaxing of your eyelids, falling slightly in contentment, with a warm smile that rivals any feeling of victory: the mask of indifference slips in a blink of an eye. red dusts over the slops of his face, baby-fat painted the same carnelian as his eyes. his small hand grips tighter onto yours, as if he never would let you go.

your chubby little face stretches as your smile widens into a toothy grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. "got it, katsuki, i'm y/n!" he swears your voice is just like the lullaby his mother would hum while rocking him to sleep, bringing a rush of warmth through his chest.

that day, katsuki bakugou falls terribly in love with y/n l/n.

the two of you are deemed inseparable, hands always connecting like opposing poles of a magnet. pinkies intertwined stronger than any woven cloth. it's as pure and innocent as it can be.

if one were to see y/n, then it was irrevocably certain that katsuki was a few steps away. it sends rumors spiralling through the lands that there will be a union between the bakugo barbaricum and l/n dynasty. you're only eight when there's an attempt made for your hand.

the thought of two families as powerful as you and katsuki's joining was a fearful thing to many. it spelled doom for many weaker civilizations, those who had dug their own graves with their actions.

your family, blessed be you to have been born to loving parents in a world such as this, easily rejects the many proposals. the l/n dynasty is in a state of power where they are not forced to fend for their village: allowing you this freedom.

running through the streets of his stronghold, chasing each other for the sake of some game that was the farthest thing from either of your minds. katsuki feels whole when you are at his side. the world doesn't seem so ugly, he doesn't feel so angry, everything sings the hymns of the heavens.

he can't pull his ruby eyes off of your form by the age of fifteen. the katsuki you had known, baby-faced with a slight stutter, has began to fill out into a man. his shoulders broaden and begin to carry thick cords of muscle. the chubbiness of his cheeks begins to give rise to sharper angles. his whiny voice is pushed aside by a more gravelly tone. he shoots up like a sprout, hunching over slightly in faces that used to fit him so easily.

but he isn't the only one who is growing into his frame. your shoulders soften at the corners, collarbones visible with every slight movement. your baby fat begins to settle and collect on your hips, rounding them. those toothy grins of yours become framed by pretty lips, always looking soft as a pillow. clothes that used to drape over your like a sheet now feel tighter in certain places, stretching over curves that popped up overnight.

the two of you don't know what to do with yourselves, stolen looks when the other isn't looking. you still hook pinkies, but the touch sends flares of heat running up the back of your neck. it's like you were just meeting each other for the first time all over again.

katsuki feels like a damn sap with the way his heart thunders under his skin: threatening to burst out. he's too taken to notice the heat that was rising to your face whenever he was around, the way your hands nervously would grip onto the swaying fabric of your skirt. too blind to see that you were just as infatuated with him as he was with you.

hurried words, lingering touches, sneaking glances, the two of you had every hint of love right in front of your faces. yet, there's a hesitance that lingers in the back of young minds: afraid that falling in love would end up with no one catching them.

unsurprisingly, katsuki is the one who jumps first. it's a quiet night, the moon is high in the sky. his breath puffs out in front of him like smoke, winter beginning to show herself once more.

you looked too beautiful under the soft azure glow that the celestial sky casts upon you, he simply couldn't bear another moment without you known how much his very soul ached for you.

on the eve of his sixteenth birthday he whispers the words like a prayer, voice softened and gentle for once in his life. "y/n... you plague my every waking thought, i cannot let my heart beat any longer without it being yours."

e/c eyes widen as your head snaps to him, lips parting in shock. katsuki beats you to it, rough palms (once baby-soft) cupping your cheek with a tenderness he was unaware he possessed.

the stars illuminate the sunkissed slopes of his cheekbones, showing the fine lashes that fan out over his eyes. katsuki was ethereal, in every sense of the word, it catches your breath in a hitch. your mind stumbles through everything you could say right now, desperately trying to find the perfect response.

but when the pads of his thumbs drag over the apples of your cheeks, leaving a buzz in the wake of his touch, all rational thought leaves as you allow words to flow like a stream. "i have loved you longer than i have known you, katsuki." your voice is hushed, only filling the small space between the two of you: like a secret that only he and you would ever know.

it sends a trill up your spine when his eyes visibly soften, his face had been growing more and more sharp by the day but only when he was with you did the curve of his cheeks soften. he turns back into a boy around you, as you turn back into a girl when held so gently between his hands.

katsuki surges forwards, nose clumsily knocking against yours, teeth colliding with your own. he's inexperienced, never having kissed a girl, much less even though of kissing anyone but you. you both are a mess, giggling softly through messy pecks smearing over each other's faces. it feels like you're both those giddy kids once more, chasing the other through the cobbled streets of your village. he makes your heart sing.

it was even harder to be apart from him now, hands fully clasped together as you walk through the streets of either of your hometowns. yet, no one is surprised. neither of your parents nor his even bat an eye when you announce the courtship at a family dinner.

love is as natural as breathing for you and katsuki. inherently you have always known exactly what the other needs. he knows just how much you like the wildflowers that grow en-route between your homes. you know just how much he likes when you rise on your tiptoes and press a kiss against the corner of his lips.

it's young and dumb, a rush of big emotions and smiles that stretch your cheeks so far they ache. once you both are eighteen, katsuki turns the courtship into a betrothal. an elegant gold ring, with a garnet slotted right in the center, it sits pretty on your ring finger. his band is thicker, small e/c gemstones scattered along the surface. when in battle he loops it through a chain around his neck: pressing a kiss to the ring before charging forwards.

the world has known y/n l/n and katsuki bakugo have been in love for nearly twelve years, official for three, and betrothed for one. the bakugo barbaricum and the l/n dynasty have began making their plans to unify upon the wedding. it sparks a wave of unease in the badlands.

all it takes is an emissary sent from the dark forest for your world to crumble into shambles. a demon who seems to be the land's scourge reincarnated, hand that turn all to ash, pillages your beloved village. he comes in tow with a mimic and a fire mage. destruction rains as you are brought to the center as their singular demand is you.

your eyes lock with the demon's red eyes, a color that had made you feel so safe until now. the hair on the nape of your neck stands pin-straight as his hand extended towards you: palm up.

a flurry of emotions rush through you like a burst dam, memories of katsuki at the forefront. you want to be selfish, to damn him and his band of criminals to hell, to fight back despite the gravity of the situation. but he is bringing terror upon the people you swore to protect with your life.

so, you step forwards, soft hand sliding into his own. never had a rough palm felt like daggers against your skin, never had you so violently despised the way carmine shines in the light of blue flames.

to save your people, your family, the home you have known your entire life: you go. swept away in black mist. the last thing you see of that place is the bakugo horde rushing towards the gates, your eyes lock with katsuki's before the void claims you.

katsuki lets out a guttural scream as her charges head first into the miasma, falling onto the ground as the last wisp flows just through his fingers. his fist slams against the ground, hands gasping at the dirt you had just been on. he allows himself to cry in front of someone other than you, a wail echoing through the ruins of your village.

that day, you disappear off the face of the realm. no matter how many search parties are sent into the dark forests in the badlands, they all return empty-handed (if they return at all). katsuki keep his ring around his neck, so it beats against his bare chest with every movement: like a reminder of how it felt when his heart actually beat .

scars wind around his arms, around his biceps, over his forearms, across his shoulders. his face is hardened, permanent frown on the lips you used to kiss so tenderly. he's angrier than ever, fuse short as his attention span.

he is a shell of the man he had been, going through the motions of survival but never truly being alive.

this persists for a grueling two years. for seven-hundred and thirty days. for seventeen-thousand five-hundred twenty hours. he is separated from the only person that has ever felt like home, the woman he has loved longer than he knew how to read.

he masks it behind his ego, boisterous laugh to hide the ringing in is ears that hadn't been able to stop. he's more violent the field, less forgiving when in training with kirishima. the explosions that thunder from his palms produce a blackened smoke that lingers and settles in his lungs like a fog.

yearning hits him late at night when he lays alone in bed, a bed that you had once shared with him. silent tears pour, running down the sides of katsuki's face as he stares blankly up at the ceiling. his breath feels short as his chest heaves to get air in. the man's mind is clouded with the look on your face as those bastards took you. he can still remember every single little twitch of your expression when you finally saw him. he remembers the way your breath hitched. he remembers the tears that began to pool at the corners of your eyes.

but, most of all, he remembers not seeing you: for what feels like the first time in his life.

katsuki cannot recall when he finally fell asleep, or if he ever even truly did. his dreams are plagued with you anyways, so the line between memory and dream is thin as a tightrope.

he has a dream that he makes it in time to save you and wakes up alone. that one sticks with him for months, hanging over him like a shadow. if he was only a minute sooner, a stride faster, reacted quicker. maybe you would be in his arms right now instead of gods know where.

relief comes in a rumor that circles in a tavern that a woman with h/c hair and e/c eyes was spotted wondering through the dark forest. katsuki doesn't hesitate, he makes no effort to send out a scout party. he rides at dawn, horse hooves beating against the grass in a frenzied gallop as he makes his way into the badlands.

none of the rouges or thieves hope to stand a chance with him, the smart ones don't even try. he vanquishes the less fortunate with a single swing of his cutlass. the man doesn't stop to rest, only to water his horse and allow it to graze while he catches a brief nap.

his horse comes to a stop right outside the dark forests, whinnying in rejection to enter. katsuki doesn't blame the poor thing, this was the kind of place people went with no intention to come back from. he dismounts, not tying his horse off: it would return with a whistle.

the forest is eerie, yawning opening that is reminiscent of a gaping mouth. but he didn't fear. because at this point, he'd rather not come back if it meant he wasn't coming back with you.

footfalls crunching against leaves and sticks echo through the dim lit treeline. the canopy is so thick that it completely obscures the bright sunlight katsuki has just been under: the perfect place for criminals to hide. the trees creak and groan, as if the land itself was breathing and living.

only when he hears the snap of a twig does he stop, his head snaps around, a flash of h/c darting just out of the corner of his visions. the man's heart stops as he stumbles to pursue, not minding the whipping of low handing branches against his face. not when he could see you darting through the underbrush.

he finally sees you in the full when you run into a path dead-ended by brambles. it's really you. y/n, his y/n.

but you look over your shoulder with such a forlorn look it makes his heart ache in his chest. you don't believe that it's really him. "toga, this isn't funny, it's cruel to keep making me see him." your voice is rougher than he remembered, as if your throat had been worn. it makes his fists clench at his sides.

the mimic had been wearing his face, just to torment you?

just the thought of it sends a rage burning deep in his chest. he has no way of knowing what you have been through. katsuki couldn't protect you: like he always feared he would fail to do.

his steps toward you are hesitant, ruby red eyes softening the second he sees your face. his heart is pounding out of his ribs, it makes him wonder if you can hear it.

a rough hand reaches up to roughly tug the chain that held his engagement band around his neck, the links snapping and clattering to the ground. he doesn't even look at it. with a gentleness, he holds out the ring to you.

your eyes dart back between the metal and him, hands tentatively reaching for it. the thundering race of your heartbeat is all you can hear. your hands, once soft, now rough as his bush against his own as you roll the ring between your fingers.

katsuki's heart breaks when he feels the callouses on your fingertips. he lowers slowly to his knees in front of you, tears fighting their way to prick at the corners of his eyes. he looks up at you like you are the light in the world, a goddess before him. in a way, you are, because he had prayed to every deity to hold you again, even if it was only once more.

"you're as beautiful as the day i lost you." his words come out in a rasp. thick emotion coursing through his chest; nearly choking him.

he watched your eyes widen, tears pooling as you too crash onto the ground. your arms wrap tight around his neck, face pressed side-by-side with his own. strong arms encircle your waist in an instant, pressing you closer with an urgency.

"katsuki... oh gods, katsuki..." you don't even know what to say, just repeating his name like a desperate prayer. your cheeks are wet and your chest aches but you don't care, because he's finally here.

lips clash desperately, just as messy as the kiss the two of you first shared five years ago. it's a mess of teeth and tongue as your fingers tangle into ash-blonde hair, his hands finding the back of your head and your hip. he sucks the breath out of you, as if wanting to absorb you into his being.

and you'd let him if he asked.

carmine eyes search for e/c, his hands cupping your cheeks as he pulls back to study your face. it's like you never left. your eyes are tired, there's some grime on your cheeks, a soft scar above your eyebrow that you've had since you were thirteen.

the softest smile spreads on his face, forehead pressing against yours as his lashes flutter shut. katsuki lets out a deep sigh, one he had been holding for nearly two years now.

warmth blooms in your chest as everything finally settles back into place like puzzle pieces. your hearts beat in sync, you draw breath when he exhales, everything is right in the world once more.

but your heart skips a beat as your eyes open to see that cursed white hair with horns peeking out from below it. tomura shigaraki. a wicked smirk on his lips as he's leaned back against a tree, simply watching.

your hands grip tighter onto the back of the shawl draping over katsuki's shoulders, breathing turning shaky and ragged.

no. no. no. they couldn't take this from you. not again. not after how hard you fought to escape the league just at the fleeting chance of being able to see the man you love. this had to be some cruel joke, right? a trick of the light, maybe...

even you aren't naive enough to believe that, your eyes close as you lean against katsuki, head burying into the crook of his neck. your fiddle with his hands to slip the ring back onto it's rightful place on his third finger. a part of you had already resigned to being ripped away again.

after two years with the demon, you learned firsthand what shigaraki was capable of. and you were not going to allow katsuki to find it out as well.

your legs shook as you stood, a weak smile given at your lover's confused look. "i'll always love you, 'suki, you know that." his eyes widen as his head nods, brows furrowing.

"then let me keep you safe."

carnelian irises widen in realization as his head turns to look back, growl ripping from his chest at the sight of the scourge of the realm's protege. his hands immediately reach for the hilt of his sword, explosions popping in his palms.

but you're already beginning to approach. katsuki seizes you in one arm, hauling you away like the day you first met. he runs through the forest with you: knowing that shigaraki would not allow the both of you to leave.

he bounds over winding tree roots, holding you steady and tight against his chest. the impending sense of doom begins to crawl up the back of his neck, but he needs you to be safe.

with you in his arm, he stumbles out of the forest, shrill whistle leaving his lips as the sound of hooves grows closer. with ease he sets you up on the saddle, but he does not join. you realize immediately what is about to happen. "katsuki-"

"no. it's my turn to keep you safe, y/n. i've always loved you, and i always will. in every life i will find you, and in every life, i will protect you." his words bring tears to your eyes as you desperately stake your head, sobs bubbling past your lips.

shigaraki creeps out of the forest and he delivers a harsh smack to the horse's haunches, sending it galloping away. within a second later a hand is reaching through katsuki's chest, mocking laugh against his ear.

"how heroic. i'll make sure you die slow, barbarian."

never in all his life did the great katsuki bakugo think that he would ever love someone enough that he could die.

that was until he lay on the edge of the forest floor, lifeblood leaking from the gaping hole in the center of the chest. but he wasn't anguished: because he died for you, the only person who he would ever love.

okkotsuus 24

Synopsis: Your worst nightmare comes to life after you receive a call well after midnight that isn't from your husband Bakugou but about him. Rushing to the hospital you're thankful to find him alive but when he comes to he asks to see his wife despite you standing there.

Warnings: Angst, dark themes, mentions of child loss, mentions of/contemplating abortion, mentions of difficulty conceiving. Cheating if you squint

Chapter One - The things we forget.

Chapter Two - The weight on the tip of my tongue.

Chapter Three - The ghost that haunts my dreams, I shall not forget.

Final Chapter- The final good bye, I'll break my promise one last time.

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. in every other universe.

about. “in every other universe, gwen stacey falls for spiderman. and in every other universe, it doesn’t end well.” - inspired by this bkg art @/kingkatsuki sent me and by self love.

warnings. none. fluff, slight angst, happy ending, across the spiderverse spoilers, spiderverse!bakugou & fem!reader.

once you know that you’re not the only one out there — it’s hard to go back to your regular life. not everyone can do the things that katsuki bakugou can do, you know, shoot webs, fight crime and save the day. it’s isolating. it’s lonely. he knows that he should feel blessed, it’s not every day that you’re given superhuman abilities and the power to change the world.

some days the truth about his identity, the words ‘i’m spiderman.’ sit eagerly on the tip of his tongue — desperate to be pushed out into open and heard by the people he loves. his mom, his dad, even his stupid roommate, kirishima. but if bakugou burdens them with the truth, then he puts them at risk too. losing his childhood friend deku had been more than enough, he couldn’t lose someone else too.

other days he remembers there are others just like him, dotted across the universe in their own connections and constellations — there’s his mentor, there’s his friends… there’s you.  it’s been a year since your world’s were once able to collide and bakugou has tried (and failed) to move on from you and devote himself to saving the day. your smile, your eyes, your drive, your bravery — he would be stupid to purposely forget all of that. 

he’s also a little weird for kicking back in his desk chair, mindlessly spinning around his dorm room (after patching himself up where katsuki had just gotten his ass kicked) thinking about the curve of your lips and how your voice sounds when you speak…

“hey katsuki! katsuki… wanna hangout?” 

in surprise, the blonde tips backwards in his seat, bakugou’s back hitting the floor with a harsh thud that causes pain to blossom somewhere along his shoulder blades. “what the fuck?” he grunts through a stream of colourful curses. he must be imagining things. crushing too hard on someone he’s not supposed to ever be able to see again. you can’t be here. it’s not physically possible. 

but through his searing pain and frustrated hisses, bakugou manages to crack a ruby red eye open — letting his gaze bare witness to the swirling, bright portal in his ceiling and the girl he’s still hung up over just peeking through. 

he really has to watch out for those punches to the head — he’s going insane.

“what the actual fuck?” 

amused laughter streams from between your lips, muffled slightly by the signature piece of a spider-person’s consume. you pull back the mask of your spider-suit which don the colours of your universe and grin. bright and beautiful. it makes bakugou’s heart squeeze in his chest. “dang, you kiss your mother with that mouth?” you tease, letting the web that holds you up sink further out of the portal until you’re hanging just above the foul-mouthed blonde. “good to see you too, hot shot.”

“what— how are y’even here?” bakugou sits up, fighting the twitches in his face and the real meaning to words on the tip of his tongue. i missed you. 

your face tells the story he longs too, your pretty eyes nostalgic and warm. you’ve missed him as well. “oh you know, just thought i’d swing by.” 

“that was fuckin’ terrible.”

“come on, katsuki, you liked it.” i like you. is what he really wants to say back.

he can practically feel your breathy laughter on his lips and taste your vanilla perfume. hanging upside down and in front of him is way too compromising of a position — he might kiss you if he’s not careful.

“fuckin’ dumbass.” bakugou puts a hand on your face and uses it to push you away before you can get any closer. you lose your balance, coming crashing down from the ceiling once your web snaps and the portal closes. he’s quick to crawl over to you, not evening thinking abound space now when there’s been entire universes and timelines between you up until this moment. “shit, you okay? forgot how clumsy you were.” 

he utters fondly, mostly under his breath — in a way that’s impossible to miss with how bakugou leans over you. his face full of bursting concern. you don’t dare to move, taking in said face. observing how much it’s changed since you were last on earth-420. how his eyes are harder, less youthful but still wild. how his lips look softer, fuller — you wonder what chapstick he’s been using. how his chin is stronger and his face more defined and his nose slightly shifted and—

“you’re no different than before, still a meanie.” you quip, voice wistful. quiet. “you grew out your hair.” reaching up, you brush your fingers over the soft tips of his ash blonde locks — closing your eyes at the feel of them, as if you’re basking in sunlight. 

“yeah.” bakugou hums. “yours is different too.” 

“you think? do you like it.” 

“‘f’course.” he keens into your touch as it cascades down to his cheeks. “you always look good.” 

“you haven’t seen me in a while.”  

“doesn’t mean i don’t think about you.” 

“ah…me too.” 

“y’think about me?” 

a beat of silence passes and you don’t speak for a while. you’re both afraid you might hear each other’s hearts racing. ever since i jumped back into that collider.” rolling out from underneath katsuki, you sit up with your back to him and fiddle with your spandex mask. “let’s go for a swing.” 

you’re up and throwing open his dorm window before bakugou can even register — leaving him to deal with his erratic pulse and pink kissed cheeks. it’s crazy how time apart made him only want you more. how he can’t have you because you’re not even meant to be here, even if there’s some kind of gravitational force from the universe pulling you together. when you don’t hear him coming after you, you turn to face him from the window ledge — he can see the longing even in the reflective lenses of your suit. 

“you coming?” 

bakugou’s entire body screams at him to say yes, every fibre of his being itching to be with you. but his one fatal flaw keeps him rooted in place on his knees. he can’t hurt you. can't tell you his feelings knowing he’ll never have a way of acting on them. 

“can’t, got homework.” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “i’m a college kid now, remember?” 

he can already tell that you’re rolling your eyes from under the mask even when you shrug back — tipping yourself out of the window, knowing that he’ll chase you. bakugou watches you, half amused, half annoyed as you stand up straight and defy all laws of everything by sticking to the side of his dorm building. 

“does Spider-Man have homework?”

all he can do is shake his head at you. both in amusement and in disbelief.

talking to you eases all the tension katsuki bakugou’s shoulders bare. 

it’s easy to be with you because you understand what it’s like to be alone in protecting the people you love and the communities you care about. hiding your face and cowering away from friends and family in the real world — every day life. you get why wearing the mask is both a blessing and a curse. it cost you your mother’s love. it cost you your home. and now you surf through universes to find your place amongst the other spider people that exist… and yet, katsuki, as you confess — is the only one to bring you comfort. 

whilst swinging and soaring through the streets of katsuki’s city, you tell him all of the nitty gritty details. no one wants a vigilante for a daughter. he holds his tongue in telling you that he wants you instead. you giggle when you explain to him all the worlds you’ve seen and people you’ve met through being apart of this elite spider-team. and when bakugou asks how a pipsqueak like you managed to get in before he did — you cock your head to the side innocently and say…

“you’re an asshole, katsuki. we can’t have you clashing with the number one in charge.”

bakugou has to pull his mask up to breathe while he laughs — snorting so hard that he almost misses a stride while swinging through the sunset-stained streets with you. by the time golden hour sets it’s sights upon you both, he’s taken you to the highest point in musutafu to watch the sun disappear beyond the horizon. 

when the world gets him down — katsuki comes up here to think and clear his head of any doubts that might be holding him back. it’s peaceful up here, away from the crime cracking on below and the bustling mundane city traffic. often times, he thinks of you too…so sharing this spot with you by his side is extremely intimate to him.

you’re talking but bakugou will admit he’s not really listening, too entranced by the shapes your lips form around each word, at least until you say his name. “you’re the only one who’s ever, truly got me, katsuki.” you tell him, swinging your feet off the ledge of the building. if you fall, your instincts would catch you…but you know katsuki would be the first to save you. 

“could say the same thing about you.” he admits, the burnt orange spider crest on his chest heaving with bakugou’s nervous sigh. he pinches at the black latex suit covering his fingers — debating on inching his hand closer to yours.

if you notice, you don’t say anything about it. “in every other universe, spiderman gets the girl.” katsuki swallows as you speak, ruby eyes darting all over your pretty face outlined by warm tone natural lights — your masks long discarded. “and in every other universe…it doesn’t end well. for either of them.”

you don’t bother finishing your sentence, swallowing the lump in your throat along with the fate you might meet if you lean into your greed to be with katsuki. it’s only then that you notice his hand slipping away, retreating behind the wall he builds up around himself — to keep himself closed off and protected from getting hurt. 

“i wish i could change that.” he mumbles distantly, looking out at the world, the universe as if he’s been scorned. cursed by the mask once more. it’s like the stars have turned against him and are mocking him as they come out to play — reminding bakugou that everyone he’s ever loved will get hurt because of him…eventually. everyone including you. “prove ‘em wrong, yanno?” 

even still, he offers you his signature lazy smirk and twinkling mischievous red eyes and you can’t help but fall for him all over again. 

“yeah,” comes your soft reply. “maybe there’s a chance that things can work out.” 

“a first time for everythin’, yeah?”

this time, neither of you pull back as your head comes to rest on his shoulder. 

for a moment, the world stills. freezing time for the only two people in the universe may truly understand one another. 

freezing, for you and katsuki. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

well, i've been saved by the grace of southern charm—

PLAYLIST | ARTWORK

cowboy!bakugou x f!reader

wc: 20k+

tags: explicit language, smut, 18+, story within a story, toxic relationship (in the past), kids LOL (reader has a niece and nephew), minor mentions of christianity (not related to reader), use of the word daddy in a strictly non-sexual way, bakugou is bad at feelings, grammar is a mess, minor sexism (not to reader), there is nothing linear about this culturally, and a genuine theme about accepting that we deserve better and shouldn't settle for less just because it's comfortable.

for the @mybigbangacademia collab !

“Blasty’s been checking you out for twenty minutes, by the way.”

When you look up at her, she seems pleased and surprisingly entertained and is smiling around the gum she’s chewing, eyes cutting twice in quick succession to the pool table in the back. This is girl code for look, but don’t look and you know that, but you’re still caught up on the Blasty part, because you can’t figure out what that means, and peek over your shoulder anyway.

And then you realize Blasty means the handsome guy leaning next to the jukebox, nursing a half-empty Budweiser and staring hard at the taxidermied bass hanging over the bar above your head. The bartender hisses and you flip back around, frowning a little at her because you’ve just sold her out and she knows it and so does he. Blasty. Who’s been checking you out for twenty minutes, by the way.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

* the incredible artwork for the fic was done by @fittsythesnail ! she's so talented and wonderful to work with and you'd be lucky to receive a commission from her ! please go check out the rest of her work !

