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irisintheafterglow · 9 months

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More Than It Seams (Chapter 4)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 2.8k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader, mentions of food/eating, mention of character death/disappearance, descriptions of wounds and blood, grief with happy ending

note: second to last chapter let's gooooo !!! in theory this could be considered the "last chapter," but don't you wanna know how the ball goes??? and maybe shoto and reader have their first kiss ;). thank you for all the support you've given this series!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated :)

New Voicemail Message [11:32 A.M]

“Hey! Just checking in; I just finished the whole flame side and I’m about to start the shading for the ice side. If you’re able, I’d love for you to come see it and maybe I can buy you lunch this time. No pressure, just let me know. Alright, bye!”

New Voicemail Message [5:36 P.M]

“Hi, hi, hi. I picked up Soba takeout for dinner if you’re free. I have both of our usuals, and I can drop them at your agency too if you’re busy. Oh, also, the lady behind the counter was so confused that it was me by myself; you should’ve seen her face. Anyway, just wanna make sure you’re doing okay. Bye!”

New Voicemail Message [8:24 P.M]

“Hey Shoto, it’s me, again. I’m sorry for spamming you with voicemails and shit. I just, honestly? I’m kinda worried, haha. I know it’s dumb. Like, I know you can handle yourself and everything, but part of me still wants to make sure you’re good, you know? Just, uh, let me know. If–when you’re home. I miss your stupid voice. Okay, bye.”

New Voicemail Message [11:56 P.M]

“Hey. I’m aware that I keep bothering you. If I did something to make you upset, I’m really sorry…I’m about to go to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow? Obviously, you can’t see it, but uh, I’m sticking my thumb up, haha. Call me when you can, please.”

[2] Missed Calls: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖

New Messages: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖

12:00 A.M hey 12:00 A.M idk if you’re awake 12:00 A.M but if you are 12:01 A.M please check the news

The incessant buzzing phone in your hand woke you from your position on the couch. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you assume you passed out after eating a late dinner, waiting for Shoto to call. His food was in the fridge, untouched, while yours was only half-eaten, plastic bowls and utensils messily scattered across your coffee table. The notifications at the top of your phone made your heart drop into your stomach, and you prayed that the thought hiding in the back of your mind wasn’t true.

You stood as the TV clicked on, only for your legs to give out beneath you as the reporter detailed where he was last seen, what he was wearing, possible suspects, and the statement from his manager. There was no substance in the public statement, only reassurances that efforts are being made to find him. You shut down the TV after they got into the part of the statement that sounded like a fucking eulogy, talking about how he was a loyal friend, devoted hero, and embodiment of a good person. You didn’t need to be told that. You’d seen it firsthand for the past two weeks. Anger, confusion, worry, and grief came in waves, crashing against each other as you curled into yourself. Your eyes welled to alleviate the burn after staring at the screen, your forehead throbbing from the flashing reds and whites of the “BREAKING NEWS” title screen. Your lungs and throat felt empty, consciousness detached from the body.

No sobs rang out in the darkness of your apartment that night, and it terrified you how silent you were. There was no crying, no convulsing, no thrown objects across the room to create dents in the walls. It was just…silence. You couldn’t tell if you’d slept or not, hours passing as you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling after dragging yourself back onto the couch. It was an effort to breathe, to force yourself to inhale and exhale like it was opening and closing your fists.

As sunlight permeated through the lightly swinging shades, your phone alarm went off. You stared at it, the musical sound seeming to be coming from underwater. The notifications at the top of your phone once you finally turned it off were like reading in a dream, with letters blurring and rearranging until you didn’t know what the original message was. Hey, thinking about you, they said. We understand if you can’t make it in today, they promised. Hello, you were one of the people last seen with Todoroki Shoto. Our news outlet would like to interview you. Fingers gripping the phone so hard you wanted to snap it, you slammed it onto the coffee table. Flashes of white-hot rage took over your body, directed at no one in particular. You pulled a pillow into your chest, fighting back the impulse to scream, scream, scream until either your voice or your lungs give out.

“Hey.” It was your roommate, and she held her cat in her arms like a newborn baby. Your empty eyes stared back at them. “I won’t ask if you’re doing okay because that’s a bullshit question. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if you need anything. Just call me, yeah?” You barely nod your assent, and her gentle fingers brush away the tears that had broken through your resolve. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re grieving,” she said as she rose from the crouch she took to be eye-level with you. She takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “But I also know that you’re one of the strongest people I know. We both know it’s Friday, and we both know those assholes in the commission aren’t going to postpone the one event that brings them money.” She doesn’t say it, but you know what she means. You need to get up and finish your pieces. “Do your best, okay?”

Just do your best.

It’s what you repeated to yourself as you struggled from the couch to your bedroom, then to the bathroom, then finally out the door and through the gate in your office. Your other designer, the one who had told you to check the news, runs over from his station. Shaking your head decisively before he could speak, you brush past him with an understanding hand on his shoulder. Your aching throat didn’t have the voice to give one last round of encouragement to your staff, but they looked to you anyway as you took your spot at the front of the room.

“Just do your best,” you said before turning to the embroidery thread shelves and picking out the most vibrant shades of blue and light purple you could find. The rest of the office worked with a fervor you’d never seen before, and you gave them a sad smile whenever they’d glance up to check on you. All the other heroes’ ball looks were finalized, ready to be handed off to their stylists who would do the final dressing and accessorizing. Seven mannequins lined up in front of a window: Cellophane’s intricately beaded suit, Momo’s sweeping velvet ball gown, Deku’s sleek three-piece, Red Riot’s fiery matching set, Pinky’s princess-like mermaid dress, and Bakugo’s sheer-paneled, explosive applique-covered denim jacket.

Everyone’s looks were finished, except one. His tailored leather pants were complete as well as the simple white button-up, and the silver pocket chain rested around the headless neck of the mannequin. All that was left to do was finish the design covering the back of the coat, which you worked on tirelessly far past when your staff had left the building. It should have been a day of celebration with champagne, balloons, and cake to commemorate another successful Hero Ball; but, 11:30 and 5:00 passed with no trace of him, and you couldn’t find it in your mind to participate in festivities. Whispered goodbyes and “see you tomorrow” floated around you, and it took more energy than it should have to smile and nod.

Time ran away from you again, and the coat was finished at midnight on the dot, embellished with small buckles, two rows of buttons, shoulder pads, pockets, and the stunning ice and flame embroidery on the back panel. It truly was the greatest piece you had imagined and created, your quirk allowing the thread to almost act like paint as you added subtle nuance to the two opposing cranes. The fire crane rose from the bottom corner of one of the front panels, forming a circle with the ice crane that descended from the shoulder pad of the opposite front panel. Draping the finished piece on the mannequin and attaching the pocket chain for good measure, you stepped back with your hands on your hips to admire your work. He was gonna love it, when he saw it. If he saw it, the pessimistic demon in your mind whispered. With a deep breath that you didn’t know you needed, you turned to pack your stuff and head home.

And that’s when something large slammed into M’s office window.

The thud startled you, the dull noise of something hitting the glass bouncing off the empty cavern of the room. Your fingers wrapped around a pair of scissors as you approached the half-open door, cautiously guiding it open and squinting at the distorted figure behind the dark glass. Your eyes widened when you realized the object was huge, the size of at least two very tall people. One hand tightly gripping the scissors, the other slowly slid into your pocket to call the police when you heard a voice call from the other side.

“Needle! Needle…wait, what? Needle, uh, sprouting from…Needle sprouting from thumb? Jesus, Todoroki, who would ever say such a thing–” You threw the window open, sending it flying upward as you took in the people set precariously on the ledge. You recognized one as Deku, the number one hero who sometimes visited your office to implement support tech into his costume. His gloved hand grabbed the edge of the window, easing him and the person he was carrying into M’s office and collapsing onto the couch. Deku quickly stood, closing the window and scanning the surroundings for threats. Your hand unconsciously rose to brush the matted red hair from the other person’s face, and the oxygen left your lungs as you zeroed in on the scar barely visible around the blood splattered on the person’s left eye.

