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andypantsx3 · 18 days

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𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 : 𝑡𝑜𝑑𝑜𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑖 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 : 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑖

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: In order to placate your anxious mother, you agree to return to your hometown to participate in a mating run—knowing full well that betas rarely get chased, never mind betas nearly old enough to age out of the practice. You’ve decided to treat it like a vacation, a chance to visit with your childhood friends, the mating run itself a nice relaxing hike. All in all it’s a solid plan—until alpha Todoroki Shouto, your best friend's little brother,steps in and blows it all to pieces. 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡: omegaverse, no quirks au, alpha!shouto, beta!reader, mating rituals, age gap, best friend’s little brother, older reader, afab reader, some class differences, aged up characters, semi-public sex, slight small town romance vibes, background implied dabihawks for some reason, smut, 18+; mdni! 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 4.7k | chapter 2 of 4

Then

The Todoroki house was the most interesting place you had ever been.

At home it was just you and your mom, and most of the time she was working, or recovering from working, but the Todoroki house was packed with children from wall to wall. There was almost never a dull minute—except when Todoroki Enji came home and everyone got stiff and weird—but when he wasn’t around, you found you preferred the Todoroki mansion to the loneliness of your own empty house.

Touya seemed to sense this, and deigned to invite you over often, enough that you found yourself following him home after school at least once a week.

After the first time, you’d been introduced to his other siblings, Fuyumi and Natuso, who were both much nicer than Touya, and notably far more talkative. Shouto was a near-constant too, almost always propped on his mother’s hip when you arrived home, and always eager to be handed off to you, enough that you could tell Touya was annoyed.

“You’re not even related,” he complained, and you hid a smile at his barely-couched jealousy.

“I’m just better than you,” you told him, sticking your tongue out, dodging when he tried to grab it. You’d never had siblings, and you’d been forced to learn quickly that nothing was off-limits to people with younger siblings. Revenge would always be exacted.

Even when Shouto got older, old enough to talk in complete sentences and toddle about on his own, he seemed to prefer your company. You and Touya were almost never left alone to play on your own, Shouto always in the room with you, almost velcroed to your side.

He was on the floor next to you in the living room on one such occasion, Touya absolutely destroying you in Super Mario, when Rei called Touya in from the kitchen.

Touya rolled his eyes, pausing and flinging his controller at your head with the manner of someone who hoped it actually connected. “Don’t restart while I’m gone or I’ll kill you.”

You saluted him as he stomped out, taking a minute to stretch out from where you’d sat hunched over your controller. You bumped Shouto as you did, and he looked up at you from his coloring book, where he was shading in a pair of penguins in hot pink.

“Nice choice,” you told him, and Shouto looked a little bit like he was trying not to preen.

“Izuku in my class says penguins mate for life, like us,” he said, authoritatively.

You blinked, your brain snagging on the like us. Alphas, betas, and omegas could mate for life, and were generally expected to, but that didn’t always quite play out if you didn’t find your life mate. Your mother was a near-hand example, your father having left her while you were still in swaddling clothes, only to pass away a short few years later. They hadn’t been life mates, you’d come to realize recently—though your mother still believed in them. You hoped she’d find hers still, someday.

You thought maybe, however, that you were not going to hold out hope for your own, if it was as tricky as it seemed.

“You know not everyone does, right?” you asked, peering down at Shouto.

Wide, guileless eyes stared back up at you. Shouto had lost a little of his baby fat recently, but absolutely none of his sweetness.

“Who does not?” he demanded, sitting back on his haunches.

You fiddled with the controller in your fingers, wondering suddenly if you should have brought this up with him. “Some people. My parents didn’t,” you said, cautiously.

Shouto’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Your parents?”

You shook your head. “Sometimes people don’t find them even after all of the mating runs.”

Shouto did not look pleased with this. His eyes roved over you, pinning on you with a sort of sudden, unnerving intensity. “Sometimes people go on mating runs. And their life mate is not there because they are too young to go yet.”

You blinked, surprised by the specificity of this conclusion. “Sometimes, probably, yeah.”

Shouto’s tiny frown deepened, and he carefully arranged himself up against your side. “You will wait though, right?”

Your hand found its way unthinkingly into his hair, ruffling it. He was a sweet kid. “I mean, people usually go through more than one mating run, right?”

Shouto pressed more insistently into your side. “You will keep going until your life mate is there, though.”

You had an image of yourself, greying and eighty, slowly wobbling on your cane through the preserve. You suppressed a laugh. “I’ll go as I can until I age out, how about that?”

Shouto nodded, satisfied. His crayon resumed on the penguins, fiery pink streaking across the page. “I will be there,” he pronounced definitively.

His decisive tone startled a laugh out of you. You grinned down at him, unable to help the urge to ruffle his hair again. “I’ll stick around until we can run together. Although you better get good at climbing trees.”

Shouto blinked, his mouth pursing in puzzlement. “Trees,” he repeated to himself.

You nodded. “If I’m not an alpha, and I have to hide somewhere, I’m going to find the best tree in the preserve and go up it and not come down until I find my life mate.”

You would not be like your parents. You would not settle, and you would be realistic about your prospects.

Shouto’s eyes tracked across your face once more, like he was committing the statement to memory.

“You’re welcome to come up with me,” you said. You couldn’t imagine Shouto as anything other than an omega like his mom, not with that sweet little face. You didn’t like the idea of some alpha trying to get at him, so it was better he stay safe in your tree with you.

The thought suddenly rankled, and you decided you were done with this discussion. Better not to think of Shouto all grown up and spirited away from everyone until you absolutely had to.

You tapped a finger on Shouto’s coloring book, turning him back to it. “Anyway. Tell me about the other animals in here? Did Izuku tell you about any of these?”

Shouto looked down at the page, his expression shifting seriously. “This is a killer whale,” he said, pointing to a corner of the page he’d colored in with a blob of forest green. “They are related to dolphins. They are the biggest dolphin in the world.”

You nodded, relaxing back on your hands, gesturing for him to go on.

Shouto took his job very seriously, explaining solemnly and in great detail all the animals on the page, the way he sometimes described all his toys to you. You let him go on, finding that you liked listening to Shouto talk—he was rarely so wordy, but he was easy and familiar and funny in how seriously he took everything.

You laid back and listened to him, hoping Touya took a little extra time in the kitchen. Shouto looked pleased to have your attention, and soon enough you found yourself dozing, your head against his little thigh, content with Shouto’s sweet little voice washing over you.

In Shouto’s company, the Todoroki house felt a lot like home.

Now

Your beloved mother woke you in the morning ramming the vacuum into the door of your old bedroom-turned-storage room.

You groaned from your air mattress, your old bed frame sold off already to pay a gas bill. You missed that thing.

“Only a week together and you were out all day yesterday,” your mother said when you emerged from your old room, shooting you a look that immediately made you feel like a teenager again. She was wearing one of your old sweatshirts, that she’d clearly commandeered because she’d missed you.

Your heart squeezed a little at the familiar sight of her, but not enough to curb your morning fussiness.

“Maybe I was out scoping alphas to pounce on during the run,” you said, shuffling towards the kitchen and the promise of coffee.

“You were out with the mayor’s son,” she said, sniffing. A small smile pulled at your mouth—she had pettily refused to call Touya by his name for years.

She’d been thrilled by your friendship with him when you were kids. From the outside, Touya had looked like a beautiful little boy from a well-to-do family. You knew she’d once held out hope for your friendship to turn into something more, to see you settled into a well-off family and taken good care of.

For your part, however, you’d been drawn to Touya but never interested in that way, and you knew Touya felt the same. And things had only gotten more complicated when Touya’s mental health had crumbled like dirt under his father’s heel, and even worse when the Todoroki family fire broke out; Touya’s extensive burns damaged his glands and destroyed any evidence of his secondary gender before he’d even presented. Though, personally, you’d always suspected he was an omega. He was showy, flashy, possessed of that classic omega need for praise and attention—not quite to your tastes.

You thought you probably preferred someone a little more lowkey, someone steady and easy. Definitely not Touya.

There was also the fact that his efforts as of late seemed directed at the one quarter of your friend group with blonde, fluffy hair. Though you knew Touya would rather burn his remaining skin off before admitting it.

Either way, your mother’s hopes of a marriage into the Todoroki family were dashed, along with her opinion of Todoroki Enji when things finally came to head, and she’d never quite forgiven Touya for it.

“Touya says hello,” you answered distractedly, fiddling around with the coffee machine, though of course Touya had said no such thing. “I saw Rei though, and Natsuo and Fuyumi and Shouto. Did you know Shouto is a firefighter now? He’s gotten so big.”

“An alpha?” your mom’s voice floated out from the living room, her eagerness not quite suppressed.

You laughed, though a tiny, strange sort of spark lit up your spine. “Mom, I’m a couple years too old for him. I’m like his grandma.”

“Oh you are not, you dramatic thing,” you heard her sniff.

“Our first date could be at my bingo hall,” you carried on over the hiss of the water boiling, the dribble of coffee into the pot. “And we could get drunk on our prune juice, and I could slide out my dentures waiting for him to kiss me—”

“I’m going to sell you,” your mother said, her vacuum starting up again pointedly. You heard the distinct thump of it being rammed into a couch leg and grinned.

You knew she wanted to see you settled because she loved you, wanted to see you taken care of in all the ways that she hadn’t been. Your father had let her down years before he’d even passed, which you thought should have besmirched any alpha’s good name in your mother’s book. But she was determined to believe in love and life mates despite it all, and you admired her for it. She was a stubborn thing.

You spent the morning helping her do chores, clambering up onto the counters and getting all the places she couldn’t regularly reach, hauling out her trash and googling your way through some low-level repairs. You shared a quick breakfast in between, dodging more questions about the mating run, before returning to cleaning.

You were covered in dust and a thin layer of Lysol by the time you remembered you’d promised to meet Shouto at the fire station for lunch. There was not enough time to change or shower if you wanted to pick something up on the way, and you supposed it was well enough that Shouto did not actually possess the level of interest in you that your mother might have wanted him to.

“Going to see my child bride,” you told your mom on the way out, laughing and dodging a sponge.

The walk to the fire station took the better part of forty-five minutes, including a long interlude spent hemming and hawing over the prepared foods section of the grocery store before you finally settled on cold soba—Shouto’s favorite from when you were younger, if you remembered correctly.

The fire station itself was an older, whitewashed multi-story building, set back from the main road. The garage doors were open in the warming spring air, the bright red of the fire engines clearly visible from blocks away. You must have been visible from blocks away, too, because Shouto stepped out as you turned onto the drive, the dark blue of his stationwear stark against his skin.

Your heart did a strange lurching motion in your chest, and you pointedly did not let your eyes linger on the way his uniform belted in at his hips, highlighting the trimness of his waist and the breadth of his shoulders. Nope.

“Hi Shouto,” you said, holding up your bag of spoils. “You still like soba, right?”

Shouto blinked, his eyelashes fluttering. Long fingers touched the bag, hefting it carefully from your grip. “You remember.”

You grinned up at him. “How could I forget? Especially because I was there when you had it for the first time. You flung some at Touya from your high chair and it ended up on me instead.”

Shouto looked embarrassed, a pink flush spreading prettily across the tops of his high cheekbones. “I do not believe you.”

“Uh huh,” you said.

Shouto’s mouth pulled into what might have been a nonexpression on anyone else, but was most definitely a pout on him. Cute.

“I can reassure you there will be no soba flung today,” he promised, his deep voice earnest. Then he paused. “Touya is not in range.”

A surprised laugh escaped you, and the edge of Shouto’s lips pulled. He looked pleased with himself for having drawn it out of you. He’d always made you laugh, even as a kid—though mostly for how incongruously serious he was as a child, even about the silliest things. But also for how he seemed able to press people’s buttons—Touya’s especially—just by existing.

Shouto gestured you inside, and you studied the firetrucks as you passed them, mostly so you did not watch the way Shouto’s shoulders shifted beneath his shirt.

When he caught your look of curiosity, Shouto led you over to one, opening the door for you to take a look inside. You peered at all the knobs and switches interestedly, leaning into the cab. It looked complex, and yet very familiar. It actually looked a lot like the toy fire truck that once spent a fair amount of time occupying the inside of baby Shouto’s mouth.

You glanced back, opening your mouth to tell Shouto as much, when suddenly two large hands were at your waist, warm and sure. They lifted you right into the driver’s seat like it was absolutely no effort.

You fell into the cab, suddenly winded. You whipped around to stare at Shouto, heart hammering with the casual display of alpha strength, unable to help the wide-eyed look you knew you were giving him. That was—that was—not allowed.

“Am I—can I be—in here?” you garbled out, trying not to make obvious the real reason for your sudden disorientation.

Shouto stepped up onto the wheel plate to lean into the cab beside you, bringing in a puff of that scent like campfire on a cold day. “Yes,” he answered, looking unbothered with how close his face was to yours.

You watched him helplessly, brain fogging with his proximity and his scent. He was very, very pretty up close. He’d grown into what had to be the most beautiful person you’d actually ever seen—his mother’s looks, dialed up to an eleven. The deliberate alpha edge to him should have been at odds with that delicate sensuality—but instead it was like his secondary gender sat on him like a beam of sunlight, highlighting his beauty.

It was totally at conflict with the round, pudgy little thing he’d been when you’d first seen him, the lanky preteen you’d left him as.

He felt so familiar and yet so strangely new. It was disconcerting.

You quickly averted your gaze, making a show of leaning in over all the dials and buttons. Shouto leaned right over your lap, his chest warm against your legs, patiently explaining what each one did in his low, calm tone. The depth of his voice was so shocking, but the tone so similar to what it had been—you could remember him explaining animals in his coloring book to you in much the same level of careful detail once.

Your head spun with the dichotomy. Baby Shouto, a lifetime away, and adult alpha Shouto here in front of you—

You hurriedly pushed the thought of adult alpha Shouto down before you could think too deeply on it. That was off limits.

When you’d had your fill and Shouto had managed to make sure you didn’t accidentally deploy the ladder in the station itself, he helped you down from the cab, his hands hot on your waist.

“I’m old but still spry enough to get myself down, young man,” you told him as he settled you back on the station floor. Your heartbeat felt like it was somewhere around your throat.

“I did not hear your bones creak at least,” Shouto said, startling you into a laugh again.

His mouth twitched as he led you further into the station, giving you a short tour of the gear racks, the office, the laundry room and fitness room stuffed with several of his coworkers, a room that smelled overwhelmingly of clashing alpha scents, none nearly as good as Shouto’s.

A cheery red head waved to you from the leg press, that Shouto introduced as Kirishima, and a blonde alpha greeted him with a towel whipped directly at Shouto’s face. Shouto ducked it with the ease of long practice.

“Oi halfie, who the fuck told you you could eat the cookies I brought in?” the blonde demanded, barely sparing you an acknowledging glace as he reracked a mind-bogglingly enormous set of weights.