* the header artwork was painted by my bestie @moonilla ! i am so thankful to her for rushing it out, and i hope you all appreciate it as much as i do ! ( i tagged her to give credit for her time, but please note that her blog is not an art blog ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ )

ma’am i only found your blog yesterday but your ex hubby bakugo got me in a trance, and i hsjsksksksksk, but ill present you: ‘drunk ex husband bakugo’ i- i mean he would be so silly and calls you at 1am to tell you how much he loves you and the little one and how much he misses you, babbles away all the nonsense else, but the way he murmurs and mumbles silly things on the phone got you giggle at midnight (and sad at the time because holy hell you miss him too), then you have to talk him out of it to go home and sleep, he listens, he goes home, yeah, and 10 minutes later he shows up at your front door (still hella woozy) because he is just that stupidly drunk and he has always wanted to go home to you :((

ANON ??? OUCH ????? THIS MAKES ME SAD AKFJSODHAIA

i've always wanted to do drunk ex-whathaveyou bakugou that shows up at your door too late 🥺 but in this instance !! i feel like. you get a few calls in the middle of the night, but they're very short ?? like you wake up to your phone ringing and it's his number, so you're reaching for it, but it stops before you can answer. and you're thinking, "darn i must have slept through the first few rings," and as you're typing out a text to check in with him, he calls again for like two rings, and then it stops. and then he calls and it rings for one and then it stops.

and so now you're like — okay maybe he's butt-dialing me LOL but he tries again like 20 minutes later and you're so tired of the ring-tone that you answer it as fast as you can and just listen, waiting to see if you can hear his voice distantly, as if you're down in his back-pocket.

but he grumbles, "—the fuck? hello?"

and you ask him, "uh hey, have you been trying to call me?" but you're almost certain he doesn't hear you, because half-way through you are able to hear the loud background music and then the sound of shuffling, his grumpy lil "—the fuck off me, 'm—shut th'hell up—'m on the DAMN PHONE!"

clearly, there's a struggle, so you just kind of wait, worried you're about to hear your ex-husband get nerfed while on patrol maybe ?? but then the music drops away and is replaced by a barely-there scratchy wind, and he's breathless when he asks if you're still there.

"yeah, no, i'm still here. is...everything okay?"

he huffs, so heavy into the phone that the static almost hurts your ears. "whadda'you think?"

it's bitter enough that you blink in the darkness of your room, before glaring at the opposite wall. "excuse me?"

"fuck, 'm sorry, i—fuck." he inhales audibly, stuttering. "i'm sorry."

you frown, head turning; he sounds lazy, like he can't be assed to speak properly, and he's speaks impolitely on the regular — but it's never this bad. all his words sound curved, looped together, and he's shuffling too much on the other end, sniffing loud and mumbling to himself. almost like he's—

"are you...drunk?"

you're expecting an immediate no, even if evidence is proving otherwise, because he's not a drinker. occasionally, when he's out for dinner or at one of kirishima's backyard barbecues, but it's so infrequent that his tolerance is low, for someone of his size. it doesn't take much to have him a little sloshed, and he hates it, not only for the feeling the day after, but because his mouth tends to run. more than usual.

"it's that fuckin'—dunce head ass 'n his—stupid piano teeth, tape-face—"

kaminari and sero, you think. you think.

"'n i didn't want to fuckin' come to shit like this, ever. because they're so 'blah fuckin' blah, get over yourself', as if i'm—whatever. dumbasses." he pauses, and before you can finish piecing together what he's trying to say, he continues. "'n i'm not even like them, because they're fucking losers, and i don't—i don't even want that chick's number, okay? i don't fuckin' care, okay?"

your heart throbs dangerously, suddenly swollen and too tender, at the very thought of him and someone else, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut tight. "bakugou—"

"bakugou?" he cuts you off loudly, offended. "'r'you fuckin'—sorry, shit. bakugou? you're a goddamn bakugou—"

you have the throw the blankets off your lap so that you can hurry to your bedroom door, to shut it before hissing at him. "i'm not gonna sit here and get cussed out, katsuki. we're divorced."

"sorry! fuck, i'm—i mean—sorry, sorry. 'm not—it ain't at you, y'know? you know that, right?"

and you do. you do know that. it's just how he talks, he would tell you, and he would cut down on it for a little while before it inevitably came back and — it just hurts, at times. to be on the receiving end of his hottest flame.

"yeah," you tell him quietly, leaning against the door when he sighs. "yeah, i know."

"she—" he groans, deep and frustrated. "she fuckin'—god, sorry. she did that t'me all th'time, y'know? 'cut the fuckin' attitude, katsuki,' 'n then fuckin' SMACK!" you can hear the sharp sound of his slap, metallic, like he's against a lamp post or something. "but then she's comin' up t'my room, all like, 'y'know i love you' 'n—how 'm i suppos' t'know that stuff?"

he's never really spoken about his childhood; his parents, yes, through comments here and there about how they irritated him, but nothing serious. you've seen firsthand how tumultuous his relationship with his mother is, and she still smacks him around, but he's big now, much bigger than she is; you never considered what it was like for him, when he was younger.

even if he is drunk, even if he won't remember tomorrow — you still want to be there for him.

you realize he's waiting for an answer, with how long he's quiet, and you shrug to yourself before gently saying, "i don't know, katsuki. it sounds like it would have been very confusing."

"yeah, i mean—" he exhales slowly, though the end trails off into a growl, as if he's grown frustrated again. "i would never fuckin' hit you."

"i know that, katsuki, and i've never thought you would. and i would never hit you, either, y'know?"

"yeah," he repeats, and you can hear him swallowing, the sound so thick that you think he might choke. "i'd never hit you, or—or—hey, where is he? i wanna talk to 'im."

at the mention of your son, you peek down the hall to make sure his door isn't open, that he's not snooping around like you've caught him doing lately — but it's still mostly closed, and you don't hear any little feet against the hardwood.

you squint at your phone, blinded momentarily at the blue-light as you check the time. "it's the middle of the night, katsuki, he's asleep."

"did he have a good day?"

"yeah, he—"

"tell me about it. tell me th-the whole thing."

and — you do, as he listens and grunts and murmurs little things you don't catch. occasionally, he'll groan, really quiet like he's trying not to cry, and it's after the third time he asks to speak to him again that you finally decide to call him an uber.

and you put in his home address !!! but not thirty minutes later, you are sort of roused out of sleep because he's lightly knocking on your door, in the middle of the night, and you have to get up and go check so he doesn't wake your son up !!!!

and he's probably a MESS, all red-faced and SAD, rubbing at his eyes, almost tripping into your house because he was leaning against the door. it's not even worth arguing about getting him to his actual home because it's late and he's being a little loud, so you just give him some water and make him lay down on the couch and — he's out like a light right away LOL

but. you wake up a few hours later to him laying in your bed, on top of the blankets, his pants are on the floor but his shirt and jacket are still on LOL and he's not quite touching you, but if you jostle even a little bit, his face will press into your back 🥺 you don't know when he got up and came into your room, but he was sober enough to be quiet about it, and when you wake up in the morning, he's already re-dressed and sitting with your son at the kitchen table 🥺

WAAAAHHH i made this so sad. i'm so sorry akjfajfajaljfa he's such a BABY !!! god help me, bc if it really was me, i would take him back in a heartbeat LOL

we all are small particles holding very tightly together in a very large universe // k.bakugou

Rating: MA

Pairing(s): Tamaki Amajiki x fem!reader, Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, heavy angst, emotional cheating, major character death, smut, body horror/graphic injuries, trauma, ptsd, sinkhole accident, medical trauma, hospital scenes 

expected wc: 20k+

Summary: Soulmates are given to every child when they turn five through their dreams. You were never assigned one. Growing up and coming to terms with never having a soulmate, you find another Tamaki with a similar fate and become happily engaged. What happens when you start to dream of an old classmate though, his ruby eyes and caramel scent haunting you in and out of your dreams? 

a/n: this is my part for the big bang collab (@mybigbangacademia )! woooooooo!!!! artwork to come by the lovely @/wasabi-gumdrop. uhhhhh what else..... this first part is 5k, and overall i'm gonna have over 20k words lmao, so good luck me and everyone else. also, my ao3 is linked too! have fun with that.

and as always,

minors dni

-(-)-

It’s him. 

Your eyes meet his and you remember it all.The folds of his school uniform from years ago. His blonde hair in the wind as he blasts his way through the air, racing to be the first pro-hero on site. He stands there, watching you go through the motions. Watching you unsure of yourself, palm over your heart as it aches for him. You step forward, not sure if you’re making the choice to walk towards him or if your heart is still the one in control. 

He watches with a careful expression, as if he’s known for years that he’s been the one. He watches as if he’s been waiting. Waiting for your eyes, once clouded, to look into his vermilion ones and see for yourself who he is. 

Katsuki, your voice is barely above a whisper and there’s tears starting to sprout from your eyes. 

His eyebrows furrow, as if he can’t tell if you’re relieved or questioning the weight of his name on your tongue. 

You hold out your hand, outstretched fingers aching to brush his skin. 

You okay? 

The palms of his hands are warm as they hold yours, and for the first time in forever,you tell the truth. 

-(-)-

The room is still dark despite the streaks of light filtering through the blinds. Your mind is foggy, the remnants of your dream withering away with each second. You blink back tears, unsure of what it was you were dreaming about now that you’ve started to wake up. Still half asleep, you mistake the man in your arms for blankets and pillows until he starts to stir awake. For a brief second, a scary moment, you forget who he is and why he’s in your bed. 

“Tamaki,” you whisper. You didn’t mean to say this out loud yet he groans in reply, mistaking your answer to your own question for a greeting. “G’morning.”

“Mm,” he hums. Your arms squeeze tight around his shoulders and now that your eyes have adjusted to the dark, you can finally make out his indigo bedhead against your pillows. “Mornin’.”

You smile, ignoring the strange sadness settling inside your belly. “When did you get in? You were still working when I went to bed last night.”

Tamaki doesn’t answer for a moment and you think he’s fallen asleep until he turns onto his back. People mistake him for being thin, wiry. Yet you can feel the ropes of muscle in his arms as he pulls you in close by your waist, you can feel his broad chest and his stocky build against your soft curves. His quirk revolves around food and he’s a damn good pro-hero, a prospective top 10 hero this year, of course he ain’t skinny. 

“Three,” he replies. “Stay in bed.”

“The Clash is in full swing, Tama.” You joke but you curl into his warmth nonetheless, allowing yourself the few minutes of peace before you go into work.  ‘The Clash’, meaning your conflicting schedules, happens at least three times a year. A few weeks of one of you having graveyard shifts while the other keeps to the normal day-time shifts for a pro-hero. He sleepily groans again, yet Tamaki loosens his arms around you. 

“When’s your shift done?” His words slur, and it takes you a moment to comprehend his question before you answer. 

“I’ll be going in by then,” Tamaki sighs.

You kiss his jaw, soft and clean shaven. He still shaved after his graveyard shift last night, knowing that you prefer the feeling of his skin smooth over the prickle of a five o’clock shadow, AM or otherwise. 

“Should’ve gone to my agency instead of staying with Fatgum,” you tease. Tamaki never would’ve changed agencies, and he reaffirms that with a displeased hum. A soft giggle slips out from your lips and you roll your eyes. 

Your agencies aren’t that far apart, yet it’s clear that Fatgum’s is far superior than the one you’ve started at a few weeks ago. Your manager nearly quit on you when you transferred, ignoring her pleas to move somewhere that’ll help you climb the ranks instead of plateau. You waved off the questions people threw, ignoring their confusion as to why you’d ever leave such a high ranking angeny for a… mediocre one. He doesn’t put up much of a fight when you start to peel away from him, stuffing his face into your pillows as you fumble around the room. The apartment is quiet when you slip on your running shoes, you sling your work bag over your shoulders before you give one last quiet goodbye to your fiancé. 

-(-)-

There’s a nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something. All day you couldn’t shake it. All day your fingers drummed against every desk and flat surface, you bounced your legs on the balls of your feet until your coworkers threw heated glares in your direction. You ignore them now, you ignore their exasperated sighs as you continue to bounce your leg while you type away your paperwork. You chew the inside of your cheek, resting your chin in your hand as you scroll through the file one last time before submitting it for review. These arrests won’t help your rank, it won’t make you popular, they won’t even make it to the front page of the Esuha Daily News let alone the fourteenth page. But it’s a good day. 

You’ve made good arrests today, all without casualty. You even meal planned your fucking lunch. So why the hell are you on edge? 

Of course your arrests didn’t have casualties though, they didn’t even have injuries. You barely used your quirk today. 

Did you even use your quirk today? 

The highest activity your watch took track of was when you took a light jog back to your agency building after capturing a runaway purse snatcher. In fact, that was the first and only time you had to use your quirk. He thought running sporadically would throw you off your balance, and maybe it would’ve for a low ranking hero. In a split second you activated your quirk and he teleported right into your arms instead of turning the corner like he had planned. You’ve been working on this trick for months, teleporting objects or people in your place but catching them halfway. Meeting them in the middle. In seconds he was in handcuffs and you left it to the police to get him into custody. You jogged back to work for lunch. 

The inside of your cheek starts to bleed as anxiety gnaws inside you. Whatever it was that you had forgotten, is probably gone forever. Irritated at the realization, you sigh and decide to burn off this extra energy with a walk around the building. Tamaki is probably getting dressed by now, stuffing his hero costume into his work bag right from the dryer. He’s got a terrible habit of not folding his clothes, you both do. It’s why you invested in a wrinkle releaser spray, and you hope he’s remembered it for tonight’s shift. Civilians recognize you still, you can’t help a sense of pride and relief when their eyes brighten at the sight of you. A child stops you from your anxiety-ridden walk for a quick autograph, begging you to show them your teleportation quirk before their parent bashfully drags them away. 

Your hands twitch, begging to be useful and aching to be used again. You turn the opposite away and head back to the agency. 

-(-)-

I cooked u dinner!, you text Tamaki, don’t forget it. it’ll help ur shift tonight :P

Your head bowed low as you stroll down the block, your shift just ending according to the time in your phone. It’s why you don’t see him, it’s why you feel the split second heat of his body prickles against you before you activate your quirk to avoid further disaster. He stumbles in your previous spot, his cheeks pale from nausea as he leans forward (usual symptoms of being teleported without warning). 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he spits out before straightening up. An eerie sense of dejavú washes over you as you stare back at Dynamight. His eyes haven’t been painted with eyeliner yet, and he’s carrying a gym bag over his shoulders that’s most likely holding his costume. 

“Right- sorry.” You let out a laugh, not sure why you’re feeling flustered. You have work to finish before going home, a few more files to mark as “important” even though they’re technically insignificant. You have a home to go to. But his eyes are still on you. And you can’t look away.  You’ve forgotten something today, and it’s nagging at you even more now than ever. 

His eyebrows furrow and he watches you carefully as your thoughts race.  “Shadow Step,” he greets you curtly. 

“Dynamight,” you nod and give him a polite smile. Your eyes cut to the athletic compression band on his left arm, surprised to even see a kind that begins from your shoulder and ends at your fingertips. “Are you going into a shift or coming from one?”

Bakugou looks you up and down for a moment before answering, “Coming from one.” There’s an awkward pause before he clears his throat. “You look like you’ve got a long night ahead of ya.” Yeah because you haven’t fucking done anything all day and you’re bored .  

“Shift just ended actually,” you smile and look behind him towards the agency building. 

“You okay?” Bakugou’s words snap your attention back to him, that feeling of dejavú even stronger now. 

You both stare for a moment; you, deciding on telling the truth, and him patiently waiting for you to answer or just move along. 

“Yeah,” you lie. You hurry back inside the building before he can reply. He used to call me Bambi , you distantly remember. You don’t know why your heart is still racing after seeing him again. 

-(-)-

For the next week, it keeps happening.

You wake up with either tears in your eyes or the ghosts of one’s still on your cheeks. Yet whatever you dreamt of is long gone, no matter how much you try to cling to the memories. Until one morning it lingers, the feeling of his hair between your fingers and the warmth of his body against yours. The smell of caramel. 

The realization settles slowly, until the weight of guilt is heavy against your bones. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. Out of fear, you reach behind you only to feel a cold empty bed beside you. That’s right, Tamaki is on a plane to China for a mission. He’s not going to be back for another week. You stuff your face into the soft blankets, hoping that the smell of home will dampen the heavy caramel still filtering in your mind. 

You’ve never even had a real conversation with Bakugou since… ever. With the exception of last week when you inexplicably ran into him, you always saw him in passing from your years at UA. Neither of you had spoken much, maybe paired against each other’s classes for training but other than that… 

Today is your day off, you give yourself the luxury of staying in bed for just a little bit longer. The warmth in your chest from your dream is finally lifting, leaving you to breathe once again. 

It meant nothing. Just a random dream. 

But as your day continues, you can’t get rid of the thought of him. 

Why weren’t you guys ever friends? Maybe because he was a major asshole who looked down at everyone like they were a piece of shit.

You snort, shaking the very idea out of your head until a memory springs forth.

Cherry blossoms were floating in the air and the weather just started to turn warmer. It was your third year, the excitement of graduating buzzed through all your classmates and it meant that you all had trouble concentrating on courses. You had gotten in trouble for doodling during the fire quirk safety course, and was forced to stay behind to clean the classroom all by yourself before heading back to your dorms. 

You bumped into Katsuki right after, both of you stunned that another student was still around the school so late that neither of you said a word just yet. 

“God, Bambi, you’d think that with your stupid quirk you wouldn’t bump into anyone,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry-! Bambi?” You instantly retract your apology, glaring as he brushes you off. 

“Yeah, Bambi. Baby deer who can barely fucking walk?” His stupid smirk makes you see red, especially when he starts to step away from you. I nstead of his heavy boot meeting the ground, his face does instead when you activate your quirk. The checkered tiles don’t match now since you’ve switched their spots, but you’re cackling too loudly to care. Just as you try to leave, Katsuki’s hand grabs your ankle and trips you. It’s too quick for you to even think to use your quirk, and the smack of the tile stings. 

“What the- fuck you!” You turn and snarl, his annoying little sneering frustrates you more. 

“Relax, tit for tat.” Bakugou towers over you, the same hand that tripped you is now offered to help you stand. Reluctantly you take it. 

You both help pick up the other’s things, his papers that flew with perfect grades and messy drawings on the tests that you finished early on. It’s quiet between you both. To be honest you were feeling awkward, wondering if maybe you are just a lowly piece of shit as you stare at Bakugou’s perfect marks. You glance at him, not wanting him to catch you marveling at how absolutely genius he is, and find him with one of your essays in his hands. His thumb traces over a messy sketch of a face, the angles harsh and the eyes sharp, but the rest was a blur. 

“Soulmate?” He grumbles, his red eyes looking up at yours and you feel your insides freeze at being caught. 

“Uh, no. I don’t think so. I don’t think I have one,” you mumble and take the essay from him. Morbid curiosity takes over and you ask him the same. 

“Yes,” his answer surprises you. Something in your belly flips, not wanting to know why exactly that upsets you. 

You didn’t expect him to have one, not with his attitude and ego. It shouldn't be surprising that he has one, it’s rare for someone to be like you: one without a soulmate. Fated to be alone. By the age of five, right around the time a child has gotten their quirk, they start to dream of their soulmate. You’ve heard of soulmates meeting in sleep, talking and laughing and holding each other in dreams. Waking up knowing they’re out there, remembering every detail of them.  You didn’t get these dreams. Maybe you saw people, indistinct faces. But everyone did. 

“But how do you know they're your soulmate and not just a random person your brain made up? How do you know it’s not just chemicals?”

Your friends shrugged, a dopey smile on their faces as they imagined their future partners, “You just do.”

That wasn’t helpful. 

“Oh,” you replied. “Congrats.” You wanted to reach out and fix his tie and a part of you yearned to run your hands through his hair and see if it truly feels as soft as it looks. Instead you stuffed your papers into your bookbag and stood, muttering an apology for tripping him. 

Bakugou looks at you and nods, “It’s fine. I was being a dick.” The sun setting outside streamed through the glass wall and washed over his cheeks, his eyes are rubies in the sunlight. “See ya around, Bambi.”

You nodded, turning away before he could first. 

Almost immediately, the feeling of warmth in your chest turns to guilt. A chill runs down your spine, prickling your skin with discomfort. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. 

You’re engaged. He has a soulmate. 

None of it matters. You’re happy. 

You’re happy. You’re happy. You’re happy. You’re happy. 

You mutter this to yourself all day. You tap the words onto your lips with your pen as you fill out endless paperwork. Today you avoid going out on patrol, not wanting to bump into him again. Nearly every time you’ve gone on patrol, you see Katsuki,- Bakugou,- Dynamite . The screams of children as they swarm towards him would catch your attention, and of course the moment you glance towards the commotion you meet his gaze. Time stands still for just a millisecond, and the vague feeling you woke up with that moment would come back like dejavu. Or you’re getting lunch, rushing towards the food stand with the older auntie who loves to squeeze your cheeks and demand you eat more, when the smell of sugar lingers for a moment before disappearing. You hate how your heart races at the smell of sugar burning, you hate that you think of his soft blond hair and his eyes, only to see the treats being sold to the families passing through. All of your shifts are so sleepy, so goddamn boring, that you never noticed the stands selling sweets like American brittle or caramel dipped apples until now.

Caramel follows you everywhere now. Or maybe it’s always been there and you just haven’t noticed. So you decide to stay inside the office, at least until Tamaki gets back from his mission and you can feel like yourself again. 

I’m happy. I’m happy. I’m happy. 

You stare at the photo of Tamaki and you on your desk, doing everything you can to ignore the ghost smell of caramel determined to linger around you. 

-(-)-

You train harder at night. You do everything to avoid sleeping and if you do pass out, you hope to not dream. You can’t take it, seeing him instead of Tamaki. As you go through the motions of hitting the punching bag, ignoring the way your body screams for you to take a break, you nearly miss Tamaki’s call. 

“I haven’t heard from you,” his voice makes your chest tighten with guilt. “How was your day?”

The same. It’s always the same. You walk and catch the occasional kid who tries to steal a phone. You sit in your office and do the mind numbing paperwork that follows. Rinse. Repeat. 

It’s always the same. You hardly use your quirk, you hardly use the special moves you worked so hard on back in your high school days. 

You go home to an empty apartment and an empty bed, left wondering why the hell you aren’t doing more. You go home and eat a dinner you always make for yourself and wish for once that someone else can just do it for you. You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, still brimming with energy and pent up rage, wondering why you are here. Longing for a home that doesn’t exist. 

“It was fine,” you chug water in between breaths, the muscles in your arms quivering as you finally take a break. 

“That’s nice,” his voice is sweet. You hate how annoyed you’re starting to feel about how compliant he is. There’s a long silence and you wonder when you both got so comfortable. 

When did you get so comfortable? When did you stop trying? Why did you decide to settle for less?

That thought stops you cold. Settle for less? Did you mean your career or… Tamaki wasn’t less. He’s a good man, a brave hero, a loving partner. He took care of you. He takes care of you.

He’s never pushed you. 

You both never fought, you were both so compliant. 

But he loves you. 

“I love you,” you say. 

Tamaki keens out a shy noise, still not used to your affection even after all your years together and you smile. “I love you too.”

“I want to leave my agency,” you blurt out. “I hate it. It’s so boring.” Everything spills, the way you feel so useless each day, your dreams of being the best being swept away by his shadow, you tell Tamaki everything. Leaving out the smell of caramel that haunts you each morning. 

Tamaki is quiet for a moment before responding, “We have a position.”

“You do?” You sit on the gym mat, wondering why you ever doubted your faithful fiancé, your ecstatic laughter rings through the training center. 

“Yes,” Tamaki joins in on your laughter. “You’d have to start as a sidekick, really just think of it as the transition period before we get you to debut as a pro hero. But-,” 

You can hear your blood rushing through your ear drums, flooding out whatever else Tamaki is saying. Start over? Can you do that, start from the beginning and rise up? 

“We can even work together, it’d be- God, that’d be fantastic. I can see you more-,” Tamaki is getting excited, but all you can think of is how once again, you’ll just be overshadowed by the Suneater himself. You wonder if he can hear how hollow your voice sounds, when you tell him how great that’ll be. 

A few days after the phone call at the training center, Tamaki tells you that his mission was extended and he won’t be home until the end of the month. You can’t sleep hours later after you told him goodnight, and decide to go on a run. The sound of your feet hitting the pavement helps drown out your thoughts. Lately you’ve been so preoccupied with transferring agencies as soon as Tamaki gets home, that you’ve almost forgotten your soulmate dilemma. 

Almost. 

You run faster to avoid thinking about it, about him.  You’re totally not thinking about him, and you’re doing an excellent job not thinking about him that you run into the asshole. 

“Fuck,” you barely feel the scrape on your knee before activating your quirk to save yourself. “Sorry, I-”

“You’d think that with your quirk, you wouldn’t bump into anyone, Bambi.” This time, it’s amusement and not annoyance that he says this sentence to you for a second time in your life.  Kat- Dynamite holds out his hand, looking down at you with a faint smirk as you graciously take it. You activate it again, switching places so that you’re looking down at him instead. 

“You’d think that with your attitude you’d be at the bottom of the popularity poll.” There’s no malice in your tone, and instead you find yourselves smiling at the other. You help him up easily before cleaning off yourself. 

“You’re stronger than you look,” Bakugou compliments. Many thought that, and even had said that to you, and while most times it irks you, this time you feel pride. 

“I’ve been training.” You stand taller. 

“I’ve noticed.” It’s dark, but you swear the tips of his ears start to go red. 