Shoto.

His body was in tatters, with scrapes and cuts and punctures covering his body like some zombie Halloween. The white of his hair was covered in so much blood that his entire head was red. His suit had burnt off on his fire side, and his ice side was nearly blue from discoloration. Your body moved on its own when you took in the most significant wound, a large gash cutting diagonally across his abdomen. Mind empty except for the battered man on M’s couch, you shoved your hands into the fabric scraps box and brought them back to Deku, who pressed them against Shoto’s gash to stop the bleeding. Fingers pressed under his chin, you felt a faint heartbeat and could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was dying, and you needed to do something to stop the blood loss.

“I tried to get him to go to a hospital, but he said it wasn’t safe,” Deku said to you, eyes clouded with concern. “He was barely able to tell me your building’s address before he passed out. I trust his judgment, but I really need you to know that, if Todoroki doesn’t get stitches, he will die. Do you have some way of stitching this up?” The fabric in his hands was soaked a dark red and the realization of what Shoto wanted you to do hit you like a train.

He wanted you to give him stitches.

You’d never tried your quirk on any actual humans, only textiles. Your parents had suggested becoming a medic because of your quirk, but the idea of manipulating something to enter a human body was an idea that you couldn’t stomach. There were others with more efficient quirks who could do that, but none of them were with you now. An idea dawned on you, and you reminded yourself to applaud your planning skills later.

“Deku?”

“Yeah?”

“I need the sutures from your toolbelt.” His eyes widened in understanding, and he frantically pushed aside objects in his belt to find the roll of medical-grade nylon you’d placed there as a part of upgrading his first-aid kit. “Sorry, I added…more items,” he muttered apologetically, finally handing you the unused spool and the box containing the sterilized needle. Like clockwork, you threaded the needle just as you had millions of times before. Averting your gaze as Shoto groaned in pain from Deku cleaning the wound with alcohol pads that you’d also put in his belt, your hand soon hovered over Shoto’s wound in preparation to close it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the image of the sewing machine and instead opting for a simple knot at select intervals. Fighting down the bile in your throat as the needle pinched Shoto’s skin together, you shakily guided the thread through the skin layers and tied it into a tight knot. You felt Deku’s eyes watch you in amazement as you worked, delicately patching Shoto back together as you had with his suit the first day he’d walked through your elevator doors. Slowly but steadily, you moved your hand and the thread across the wound, sewing it shut like you’d attached his trenchcoat panels. They were, by no means, medical-grade stitches, but you believed they got the job done as the color slowly returned to Shoto’s face. When you finished stitching the large wound, you helped Deku wrap the lower half of his chest and his arms with gauze. With more scraps of fabric, you gently scrubbed off the blood and dirt, combing through his tangled hair with wet fingers.

“Thank you, Deku,” you said quietly to him as you threw used fabric scraps into a trash bag. “For bringing Shoto to me. I was really worried.”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling warmly. “I only wish that I’d met Todoroki’s partner under different circumstances.”

“Partner? I mean, yeah, we’re business partners, but–”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, then. I, uh, meant romantically.” Your face began to burn from Deku’s assumption. “He just talked about you a lot, you know. How much he liked being around you, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He told me about all your soba dates and how he didn’t want them to be considered dates since he wants to take you somewhere much nicer when you’re done with all the ball stuff, but I still think they’re dates.” Holy shit, Deku was rambling. “I teased him about it since I don’t think he’s ever been in love before, but–”

“Midoriya, I implore you to stop talking.” You both gasped, turning to look at a barely-conscious Shoto, who was trying to sit up from the couch.

“Todoroki, you’re awake! Wait, no, no–you can’t sit up yet,” Deku stutters out as he rushes over to carefully push Shoto’s shoulders back down, moving the hair from his forehead as his head falls back against the armrest. You feel out of your body again as you kneel next to him, fingers brushing his cheek in relief. “I’ll uh, give you two some space,” Deku declares as he scrambles to pick up the trash bags and exit M’s office, leaving you alone with Shoto.

His gentle eyes find yours. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hi, handsome,” you whisper, reciprocating the weak smile he gives you as he takes in your exhausted face. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here? You needed a hospital. It wasn’t safe risking your life to come here, Sho,” the shortened version of his name slips from your mouth before you could stop it, but the even softer look he gives you sends any regret or embarrassment running. “What would you have done if I wasn’t in the office?”

“I just knew you would be.”

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“But it worked out.”

“That it did.” You press your lips to his forehead and relish in the way his eyes shut in contentment. “I finished your coat.”

“You did?”

“I did, but you can’t see it right now. If you lift a single finger off that couch, I’m going to reopen your stitches.” He lets out a pained laugh, wincing at the pain shooting across his chest. A thoughtful look crosses his face again, and you adore the way you could see him working things out in his mind. What those things are, you’d never know, but his pure intellect was enough to admire.

“Do you still plan on attending the ball tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re still hurt.”

“In that case, I am no longer hurt.” He smirks at you, with an immature, boyish, attractive smile. “And I still haven’t…chosen a plus one.”

You feel your heart cease racing in your chest. “Yeah? And who’s the lucky winner?” Your voice shakes slightly as you attempt to relieve the tension with a joke.

He looks at you again with that expression that makes you want to kiss him.

“It’s you. It’s always been you.”

As you finally drift off to sleep slumped against the couch, your face close enough to his to feel him breathe, you know in your mind that it’d always been him, too.

[1] Missed Call - Midoriya Izuku

New Voicemail Message [2:04 A.M]

"Hi Yaomomo! Hope you're doing well. I need a favor..."

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x you #bnha #mha #shoto x you #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #my hero academia #mha hurt/comfort

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alchemist-of-chaos · 2 years

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voice of calm

warnings: somnophobia

characters: Hitoshi Shinsou

here we go again. you sat up on your bed, your eyes stinging from the cold air around you. you look out the window to gaze at the moon, shining in its full glory.

it was late. probably past three am, you assume. your tiredness has fogged up your brain significantly. it has been nagging u the entire day, actually, as you haven't got much sleep the night before either. it's not that you weren't tired, oh no. it was just..hard. the prospect of sleep seemed weird, uncomfortable, even. you are sure that if you were to try to sleep, you would pass out in seconds. your body was yelling at you to do that, but... no.

it frightened you, even. you have nothing to be afraid of, you kept telling yourself, but your brain refused to cooperate. everytime you closed your eyes an uncomfortable sinking feeling filled your chest.

you sighed and decided to get up. maybe a walk will refresh your mind, or tire you out enough to pass out. you hastily put on the first jacket you got your hands out and headed out of the dorms.

the night breeze was cold. not too cold to be uncomfortable tho, it seemed refreshing. you walked slowly around the dorm building, counting your steps as you went. it was calming.

“didn't expect to see you here.”

you startle, not expecting to meet anyone out this late. you turn, trying to find the source of the voice.

“hah, over here.”

you turn in the voices direction and notice shinsou, sitting hidden in a little nook of a tree. you huff out a laugh and change your direction, heading over the grass to join him. you plop yourself down right beside him and lean against the dark bark of the big tree.

“couldn't sleep?” he enquires, head tilting to glance at you from the side.

“kinda, yeah,” you answer, gaze pointed up at the sky. the stars looked really pretty to you and you find yourself counting them as you did with the steps, the monotone action lulling your racing brain.

you sit in silence together for a while. it's nothing new to the two of you, as that's how you spent majority of the time together. you hated silence, at least normally you did, but you found yourself silently accompanying shinsou a lot. it calmed you in a way, his proximity seeming safe for both your body and mind.

shinsou has told your about his troubles with sleep. insomnia, specifically. no matter how much he tried to, he just couldn't fall asleep most nights. his body wasn't letting him to. you found yourself spending your nights chatting with him to curb his loneliness, as you already were unable to sleep.

altough, you never told him that. it felt selfish, telling someone who couldn't fall asleep that you spend most of your nights trying not to. even though he didn't know, he was your night companion as you were his and you two helped each other in a way.