Shouto introduced him anyway, in a deliberately bland tone that you immediately recognized as one he deployed to rile up Touya. “This is Bakugou Katsuki.”

“Answer the damn question,” Bakugou said.

Shouto blinked long and slow and absolutely meant to annoy. You hid a smile. “Am I expected to fight fires on an empty stomach,” Shouto said, flatter than a question.

“I’ll fucking show you an empty stomach when I rip out your—”

“You must be Y/N,” Kirishima said loudly from the leg press. You instantly clocked a beta disruption technique at work and smiled at him.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, searching for something to reply with, uniting in his peace-keeping mission. “That’s—an impressive amount of weight.”

“Thanks!” Kirishima said brightly.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught Shouto’s head snapping towards you, and you looked back to find his eyes narrowed on you.

“I can press as much,” Shouto said, his tone insistent. He crowded a little closer to you.

Your eyebrows crept towards your hairline, mystified. “I—that’s—great?”

A tiny frown pulled at Shouto’s mouth, and a disgusted sound issued from Bakugou’s corner of the gym. “You gotta be fucking kidding me. Take this shit right outta here,” Bakugou demanded.

Shouto ignored him, still staring at you. He pressed closer, his shoulders shifting so that he was angled between you and Kirishima, obscuring most of your line of sight.

“I—mean you definitely look like you can press, um, a lot,” you continued, bewildered. “The only pressing I do is, uh, french press.”

The frown evaporated from Shouto’s expression, something suddenly pleased descending over it instead. Beyond him, you thought you could see Kirishima smiling, mouthing you look like you can press a lot to Bakugou, and an answering eye-roll from Bakugou. Oh god. Had you said that?

Your face heated, and you immediately decided an evacuation was in order. “Well thanks for letting us interrupt you. Nice to meet you guys. Shouto—should we—?”

Shouto’s hand found the small of your back, gently guiding you. All thought of Kirishima and Bakugou suddenly evaporated under the feeling of that hot palm, and you barely managed another wave as Shouto shadowed you out of the room. He led you up a flight of stairs to the dorm area, where several more of his coworkers were arrayed, chatting over their own lunches.

Face still sort of warm, you helped Shouto unpack the soba and the various side dishes you’d grabbed. He disappeared further into the kitchen and returned with glasses of water and the appropriate utensils, arraying everything in front of you.

“So this is going to be your first run,” you said conversationally, after you’d taken your first bite of soba. “Got any lucky omega in mind?”

Shouto’s eyes darted up from his chopsticks to your face, grey and blue pinning you. “I have… someone in mind,” he said, after a moment.

A strange twinge made itself known in your chest again. You ignored it, shoving more noodles into your mouth determinedly.

“I am sure you will have absolutely no trouble, but I am happy to give you a quick rundown of all the usual hiding spots anyway,” you said. “Most omegas actually end up not too far into the preserve because they want to be caught, so it should be pretty easy.”

One of Shouto’s brows quirked the tiniest bit. “I have reason to believe I’ll need to follow at least a few miles.”

You felt your own eyebrows lift. Not too many omegas went super far in, unless they were looking to avoid someone or pose a real challenge. You went miles in specifically for that reason as well—to steer clear of the action, not that it was likely to find you anyway—and get up your tree before anyone came looking.

“There’s fewer spots that far out because the brush gets all scraggly at the coast,” you said. “There’s a few outcroppings though that I’ve seen omegas go for. You really think your intended will go that far?”

Shouto considered you for a long moment, those mismatched eyes roving over you. “I do.”

Whoever it was, they were going to make him work for it, huh? You suppressed a growing spot of offense on his behalf.

“And you’re sure about this person?” you asked.

Shouto nodded. “I have been sure since I was very small.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the same time as your stomach seemed to drop. That was very sweet—and also strangely disheartening to hear.

Why was that disheartening?

“Then—do you think they’re for sure your life mate?” you asked, taking a careful, studied sip of water.

“I do,” Shouto answered. The simplicity of his statement spoke for itself. You were a beta and did not have quite the same capacity to detect your mate as an alpha, but you knew alphas always knew. You wondered if he’d always known he was going to end up an alpha if he’d had that instinctive understanding since he was young.

You wondered why he’d never said anything, all those years you’d grown up together.

Your heart did a strange dip, sinking at the same time it lifted for him.

“I’m really happy for you Shouto. I’m glad I came back just in time to see you find happiness, when it feels like I have already missed so much else,” you told him.

Shouto leaned forward, catching your eye. His gaze was serious where it caught yours. “I am glad you came back, too. You have been… missed,” he said.

Your heartbeat fluttered, and you gripped the edge of the table, trying to quell the feeling. It would not do to be too overwhelmed by Shouto. Not now.

You managed a smile, and quickly rerouted the conversation back to the hiding spots you knew, and the forest trails you’d seen most omegas utilize. Shouto watched you carefully, and you hoped he was committing the information to memory.

After that the conversation turned to more innocuous topics, a rehashing of some of your shared childhood memories, some picking on Touya. The soba disappeared between the two of you, as well as all the side dishes you’d brought. Shouto was incredibly easy to talk to, you found—a fascinating blend of the earnest, slight shit-stirrer of a little boy you’d known and a blandly funny adult man. He had some of Touya’s underlying propensity towards intensity, and some of his mother’s thoughtful sweetness—and you liked the way the familiar traits blended into something faceted and interesting.

He really had grown up.

After lunch he let you explore more of the station, showing you all the compartments on the fire engines, explaining all the equipment. On the way to the door he also let you rifle through the gear bays, showing you his own rack of turnout gear.

He even let you try his jacket on, looking like he was suppressing a smile when the heaviness of it weighed your arms down, watching you flap your arms around, marveling as what was easily twenty pounds of heat-proof fabric resisted you.

No wonder he needed such an intense workout routine.

You couldn’t help but be amazed by it all—who Shouto had turned into, and the fact that he had such an impressive job, one that fit him so well. The fact that he was an adult now, with goals and ambitions that were a lot more grounded than yours. The fact that he was an alpha of all things, and could lift you up into a firetruck as easily as you’d once lifted him off Touya’s hip.

It was so much to contemplate, and you watched him, helplessly fascinated, as he led you around.

You lingered for long enough that the sky was tinging pink and orange by the time you left, and Shouto saw you to the door, insisting on plugging in his number to your phone so you could text when you got home. You could still feel his eyes on you as you turned the corner down the street, a strange warmth suffusing you as you walked. It kept you warm the entire way home, despite the cool evening air.

It was only when you arrived at your mother’s front door, shooting off your promised text to Shouto that you realized that you were mooning like a girl returning home from a date—a completely embarrassing, inappropriate tact for your mind to take with someone who had been your childhood friend. Your childhood junior.

Besides, Shouto had explicitly said he had someone in mind already, someone he intended to follow during the run. And you were too old for him, and a beta as well. Alpha-beta couplings were rare—and if Shouto had known who his life mate was since he was very small, and never given any indication it was a beta—well that spoke for itself.

You shook your head as you let yourself in through the door, trying to slough off the feeling as you called a greeting to your mother. It was sad you’d never get to haul him up a tree after you, the way you’d promised when you were kids. But such was life, you guessed.

Shouto may have grown up into an admirable man and a beautiful alpha—but he was off limits to you. You’d make sure you treated him with nothing but the respect and friendly fondness he deserved. Nothing else.

Absolutely nothing else.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x midoriya #todoroki shoto x reader #bnha x reader #shouto x y/n #shouto x you #shoto x reader #shoto x you

857 notes · View notes

ph4ngz · 2 years

Note

lust quirk bkg plssssss 😭😭😭

Lust quirk w/ Bakugo

Contains: pro hero!Bakugo x fem!reader, aphrodisiac(?) themes, reader and Bakubro are complete strangers, squirting, exhibitionism, almost getting caught, slight size kink? Bakugo is so sexy when he’s not ripping everybody’s head off :P

Lust quirk w/ Izuku here

Lust quirk w/ Shoto here

/-/-/-/

Bakugo, Todoroki and Deku had been on patrol for the past couple of hours. Cars were loud as they zoomed past, pedestrians just going about their days. All three of them were bored out of their minds until you'd shown up, having already split up and examined the entire area independently before meeting each other again. You'd been on the way to go grocery shopping when you spotted them, your cutest dress flowing short around your thighs with the middle cinched and tight to your waist.

"Izuku!" You yelled loud enough to steal the pro hero's attention from afar as you crossed the road, a few people turning heads out of curiosity.

"Hm?" Izuku hums, stopping to search his surroundings for the source of your familiar voice. He called your name in return as you weaselled your way through a small crowd to approach the group of guys almost half tucked away in an empty alleyway. One of them in particular stood out to you as you latched onto Izuku's arm.

He studied your appearance for as long as you studied his.

"Oh! Yeah- Todoroki, this is my friend Y/n! We've actually known each other since we were kids! Our mom's were really close, and so..." The green haired hero introduced you to the other taller boy, though his words ultimately ended up fading out as you became enthralled by another's presence.

Your eyes trailed upward from his chunky, heavy boots to the baggy cargo pants, secured by a khaki belt, that seemed to accentuate his figure. Then, the tight black vest that clung to his abs, some parts orange that were made to form an X across his chest. And finally, the matching, spiky mask that concealed his face.

All you could see was his crimson glare, beating down on you like the summer sun rays.

And were those grenades attached to his arms?!

What felt like hours passed by before a large, calloused hand shot into the corner of your vision. Slightly flustered after jumping, you spun on your heel to face whoever's hand thankfully distracted you.

"Nice to meet you." A rather unenthusiastic greeting met your ears.

Oh great, another one. You were starting to feel not so attractive the longer you hung around Izuku and his hero friends. This one had heterochromatic eyes, one grey and one a striking turquoise.

"Uh- yeah! Nice to meet you too!" You gave Todoroki both of your hands with a giggle, glancing to your side involuntarily every few seconds. It seemed the mysterious grenade-arms kept a lock on your attention.

He was taller, bigger than you. You'd guessed he was about twice your bodyweight, if the muscles protruding from his upper half were anything to go by. He came off as insanely powerful. Even his stance was intimidating, and you couldn't imagine what his demeanour would be like.

"Ah, Kacchan, this is Y/n." Deku stated a lot less enthusiastically than the last time. You wondered if maybe these two got off on a bad foot.

Hardly tearing your eyes away from handsome Todoroki's, you'd slowly aimed your vision upward to get yet another glimpse of "Kacchan". But this time around, you were temporarily stiff with surprise.

He'd pushed the mask he wore just over his hairline, revealing the most grumpy expression you'd ever seen. Even your roommate didn't look this irked when you'd eaten her favourite chocolate snacks that you found stashed away. You definitely would've been put off him if it wasn't for the overall 'Sex God' vibe he gave off. Although, his immovable frown oddly suited his boyish features.

Another hand was extended to you. His hand.

But before either of you could exchange a touch, a single word to each other, you'd been literally hit with the weirdest pain. Only after the sensation bloomed from within your body did you witness the pink-purple glow outlining your skin. You'd almost failed to register the fact that your feet were not on the ground.

The forceful impact of whatever hit you had spun and knocked you backward further into the isolated alleyway and you skidded to a stop.

"Y/n! Kacchan!?"

"Bakugo! Be careful!"

Being pro heroes and all, the three guys you'd just been surrounded by had spread out in a matter of nanoseconds. No hesitation present at all. Though one had stuck by your side and hurriedly crouched to your level on the concrete floor to finally encase his hand with your own and prop you up against a wall. It was all a blur to you from then, the odd pain you were experiencing in your groin not letting you regard anything other. You didn't even catch who'd stayed with you.

"Oi! Snap out of it!" A deep, gruff yelling in your ear does in fact snap you out of it, the volume interrupting whatever injury you've attained. Damn, you can hear everything all at once now. People are screaming and there's rapid footsteps to accompany the terrified sounds. You're appreciative of the copious stacks of delivery boxes shielding you from the panic.

You lean your full weight on the building behind you, not caring if the old bricks dig into your spine. Your ass is probably bruised due to the hard flooring you've been sat on for what feels like years.

A pained grimace paints your face as your head shoots downward to locate the ticklish feeling on your propped up legs, unintentionally ignoring the firm grip continuously shaking your shoulder. Blood is soaking through the thick strips of gauze knotted around your wounds. What... who...?

“Your knees hit the ground before we even knew what was happening. Shit’s not as bad as it loo… hey I’m talkin’ to you.”

All of a sudden you're breathing a lot faster. Oh god, you're freaking out! What if your injuries are really bad? Why are your insides on fire? Are you overheating? What if you're bleeding internally? What if—

Eventually you're forced to come face to face with those same eyes, that now unmasked crimson glare. Even in your current state, your mind can't help but engrave the blurry image of his concerned yet pissed expression, his flawless skin illuminated by the pretty hue of your glowing aura.

A particularly strong surge of NOT GOOD emits from your core.

"Hey, stop panicking. I'm here to help, you're gonna be totally fine."

The hero's hand is still atop of your messy hair even though he's got you paying attention already. Still recovering from shock, you give your guy another once-over.

Steadily crouched between your numb knees, a slight sign of respect evident as he's an inch or two away from bursting your personal bubble. Stressfully massaging the bridge of his nose. He looks no different compared to when you first met him earlier, bar the fact that his shirt may as well not be there at all.

Yes, the sight of this guy practically shirtless is heavenly. The very real possibility that you're the reason for his injuries if he's sustained any? Not so heavenly.

Oh but why is he so gorgeous? And why is the area between your legs so hot?

Shit. Your insides contract along to the mere thought of him.

"Bakugo, your shirt. You okay? Are you hu- hurt?" You ask whilst trying your hardest not to let your eyes zero in on his physical existence. It's sort of... out there, but you think the trigger for your internal aching might be the hero himself.

"You ripped it off me. Memory loss?" Bakugo spits cheekily, his heart unwelcomely thumping at how you remembered his name after Todoroki yelled it. Removing his hand from your head, he seems a little confused. Why're you avoiding looking at him?

Heat rises from beneath the skin of your cheeks now that he's jogged your foggy memory. What in all hell did you do that for?!

"Right— sorry. I feel so weird I- Mmph! Agh-" Your apology carries into a lengthy string of anxious moans. You didn't look at him that time.

"What the fuck is goin' on? You sick or somethin'?" He asks deadly serious.

Bakugo attempts to shift closer to your shivering form to use the back of his palm to check your temperature but you stop him just in time, instinctively pressing your hand against his bared chest.

"D-Don't! Come any closer."

"Yeah, must have a cold or something, getting a little hot." You continue from your outburst and half-lie to his face.

He rapidly observes your odd behaviour as you force yourself to ignore the obvious discomfort. Scanning your convulsing body to discover your other hand is unconsciously jolting between tense thighs, fingers pressing down the fabric of your dress. Your glowing skin is visibly sticky with sweat, and so is the shivering it brings once it dries.