“Yeah?” You smile, and if anyone would’ve called it out, they might call it flirty. “Didn’t realize you’ve been watching.”

“Shaddup,” He laughs and crosses his arms, one still clad in the compression sleeve, the ropes of muscle more prominent in his chest and biceps. “Everyone has been noticing.”

“Really,” you cross your arms and grin. “Everyone?” 

“Ever since Elf Ears fucked off on his mission, everyone has noticed you been trolling for night shifts.” He’s right of course, not that you’d freely admit to him. Your restless energy has boiled over and you’ve been picking up more shifts. Shamefully you’ve felt free. 

“Not tonight, though.” Tap your shoes against the sidewalk, ready to run. Whatever confidence you had in front of him is fading quickly, and your head is dizzy with the scent of caramel and musk wafting from him. 

“No.” Bakugou agrees, watching you carefully. “Not tonight.”

Electricity pulses through the space between you both, and you decide it’s time to end this interaction. 

“You okay?” He asks again. The familiar pangs of distress and love floods into your chest and guilt starts to sting you at your core. 

Yes. “No.” 

“My shift just ended,” Bakugou says nonchalantly, shrugging. “Want to get a drink?”

No . “Yes.” 

-(-)-

Drinks didn’t mean what you thought. You and Bakugou walked down the lamp lit streets in silence. A third person could walk between you both, you thought to yourself. You made sure to not pay any attention to his frame, you tried your best to not compare him to your fiancé. All day you haven’t heard from Tamaki, not that you expected him to contact you during a mission. But as you and Katsuki walk to get drinks, you realize it’s the first time in months that you haven’t been riddled with anxiety over your partner. 

“This isn’t a bar,” you step through the tea shop and give Katsuki a passing look. 

“Never said it was, Bambi.” Your heart flutters at the nickname, yet you don’t give any of it away as you look around the tea shop. His eyes watch you taking it in, the decor that’s been outdated for about thirty years already and the countless porcelain tea cups being reflected by the hanging lights. “Pick a cup, then pick a tea.” Katsuki grabs a ceramic yunomi painted with the colors of a sunset. You bite back a smile, remembering how much he favored the color orange back in school. Not much has changed. 

“Hōchija, please.” He sets his cup down and gives a polite nod to the younger boy behind the wooden counter. 

Your eyes scan across the once white now faded yellow menu, “May I get the sencha please?” 

It’s quiet aside from the music playing the top 100 over the speakers, and then both of you take a seat at the bar. The younger barista hums while measuring out the dried tea leaves, the two of you doing your best to ignore the warmth from your shoulders touching lightly. A few minutes pass and your yunomi is handed back filled with hot tea, it’s heat spreads across the palm of your hand and you ignore the way it stings. It’s delicious. 

“This is amazing,” you give a smile to your barista and he bows his head with a shy smile. “How did you hear about this place?”

Bakugou sets his tea back down and you catch the smell of charcoal, vaguely you wonder if it’s the remnants of his shift and you inch closer. “My pops would take me here,” Katsuki’s voice is low and you lean in to catch his words. “It’s the only damned place that we went to that didn’t involve someone screaming at each other. He told me once, ‘Katsuki-chan every cup you drink is one drink closer, I hope, to calming the fuck down.’” Your snort is sudden and loud, and while you struggle to keep your laughter down, you miss the way Katsuki smiles at you before taking another sip of his tea. 

“Did it work?” You smile at him, not wanting to think about your chest warming and deciding it’s from the tea. 

“I think so.” He answers truthfully, this time he glares when you laugh. “What?” Bakugou sets his tea cup down almost too roughly on the wooden counter, and you notice the same compression band on his left arm still. 

Shaking your head and holding your hands up to your defense, you giggle. “The amount of articles I’ve read of the ‘Great Dynamite Hero’-,” your fingers mine the air quotes, “-having his blowouts. It’s hilarious.”

“Didn’t realize you were keeping track of me.” Your eyes look up and find that his are already tracing your features, the curve of your jaw and the tip of your nose. How long have you been this close to him? Close enough to see that he hasn’t slept in a while and close enough to briefly wonder if his lips would taste like burned sugar too. 

“I haven’t been. You’re usually on the front page,” your voice wobbles and you shift farther from him. “Tamaki and I like to read the paper together.” At the sound of your fiancé’s name, Bakugou gives a slight nod and shifts back too. Your fingers ghost over your ring. You catch him looking at the silver band briefly. Subconsciously you wish you haven’t said anything at all, and you swipe your thumb over your ring. 

The conversation dies, and when Bakugou pays, you go home to try and sleep. 

-(-)-

“What happened to your soulmate?” You ask Tamaki, who has gotten back from his trip now, over breakfast.  You watch his face wince, the pain of her loss still stinging even after decades. Shame takes its place quickly over the jealousy you feel for him, to have someone you love so much that every piece of you belongs to them and them you. 

“She… died. In a car accident.” Tamaki picks at his pancakes, doused in maple syrup. “When we were five.”

Shame burns hotter for you now. “That young?” Tamaki nods, taking a bite of the breakfast he made for you both. “You must’ve barely met her by that point.” 

He smiles sadly, “She used to be in my class with Mirio and I. At first, I thought I was just having dreams about school. I used to beg my parents to not send me to bed, I would get hives just thinking about school being in my dreams again.”

“How did you know she was your soulmate?” You think back to all the times in your life that you’ve asked this question. To your partners over the years who didn’t have their soulmates anymore or tried to cheat the system. The friends you had who swore to be single but fate gave them an emptiness to be filled by their love. 

And now him. When you and Tamaki started dating, you had the talk with him. The talk you had with everyone. You don’t have a soulmate. You won’t be fatefully theirs, they won’t be yours. If you have an assigned soulmate, please don’t waste my time.  The way he looked when you said this, the immensable sadness that washed over his features before giving you a small smile. His words were simple, enough to end the topic and enough to scare you from asking more. Well, good thing I don’t have a soulmate anymore. 

“We talked for hours in our dreams,” he sighs at the memory. “I learned things about her that I couldn’t have known if I didn't actually talk to her, so it was pretty much solid. Mirio didn’t meet his soulmate in real life until after high school, they both decided to wait and then exchange numbers. He couldn’t stop jumping and cheering when he heard their voice on the receiver,” Tamaki laughs and looks back at you with a melancholy smile. “You also just know. It’s like suddenly, your body just isn’t yours. It feels like you’re being pulled to them and as much as you want to escape, you can’t run. You don’t want to.”

“What was her name?”

He pauses. “Shinju.” There’s a softness in his voice you haven’t heard before, and you wonder what Tamaki’s life would’ve been like if his soulmate hadn’t died. Maybe they’d even be heroes together, fighting villains side by side with an unspeakable bond that no one could penetrate. He wouldn’t have a partner who would settle for less out of fear of being let go for someone else. He wouldn’t have someone who is a shell of who they are, destined to-

Destined for what? 

You don’t know what destiny has for you anymore. Before you were destined to be alone. But now Katuski appears in your dreams, sitting under fruit trees that you always wanted to have in your backyard, never facing you. Or he's by the ocean with waves softly crashing in front of him, warm sand underneath you both.

Before, you accepted that you would be alone. You refused for anyone to tell you that you must feel empty inside, for how else can anyone live without a beloved fucking soulmate? You told them to go fuck themselves, you proved them wrong by becoming a pro-hero despite having no natural goddamn cheerleader and you did it with a beaming ass smile and the ego that weighed more than what All Might could bench. 

You were fine. You were happy. 

Until you made yourself small. 

You aren’t empty inside. You’ve made yourself small. 

Tamaki was dreamy, he was shy and dreamy and sweet and romantic in all of his awkward ways. You allowed your light to be diminished under his shadow. 

Because eventually, all those people pitying you for being so alone, got to you. You’re human after all, isn’t it normal to feel melancholy when you see a couple laughing and holding hands? Isn’t it normal to wish to have someone love all of you, imperfections included? Isn’t it normal to want to have somebody be there for you? Isn’t it normal to not want to go to bed and wonder what it is like to have someone hold you? You weren’t as tough as you thought. You felt like you let down those people you met in forums for those without soulmates, the civilians and heroes who never was bestowed a soulmate who said “Fuck them, I’m my own person” and never even wanted to date. They were complete because they had family, friends, a career, sexy one night stands. They could rely on themselves and no one else. 

You don’t know where you fall anymore. 

-(-)-

Bakugou’s first love who’s temper and passion matches, no, exceeds his, because you had to fight twice as hard to earn things he was given, had to fight twice as hard to get a seat at a table he was born to. His first love, who’s outcast by hero society for carrying too much anger, for being too rough, too much. 

For being Quirkless.

He never said it was love, but it was. He could feel it, knew you could too. Or at least, he hopes you could. 

So after you disappear, there’s not a single day that goes by where he doesn’t think of you, well into adulthood. Little things like the flowers in the florist shop window that are the exact color of your old car, the way the city glows after a rainstorm.

He thinks it would be easier to forget you, to not have to carry the weight around with him all the time, and he hates himself for thinking it at all. Hates that he feels burdened by your memory instead of thankful he could tell someone exactly where every mole and birthmark sat on your skin, the different colors in your eyes.

It’s that perfect memory that confirms his worst suspicion when history begins to repeat himself, a new group of villains unhappy with society rising from the ashes of the last.

You’re clearly different, but he knows you. Knows the way you move, the tilt to your voice when you’re hiding that you’re wounded.

It’s the first time that his heart is at war with his sense of duty, but he keeps quiet about his suspicion regardless, needing to confirm everything for himself before he spoke up.

It’s a thin line he’s walking, but he assures himself he won’t cross it, no matter what.

And yet, when he finally catches you, unmasked and pinned beneath him, bloody teeth bared, he finds himself lifting enough for you to escape. He wants desperately to give chase, to catch you again, but he knows it’s not so he can bring you in.

It’s that realization that wakes him up, makes him take extended leave so he can track you down. Except he doesn’t have to.

You show up at his apartment one night, covered in shadows near the open window as he comes in, absently listening to Kiri worry about him over the phone. It takes everything in him not to hang up on his friend immediately when he sees you, freezing in place.

He should be angry, should be insulted that you, a wanted villain, had the audacity to show up in his home and silently watch him, but he’s not.

Part of him believes he’s finally lost it, chasing ghosts, so he calls out your name quietly, more of a breath than real words, but he can see the way your body reacts to it immediately, and all he can feel is relief crash around him.

There’s a heavy silence for a while, and then he takes a step forward. You stiffen, and in a blink, you’re gone, the only sign you were real to begin with a note telling him to stay away.

But he doesn’t. And neither do you. He knows you follow him, can feel watchful eyes on him, even if he can’t see you right away.

And then you show up in his apartment once more, clearly ready for a fight in the middle of his kitchen. There’s a glint of a knife in your hand, and he’s careful to move slowly as he sets down his groceries, hands splayed to show you he’s unarmed, as if he couldn’t kill you with one flick of his wrist. He calls out your name again, softly, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, and you can’t help the way your heart begs you to respond, even after so many years.

You shift, hesitate, and he straightens, takes a chance, and takes a step towards you. Your hand twitches, but you don’t raise it, don’t charge him. So he takes another. And then another. And then he’s within striking range, and your eyes are hard, angry in warning, but wide, like you’re lost. 

So he steps closer. And you step back, knife falling from your hand and clattering to the floor. He presses forward until your back hits his kitchen island, and he’s leaning over you, knuckles white with the way they grip the marble. 

You look panicked, fear brewing in your gaze when he raises a hand, eyes squeezing shut so you don’t see the blow coming. 

Instead, he brushes your hair away from your face, and your eyes fly open in surprise, the large pro drinking you in, his eyes flicking over your form. 

“I thought you were dead,” 

His voice is softer than anything you’ve ever heard, rolling over you and bringing back memories long since repressed. He cups your cheek, thumb sliding over your skin as if to make sure you’re real, and you hate how good it feels, how much you’ve missed him, and then his gaze dips lower and he freezes. 

Now that’s he’s able to be close to you, breathe you in, he sees what he’s missed before, hidden under stealth suits and large hoodies. From beneath your top curl ragged scars, curving and licking up along your throat and across your shoulders, more abundant than unmarred skin.

Your breath hitches as his fingers leave your face to trace over the scars on your collarbone, his face filled with anguish. His searching takes him lower, to the collar of your shirt where he pulls away, shaky hands falling to the hem as he begins to lift it slowly. 

Your hands circle his wrist in warning, and he spares you a glance, his pretty eyes filled with silent pleas, and you give in to him, as powerless to him as you were when you were stupid kids believing you were in love. Your fingers fall away from his skin slowly to let him continue, heart hammering as you let the man you came to kill undress you. 

He hesitates, inhaling deeply, steeling himself for what he might see before he tugs the cotton upwards once more. 

His stomach twists in knots as you’re revealed to him, arching scars covering most of your torso, some clearly old, but far too many new, deep, and he can only imagine what you went through to earn such markings across your skin. 

He can hardly find those moles and beauty marks he used to be able to map perfectly, now replaced with thick and jagged lines. He looks tortured, struggling not to let it show, but you see it anyways.

You can’t help the noise that bubbles from your throat when you lift your arms for him, a fresh wound beneath your left breast pulling painfully tight with the movement, and he clenches his jaw at the sound of your whimper, brows drawn low over his eyes. 

When his palm lays flat against your stomach, measuring the expanse of your scars to his hand, the former reaching out far further, you squeeze your eyes shut and tilt your head back. 

You never wanted him to see you like this, and in that very moment, you wished you were dead like he’d assumed, rather than a broken shell of who he used to love. 

He’s silent as his hands wander, their warmth seeping into your skin and settling on your hips, fingers splayed wide. He lets out a shaky huff and you finally peel open your eyes as he drops to his knees, his breath warm over your skin, moments before his mouth presses over your flaws.

He doesn’t miss the way you inhale sharply, hazy eyes focused down at him kneeling at your feet, mouth ghosting across your body. 

He traces a path upwards, his hands keeping you grounded as you arch against him, goosebumps rising in the wake of his ministrations. He deviates from his path only once, to press a feather soft kiss against your newest wound, and you hiss, fingers flying to tangle in his hair. 

It shouldn’t hurt so much, but his mouth feels like a brand, his nose brushing along the underside of your breast, lighting a fire within you that you had assumed died long ago. He murmurs out something you don’t quite catch against your skin before he returns the drag of his mouth between your breasts, up until he’s pressing kisses against your jaw, his forehead bumping against your cheek as he shakes his head. 

He exhales shakily again, and you tilt your head ever so slightly, needing to see him, needing to see the disgust, the pity in his eyes. You need him to give you a reason to push him away, a reason to hate him so neither of you start something you can’t finish. 

But all you see is a quiet fury buried in those crimson eyes, smothered by a emotion you’ve only ever seen in those very eyes the last time you’d seen him. You’re not ready to admit what it is yet, denial flooding you even as your mind supplies the word. 

Love. 

It’s like all the air rushes from your lungs, and you’re sure in that very moment, if it wasn’t for his firm grip, that you’d simply crumple under the weight of your realization. 

He draws you back to him, nose bumping yours when one of his hands cups the back of your head, fingers burying themselves in your hair. He opens his mouth and immediately closes it again, breathing in sharply through his nose before he speaks again, eyes shutting. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.” 

And just like that, you can’t resist his pull anymore, closing the distance as the first tear rolls down your cheek. 

war paint | masterlist

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

status: complete

length: 27,765 words

summary: Desperate times force you to disguise yourself and join the kingsguard. When a suspicious string of crimes strike the palace, however, Captain Katsuki Bakugou starts paying extra close attention. (spin off of in cinders)

tags: mulan AU, secret identity, romance, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, some violence, eventual smut

chapter links:

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

deleted scenes: (requests for short drabbles related to the fic)

What was chapter 5 like from Bakugou’s point of view?

What is domestic life like for them after the fic?

Did they get married? What did Bakugou’s family think?

cross posted on ao3: here

Love and Admiration Masterlist

18+ Bakugo x fem!pro hero reader

Summary: (Y/n) has known Bakugo since middle school, admired him since high school, and had a crush on him since the first time they met. Even now, a top pro hero in her own right, she can’t shake her school girl crush. Too bad Bakugo literally has no idea she exists. Well that’s not entirely true... He does know pro hero Mercury exists, but (y/l/n) (y/n)? Never heard of her.

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Status: Completed

Taglist [closed]: @pixelwisp @oliviasslut @larkspyrr @heroacadema @kozukatsuki @captaincyberqueen @undead-nyx @ineedtofocusfr @i-heart-fictional-boys @theycallme-becky @superhermit @black-rose-29 @disaster-rose @fandomsgotmefucked @irenne-stans

Profiles:

Them Bitches(tm)

Professional Bakugo Wranglers

Posts:

Part 1- Place Your Bets

Part 2- Lucky Number Seven

Part 3- Hot

Part 4- Murder Boner

Part 5- Dynamic Duo

Part 6- Care to Explain?

Part 7- Drinks

Part 8- Hope

Part 9- Reunion

Part 10- Mediocrity

Part 11- Good Morning

Part 12- Horny Jail

Part 13- Fantasies

Part 14- Smooth Motherfucker

Part 15- Adrenaline

Part 16- Malfunctioning

Part 17- Asshole

Part 18- Sensei

Part 19- Goodnight Princess

Part 20- Fuckbuddy

Part 21- Different

Part 22- Black Out or Bust

Part 23- Round 2

Part 24- Friendly Face

Part 25- Your Heart

Part 26- Not Upset

Part 27- The Missing Part

Part 28- Enthusiam

Part 29- Missed Calls

Part 30- Screaming Match

Part 31- Perspectives

Part 32- Wake Up Call

Part 33- Goodnight Katsuki

Part 34- Vulnerable

Part 35- Baku(y/n) Supremacy

Part 36- Man of Your Dreams

bkg slowburn partners to lovers excellence

fyi: aged up, drinking, not beta'd, deal w it

Cupid's Chokehold (3.7k)

"I'm falling in love with you."

It rolls off your tongue without a second thought, and you relish the relief of your confession. Katsuki can't control his surprise, and you can read his answer off his face, and for a brief moment, you regret making your move.

The sting of rejection is quickly numbed purely by willpower, and you laugh airily.

"You have a terrible poker face," you tease lightly. You steel yourself for the next part by deeply breathing through your teeth. "You aren't interested in me."

"It's not like that," Katsuki mumbles quietly, his ears turning pink. "I need to focus on my career. We both do."

"Gotcha," you whisper, looking off into space, head turned away from him. "No, you're right." You clear your throat and begin to wrap up your trash from your forgotten lunch.

Katsuki seems to want to stop you, but he's silent as he watches you step out of your seat and make a quick visit to the nearest trash bin.

"Look, we're good," you assure him as you prepare to end this shared meal. "Nothing's changed. We're partners."

Katsuki raises a brow at you, remaining in his seat. "Then how come you're leaving?"

You respond with a dry laugh, fighting down the pit in the back of your throat. "Give a girl a second to wallow, Bakugo," you huff. Shrugging, you awkwardly shift your weight back and forth between your stance. "At least I won't be so distracted during patrols anymore."

It's your weak attempt to lighten the mood. Although, it's hard to commit when trying to come to terms with your rejection. Unfortunately, Katsuki doesn't find it amusing, and his expression remains a combination of surprise and confusion.

"I won't be as weird tomorrow," you brush off sheepishly. "Get home safe." With a single nod, you turn to leave before anything can stop you.

You feel like you can breathe again once you shut your door and feel your car engine rumble to life. Before you can shift gears, a wave of embarrassment and shame washes over you, and you throw your head back against your seat.

Pressing your hands against your face, you let out a sound of anguish, feeling like a fool. Raking your fingers back through your hair, you sigh.

"You just can't shut up sometimes, can you?" Your voice is quiet as it disturbs the otherwise silence in your car. "Brush it off. You're not dying." You shake your head and quickly note where the alcohol in your apartment is for when you get home.

-

Katsuki doesn't notice anything different about your dynamic in the days following your confession. You make eye contact easily and banter with him like nothing has happened. You're civil and, for the most part, stay on task during patrol.

You're the perfect partner, and yet, Katsuki can sense something has shifted.

"You're late," he grumbles, glaring at you as you stride to your desk with a compostable coffee cup in your hands.

"Would you relax," you dismiss him with a flimsy wave of your hand. You drop your bag onto your chair and start peeling off your layers. "We don't start for another ten minutes. I'll be right back."

You disappear to change into your uniform, and Katsuki takes this opportunity to invade your privacy.

"You don't drink coffee," he states skeptically after bringing your cup up to his nose and taking a whiff. The stench from the coffee is strong but not enough to cover up the scent of your lipstick coating the mouthpiece. He didn't even realize you wore makeup.

"Hey, don't drink my drink," you chastise as soon as you return, adjusting the sleeves of your uniform.

"You don't even like coffee," he accuses, setting your cup back on your desk. You respond with an incredulous laugh.

"No, you don't like coffee," you correct him. "I'm perfectly happy drinking coffee."

"Why would you need to drink it anyways? Didn't you get enough sleep?" Katsuki's glare softens as he gives you a quick scan, picking up the exhaustion clouding your eyes and the tentative way you handle your stationery. "Did you at least eat something? I don't need you passing out on me during a fight."

"You almost sound worried," you say with a dry tone, covering it up with a hollow chuckle. "Where's the trust, man?"

"There is none," Katsuki bites back quickly, but the humored glint in your eyes relieves him. "Are you almost ready to head out?"

"Can we ever just start when our shift starts?" You groan with a roll of your eyes as you return your stationery to their respective spots on your desk.

"Being on time is being late," Katsuki reminds you of what feels like the millionth time since he's met you.

He can hear you poorly imitate him behind his back, but when he turns to glare at you, you're inspecting your nails and obviously feigning innocence.

It's all too normal for his liking, and he's unsure why. He should feel grateful that you're not awkward after your confession and that you've moved past it and carried on your professionalism, but he's not. Not entirely, at least.

A little part of him can't stop hearing your confession.

"I'm falling in love with you."

Every time he meets your eyes, there's a brief pause, and Katsuki can't tell if it's imagination. You glow whenever you smile, even if it's not directed at him, and he can't look away from you.

You still grab lunch with him after your shifts, although now there's a thin blanket of tension veiling your conversations. And, outside of work, there's no contact from you.

Katsuki misses the days when you'd message him in the morning before your shifts, asking if he wanted anything from the shop that you stopped by for quick meals. He'd never take you up on your offer, but now he'll see you walk in with a to-go cup and wonder if you forgot to text him. He knows the truth, though.

You're trying to get over him. He can see right through your efforts, no matter how subtle you're trying to be. Katsuki notices the way you freeze up whenever he brushes his hand against your arm or grabs at you to check for injuries.

Every time, without fail, you'll clear your throat and yank yourself away from him, avoiding his accusing glare.

"I'm fine," you grit out, holding your arm that's obviously in pain. "I'll be good. Thanks."

Just let me take care of you, Katsuki will think bitterly to himself, watching you stagger away and doing nothing about it. You never used to be this difficult when he was just trying to do his job.

You'd argue that caring for you wasn't part of the job, and he'd find every fiber of him disagreeing with you.

"What are you doing this Friday?"

You're obviously surprised once you comprehend what Katsuki is asking towards the end of your patrol. You look flustered and waging an internal battle in your head.

"My idiot friends are having their monthly get-together," Katsuki explains, uncharacteristically mumbling. "They asked if you wanted to join."

"What?" You laugh, amusement washing away your nerves. "You're inviting me? What are they holding over you to do this?"

Katsuki glares at you, irritated that you guessed correctly. Mina threatened him to invite you, otherwise, she'd show up unannounced at the agency and introduce herself.

Normally, he'd go unphased by her threats, but ever since your confession, Katsuki's felt a shred of anguish that you'll disappear one day.

Even if he couldn't give you the relationship you hoped for, he wanted to provide for you somehow. And, if he had to expose you to his personal life a little more, then he was okay with that. As long as it meant you'd stay with him.

"They threatened to ambush us during a patrol if I didn't."

You fail to stifle your laugh, and Katsuki hopes to elicit more of that from you.

"I appreciate the offer," you eventually answer, and Katsuki feels elated at your initial positivity. It quickly dissipates when you reject his invitation. "I have plans this Friday, actually. For once." You laugh at your deprecating allusion, but Katsuki maintains his aloof expression.

"Suddenly, you're too good for my friends?" It was meant to be a joke, but his abrasive tone reveals his vulnerable ego.

You visibly hesitate to respond, and Katsuki wonders what you're fighting yourself on. What are you holding back from him?

"I have plans already," you repeat with more force, finalizing your explanation, and Katsuki feels irritation bubbling in his stomach.

You didn't make plans that required you to leave your apartment often – Katsuki knew this. You lived with your best friend, so most of your time outside of work was spent at home. Whenever you managed to come across real plans that involved wearing nicer clothes than sweatpants, you'd normally chat Katsuki's ear off about your anticipation.

"Do you have a date?" He blurts his question out before he can comprehend the thought, and he can feel the tips of his ears get warm with embarrassment.

You can't fight back the surprise from reaching your face, and Katsuki knows the answer before you nod.

You laugh sheepishly at getting caught, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear – a nervous habit Katsuki has caught on to after two years of working with you.

"Yeah, I do," you murmur, looking everywhere but at him. "My roommate set it up with her boyfriend's friend."

How come you didn't tell me, he wants to ask, but he already knows. "Is he nice?"

"Yeah, he's..." He watches your eyes glaze over as you get stuck in your head before clearing your throat. "He's nice. Why?"

Katsuki shrugs, feigning indifference. Inside, he's frustrated, but he knows he shouldn't be.