“why couldn't you? nightmares?” he asks. you glance at him before letting out a sigh, bringing your knees to your chest. he glanced at you, curious. you looked at him before hugging your knees with your arms.

“no, no, i just didn't... want to sleep.” you answered. he scrunched his eyebrows.

“you seem unsure of that answer.”

“well, yeah, because i kinda want to sleep but... i just don't? it feels... uncomfortable. weird.”

he hummed pensively, seeming to think about what you said. it didn't surprise you, as you also didn't fully understand the predicament you found yourself in most nights.

“you scared?” he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“no, i... maybe? i don't know, “ you retorted, throwing your hands out in question,”it just feels really weird sometimes.”

“hm. i'd say i understand, but i don't really.” he said cheekily.

you huffed, nudging him with your elbow.

“but i can't say i won't try to help you with that.” he continued and you glanced at him from the corner of your eyes. you were about to retort before a big yawn tore through your body.

“well look at you. feeling comfortable?” he smiled gently.

“yea i guess...” you mumbled sleepily.

“okay, time to get your ass to bed then. text me if you still feel weird. i'll call you.” he got up, dusting off his shorts.

“call me?” you said, getting up and stretching your arms to get rid of the soreness.

“well, talking to me seemed to make you comfortable, so why not try that?”

“you'd do that?” you stopped, looking at him with wide eyes.

“yeah. why not?” he shrugged his shoulders, putting his hands in his pockets. you two headed of to your dorm, shinsou deciding to accompany you. you walked in silence and once again, you were counting the stars as you went, until you came up to the dorm building.

“good night, hitoshi,” you smile at him, waving gently as you opened the door. he raised his hand in return.

“night, y/n”

#mha hurt/comfort #mha comfort #shinsou x reader #shinsou headcanons #mha fluff

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shamwizzy · 2 years

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I turned 23 two weeks ago... It's been 2 weeks and I now have wrist, back and left knee pain if I move a certain way or sit too long, when I woke up yesterday my whole spine sounded like someone taking a jog over a rock path...help me

#mha hurt/comfort #bnha scenarios #bakugou x black reader #mha x you #haikyuu imagine #mha #haikyu x reader #daddy-kink #jjk #demon slayer x you

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frickingnerd · 23 days

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dabi with a s/o who has a healing quirk

pairing: touya todoroki / dabi x gn!reader

tags: hurt/comfort, painful quirk / quirk with drawbacks, reader is a league of villains member, protective dabi

you met dabi when you joined the league of villains

you were responsible for patching up the villains after their assaults against the heroes

at first, dabi didn't think much of you

but the two of you started to chat with each other a little each time you were healing him

he realized that you were too nice to be a villain and yet you had decided to stick with them

you could've joined any hero agency you wanted to with your quirk and yet you had landed here – with the villains!

he was intrigued by you and he couldn't help falling for you

dabi started to ask more questions about you, to learn more about your past, trying to understand you better

and it was during all of that that he discovered something about your quirk. something you had been hiding from him and the league of villains

your quirk had always seemed a bit too perfect in his eyes. you could heal any wound and it would barely even leave a scar

but there had been a drawback to your quirk. one that you had been keeping a secret from everyone

whenever you were healing someone, you could feel their pain

all those times when he came back half dead and let you heal his wounds, you could feel his pain as well…

as soon as he realized it, dabi started to feel horrible about it

he had put you through so much pain, without even realizing it! you were suffering all those months with him…

and you were healing the other members as well!

he couldn't even imagine how painful it must've been to be burdened with everyone's pain each day

now that dabi knew about the drawbacks of your quirk, he tried to avoid letting you use it

and he started to scold anyone who depended on your quirk too much

dabi would much rather prefer to watch his comrades suffer than you…

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sprytesukii · 1 month

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you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. ��what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

#bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x bakugou #bnha smut #bnha angst #hurt/comfort #[ baby daddy : katsuki ]#[ instant nut : n/sft ]#[ i <3 writing : my works ]

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gardenofnoah · 4 months

Text

cw: implied sexual trauma, panic attack, intimacy struggles

You don’t notice it happening until it’s buzzing under your skin. Loud and unavoidable, the only thing you can pay attention to is the irregular flutter of your heart and the way it seems that all the air has been vacuumed from the room—

“Hey.”

You blink, and Katsuki is no longer above you. He’s not touching you at all—you turn your head to find him next to you, propped up on an elbow and only worried.

“Too much?”

The panic flares at the question, because what if this is the last time? What if he’s tired of this?

Your exhale is shaky—your laugh is forced and sounds out of place. “No, it was fine, I just—“

“Oi—“ he says, gently, “tell me the truth.”

The truth burns your eyes and keeps them on the ceiling, away from his. You nod, helpless and resigned to whatever comes next.

“What’s goin’ on in your head?”

You feel the tears spill over before you can catch them. You swipe them away with the back of your wrist. It’s still numb. “I’m just sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

He grunts a little in acknowledgment—a displeased, ugly sound—and then there’s movement that finally draws your eyes to him. You watch him cover himself with your duvet—all the way up to his chin.

“S’it okay if I hold you?”

He reaches for you and you let him pull you in. His hands stay above your shoulders and pointedly avoid your neck—cradling your head, letting you hide in the curve of his throat. His pulse is steady and constant against your forehead—or you imagine it would be, if it wasn’t muted by the fabric.

“Nothin’ is ruined,” he murmurs against your hairline, “s’my job to keep you safe.”

Your chest shudders against the cushion of the blanket and you feel a little guilty about crying all over it but Katsuki keeps you there, tethered to him. The ringing in your ears subsides, just a little. Just enough to hear the panic in your own voice.

“I promise I want it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m sorry—“

“Hey, hey,” he shushes you, careful not to tighten his arms around your shoulders. “Nothin’ to be sorry for. S’too much today—that’s all.”

It’s quiet, then, save for your sniffling. He keeps his mouth pressed to your hair, and his arms wrapped around you. There is a noticeable absence of his fingertips tracing along your skin—you don’t feel them there at all, and it’s on purpose. He’s considerate and it makes you anxious.

“Can hear you thinkin’.”

“I just—“ you inhale, trying to be brave, “I don’t want you to leave. I know I can’t—give you this—“

“Oi,” he gruffs, a little sharply, “I don’t give a shit about that. M’not a barbarian.”

You feel the expansion of his lungs as he draws in a slow exhale, and lets it out against the crown of your head. “Don’t think so little of me,” he murmurs, tone laced with hurt.

“You’re right,” you whisper, because he is, “I love you.”

“Love you.” He kisses it into your skin, soft and barely there. “Always will.”

#i have beat this horse to hell but I really do love writing about struggles with intimacy #because ~i~ struggle with intimacy and I write for me ya know #but idk i think it would be hard for him!! he just wants to care for me and keep me safe and i have a tendency to self sabatoge.#if you can believe that.#he just wants to help and he knows that what happened before him is not his fault of course. but it upsets him when I project onto him #which is like. a very human thing?#i have been thinking about that post from the other day a lot about believing the people that love you #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou hurt comfort #bakugou comfort #bakugou fic #mha fic #bkg it’s the little things

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sannasruins · 7 months

Text

it didn't hurt, right?

bakugo katsuki x reader

type: angst

warnings: cheating (on reader), smoking, f!reader

a/n: hi it's been a while, got writer's block but then something bad happened to me which always makes the writing juices flow, also i didn't proofread, i will never proofread

word count: 2k

The strike of a lighter lit in front of your face, you weren't one to smoke, in fact, you had never smoked a cigarette before. After all that had happened to you today though, you thought you needed a vice. You needed something, anything, too dull, to numb, to take your mind off what had happened. What you had heard, and now this dull ache refusing to leave your chest. You let the flame go out.

Leaning against the cold brick wall in the dark, in the alleyway of the convince store where you had just bought a pack of Marlboro's, the pretty sad girls always seemed to smoke those, and a matching red lighter. You huddled into yourself, hands stuffed in your jacket pockets, fist clamped around the box you had just bought. Your chilled body illuminated slightly by the neon lights of the city that spilled into your hiding place, you shakily take out the box, struggling for a second on how to open it before, with shaky hands, successfully ripping into it. You tapped out a single thin white stick and brought it to your lips, before restriking the lighter and bringing it to the tip.