Oh. Oh, he's figured it out. A quirk. Something to do with aphrodisiacs, maybe? He remembers his hero buddy Kaminari telling him about a time he fell under a 'lust' quirk in the past. Perhaps?

For some reason unknown to you, Bakugo stills. You think you can see his cheeks redden in your peripheral vision. Paranoid, you spare a fleeting glance below his neck. The hand you'd placed on his chest has been slowly making it's way down, the position you finally catch it in being dragged directly over one of his nipples.

Absolutely horrified by your own actions, the rest of your body freezing in place, your eyes find his. Except they're not looking for yours in return. Following his awkward line of sight, you come to find your hand desperately rubbing where it shouldn't.

"Hey..." The hero's gravelly voice sends exaggerated tingles throughout the entirety of your weakened body.

No longer unable to move, you rip your hands away and hug yourself as you wobble into a stand in one fluid motion. There's a little more distance between you now, but this view... Bakugo knelt in front of you, head level with your—

No, you tell yourself. Well, try to.

All you can imagine is his spiky hair clasped between your fingers to pull him closer into you, his beautiful features covered in your juices.

You're currently unaware of how he's discarding the dangerous looking equipment that dons his neck and forearms, setting them aside. You know, just incase.

The dirtiest scenes flash by one by one within your cloudy head, rendering you hopelessly horny. They keep coming, each and every detailed fantasy clogging your brain faster by the second.

The sting you'd felt just now returns, still as unexpected as the last time, yet more unbearable than ever. You twitch uncontrollably as the concerned hero stands straight, his intimidating stance looming over you.

"Touch— me!" You don't mean to demand, but this calls for urgency. So much urgency in fact, that you dare to press down on his shoulders until he's kneeling once more. Real classy.

"B-Bakugo, touch me. Please, it hurts! Hurts so bad— so fucking bad and, I can't control myself-!"

He's letting you do this. He's witnessing you fall apart right there in front of him. Speechless as you proceed to beg him for his hefty touch. Helplessly touching yourself all the while. What the hell is he supposed to do? He can't just whisk you away to somewhere more private and fuck you! And you're injured, so his first destination should be the hospital, right?

"I'm in my right mind— hah! I pro—mise!" You yelp, hoping to rid him of any thoughts about taking advantage of you. You want this. Need this. Even if you weren't in pain.

A shimmery substance trickling along the soft skin of your thigh from beneath your dress steals Bakugo's faltering attention. Damn.

Were his pants always this tight?

It seems you've noticed it too, voice small as an embarrassed "fuck" falls from your plumped lips. He angles his head upward, then back to your thigh. You're expectedly peering down at him underneath you, his and your face both filtered by the pinkish haze outlining your increasingly sensitive body.

"Jesus fucking christ... I—"

He knows that you're the only civilian who'd been attacked, Bakugo had seen the villain flee without so much as touching anybody else, too busy avoiding his Deku and Todoroki's attacks. He has no other duty but to take you to the hospital. So... why isn't he moving?

"Touch. me." A twinge of seriousness shows through your words.

Don't fucking do it, his mind warns.

Don't do it.

As if your display isn't enough, you urgently slip your trembling fingers into his messy locks and tug him forward into your hips.

Damn it!

"Don't tell me what to do..." He mutters somewhat guiltily, giving into his present and not his future. You're irresistible.

After giving your surroundings a quick study, Bakugo's lustful face inches closer to the streak of arousal that'd escaped from your soaked panties, the speed at which he does so being way too slow for your liking. Fluttering his eyelids closed in an act of shame, he lets his eager tongue drag over the plush, wet skin, simultaneously taking a handful of your calfs to keep you steady. He misses the way your teeth bury themselves into your bottom lip.

Bakugo collects your sweet sick with the flat of his tongue, mouth wide open making every laboured exhale audible. If he said he wasn't thoroughly enjoying himself right now he'd be lying. You scrunch your dress up and secure it with a free hand on your waist, dying to continue watching his frowning expression before it's hidden.

"Mmmmmnnnn," You whine impatiently, the sting intensifying the closer the shameful hero gets to the drenched cotton concealing your yearning pussy. His breath fanning out upon your body is driving you up the wall.

His stabilising grip travels upward by the back of your legs, stopping just under your ass cheeks. Just as his mouth reaches the lower seams of your skimpy panties, blunt nails dig in and you're sure there will be red half-moons left in their place. This makes you suck the steamy air in through your gritted teeth.

Tears are rolling down your flushed cheeks, frustration growing within you.

Then, right as you're beginning to become more aggravated by the non-stop aching, Bakugo nuzzles into your covered cunt, damping his nose and lips with your scent.

The irritating pain seizes completely. The fuse in you is set alight.

"OH— yes yes, fuck! Keep doing... that!" Trying to lower the volume of your uncontainable moans proves to be very difficult, but the commotion taking place not even fifteen metres away is hopefully loud enough to disguise your sobs.

His huge hands are cupping the whole span of your ass now, fingers having slipped under your thong, pulling your jittery form even closer so he can take it all for himself, shaking his head and inhaling everything you.

A groan emerges from his throat once your pull increases on his hair, the guttural sound going straight to your muddled head. You're practically riding his face with your back arched away from the wall, and Bakugo wants to cry at how hard you're making him. He needs more.

You're about to pipe up when you see him move away, but your desperate whining and pleading immediately comes to a stop after he pushes your underwear to the side and licks a clean stripe through your folds, separating them to kiss your aimlessly clenching hole.

"No! No, please... I said keep do- MNMN!" The fingers clutching at your dress grow limp, letting the creased fabric drape over the antsy man knelt at your feet.

You swear you're temporarily blinded by white when you sense a skilled tongue swirl around your swollen bud only twice, the lone sensations hurling you head-on into what you believe is the most unbelievably mind-numbing orgasm you'll ever experience. The initial shock preventing you from noticing how he flinches.

The hero pauses for a hot second and his crimson eyes widen with disbelief beneath you, but he continues to flick, swipe, prod nonetheless.

His cock was begging to be released from the confines of his pants to begin with. Now this new incessant twitching is gonna drive him crazy.

"Grr! Urgh!"

All you can do is growl and put as much effort into keeping still and not crushing Bakugo with your thighs as possible whilst you come undone, every sudden wave of numbing pleasure whooshing through you with an unrivalled force causing your throat to open and close up for a short moment.

After a while spent to come down from your insane high, he eventually reveals himself from under the light cloth, removing the hands that once had a harsh squeeze of your asscheeks and comfortingly rubbing your vibrating upper legs instead.

You're confused.

He's staring up at you in an uncharacteristically adorable way, akin to a lost puppy, observing breathlessly as you clock the watery sheen layering his nose, the way his long lashes are clinging together with a teeny sparkle to them. Oh shit. You clamp a hand atop of your quivering mouth, droplets still flowing from your waterlines and subconsciously relishing in the unbroken eye contact between you both. Bakugo speaks first, though you're too surprised to register it, ending in a mutual interruption.

"Did you just...?"

"Did I—?"

Not only did you cum less than a minute into it, you squirted all over the guy's face in doing so. Great going!

Bakugo wipes his chin and nose with the back of his thumb, licks his lips then lets out a huff that turns into an undeniably sexy chuckle. His smile...

"Fuuuuuuuuck."

You'd be embarrassed if it weren't for that now familiar sensation returning to reside within you. Something is telling you that reaching orgasm isn't the key to stopping it.

"I need you. Now." The annoying quirk induced pain has you tearfully mumble the words before you can even think them.

"I-I don't think I should— is this eve-" The unsure hero stutters pathetically, still proceeding to grab your panties by the pretty lace hem and quickly yank them to rest loosely upon your feet.

"H-hurts! Please!"

You're half expecting him to decline again after seeing the guilt ridden look on him once he stands up. Wow, you forgot how tall he is when you aren't mounting his face. A regretful sigh leaves him. Then a hesitant attempt to speak up again. Then finally,

"...Alright."

Without a second thought, Bakugo latches his lips upon your own to greedily tongue you down, letting the taste of your sweet cunt mingle on the tip of your tastebuds. His buff arms are caging you in, both of them soon reaching for his belt and the zipper of his cargo pants. He expertly undoes both without breaking the heated kiss once, now taking deep breaths through his nose whilst he frees his unbearably stiff dick and smears precum all over the length.

Suddenly, your legs give out due to exhaustion. Luckily your hero catches you by the waist and pulls you into his chest, turning what would've been another fall into a clumsy stumble.

"Hey, jump." Bakugo orders moodily, and you don't need to be told twice.

Putting all your trust into him, you do as he says, ultimately jumping out of your underwear to accidentally hook them up with one foot as you land in his strong arms.

"Atta girl." He praises deeply.

You use your last remnants of energy to get your dress out of his way as he's positioning you, and he's wasting no time in coating himself in your cum once he's gotten his arms wrapped under your bandaged knees. The repeated drag of his thick cock, up and down on your throbbing clit, is enough to drive you mad. Muscles locking in place and toes curling in your shoes at the overstimulation.

"Please please please please please," A string of breathy whispers falls from your sore lips and hits the shell of Bakugo's ear, causing him to bare his bottom teeth out of sheer arousal, animosity. Your voice does things to him.

The way your small selection of words is slowly chipping away at his self control, he can deal with.

"Hah- 'm serious! It stings! Bakugo..."

It's the desperate, almost saddened moan of his name that gets him to crack.

He plunges into you within an instant, exhaling what, to his slight embarrassment, sounds like a positively defeated whine. As if he's experiencing the same overpowering pleasure that you are.

"H'oh my fuckin' god,"

You'd actually forgotten all about the magical-esque hue surrounding your form until it starts to flicker. It's fading.

You're clung to him like your life depends on him, and he's loving all of it. Your legs constricting his waist and biceps, arms looped around his flushed neck, squeezing his toned body harder and harder with every laboured thrust, the way your sticky sweet pussy is adjusting and sucking on every inch of his dick making it increasingly difficult to move.

"How are you this—" Bakugo seethes, pauses to snap his hips up into you with a new amount of strength whilst simultaneously resting his head on your shoulder for some kind of fucked-out comfort, the same way your head is on his. "Tight!" He muffles into the crook of your neck, drinking in each debauched cry you bless him with.

"Ah, ah, ah!" You struggle not to bite your lolling tongue with how hard he's fucking into you, bouncing you on his perfect cock with just the power of his thrusts alone. You think he could please you the same without the wall as support.

He's hardly given you any time at all to get accustomed with his size and shape buried deep inside. Are you truly that fucking wet? You open your mouth with a silent scream, the enraptured hero having changed his pace to go even faster.

Well, if you weren't that wet before, you definitely are now.

Your coloured aura is completely gone, darkness of shadows cast by city buildings drawing a veil to conceal both of your animalistic deeds.

"Sho g-ood! Gonna cum shoon gon- cum shoon," Your lips are smushed upon his salty skin, shamelessly indulging in his delicious scent.

As if on cue, Bakugo comes to an abrupt stop.

"What are youMMPH!?"

You're roughly sandwiched between him and the bricks at your back, squished impossibly closer to his heaving chest, the new position spreading your legs almost painfully to accommodate his frame. The large, scarred hand that had clamped over your mouth the second you raised your head kept a steel grip in it's place. Leaving one of your shaking legs to dangle beside him. His wide eyes signal to somewhere behind him, informing you of someone else presence. Nostrils flaring with anxiety, you rear your head to the side.

Deku and Todoroki.

Bakugo turns his upper half away from you to check on them a second time, appearing to be holding his breath. Ah, he's still inside you, dick twitching and jumping with the involuntary clenching of your cunt. This must be torture for him, too.

You feel him tense and see his ruby eyes dart, like he's forming an urgent plan.

As smoothly as he possibly can, he sighs and rapidly takes his hand from your mouth to replace it with his tooth-marked lips. This kiss is much more hurried and passionate than the others, so much so that your senses are practically void of anything else but him. But that also comes to a stop.

The sudden lack of his taste enhances your other senses dramatically, allowing you to catch on to the quiet concerns of a suspicious green hero to his half and half friend.

"Wait, Todoroki. I think I just saw something."

"Like what?"

"I'm not really sure. I just caught this flash of something in the corner of my eye..."

You don't understand why he's acting so reckless right now when you could easily be caught until his hand returns to your face once more. You're absolutely bewildered.

Oh, god.

This sight is something you'll never forget.

Your hero is face to face with you, the twisted lace hem of your panties secured between his gritted teeth, thick eyebrows bowed with a silently pleading sparkle in his irises to match. 'Please, stay quiet' they say. This entire situation is fucking unreal, it's making you dizzy. The other hero had seen your cum-stained, saturated underwear from behind the cardboard boxes keeping you hidden. Mostly.

Deku is slowly sauntering in your direction when Bakugo has the audacity to resume moving inside your fluttering pussy, picking up the coil in your abdomen from where he'd left it just to tighten it again. Not once breaking eye contact.

And you thought he was reckless before.

"Maybe it was a stray cat or something." You hear Todoroki approach Deku's side.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. You're both so turned on, so close to one another's release.

Ecstasy consumes you as your hero begins to hump into you, not daring to pull away even the slightest bit in fear of the smacking noises. You wish he would've warned you beforehand, and he wishes he would've too.

No. No no no! He's gonna make you cum again! Your heartbeat is through the roof, and you try to warn him by shaking your head as quick as you can but—

The swollen tip of his length is repeatedly nudging the one spot within you that brings enough pleasure to have you sobbing. And naturally, you sob. Initial volume hardly muffled by his palm until he presses down too late. You're cumming even harder than earlier, you and him clenching wide eyes shut in sync at the feeling of your sex squirting all over his clothes, his scalding skin, his pulsing cock.

"MmmmHmHm-!"

"Uraraka! Hold on a sec!"

Bakugo's heart plummets. Shit! He can't stop himself. Not after that.

"Fuck! God— damn!" A muffled, strained groan escapes his narrowed throat into the panties in his mouth, along with your spellbinding cry, his greedy body too busy jackhammering your poor little cunt to notice Deku’s voice overriding everything. Including the obvious squelch emitting from your hole.

Two sets of running footsteps quickly fade away, relieving the two of you from a crushing weight on your shoulders as white hot ropes of your hero's cum coat your insides. One final burst of glowing purple-pink shows itself before you're deservedly rid of any symptoms caused by that bastard villains quirk.

At last…

You smile into space, warm and genuinely appreciative.

Bakugo removes himself from you, understanding of how his cum seemed to be the cure. You can sense his release sliding down your bare legs. To say he's been struck by love would be an understatement when you collect some on the tip of your finger whilst he stuffs your underwear in his pocket, to then teasingly suck on it once he looks up again.