You're his partner. His work partner.

As long as this random head that's taking you out doesn't distract you during your patrols – when you're with him – then he can't shouldn't complain.

"Will you tell me how it goes?" His question is quiet because he's embarrassed to ask, but he wants to know. He knows not knowing will bother him, and he can't explain to himself why.

"Um, sure," you hesitate to answer, almost questioning yourself.

You keep details of your date private from him after Friday comes and goes. The curiosity eats at Katsuki whenever he catches you glancing at your phone or smiling at yourself at your desk, but he keeps it to himself.

-

Your shift today was harder than usual. A few minor misdemeanors followed up with a villain attack.

You could tell that Katsuki was frustrated throughout the whole time, keeping quiet and growling to himself more often than usual.

After, when you were packing up your things to leave for the day, you noticed Katsuki sitting at his desk with his head hanging low. His arms are relaxed against the chair handles and you think he looks defeated as people walk past him without a glance.

"Trying to get food?" You pipe up, sliding past him to lean back against his desk. You keep your demeanor light, resting your hands against the surface and keeping your chin up. "I'm starving."

"You head out without me," he mumbles, flicking his hand.

"Nah," you hum, smiling at him with encouragement. "Come eat with me."

"Wouldn't that make your boyfriend uncomfortable?"

Boyfriend? You frown at your partner, tilting your head with a curious look.

"My nonexistent boyfriend would probably be more concerned with my obnoxious partner giving me attitude when I'm hungry."

Katsuki finally looks up at you, and you widen your eyes in exaggeration.

"Oh my god, finally," you rasp, holding your hand against your chest. "I was planning on getting you a vest for your birthday to help you with your posture."

"You don't even know when my birthday is," he answers with a sneer, but it doesn't phase you.

"Of course I know when your birthday is, Bakugo," you tell him. "Now, can we please go eat?" You bounce off of his desk and pat his bare shoulder, shortly relishing the satisfying warmth that emits from his body.

Katsuki catches you by surprise when he holds your hand against his arm, squeezing gently.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, knowing what his answer will be but hoping for a rare moment of vulnerability.

"Just tired," he mumbles, not looking at you. You smile softly, understanding where his exhaustion might be coming from, and use your other hand to pat his spiky head.

"You're working hard," you remind him with sympathy. "You did a good job today."

Katsuki doesn't say anything, just responds with a nod.

You start to pull away, but he holds you in place for another moment. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you're hit with a familiar wave of infatuation that you've been desperate to avoid.

"We did a good job today," he finally says. "We're partners."

"I know, Bakugo." As badly as I want to be more, we're just partners. "You're not getting rid of me, unfortunately."

You're forced to yank your hand out of his, avoiding his glare when he turns back to look at you.

"Let's head out already," you plead, creating some distance between you before checking back to see if he's following you.

You can't fight back your smile when you find him out of his seat and pacing over to you.

-

Katsuki hates seeing you in Mina's apartment. It's like his worlds are colliding, and he's still not mentally prepared after a week.

He's grateful you let him pick you up and take you instead of finding your way there. He's also quietly pleased that you're glued to his side because you don't know any of his friends.

"I hope your friend likes this wine," you nervously babble in his ear, and it makes his skin vibrate with how close you are. "How do you not know what alcohol your friends like?"

"Cause I don't care," he bites back, arms crossed over his chest and sending you his normal glare. "And you shouldn't either. Not like they're your friends."

That was obviously not the right thing to say, and Katsuki immediately regrets it when he watches your expression fall.

"Then, why did you invite me?" You sound frustrated and lean away from him slightly. "What am I doing here?"

"Saving me from a night of nuisances."

Katsuki thinks he hears you mumble "Typically," but doesn't respond because Mina and Eijiro approach.

"Hey, Bakubro," Eijiro greets with a wide smile, clapping a hand against Katsuki's arm. "And hello to you too!"

You give them your name with a polite smile and present Mina with your gift. Katsuki has to fight the urge to put his arm around you – to protect you from his friend.

"I didn't know what to bring, but I hope you like this wine."

Mina squeals in delight, taking the bottle from your hands and inspecting it before throwing herself at you. Katsuki's skin prickles at the sight.

"I love wine!" She cries with glee. "You're so considerate! Bakugo never brings me anything."

"When do you ever bring me anything?"

"When do you invite me over?"

The glare Katsuki sends Mina is fatal, but she's unbothered, much to your apparent satisfaction.

"Let's open this right now!" Mina drags you away by the arm, and your panicked expression is enough to bring a soft smile to Katsuki's lips.

"So, she's the partner?" Eijiro takes your spot next to Katsuki and nudges his arm. "Think she's into you?"

The question makes Katsuki scoff, sending his friend a silencing look.

"She is? How'd you find out?"

"She told me," he answers gruffly. "Over a month ago."

Eijiro's eyes almost bug out of his head with how surprised he is.

"Why didn't you say anything? That's awesome, dude."

"Why would that be awesome?"

"Because it's obvious you're into her too?" Eijiro's brows furrow as he looks at Katsuki, who feels a burning fire in his chest light up.

"Excuse me?"

Eijiro sighs, scratching the dark scruff under his jaw. "Come on, man."

"What?"

"You invited her to Mina's shindig," Eijiro points out. "You've been her partner for, what? A few years now, and you're finally bringing her around to meet us?" Katsuki just glares at him.

"Maybe you should mind your business," he tells his friend.

"You're defensive because you know I'm making a good point."

"When have you ever made a good point?"

Eijiro feigns offense when he puckers his bottom lip out in a pout. "I've been known to have good insight occasionally."

"This isn't one of those occasions." Katsuki notices you reappear from the kitchen with Mina, carrying four glasses of wine between you. He clears his throat obnoxiously, successfully silencing Eijiro with a look this time around.

"Hey, here's a glass," you tell him, handing him one from your hand. Katsuki takes it but isn't sure what to do with it.

"I didn't ask for this," he mentions as Mina hands Eijiro his glass.

"He means, 'thank you'," Eijiro answers for him.

"You don't speak for me," Katsuki barks, but your soft laughter kills his irritation.

"Don't worry, I know how he works," you tell his friends as you sip your drink. "He's actually holding my second glass for me."

Mina giggles at your statement, but the smile on your lips tells Katsuki that you aren't joking.

A short while later, after Mina moves on to her other guests and Katsuki has resituated you and him on the couch, you swap glasses with him.

You're invested in a conversation with Sero, angled away from Katsuki, but your legs are curled under you, and the fabric of your socks flick against his legs.

"I'll be back," he mumbles as he rises to his feet, empty wine glass in hand.

He finds himself in Mina's kitchen, a few guests lingering around and chatting. He comes across the wine you brought, empty in an ocean of half-drunk bottles.

Before returning to the couch, he refills your first glass with another wine he finds himself hoping you'll like. You're alone and on your phone by the time he comes back.

"Decide to join in on the fun?" You ask with a beaming smile once you realize he's returned. Katsuki finds himself pleased at the sight of you dropping your phone into your lap without hesitation as he falls into the cushion next to you.

"For you," he says plainly. "For when you finish that glass."

You frown at him playfully, taking another swig from his original glass. "You trying to get me drunk?"

"God, no," he exasperates. "Wanna make sure you're having a good time."

"Good call filling up another glass then," you laugh.

I know how you work too, he finds himself thinking.

"I am having a good time, though," you confess, resting your hand on his leg and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Thank you for inviting me. I like your friends."

"I think they like you more than they like me."

"Everybody likes me more than they like you. That's how our dynamic works."

Our dynamic. Everything you tell him comes out more meaningful than he assumes you intend. Katsuki doesn't know when that started to happen.

He cherishes the dynamic between you, and for the first time, he's worried that it's in jeopardy. That it's been strained since you confessed to him, and, right now, he's on borrowed time with you.

"Thank you," he tells you. "For coming. You didn't have to."

"I did, though, " you correct him. "Mina tells me she would have shown up unannounced at the agency if you kept me from her any longer."

"Well, she's an idiot."

You give him a knowing smile, leaning against his arm. "Then, you're an idiot by association."

"Shut the hell up."

Your gentle laughter is muffled by the wine glass against your lips. You finish your drink in a single sip and immediately hold the emptied glass to Katsuki. He wordlessly switches your glasses.

He watches intently as you take an experimental sip from the wine he chose for you, and the satisfied hum you release tells him you approve of his choice.

"This is really good. Nice choice," you tell him, holding it out for him. "Did you try it?"

"I'm driving us, remember?" He glares at you for your ridiculous question, but you roll your eyes.

"It's a sip, Katsu-" You stop yourself midway, and Katsuki notices the flush in your cheeks, but not without actively searching for it. "it's just a sip, okay? Try it."

You're shoving the rim of the glass to his lips before he can call you out on your mistake. He reluctantly takes a little sip and his face twists in disgust.

"I don't like wine," he tells you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after you spill some against his face.

"Well, that's a shame," you sigh dejectedly, throwing back the remaining wine with a few swigs. Even Katsuki knows wine isn't chugging alcohol. "I'm gonna run to the bathroom."

And when you return a few minutes later, Katsuki notices you curl up in your seat a little further from him.

an: wrote this for @/sarahlovesseb ♡

Speechless (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader , Izuku x Reader

Content: Angst, pining, friend to lovers

Summary: Bakugou isn’t very good with words.

Word Count: 2k+

A/N: Sorry in advance for this… 

His words always failed him. Whenever the moment came, Bakugou could never seem to get past that choke in his throat.

There he’d be, looking at you at the desk beside him. He remembers you looking so pretty with your hair in those pigtails. Bakugou wanted to talk to you, to ask you where you’re from or for your name, but when you turn to him and utter that gentle hello in your smooth voice, his own falters. Bakugou’s at a loss for words and for the first time in his life, he wishes that he could swallow the pride that has been pushing him forward at such a steady pace to stop to meet your own.

Suddenly, his strides feel too wide on the play yard as you struggle to keep up and his voice feels too loud as you flinch slightly at each shout. It’s been like this forever, since he could remember. Bakugou’s always loved you, but that booming voice that he carries so proudly never seemed to let him say the words.

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Tacenda

Definition: Things better left unsaid

Summary: A continuation of this, this, and this idea. Bakugou knows you don’t share his feelings, so why does his heart pick up everytime he’s close to you? And why do you seem to gravitate to him just as much?

Genre: angst with no comfort

CW: pining, mentions of drinking, foul language, makeout, lip-gloss smearing, fondling, handjob, emotional makeout, both Bakugou and reader have been drinking

Word Count: 3,693

Bakugou’s friends joke that he’s always by your side, at your feet, or not too far behind. Always hanging on to your last word.

He’d never admit it, but they’re right. He finds that being around you is addicting and finds himself doing things he never thought he would, just cause it’ll make you smile. He can’t help it.

Things like hosting parties in the apartment. It’s not his scene; He doesn’t like many people in his space messing up his stuff or drinking his booze. But whenever you suggest it? He can’t figure out how to say no.

It doesn’t help that you’re especially affectionate when you’re a little tipsy, and he’s a little less guarded than he should be. He should be hiding his feelings, keeping them close to his chest, and yet, he finds his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see. And everyone does see. Except for you.

When you playfully jump onto his back when he won’t hand over the remote on the couch, he just laughs and stands, hands gripping your thighs around his lean waist, so you won’t slip off. You’re both a little drunker than you meant to be, and he tips over slightly after he spins with you, causing you to shriek and laugh, face buried in his neck.

He blames the blush that covers his cheeks on the alcohol when Sero makes a joke about it, and you brush it off, demanding he takes you to the kitchen so you can talk with the group gathered around Kiri.

He’s gentle when he sets you on the counter, and you expect him to leave again for the couch, but he doesn’t. He leans back into you, his elbows resting comfortably on either side of your thighs, fingers rubbing soothing circles on your shins. After a while, you find yourself leaning into his warmth, arms winding around his neck again as you tilt forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

His eyes slip towards your face every few moments, and he’s acutely aware that all he’d have to do for his lips to brush yours is to turn his head the tiniest bit. He finds himself wondering if the gloss on your mouth is the same as that one night after the last party, tuning out the conversation around him completely, even if you’re fully immersed in it.

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of love & lemons | k.bakugo | m.list

disclaimer!! this is a rewrite/heavily edited version of the fic i have on AO3/the fic i posted from lookslikeleese in 2019-2020! this is not plagiarised or stolen (i probably dont need this disclaimer, but we shall see ahhdjdjjsjaj)

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! college au-ish (UUA is the university, but they're still training to be heroes), explicit sexual activity, sneaking around, unrequited love, secret sex friends, fem!reader, reader is a firecracker & has a fire-related quirk, todomomo, bakugo swears a LOT (i am sweating at how much he swears bdnfjjd), angst, alcohol consumption & partying, more tba as the chapters unfurl

▸ ▸ ▸ word count: 30k-ish

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: i love this fic so much. it was my first foray into bnha and as such i want to talk about it more! aspects of the original fic don't align with my interests anymore and i really just love the story so im tweaking it a little. i hope you have fun coming on the journey with me (again, maybe)

chapter one: the cabin in the woods

wc: 6.3k | angst, making out

chapter two: the deal

wc: 7.6k | fingering, oral (m receiving)

chapter three: rumours

wc: tba

chapter four: loose ends

wc: tba

chapter five: epilogue

wc: tba

𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 masterlist

masterlist

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. (sm!au, angst, humour)

zero

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

epilogue

how to mend a broken heart

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader & Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Word count: 8424

A/N: my first time posting on tumblr so pls be gentle lmao thanks

It was strange- the way his crimson eyes linger over the cute bubbly girl off in the distance. Was he even looking at her or was he staring off in her direction? Did he even notice he was zoning out? “Earth to Katsuki.” You say, eyes never leaving his face. You could see it. His eyes following her every move and when she smiled- a faint pink dusted his cheeks. Did he even notice you next to him? “Katsuki.” You say a little louder this time, giving him a poke on his arm. 

“Holy fuck!” He growls, head snapping around, eyes glaring but instantly softening as soon as he realizes who it is. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“You like her?” You tease. It wasn’t possible right? The Great Bakugou Katsuki has a crush on Uraraka? “Shut the hell up.” 

Oh. He didn’t deny it. 

Keep reading

Ok but I fucking love the idea of God of War! Bakugou falling in love with Goddess of Life! Reader but not being able to express his feelings bc of his role.

The man in charge of so much death and despair for his own amusement stumbling upon the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen silently crying in their haven as she re-sows burnt crops, sends rain to cease the flames that burned villages, and redirects lost children back to their family. She weeps because she knows that as part of her life, she must always be shadowed by Bakugou since Bakugou is a reflection of mankind. As long as there is man, there is war. As long as there is war, there is Bakugou.

He feels kinda shitty about it because he’s never had to look at the aftermath of his doings; victorious feasts of rich meats and wines always came after leading corrupt leaders into battle. Seeing something so divine weep over something so fragile makes his stony heart twinge a little. He knows he can never approach you fully to court you because of your destinies. It kills him inside, so he might reconsider starting that war over a stolen pig.

HELPPPPP WHAT IN THE FORBIDDEN LOVE/UNREQUITED LOVE/ANGST/GREEK GOD AU/COLD-TURNED-SOFT/BAD BOY X GOOD GIRL IS THIS 😭😭😭

You’re the hope women and children pray to in times of war, watching over their trembling figures as they clutched their shaking hands together and wept your name.

Nurturer of Battlefields, hear me!

Mother of Light, hear me!

Lady of Spirits, hear me!

Let your children live through the destruction of men!

Oh Goddess of Life, hear me!

Now save your children!

Nights they’ve spent, whimpering chants to you while their fathers and brothers and husbands and sons fought under the other watch of another god. It was either one side of women and children captured and raped when all their soldiers fall, or the other side safe with abundance of stolen goods.

What could you do but to let the god of war decides for himself—and you’re left to weep as fallen men rot to death on their own land; unable to enter the gates of the underworld as they wander Earth as silent souls.

Victory was taken while loss hammered the damned to death, a side of women and children were safe while the other is left to be enslaved to the people who killed their lands.

While on the other hand—bloody red eyes and golden blonde hair, the god of war celebrates the wins he’d side with. People would offer sacrifices of slain bulls and goats and goods for the aid of his on their side; humankind would do anything to not be killed.

Songs and chants were written to him every night as they offer their offerings, singing about how the strength of Bakugou is worth 5 thousand of the strongest warriors.

He had enjoyed victories for centuries while your tears turn into rain that put out the fire of burning cities. He cheered through blood that splattered all over his golden armour while your tears washed dried red off of the grass of battlefields.

Slowly as time went by, prayers to you by the women in hiding ceased. After all, centuries of prayers did nothing for their land. It was all in the hands of Bakugou—the god of war.

Lord of Destruction, hear me!

Lord of Fallen Cities, hear me!

God of War, hear me!

Now pity the lives of us and bring us victory!

Lord of Slaughter, hear me!

Slay the damned enemies!

They’d pray and pray, with clutched hands and hopeful eyes. And you’re forgotten as the nurturer of battlefields.

At last, when the men were planing to burn all their fiend’s offsprings and wives alive—you discarded the dignity of a goddess and knelt in front of Bakugou. Rain poured as you pled for the lives of the innocent.

The war god had seen mortal being bowing beneath him, kiss his feet as they cried for their lives. But it was a first for a goddess to kiss his hand as she begged for mere mortal lives. You were almost powerless beneath his strength.

Humans could live but war was bound to happen. And he was bound to shine as marble statues in temples.

That was the tragedy. War can only end if life simply never existed; and you were the true mother of war.

It was only because you were a fellow god, he thought, impossible to kill that he no longer is appeased with the killing of women and children—and the Lord of Destruction would send thunders that struck huts and horses if he was angered.

Soon, Bakugou finds himself spending his days when he’s not battling in the quiet temple of yours. He would disguise himself as a bird, resting on a tree that runs with your holiness. Your tenderness and warmth for humanity were rare amongst the Gods and Goddesses, and he finds the epitome of beauty in that.

But what could he do with his heart? He birthed war and you begged against it. He thirsts for blood and you use your tears to wash it away. Mortals pray to him for the befall of their own kind and they pray to you for the lives of their children.

The both of you were never supposed to be destined. So all he could do, with his heart that beats feelings for the Lady of Spirits, was simply watch afar at your marble statue in your temple and listen to your weeps as yet another city burns.

'cause i love the way you call me baby—

bakugou x reader

wc: 15.6k+

warnings: 18+, explicit language, spicy situations (no smut), bakugou is like really bad at feelings, kirishima continues to be a well-meaning menace, angst, fluff, pro hero au

< < < part one |

7:32 A

Bakugou is always so subtly punctual.

By the time you gather the will to meet the chilly morning head on, he is already sitting in your parking lot. The black SUV is idling quietly and he isn't rolling down the window, urging you to hurry your ass up or honking like he'd threatened to at work only days ago. His eyes, much brighter than yours this early, are already on you—as they seem to always be, these days—and you swear it is the cold bite in the air that steals the breath from your lungs.

Though the warmth of your apartment is enticing, you give him a small wave (that he doesn’t return) before locking the door behind you. There is a thin layer of ice covering the short walkway in front of the complex and you strain your toes in your fuzzy boots while stepping carefully, though the effort not to make a fool of yourself is wasted; the pro hero waiting safely inside his vehicle laughs, loudly, when your foot slides across the ice, hands going to grip the rail along the sidewalk so tightly, you fear it'll yank loose from the stud.

It's the first thing you hear out of him, so early in the morning, his brash laughter. Despite the offense, the giggle that bubbles out of you, too, can't be helped.

"Thanks so much for the help, sir!" Is the first thing out of you upon yanking open the door and scrambling in, eager to bask in the warmth of his vehicle (and him).

Immediately, the mischievous glint in his eye dissipates. "Don't start with that crap."

Though you're well aware of what he means, you tilt your head curiously; early morning be damned, you can always find the will to tease your boss. "Crap, sir? I'm afraid I don't follow."

Bakugou throws his car in reverse and leans close, putting his arm around your seat as he backs out of the parking lot. The muscle in his cheek is jumping as he grits his teeth, drawing your eyes to the sharp cut of his jaw, and the scent of his cologne almost makes you sigh audibly. It smells expensive, like orchids and spice and comfort, and sleep is still so heavy upon you that it takes genuine effort not to sink forward to bury your face in his chest.

With his arm still around the seat, he glares down at you. "You clock in this morning?"

"No sir, but—"

"Bakugou." He barks, lips pulling back slightly, enough to show his canines, enough to show how serious he is.

A small smile graces you, one that cools the flickering heat in his red eyes, and you say, "Bakugou."

His gaze lingers for another moment, another thud of your heartbeat, before he shifts in his seat and begins to drive. "The hell are we going, anyway?"

Yukiko—the Sports Illustrated representative who will be interviewing Bakugou later—has already sent you the address of the diner she'd like to meet at. The printed out email is folded into the small backpack you'd brought along for the day, but the location has been typed into your phone so many times, it's well ingrained in your memory at this point. The navigation app in his expensive, massive car could easily guide him, but he lets you pull up Google Maps on your phone, let’s you tell him to take a left at the next stop sign, let's you direct him.

(The back up camera on the dash of the SUV could have also helped him get out of the parking lot; turning around, putting an arm behind your seat, leaning close had all been a choice.)

(It's still a young enough morning that you're embarrassed for already falling prey to this giddy, school-girl manner—as you always seem to do, these days—though it's safe to say this isn't anything new, not with Bakugou.)

The route offers a 45 minute drive and this acknowledgement is met with a disgruntled groan as you say it. There's a weighted, guilty part of you that feels bad again that you've dragged him to do this bullshit ass thing, though Bakugou does little more than huff and sigh; days ago, when you'd voiced the penitent nerves gnawing at you, he'd said (with red ears),

"I'm not forcing you, if you don't wanna go, don't."

and that hadn't been what you meant and that's what you told him, to which he replied (eyes on his monitor),

"Then cram it. We're goin'."

It almost feels like he's just waiting for you to say something, because he sends you fleeting little glances everytime he checks his rear view mirror, ready to cut you off at the first chance should you start that crap again. It takes all your strength to bite back a smile, to keep your hands and gaze on the phone.

Things with your boss have changed—subtly. There's this air that settles between the two of you now—different than before, when every thought you had ended in a question mark—and it's almost a little awkward, like at any moment something could come forth from either one of you and it would be somehow both unexpected and yet not entirely.

The lock on Red Riot’s door has been replaced, it's no longer a hassle to open (one less struggle in your morning); administrator privileges have been granted to you in order to change the schedule easier, quicker ("might as well have 'em, since you bother me about it all the damn time"); a single cup coffee maker appeared on your desk overnight.

Bakugou has asked you to lunch one time—"you hungry or what?"—and if you hadn't already eaten with Reverse, you would have indulged him (and yourself). That snub—and the unreadable look on his face—has haunted you more than once late at night, springing your eyes open as your brain worked through all the things he might have said during a meal with a friend and not under the guise of a work related afternoon.

Maybe he would have complimented you, trying to remain indifferent while admitting he thought you looked nice, or maybe the afternoon wouldn't have ended, extending into the evening, the two of you unable to fall back into a routine that—somewhere along the way—began to feel limited.

"Oi!" He snaps, and you jerk your eyes from your reverie, away from the window and back down to your phone.

"Oh, um, oh, shit," the heat of Bakugou's glare is scorching the skin of your face, "you need to change lanes, like, now."

"Are you fucking kidding me—" He leans completely away (another choice, one that has you grimacing to yourself) while looking behind him, probably breaking several traffic laws because of your absent-mindedness. "Gimme that!" One of his hands completely encompasses your own, warm fingers sliding between yours and the phone before he snatches it away.

"Sorry." The sheepish smile you send him goes wholly ignored. "Am I fired, sir, from navigating?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Bakugou spits, "you're the worst."

Maybe he would have held your hand or paid for your meal, but maybe he would have swatted at you for trying to steal from his plate. Maybe he would have insulted your taste in food, or chastised your less-than-healthy meal option.

You would have enjoyed it all the same.

—

8:36 A

There's a handful of things you know about the interview:

The topic at hand is hero life after graduating

Absolutely no questions about any past, present or future cases

Absolutely no personal questions, such as religious views, political opinions, or the intimate details of Dynamight's notoriously private love life

The whole interview will be video recorded and released on YouTube later—along with a few behind-the-scenes questions—in a few months

The photo shoot will take place at a separate location

The diner the company rented out is nice, decorated with neon lights and posters of American icons: Elvis, Marilyn Monroe, Martin Luther King Jr., and the like. It's a little tacky, you think, but cute.

Bakugou thinks it doesn't make any damn sense to have the interview here, considering it has nothing to do with hero work—his or any other in Japan. It’s a valid point; while you agree with the argument, there is a pink and white jukebox near the entrance that is just waiting for you to start throwing your paycheck its way.

"Would you rather it be at your apartment, or the office?"

It's gloomy out, skies a sleepy mixture of blue and gray, and the dim glow filtering through the windows compliments him; it's Bakugou in a different light, a tranquil one, as if the weather is any indication of his change in attitude from those feral U.A days.

"Fuck no," he grumbles, ever unrefined, slouching into the table as if it will swallow him up and deliver him from this personal hell of your own making.

Yukiko is a few minutes late—despite the two of you being a few minutes late—so you're sitting across from him, leaning forward so that neither of you have to speak loud or disrupt the morning lingering in the empty restaurant. There's a waitress behind the counter brewing a pot of coffee and you're tempted to ask for a cup.

"Then cram it, sir." The unstoppable smile that blooms is hidden behind your fist, trying in earnest to press your mouth against your palm so he won't detonate.