You inhaled deeply, and paused before you began coughing, it felt as if you were going to cough your lungs right out of your body with how hard they were wracking your entire being. You bent over, hands on your knees as your whole body shook with the motions of your coughs, the cigarette, forgotten and extinguished on the ground by your feet, while this was a miserable feeling, you thought to yourself, it did replace that horrible knot of anxiety in your stomach for a few moments. Maybe it was worth it.

You thought back to what had caused this rash change in behavior for you, it wasn’t too long ago, just a few weeks, maybe even a handful of minutes if you didn’t count the foreboding feeling leading up to it.

You had been dating your boyfriend, Pro Hero Bakugo Katsuki for 2 years now, but had known him since the days that he was an upper classman for you at UA high, you in the support class a year under him, got semi acquainted with him as he frequently was breaking his equipment. After he graduated you both lost touch but when you graduated and found a job as a hero equipment repair apprentice at the same agency he was working at, the two of you began to interact once more.

You had had a crush on him since your schooling days, your girl friends always calling you crazy for liking such an abrasive boy, but you liked his candor, and his mental fortitude. The two of you found your quick wit in common and you could sympathize with him in a way that it seemed that a lot of people could not, which you didn’t fully understand but you didn’t let it get to you.

He asked you out 2 years after you had started working at the pro hero agency, he had brought a bouquet of your favorite flowers, you were surprised he had known them, but you happily said yes with years in your eyes. Your girlhood crush had been realized; how many people can say that.

You asked him later what made him ask you out, what he liked about you. He told you he liked your sweetness, your kind eyes, and maybe it was a red flag that he didn't mention how brave you were, or your quick hands, or your impressive talents. But maybe not, it’s hard to tell at this point.

He was sweet for a while, attentive, present, though it did drop off eventually, maybe after a year, maybe a bit sooner. You could shrug that off though, he was a pro hero, he was busy protecting the city and the entirety of Japan.

The two of you moved in together on your one-year anniversary, you thought it was so sweet when he presented you with the key to his apartment in a little box with a bow. Though was that just lazy behavior? Did he do that because he didn’t know what else to do or didn’t care to do anything else? You were questioning everything about the of your relationship at this point.

You hadn’t brought much from your apartment, just a couple boxes of stuff besides clothes, since his place was already furnished with things much nicer than yours. You didn’t think you would be needing any of your old furniture again, no point in paying for storage for things you don’t need, so you sold it off for a little bit of money to put into your savings, you secretly had the thought of ‘wedding’ when saving the money.

You chuckle bitterly in the alleyway you’ve been reminiscing in, “stupid” you murmur to yourself.

It was definitely dumb of you to sell almost all your belongings when moving in with your first serious boyfriend, but you were young and dumb and in love.

You were happy cooking lunches for the both of you, and then making breakfast, before going to work an 8-hour shift, often having to put in overtime due to unexpected or urgent repairs needing to be done, and then coming home, cleaning your shared living spaces, and starting on dinner before he came home. It became a routine, and you didn’t mind, he worked hard, and you loved him, so putting in some extra effort didn’t hurt, right?

You loved him. He loved you. It didn't hurt, right?

He had been acting a little more distant than usual in the last few weeks, you had tried talking to him, getting him to open up, letting him know you were there for him, giving him his space, but no matter what you did, nothing seemed to work, he just seemed to be getting further and further away from you, coming home later, pushing his dinner around his plate but not eating, and even when the two of you slept in the same bed, side by side, it was as if you were worlds apart. You had no idea what was going on, you equated it to his job, it was hard, he had to watch people get hurt, he had to watch people die, he had to bear the guilt of not being able to save those claimed by death. You felt helpless sitting there watching him drift away but you tried everything, there was nothing left for you to do.

He came home earlier than his new normal that day, the sun was still in the sky, albeit, setting, the orange fingers of light stretching out through the clouds as if grasping onto the day, not wanting to leave the bliss of unknowing.

“Oh, hi honey!” you greeted him as you heard the door unlock and swing open, “you’re home earlier than you’ve been, so I don’t have dinner ready quite yet,”.

You continued to happily babble as he took off his shoes by the entrance and closed the door behind him before making his way to the kitchen where you stood and took a seat at the dining table. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling the spikes slightly, in a way he did when he was anxious, but you didn’t see the movement as you had you back turned, happily stirring away at a pot on the stove.

“We need to talk.” He stated.

You felt your stomach drop in anxiety, you didn’t like his tone of voice, it was curt, it was clipped, it was cold. It was unfamiliar.

“O-” your voice caught in your throat, “Okay Hun, well dinners almost ready so, like 10 more minutes and we can talk over it okay? Thats fine, right?” you asked, more trying to reassure yourself than anything else.

“Y/n,” again, the unfamiliar tone, “turn off the stone, that can wait, we need to talk now.”

You slowly released the iron grasp you didn’t know you had on the wooden spoon you held in your hand, a sizable lump growing in your throat, before you inhaled through your nose and acknowledged him.

“Okay, Katsuki.” you turned the burner off, and whipped your palms quickly down your jeans once, steeling yourself before you turned to face him, sitting at the table, which suddenly looked alien to you.

You walked stiffly towards the chair you always sat in, opposite him, and looked at his face, there was an indescribable expression on it, but it was stern, and chilly. His lips were pressed into a hard line, and his eyes had a storm of emotion in them, determination, but behind that, maybe, guilt.

You pulled the chair out and sat, dread already filling your stomach as your mind filled with 1,000 ideas as to what he had to say, though nothing could have prepared you for the words that were about to leave his mouth.

“I found someone else.”

Time slowed for you.

He continued, “and I think I love her, more than I love you, I think more than I could ever love you.”, every second felt agonizing as you processed what he had just told you, someone else? You had a million questions, and they all started falling out of your mouth, tumbling and choking you along with your tears.

“Why? Who? For how long? When did this start? Where did you meet her? What do you mean? Can’t I do anything to fix this? Why are yo-,” You were stuttering and stumbling over your words before he held up a hand to stop your onslaught of questions.

“I can’t say why, I didn’t do it to hurt you, I still care about you, I do still love you, I just,” he paused and put his head in his hands, sighing, “I love her more.”

“I can’t tell you wh-” you stood up, the sound of your chair scrapping against the wooden floor cutting him off. Fat, hot tears ran down your cheeks and you walked past him and towards the front door.

He stood up as you passed, the sharp sound of his chair on the floor abrasive in your ears, and you flinched, squinting your eyes closed.

He grabbed your arm tightly, perhaps he didn’t know his own strength, but the force was bruising. You tried once to shake him off, but he didn’t let go. “Y/n, sit back down and listen to me,” he tried to command you.

You tried again to shrug him off, and when he again refused to release you from his grasp, your voice, raspy and harsher, and in a tone, he had never heard escape from your lips, confronted him.

“Let me go Bakugo.”

His hand loosened and you were able to finally shrug your bicep out of his fisted hand.

He stood there silently watching as you made your way to the front door, shoving your feet into the first pair of shoes you saw and grabbing a jacket, before opening the door and heading out, slamming it behind you.

That is how you had found yourself, now sitting on the ground in the alleyway on the side of a convenience store, knees to your eyes as you shook silently with sobs.

You lowered your knees and again reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out the little box and lighter, deciding to try again. You brought the cigarette back up to your shaky lips and repeated the steps, click of the lighter, bring the flame in close, let the flame die, inhale. Ignore the burn in your chest, exhale.