The hero gawks at your exhausted but albeit playful display and proceeds to manoeuvre you so that he's resting against the wall with your back to his chest. Neither of you care about the intimacy, already comfortable together as if you'd known one another for years. You guess that villain was good for at least one thing…

An overwhelmed sigh from him blows past your hair.

"Don't think I've ever been so stressed out," He complains tiredly with his cheeks puffed out, dropping down to the concrete beneath him with you complying to curl up in his lap.

You close your eyes. It sounds like the commotion outside has finally come to an end, the city's usual ambiance having returned during your panicked moments. An amused giggle shakes your weak body.

"I hadn’t even asked you out yet and we’ve already fucked. Wanna get married next?"

"Pfft, shut up..." Bakugo replies with a snort, placing his spinning head atop of yours.

/-/-/-/

This took fucking forever

#bnha smut #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou #my hero acedamia #mha smut #bnha bakugou #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo headcanons #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader

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kinda-cute-kinda-insane · 25 days

Text

BNHA with Idol!reader

How did they got caught having an idol as their s/o?

Characters : Tenya Iida, Jirou kyoka, Denki Kaminari, Shota Aizawa, Shoto Todoroki.

Reader gender is never mentioned, reader is a stereotypical cutesy idol, Aizawa’s reader is in their 20’s (while with the student they are the same age), no content warning I just want something adorable the manga’s been stressing me out lmao. Sorry if I get the first name and last name of the characters mixed up, I’m kind of stupid.

Uraraka have been finding it weird how her friend have been playing some idol group videos lately. She never thought that her stiff class president will be the type to listen to these kind of music. Look she’s not one to judge here she just finds it kind of odd.

She would have expected Iida to listen some kind of classical music, you know like any other rich kids.

So today she will no longer die of her own curiosity “Hey Iida, I want to ask you something serious,” she said. Emphasizing the word serious.

The said man immediately put his attention on her “what is it Uraraka-kun?” He answered. “Not to sound judgmental or anything,” she clarified before continuing. “I’m curious, why have you been watching (group name) nonstop?” She asked. Iida grew tense at the question (if that’s even possible considering how stiff he usually is)

“Oh yeah, I thought I was the only one who noticed that,” Their green haired friend added. While the dual colored hair boy just nodded his head, still chewing his food.

“Well I believe it is wrong to lie to our friends, but I hope you all can keep this a secret,” He said. They all gave him a nod.

He then explained how that one time his pro-hero older brother Ingenium have saved you back then from a creepy stalker. Tensei being the older brother he is tried to get you and Tenya to be together once he noticed that you both were the same age.

He can’t help it, you are such a nice person and he thinks his younger brother really needs to have some high-school romance in his life. Surprisingly you agreed.

You both went to dates (secretly) and you can’t help but find Tenya personality to be so charming, and he could say the same too.

“Although this relationship might seem not professional for the both of us considering their job as an idol and me as a hero in training,” he pushed up his glasses. “I hope you guys can keep our relationship a secret until we both decide to go public our self thank you.” He smiled at his friends.

‘Well that was even more unexpected’ Uraraka thought, but after realizing she began to squeal at how cute you both are. Midoriya is asking a lot of questions, while Tenya tried to tell the both of them to lower their voice down.

While Todoroki is just, well, eating. What a cool guy.

Mina was just minding her own business walking to the dorms living room, only to find a phone unattended on that table. Obviously being the kind friend she is she took the phone to give it back to whoever own the phone.

She turn on the phone to find some band she didn’t recognize, but she saw this on Jirou dorm room before. So this must be hers!

She turn around the phone to see the phone case, just in case if her guess is wrong. To her surprise she see a clear case. But that’s not what took her by surprise, it’s the photo card of (your idol name) sitting back there.

How come she never noticed this? Well this will be some good teasing material to her purple haired friend later.

“Oh hey Mina.” There it is the star of the show. “Have you seen my phone?” She asked. The pink haired girl smiled teasingly.

‘I don’t feel so good about this’ Jirou internally panicked. “Yeah I do,” Mina walked closer. “But, you have to answer my question first” she said.

“Okay, sure,” the purple haired girl answered. Thinking it was probably just a question about who her crush is. If so she can just easily shrugged it off, like always.

“Why do you have (your idol name) on your phone case,” Mina wiggled her eyebrows teasingly. Jirou not expecting the question grew flustered.

Shit, how could she forget about that. She just wanted to put your picture on her phone case as a sign of support on your music career (and also so she can easily stare at your photo when she missed you) she didn’t expect one of her friend to saw it. Even worse that Mina is the one who caught her, oh she’ll be living a hell of a teasing from the pink skinned girl.

“Come on answer me~” she said teasingly. “No reason!” Jirou tried to deny, looking away from her friend.

“Who would’ve thought our dark and mysterious girl Kyoka Jirou is actually a softie who enjoys cutesy music,” Mina poke her friend arms teasingly.

“It’s not like that!”

“Mhm, I trust you girl”

They both went back and fourth with the teasing and denying. Mina flipped the phone to show the lock screen to tease how different her friend true music taste is.

But a notification came up instead, catching both of the girls attention.

‘Y/n 💖 : are you still free for the date next week babe?’ It reads.

They both freezed immediately. “WHAT.” Mina screamed. Jirou tried to shut her friend by putting her hands on her mouth “quiet down!”

“Holy shit you gotta spill the tea to me girl,” Mina said her eyes still glued on the notification.

Jirou surrendered and tell her the stories how you both met because of her parents connection to your group agencies.

Mina agreed to keep her mouth shut, by the price of a signed photo card of you. Can’t really blame her, she’s just a girl.

Kaminari is the kind of person to say some stupid shit on the daily just for shit and giggles.

So when he claimed out loud to his friend group that (your idol name) and him is in a relationship nobody took him seriously. No one, even his best bro Sero. What a betrayal.

But even then he never stop proudly claiming his tittle as your boyfriend. Though it’s kind of strange how he only ever say those things to his closest friend group not the whole class like always.

It’s like he doesn’t want everyone but his close friends to know…

Anyway-

He managed to get himself injured during his internship and you’re worried, ever since the attack on the USJ your worry on your boyfriend has grown increasingly.

But luckily today, your manager actually let you visit him due to your free schedule today. She only tell you to be careful of the paparazzi which you successfully managed to run away from.

“Geez how long did the doctors said you will be here for?” You asked, while feeding him the warm food. “Eh, I dunno,” he shrugged. “I forgot.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“Seriously you have to be more careful, you got me worried sick.” You sighed. “Sorry, it’s just how the hero work is y’know?”

“Still, I want you to be more careful next time,” you huffed. “Aw, I’m sorry baby.” He apologized, looking at your cute pouting face.

“Come here give me a hug,” you only stared at him. “Please?” You gave in and stood up to give him a hug.

He enjoyed the warmth of the hug only to be interrupted.

“Holy shit,” both Mina and Sero gasped. While Bakugo just stood there with a scowl on his face at the display of affection(boo what a hater)

“Oh, you guys must be Kaminari’s friends right?” You slowly let go of the hug and gave them a smile. “I think Kaminari have told you guys about our relationship, even though I told him not to.” You looked at him saying the last part. “But, thanks for keeping it a secret you guys” you said giving them all a warm smile.

“Holy shit you were not lying at all,” Sero looked at the both of you in shock.

“Bro?!”

Hizashi has been making fun of his friend Shouta. Because of the merch of (your idol name) scattered around his apartment.

But the dark haired man always claims that those merch was all Eri’s idea. The little girl always say yes about it with a little giggles coming from her.

So today he decided to drag Nemuri to also make fun of Shouta comically out of place idol merch. Compared to his dark interior (besides Eri’s room) it’s just so funny to see (your idol name) poster just hanging there in his living room.

They both stand in front of the door trying to hold their laugh as they hear a song from (idol group) blasting inside of the apartment. A faint sounds of Eri singing along the lyrics.

Hizashi opened the door, that is surprisingly unlocked. They find the living room empty so they both walked into the kitchen to find Eri being carried by-

(Your idol name)!?

You stood there in your casual clothes while holding Eri in your arms as you both waited for the apple pie to bake. “Hi guys!” Eri greeted the two adults standing.

They both stood there with shock in their face to find a celebrity stand inside the home of their friend. Hizashi then let out the loudest scream you’ve ever heard in your life. Your face grimaced at the loud voice ringing in your ears.

“What happened?” Shota ran into the kitchen panicking. Only to find two of his friends standing there “What the hell, what are you two doing here?” He asked. No response from the two of them. The blonde still shocked while the dark haired woman smirked teasingly.

“How the hell did you two even get inside?” He asked in annoyance. “Sorry babe, I forgot to lock the door earlier”

“BABE!?” Hizashi screamed again. “Holy shit this is so entertaining,” Nemuri laughed then reached for her phone, wanting to ask for a picture with you.

“Both of you leave, now” Shouta said, annoyed now that his calm and quiet weekend (with his beloved and daughter) is ruined.

Fuyumi has noticed how her youngest brother have been smiling a lot lately. Especially while on his phone. Truly she is happy to see how cheerful her youngest brother lately but she can’t help it to be so curious on why or what have been making him so happy.

Not to mention few weeks ago he asked her “What flowers do people usually buy for their partner?” Now that got her really curious.

Now she decided to follow her brother on the weekends to see who this mysterious person really is. “Is this really a good idea?” -While also dragging Natsuo into this mess.

“Well I’m just curious on who have been making my younger brother so happy lately,” she said. Natsuo rolled his eyes at the ridiculous excuse from his sister.

But he is also curious. Always being away due to college, he never saw a lot of things happen in the house these days. So to think of his younger brother who usually have a blank reaction suddenly all lovey dovey is kind of funny. And kind of terrifying.

“Maybe he’s just like those other teenage boys who like idols,” He said watching his younger brother walk into a venue where a new group was performing.

“But he bought flowers see?” Fuyumi denied pointing at the flowers her younger brother is carrying. “Fans give idols gifts all the time,” He replied.

“How did you know?”

“Anyway, this is ridiculous just let him watch his concert in peace.” He sighed. “No we must go inside, maybe he’s waiting for them inside.” She dragged her brother to the front gate.

Paying for the on the spot tickets that are quite worth the money. Such dedication thrown to know who this mysterious person is.

“This is ridiculous,” Natsuo said holding the light stick in his hands. Fuyumi only focused on her youngest brother smiling as he watched the group perform on stage.

This went for an hour until eventually the concert is now over. “See?” Natsuo pointed out. “But wait, he’s not leaving yet,” Fuyumi said suspiciously looking at Shoto. “Look!” She pointed at her youngest brother walking away to the backstage.

They both watch from afar as the venue is now empty, only the staff were present. And Shoto, too.

Fuyumi grip on Natsuo shoulders tightened as she see you walking out to greet Shoto. Which he replied with a bright smile.

Shoto then gave you the bouquet of flowers. You gave him a hug and a small peck on the lips before leading him to the backstage to hang out.

The other member greeted him watching you lead him to your changing room. You both enjoyed the food Shoto had ordered for delivery having your own little date.

“Holy fuck.” Natsuo breathed out. “Language! But yes indeed.” Fuyumi scolded then agreed to her younger brother.

Since then Fuyumi started listening to (idol group) music and watching interviews with you in it. And she’s glad to see how kind you are, and she believes you to be as kind and fun as you are in real life. I mean how can you jot charm her younger brother then?

While Natsuo let’s just say he’s been laughing at how ridiculous and funny the situation is. Maybe he’s also kind of envious that his younger brother is already in a relationship before him. Not to mention with an idol too.

#bnha #tenya iida x reader #tenya iida #jirou kyouka #jirou x reader #denki kaminari #denki x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa shota x reader #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #idol #bnha imagines

195 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 7 months

Text

say you’ll love me to death, cause i will

character: todoroki touya | dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut

notes: alright, so we’ve discussed how touya-nii would react to encountering the man who took your virginity, but let's talk about how you would respond to running into the woman who took touya’s. set in my touya-nii au! as always please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title credit: RUNRUNRUN by dutch melrose

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (stepcest), public sex, minimal prep, extreme jealousy, toxic relationship

words: 4.7k

synopsis:

“Well, that’s alright! How long have you two been together?” And, oh, the giggle that bubbles past your lips is downright sinister, fucking caustic, burning your tongue and eroding your teeth. No, you’re not his girlfriend, or his partner, or his significant other. You’re something so much better.

You’re off minding your own business, legs swinging idly on a bar stool as you wait for your designated reservation time, when it happens, when she appears.

“Touya?”

The name cuts through the blurred noise of the restaurant, both yours and Touya’s attention snapping to the source: a woman, late twenties or so, waving a little in indication on the other side of the bar.

She’s snaking through the patchy crowd, busy unfastening her hair from the intricate bun its been woven into—a requisite for all the waitresses at this establishment—eyes bright, smile brighter.

You don’t even know who she is; not technically, anyway, had never thought to press the issue any further than a simple how’d it happen, had never cared enough to try—especially not when he had been sleeping with so many others right in front of you.

It hadn’t seemed to matter much then. Not the way it matters now.

But she exists, because she must, because somebody would’ve had to take it, would’ve had to be the first, one way or another.

Doesn’t mean you have to like it.

She’s pretty, but you wouldn’t expect any less. Touya stands as she reaches the two of you, pulling your body up with him.

But then Touya greets her, a name you’ve heard kicked around every now and then, and it all fully, finally clicks.

Touya’s first.

“Oh my God,” she’s gushing, “I haven’t seen you in—What’s it been now? Over ten years?”

“Just about,” he responds easily, readjusting his grasp reassuringly on your hip as you cling to him, large palm flattening against your abdomen and hugging you closer to his side, tucked protectively beneath his arm.

“What are the chances! You look...” her eyes scan his body once, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, then back up again, and your fingers flex, coiled and rigid in the material of his shirt, stiff joints already aching. “Wow, incredible!”

“Thanks,” Touya says, an awkward lull in the conversation when he doesn’t repay the compliment.

Their discussion meanders for a little bit—how have you been, what are you doing now, remember when...?—most of it muddled by the blood roaring in your ears and jealousy burning in your throat.

But then her fingertip is just barely grazing his forearm as she points in indication at the ink etched into his skin, and your ears tune into their frequency again, white-hot fury slicing through hazy envy.

“I remember when you started this one,” she’s reminiscing. “You finally finished all of the pieces,” she says with another appreciative glance, and you grip him tighter, the skin of your knuckles pulled so taut it’s starting to hurt. “It’s so breathtaking to see them all come together.”

And you hate the way she speaks to him with a certain type of familiarity; an old friend, effortless and full of laughs, someone who knew him long before you did, when you were only in grade school.

God, how rude of her not to introduce herself, she’s telling you as she finally turns toward you, finally takes notice of you, rooted in Touya’s side; a growth he planted there himself, shoved between his ribs and engrained in his soul, roots so tangled you’re both irremovable, inseparable, now.