"Think you're real fucking funny, don't ya'?" His carmine eyes are impossibly small and, though the sight might have scared you at one point, all it does is roll your eyes to the window. When you look back at him, he's staring hard at your face; the annoyance is undeniable, but there's something lingering between the clench of his teeth.

His hands are resting on the table, only inches from yours, and the urge to reach out and touch him fills you so abruptly that even he notices the motion of your fingers.

But—like always, these days—the doors to the diner swing open and the sounds of technical equipment and cameras flashing tell you all you need to know without ever turning around.

"My hero!" Yukiko beams, though your boss visibly recoils.

The first thing you notice about her is how professionally stunning she is—and the second is the quick up-and-down scan Bakugou gives her.

With a poreless face and smile so bright you nearly need to squint, she greets the both of you in such a charming way, any frustration you'd held at her for being late is immediately soothed. Her hair is long and dark, thick, curled in a way that is meant to look effortless (and it does), falling near her collarbones where two dainty necklaces ornament her. The pantsuit she's wearing does wonders for her skin tone and you are reminded of your own slightly damp clothes, outfitted in a jacket that probably makes you look puffer than usual.

When she calls him Dynamight, he has the decency to nod once and grit out, "Bakugou."

Then she turns to you in the plastic, pink booth across from him and asks, "Mind if I sit here for the cameras? You look like you would enjoy a milkshake!"

Life isn't a competition, and Yukiko's overwhelming beauty and professionalism (and charm and fashion sense and cute laugh and manicured nails and fit figure) doesn't mean that you are any less than her, but the insecurity rising within you while sliding from the booth is remorseless. She looks like the type of person that's been cut from the pages of a magazine with a perfectly scripted personality and has been pasted over your own face in the image of you and Bakugou in the diner.

It's so ridiculous, you tell yourself over and over again, because it is, but she's known him all of seven minutes and already she's calling him by his name. You attempt to remind yourself that the seven months it had taken you were all by choice, but then Yukiko laughs when he insists his entire hero moniker be in the magazine and you’re pouting.

It's nine in the morning and you are drinking a milkshake at the counter, far out of the way of the camera, far out of the way of Dynamight and his little bubble.

Last night, as you were scrutinizing the directions to the diner fervently, you'd thought of a few different ways this day might go; feeling pitiful and drowning yourself in milk and ice cream was not a scenario you had considered.

Yukiko starts by asking him questions about the area, if he's familiar with it at all, and this dissolves into a small discussion about where he was born—Atami, near the sea (a fact you were unaware of)—though he moved to Musutafu when he was very young, due in part to his father's career.

Of course, nothing is as easy as your boss up and giving this information away; the representative is already beginning to look a little flustered at the thirty minutes it takes in order to obtain that much.

(An image is born into your imagination of baby Bakugou, diapered Dynamight, in tiny swim trunks by the ocean with a little, chubby tummy. It earns you a sharp glance when you laugh quietly at it, ruby eyes narrowed as if he knows.)

"I'll go where I'm needed." Is what he spits out, arms crossed, when Yukiko asks if he plans to stay in Musutafu for the rest of his life. The question takes a slight turn towards plans for a family and if he'll raise any children here, but his stubborn silence is enough of an answer.

That certainly wasn't an approved subject.

Another surge of guilt rises at how awkward he looks, more than uncomfortable with his shoulders up around his ears. You think he’d rather be at home, catching up on some rest—he surely deserves it—and the pit in your stomach deepens until she brings up the topic of that one day, with the sludge villain, and you think maybe not, afterall. Maybe he likes it this way, so far from the child he once was, so much stronger and different.

"I’m not worried about shit from way back then," he grunts, leaning a little further back in the booth, grasping for distance. "Thought you were supposed to be asking me about the present, how much 'm dominating the hero board right now."

Yukiko laughs—musical, pleasant, rehearsed—but Bakugou isn't joking. She spares the cameraman another look, something she's been doing frequently, and you assume it's an indication on where they'll need to cut certain footage.

One of the crewmen holding the lights pins you with an expectant look, as if you should perhaps be sheepish for his gruffness, but you just send the man a simple smile. You're not his handler; if Bakugou wants his own milkshake, you'll get him one, but you aren't here to school him on how to act, nor to ask for forgiveness either.

It makes you wonder if you've grown used to it all, being so close to the warmth of him. Nothing that he's said so far has taken you off guard or made you flinch, and you've even found yourself surprised at the look on the representative's face when her sculpted mask cracks. Maybe he's calloused you, gotten you used to the heat in which he constantly burns.

Something about that is comforting.

"It's almost intimidating, how fierce you are against competition, even when that competition is made up of heroes you graduated with—"

"My assist rate is nearly triple what it was last year."

"Hey," it’s not difficult to tell where she was going with her question and you definitely should not be hissing at him, but you can't help yourself. He looks at you almost instantly. "Stop interrupting."

The scowl he sends burns your face as if he'd touched it with his own hands, but he only grumbles to himself before turning his attention back to Yukiko. You may not apologize for him, but you'll definitely encourage him to mind his manners. Whatever surprise you think you might have seen on Yukiko's face is gone when you look at her, and she nods once in thanks.

If you let him walk all over you, he will, and you wonder if you should have warned her of that earlier. It's not like he means to, but he has the kind of innate confidence most people don't and sometimes it manifests as arrogance, but they should have known that, surely? Bakugou commands the attention of everyone when he steps into the room because his presence is massive, authoritative, the kind that villains cower in.

The kind that says I am here.

(or, I am here, you fucking bastard.)

"Does it ever bother you to hear that you are being likened to heroes like Endeavor or Snipe? The kind of men that leave certain people divided when it comes to their approach to heroism?"

“I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. They shouldn’t be comparin’ me in the first place.” Bakugou tightens his arms around his chest (you’re thankful he’s wearing a long-sleeve shirt, though it only masks the tension in his biceps in the most minute way) and casts you a quick glance, anticipating your reaction to what he says next. “You worry about the crap people say about you?”

Yukiko sits back a little in her seat and smiles—practiced, restrained—before clearing her throat. She doesn’t answer, only asks, "Does it ever bother you to be compared to Deku, who is projected to be the next Symbol of Peace?"

The diner goes so silent that everyone can hear Yukiko's jewelry clink as she shifts. So silent that everyone can hear you choke on your milkshake (you aren't spared a glance, though, because you are still outside the bubble).

All you can think is that if Bakugou was going to blow the place to hell, he would have done so by now. At a different time in his life, you assume he might have gone berserk and shit talked Deku until people were having to hold him down in the booth—but now he just stares across the table, thinking.

The representative seems unable to look away and shudders; you're glad you can't see the exact expression on his face, though one you have seen comes to mind: in the bright lights of the conference room, footage you shouldn’t have been privy to still casting a faded picture on the wall, an unpleasant, clammy hand on your lower back. The memory heats you, almost the same way it had that day, though it’s less embarrassed now and more fond as you take in the jut of his chin, the line of his sharp nose in the downcast morning light.

("My hero!")

"I ain't gonna talk about that damn Deku."

Even if she wanted more from him, even if she meant to rile him up for some kind of sales-boosting answer, Yukiko only nods and takes a long pause before turning to the cameraman. Her beaming smile is wavering the tiniest bit—something obvious to you because you’ve been obsessing over her this entire time. "Quick break?"

Bakugou is up and out of the booth, stalking towards the door before her face has time to flatten, and you take that as your cue. The sky is still the same dismal shade, even though you've been at the interview for nearly an hour, and it dampens one of the sunny scenarios you'd imagined for today.

The warpath doesn’t end once he’s outside, nearly ripping the car door off its hinges so he can climb in and slam it shut behind him. The silence is so tense that you try your best to follow quietly, closing your door gently just in case it will reignite him somehow. Bakugou doesn't say anything, just throws his head back against the seat and tries in earnest to glare a hole through the ceiling of the car.

You go through a number of different ways to ask if he’s alright (“are you okay?” or “you good, man?” or “is there anything I can do, sir?”) but you can already tell that all of them would just be met with grunted, ‘m fine. So you try to approach him a different way, the kind of way you would a friend that was upset, saying weightless things just to steal their mind from anything stressful.

“I didn’t know you were born in Atami.” Rain starts to lightly fall against the SUV. “That sounds nice—do you ever go back there?”

“You askin’ questions now too?” Bakugou shoots, but it leads without malice, without bite as he keeps his eyes fixed.

Turning your head to watch the rain, you murmur out a quiet “sorry”, pressing your lips together to stop them from betraying you by frowning. He’s upset, and you would be too; constantly shadowed by other heroes, even when the topic of Dynamight only—Bakugou himself—is assured; triggers written down, buttons pressed, waiting just outside the blast zone for a response that will provoke the stereotypical headlines that readers go berserk for. It’s not his fault. At the sound of your voice, his hair shifts against the headrest as he turns to look at you, quick, before sighing.

“We used to go a lot during the summer, but I haven’t been back in years.” His voice is mild, extinguished for the moment. “Don’t have the time.”

“We should go,” you say it urgently, without thinking, trying to cling to something that will lighten the mood. “In the summer when it’s nice. If we plan it out right, we can maybe write it off as a work thing.” The grin on your face is probably embarrassing, but you wiggle your eyebrows playfully.

Bakugou huffs out a laugh, unsmiling, before his own brows pull down as the words, and their meaning, settle in his ears. “Doesn’t hafta’ be a work thing.”

Neither of you have spoken about what happened that day. Neither of you have spoken about what would have happened if Kirishima hadn’t shown up.

For a nerve-wracking, paralyzing moment, as your sweaty toes begin to curl in their boots, it almost looks like he’s going to.

“Look, I don't know—fuck—this is so fucking—” Bakugou’s hands go to the steering wheel and he grips it, the leather making an audible noise as his fingers tighten. He refuses to face you—mouth slightly open, surprised even though you thought you wouldn’t be—and instead glares forward at the diner, as if it’s somehow Yukiko’s fault neither of you know how to talk about this, about It.

After a moment of prolonged silence, you swallow thickly and realize he isn’t continuing because Yukiko is, in fact, standing in the window, waving the both of you back inside. When you nod at her, she crosses her arms but walks away, and Bakugou sighs.

“I’m sorry.” It blurts out before it can be stopped. A little bit of anger is left in his eyes and he directs it straight at you. “I’m sorry you have to come here on your day off and do this thing that you can't stand.”

He’s certainly tired of hearing your guilt about this, that much you’re sure of, but the expression that washes over him still surprises you; completely unhappy, even more so by what you’ve said, and almost—hurt that you keep apologizing.

“You’re so—” with a grunt, he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, clearing it, before glaring at you. No, not glaring, not quite. Something softer. “You think I’m the kinda guy that does shit he doesn’t want to, idiot?”

“Bakugou, you hate this kind of stuff,” it sounds like you’re asking for absolution and it only makes things worse.

Bakugou just shakes his head again as if you aren’t understanding what he’s saying. Maybe you aren’t.

—

11:12 A

The first thing Yukiko says when the interview finally concludes is, “the company has already set up lunch at the arena, if we could all make our way there!”

And the first thing Bakugou says in response to this is, “as fucking if.”

But by this point, after struggling for two hours with him, she must be hardening up to his bark and bite, because she doesn’t say anything or try to stop him as he beelines for the exit. Which leaves you scrambling behind him, giving a half-bow to every disgruntled person you pass while muttering, “thank you, thank you so much, we had a great time, can’t wait to see the article”.

It’s finally stopped raining, but the sun is still hidden behind a wintery haze; there’s a chill inside his car, the kind that settles in unoccupied spaces (the kind that exists when Bakugou isn’t around). It seems to calm down your boss instantly—that, and the fact that all the questions are finally done.

“That wasn’t so bad!"

Near the end, Yukiko asked if Bakugou had any other plans for his future, if being a hero didn't work out somehow, and he looked between you and her, and then her and the camera, and then you and then her and then you and—

Then he said, "What kind of stupid fucking question is that?"

He's giving you that same look right now (bewildered, disbelieving, hassled). Still, you try to charm the expression off his face by smiling and telling him,

"You did great Bakugou, I'm proud of you!" It earns you a soft snort and relaxed, avoidant eyes. "Now, to the arena!"

"'m not eatin' at that place. Who knows what type'a tasteless shit they catered." He’s quick to catch you taking out your phone and snatches it away before you can unlock it. "I know where 'm going, I don't need you trying to kill us again."

An exaggerated pout works its way to your lips. "Aw, come on Bakugou, don't you trust me?"

He huffs but the use of his name doesn’t deter him, "I'm not gettin' a traffic ticket just because you've got your head up your ass."

Though you loathe to admit it, sighing comes easier now that the SUV is putting miles of distance between you and Yukiko. You're feeling a little more playful again, like the day is falling back into its usual routine, gearing up for one of the many scenarios you've imagined. The image of her figure in the pantsuit is still at the forefront of your mind, however, so you shuffle around until you can wiggle out of your puffy jacket. What you’re wearing isn’t anything as fashionable as her no-doubt expensive ensemble, but at least you’re less of a shapeless blob.

"I'll be good this time, promise." Impishly, you extend your pinky out towards him but he only grunts in response, shifting forward in his seat as he swallows—audibly. The movement allows his collarbones to peek out above the top of his shirt, growing your unfounded need to drag your fingers along them, maybe even your breath, maybe even your mouth.

The threat he mumbles goes unheard by you, but the baritone of his voice stops you from drooling like a pervert any longer.

Even he looks a bit more calm—jaw unclenched, shoulders back and rested, nostrils unflared—and his hand goes from the wheel to the gear shift between you. Long fingers cup it loosely, drumming against it as an afterthought, though the music he once had playing has been turned down low; on the ride over, you’d passed a towering, verdant dragon statue that could be seen from the highway and promptly squealed about it, reaching to tap his shoulder with urgency. The radio had quieted, his attention momentarily snapping to you before muttering “‘m driving,”.

Watching him now, Bakugou’s face relaxes further—the permanent crease between his eyebrows softens—and you wonder if he feels it, too, this effortless comfort that shrouds you.

From what you can tell, he's heading back towards Musutafu and it's only after about 20 minutes that you begin to genuinely wonder if he's decided to blow the whole day off, if he's sick of the questions and antagonizing, if he's speeding back to your icy parking lot to be rid of you—but then he's taking an exit, grumbling about slow drivers and old people, and turning down a street that definitely isn't yours.

It's a part of the outer city-skirts that you aren't all too familiar with, where the buildings are set too close together and the parking lots are too small, fitting six cars at most. Apartments look over thin alleys, fire escapes nearly creating a bridge between bedrooms. You pass a man sleeping next to the garbage, a family of stray cats, a blue rolling cart holding brown plants, a woman selling homemade crepes—everything about the area is intimate, and that realization has your stomach flipping.

Lunch with your boss, with Bakugou, for the second time; you find yourself both anxious and willing, for whatever comes next.

Bakugou circles a block twice before parking in a stray lot, grunting something about anyone daring to say shit to him while tucking the side mirrors of his car closer to the windows. No explanation is offered as to where the two of you are eating, but you don't miss the quick glance he gives your top, which makes you feel suddenly exposed and silly, as if he could read what you were thinking when you tossed your jacket to his backseat. There is a strange crease in the fabric near your tummy due to the seatbelt, and you throw it off and yourself out of the car so that he'll stop looking.

Before you can ask where he's going, he's turning down a thin alley ahead of you. It's nearly noon, but the day is so overcast, white-golden lanterns are still lit to guide the way past an izakaya that’s closed, a gentleman outside stacking empty Kirin cases on top of one another. There are two abandoned bikes, a sign leaning against a rusty ladder that advertises a shop for refurbished furniture and hand-stitched clothes. You can’t take a step without landing on a manhole, but the sewage smell is nearly drowned out by the fresh crepes—and something salty, too.

It's silent between the two of you, save for the rustling of a beaded curtain strung up in the middle of the alley as you pass through it. Bakugou holds it open for you to step under and then keeps a hand on your back, urging you forward, though you have no idea where.

Electrical wires criss-cross into a spider-web above your head, a strange sense of seclusion emanating from their disjointed design; other than the gentleman, you are the only two between the bricks. It feels like you are the only two in the world—far from Musutafu, far from Dynamight and Yukiko. Just you and Bakugou.

When you glance back up at him, he’s already watching you—as he always seems to be, these days—and his eyes are nearly orange in the lantern light, made up of something so entirely different than they had been in the diner.

"Kirishima Eijirou was your fellow classmate, is the co-owner of your agency, and has been a Pro Hero Partner of yours for sometime." Yukiko seemed to have a talent for not only segueing into question after question, but also wording them in a way that stoked Bakugou’s aggravation. "Would you say you have a hard time trusting other heroes, or even getting along with them?"

It's no secret that Dynamight has been controversial in the past, that people still look at him and see the wild beast of a child he once was, and though there is nothing you can do about it, it still gets under your skin to see him and his intricacies boiled down to misconceptions. Patience, understanding, you wanted to tell Yukiko, that’s all you need, though you can’t exactly imagine Bakugou would have appreciated you coming to his defense. More than likely, he would have protested you getting involved or making excuses: that much you know already, because you’re used to him.

You wonder if Yukiko, or anyone, would believe the way Dynamight—the explosion hero, number 5 on the hero board—looks in fond, untroubled moments like this one (half-lidded, citrine, peaceful).

Perhaps the only thing that can be done is be thankful, that they are reserved for you.

"Move it, dumbass," he murmurs, and the soft rasp of his voice makes you smile, draws his eyes—unashamed—to your lips.

(You want to tell him to finish it, what he started that day in his office. You want to tell him to kiss you.)

(You don't.)

There is a white neon sign that is lit up just ahead, though there isn't a name, only gyudon in black. It's the source of the salty smell and, when Bakugou reaches in front of you to shove the creaky door open, no one bats an eye at either of you. No one looks up as he comes in and no one says anything until he's chosen a booth at the back, near a large window that looks out into another cramped section of a street.

Winter peonies are hanging from a window box, blushing pink against the gray painted bricks of its apartment. You can see a stray shopping cart from a market out of sight, a handful of brightly colored signs (red, orange, black) advertising all manner of baked goods and beer, ready for the day to darken just a little more before coming to life. A woman carries her baby down a flight of stairs; a stack of books on the ground appear heavy, water-logged and forgotten near three tied trash bags; two boys in university sweaters take turns looking through a magazine, a half naked woman splayed across the cover.

(Just you and Bakugou.)

An older woman comes to the table offering water and tea, though she doesn't ask if or what type either of you would like before the clay pot in her hand thuds onto the wood. She leaves while muttering, “try the Jasmine Pearl”; your boss looks so unbothered by this, by her, that you come to the conclusion he must have come here before, maybe many times.

And maybe Bakugou knows you, too, because he says, “The owner’s kid almost died in a train crash a few years back, before I was—” he trails off while gesturing to himself sarcastically, but you know what he means: before he was Dynamight. It’s all said without looking at you, eyes on the flowers, the books, snorting when he sees the magazine. “I wasn’t looking for anything in return, that ain’t the point of this shit, but the old hag wouldn’t leave me alone until I ate at her place. Food's decent.”

A grin works its way onto your face, earning a glance from the corner of his eye. “So, you took me out for a free meal, huh? Cheap date.”

Bakugou’s eyes zero in on you as a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips, and you realize too late where you've gone horribly wrong. "Date?" He asks, hands clasping together atop the table as he leans across it, closer to you, "Who said this was a date?"

Now it's your turn to look elsewhere: the ceiling, the teapot, the signs (red, orange, black). "Well, um, lunch date, as in, just having lunch together. Like—you know, between colleagues, sir."

"Colleagues, huh?" The curl of his lips is sinister, too-sharp, has tea slipping down the wrong pipe in your throat and heating your entire body to a similar, boiling temperature. Some jealous part of you sings; Yukiko witnessed quite a few looks from your boss today, but she hadn't been graced with this one. "'s'that why you got all pouty about whatshername?"

Pouty?

"Pouty?" You gasp, jaw falling slack as your hands curl into fists on the table. It's as if he can see right through you, can read what you're thinking, as if you’re not the only one paying too much attention in all this time at the agency. "I was not pouty."

(You definitely were and you know it, which makes the accusation all the more worse.)

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he smirks, gently flicking one of your knuckles as you narrow your eyes at him. "Never seen you give me that look before."

You pause in the middle of sipping your water to stick your tongue out at him, unable to stop from grinning when he snickers. Amusement is an unseen string tying you together; it's impossible not to smile when he does.

He continues, though you aren't sure where he's leading the conversation, eyes flicking to the door, out the window, at his fingers brushing yours. If you didn't know any better you would say he almost looks— "and you've given me plenty in the last eight months."

Looks, he means, and it takes a moment to recover. Plenty of looks? No, if anyone is giving looks, it's him, not you. It's Bakugou with those eyes, orange and fox-like, watching you squirm like he's caught you in his trap, ripe for the taking.

(That analogy does little to settle your still flipping stomach.)

"What do you mean by that?"

It's a talent, how quickly his eyes can change, how they can go from desirous to unreadable in an instant. A part of you wonders if that's all Dynamight, a skill he's acquired since being forced into the public eye—but a part of you believes that's him, Bakugou, too accustomed to shielding his emotions.

"I mean they aren't the kind y'give a colleague."

An air duct rattles brokenly; birds land near the window; a group of school girls laugh without regard, standing together to peer at something on a phone (too close, you and Bakugou, anxious and willing, for whatever comes next).

"And what do they look like?" There are warning sirens going off in your head, vigilant in their duty to remind you of the line you’re knowingly crossing. Regardless, you unwind your fist, curl a finger around his. "Why don't you show me?"

Bakugou's eyebrows draw down, making him look pinched and offended—though you're used to that look, to him, and you know that's not how he really feels—and then the two of you are in the car outside the diner all over again, ready to talk about It.

But a shadow comes over the window, two palms flattening against the glass as the birds—and your intertwined fingers—scatter. It's the shadow of a man too large, too friendly, too red.

"You've gotta be fuckin' kidding me."

"Red Riot!" The sight of him is so unexpected that the grin that paints you is entirely genuine, and you wave at him, laughing too loud for this compact, secret place when he presses his nose up against the glass. He waves back at you, then Bakugou, before dashing around the corner.

The door kicks open so fast that it bounces off the wall, jingling all the while, and that does earn Kirishima a few glares, which he meets with a sheepish wave. When his eyes land on you in the back corner, an expression so utterly smug and satisfied comes across his face that Bakugou lets out an incensed sound, signaling his impending implosion.

"Well, well, well, what do we have—"

"What. The fuck. Are you doing here." It sounds less like a question and more like a demand, as if Bakugou isn't really worried about the how or the why; he just wants Kirishima to answer so the response will stoke the fire currently flaring to life.

"I could ask you the same thing." Red Riot beams, trying to squeeze into the booth beside his partner, though the blonde doesn't budge. He almost looks like a feral cat, arching his back the closer his colleague gets. "C'mon man, this is the spot, we eat here all the time."

"Oh, do you?" At the sound of your question, Kirishima flashes you a knowing grin, though you aren’t sure what he’s so certain of: that Dynamight would bring you to this pace, or that he’d been jumpy about it. Bakugou’s neck turns the color of his eyes—which are far from orange and back to their usual blood-red hue.

The realization that he’s brought you here, to the spot, softens you considerably; allowing you into this cramped little space, behind a beaded curtain, across from a dingy apartment complex twenty minutes out of town, nestled into a web of privacy. It means something to him and Kirishima, which means something to you.

At the sight of him now, there in front of you, you're reminded of your previous conversation with the red head, how you'd argued that they didn't need your friendship, had never asked for it—and they still haven't, just placed you inside the bubble quietly, tenderly, without so much as a second thought.

"Kirishima," Bakugou grits out, and the sound of his actual name and not Shitty Hair surprises you (and the man in question), "you're supposed to be on patrol."

"I am!" Red Riot's voice goes up a defensive octave, holding out his arms and gesturing to his hero outfit. The look he sends you resembles one Dynamight had in the diner—like he doesn’t understand the charge against him—and your heart tightens without warning; they’ve been together so long, Pro Hero Partners for some time, and it shows in the finer details.

"Then why the fuck. Are you—"

"I was in the area, man, thought I'd scope this place out before lunch. Then I saw you two," he grins again, which is always the worst thing he could do in this situation, "and thought I would check on how things are going, you know, between you lovebirds—"

"Don't even—this is just a stupid fucking work thing." The finger he points is menacing; you're surprised he's not sparking. "Don't fucking say shit like that."

(And then your bubble pops.)

Bakugou is downright snarling, less like a hungry fox or feral cat and more like a rabid dog, and you can't stop the embarrassment flooding you as it comes crashing down that this abrupt change of pace is simply because Kirishima thought you two were on a—

—date—

—together as anything other than colleagues.

An instinctive voice inside your head pipes up to defend him from, well, yourself, that he's only being so vehement in his denial because he's embarrassed at falling prey to his partner’s teasing, but the immediate part of you, the emotional part, bites her lip to stop from frowning. You do the opposite—smile casually—though you can feel how forced it must be, like it doesn't fit on the curve of your lips in the moment. It must be obvious, you think, it must be.

"It's a work thing," you echo, nodding once (and you don't miss the hot look Dynamight slices you with).

Doesn't matter; Kirishima laughs slowly and winks, as if the three of you are all in on some secret joke, as if he knows Bakugou too well. "Of course, definitely! Work thing. I'll make sure to mention that to Mina later when I—"

"You aren't gonna say shit about this, unless you want me to tear you a new one." Bakugou's eyes widen a frightening amount, palm slapping against the table as he nearly upends it. Kirishima remains unphased and it makes you think of Yukiko again, of how indifferent you were to some of his answers.