It didn’t hurt, right?

a/n: there will not be a part two, this was lightly based on an experience that happened to me, and i won't want to write a fake future. even if his actions end up coming and biting him in the ass though, i have moved past it, as i am not going to spend my youth full of regret and rage, it doesn't hurt anyone but me. I hope all of my readers understand. <3

519 notes · View notes

lightseoul · 1 year

Text

prove it

synopsis. bakugou katsuki starts acting differently after your last conversation. you finally arrive at an agreement. (part 1) (part 2)

cw. fem!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (~24 yrs old), lots of cussing

word count. 3.6k words

a/n. the last part of the series! thanks so much for all the love on the first two parts, everyone! i had such fun writing this <3 again, reblogs, tags, and comments will be highly appreciated!

You barely slept a wink that night.

After that exchange with Bakugou, you immediately left his office, not even bothering to greet his secretary (partly because you couldn’t bear the possibility of her overhearing), and headed straight to your desk.

A feeble attempt at going back to work was made, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you actually got something done.

Even as you commuted your way home and got ready for bed, your brain wouldn’t stop replaying the conversation, lingering especially on his loaded confession.

He still loves you.

What now?

Sadly, just because you're marred by sleep deficit and boy problems doesn't mean you get to miss out on work. You now walk down the hallway of your floor on the way to the break room, desperate to inject some caffeine into your system to get you through the day.

And to help you focus and get your mind off of Bakugou fucking Katsuki, thank you very much.

You’re one foot into the room when it suddenly dawns on you how you consumed the last pod of your favorite brew yesterday (before all the shit went down), which means that you’re now out and caffeine-less.

Fuck.

“Well, don’t you look like shit.”

Mikuri hums from her favorite spot on the sofa, a cup of what you think is green tea in her hands.

“Thanks?” you mumble begrudgingly as you plop yourself across from her, mood growing sourer by the minute.

“What’s up with you?” she sounds amused, a brow quirked in question.

You sigh, smoothing the wrinkle on your blazer you didn’t have the energy to iron out that morning. “Am sleep-deprived and out of coffee. Not everyone can be chipper like you on this fine day, I guess.”

“No, you’re not?”

You sit up, eyes narrowing, “You mean to say I look like shit normally and not just because I didn’t get enough sleep?”

She frowns, “You know that’s not what I mean. What I meant is that no, you’re not out of coffee.”

“Look,” she gestures to the beverage area with her free hand.

Your brows shoot up in response as you take in the freshly stocked shelf.

Weird, you think to yourself.

You were normally the one to restock on that specific flavor, being the only one on your floor who is partial to it.

Unless…

You shake your head to rid yourself of the unwelcome thoughts, willing to crush the butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Mikuri doesn’t get the chance to comment on your unusual behavior because the Performance Management head of your HR team pops in through the door, a grin adorning his face.

“Good morning, boss! See you in 15.”

Yamakawa, the Recruitment head, rifles through her documents before standing up to distribute them to you and the other sub-department leads.

She goes around the room to hand you what seems to be a substantial amount of pages, “Here’s the status report on Bakugou’s new sidekick.”

“Already?” you splutter, gaining the attention of your direct subordinates. You straighten up, slightly embarrassed. “I thought they’re just starting today?”

“Yeah, well. We figured you’d want to hear it,” Yamakawa says as she gets seated and goes through her copy.

“Get this,” she continues, “he’s way more cooperative than we predicted him to be. Moriyama-san, or Water Jet Hero: Aqua Girl, is already in his office, discussing—” she glances at the report, “—battle strategies and joint training schedules as we speak.”

The others hum in acknowledgment as you sit there, still struggling to wrap your head around what was just said.

“And no one coerced him to do this?” Tanaka, the Performance Management head, pipes in. You whip to look at Yamakawa, anticipating her answer.

“Apparently, he emailed Moriyama-san yesterday himself to set the meeting.”

Delighted noises erupt across the room as you stare at the Recruitment head in disbelief.

“This is great news, right?” the Socialization head exclaims. “If we’re talking long-term, Bakugou’s workload will definitely lessen with a good sidekick around, meaning we’ll get fewer angry outbursts and a more decent-to-be-around boss!”

You know they’re making sense, and that this is supposed to be amazing news to hear as the HR department head, but you can’t help the tinge of anticipatory dread rising in your gut.

“Why don’t you seem happy?” Tanaka asks you, before turning to the others. “Hey, why isn’t Y/N happy?”

The unusual events don’t end after that.

To your surprise, Bakugou starts to attend meetings that concern him, instead of the usual—letting Kirishima do all the coordinating with you and your department. He’s even offered to help you with your analysis report on his new sidekick (quite awkwardly, at that), which you so quickly and frantically declined in front of everyone.

You suspect your subordinates are starting to deem you as weird, too.

If they only knew.

Regardless, with each passing day, you seem to be seeing more and more of him around the office, and needless to say, it’s messing with your head.

The always-stocked shelf of coffee isn’t helping either.

It’s gotten to the point where it’s starting to affect your sleep as well, with how much you overthink these sudden changes in his behavior.

In an attempt to get your mind off him and the confusing mix of hope and dread circling your stomach, you start to drown yourself in work.

Ah, your ever-trusty friend: avoidance.

You stand by the coffee machine as it does its magic, your foot tapping against the floor impatiently. You glance at the wall clock, which reads 8:01 PM.

You sigh, grabbing the freshly brewed beverage not even a second after the machine dings.

It’s been two weeks since that heated conversation with Bakugou, and one since your self-mandated oath to bury yourself with work, at least until your thoughts get a little bit less muddled and Bakugou stops acting differently.

“You’re still here?”

You startle from your absentminded stirring and look toward the source of the voice.

Speak of the devil.

Seeming as though he’s fresh from a shower, you stare at Bakugou as he stands by the doorway of the break room.

You eye the duffel bag that’s slung over his shoulder.

“You’re leaving already?”

Fuck, you think to yourself. Now you feel like a creep for knowing that Bakugou leaving two hours after his shift is considered early in his dictionary.

And now you feel stupid for answering his question with another question.

What’s gotten into you?

“Yeah,” he answers curtly, not offering much of an explanation. “What’re you doing working overtime?”

You place the mug on the marble countertop and cringe when it makes a loud, clashing noise.

You turn back to face him. “Have to work on the biannual report.” You shrug, as nonchalantly as you can, “It’s due soon.”

Bakugou grunts in acknowledgment, shifting on his feet.

“Well, thank you for your hard work,” he offers. “And for—uh—helping me choose my sidekick.”

Your stomach whirls in delight despite yourself.

You clear your throat, “Again, I was just doing my job.”

At that, he deflates ever so minutely, so you follow it up with: “But you’re welcome. I heard you’re thinking of hiring another one?”

“Yeah, just to help with the workload,” he nods. “I met him yesterday.”

“...You’re right, by the way,” Bakugou adds after a few seconds pass without you saying anything.

“Huh?”

He looks away, breaking eye contact. “I don’t like how similar we are. But he’s good.”

You have no idea how he knew you said that.

Scratch that—it was probably Kirishima.

Damn that meddler.

You clear your throat again in an attempt to change the subject and drop the conversation in its entirety.

“Well, I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

Bakugou meets your eye again, and for a moment he looks like he’s about to say something, then hesitates.

He opens his mouth ever so slightly before closing it again, eyes still fixed on you, before simply saying: “You too.”

At that, he turns on his heel and trudges towards the elevators.

Once you’re sure he’s out of sight and earshot, you bring your hand up to clutch at your heart, which is going at an alarmingly fast rate.

“Shit.”

You can’t still be in love with him?

“What?!” Mina hops on her feet, almost knocking your glass of iced tea off the table.

“Dude, you’ve got to stop doing that,” you seethe, looking around your go-to café. It’s unusually barren on a Saturday afternoon.

You look back at her, “People stare, you know. And besides, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL?!” she parrots incredulously.

“Just—” you scramble for words, “please sit back down?”

At your pleading tone, Mina finally gets seated, but her pinched eyebrows tell you she’s far from being done with the conversation.

“Fine,” she relents, “but you’ve got some explaining to do, missy.”

You sigh, “Okay. What do I have to explain to you?”

“Wha—” she starts, aghast, “I mean—first of all, why the fuck are you asking me to contact your blind date when three weeks ago, you were practically disgusted with the idea of going on one?”