She holds out her hand in greeting, but you only clutch Touya more firmly, nails scraping against starched cashmere, face half-hidden in his chest, childish and petulant.

The woman’s smile drops from her face, a slow drooping of her mouth as her forehead crinkles, confusion bleeding through her features.

“She’s shy,” Touya says as way of explanation, but that wolfish smile is stretched sharply across his cheeks, teeth gleaming in the dim light.

“I see,” she says, almost hesitantly, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before they flit back to Touya’s face, expression brightening again. “Well, that’s alright! How long have you two been together?”

And, oh, the giggle that bubbles past your lips is downright sinister, fucking caustic, burning your tongue and eroding your teeth.

No, you’re not his girlfriend, or his partner, or his significant other.

You’re something so much better.

“Oh, we’re not a couple. This is my little sister.”

And, oh, how this is always your favourite part.

You know that it’s his favourite part, too.

Because the way that shock and disgust eats through their confusion, fucking devours any other emotion on their face, is better than anything else in the entire world. The way their expression churns into something twisted and repulsed sends sordid little thrills racing through your veins, blood buzzing with adrenaline.

The two of you must be such a fucking sight, expressions handcrafted by the Devil himself, with glowing eyes—gluttonous gazes gobbling up every little expression, two pairs wide and frantic as they glide across her face—and smug little smirks, points of your mouths so sharp they could pierce the flesh of a fingertip if touched.

Her voice sputters a little, snagging in her throat as she struggles to find the proper words, blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear the scene in front of her.

“I—Uh, I didn’t know you had another little sister?”

It’s phrased as a question, her voice beginning to tremble, unnerved as her stare swaps between your faces.

“My mom remarried,” Touya says simply. “This one came packaged with the deal.”

He jostles you in his arms a little—showing off his favourite, precious, most coveted prize—and you cuddle into him, burrowing into his chest a little, fingers flexing in his dress shirt as you clutch him tighter, gathering healthy handfuls of cashmere in your scrunched palms, buttons beginning to strain beneath the strength of your grip.

And he states it proudly, as if he’s glad to own you, to be your big brother, to call you his, staring down at you with so much fondness it melts his hard eyes, sapphire turned to something thick and gooey.

“Oh,” the woman responds, but her voice wavers through a wobbly smile on her face, lips unsure if they want to grin or grimace. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Touya responds, though his eyes do not leave yours, voice softening. “I got pretty fuckin’ lucky. Don’t think I could’ve asked for anything better.”

You can feel the sick, sadistic glee radiating off of him in dense waves—something heavy, something intoxicating—and, if this girl knows him well enough, you’re sure she can, too.

It’s so thick it’s nearly suffocating, but you breathe it in readily, greedily, draw it into your lungs and let it marinate in your tissues—infect, consume, decay.

“We should go for drinks sometime!” her unnaturally chipper tone snaps the trance, draws both of your gazes back to her. “You know, to catch up and all that.”

A noise shudders your ribs, something between a growl and a whine, and Touya laughs as if it’s so fucking cute, looking back down at you with so much adoration in his eyes it’s nearly spilling past his lashes.

“Nah, I’m good,” he says, but his stare never breaks yours. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Mr. Todoroki?” a smooth voice floats above the indistinct murmur of the venue. “Your table is ready.”

“Ah, that’s us,” Touya says to you.

“It was nice—”

But you’re already turning away, a single entity in the way you move, think, breathe, be.

“I don’t like her,” you’re grumbling as Touya guides you toward the hostess, not caring that she’s still very clearly in earshot, the confession spilling from your mouth almost subconsciously, having pried past your lips, desperate to be heard.

“I can tell, baby,” Touya snorts, though the smile on his face is soft.

“I—I don’t even wanna eat here anymore,” you sulk, feet starting to drag, words filtered through a deep pout. “And I don’t ever want to see her again!”

It comes out as a demand, a little harsher and firmer than you had intended, uncharacteristically surly, and Touya stops.

Blinking down at you, Touya’s face falls, features suddenly serious, all mirth evaporated from his expression in an instant.

His head dips, voice dropped to a low, dire murmur—something secret, something just for you.

“You want me to kill her for you? Huh, princess? Does niichan need to get rid of her?”

And, oh, how your heart soars, swells, swoops then nearly bursts from your ribs, desperate to claw its way from your chest and into the palms of its owner. Tears rush to cloud your eyes, vision thick and bleary, and two large hands cup your jaw, tilting your face to his.

“I’ll do it, baby, I swear to God. All you gotta do is say the word.”

He will. You know he will. You love that he will.

“I love you,” you nearly whimper, hands pawing at him urgently, the words a garbled mess in your mouth, weighted with spit and tears. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he laughs a little, but concern is warping his features, eyes sweeping across your face in search of an answer.

His hand squeezes your jaw gently, callouses decorating the pad of his palm scuffing your soft skin as he holds you in place.

“Just tell niichan what he needs to do to make this better.”

Your gaze holds his for a moment, heavy and unblinking.

“Fuck me,” you finally say. “Remind me who I belong to, remind me who you belong to, remind the whole fucking world who we belong to.”

Sapphire turns to navy, lips spreading into something sinful.

He can do that.

The parking lot is sparsely populated, rows of cars jagged and gapped like knocked out teeth. A small cluster of people hover outside the restaurant’s golden doors, encased in a hazy cloud of smoke and murmuring quietly amongst themselves, and a few people are scattered throughout the lot, just arriving or preparing to leave, but for the most part, you are alone.

The Audi is parked near the back, narrowly missing a pool of white light from one of the tall lampposts.

A chuckle is huffed from tattooed lips, shining eyes trained on your profile as you march toward the car, his long legs easily keeping up with your own.

His baby is on a mission tonight.

“You know, it’s really cute,” he’s saying as he presses you up against the driver’s door, “to see to see you so fucking determined.”

“Want everyone to know you belong to me,” you whine a little, forehead scrunching as your pout deepens.

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“And how would you like to show everyone that niichan is yours?” he murmurs into your flesh, lips tracing the curve of your neck.

“Want—Want you to fuck me, right here.”

“Right here?” his hips shove against yours in emphasis. “In the car?”

“No,” your hips push back into his, back arching, already so needy for him. “Right here, in the parking lot. I want that bitch to see.”

And for once, you do not get scolded for such foul language.

“Yeah?” Touya’s breathing into your mouth, hands already rucking up your little cocktail dress. “All out in the open where everyone can see how much of a little whore you are for your big brother?”

“Right here, right here,” you’re nodding, words cracking with desperation. “Right now.”

“So greedy, my little sister is.”

“I don’t care,” you gasp. “Show them, Touya-nii, show them all.”

And he’s so fucking hard you swear you can feel his cock throbbing with each rush of blood, each of your little pleads and dirty words sending another bout of it southward, swear you can feel it twitching and gorging with lust.

“You don’t care, huh?” Hardened fingertips sink into the plush flesh of your ass, kneading a little as his hips gyrate in pitiful little circles, more teasing than anything else.

“No, no,” you’re shaking your head. “I want it now!”

A palm collides with your flesh, hard and sharp, the sound echoing out among the space, chased by your resounding yelp. It draws a handful of glances from the throngs of people loitering around the restaurant’s entrance, but doesn’t keep their attention for long.

“Don’t be impatient, now,” Touya warns, but the glint in his eyes begs you to keep misbehaving. “Get my cock wet first.”

Your face falls as your fight fades, a small frown on your lips.

“Wh-What?”

“You want my cock so badly, baby? Get it fucking wet, then.”

He pauses, watching you closely, smirk growing into something sinister when you freeze in hesitation.

“Aw, what’s wrong?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending it scathes your cheeks. “Not so bold and brave now? I thought you wanted everyone to know; I thought you wanted to show everyone who I belong to,” his tongue tuts, head shaking in mock disappointment, “and you can’t even take my cock down your throat?”

“I do,” you nearly growl, eyes flashing with sudden jealousy, uncharacteristically fierce.

His expression softens, that sharp glint in his eye dulled to a smoldering glow, full of fondness.

“Then get niichan’s cock wet,” he says, hips shoving against yours in emphasis again, “so he can fuck you properly.”

And although it is still very much a demand, a direct order, his voice is tender, his edges worn down by years of affection.

Sliding down his body, your fingers furl in the waistband of his suit pants and tug a little, pulling his hips closer to your face. The buckle of his belt clanks heavily as you tug it undone, the button on his trousers pops easily, and then you’re yanking them halfway down his thighs, freeing his cock.

It’s so fucking pretty, dusty pink from base to tip and smoother than the most expensive velvet, and you just can’t help but nuzzle your cheek into the head with a cute little hum, smearing a thick stroke of pearlescent pre-cum across your skin.

But you know that Touya doesn’t like that, no matter how beautiful you look with his pre-cum slathered all over your face, that Touya can’t stand anything he deems even remotely teasing, and you’re quick to wrap a hand around the shaft as the beginnings of a growl rumble against his ribs, feeding him to yourself.

“S’it, there you go,” he praises as you gorge on him, stuffing him down your throat in a single swallow, reflexive tears burning your eyes.

Lashes flutter quickly, desperate to clear your vision, little drops of crystal collecting in the wispy strands.

It’s pathetic, really, how much your heart soars with such bland praise. But it doesn’t matter, you don’t care, willing to soak up any scraps he’ll afford you, an addict endlessly chasing a fix.

You force your mouth open wider, hinges of your jaw stretching, straining, your tongue curling around the underside as you suck him in further, viscous globs of drool already beginning to collect at the corners of your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, swallow me whole, baby,” he breathes, gaping pupils glittering with a thin ring of cobalt. “God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”

A choked little whine, muted by his cockhead grinding itself into your throat, vibrates, evoking a cracked little moan of his own, hips twitching involuntarily, an instinctual reaction, searching for more.

The asphalt is rough against your knees, skinning them with superficial little scrapes as Touya fucks your mouth a few times; first slowly, breath huffed out through spit-slicked lips as he glides in steadily, inch by inch, voracious eyes watching as your wet mouth puckers around his shaft, coating it in thick, gleaming saliva.

He whimpers a little as the tip of your nose scrunches so cutely as he presses it to his pubic bone, holds it for a breath and savours the way your throat flutters with hiccups and gags before pulling nearly all the way from your mouth, repeating the process as he gains momentum; then faster, harder, cockhead rubbing against the back of your tongue, each quick stroke leaving bitter streaks of pre-cum.

And you hate how his palms are pressed against your ears, muffling every sweet sound you manage to elicit from him as he holds your head still, his thumbs pressing into your cheekbones, nails biting shallow crescents into the skin as they dig deeper, grasp tightening as your face becomes slippery with tears, cascading over his knuckles.

Even so, his grip isn’t enough to keep the back of your skull from banging off the door of the Audi, each thrust procuring a dull thud of flesh against metal.

And, Christ, what a beautiful symphony it all creates; the rhythmic sound of your head thwacking against his car, the dainty jingle of his belt buckle, hanging heavy and undone and bouncing between your chin and his thigh, those precious gags and gurgles and sniffles and hiccups that he loves so much, choked off and snuffed out as his cock rams them back into your chest, the half-stifled sounds that keep shattering to pieces on his tongue, shards swallowed down with difficulty, scraping against the walls of his throat and leaving his voice ragged and raw.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” he’s panting as his fingers thread through your hair, fisting at the roots and dragging you off of him. “S’a shame, because you look so pretty,” a rough thumb skims over your swollen, glossy lip, his gaze following its trajectory. “But I wanna cum in your cunt, not your throat.”

And then he’s pulling you back up from the ground, strong arms wedged beneath your own and hoisting you into the air, your legs instinctually wrapping around his waist, locked securely at the ankles as they hook together at the base of his spine, thighs squeezing around his hips in anticipation.

He pins you to the metal of the Audi, one palm securely cupping your ass as the other wraps around the base of his cock, hips inching back just enough to find your hole.

The head, now slicked with your spit, glides over your clit twice—a cheeky little tease, just to hear you whine his name again, all stringy and petulant through a swollen pout—then down your slit until it catches on your hole.

It stings as he forces himself into you, always does no matter how wet you are, no matter how much you’ve slobbered all over his shaft, because Touya routinely refuses to prep you at all—not that you would’ve let him, not tonight—because he loves it, too, he loves it just as much as you do.

He loves the sharp little hiss pushed through the gaps of your teeth by your tongue, he loves the gentle fluttering of your cunt as your most delicate skin stretches, splits itself open for him, to suck him in and swallow him down, he loves that sweet sigh that melts from your mouth as he bottoms out, slathered over his own huff of breath, conjoined relief.

“Touya-nii, Touya-nii,” you’re whimpering out, fingers curling against his shoulders.

“M’here, baby, m’here,” he pants out, forehead pushing against your own, eyes slipped shut.

And for a moment everything is still, breath held stagnant in swelling lungs as you both savour this feeling—of fullness, of closeness, of wholeness—appreciation unhindered by noisy exhales or slapping skin.

Then his hips are moving, gyrating in little circles that gain speed with each completed motion, cockhead grinding into your cervix.

He can’t exactly fuck you properly like this, can’t exactly fuck you like he wants to, like he normally would, not all out in the open like this.

But he manages to make do, the pace quick right from the start, shallow fast snaps of his hips that have the buckle of his belt is clanging against his car, leaving superficial little scratches just below the door handle.

It’s all still so fucking hot, though, his forehead pressed tightly to yours as he exhales nicotine-tinged breath across your face, each one pushed from his chest with the rapid little ruts of his hips.

It’s all so fucking naughty, fucking out in the open where anyone who’s paying more than a shred of attention can see, his movements just barely hidden by the flesh of your thighs, cushioning his hips.

The thought that anyone could be watching, touching themselves, filming you has your muscles tightening and your stomachs fluttering, the dirty, illicit nature inspiring another rush of adrenaline to taint your blood.

Your mouth drops open, starved for more of him—never satisfied, are you, greedy lil thing—welcoming his huffs onto your tongue, spicy and sweet as hickory. Your tongue unfurls from your mouth, dumb and lazy and so fucking messy, licking at his lips in quick, uneven strokes, sopping up any remnants of his essence.

The tip slithers between his parted lips, kittenishly lapping at the edges of his teeth, tracing the sharp ridges one by one, and he laughs, warm and airy.

His own tongue shoves against yours, pushing it from his mouth and back into it’s rightful home before he flattens the slick muscle against your face and drags it, slow and steady, from the point of you chin to the tip of your nose, leaving behind a thick, fat trail of cooling saliva painted across your face.

The action has you squealing, scrunching up your nose as you involuntarily suck your bottom lip between your teeth and suck it clean.

His scent is strong, now saturating your skin as it dries, tight and hard, on your face, sealed by the breathless little giggle he exhales across your cheeks.