(“In the past, it’s taken more than a little elbow grease to obtain an interview with you, despite being a household name. Do you find you struggle with the newfound fame of being such a public, top-ten hero? I don’t think it’s a secret that Dynamight likes his privacy.”

“I don’t have time for shit like this because I’m busy doing my job. I don’t know what else anyone wants from me, why they care how long I spend at the gym or what my beer of choice is. I save the fucking day and then I go home, what I do there isn’t their business.”

“...so you do struggle with being in the spotlight so frequently?”

“I don’t struggle with anything, because I ain't the one that’s bothered!”

Yukiko had, in fact, looked bothered, especially when you snorted and rolled your eyes at him, especially when he peered back to make an exasperated face at you, shaking his head like he didn’t understand how he wasn’t making sense.)

And that hurts, you can't lie, with how mortified your boss is at the prospect of anyone knowing you two are together, even during a work thing. It's ridiculous, but you have to blink once, and then twice suddenly, because you can't stop thinking about the up-and-down look he gave Yukiko, how well put together she seemed.

It's not as if you are neurotic enough to believe it was love at first sight, or that he's even minimally interested in her—by the end of morning, actually, you were almost certain he wouldn't have offered her a glass of water were she to spontaneously combust—but she was so chic and elegant. She probably knew 6 different languages and drove a car priced in the same range as his SUV, she had innate charm and structure, business aptitude, she was wildly impressive.

If even she couldn't entice him, then who could?

It's ridiculous. You're being ridiculous because he's your boss.

Before you're forced to try and interrupt the unhinged hissing going back and forth between your employers, the older woman returns and quiets both of them with a single look. Kirishima gives a shy smile and steps out of the way, far out of her way, and Bakugou sits back down, muttering out to her that yes, he would like two bowls of gyudon with kimchi (like always). There’s a story here, maybe many; suddenly bitter, you wonder if you could ever be authorized to hear them.

(You haven't even had time to think about what you want, but there's a yellowed, dimly lit menu on the wall and your eyes catch on chicken curry, so you repeat that and she's off again.)

The first thing Bakugou says to his partner then is, "would you get. The hell. Out of here."

(Again—it's not so much a question.)

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint—" (Dynamight growls his disagreement) "—don't wanna interrupt you two like last time, so feel free to start the smooching once—"

Kirishima cracks up when Bakugou shoots from the table, though a flash of something like panic smears out his smile. Even when he puts his hands up and starts backing towards the door, babbling all the while, your boss doesn't stop following him, palms curled the way they are when he's gonna blow something straight to hell, and he doesn't refrain from advancing until Kirishima is bumping into the door, scrambling to get it open.

And he still doesn't stop until they are both back out in the alley, for a long time.

The food arrives, the woman looking at you for the first time as she asks, "he ditch you?" When you tell her he hasn't—that you know of; maybe he did?—she mutters, "little punk" before stalking away. You wish she would have stayed to hear you agree, but you dig into the food to stop the pit deepening in your stomach.

Quietly, you go to war with yourself, arguing that it was Bakugou who had his hand on your neck and it was Bakugou with his eyes on your lips and it was your boss who insisted you call him Bakugou.

And it was Bakugou who was embarrassed by this, by you and your stupid little work thing.

You miss the jingle of the door when he returns, only offering your attention as he slumps back into the booth, red-faced. He doesn’t acknowledge you, only splits his chopsticks and stares at the still simmering bowls of food while holding his breath, before tossing the utensils on the table, wood clattering lowly as he shoves his fingers in his eyes. They dig forcefully into the muscles, as if he’s trying to stop a headache that won’t quit.

“Everything okay, sir?”

He looks stressed, more-than; another wave of guilt wracks you, though it’s hard to determine where it’s building from this time. The truth is out: he does hate this bullshit ass type of thing, and you wonder why he tried to insist he doesn’t; he should know that you know by now.

Bakugou's hand drops from his eyes to his mouth, where he pulls at his lips absentmindedly. Underneath the table, his knee won't stop jerking, just like how the fingers on his other hand won't stop drumming against the table; he's thinking, too hard.

If life were a scenario of your brain’s creation, you think he would lean across the table and take your hand fully, but instead he just kicks you lightly to get your attention. It’s so on brand for him, so Bakugou, that you realize instantly where your imagination was wrong and dare to smile, tucking your chin down to hide it.

Your boss is not smiling. "You—he's a fucking—" his struggle is almost painful, and you can feel the tug and pull of the words he wants to say and the words that are leaving his mouth. "Y’know what I meant, right?"

And it's not so much a question as it is a plea.

Yukiko calls three times before Bakugou digs into his second bowl.

—

12:24 P

The first two attempts go ignored, mainly due to the horrendous glare he gives both the phone and your hand, frozen mid-air, before he snatches it from you during the third call. He doesn't even bother with a greeting, just grunts "yeah, yeah, we're comin'," and then proceeds to eat faster than you've ever seen a human eat anything.

Some inane side of you has half a mind to bring your chopsticks together near your mouth and ask, "How many calories do you consume in a single day, Dynamight? Fans everywhere want to know," but things are still intensely awkward, made even worse now that you’re pressed for time, so you store that little funny away for later.

Later; all of your exciting scenarios have washed away with the returning rain and you'd like nothing more than to go back to the office, to return to the space with Bakugou, with Dynamight, that you know best. The ground is too unstable, shaking as easily as your breath every time he meets your eyes. It's a lot to handle, more than you expected, and that—like all things, these days—only brings back the guilt.

The entire drive back is quiet, save for a few vexed sighs, and he listens to the navigation guide in his car as you pick mindlessly at your cuticles; it feels like something's been ruined, and the silence makes you sadder than you expected, puts something in your throat that’s hard to swallow.

Sports Illustrated has rented out a stadium, one that's equipped to deal with any stray explosions that could bring about the savage cover shot they're looking for. It has a sleek and shiny gym, one prepared for an entire rugby team—which may or may not equal Bakugou and his immense presence—, a locker room, and even a small conference area that's been set up to look like a U.A classroom.

("Thought this was supposed to be about me now, not back then."

"It is," you said, standing in his office, reading from the itinerary Yukiko had forwarded. "How different you are.")

Freshly powdered and matte, she's waiting just inside the doors, looking appropriately in place against the gray-slate tiles and smile-white walls. "Welcome back to high school!"

Ahead of you, Bakugou grumbles, "fucking great."

"The makeup trailer is just down in the hall, so we can head that way! We'll start with the gym first, and then move to the 'classroom'." Just as you begin to follow him, she produces a lanyard with a plain white badge reading visitor and extends it out to you. "Just in case anyone says anything." She assures, back to beaming.

Bakugou rears his head as if she's attempted to slap him. "Who's sayin' something? She's with me."

"Oh, no, no!" Yukiko waves her hands urgently, trying to put out the fire before it starts. "Just in case!"

"Just in case what—"

"It's fine." You say, Miss Customer Service™, "I get it, it's fine." Bakugou is frowning when you look up at him, though you slip the cord over your head and flash him your best reassuring smile. Yukiko is given a warning glance, one that says this isn’t over with just his eyes before he’s stalking away.

You hope she’s not able to read that look.

It looks strange so empty, the arena, and your brain likens it to a carcass: the walls feel hollow and massive, the concrete echoing back every noise you tentatively make; you’re afraid to think too hard in case that, too, will reverberate. It’s entire design was born with thousands of people in mind, but it is just you three under a never-ending stream of LED screens, banners of sports teams COMING SOON!, closed coiling doors, blocking the advertisement of takoyaki, yakisoba and cold beer, syrupy kakigori. Bakugou eyes the portraits lining the walls, black and white candid shots of fans cheering wildly, and you don’t realize he’s slowing down until he’s right beside you.

Very vaguely, you remember the U.A Sports Festival, maybe had it on as background noise at a friend's house while chatting amongst yourselves, oblivious and uncaring to the quirk-blessed people that were using their talents to the fullest. It dawns on you how strange it is to be here, beside Bakugou, how far both of you have come. Any clear images from the three festivals he had been in are all recent, only replayed on your laptop after he'd become a household name, after he became your boss, after he started meaning something.

In an eight minute video you'd watched titled dynamight being dynamight, you remember his sixteen-year-old self standing at the microphone, saying something about winning that made every one of his peers furious, and it's just so him that you're forced to throw an elbow, smile and shake your head when he asks what your deal is

Hands shoved into the pockets of his loose, dark jeans, he elbows you back lightly. "Don't fuckin' laugh at me."

"Don't be so funny."

"Don't be so easy to amuse."

"Don't be such a child."

"Me?" The look he gives you is bewildered, though the rigidness of his eyes has melted. Muttering another threat under his breath, he leans against your arm like he's going to push you again, but he doesn't, he just stays. One of his hands comes out to gently flick the plastic badge, making a face at it like its very existence is an insult, and he looks away when it lands back against your chest, when you snort at his impudence.

"Nobody will question you," Yukiko affirms, smiling softly when you both glance back. You’d almost forgotten about her, embarrassingly enough, and she looks between you two and the lanyard before rolling her eyes, waving her hand like the idea of it is silly—even if she’d been the one to produce it. "Trust me."

The expression on her face reminds you so frighteningly of Kirishima’s, like she knows something you don't, and it only winds you up even further as Bakugou is ushered away into another exclusive bubble. Her heels click pleasantly against the concrete, between just the two of you, leading the way through a small twist of tunnels impossible to navigate without her. The floral scent of her perfume is intoxicating, filling up every cramped area she enters, and you’re ashamed that you can’t stop inhaling through your nose.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she says suddenly and offense is a reflex that rips through you, wanting to remind her that you two met hours ago, but you become distracted by the texture of her skin, more obvious now that she’s so close to you. How human; gorgeous, stunning, daunting—but perhaps not as high on the pedestal as you had placed her. "We've been emailing for a few months now."

"Oh," you blink, dumbfounded, "yeah, I guess we have."

"I meant what I said,” Yukiko stops and holds her hand out, letting you go ahead of her in the direction she's leading you. "It's easier to outrun Ingenium than it is to get an interview with Dynamight, so we have you to thank for setting this up."

"Oh," you parrot, then, quickly, before she thinks it's all you know how to say, "no, I mean, I was just as surprised that he agreed. Dynamight, uh—" she laughs at the sheepish smile you give her, "he hates these things."

"Does he? I couldn't tell." She makes such a cute face that you might have been jealous if you weren't laughing with her. It's less awkward than you might have expected it to be hours ago, less forced, and a feminist, eat-the-patriarchy side of you is immensely disappointed in yourself. "Well, we, the company, are blessed he has you to influence him."

Another dumb blink; you make a disbelieving face to yourself before looking down at your fingers. "I wouldn't say I influence him, maybe know how to wear him down, but,” you trail off as she laughs again, shrugging.

Of course you do, know exactly how to bother him, how to bug him and push every button that will set him alight; you almost want to tell her it’s in your job description to understand exactly how to get away with harassing Dynamight—and keeping your head.

Yukiko leans against your shoulder with the same sentiment Bakugou had, though you can feel the stark differences between her arm and his. “I think he’s lucky to have someone that understands him to such an extent. It’s very rare to have assistants that can accept people as they are, behind their hero persona. I'm sure you might be aware of that, though, working with others in the business.”

Around the corner is a set of large glass doors that she steps up to open, once again gesturing for you to enter, and you want to tell her to back-up, to rewind a minute or two. The gym is just as you imagined: spacious, set up for industrial sized workouts, stock full of equipment and weights that look as if they could snap your back in half, were you unable to work with them properly. The fluorescence—and the light boxes and white sheets and reflective umbrellas—confound you long enough that Yukiko whisks away further into the room, up to the cameramen from the diner and a new gentleman, one you easily conclude will be the photographer for the day.

By the time you regain your composure—and close your mouth—Bakugou is entering, cementing you to your spot, withdrawn from the attention behind a treadmill that sits taller than your head. Nerves begin to take flight in your stomach at the sight of him; upon first glance, he doesn’t seem any different than usual, handsome as ever, but then you notice how dark and long his eyelashes look, the light contour under his cheekbones erasing what little roundness there is to his rarely-seen stoic face. He looks all Dynamight: sharp angles and jutting edges, dangerously keen, ineffable.

With all the attentiveness of an enlisted serviceman, he scans each corner of the room until he lands on you, small and out of the way, and you give him a small wave (one he doesn’t return). It looks like he’s got something to say, something serious, something important, judging by the sincere expression on his face. It’s tired, worn-down, though not in the way you imagine it is when he’s had a long day of hero-ing; it reminds you of the look on his face that day in his office, when the both of you had finally let go of whatever was keeping you back, when you’d finally crossed a boundary together.

It’s longing, you realize, that look.

“—so, I think it will be best to get a few warm up shots, maybe just doing some light stretching.”

Shamefully, you realize you’ve missed the photographer’s name and are somewhat relieved he hasn’t acknowledged you outside the bubble; the idea of having to ask him to repeat it makes you want to sink into the floor, to be dragged down by the weights the size of your head.

Bakugou jumps on his feet a few times—sporting a pair of bright orange kicks—before extending his arms to the ceiling, bending them behind his back, rotating his shoulders in some deliberate way that looks almost painful. Yukiko comes to stand beside you then, unnerving you with that look on her face, and she only grins before asking, loudly,

“He looks great, don’t you think?”

He glances back at you lazily, eyes—which have darkened—trained on your face, and you begin to realize that he does, he does look great.

He looks—immaculate.

The pair of compression tights he’s wearing only highlight how strong his thighs must be and his legs seem unending, long and powerful underneath the black fabric. A loose, orange tank is covering his torso and, though you hadn’t thought much of it at first, it becomes apparent to you why it seems so slack on him: in all the places it would hug the average man, Bakugou’s body is tight, muscular, rigid. His shoulders are capped and you can see the curve of his traps due to how thin the straps of his top are, the tension in his biceps as he just stands, relaxed.

Oh my god, you think, horrified. You’ll have to wait there for the next two hours—maybe three—watching as he builds up a sweat, as he works out and grunts with effort and pants and—

“Uh, y-yeah,” the attempt to clear your throat only makes you choke, has your voice coming out as a pathetic squeak, “he—you look, yeah, great.”

The hungry sheen that will gloss over his eyes; the curve of his cheek with the smirk that rattles your knees; the poorly disguised want in his voice as he teases and taunts your revealing choice of words; any minute now he’ll spark to life, sweetheart on his tongue, taking note of the sweaty palms you run across your thighs—

But it never comes.

Instead his eyebrows pull down in that Bakugou way, jaw and fist clenching in tandem as his breathing changes, deepens, giving you that same up-and-down look that bothered you earlier. Now that it’s directed at you and not Yukiko, however, it has a different meaning, riles you up in an eager, impure way. Nothing else is said as he turns towards the weight rack, but the muscle in his cheek doesn’t release and his leg doesn’t stop bouncing until the photographer is kneeling on the floor to get a shot of him curling a dumbbell.

The ceiling becomes extremely interesting then and you spend the camera flashes and the “ooooh, great shot, just like that,”’s admiring the tiles above everyone, all 27, 28, 29, 30 of them. There aren’t any cuticles left on either of your hands by the time Bakugou sniffs, drops the weights to the floor with a sound that demands your attention—unfortunately; the photographer, bless him, whatever his name is, gets a wonderful shot of your boss’s abs as he uses the bottom of the tank to wipe the perspiration above his lip, over his eyebrows, down his neck.

You’re sure there’s a great shot of the white-blonde trail of hair leading from his belly button down into his shorts, because that becomes all too visible, too.

Oh my god, you think, horrified.

Or you think, you think; you actually say it, feeling sweat pool in all the uncomfortable spots against your skin when you realize everyone is looking at you, everyone; Bakugou’s eyebrows are raised expectantly, waiting for you to continue as he works his jaw.

“I have your headphones,” you say idiotically, as if that warrants the carnal thoughts digging through your brain, swiveling your backpack to hang in front of you for emphasis. “I—can he—does he want them? Or—I mean, do you, sir?”

Yukiko frowns apologetically, “I’m sorry, that would be like product placement and only certain brands were approved for the shoot.”

His eyes—dark, deep and dark—bounce between the two of you before he shrugs, “whatever, s’fine.”

“‘kay!” Synapses momentarily defecting, you give him a thumbs-up, smiling so hard that it hurts, until he snorts and turns around to rack the barbell.

Once again, Yukiko leans into you, flowery and smiling, and when she winks, you’re astounded by the sharp turn this situation has suddenly taken. It feels like only minutes ago you and Bakugou were eating in tense silence, too self-conscious to even look up from the designs of your plate. It feels like only minutes ago he was glaring at the badge around your neck, averting his eyes from your chest, elbowing you.

It feels like only minutes ago Yukiko was implying you were intertwined with Bakugou in some way no one else was.

I think he’s lucky to have someone that understands him to such an extent.

Understands him? No, you can hardly say that you do, why he works 100 hours a week, why he comes to the office early and stays late, why he won’t call Deku back, why he doesn’t find the time to go to Atami anymore.

Why going with you doesn’t have to be a work thing, but this does.

You don’t understand why he wants you to call him Bakugou, or why he cares if you still want to go to Backdraft’s charity event, why he tells you not to take the late train or why he gets mad if you work through lunch. You don’t understand what the hell any of this is, why he knows the kind of looks you give him and leans against you and says things like, “she’s with me”.

But you think he might understand you, to some extent.

Since you’ve known him, he’s always been too clever for his own good, too perceptive; he knows why you’re being pouty about Yukiko, notices when you shuck your jacket off, he had the locks changed on Kirishima’s door, though you’d never spoken a word to him about the effort it took to get inside, Bakugou knows—in the dark, lights off, during a meeting—when some cop has their hands around your wrist or resting on your back.

And he must know what you’re thinking, then, here, now, because he’s sitting on the bench, sweating, chest heaving, looking at you like—

—like he’s had enough, like he’s fed up with all the back and forth, the tug and pull. The looks, dancing around It, Kirishima and his hero sense, his precise timing. And you think you’ve had enough, too. You think you're anxious and willing, for whatever comes next.

“Alright, we have some good shots in here. Back to the makeup trailer, and then we can revisit U.A!”

It’s all been undone wordlessly, the ties holding you back, the wall you’ve both tried to build, and Bakugou stalks by you, eyeing you like the fox he is, like you’re the mouse caught in his trap. Before he’s fully out into the hall, he’s already pulling the tank up and over the expanse of his back and you have to wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, because he knows; broader than you ever realized, embellished with pale scars, shoulders steady enough to hold the weight of Japan.

“Come on,” there’s a light hand at your elbow, manicured nails digging lightly into your sleeve as Yukiko tugs you from your trance. “I think you’ll enjoy the classroom set up.”

The corridors twist and turn again, your floral guide leading the way as she talks aimlessly about how many reps Bakugou can do—a secret she will keep to herself and away from the public, she promises with another wink. She’s kind and funny, easy to socialize with, good at making conversation; these recognitions are met with more compassion, more relief than jealousy.

As pointed as some of her questions may have seemed during the interview, it feels as if Bakugou is in good hands, that she won’t twist his words to make him out to be a jackass or a villain or someone the people shouldn’t look up to. All of her little glances to the cameraman; hopefully those footage cuts will be handled with care. You want to trust they will.

“He’s a natural, I’m surprised.” She comments, “He photographs very well.”

Not that you’ve spent any certain amount of time looking at Dynamight promo shots, but you’ve no reason to believe anything otherwise. “He’s beautiful, I think anyone would be hard pressed to get a bad photo from him.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re clapping a hand over it, trying belatedly to slap them back between your lips.

This little confession is met uneventfully, Yukiko only sparing you a glance at the sound before continuing down the concrete. She’s an angel, you realize, a god-send. “I suppose that’s a good point, Nakano has to spend at least 20 minutes with me in order to get a good headshot.” Another admission that makes her seem less superior. “It helps that he’s confident. Anyone would be, with a body like that.”

“Yeah,” you hum, noncommittal, eager to get as far away from this topic as possible.

The doors she opens are steel, painted white, and—though you’ve never been in a U.A classroom—it looks exactly as you would expect. Desks organized in four rows of five, cupboard at the back, a green sheet on the wall that Yukiko says will be edited to look like the field outside the school, a wide chalkboard that has DYNAMIGHT in an explosive font that’s meant to look hand-written.

(You want to tell Yukiko, and the others entering the room, that Bakugou has nice penmanship, better than what’s displayed on the board, if that’s meant to be “his”. It’s not any kind of cursive calligraphy, but his is neat, clean, professional.)

(Suddenly you want to tell Yukiko a few things, that Bakugou is confident, that he’ll walk all over you if you let him, but you want her to understand that he’s considerate, thoughtful in a way that the public could never comprehend. You want to tell her that he means well, that he tries in all the ways he knows how, that he asks questions that aren’t so much questions as they are pleas, you want her to understand he doesn’t do shit he doesn’t want to do.

You want to tell her that he’s made you accustomed to the heat in which he constantly burns, that his fingertips have left marks on the back of your neck, that he’s calloused you.)

And it must be written all over your face, these unsaid things that are bursting at your seams, because she smiles the same soft smile she had before you and Bakugou parted, like she understands, like she knows. A manicured hand squeezes your shoulder and then she’s exposing to you the purposeful look she gives the cameraman from the diner, a look so familiar, so pained and open you have to gasp. There’s a ring around his finger, you realize, but not around hers.

“Yukiko,—” you breathe, though there isn’t anything else that comes from you, there isn’t anything else you know how to say.

A sheen of tears fills her eyes as she shrugs, powdered mask never betraying her as she smiles complacently. “He looks great, don’t you think?”

This unspoken thing that has been laid out before you has you so shaken, so surprised that you don’t even realize she’s talking about Bakugou, that he’s arrived for class until she gestures to him with the hand that has led you here.

(He does, he does look great, you realize, he always looks great.)

They’ve dressed him in a school uniform, one that must be an oversized twin to whatever he wore in highschool—or was supposed to wear; already, he’s tugging so hard at the red tie around his neck, you fear he’ll yank his own head off.

An instinctive side of you, Miss Customer Service™, is meeting him in the middle of the classroom, waving his hands away so you can release him from his leash. “Stop thrashing,” you chide, receiving a grunt in response as he peers down at you. The starched shirt he’s wearing underneath his blazer is only buttoned up to the middle of his chest, giving you another view of his collarbones, of his clavicle, of the tendons in his throat.

When he swallows, his Adam’s apple absorbs your attention, hands halting in their movements as his own come down between you. You feel his fingers lightly brushing against your stomach, deftly working to undo the belt around his pants and all the blood in your veins stops—

—because what the fuck is he—

“Didn’t wear this stupid thing, either.” Bakugou mutters, eyes black in the studio lights surrounding you both. The clinking of the pin against the frame has you looking down, forehead just barely grazing the white-blonde hair lightly dusting his chest as he pulls the leather from around his waist in such a provocative fashion that you’re forced to—

You have to step away from him, the loose ends of his tie falling against his shirt as one of the desks digs into your back. It must look like he’s shoved you or startled you somehow, it must. Dynamight, your boss, Bakugou—he’s a sight, with his shirt half-open, tie undone, holding a belt in his hands as his pants sag down around his hips the way they always do, the way he prefers.

(It’s longing, you realize, that look.)

(It’s want.)

The photographer, Maybe-Named-Nakano—or is that the name of the diner cameraman?—steps in, a reminder that you two aren’t the only ones in the world, you and Bakugou, by instructing him to lean against the chalkboard lazily. Next to his name, which he insists ain’t really mine because it’s missing the “Lord” and “Explosion” and “Murder God”; just as you expected, just as you feared, his blood-lust gaze never leaves your face.

For some reason, you want to tell him about Yukiko, about what she’s shown you, about what she’s implied. The urge fills you so suddenly that you think you’ll explode if you don’t tell him right now, if you don’t grab him by the free collar of his shirt and shake him, meet the wistful eyes that have been ripping you to shreds all day, all week, for the past few months, longer than you can remember.

It feels like a warning somehow, this thing she has given you, that if the feeling inside you doesn’t find its way out of you and into him, you’ll be the assistant in the puffy coat, sitting off to the side, drinking a milkshake as Dynamight gets interviewed, as he twirls a silver ring on his finger because you didn’t have the fucking guts to just say—

“Fuck this,” Bakugou snaps, breathless, arms winding back to tear the gray blazer off. It makes you blink, this outburst, and you look at him as he looks at you, as he looks at Maybe-Nakano, at Yukiko, before tossing the jacket on the teacher’s desk in front of him. “I’m fuckin’ done,” he spits, already half-way out of the room.

Uh oh.

“Wait,” you call, though it’s too late, “You—I—,” instead, you just face all the raised eyebrows and the few fed up frowns (and those instantly put you on the offensive). “Sorry, I just—give me a minute! Be right back!” Miss Customer Service™ goes scrambling out into the hall, head whipping left and right as she tries to discern where her Hero(!) could have stormed off too. The only thing you see lingering in the carcass of the arena is the makeup trailer, though you hadn’t heard his feet on the steps or the slam of the door.

The berating doesn’t stop as you hurry across the lobby; what the hell is wrong with you? Clearly something has upset Bakugou, your boss, and you were too busy with your head up your ass to realize what’s ignited him. The day has been stressful enough for him, that much you managed to stay aware of, but somewhere in the costume change and makeup retouch, his mood has taken a downward spiral.

There are several jumbled apologies swirling around in your mouth as you bound up to the trailer, knocking once, then twice, before yanking open the door; if he’s that pissed, he wouldn’t have opened it for you anyway.