“We talked,” you shift your eyes away from her. “Bakugou and I.”

Mina snorts.

“Let me guess. You realized you still love him?”

Your head whips to look at her, “Mina!”

“What?” she spits back. “Don’t use that accusatory tone on me.”

“I have the right to use this accusatory tone on you. I have a feeling a certain someone broke her promise about not saying anything about our last conversation with Bakugou.”

At that, Mina visibly cringes.

“In my defense,” she starts, voice raised, “it was only because that cemented how you’re both still into each other!”

You scoff.

“Aren’t you?” she presses, shooting you a pointed look, “Still into him?”

“I—I don’t know okay,” you raise your voice, inadvertently catching a few café-goers’ attention. You sink back into your seat in embarrassment.

“All I know is that the circumstances between us still haven’t changed. And that this shit is confusing—he’s confusing.”

You wave your hand around vaguely, “He’s been acting all weird and stuff.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters…”

“Hmmm…”

“What do you mean, hmmm?” you ask, exasperated.

She rolls her eyes at you, “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that he’s trying to prove you something?”

At that, your heart leaps in your throat. You push it down, though, as best as you can. Crossing your arms across your chest, you huff.

“If he thinks restocking my coffee for me is proving something, he’s got another thing coming for him.”

Mina guffaws, and you can’t help the smile that creeps on your face. Once the laughter has died down, though, she eyes you for a moment before sighing in resignation.

She picks up her phone and thumbs out something on her keyboard.

“Well, you’re in luck,” she starts, “Daichi-san is still interested in meeting you.”

You don’t know whether to be annoyed at Mina for ignoring your earlier request to cancel or be grateful for indulging you on your current one.

Not wanting to change her mind, you merely opt for mumbling a quick ‘thank you’, glancing at your phone as it dings with a message from her containing the engineer’s number.

You look around the interior of the restaurant, past the windows of the private room you’re in where a beautiful traditional garden lies, illuminated by the dim orange outdoor lighting.

You chance a peek at Daichi, who is already looking at you when your eyes meet.

Embarrassed, you look down at your ridiculously elaborate main course, finding yourself grateful that you opted for the fancier of your two dresses earlier this evening.

“So,” he breaks the silence as he pours you a glass of wine whose name you can’t even begin to pronounce. “Ashido-san told me you work at the Ground Riot agency?”

“Yes,” you smile gratefully as you bring your glass to your lips and take a sip. “I’ve been working there for a year now.”

“Must be exciting, huh?” he adds pleasantly, “working for top Pro Heroes?”

Man.

You purse your lips together, not wanting to seem stilted by the question. “It is. It can get quite hectic, though.”

He hums in agreement, “I get that.”

Daichi then proceeds to talk about the agency where he works, and normally you’d be kind enough to actively listen and throw in some follow-up questions, but your mind is now drifting towards Bakugou and your last encounter at the mention of the Pro Hero.

What did he want to say to you?

“L/N-san?”

“Huh?”

Daichi chuckles awkwardly, “I was just asking if you wanted some spice on your salmon."

Spice.

Bakugou would’ve wanted some.

Bakugou, you think to yourself.

Bakugou.

“Bakugou?”

You gape at the figure looming over your dining table.

The very man is standing there in his regular clothes that would’ve disguised his identity if it weren’t for his distinct blonde hair and hulking figure.

“What are you doing here?!”

“I need to talk to you.”

You nervously glance at your date, who seems to be starstruck by the Pro Hero in front of him.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something?” you whisper-shout.

Bakugou barely pays him any attention—gaze remaining on you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think an unspoken ‘please’ lies at the tip of his tongue.

You shake your head in bewilderment, or in an attempt to shake off these thoughts—you don’t know.

“Don’t you have the night shift? And how’d you know I was here?”

He exhales heavily, jaw tensing.

“I had Kirishima cover for me. And…” He looks away for a brief moment, before turning back and fixing his gaze on yours. “I asked Mina, and she told me you’d be here.”

You don’t know what comes over you, but at that, you stand up on your feet and stare him down.

“You can stop now, Katsuki,” you hush, wary of your date eavesdropping on your conversation. “Quit wasting your time on me just to prove a point and go back to the agency. You’ve done enough.”

His eyebrows furrow in what you’ve grown to identify as defiance, but he doesn’t make a move to fight back or leave.

Instead, he says through gritted teeth: “I’m not just trying to prove a fucking point, Y/N.”

“Then what are—”

“Excuse me?”

You both whip your heads in the direction of the voice, only to see Daichi sporting a sheepish look on his face as his eyes dart between the two of you.

A pang of guilt courses through you at the sight.

He clears his throat, “Do you guys need a minute alone?”

“No, we’re just—”

“Yes.”

You turn back to look at Bakugou in angry confusion. To your astoundment, he leans in ever slightly, mouth nearing your ear. From how close you are, you see how his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps before speaking.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he says: “I can’t pretend that this isn’t bothering me.”

You jerk away at the sensation and take a step back, flustered. Before you can even gather your bearing, Daichi speaks up again, albeit quite hesitantly.

“I know I’m supposed to be the one leaving here, but if you want some privacy, this restaurant has a private patio right to your left.”

“I can’t believe you interrupted us like that,” you spew as you step out into the restaurant’s patio, which is fortunately empty except for the two of you.

Bakugou follows behind you, trying to catch up as you speak.

“I just needed to talk to you.”

At that, you spin around to face him, and he halts in his step in front of you.

Incredulous, you stare at him for a few seconds.

“Talk,” you finally command.

His eyes widen in surprise, and you can tell he didn’t expect this conversation to arrive at this point so soon.

A moment passes, but not a single word is uttered. Bakugou’s mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, as he attempts to get a word out but to no avail.

“What, now you don’t have anything to say?” you ask pointedly, irritation bubbling in you by the second.

You wait for a few more, excruciatingly quiet seconds before huffing in defeat. And disappointment—you finally admit to yourself.

“If you’ll excuse me,” you turn on your heel, “I have a poor date to return to.”

You start to head for the restaurant’s back door when Bakugou makes a grab for your hand, spinning you around to face him.

“Just—wait.”

His voice is pleading now, frustration and desperation evident in his tone. You’re itching to yank your hand back, which is getting alarmingly clammier by the second, but you fight the urge.

The pained look on Bakugou’s face is enough to freeze you solid.

This time around, you patiently wait for him to gather his words with his hand still wrapped around yours and your heart betraying you, beating at an abnormally fast pace.

What feels like an hour goes by before he finally manages to speak.

And what comes out of his mouth throws you right off.

“I strengthened our coordination with the other agencies around the district.”

“...What?”

You absentmindedly touch your face with your free hand.

You can’t be having a stroke right now.

Bakugou shifts on his feet, a nervous tic you’ve noticed developed over the years.

Okay, if you’re coherent enough to observe that, maybe you’re not having a stroke.

“I mean—” he scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. “—Shitty Hair and I, we clarified jurisdictions around the area so that the two of us won’t be the go-to contact every time there’s a villain around.”

“I’m still not following, Katsuki.”

He ignores your comment, choosing to continue on his tangent instead.

“And I started seeing my therapist again. That damned hag went on telling me she was glad I’m getting help again like she was my mother.”

You blink at him as the gears start turning in your head.

Jurisdiction.

Less overtime.

More sidekicks.

Therapy.

Communication.

Suddenly, everything clicks.

“Maybe I am trying to prove a point,” Bakugou mumbles, more to himself than you.

“But it’s not just that,” he continues, looking back at you and not letting you get a word in.

“I’m here to tell you that I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. Despite all the adjustments I’ve made, there are still gonna be days when I have no choice but to prioritize my duties as a hero over you.”

He looks down at your joint hands and squeezes, “Over us.”

“But I’m trying my best,” he declares with such certainty it knocks the wind off your lungs. “And I’ll keep doing so, if you’ll give me a chance to prove to you that I can do it.”

A million questions race through your mind. Why couldn’t he have done this for you the first time around? How is this time going to be any different? Are the changes going to be enough?