And, Christ, he’s so fucking gorgeous, strands of alabaster plastered to his forehead and stuck to his temples in scraggly strings, clumped into damp little tufts that curl up at the base of his neck, drops of sweat balancing precariously on the points.

His rough, quick movements have them breaking free, glistening drops of sweat rolling down his puckered skin, tracing the curve of his neck, streaking ink and ivory with glimmering little trails. They pool in the dips of his collarbones and soak into the collar of his shirt, turning cashmere translucent.

The sleek muscles in his forearms flex beneath inked skin, gliding as he readjusts his grip, holds you closer, hugs you tighter, fucks you harder.

His whole body is covered in a sheen layer of sweat, urgently chasing that high that only his little sister can gift him, sharp pistons of his hips keeping you pinned to the car while he uses you as his personal little toy, his favourite little toy, forcing you to just take it.

And yet, despite it all, his eyes are bright, his lips molded into a brilliant smile, a sick sort of love stained with exhilaration—the thrill of getting caught: fucking all out in the open, fucking your family—brimming in his gaze.

He’s such a fucking pro, knows you and your body better than anyone else ever has, ever could, ever will, angling his hips so they fuck you just right, each stroke of his cock an upward curve, dragging against that puffy spot buried deep within your cunt, head swiping against your cervix with each draw back.

Across the lot, that girl is fiddling with the keys to her shitty little car, rooting around for something in her bag, and Touya laughs—a loud, booming sound, heavy with deranged delight that echoes throughout the space, garnering the attention of a smattering of bystanders.

“Look,” he nudges his head to the right, your gaze following his own, slippery cheeks pressed flush together. “She’s watching. She can see you, sweetheart—can see us, can see you’re mine and I’m yours.”

Good. If she hadn’t already figured it out before, it should be abundantly fucking obvious now, who he belongs to.

“She—She looks disgusted,” you snicker.

Even from several meters away, she does, you can tell, face twisted up somewhere between horror and shock, eyes wide and unblinking as they scan your conjoined forms, brow scrunched and chest beginning to heave.

She looks like she’s going to be sick.

You hope she is.

“Oh, she doesn’t even know—fuck—the half of it, does she?” Touya keens, hips faltering for just a moment before regaining their momentum. “Why don’t we give her something to really be repulsed by?”

Yes, yes, yes, you’re nodding your head, little mewls of affirmation spilling from your throat.

“Give your big brother a kiss, then.”

And oh, how eager you are, ever his good girl, ever his best girl, arms tightening around his neck as you pull yourself closer, smashing your lips to his. Dainty fingers thread through the hair at the back of his scalp, soaked with salt, and tug harshly, enough to have a reactionary hiss slipping through his teeth.

Using the opportunity, you suck his bottom lip into your mouth between your teeth, clamp down hard and yank backwards, so hard his lip stretches like shimmering, pink bubblegum, gums beginning to strain until it finally slides free of your hold, teeth scraping against flesh. He spits out a curse, muddled and chased by a laugh, tongue laving over the indents you left, now weeping copper.

“Niichan’s gonna get you back for that one,” he says, sadistic glee shimmering in his eyes almost as pretty as the crimson glazing his mouth.

You’re sure he will, too, later tonight, with that cherished knife you gifted him last year.

The giggle that pours past your lips is fucking raucous, leaves your tongue sticky and tingling, so wicked it rivals your brother.

“I wanna show her, niichan,” you’re panting out, voice fading into a whine. “I want to show her that you’re mine.”

“Do it, baby,” he breathes. “Show the whole world how fucking gorgeous you look cumming for your big brother.”

Three more rapid pumps of his hips and you’re convulsing around him, cunt clenching almost viciously around his cock as your heat gushes down his shaft, sticky and messy and so much, so much it pools in the folds of his heavy balls, so much it streams down his taut thighs and soaks the waistband of his trousers, so much it dribbles down the metal of the Audi, smeared across the door in sloppy strokes.

“Mi-Mine,” you growl, thighs squeezing around him as if you’re attempting to milk more juices from yourself, trying to stain him with you and stake your claim.

“Yeah,” he nearly moans, hips beginning to stutter. “Yours, baby, niichan’s yours. Tell him again.”

“You’re mine!” you sob out, nails gripping the sleek muscle of his shoulders with such strength the joints of your fingers crack and ache, clawing at him as if you’re trying to gorge every part of you on him, eat up every piece of him you can, stuff every bit of you as full of him as physically possible.

“Fu-Fuck,” he keens, the curse shattering in his throat. “That’sa—That’s my good girl.”

He’s close now, you can tell; can hear it in the way his words keep splintering on his tongue, can feel it in the way his thrusts have gone from precise and particular to loose and sloppy, an urgent, uneven rutting of his hips.

“Fill me, fill me, fill me with your cock, niichan,” you’re gasping out, scrabbling at his neck, scraping skin and sweat beneath your nails. “Fill me with your cum, fill me so much, fill me until I can’t take anymore and it starts le-leaking out, all—all over the place.”

And, well, he’s never been one to deny his precious baby sister what she wants.

Because then he’s complying, hips stammering to a halt and pressed flush to your ass as his cock throbs, stuffing you full of thick, burning cream.

“More! More, more,” you’re gasping out as you try to fuck yourself on his twitching cock, desperate to pump him for everything he’s got to give, eliciting a breathless, broken little laugh falling from his lips.

“S’all yours,” he manages to slur out, slumping a little against his car, knees beginning to quiver as his cock strives to please you, giving another weak spurt of cum. “S’all yours, princess, always.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #todoroki touya smut #tw:pseudocest #tw:toxic relationship #tw:minimal prep #tw:public sex

428 notes · View notes

itsabouttimex2 · 7 months

Text

Platonic Yanderes

(Endeavor, Hawks, Best Jeanist)

Enji Todoroki:

His own child, whom he previously spurned.

He regrets it. God, he regrets it so much. The memories seethe inside him like an angry scar, pulsing in pain.

“I made dinner, Dad! I knew you’d be out late, so I stayed up to make sure you had something to eat!” He doesn’t sit down to to eat or say thank you. He grabs the plate from your hands and stomps off to his own room to eat, casting a baleful glare to you as he does. At least you’re good for something, he thinks.

He doesn’t think like that anymore. Do you know that, Y/N? You are worth so much more than he ever let you know.

“Hey, dad. You wanna go out jogging? Fuyumi grew out of her old tracksuit and gave it to me, and I wanted to see if-“

You cut yourself off when he glares at you, a withering look on his face. He stares down at you, a sneer turning the corners his lips. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up with me,” he snaps at you, walking away and slamming the door as he exits.

But you never actually thought you’d be able to keep up. You knew you’d fall behind. You just wanted to spend time with him, didn’t you? He’ll spend as much time with you as he can from now on, Y/N.

“Do you want to train with me? I’d be happy to put up some targets for you!” You smile, tiny bits of ice sparking on your hands. That smile doesn’t reach your eyes anymore, not when you’re talking to Dad. “There’s nothing you can put up that I wouldn’t melt right through. You don’t have the skill.” As expected, he turns on his heel and leaves.

He wonders how long it’s been since the two of you talked. You were there, reaching out a hand to him, trying to get through to his heart. You made offer after offer, and he struck them down without hesitation. Even without a scrap of love of affection, you kept trying to help him become a better person.

“Why didn’t I let you help me?”

He asks himself this question again and again, looking down on you. He always looked down on you, for being weak or sentimental or distracting.

Now he’s doing it in a more literal sense, staring at your feverish form on the bed.

Your severe sickness had been the perfect excuse to squirm back into your life. He comes in with nearly a dozen grocery sacks held in his arms, a steely and determined look in his eyes. Before you have a chance to slam the door in his face (not that you strength to do so right now) he walks into the house, heading straight to the kitchen.

“What are you-“

“Hush. Not a word, Y/N.” He’s dressed in his own expensive and tailor-made version of casual, not that it makes him any less intimidating. He places the bags on your table, and walks directly towards you, his hand moving to cover your forehead. He grimaces.

“You’re burning up, Y/N. Get to bed. Now.”

“You need to-“

He grabs your shoulders and spins you around, marching you to your room, checking the rooms one by one as he walks with you. Once he finds it, he pushes you towards it and pulls back the covers. “Get in.”

You’re frozen stiff, caught off guard by the sudden turn of events, your estranged father busting in with groceries and literally marching you in around your own home, room by room. That pause gives him the chance to push you onto the mattress, tucking the blanket around you. “Good,” he says, sounding satisfied. “I’ll make you something to eat. Don’t move.”

He pulls the top off of a can of microwaveable soup, dumping the contents into a plastic bowl. He had wanted to just buy you something gourmet and professionally made, but Fuyumi had talked him out of it, saying you’d be better off with something simple and easy to eat. That you would be better off with him.

So here he is, a giant man trying his best to not break a tiny spoon as he pushes it to your lips. Now that you’re actually lying down instead of trying to work in your weakened state, your body finally gives out, entirely sapped of the energy you’d need to get up or tell him off for coming in unannounced and uninvited. With nothing else to do and a body that won’t listen to your commands, you let him him feed you.

It’s a tiny step forward, the first of so many to come. And he won’t stop until you call him your father again.

——

Keigo Takami:

A young and innocent member of the League of Villains.

“I really appreciate you stopping by, Mr.

Hawks.”

You slide him a drink, sweet and fizzy and non-alcoholic. You’ve never actually served him anything with alcohol, not even by accident. He refuses to drink it, keeping himself sober and fully focused at all times.

You appreciate it, because it means one less grown man to babysit, one less puddle of vomit to mop, one less fight to break up.

And he appreciates that you don’t ask questions or try to convince him otherwise, because it means that he can do his job much easier.

“Did you make me something new, kiddo?”

“Yeah, I did! Club soda and cherry syrup and whipped cream!”

“Looks delicious, kid.” He takes a sip, and damn, it’s actually pretty good. “And tastes even better than it looks,” he praises, buttering you up in a way that aren’t used to. The other members, the real members of the League aren’t so kind. You’ll get an errant compliment or two, but mostly you gets nods, grunts of approval, and impatient demands for refills.

But Mr. Hawks is relaxed and charming and actually talks to you outside of ordering drinks. It’s easy to trust him.

“Got any news for me, kid?”

Maybe a little too easy, with the way you spill out all the gossip you’ve overheard, bits of information that you would’ve never considered critical or even important. And all the while, he grins and sips his drink, listening very, very close.

You’re betraying your own teammates, and you don’t even know it, he thinks to himself. And why? Because you’re just a good kid, a lonely kid? A sweet and polite kid, in spite of being surrounded by literal killers and remorseless criminals.

More than anything, he feels bad for you.

Especially when he catches you drinking.

You sniffle, a red handprint outlined on your cheek, and bruising from a rough hand encircling your wrist. You tip the shot glass back, trying to take a another sip.

But something soft blocks your lips, soaking up the alcohol before it can enter your mouth. You set the shot glass down, opening your red-rimmed eyes. A feather, hanging midair, separating your lips and the glass.

“You’re still a bit young for that kind of coping, kid. Give it a few more years, and then you can start.”

His voice is soft, and he takes your wrist to turn it over, looking at the outlines left behind by rough, grasping fingers.

“Who was it?”

A flash of something fierce and angry, protective and nurturing. His eyes sharpen and then that sharpness fades, gone in an instant. He switches to laid-back and unaffected in a moment.

“C’mon. Just one word, and I’ll make sure they don’t mess with you again. Can’t have my favorite bartender making my drinks with a bruised hand, after all.”

You give him a name, fighting back tears. You aren’t supposed to cry. You aren’t supposed to break. You need to be strong and useful or you’ll get thrown out, nowhere to go and no one who wants you.

No one who wanted you until you met Hawks, that is. He’s sure you’ll know that soon, when these villains are brought to justice and he takes you into his personal custody, under the guise of rehab.

He hooks an arm around your shoulders and when you lean into his side, starved for warmth and comfort, he slips a feather into your pocket. A sign that he’s there, that you aren’t alone.

You won’t be alone again.

——

Tsunagu Hakamada:

A shy, insecure UA student who performs well at the Sports Festival.

You aren’t the usual kind of student he’d take under his wing. You stumble and stutter and whimper and then you crumble and hide yourself away. You have no self-esteem, no confidence, no sense of personal worth.

But your fighting prowess is impossible to deny or ignore. You might not have any self-worth, but you’ve got enough skill to make up for it.

“Fifth place”, he starts, while combing through your hair, “Is very impressive, especially for the school in question. You went up against skilled and varied opponents, and beat out all but four. Be proud.”

He doesn’t see the need to use Fiber Master on you. One single command of “sit” had you on the stool, holding as still as you could while he fixed your unruly hair, swept and tangled by the wind. You are certainly a well-behaved student, listening closely to his words, blushing at his praise.

“I was scared,” you mumble, in a sudden show of honesty. “I thought I was gonna mess up in front of everyone. With all those cameras. And everyone watching.” He’s won you over quickly, his unshakably calm yet supportive and patient personality providing you with the comfort you need to open up to him.

“And you did not. That is admirable.”

You blush a little deeper. Clearly, you are receptive to praise and positive attention. Building you up as a properly confident student and hero-in-training becomes one of his priorities.

He finds himself enjoying your presence. Something as simple as children running up to you to ask you about the sports festival, asking you to show off your Quirk for them has you looking up to him for approval, for his consent. He gives you a nod, carefully regarding your actions. You do decently with people when someone is behind you with a supporting hand on your back, it seems.

Then it’s teenagers, some classmates, some friends, occasional newfound fans. Every now and then, an outright admirer. Usually, you hide behind him, eyes down, arms wrapped around yourself. He interferes personally on the last ones, politely but firmly rejecting them on your behalf, nudging you along to continue your patrolling. You mumble a thanks, staying close beside him.

For adults, it’s two drunkards who laugh and sneer and shout obscene things about what they’d do to a shy schoolgirl like you if they got the chance. One whips out his phone to take a picture of you, only to drop it in his drink when the cuff of his sleeve tightens around his wrist like a snare. Tsunagu ushers you to a bench, draping his jean jacket around your shoulders gently. “You need not worry. I will be right back.”

He’s a dreadfully powerful man, in terms of both influence and Quirk. In seconds, both men are bound tightly by their own clothes, and in a matter of minutes, police officers are stepping in to take them into custody for sexual harassment.

He clicks his tongue in distaste, watching them get carted off. “Some people simply have no moral fiber.”

The way you look at him right then reminds him of why he became a hero. Not only to save lives, but to instill peace and hope into the hearts of those around him.

And he starts to like being around you. You look to him, not only for safety but for guidance and even for comfort. He offers it to you, watching closely as you fall deeper into the web that he weaves, one where you are safe and secure and utterly oblivious to your own entrapment.

And the longer you stick around, stumbling after him like a newborn fawn, the tighter and thicker those bonds grow. You can’t ever leave him.

But why would you ever want to leave him?