“Bakugou?” Empty; your voice bounces around the vacant space. It’s nothing particularly spectacular: a few vanities set up, one on the end near a sink in the event they need to wash or style his hair. The floor is carpeted and the lean-back chair looks comfortable, there’s a muted television in the ceiling corner playing videos from the Sports Illustrated YouTube channel.

God, you can’t imagine how you look, burdened by the emotional rollercoaster you can’t seem to dismount from. When you step up to the mirror, you see the bags under your eyes, not as well hidden by your concealer as you thought at 6 this morning, and only growing darker since then. However you’d attempted to style your hair is alright, not perfect, but it looks like you at least put some effort into it. All at once you are reminded of Yukiko, insecurity rising without your permission, but the shine in her professional eyes fights it off.

The door yanks open all too obviously, the same way he does his office door, his car door, and Bakugou stops on the steps as he stares at you.

Waiting, for you to say something, for him to say something, for either of you to crack.

“Hey,” you breathe, the tension in your shoulders dispersing at the sight of him. The two of you have been together all day, but it feels as if it’s been a while, too long, since you’ve talked to him, just him (just you and Bakugou). “Is everything okay?”

He’s still standing on the steps, hand on the door, glaring at you. The closer you look, you realize his teeth are tearing up the skin inside his mouth, the tie is still clenched tight in his hand, leg bouncing just enough. He’s thinking, too hard.

“Bakugou?”

The slam of the door echoes off the concrete in the lobby, making you jump as he crosses the few steps between you and him (his legs, unending, long and powerful beneath his loose slacks). A myriad of words splutters out of you, none of them quite formed or making sense, when he grabs the front of your top, forcing you back against the vanity, forcing you closer as he crowds against you. The smell of his cologne is exhilarating—expensive, like orchids and spice and comfort—and it just barely masks the lingering sweet smell he’s never without.

“What’rey’do—”

“You’re driving me fucking insane!” It’s like he’s had enough, like he’s fed up with all the back and forth, the tug and pull.

(You think you’ve had enough, too. You think you're anxious and willing, for whatever comes next.)

And then you both erupt, all at once; he presses his mouth to yours (hot, chaste, close-lipped), one hand moving from your shirt to the back of your neck to keep you flush against him. A small sound of surprise and sudden want has him curling into you, pushing you further into the edge of the table until you have to wince out a whiny “ow”.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grunts and it does something to you, has you scrambling to sit back on the vanity, opening your thighs wide, allowing him to crash so close that he chokes on his gasp. You aren’t sure if he’s aware of it, but his hips are knocking against the wood, straining to grind in tandem with yours.

Back against the mirror, you do your best to shift so that a hand can go up your shirt, splaying out against your ribs, just under your bra, but the table shakes with how aggressive he’s becoming, how unhinged now that the line has been crossed, and things clatter to the floor. Miss Customer Service™ is an idiot, one that turns her head to see bottles spilling onto the carpet, cotton pads and Q-tips strewn out amongst makeup wipes and brushes—a wet bite to your neck has you squealing, unintentionally rutting against the hard length of him as you return your attention back to the man between your thighs.

“—fucking damn it,” Bakugou groans, slanting his head so his mouth can capture yours entirely, parting your lips, tongue stroking yours in a way that has a moan slipping from you. “You’re—”

You’ve no idea what he means to say, but you’re too dizzy to care, agreeing with a breathy, “yeah” that sounds so pornographic, it has you freezing, silently fighting off the embarrassment that threatens to ruin the mood. It seems to spur him on, to ignite him, teeth meeting teeth as he growls like it isn’t enough, like it isn’t close enough, like he’s not getting what he needs.

One of his hands leaves your face to work on the buttons of his shirt, furiously trying to undo them while kissing you so deep, so hungry, but he pulls back to look down at his chest when he barely manages to get one open, “fuck!”

The sight of him so flushed, lips spit-slick and chest heaving like he’d just finished 27, 28, 29, 30 curls has you tightening your thighs around him, a hand going to the table to inch you forward to where you need the pressure of him the most. The look he sends you is threatening, lips curling back to bare his canines like the feral brute that he is, that you need in this moment, but it only eggs you on. You want him to give you that look and many more, new ones, heady ones, the kind that will sear into your eyelids.

“‘m gonna fuckin’ lose it,” he warns, buttons clinking against the mirror as he yanks the fabric apart, tearing the seams and tossing it to the ground.

“What does that look like?” It’s a little humiliating, how out of breath you are just from kissing him; you can’t imagine how it would be if the two of you actually— “Why don’t you show—me!”

Bakugou’s hands cup around the backs of your knees before you can finish, drawing you as close to the edge of the table as he can while rutting against you, hard. A sigh of bliss spills from his mouth into yours as he reconnects his lips, and one of your hands goes to his stomach, shuddering at how tightly it tenses under your touch. After spying it earlier, you can’t help it; he huffs through his nose when you follow the trail of hair underneath his bellybutton to the top of his briefs.

“You’re—oh, fuck—” He’s coming undone in the best way, hand shaking as it slips back into place behind your neck (his fingers are searing, leaving prints on your skin that burn down to your muscle and bone, that brand you), and you can’t believe this is happening, you can’t believe this is actually, finally, happening.

The two of you have put it off for too long, tried too hard to avoid this thing that’s been threatening to carbonize you and now the flame is wild, out of control, consuming you both.

“Bakugou—”

“Katsuki,” he rasps, he pleads, “jus’—you can call me by my name,” his nose nudges yours softly, taking you back to his office, your fingers stroking over his eyelids, him nodding urgently as you said what he wanted—needed—to hear.

You arch forward into him, chest to chest, sternum to sternum, bone to bone, and travel your hands up to his neck, to scratch against his scalp. It draws a groan from deep within his chest and he succumbs, leaning against you so that he can kiss you with significance, with purpose; it’s slow but deliberate, desperate, saying all the things he’s unable to.

“Katsuki,” you say, you yield, and you don’t care that the two of you are in a makeup trailer in a stadium rented out to Sports Illustrated; you don’t care if he’s your boss and you’re his assistant; you don’t care if Kirishima knows, or Mina, or Yukiko or Maybe-Nakano or the old woman from the gyudon place; if he burns, so will you.

Because he’s gotten you accustomed to the heat, because he’s calloused you.

“I don’t want to be Yukiko,” it’s whispered against his lips and he slows down the tiniest bit, trying to listen to whatever you’re saying, “watching you from the sidelines because I couldn’t say it when I needed to.”

Katsuki can’t know what you’re talking about, has no idea of what was revealed to you, but he shakes his head slightly, nipping your lip. “What sidelines? There ain’t any sidelines.”

When he tugs at your visitor badge—the horrible, rotten, loathsome thing—you grin so hard it hurts. “I’m with you?”

His hips rock into yours unhurried, as if you have all the time in the world (just you and Katsuki), and a breath stutters out in the space between you. “‘s’right.”

And then the bubble pops.

“Is everything alright in there?” Comes a voice outside the trailer, and you strain your ears desperately, pleading to the universe that it is not, somehow, Kirishima Eijirou. “We heard some crashing.”

Yukiko—the grin in her voice translates through the door.

Oh my god, you think, you say, horrified. Your hand slaps over your mouth as Katsuki rolls his eyes, stilling his hips but not yet leaning from you. When she knocks again, he grits his teeth and barks,

“We’re come—we’ll be out in a minute, damn it!”

The fit of laughter you devolve into has him scowling, fingers pinching your sides as he grumbles at you to shaddup, though his words are laced with fatigue; neither of you have the strength not to fall into whatever this is.

“‘m never doing this interview shit again, got it?” he groans, grabbing a stray button from the vanity to scrutinize.

Giving a playful salute, you say, “sir, yes, sir.”

Katsuki glowers, rolling his shoulders in that way that looks like it hurts, in that way that looks mouthwatering—and he knows it, by the smirk growing on his face. “If you keep that sir shit up, we’re gonna be in here longer than a minute.”

In your fuzzy boots, you sweaty toes curl, biting your lip to keep from smiling as he retrieves his ruined shirt from the ground—oh, god, how were you gonna explain that to Maybe-Nakano? “Is that a promise?”

His eyes widen furiously and he pinches you again, trapping you back against the mirror as his nose bumps yours, “are you. Trying. To drive me. Crazy.”

And it’s not so much a question as it is a confession.

—

8:13 A

The photos of Dynamight are, as expected, impeccable.

Yukiko had forwarded you a few of the unedited shots through her official email address—and she had also sent several winking emojis through her personal, which she had given to you not long after the shoot.

There are only three sample photos, stamped with an embossed, Sports Illustrated watermark that takes up the majority of the picture, but you’ve been peeking at them whenever Kirishima isn’t incidentally prowling past your office. He looks amazing, changed, grown, in the untouched versions, with scars peeking out on his chest and across his nose, the stubble he refused to let them shave shadowing his chin, the deep, permanent crease between his eyebrows—it’s all him, Dynamight, Katsuki, exactly as he is.

The wooden blinds in his office are pulled open, flooding your office with the fluorescent light burning through his, and when you look up to give him a wave (that he won’t return), his eyes are already on you—as they always seem to be, these days.

Alright already, he means, get your ass in here.

The low heels you're wearing today don’t require a clasp, so slipping them on is all too easy, and you peer out of your office warily—your clipboard and the folder with the photos hugged tight to your chest—while searching for any pesky redheads. When the coast seems clear, you hurry to round the corner from your office into his, leaning back against the door—which you realize has a bright green sticky note that says FUCK OFF, SHITTY HAIR—holding your breath until it’s safely shut.

Your boss is waiting, chin in hand, one ash eyebrow raised.

“Good morning,” you beam, waving the manila folder like a prize before setting it on his desk. “I can’t wait to show you these, they turned out great—”

It’s flicked back across the desk at you, “Not interested.”

“Aww, c’mon!” You whine, shoulders slumping, “don’t you want to see the fruits of your labor?”

“Decline.”

Tapping a pen against your lips, you narrow your eyes at him, biting back a smile when he frowns. “I’ll find a way to show you, somehow, anyway! Deku called at 2:37 yesterday—”

“Decline.”

“And he did not ask you to lunch, y’old grouch.” You smirk when his lip twitches. “I just wanted to gloat that he called and asked to speak to me—”

“What the hell did he say?”

Katsuki looks bewildered; you’re in the elevator, you’re raising the sack.

“Uh, sir, are you asking about my personal conversations with your fellow—”

“I’m not fuckin’ around, what did he say?”

He’s in the corner, hissing and spitting, but you’ve still got him in your sights.

The pen taps against your lips again and you hum, “I don’t really think it’s appropriate that I divulge that information to you, sir, but if you’d like to call him—”

“I know what you’re doing, y’little brat.” His chair flies into the file cabinet behind him with how quick he rises to his feet. “And it ain’t gonna work. When I want to call him, I will.”

Shit, eluded you again. Sorry Deku, you think, maybe next time.

“Okay,” you shrug, checking the box on your clipboard, “Best Jeanist called, he wanted to congratulate you on hitting the number four spot.”

He stands straighter, suddenly looking awkward, out of place, that he’s been acknowledged. “Well, it’s about fuckin’ time.”

Clearing your throat, you lean a little more into the door, keeping your eyes trained on a not-entirely-real to do on your list. “And your romantic partner, she would like to congratulate you also.”

“Hah? My—” Katsuki’s eyes narrow suspiciously at you as he comes around the front of his desk, taking measured, predatory steps as he looms closer. “Better be something other than—”

“Tuna-mayo, I know,” you pretend to read another Post-It before dropping the act, smiling up at him as his eyes dart down to your lips. “It definitely is.”

“When ‘m I gettin’ this congratulations?”

“Later, when certain heroes aren’t in the same—”

But Katsuki doesn’t care, relying on the note tacked to the front of his door as he captures your lips with his own. The hoodie he’s wearing is making him entirely too warm, spreading to you when his hands come up to hold your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks in such an affectionate way, you think to hell with Kirishima knowing.

The clipboard clatters lightly to the floor as you wrap your arms around his waist, hands coming up to rest in the comfort of his back (broad, scarred, steady enough to hold the weight of Japan). He groans lowly when you scratch him through the fabric, though it is more a sound of contentment than lust, and you giggle against him as he pulls back to peck you once, twice, three times.

“Sir,” you try to pout, but your lips don’t listen, “this is entirely inappropriate for—”

“Cut the sir shit, or else.”

“I am never, ever going to cut the sir shit, I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Your arms tighten around him when he tries to pull away, scowling down at you.

“Then you’re gonna get fucking railed in here one day, and I don’t want to hear shit about—and don’t you ask me if that’s a goddamn promise, ‘cause it is!” Katsuki goes to kiss you again, just to shut you up since you can’t stop giggling into the fabric of his chest. “Don’t fuckin’ laugh at—”

There is a wild banging on the glass window of your office, where the blinds are still open and revealing.

Where Kirishima stands, grin lighting up his smug face brighter than you think you’ve ever seen it. Just as he gives a giant, rewarding thumbs up to the both of you, Katsuki tears the door of his own office open, shouting out a raging—

“That’s it!”

—before Eijirou’s wild laughter can be heard echoing off the high-vaulted ceilings of the agency. The sound makes you laugh, feeling so full in your chest at the familiarity of it—Red Riot’s sunshine, Dynamight’s inferno—and it has you wondering if maybe you’ve been inside this bubble a lot longer than you realized, if maybe you’ve been inside it all along.

You don’t turn back. No matter how much his screams tear at your heart. No matter how painful each step was to take. Maybe your heart won’t ever heal from this. Maybe you’ll never be happy again.

But at least the man you love has a chance to be.

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x Reader, Bakugo Katsuki x Uraraka

Warnings: Contains mature content, mentions of cheating, alcohol, pregnancy and anxiety triggers

A/N: This was supposedly a one-shot that turned into a series. ❤ Hope you enjoy reading this as much as I loved writing it!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Bonus: Alternate Ending

can you please do some angst anything, like a one shot or just something, my heart hurts

Had been a while since I did a request, sorry I only just saw this bebe. Here ya go.

Bakugo has always had the prettiest eyes. Crimson orbs that some would find intimidating but to you, it looks like rubies that you can spend hours staring in awe at. They're fairly expressive too. What his mouth can't ever say, those damn eyes express.

That was why you can tell it's real.

He's happy. Really happy.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him as he talks animatedly on the phone. A small smirk tugging the corners of his plump lips. "Shut up, idiot." You hear him say, shaking his head. "I gotta go, Y/n is waiting- So stop bothering me already." But you know from his tone and the way he's smiling to himself that he doesn't mean it.

And then, you hear him say, "Yeah, yeah. I love you, too." His voice bleeding of sincerity and adoration that you had to look away. You scoff to yourself, a wry laugh escaping you as you train your eyes on the logo on the steering wheel. Doing, trying anything, to keep your mind off the ache growing in your chest.

You hear the car door open and you plaster a smile up at him. He mutters his quick apology as he straps in. "Thought you'll never hang up. Simp." You say teasingly, covering up for any trace of the hurt you're feeling inside. A chuckle escapes you when he playfully punches your arm. "I'm no fuckin' simp, shithead!" Bakugo says, laughing a little. "Step on it, we're going to be late."

You rub the spot on your arm that he hit. Not because it hurts but to ground yourself. That this is all you'll ever be. The buddy. The best friend he banters and playfights with, the sidekick he always choses to work with.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It didn’t help that your assignment tonight is surveillance. You don't think you could bear all the hours ahead with him. Knowing Bakugo, he'd probably start talking about her. After all, you had just gotten back from a mission with Todoroki. And usually, once you got back home, Bakugo would be telling you all about the things that happened to him. It had been that way for years. Something you looked forward to. Or at least, you used to.

You already know the things he'd tell you tonight, and you already know he's about to completely break your heart.

Bakugo notes the activity of the suspect you two had been watching from the building across the rooftop you two had set up on, while you softly mutter the details on the communication device in your hand, feeding the information to your police partners. When the person under investigation head to bed, you two relaxed a little.

"Hey, so you must’ve heard." Bakugo starts as you stretch your neck. Oh no, here we go. You blinked and put on the smile you've been rehearsing since you have taken the plane ride back home. "Yeah, it’s on every tabloid." The forced laugh you let out even had you impressed. "You're back together. Again. Woohoo. Big surprise." You say monotonously.

"Yeah. Fuckin' paparazzi won't leave us alone." Bakugo rolls his eyes. He stretches too, mimicking you as you roll your shoulders and crack your knuckles. "It just happened." He then says. You swallow hard, not really wanting to hear more.

"You know that charity shit we were supposed to attend together?" He asks and you nod numbly. Of course, you do. You were so excited that Bakugo asked you to accompany him to this charity ball as his date. You both even planned to match  outfits like how stupid kids would want to do with their best friends.

"Yeah, well, she came that night and she happened to be seated at our table."  He says it like he still couldnt believe his luck, stupid beautiful smile adorning his face. He then went on to say how she had moved to your vacant seat so he can have someone to talk to in the event filled with A-list celebrities and government officials he had no fucking interest in mingling with. "We got to talking and next thing I knew, we were the only ones left in the fucking ball." He laughs.

Normally, you adore this ugly laugh of his. And normally, you would have scold him for being loud and potentially giving away your position. If only your heart wasnt breaking into billions of tiny pieces in your chest.

"Wow," you roll your eyes and looked away, the fake smile you had on your face faltering. "Glad to hear you had way more fun without me." You say, laying the sarcasm thick. You hadnt meant to but you tremble, a soft sob almost escapes you.

Bakugo frowns and shrugged his jacket off, thinking you were just cold. He puts it over your shoulders and when you just stared at him, he takes your arms and puts it through the sleeves. Bakugo zips it up to the collar and puts the hood over your head, even pulling your hair free before smoothening it around your face. It’s his fucking actions like this that had you hoping. Had you thinking that maybe, just maybe, there's something there.

You look up him, thinking, why couldn’t it be me? Could it have been me if I were there with you that night?

"Y/n." Bakugo frowns as he says your name so uncharacteristically soft. You then notice the worry that paints his features as he slowly reaches to wipe your cheek. Bakugo's frown deepens when new ones replace the tear he had just wiped away.

A wave of panic rises in your chest as you replace his hands with your own, harshly wiping your tear steaked face.

"Shit, sorry." You force a laugh. "The fucking wind is too strong up here." You reasoned but you are not fooling him. "I'm gonna go in first, you take first watch." You got up, making a beeline for the door but a strong grip around your wrist stops you.

"Y/N, look at me." Bakugo says, his voice so low you barely heard it. He calls your name again but you still didn’t turn. Your face crumples and more tears flood your eyes.

Taking a deep staggering breath, you wiped your cheeks with your free hand and cleared your throat. "Bakugo, please. I'm tired." You tried to tug free again but he kept his vice grip on you.

He pulls you and made you face him. You can see Bakugo was breathing a little heavily too. "Y/n, is there something we should talk about?" He tries to meet your gaze but you kept your eyes on the ground. Bakugo asks again but you clench your jaw and shook your head stubbornly. "No, there is nothing to talk about."

Bakugo was getting frustrated you could tell. Still, he takes a deep breath and held your face with his other hand, asking, "Then what's wrong? Damn it, tell me." 

Everything, You think to yourself.

You're the one whose been there for him all this time. And it took one night for him to fall in love with her all over again.

You want to be happy for him because you can tell that he's truly happy. But you just can’t.

You love him but he loves someone else.

You know he loves you, but never the way you love him.

Everything is fucking wrong but there's nothing you can do about it so instead you say stubbornly, "Nothing."

To your surprise though, he grabs your shoulders and shook you. "What the hell is wrong with you, then? Why won't you fucking tell me??"

"Nothing. Is. Wrong."  You articulate, shrugging from his hold to take your seat back by the ledge. But he grabs hold of you again, this time catching your hand.

"Stop it." Bakugo grits his teeth. "I know something is wrong. I know you." He says and his eyes widened when you let out a bitter laugh.

"No, you don't." you deride, shaking your head.

"Bullshit! Of course, I fucking do!!" He yells at you. "We've been friends for years!!"

You glower back at him, feeling the stupid tears stinging at your eyes again and your breathing get shallow. "Some friend you are then!" You yell back. Bakugo grimaces, looking at you like he's never been so offended before in his life. He was actually fucking hurt.

"You don't know shit about me, Katsuki." You jab a finger at his chest. "You don't even fucking care about me enough to actually get to know me! You only keep me around because I standby you through everything!" Bakugo staggers a step back when you pushed him with all your might, tears endlessly streaming down your face and neck.

"God, if only you'd have really taken a close look, gave me even a shard of your fucking attention," you whimper, your hands balling into fists against his shirt. "Then you would have known," you feel like youre losing your strength, like your knees could give out underneath you, "that I stayed by your side all these years because, b-because,"

Bakugo swallows hard, his hands circling your wrists. Deep down he sorta knew but he was just denying it to himself. Because he knows he could never reciprocate your feelings.

Please don't fucking say it..

But you do,

"I am in love with you."

A gush of relief floods you, finally having said it after all this years. You closed your eyes so you wouldn't see his reaction. His silence and his hold slipping off of you were enough.

"Y/n, I-"

Bakugo didn't know what to say. His hand is twitching because he wanted to reach out and hold you but he doubts that that is a good idea right now.

"I'm sorry-" he starts, warily trying to reach for your hand again but you shake your head and slipped your hands in the pockets of your jacket. His jacket.

"Me too." You cut him off. "I.. can't be friends with you anymore." Your voice breaks as you admit the sad truth. Bakugo's eyes widened. You can't mean that, right? But the lifelessness of your voice made Bakugo's heart clench. You take a deep breath and bore your gaze to the ground.

You just ruined your friendship. But you guess that's good. You'll finally have a reason to not be by his side all the time anymore and endure the pain of this unrequited love you've had for him for years.

"Y/n-" he tries again. It’s the only thing he could do. Try. Because you're slipping away and he doesn't want you gone. But you scorn away when he tries to reach for you again.

"I cant," you whimper, "I'm sorry."

The days that followed consisted of you taking in other assignments that lead you to work with someone else. Whenever you'd bump into Bakugo, you'd keep your eyes trained ahead while Bakugo couldn't help but stare and long to talk to you again. But he lets you be, thinking, well, hoping that you just needed time. That one day you two will be alright again. Because fucking hell, it's only been days and he misses you so damn much already.

He realizes how present you were in his life. Realizes how badly he took you for granted. Realizes that every morning he wakes up, it’s your texts he first checks. Realizes that with even the smallest inconvenience, it's you he wanted to call and vent out to. Realizes you're that one person he can say anything to, things he couldn't tell even his own damn girlfriend.

Because you were his person. That one person who always listened without judgement and takes him as he is.

Because you got his back no matter what.

Because you.. loved him.

Fuck.

Bakugo throws his arm over his eyes as he feels that pang of longing and regret. He finds himself jumping out of bed. It was supposedly his day off but he comes to the office running.

But when he reaches your desk, you were nowhere in sight.

And on his desk, was your resignation letter.

After the Breakup (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: Welp, I was going to write for more people but when I started for these two babes-for-characters I guess I just couldn’t stop🤷‍♀️. Not quite sure how these headcanons turned out but hey, hope you like ‘em! (Btw they get a lil saucy, but I’m just in that mood so y’all are just gonna have to accept them for what they are🤷‍♀️)

Word count: 2120

Bakugou Katsuki: 

Wants to ignore you 

Definitely the type to fold his arms and turn away when you enter a room or scoff when you talk to another guy

But when you walk away the guy is being given a glare that could put him six feet under

Acts cold to you--not exactly like how he did before he was interested in you, like how he calls everyone “extras,” but more so like he just sneers at you for no reason and rolls his eyes everytime you speak

Lil pomeranian boi just misses you really badly

But he hates the idea that you have that much power over him that you could draw him back to your side in a matter of seconds. It frustrates him how much he wants you back

At one point he’s tired of having nightmares of you leaving night after night--especially now that he doesn’t have you to comfort him after waking up in a cold sweat. 

So he’ll climb out of bed and stomp over to your door

And proceed to stare at it for about twenty minutes with his mind and heart running marathons

What does he say?

What does he do?

Would you be mad? Sad? Disappointed?

Or… would you even care that he was still in love with you?

It all becomes too much, and soon enough he just has to know

So he raises a fist to pound on your door loud enough to wake the entire floor

And the door opens before he even makes contact. 

“Katsuki?”

“YN.” Surprisingly, Bakugou feels all too calm at this moment, like he knows exactly what to say. 

“What are you doing here?”

A muscle in Bakugou’s chin twitches as he struggles to find the exact words. He wanted to make his point but he also didn’t want you to slam the door in his face. “I… Look. You told me that we should both move on and that I should get over you.”

“Katsuki-”

“But here’s the thing, YN,” when he takes a step forward, you take a step back and he physically flinches at the movement, “I don’t want to.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to get over us and move on to other people. I don’t want to see you with other guys when I know I could make you happier. That I have made you happier.”

“Katsuki,” your face softens, “you don’t have to-”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t have to do, YN. I’m not letting you go, understood? Try to move on all you want, I’m not going to let you. I’ll scare off any man you even talk to if I have to-”

Two hands piled over his mouth shut him up instantly and you lean past Bakugou to glance both ways down the hall before yanking him inside your room. 

As soon as the door’s shut, you turn to him and shake your head with the smallest little smile. 

“Katsuki, you dumbass. I was just going to leave my room to give you the same lecture.”

“Huh?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” you cup his cheek, reveling in the foreign look of shock on the blond’s face, “so no need for anymore threats on guys I may or may not go out with… unless you’re really willing to go after yourself that badly.”

Relief floods through Bakugou’s body, warming him up with the thoughts that he didn’t need to worry about truly losing you at all--as it turns out, you agreed you were his just as much as he did. 