But he’s staring at you with such longing and hope and determination that the only thing you can think of is: How can you not?

Dizzy from the revelation and robbed of all words, all you can do is nod in affirmation as the tears you didn’t even notice were there start falling down your cheek.

A sigh of relief wracks Bakugou’s body as he scoops you in his arms, engulfing you in an embrace that has you sobbing even more on his shoulder.

The wet sensation spreading on your bare shoulders tells you he’s crying, too.

After what feels like an eternity of shedding tears and being wrapped in each other’s arms, Bakugou finally moves to unwrap his limbs around you, now holding you at an arm’s length.

Now not in spite of yourself, your hand shoots up to wipe off the tear streaks on his face, which he leans into.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” he whispers after a moment.

Your hand freezes in its track. “For what?”

“For not being able to immediately answer back when you asked me if you loving me changed anything.”

He looks down at his feet, uncertain. “I think—I just—” he stutters, “Fuck.”

You can’t help but chuckle in response, and he looks up at your face at the sound. He’s trying to playfully pout, but you can tell by the look on his face that he’s feeling the farthest from playful.

Flashing him what you hope is a reassuring smile, you reach for the hand on your shoulder and squeeze it. “Go on, Katsuki.”

He sighs for the nth time at your coaxing, the slightest bit of relief flashing across his features.

“At that moment,” he finally continues, voice raspy, “I guess I was just scared shitless. I was paralyzed with doubt—in myself, in my capability to not mess up the second time around.”

He huffs, eyeing you, “Didn’t occur to me how stupid that was until I was walking home later that night.”

You’re about to reassure him when he snorts. “The fuck am I saying—I’m still scared.”

At that, you audibly laugh, running your fingers through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. He visibly softens at the gesture, lids fluttering shut for a moment. When he opens them, you then look him straight in the eye—the laughter long gone, now replaced with a palpable seriousness.

“I’m scared, too,” you say, voice quiet. “But we’ll try and make things work. Right, Katsuki?”

He nods vigorously, hand clenching yours and his crimson orbs filled with nothing but sincerity that all the apprehensions floating in your mind suddenly disappear.

“We will.”

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @bakugouswh0r3 @poemzcheng @lovra974 @jasmixs @xoneaboveallx @bontensh0e @kooromin @sirenmoi @buzzbuzz-hm @xzsanaa @baddecisionsworld @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @i-simp-to-much @goldenglow149 @fixed211 @zenxvii @roses-arerosies @tiredjuniper @curbstompedrice @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @bkgnotsuma @6423btw @kaeremin @ghastly-san @jasmixs @javochqaa @nnubee @just-ambxrr @idk-sam @dream-walker-cat @kitthepurplepotato @endlessfreaky @myrunawaysweets @bxbyyyjocelyn @smolbeannnn @seabass17 @serendipitous-fernweh @the-weeping-author

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou hurt/comfort #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #AND IT'S FINALLY DONE!!!!!#WOOOOOH #sorry i did not proofread this AT ALL

1K notes · View notes

fan-dweeb · 3 months

Text

When I say I want dabihawks whump, what I mean is I want Hawks to randomly FaceTime Dabi in the following scenario

Hawks: heyyyyyyyy Hot stuff

Dabi: Hawks???

Hawks: s-sorry. But I think- I think I might need some help

Dabi: Hawks??????

Hawks: ‘s jus’ a small scratch. But I can’t-

Dabi: Hawks??

Dabi: Hawks!

Dabi: Shit that’s a lot of blood

Dabi: You know bones are supposed to be inside your fucking body right?

Dabi: I’m on my way birdie, hang in there

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bloodywings · 1 year

Text

night remedy

CW/TW!!!: self-doubt, feeling undeserving, I think this counts as anxiety, reader has a breakdown, hurt/comfort, deprecating thoughts. kiribaku x reader, bakugou doesn't talk too much, low-key semi-deaf bakugou, takes place in the future

2.7k words

Gender Neutral, plus size and POC friendly!!

I think that's all! please let me know if i missed anything!!

a/n: I started this in September while I was having a breakdown lmao

anyway, thanks for clicking! enjoy!

“2:25” the red numbers of the alarm clock in front of you read. It was becoming too late to sleep by the second. But sleeping was the last thing you could do.

The room was almost silent. The definition of white noise was blaring throughout the room you were in. The soft blow of a fan that was practically always on. The rustling of a plastic bag, barely blowing in the soft wind the fan let off. And two soft sets of breathing. Your lovers lay next to you, Eijirou on the opposite side of you, and Katsuki in the middle.

This became a regular thing within a few months of the start of your relationship with them. A small disagreement ensued. Bakugou had been upset because he rarely got to sleep in the middle. You and Kirishima had both assumed that he wouldn’t have wanted to be. His quirk made him hot very easily, so two sets of body heat didn’t seem comfortable. That’s what the two of you thought anyway.

Turns out the blonde doesn’t like when decisions are made for him.

He had begun thinking that the two of you loved each other more than him. And he snapped one day. Only to be extremely flustered when he realized the truth of the situation.

You and Eijirou still tease him about it every once in a while.

Usually, the memory made you smile. But the weight in your heart made it practically impossible to do so.

A soft stirring from your blonde lover snapped you out of your trance. His arm is placed in a different place around your torso, attempting to get comfortable and stay sleeping. His stirring caused the red-head attached to him to stir a bit as well. but still, both remained sleeping.

The blonde’s breathing was the most prominent of the two. Blowing directly in your ear. But Kirishima might as well have been next to you anyway. His soft snores filled the room, usually, it was like music to your ears.

Usually? Yes, those soft snores have lulled you to sleep on many occasions. Now? You couldn’t focus on the soft breathing of your boyfriend if you wanted to. The dark thoughts were the thing keeping you awake. You took another glance at the clock, “2:41” the red numbers blared at you.

At that moment, you wished that the red hue would swallow you whole. Practically begging for it to take you somewhere where your head was empty, not a single thought. And the only thing surrounding you was the love of the two boys laying in your bed.

“y’know, one day they’re going to get rid of you?” the voice in your head whispered. The same one that had been torturing you for the past few hours. “one day they’re going to realize that you are of no use to them, and then they’ll leave you.” “Shut up” you inwardly groaned. “you’re only saying that because I’m right, they’re going to go off and be happy, without you”

Logically, you knew they loved you. They wouldn’t be with you if they didn’t. But your brain couldn’t help but scream about how worthless you were. How they would be better off with just themselves. Or maybe even a different third person.

Someone that's not you.

You could feel tears well up in your eyes at the thought. But crying was not a good idea right now. The heaving of your chest might wake up your explosive lover lying peacefully beside you.

So you pulled the blonde’s arm from around you slowly, so as to not wake him. You succeeded, walking slowly to the door. Just trying to go to the living room of your shared apartment to cry, and then come back up as if nothing happened.

But just as you opened the door a groggy voice called out to you. “Where you goin’?” the grouchy blonde questioned. He’d probably woken up from the lack of body heat at his right side. “See, you ruin everything for them, they can’t even get a peaceful night of sleep ‘cause you're a crybaby” the voice taunted.

“I’m just gonna go and get some water,” you responded softly, turning around. whispering as not to wake your other boyfriend sleeping peacefully. “Sorry to wake you,” you mumbled. Katsuki sat up a bit, only to lay back down when the red-head let out a whine. His red eyes were piercing you, they almost made you want to break down.

“m’kay, don’t take too long,” he grumbled, snuggling himself back into the chest of his boyfriend. Which the red-head gladly accepted, wrapping his arms snugly around the blonde.

With that, you made your way to the living room. A place where amazing memories were made, it should have made you happy, but you couldn’t help but feel downhearted.

As you glanced around the room, the standard flatscreen tv caught your eye. It was one of the two that the three of you had to buy.

Memories flooded from when you got the first one. Katsuki had tried to mount the first one himself. Insisting, “You think those extras could do better than me?” And he did it, the TV even held well. He’d even boasted about it, claiming “you idiots should stop doubting me.”