#platonic yandere #MHA #yandere mha #Yandere Enji Todoroki #Yandere Keigo Takami #Yandere Tsunagu Hakamada #Best Jeanist #Tsunagu Hakamada #Endeavor #Enji Todoroki #Hawks #Keigo Takami #Teenage Bartender

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earthtooz · 1 year

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x : KISS ME ! :*+ﾟ whisper what your heart shows, all i want is you

in which: a stealth mission gone awry leads to a chain of events (or kisses) where you question your relationship with bakugou.

warnings: 8K WORDS, FLUFF WITH ANGST, so much kissing lmfao, slowburn, sfw steamy scenes + suggestive ending- starts intense and ends intense, pining idiots, lovesick idiots, soooo much swearing because it's bakugou, platonic friendships with todoroki and midoriya, all characters aged 22+, gn!pro-hero!reader, bad writing pls excuse me.

a/n: SEVENTH ATTEMPT AT POSTING THIS!!!! GOD this took six days to write, i am exhausted. if you don't like it i will cry bc this drained me, goodness, so reblogs appreciated! i'm so insecure abt this fic so pls tell me i did well, anyways. missed writing for my skrunkly boi!

# ONE ! - the first kiss.

this was not ideal.

you listen with widened eyes and a racing heart as you’re pressed against the brick wall of a dingey alleyway, bakugou’s warm palms holding your hips tightly as his chest is pushed up against yours.

he is not looking at you, but instead, looking off to the side so he can hear a little clearer. on the other hand, all you could see was bakugou’s killer jawline, his perfectly smooth skin, and one half of his violent scowl.

the silence is disturbing, all you can hear is your heartbeat and bakugou’s heavy breaths, anticipation weighing down the air as you both try to suppress your breathing.

then it comes. heavy footsteps. multiple of them. they’re running your way and at this rate, you’ll be caught by the enemy. what, with bakugou’s hulking figure and the hoodie that just barely covered his spikey blond hair, one glance to their left and you would be caught.

this was no good. there’s no way to get out of this alleyway in time either without attracting attention and being caught.

having a stealth mission gone awry was really embarrassing, especially when you’re pretty sure that bakugou can feel your heartbeat reverberating against him. you hope that he chalks it up to the nervousness you were currently feeling rather than the effect his proximity had on you. or, just the general effect he had on you.

“they’re coming,” you whisper so that only bakugou can hear. he finally looks you in the eye, sneering with fury in his crimson eyes. you almost flinch from the intensity of his gaze.

“i fucking know,” he retorts. “our only options are fight or flight, i’m thinking we take them.”

with a drawled out exhale, an idea pops into your head. he’s definitely not going to approve, however.

“i’m gonna kiss you and you’re gonna need to like it.”

the footsteps are getting closer, you can now hear mumbling of the enemies chasing after you and bakugou. their leader is shouting commands and the subordinates are obeying, responding in kind with an ‘sir!’.

“excuse me?”

he’s so beautiful up close.

“just, trust me.”

more shouts, more thundering footsteps, all silenced when you lean in to catch bakugou’s lips with yours. his exclamation of surprise is muffled before he promptly melts into you, hands now travelling up your waist as your arms wound around his neck. there’s an element of stiffness still as his mouth moves against yours, but you doubt you’re any better.

this wasn’t your first mission together, and most likely won’t be your last. however, the missions he normally accompanied you on were ambush, patrol, and dealing with general threats. stealth missions were a completely different story because bakugou was the loudest hero to ever exist.

so what was he thinking when he insisted on going along with you? for safety? he was the threat-

“jump,” his words cut through your thoughts like a warm knife through butter and with the way his hands sneak down to the back of your thighs, you can’t help but give in to his demands like a programmed machine.

you wrap your legs around his waist, deepening the kiss whilst doing so.

bakugou presses you harder against the wall, ignoring the way his mouth smirks against yours as one of your hands go to cradle his jaw. you’re careful to not remove the hood covering his very obvious blond mop of hair.

you’re letting him lead you through the kiss and it’s intense to say the least. you’re getting increasingly light-headed, but no part of you wants this to stop, screaming with bliss as he avidly seeks your lips, even when you lean back for a short moment to catch your breath.

for an interaction purposefully orchestrated, he’s really getting into it. would he kiss all his coworkers like this when they asked?

several heavy footsteps pass by and you’re just in your right mind to hear someone say ‘get a room’ before fading away. you were safe, you could run and make your escape now- a message bakugou hasn’t yet comprehended despite how honed his senses are. with the last bit of conscious you have, you physically drag his face away from yours (otherwise you don’t think you’ll ever be able to stop him).

there’s a moment of silence where you both just stare into the other’s eyes, lips swollen and eyes wide with the realisation of what just happened.

“they’re gone,” you whisper, tearing apart the post-kiss euphoria. “put me down.”

with a grunt, he obliges, allowing you to slip away from him and into the main road again.

“let’s go whilst we have the chance. get ready to fly, blasty.”

bakugou is surprisingly silent for the remainder of the mission.

# TWO ! - the fleeting kiss.

surprisingly, there hasn’t been much mention of the incident you had with bakugou ever since you returned from your stealth mission. intel was acquired, shared with the people who needed it, and nothing was discussed again. to be frank, you don’t know how to feel about it.

on one hand, you’re relieved to not be able to relive the experience again but on the other, you’re disappointed to not be able to relive the experience again.

it’s been back to normal with bakugou. the occasional middle finger in the hallways, sticking your tongue at him during meetings, going into his office to bug him and him being very irritated despite not having the heart to remove you. everything fell right back into place, with an obvious piece now awkwardly attaching itself to the puzzle.

when you simply think about what happened, your heart begins to race uncontrollably and you’re rendered stupid for a minute as you have to collect yourself.

which is why you were throwing your head back in frustration as the cursor of your laptop blinks back at you, a sentence half-written in mocking.

“fuck off,” you whisper to yourself, punching your head even though you knew it would do nothing to stop the replay of the memory. your eyes were beginning to feel sore, mind slowly entering a state of numbness as the idea of taking a quick nap on your desk seemed more tempting than ever.

oh well, it wouldn’t hurt.

pushing aside your laptop, keyboard, and papers, your submission to sleep is quick and effortless, not even complaining about the roughness of your desk jabbing into your chest as you doze off.

the door to the office opens, revealing bakugou standing in the doorway holding some files and a cup of tea- your favourite, to be precise. he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, swearing that you were in your office, except the sight of a totally barren room greeted him made him stop in his tracks. where could you have gone?

then, he hears breathing coming from behind your desk and as the blond approaches your space, he can’t help the sigh escaping him at the sight of your figure hunched over your work, head rested on your hands. you were just hidden behind your office desk and the massive company monitors.

if being a hero doesn’t kill him first, then how adorable you were just might.

“you have a couch in your office for a reason, dumbass,” bakugou breathes to no one in particular.

placing the items in his hand on your desk, the pro-hero takes his time analysing the best way to smoothly pick you up without waking you. assessing the situation in record time, he slowly wounds his arms behind your legs and shoulders, effortlessly picking you up to walk the short distance to the couch.

it’s with an unmatched gentleness that he places you down on the piece of furniture, briefly observing how peaceful you seem. bakugou didn’t have it in him to be mad at you for slacking off. with how you dedicate so much of yourself to your duties, he knows first hand just how hard you work.

he’s seen it since knowing you at u.a and he sees it now as you work at his agency.

he hopes you take care of yourself properly as well.

it hits bakugou that he still has work to be done and that he really should get back to his office to minimise some of the load. so, with a grunt, he stands up.

as a bid of farewell, bakugou places a hand on the arm of the couch before leaning in to press a kiss on your forehead, lingering there for a second before pulling away, retreating back into the hallways where his agency’s top-heroes worked.

the domesticity of this encounter leaves him wanting more. an innate desire to care for you when times get rough settling stubbornly in his gut; and as a pro hero, times always get rough. however, bakugou knows he’s capable of holding up your load simultaneously to his, he just hopes you can understand that as well despite being relentlessly independent.

# THREE ! - the kiss to silence you.

you meet your gaze in the full-length mirror of your office with a huff, adjusting the neckline of your attire as you turn around to check your backside in the reflection too.

this outfit was mediocre at best and you didn’t feel stunning in it at all. there was no way it would match up to the extravagant outfits you’ve shown up to hero galas and balls in the past, but since the gala was literally tomorrow, and you’ve delayed getting a dress to this point, it was impossible to go for another fitting.

“y/n, have you got the signed files- whoa.”

you meet bakugou’s fiery gaze in the mirror, turning around to greet him with a shy smile, somewhat embarrassed that he showed up at the exact moment you were all dressed up. immediately, you try to play it cool but scolded yourself internally for ignoring the gut feeling that someone would walk in whilst you were trying on your outfit- you just did not preempt for it to be the most attractive man in the building.

“uh yeah, i actually do have them. what do you need them for?” you ask, shyly using your hands to cover some parts of yourself despite bakugou already having seen a lot of your skin because of accidents and injuries on missions.

“i gotta send them off to deku’s agency,” he mutters, keeping his gaze low as he treks over to your desk. if you weren’t too caught up in your own feelings of humiliation, you would’ve seen the way his ears flared red, the tint spreading to his cheeks.

then you suddenly blurt out a question for him. “do you think i look good?”

you meet his gaze in the mirror again, subtly feeling a part of you swell in pride at the way his eyes rake over your figure.

“you look amazing. is the dress for tomorrow?” he begins to approach you, stopping when he’s right behind you.

“yeah. i don’t really like it that much.”

“don’t be ridiculous. you’re a sight to behold.”

“thank you,” you mutter half-heartedly, lips twisting with uncertainty. giving bakugou the necklace in your hands that complimented the bracelets you adorned, he immediately understands the message. you try not to react when his warm hands come in contact with your neck. “i just don’t think this outfit is flattering though.”

with nimble fingers, he clasps the chain successfully. “why?”

“the colour, the shape, it doesn’t feel right, and i really hate it. i would go out and try to buy another dress but there’s so little time, every appointment is booked because i was stupid enough to avoid getting-”

a kiss behind your ear silences you effortlessly and you feel your breath being stolen when notice bakugou craning his neck down to meet your height.

“calm down, you’re beginning to ramble,” he whispers and you just stare at him with an agape mouth, something that causes him to smirk. then, his hands find their purchase on your waist and it takes a lot of your resolve to not melt into his warmth.

ever since the daring kiss you shared on the mission, bakugou’s been less and less conservative about the affection he shows you. from openly admiring you when having lunch in the agency cafeteria, to manhandling you freely, to leaving kisses, you don’t know if your heart can keep up with his sudden change in behaviour.

worst part is, you can’t tell if it means anything to him like it does to you.

bakugou is japan’s most desired bachelor. maybe apart from his attitude, there is no public figure adored more than the blond who is standing right behind you. he’s always been known to do things his own way. no rules or preconceived notions can hold him back from doing what he wants. perhaps his shamelessness is a new symbol of how comfortable he is around you,

you just wish it could be something more; something more… intimate.

but you could never reach bakugou, could you?

“i think you look beautiful but my opinion doesn’t matter. you want a new dress?” asks the blond and you nod wordlessly. “i know a place. let me give them a call, owner won’t ever say no to me after i saved her from her. got so many last minute pieces from her store. i’ll cover the bill too, just make sure you like what you wear.”

he walks away with new swagger in his stride and you can only stare after him, dumbfounded.

well, at least your problems were solved.

bakugou might become a new problem.

# FOUR ! - the kiss of adoration.

the nerves in the limousine were uncontainable. as your sidekicks chattered amongst themselves, trying to rid any anxieties for the long night ahead, you couldn’t help but recall your first gala a few years ago. a celebration to commemorate the heroes of japan and everything they do for the peace and safety was always a big deal.

however, having done this several times ever since graduating from U.A few years ago, there’s little for you to be nervous about.

funny that you were only a few years older than your youngest sidekick (who was 18 years old), yet you were already exhausted by all the extravaganza and decorum.

as the limousine approaches the drop off area where all the paparazzi were waiting, it didn’t take long for a tremendous tattle of inaudible words and shouts to erupt from them given that the windows were not totally tinted, meaning they could identify who was inside. being one of the biggest hero agencies would have this effect, especially when you were representing the name of #2 himself. but, even if it wasn’t bakugou stepping out of the car himself, your rank still placed you remarkably in the greedy eyes of the public.

as your sidekicks file out one by one, with camera flashes practically every millisecond, the hype only worsens when you emerge.

the paparazzi are respectful enough to avoid the path where heroes were walking by and as you wave, smile, and bow to all of them, compliments of how stunning you looked and shouts of ‘look here!’ all faded into the crowd. then, you made it out.

“well, if it isn’t y/n,” a familiar, baritone calls out from behind you.

at the sight of a kind, smiling face, you can’t help your grin from breaking out. “shouto. to what do i owe the honour?”

“no need to be so formal with me,” your dual-quirked friend says with open arms, ones that you rush into quite eagerly. shouto always gave such welcoming hugs, you’ve been weak to them since second year of u.a. you ignore the camera flashes in your direction. “i’m just happy to see you here tonight.”

“i’m happy to see you too.”

“knowing you, you probably want to escape from here as soon as possible through any means possible.”

“you are correct.”

“i hope you have room for another escapee.”

his questions causes you to recall fondly to the many galas and events both you and todoroki slipped out of- a feat easier said than done, especially when people are constantly on the look out for their top heroes.

“i don’t know, i like to go solo,” you say with faux contemplation, “but you’re the only exception.”

“well, i’m honoured, especially since you look gorgeous tonight. your outfit is beautiful,” compliments todoroki before grabbing your hand to spin you around, an action you comply with readily and has you both chuckling to yourselves.

“thank you, shouto. you look irresistible as always.”

before he can reply, a familiar mop of green hair joins both yours and todoroki’s side and when you turn to see the face of the newcomer, midoriya’s smiling and bright expression greets you. he immediately forgoes all greetings.

“y/n! you look like you came from a runway,” midoriya marvels before embracing you in a side hug, repeating the same action to the half-and-half hero in front of you. “stunning as always. you too, todoroki!”

you wave his compliment off, flattered at his honesty. “thank you, midoriya. i only managed to pull this look together yesterday if i’m being completely real,” you say with a small chuckle, “but you look very handsome tonight. love this suit, the colour fits you well!”

todoroki nods, “i agree with y/n, and, congratulations on your agency’s latest partnership.”

“thank you! i’m excited to see what will come from it, hopefully a lot of good things because-”

“oi, cut it with the rambling, nerd!”

ah, there he is. you never could really miss bakugou’s presence.

“you’re already beginning to soil my night,” the blond continues when he emerges from behind midoriya. they’ve grown to about the same height now, with midoriya still two centimetres or so shorter than bakugou, but it’s always funny to see how the latter acts as if he’s all big and intimidating (as if todoroki isn’t taller than him).