“So… we’re back together?”

“Yep, unless…”

Oh shit

“Unless what?” Bakugou froze under your touch and reached a hand up to secure your palm against his cheek. “What is it?”

It almost pissed him off that you were able to laugh so freely while he was in an obvious state of panic. 

“Well, I was gonna suggest break-up sex but judging by just how badly you want to get back together, it seems like that’s off the table.”

Oh. Oh you damned little thing. 

Such a fucking tease. 

“Nah,” Bakugou shook his head and before you knew it, you were being forced down onto your bed, wrists locked tightly above you. “You’ve got the right idea. Break-up sex tonight, and tomorrow we can make up all day long.”

Kirishima Eijirou: 

On the surface, Kirishima is the same old manly man everyone knows him to be

But his eyes no longer have that same glint

And that smile just always seems seconds away from faltering

His red hair seems less spiky than usual, and those bags under his eyes are just the biggest tell

Kirishima is broken. 

He’s not grinning and holding your hand as he walks into class anymore, escorting you to your seat with a perhaps almost overdone kiss. Instead, he almost slumps to his own seat, avoiding eye contact with as many people as possible. 

But the instant you step into the classroom, you feel it.

You sit in the front row, giving him plenty of freedom to watch you for the entire day.

Kirishima thinks it’s natural, it’s harmless. He’s just trying to get over an ex--everyone knows how hard that is.

But he’s just making things worse. He tortures himself by constantly standing to attention anytime you speak. Or anytime your name is mentioned. Or anytime someone who remotely looks like you walks by him. 

No, he’s not doing great at this “moving on” thing, and he knows that. 

But part of it’s because he just can’t believe that you’re not struggling to do it either. 

Kirishima knows none of those kisses and “I love yous” were lies. He knows you meant every single hug and smile you ever gave him. Every time you said you cared about him, he could see in your eyes that you meant it wholeheartedly.

So maybe you could see how he wondered why loving you was suddenly so painful. 

Because now you were broken up and all this love he had to give you had nowhere to go and nowhere to be. It was like the love he had for you was useless. 

Kirishima hated those words, that thought. That being in love with you for all those months was useless, and that it just needed to be flushed away. 

All those plans he had of being with you, becoming superheroes at one another’s side and raising a family together. Planning ahead so far to even name the bridesmaids and groomsmen of your wedding and the names of your children. 

The future house and the rooms of that house, how many there would be and what kinds they were. You needed a library, one he was all too ready to build for you and he wanted a mancave you would surely supply with snacks.

All of that was useless. 

But Kirishima didn’t want to think so. So he came up with a plan. 

And when you walked into class the next day, Kirishima sat in your assigned seat, and you knew you smelled mischief. 

“Eijirou… whatcha doin’?”

When Kirishima raised his eyes to yours, the corner of his mouth turned up just an inch. 

“Sitting.”

You purse your lips. “I see that. But you know you could do the same exact thing in your own seat, right?”

The conversation wasn’t exactly a spectacle--the only other people in the room were in the back of the class talking amongst themselves distractedly. No one would bother to interfere. 

“Well, YN,” Kirishima leaned back, “I kinda want to trade places for a day. I wanna sit in your seat and act all nonchalant, pretending like I actually wanted us to break up-”

You could hear his voice growing choked up and moved to stop him. “Eijirou-”

“-and you can sit in my seat and do as I do. Remember how happy we were and how much you said you loved me. And how I broke up with you anyway.”

It was cold, like the room had suddenly dropped a few degrees. The boy everyone thought didn’t have a single mean bone in his body seemed to flip a switch in himself, turning emotionless in the blink of an eye. 

For him to act like you never loved him almost hurt as much as when you broke up with him. In all honesty, you thought it was for the best at the time. You felt it would help both of you focus on your studies so that you could become better heroes than anything. 

You thought that’s what Kirishima wanted, and that you were doing what was best for him. But you were wrong.

It seemed all he really wanted was you--being a hero had moved to second. 

“Eijirou…”

So the question was did you want him just as badly?

“YN…”

Becoming a hero was the entire reason you came to this school, and was also the reason you broke off one of the best relationships you’d ever had. You’d thought you were making things better. 

But had it really helped anything?

“Eijirou, I…”

Your grades had actually dropped. Terribly. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually got quality sleep. 

And judging by Kirishima’s dark circles, he was suffering the same side effects. 

These weren’t the symptoms of withdrawal--they were just the signs of a mistake. 

So as you looked into Kirishima’s eyes, hard enough to see past all the barriers he had put up, you could see the same questions you kept asking yourself. 

Why did I ever think this was worth it? Why did I ever think this would help me be happy?

The answer was it didn’t. 

And trial and error was a pain in the ass. 

“Eijirou, I’m sorry.” Your brows drew together in regret as you lowered your gaze, reaching over to grab the hand Kirishima had tensed on the desktop. “Maybe… no. Breaking up was definitely a mistake, and I wasn’t even thinking of the shit I was going to put both of us through by doing that. I’m sorry.”

But just as his mouth opened to respond, the bell rang and twenty other students flooded in in a mad dash to get to their seats. 

Before you moved to claim Kirishima’s seat as your own, you made a split second decision that you hoped could display even a little of what you were thinking. 

Kirishima froze at the kiss, his eyes going wide as you tilted his chin up to give yourself access. His lips were soft, just as you’d dreamt about for the last five nights, and tasted like that damned chapstick he always wore. 

And when you pulled away, he tried to reach out to stop you but you stepped away from his desperate hands, instead navigating your way back to his desk. 

Kirishima was frantic, spinning in your seat to get a look at your blushing face while his own mouth stayed open enough to catch a couple flies. The second your lips quirked up into a smirk, he almost jerked back with whiplash. 

Fucking hell, she did not just-

“Okay class,” Aizawa slumped into the classroom with his usual cheerfulness. “I want you to take a look at-wait.” The teacher paused for just a second to take note of Kirishima’s back facing him and you just five seats away whistling and observing the ceiling with interest. 

“YLN, Kirishima, get back to your original seats for God’s sake. There’s no time for this.”

All too ready, Kirishima rose from your chair and made his way towards you with eyes unsteady and hungry. 

Tonight you would explain just what exactly you were thinking when you decided to break up with Kirishima out of the blue. I mean, you seriously almost gave him a heart attack. 

Directly after school though…

Kirishima caught your arm as you moved to walk past him and threw you a look that would stick in your mind for the rest of class. Just as fast, he released you completely and dropped into his seat, eyes locked on your every move as you slid into your own.

Oh yeah. Directly after school, he was going to make you pay for the pain you put his mind through with your body.

FLORA IM HAVING KATSU BRAIN ROT AGAINN when do i not tbh

can i pls get katsu fluff in which reader tells him she doesn’t want to pursue being a hero but wants to become an actress?? she's from hero course

and just that she's super nervous that he'll think lowly of her now cause she doesnt want to pursue being a hero tho he is vvvvvv supportive?????

also they are in their second year

THANK U I LOVE U 😩😍💘🥵

I'm sorry for the wait bby I hope u like this I love u so much ♡

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elysian (bakugo x reader)

synopsis : reader is a 2nd year student at UA who wants to be an actress instead of a pro hero, she's afraid katsu will reject her for having different ambitions than him

infos : afab! reader

masterlist | rules | requests open | prompt list

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ꕥ okay so

ꕥ you were a part of UA's hero course, I'm class 1-A

ꕥ you and bakugo first got closer because the two of you shared the dream of becoming a pro hero

ꕥ and he fell in love with your ambition and constant optimism as regards of you two becoming successful and fulfilled pro heroes

ꕥ but acting has always been an important part of your life, you were a theatre kid after all and enjoyed being in the spotlight, giving life to a written character

ꕥ katsubabe knew about this because he always tried his best to attend each of your representations but he did not suspect the fact that this could be your dream career

ꕥ therefore, you were terrified at the idea of telling him you were planning on leaving UA for a prestigious acting school you just received an acceptance letter from

ꕥ standing in front of your computer screen, enthralled at the "Congratulations !" bold message at the beginning of the letter, you could not fully appreciate the mail you've been expecting for weeks because katsurat was on your mind

ꕥ so many questions were popping up inside your head, overwhelming you and making your heart clench in your chest

ꕥ "Would he break up with me if he find out ? Either way, you have to tell him Y/N, how can your relationship be healthy if you're not truthful ? He's always been honest with you, do the same ! Oh my god, what if he makes fun of me ? What if he thinks I suck and rejects me ? WHAT IF HE NEVER TALKS TO ME AGAIN ???"

ꕥ just the idea made your eyes water and as things could not possibly get worse, you heard the door open

ꕥ it was katsushi.

ꕥ "Y/N I hope you did the maths homework as I told you to when I left, like 20 minutes ago- YOU DID NOT EVEN START YOU LAZY A$$ I CAN'T BELIEVE IT- the fuck is going on with your face bro ?"

ꕥ yeah he saw you crying

ꕥ he wrapped his arms around you, you hugged him back, and let the bottled up mix of stress, fear of failure and excitement get out through your eyes

ꕥ once you've calmed down, he carries you bridal style from your desk to your bed and sits you down on it, facing him, waiting for you to explain :

ꕥ "please don't make fun of me suki", "I can't promise you that" he replies with a smirk this cocky mf

ꕥ you tell him how being an actress has always been your dream, how happy you felt on stage and how you thought that was where you truly belonged

ꕥ "why the fu￠k were you crying then dumbass, that's cool"

ꕥ "you think it's cool"

ꕥ "bro why wouldn't I think it's cool, we'd make a super hot couple. Me a powerful pro hero and you a world-famous sexy actress" he says kissing your forehead

ꕥ "I thought you'd be disappointed in me or that you'd get mad at me for dropping the hero course" you admit shyly

ꕥ "You're so f-ing stupid sometimes Y/N, just tell me the s#it next time alright ? Pursue your dreams dummy"

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A/N : katsu is down bad for u my love and don't hesitate to tell me if you like my new theme x

© izukuisbaby. reblogs appreciated ! although do not modify, copy or claim as your own or repost without creds

Katsuki x Fem!Reader

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A/N: Thank you anon for the request, I hope it turned out the way you wanted! enjoy <3

Warnings: Angst to fluff, low self esteem, shy!reader, Mineta exists,fight during training (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word count: ~ 2500

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Bakugou Katsuki - Look at Me

===========================

He could feel it, the way his heart flutters, watching you heaving as you had your foot on Denki’s back with a tight hold on his arm. You’d completely immobilized him, rendering you the winner. It was your first combat training together, everyone was excited and energetic. You, however, were more nervous than anything. So when you had won in such a short amount of time, it surprised everyone. You felt your cheeks almost sizzle as heat rises in them, with everyone’s eyes on you, you thought you’d shrink to the size of an ant. You scurry off of Denki who looks at you with a wide smile, a little bit of dirt on his cheek.

“Wow Y/N! You took me by surprise there, you were amazing!” He sits up, the rest of the class coming to shower you with praise as well.

“Oh- well…I-“ You wave your hands in dismissal at the constant glory given to you, you felt like you’d pass out if you heard any more. As you’re backing away from your persisten classmates, not paying attention to what’s behind you, you felt yourself collide with something. Slowly turning to see, you’re met with Bakugou’s chest. Your whole body tenses and your head lifts to meet with his prideful gaze.

“Fight me.” He says with a self-assured smirk and dark, looming eyes. You jump and squeak, running behind Mr. Aizawa for protection. You felt like your heart was stuck in your throat as you hold onto your teacher for dear life. You knew how strong Bakugou was but the reason for your running wasn’t his menacing stare, but the way your brain kept repeating the same phase as you stood against his sturdy chest.

‘So cute!!’

The feeling of being so close to him, it was simply overwhelming! Your body had to get away before you melted before him.

“Bakugou! You’re scaring her!” Mina shouts angrily at the blonde boy, swinging her fist up and down in frustration at his aggressiveness.

“SHUT UP EXTRA!” He retaliates, stepping closer to his teacher which you’re hiding behind.

“Your training buddies have already been decided, Bakugou. Now let’s move on with the training!”

“Yes, sir!” The class shouts in unison at Aizawa’s demand. Dispersing to their places with their sparing buddies, Katsuki turns around with a “tch”. He couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid feeling in his chest, the one he felt watching you fight with your all. It was almost like when he watched All Might fight when he was younger, he’d feel such a pump of adrenaline from how awesome All Might was, but this was somehow different. He didn’t like it.

After your first interaction, the two of you generally kept a distance but you’d often find your eyes meeting, like both of you were always watching each other. You’d completely deny any time Mina or Jirou pointed out your constant stare, saying you just admired his power. They’d always give you a teasing look and giggle at your tinted face.

You had always been shy, ever since you were a kid. People have tried to help you overcome it but every time you were in front of unblinking eyes, words seemed to escape you. You would always strive to be better, but any progress was scarce and only noticed by yourself. Because of your shy personality, people felt the need to protect you, do things for you and make sure you’re okay. They always treated you like you inferior or weak, you even started to be believe that you were.

When you told people of your dream of being a hero they’d often discourage you, saying that heroes need to be brave and fearless, even your own parents tried convincing you to find another career path. It became another reason for you to fight for your dream even more, you want to prove to people, to yourself, that you don’t need protection. That you too, can save others.

So you trained, and trained and polished your quirks abilities, compensating your weaknesses. You did everything to be strong, but you still felt your brain go blank whenever someone spoke to you. All your training, meant nothing to those around you, they still thought you were weak. But when you got into UA, you felt hope fill your heart once more, they had recognized your strength, and you’d continue to show them that you were worth more than anyone bargained for.

When you first saw Bakugou, it was at the entrance exam. He had this fire in his eyes, his body never staggered, his voice never shook and his gaze never wavered. Your eyes met for a split second as he jumped over your head and exploded the robot villain you were going for. You felt your heart beat echoing through you, simply watching his unshakable movements made bravery surge through your body and for that split second his eyes met yours, you felt fearless.

To say you were relieved to see him in the classroom on the first day of school, is an understatement. While everyone coward in fear of him, you looked up to his careless attitude, he didn’t care about what others thought and you wish you were the same. The only reason for keeping your distance was to keep your heart from beating a hole in your chest and jumping out. You quickly understood you had feelings from him, but who are you to love him? You’re nowhere near as strong or brave, not to mention the other gorgeous people in class, they were all incredible but you…you were just you. To please yourself while not disturbing him, you watched him from afar and admired him from the sidelines, that was enough. You convinced yourself of that.

All the wonderful people in your class were so kind and understanding, so you made friends pretty quickly. You hung out with everyone, expect for Todoroki and Bakugou, though you would often speak with Midoriya. He’s also a bit shy, so the two of you had that in common and understood one another in that aspect. Bakugou noticed that. He noticed how the two of you grew close but he couldn’t care less.

It was at the sports festival, where you gave your all and showed the world that you were capable of being a hero, it was then he truly noticed you. After your first training session, he knew you were pretty powerful but the strength and diligence you presented during your 1-on-1 battle, it blew him away. His eyes widened as he watched you, grabbing his shirt and clutching the fabric tightly he tsked at the familiar feeling arising in his chest, it was there again. The dumb flutter of his heart, how annoying.

“Bakugou, is there anyone you like?” Denki asked teasingly. The boys of class 1a had gotten together for the sake of studying but it ended up becoming more of a chatter fest than anything.

“Tch, don’t be so stupid, dunce face.” He turned his head to look out the window of the common room of the dorms, your face creeping into the back of his mind.

“I’ve noticed you tend to watch Y/N quite a lot.” Kirishima adds, making some of the boys let out a long “ooooh”.

“She’s super pretty~!” Denki says in a dreamy way, thinking back on when you’d overpowered him during training.

“Yeah and she-“ before Mineta could utter another word, his face was engulfed by Bakugou’s hand, a small explosion going off and knocking the manlet to the ground.

“YOU DO LIKE HER!” Sero and Denki shout in unison making Bakugou’s face heat up with an unfamiliar stir in his stomach.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” He jumps at the two boys who only laugh harder. The only thing that spared their lives was Iida pulling Bakugou off of them.

After they’d all gone to bed, Katsuki couldn’t help but think about it. Had he gone and fallen for you? He covers his eyes with his forearm, sighing heavily at the fluttering in his chest. Whenever he’d lock eyes with you, you’d jump and turn away. Whenever he was close to you, you would practically run the opposite direction. Was he that scary? Did you hate him? His mind kept him up for hours, mercilessly berating him.

The next day he had dark circles under his eyes, not having gotten enough sleep because of you. He felt so sluggish and could barely focus, but when he heard he’d been paired up with you to spar, he suddenly felt a pulse of energy wash over him. Though he couldn’t tell if it was out of confidence or nervousness. Turning to get a glimpse of you, he found you already staring at him and like always, you quickly look away with a panicked look. Why?

You could look at Deku just fine, you always spoke to him, always laughing with that nerd so why not him? He felt his heart squeeze in a way that was rare for him, a painful ache that spread throughout his body.

You gulp, standing a few feet away from Katsuki whose palm already flare up with tiny explosions. Your brain focusing on how cool you think he is, but your eyes only manage to stare at his feet, not having the nerve to look him in his breathtaking eyes.

“Start!” Aizawa shouts. Bakugou wastes no time and runs right at you, jumping in the air as he winds his arm back and launching it forward with a powerful explosion erupting from his hand. You quickly dodge and counterattack with an elbow to his back, his eyes widen as he watches your movements. You had yet to look at him. Before you could activate your own quirk, he’s already charging at you again and your barely able to react but you manage to dodge him by jumping in the air and launching yourself off his back to get some distance.

“Damn it!” He shouts, hunched forwards as he stares at his hands, you watch him in shock as he trembles.

“Why won’t you look at me?!” Your shock having distracted you he’s able to land a blow, sending you flying back. Aizawa declares his victory but your mind only replays what he’d said. You struggle a bit as you stumble to your feet, Midoriya running to your side to make sure you’re okay. You give him a weak smile as he helps you get to recovery girl. The sight makes Katuki clench his fists and furrow his already tense eyebrows.

“Whatever…” He mumbles as he sits on the ground, thoughtlessly watching the rest of the class battle.

“They’re both oblivious!” Mina shouts in frustration, sitting on Kirishima’s bed as he’d gathered her, Denki, Jirou and Sero to talk about you and Bakugou. Sero gives a long sigh and closes his eyes while leaning on a wall.

“It’s true, they’re impossible to convince.” He agreed with Mina.

“Then we’ll just have to make them talk it out!” Everyone turns to look at Denki who seemed to have a plan in mind. Bakugou sighs as he makes his way to the front of Heights Alliance, looking at the text Eijiro had sent him.

‘Hey, meet me outside, I need to tell you something.’

He lets out an annoyed “tsk” as he puts his phone back in his pocket, mumbling to himself about how ‘this better be important’

But when he makes it outside, he doesn’t see Kirishima anywhere. Instead he sees the silhouette of your back under the dimly lit night sky. You’re looking up at the stars, like an idiot. Looking to the stars like they’re the most wondrous things to ever exists. You were always like that, seeing such rich beauty in small every day things, you always had something to smile about. But you never smiled at him. Bakugou’s pulled from his thoughts as he hears the entrance door lock, he shouts out an angry “OI!” As he runs to the door, banging on it, yelling at them to open it. The commotion startled you, making you turn around to see Katsuki recklessly banging and pulling on the door. You’d been tricked, hadn’t you? You knew it was odd for Mina to text you instead of barging into your room like she usually would. A panicked expression twits your features as a blush creeps onto your face, you’re alone with him now.

“B-Bakugou…” You say in a small voice, almost a whisper as you walk closer to him.

“WHAT?!” He screams at you, but your blush only grows as he looks at you.

“If you..shout like that, Mr. A-Aizawa will wake up…” Your gaze once more glued to the ground as you shyly stutter your statement.

“I-I think they’ll open up if we talk…”

“About what?!” You shrug your shoulders slightly. You knew what, but your words were stuck in your throat and you couldn’t cough them up. Not with the way he intently watches you, his eyes practically burning holes into you. The words he’d yelled during training returned to you, he’d completely misunderstood your attitude and you knew you had to do something about it.

“I’m sorry!” You say suddenly, nails digging into your palms as your hands formed tights fists. Your eyes stay lowered and your lips quivered, the beating of your heart ringing in your ears. Katsuki’s expression softens slightly, looking at you as you struggle to speak your mind, he lets go of the doors handle.

“I…I think you’re really cool…” You gulp, looking to the side as you lift your head a bit.

“And my heart…it gets excited when you’re close.” Your hand creeps to your chest, feeling your heart beating the way it does when you’re around him. Though it aches in the moment, knowing what is to come.

“I run…because I know, I’m not worthy of your attention-“ A lump in your throat begins to form, making it harder to breathe. “B-but…I like you!” You quiver as you fight the tears threatening to fall, your head hanging low again, not having the courage to look at him. Knowing how your heart will beg for his. As you sniffle, you feel a hand grabbing the sides of your face, making you look up. Within a second, your lips are met with his, in a rough and inexperienced kiss. You feel the tears forcing through and falling freely down your burning cheeks.

“You should look at me if you’re gonna confess like that, idiot.” He lets go of your face and shoves his hands in his pockets, looking away as the blush on your cheeks had spread to his. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes and his heart does that stupid thing again, because you were finally smiling at him.

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A/N: I think this turned out really cute and I hope you think so too, thank you for reading! Requests are still open <3

Glowing in the dark

WARNINGS - Angst (kind of?) a bit of fluff and comfort, mentions of death and alcohol. Lmk if I missed a few things!

Pairing: Pro-Hero!Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

This is actually inspired by a song from Girl and the Dreamcatcher “glowing in the dark” you guys should listen to it first to get the full experience/emotion while reading this.

You stood in front of his grave, visiting for the 4th time this month.

Your beloved fiance, Bakugou who served so many people during his rise as the number 2 hero. He risked his life to save others’ and you knew the risks, you knew the consequences.

You knew that something like this would happen

“I miss you, so much” You whisper, tears fighting the urge to spill out from your dreary eyes. The rose you held slowly being crushed by the pressure you put on it, dropping it onto his grave, you wish he was here.

And he was, he was behind you-

“I love you, Katsuki” Tears finally slipping from your eyes as you hug yourself in the gloomy weather.

You have no idea how much it hurt him to see you like this.

You walk towards the car that was waiting to pick you up from the cemetery, hopping in you looked out your window only to find out that your leave was right on time as it started to rain hard.

You sat back, closing your eyes until you felt a pair of hands caressing your face.

You were shocked and you opened your eyes to see nothing, but it felt so familiar. You felt it again, this time it was a comforting weight on your thigh-

You didn’t know if you were going crazy but you swear you felt two light touches on your body and you could’ve sworn that the touches felt like your fiance’s rough and calloused hands.

————

You finally arrive at your shared home with Katsuki, sitting down in front of the fireplace trying to rationalize what you just felt earlier in the car.

She can feel me

Katsuki thought to himself, but alas, he was nothing but an entity now. You couldn’t see him nor hear him, but you could feel him. And somehow that felt comforting.

Ding

Your phone rings, a notification of a message from Mina

Hey! I know you still feel… well- you’re still grieving about his death, and well uhm, me and the girls wanted to ask if you wanted to join us at the club to take your mind off of things?

Let us know right away, kay?

You left them on read and thought about the offer. She did have a point, you’ve been sulking for nearly 5 months already, not going out of the house, the only time you ever go out is to visit his grave.

And so, without a second thought you stood up from in-front of the fireplace and got dressed up.

A short plain black dress that fully accentuated your curves, The dress you wore on the night he asked you to be there by his side as his wife to be.

He was right there, in the corridor looking at how you checked yourself one last time in the mirror mindlessly going through his shadow-y figure.

Still as gorgeous as the last time he saw you.

————

Walking into the club you spotted Mina with Uraraka, Momo and Asui.

You had a few shots with them and they dragged you into the dance floor, letting loose and finally getting your mind off of Katsuki.

As you were dancing to the beat of the music, you couldn’t help but open your eyes only to see Him.

What was he doing here-

A person walked past and he disappeared.

What the fuck. You swear you saw him- and he knew you saw him too by the way you reacted.

All throughout the night you felt uneasy, trying to go back to your table, you sat down and saw his face in the crowd clearly.

As if he were still alive.

His skin wasn’t pale, it looked like he was still breathing, he didn’t look dead

You walked up to him, seeing if what you were witnessing is true and then you touched him.

“Katsuki-“ you say as you bump your forehead with his

“Baby, I fucking missed you” he said, lifting your face to see you in all your glowing glory.

“I missed you too suki, please come back” you slowly sway with him to the beat of the music.

“I’m right here baby, i’m right here” he embraced your waist as the both of you started to move with the crowd.

“I love you Katsuki, I wish you didn’t leave so soon” you sob, placing your face in the crook of his neck, you feel hot tears burning from your eyes. You’re just glad that you were able to feel him again.

“I know baby, I love you too, fuck- I missed you” he said, pulling you in closer.

“Y/n?” You were called by Mina.

“Y/n, what are you doing- why are you hugging air?”

You look at her with confusion, and then you looked back to see that Katsuki wasn’t there anymore.

“I- I thought he was-“ you say, feeling overwhelmed and weak.

“Y/n, Hun, come here” Mina opened up her arms, calling you in with a warm embrace.

“We all miss him, even the boys miss him. We all loved him and we know how much you’re hurting”

“I just- I saw him, Mina. He was here with me”

————

He was with you, he’s in the crowd watching you hug your best friend from afar.

All he could visualize is a spotlight that was glowing down on you, giving you that heavenly aura he craved.

“Till we meet again, Princess”