Bakugou ended up eating his words two days later

You had all arrived home at around the same time. Just happy for the day to be over, the gruesome hero work had taken a toll on the three of you.

Only to walk in and see the TV laying on the ground, face first. The screen completely shattered. Your explosive lover expected you and Eijirou to be angry at him. But the two of you were too busy laughing your asses off to scold him for it.

you looked around at the rest of your living room. There were a total of two couches in your living room. One three-seater, and a loveseat. Polaroids strung on the wall brought more tears to your eyes. The pictures varied from the first date you had to the most recent. Each one was dated with Eijirou’s sloppy handwriting.

The very first one was when Kirishima had finally broken down during your second year and spilled his feelings for you two. And you and Katsuki both accepted.

The three of you went on a date to the fair. And Eijirou was so excited, he hadn’t been to one since he was a kid. He was practically bouncing on the train ride there. And he dragged Katsuki and you all around the fairground. Winning prizes for the two of you left and right. From stuffed animals to keychains to a fish that he had won for you.

He wanted to win another for Katsuki, but the blonde claimed “I don’t want some stupid fish that’s gonna die in three days” He scrunched his nose up in annoyance and disgust while declining the red-head's offer. Instead, Eijirou won his boyfriend a large fish plushie, as a replacement for the fish he had won earlier for you.

While your explosive lover claimed to hate it, the stuffed fish sits up at the top of your shared closet.

The most recent one was for your 7th anniversary, it was Katsuki’s turn to plan a date. And he chose to cook and take the two of you to a cliff. Fairy lights were strung on the trees, and a large tent to fit the three of you. Simple, but so thought out. He had brought you two there with just enough time to see the sunset. And then you spent the night in the forest, escaping the city life for just a night.

Those memories are what broke you, they had made you feel so loved and yet you felt as if you didn’t appreciate it. “Do you see what I mean? you don’t even have any faith that they do love you” the voice returned, mocking the thoughts it had implanted into your head.

You found yourself sitting on the three-seater, leaning over, and softly crying into your own hands. Your thoughts running a million miles a minute. You could hardly make them out.

Over and over.

But they all seemed to agree on one thing.

That you were worthless

Every piece of sadness came down on you in waves, from feeling undeserving of their love, to now feeling guilty because they’ve done so much for you, and you still don’t have anything faith in them.

But, nonetheless, you didn’t break down, just small, silent tears, with even softer sniffles.

Though you knew it was unlikely, you didn’t want any chance of either of your lovers catching you in such a vulnerable state.

But little did you know Katsuki had woken back up, realizing you weren't back from the kitchen, and had gotten up to check on you. And much like Katsuki, the lack of body heat had woken up the sleeping giant that lay next to him.

The blonde told his boyfriend to go back to sleep, but his boyfriend refused, mumbling something along the lines of “it's too cold without you.” Or at least that's what Katsuki thought he heard. Ejirou had a habit of speaking the intelligible language when he was half asleep.

The two tired men made their way through the house, with the red-headed giant stumbling the whole way there.

Out on a mission, you lovers made their way down the stairs, passed the front door, through the kitchen, and out to where you sat, with your face in your hands

“Sweetheart?” a tired voice slurred out. You lifted your head from your hands, and through your blurry vision, you see both Eijirou and Katsuki standing in the doorway. Both of them still rubbing the sleep from their vision. The red-head was the one that called out to you.

“What are you doing out here?” Katsuki asked, making his way to you with the sleepy giant not too far behind him. As you looked up at them, Katsuki noticed your cheeks glistening in the soft moonlight that came in through the window.

“Were you crying?” Katsuki questioned. His question caused the red-head's eyes to widen slightly, fully awake and alert after hearing the word ‘crying’’. Eijirou looked at your face, noticing your wet face in the same fashion your blonde lover did.

“Why are you sitting down here, crying to yourself?” Katsuki interrogated, and while you knew that there was no malice behind his question. But you couldn’t help but flinch at his rough tone, you knew he wasn’t actually agitated with you, but his tone of voice was not helping the thoughts screaming in your head right now.

Eijirou nudged the blonde, silently telling him to shut up.

“What Katsuki means is, what's the matter sweets?” the red-haired male queried. kneeling down in front of you. And at that moment, everything came crashing down on you. Your poisonous thoughts, the lack of sleep, the guilt, all of it came crashing on you.

And before you could blink, a racking sob emitted from your chest, which caused both boys to immediately panic. More and more sobs flowed from you like a messy symphony, and to the ears of your lovers, it was like listening to nails on a chalkboard. Just the sound alone was enough for adrenaline to pump through their veins in panic.

“Hey, hey look at me, ____.” Eijirou pleaded. His heart was hammering in his chest. He’d comforted people before, but this was different, he was afraid you weren’t breathing enough with how hard you were crying. But you couldn’t obey his command, you were way too embarrassed to even think of showing your face. After realizing this, your red-headed lover asked “Is it okay if I hold you?” The small nod you gave was enough for Eijirou to pull you into his arms quickly, whispering soft “its okay”-s and “we’ve got you”-s over and over.

You could feel how hard his heart was beating and it only made you feel worse.

Meanwhile, Katsuki was no better, he sat silently, a hand rubbing circles on your back. He didn’t want to say anything that could possibly make the situation worse. He knew his attitude was harsh, and he knew he had a reputation for saying the wrong thing in situations like these. If anyone had walked in on the scene, they would think he doesn’t care. But lord knows he cares a lot, maybe even more than Eijirou, his palms were sweating, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest, almost as if it was trying to jump out of his rib cage.

It felt like forever until your sobs slowed down to small coughs and shaky breathing. Now that you were done crying, the situation began to dawn on you. You had woken up your partners in the middle of the night because you were doubting yourself. Sadness began to fade over into embarrassment. You hoped they could just drop this, and you’d go to bed.

But unfortunately, Kirishima was the first to break the silence. “baby? you okay?” he questioned with a strong amount of hesitation. He didn’t want to cause you to break down again. “yeah, ‘m fine” you sniffled softly, snuggling further into the chest of your red-headed lover, attempting to hide from everything that had happened.

Kirishima only hummed as an acknowledgment, trying to find the words to help you. But before the words could make their way into his chest, he heard a soft mumble from you. A very muffled and almost unintelligible, “M’sorry” fell from your lips. It was so soft that Katsuki hadn’t even heard it, which was good for you, he probably would have had your head on a pike for apologizing for something like this.

“There's nothing to be sorry for baby, nothing at all,” Ejirou whispered, one of his hands coming up from your waist to rest on the back of your neck. Rubbing small, comforting, shapes into your skin with his thumb. “like I said, we’ve got you.” your boyfriend reassured, with all of the love he could muster.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Katsuki mumbled into the crease of your neck, where his head had been sitting for a while. A small, “not really” fell from your lips before you could really think about the question.

All you knew was that the thought of speaking about your feelings was enough to make that small knot come to the back of your throat. making it borderline impossible to hold the small tears that welled in your eyes. you blinked, attempting to make them go away, but instead the small droplets were soaked up by Eijriou’s shirt.

After a small amount of silence, your red-headed partner suggested you all go back to bed. As the three of you walked back to your bedroom, well more like your two lovers, Kirishima refused to let you walk, he carried you through the kitchen, into the front doorway, and up the stairs, with Bakugou following not too far behind.

As you entered your shared bedroom, which had grown cold due to the fan being on high speed, you began to feel sleepy. you were fighting your closing eyelids when your lover placed you in the middle of your soft mattress. both men coming to lay on either side of you.

And when their arms wrapped around you, smothering you in between them, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort. almost as if the love they had was wrapping itself around you, but not in a suffocating way, it had just enough pressure to let you know how much they care for you.

While the love of your boyfriends couldn’t make all your problems go away, it could get you through the night. and that alone made the future seem a little brighter.

A/n: Hii, so how was it? Please let me know in the comments! If you have any ways I can improve as a writer please let me know! (remember there is a difference between constructive criticism and being rude)

Notes and reblogs are appreciated

I hope you're having a good day! And if not, I hope tomorrow is better! bye darlings <3

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