“ah, kacchan!” midoriya greets, making room for the blond to fit in the circle as kirishima trails behind him.

as soon as the red-haired notices you, he gawks, mouth and eyes wide. “y/n!” exclaims the hardening hero. “looking gorgeous, man!.”

“that’s what we all said,” todoroki deadpans and you feel a little flustered from all the eyes on you- especially with the addition of a certain crimson pair. “should we all head in now? the paparazzi is getting on my nerves.”

“sure,” agrees deku, who turns to you with an extended arm. “need any help?”

you’re about to take his offer and hold on before he’s unceremoniously pushed to the side by bakugou, who offers you his arm instead with a mean look directed to midoriya. a glance of knowing is shared amongst the rest of your former classmates as they all make their way up the stairs.

“i thought midoriya was perfectly capable of helping me himself,” you chuckle before latching on to his forearm.

bakugou scoffs. “not as capable as me.”

“sure, because only the great, pro-hero dynamight can help me up the stairs.”

“damn straight.” his pride is undeniably endearing, even if it’s a little pointless at times.

as he guides you up the stairs, your heart flutters a little at the way he holds you so delicately, all of his attention directed upon you and your safety. when you reach the top, you’re about to enter the ball room and let go of bakugou to talk to more people, but it seems like the blond has other plans.

with a small tug, you’re directed back to him, about to collide with his chest until a hand on your hips stops your momentum.

“the stylist i gave you worked, huh?” he whispers lowly.

“yes she did. you really saved me,” you respond, feeling your heart skip a beat at the way his eyes rake over your body for a moment before he’s meeting your gaze again. “you think i look good?”

“i think you look fuckin’ breathtaking.”

you keen at his authentic compliment, trying not to let him see how it effected you. “well, this is all thanks to you so i owe you- money wise and everything else.”

“you can repay me by bein’ my date for the night,” he suggests, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb before bringing it up to his lips, placing a delicate kiss there as he maintains eye contact.

you gulp, agreeing before you can even think about the magnitude of his question.

“you with me? you seem a little far away,” asks bakugou. far away was just the beginning of it.

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you nod wordlessly before grabbing his arm to pull him towards the bustling crowd of heroes. every group if briefly silenced when you and the explosive hero pass by, eyes lingering a little too long at the arm that bakugou has around your waist.

this feels surreal.

he stands behind you like an intimidating shadow as you both speak to a range of people from support tech ambassadors, business consultants, aspiring heroes and sponsors- a crowd that only grows with the years you’ve been working in the industry.

surprisingly, no one is brave enough to question what is happening between you and bakugou upfront.

eventually, everyone moves into a separate hall where dinner would be served. since you and bakugou were representing the same agency, your names were already on the same table. when realising that you were seated across from him, he scowls and shamelessly swaps the tags around, not at all remorseful when he sits down on his assigned seat and pats the vacant spot next to him. with an eye roll, you oblige dutifully.

“hold still,” you command the blond before reaching over to fix his tie, tightening it and aligning it properly before sitting back in satisfaction at your efforts. “there. handsome and proper.”

“handsome, huh?” bakugou teases with a shit-eating grin and you scoff, pushing his face away jokingly. you mutter an unimpressed ‘whatever’, ignoring the laughter that rips from the blond.

moving the conversation along, you sit up in your seat a little bit. “did you see who was sitting at our table when you moved everything around?”

“just a bunch of old geezers. there’s that one marketing manager of some support gear business who kept bugging me last year to consider partnering with him,” he scoffs.

“your luck, huh?”

“fuck off, i’m just gonna ignore him for the whole night.”

“sure, do whatever you want, big guy.”

“i will. these extras don’t matter when i’ve already hired all the best in their industries. you’re my first example of that.”

your heart flutters at his recognition, about to respond with a quip when all of a sudden, your table guests materialise in front of you. all of them take their respective seats, settling down with formal greetings as you adjust yourself as well. only bakugou was unmoving, leaning against the back of his chair whilst merely staring every down as they appeared; an attitude very in character for him.

the night goes along rather smoothly. you do majority of the talking, forcing bakugou to respond and answer questions here and there, which he begrudgingly does. at least the people that were on your table were talkative themselves and could converse amongst themselves, leaving you with enough mental space to not solely concentrate on the way the explosion hero was holding your hand under the table.

the occasional caresses he placed along the back of it was enough to slowly drive you insane. he was being really shameless about the whole physical affection ordeal.

he acts similar to that a boyfriend should and the canniness has made you woozy. so much so that it strains your throat to breathe, hurts your heart to think about and makes your whole being itch with want.

what cemented your doom was the way he was willing to swap your plate with his if yours was a dish you didn’t like. he would offer to take the ingredients you weren’t fond of and give you the ones on his plate that you were. as if that wasn’t the most endearing thing he could do this evening, he would tell you that there’s food around your mouth before wiping it away. you owe a ‘thank you’ to mitsuki and masaru for raising him to be like this.

when the final dish of dinner was served, many jumped from their seats with the opportunity to mingle around; something that occurred at your table too to your relief. as the representatives all place their business cards in front of you, you farewell them with a friendly smile before slipping the small slips into bakugou’s shirt pocket, something he allows you to do.

“dynamight,” an authoritative voice comes from behind and when you both turn around to see who the instigator is, you’re a little surprised to see a well-dressed man in proper business man attire. he resembled tony stark- even down to his goatee and moustache. “pleasure to meet you. my name is yuu noguchi and i am a specialist in support gear. may i have a second of your time?”

your eyes widen in recognition at the name. the man standing in front of you was currently one of the most desired support gear directors in the industry and apparently, had the skills to benefit almost every hero, no matter how difficult their requests were. it was thanks to his quirk, something about limitless intelligence.

so it wasn’t only because of the tony stark resemblance that you recognised him.

bakugou glances at you, inquiring for your approval which you give by ushering him out of his seat. as you watch him strut away with the yuu beside him, you can’t help but feel relieved because now your heart could have a chance to calm down and give your lungs a moment to breathe.

“am i right to assume that you and mr bakugou are an item?” comes a voice from your left.

it’s the old geezer your date was complaining about earlier. somehow he sneaked his way from across the table to right next to you, leaning over now-empty plates of food as he gives you a look that shakes you to your core. not in the good way that bakugou can do.

“only for the night,” comes your curt reply. “i am his date to this gala.”

“fascinating.”

“what you find so interesting about that?”

“perhaps you’d rather i not say, but, to be truthful, my theory has been plaguing my mind all night.”

raising an eyebrow at him was his only indication that you wish for him to expand on his point.

he obliges. “well, you of course know about dynamite’s competitive spirit, and how he has been constantly battling deku in all realms of hero work? rankings, the amount of employees, even popularity.”

was mentioning midoriya necessary? their past history has never been the cleanest, and although you knew bakugou wished he could have a clean slate with the one for all user, sometimes their relationship brought a little awkwardness to conversations.

“i cannot help but assume that, in order to pass deku once again, he is using you to his advantage?”

you can’t help exposing your emotions through your microexpressions; something he catches onto.

bakugou? using you?

“right now deku is the hottest talk of the hero world with his latest partnership because of all the humanitarian advocacy he is partaking in. he’s gaining a lot of fans too. perhaps bakugou’s only way of upstaging midoriya is by using his well-liked status to the public a juicy scoop on his potential, new relationship, especially with one of japan’s favourite heroes. no doubt it will boost his name in the media, and give him a momentary push over the edge.”

you narrow your eyes at what his suggestion and although it pained you to admit, it had some credibility behind it. it even justified why bakugou has been acting weirdly attentive with you, and if you recalled properly, his sudden change in behaviour began around the news of midoriya’s initiative.

but he’s not like that, right? your relationship can’t be reduced to simply article headlines and traction… right?

“that’s just my take as a specialist in the hero industry, specifically when it comes to brand and image,” the man ends, placing his hands on the table before standing up. “i hope the rest of the night treats you splendidly.”

when he waddles away, you’re left sitting at the same, empty tables. whilst the exterior may seem relaxed and collected, a whirlpool of thoughts erupt within, your thoughts jumbling and fumbling over one another.

without thinking, you end up at a table marked by todoroki’s agency logo, desperately searching for your dual-haired friend. in your haste, you didn’t preempt knocking into a body with hardened muscles and when you look up to see who was the glorified wall, you breathe a sigh of relief when it’s todoroki’s concerned face you see.

maybe fate was kind to you tonight.

“something wrong, y/n?” he asks in that caring tone of his.

“yes,” comes your quick and frantic reply. todoroki sees right through that frazzled expression of yours.

“is it bakugou?”

“yes- can we get out of here? i don’t care about propriety right now.”

“hold on, don’t get too ahead of yourself. the media will have a storm if they see us together after you’ve been accompanying dynamight the whole night.”

“you’re right.” you’re could get a headache from simply imagining the repercussions you’re going to go through with your pr team if todoroki didn’t have his head on his shoulders. “do you have any solutions?”

“i could cause a fire and start an evacuation?”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“i was kidding. there is an authorised only back door escape near the bathrooms. i think it leads to the back of the building. does that sound better?”

“much. thank you, todoroki, i really appreciate it.”

“no problem. i’m looking forward to having a gossip ‘sesh’ about bakugou.”

you snort unceremoniously, amused by him and his deliberate choice of trendy language. if he was trying to cheer you up, it was working.

following his instructions, you are more than relieved to see that the back door did indeed, lead to the back gardens of the site where gala was held. if you were correct, the parking lot for chauffeurs would be on the right side.

minutes later, you find yourself ranting to todoroki, taking it from the whole beginning and recounting every, minute detail of the journey.

“-and then we kissed during our stealth mission which only made it worse because then i realised i was flipping in love with him!”

“only just then?” asks todoroki with a questioning look.

“look, i had the hots for him in third year because of his growth spurt, i didn’t like him so don’t give me that look,” you justify, silencing him with a finger in his face. “anyways-”

“-is bakugou a good kisser?”

you press your lips together, unsure of how to answer without sounding ridiculous but really, your silence was the answer todoroki needed. he tilts his head to the side slightly, entertained by your sudden flustered behaviour before redirecting one hundred percent of his attention back your direction.

“find out yourself,” you finally quip. despite how delayed your comeback was, the half-and-half pro-hero still laughs. “so after that mission, bakugou’s been acting weird with me ever since. everything he’s been doing is just so unlike him. i find him staring at me from time to time and when i catch him, he doesn’t look away, just does that stupid, smug smirk of his! he’s been more handsy, and, this is the most confusing part.”

“yesterday, i didn’t have an adequate outfit for tonight’s gala. i had something planned but it just wasn’t right and i was really down about it. well, bakugou walked in my office when i was trying it on-”

“-couldn’t you have done that at home?”

“shouto. come on. i was planning to go straight from work to the gala because the grind never stops, you know this. so i was trying it on and i was telling him that i didn’t like my outfit at all and then he kissed me on the back of my ear,” you explain, vividly using your hands to help your story.

the way todoroki’s eyes widen a little makes you feel better that you have someone else also astounded by bakugou’s boldness. “he… kissed… your ear?”

“yes!”

“why your ear?”

“i don’t know, shouto!”

“but why did he kiss you?”

“i don’t know, shouto! that’s not something friends or coworkers do to one another.”

“right. i would never kiss your ear. or you.”

“i would never kiss you either, which confuses me so much as to why bakugou did that! and then he referred me to a personal stylist- who was amazing, i will absolutely be returning to her again- and when i showed up at the gala, he was just acting so… off!”

“like how he pulled you away from midoriya.”

“precisely! it got worse because when we arrived at the entrance, i was about to enter but then he stopped me by pulling my hand, which he then proceeded to kiss!” you exclaim animatedly, gesturing to the same hand. “then he asked me to be his date!”

“that’s odd. why not ask you in advance?”

“right?”

todoroki hums in contemplation for a second, furrowing his eyebrows as he thinks- a habit he has not rid of since u.a. “if i was going to be honest y/n, i was about to say my theory is that bakugou has a crush on you, but asking you to be his date tonight? it feels a little off to me.”

“why?”

“if he truly wanted you to accompany him to the gala, he would’ve asked beforehand. doing it tonight just feels a little… orchestrated, asking whilst you were all dressed up,” todoroki’s articulate words pierce you through the heart and you feel your chest deflate, understanding what he was saying. “i don’t want to assume anything of this because that is not in bakugou’s character, he’s never superficial about anything he does.”

you sigh, quietly muttering the next statement. “believe it or not you’re not the first person tonight telling me that bakugou has some ulterior motive with me.”

your friend’s is taken aback, his hair jumping with his sudden movement. “who else?”

“some old, marketing guy from a support gear company that kept bothering bakugou at last year’s gala,” you huff, placing your chin on your hand as you fiddle with the bracelets adorning your wrist. “said something that really messed with my brain.”

“hm?”

now finding your nails a lot more interesting than your dual-quirk friend, you don’t think you can meet his eyes whilst repeating the embarrassing statement.

“he said that since bakugou and midoriya have been rivals and competing against each other since they were young, bakugou was using me as a chance to one-up deku. especially because deku’s the hottest talk in the hero world right now because of that partnership. he thought that if i could stand and look pretty by bakugou’s side, it would boost his image and get him into the headlines,” you spit, sounding more aggressive with each word that leaves your mouth.

you want to punch a wall.

todoroki places a gentle hand on your shoulder, one that felt grounding and reassuring. kind.

“you’re more than just someone who can sit and look pretty,” he begins, “anyone who says otherwise is clearly stupid. you’re one of the top heroes in japan, simplifying your reputation to only benefit someone by being their date is offensive and incredibly ignorant.”

his assured words lifts your spirit a little, but there’s still that little bit of weight clasping at your ankles. “but what if bakugou doesn’t see it that way?”

“then he’s an idiot.”

the laugh that escapes you makes your chest feel lighter; a remedy for the horrible emotions swirling in your gut. “you’re right. this is all just so frustrating,” you mutter into your palms. “i need to stop thinking about bakugou or i will obliterate him the next time i see him.”

todoroki huffs, entertained. “i don’t think you should hold any malice towards him. let the truth reveal itself, we’re both getting ahead of ourselves.”

“yeah,” you sigh before fishing for your phone. “please take photos of me, i look too good tonight to not post myself on instagram. i need a distraction from my wallowing.”

“as you wish.”

# FIVE ! - the kiss of confession.

you did not take todoroki’s advice at all and instead, got ahead of yourself. the first day back to work since the gala, you began deliberately avoiding bakugou- as immature as that was.

it’s a task easier said than done because avoiding bakugou was really hard. like, really really hard. given that his office was literally right beside yours, it was hard to walk by his glass doors and pretend to not notice him in there, especially since he liked to weight lifts and walk around as he worked. you could probably draw bakugou’s build from heart with how many times you gawked at him as you passed by.

plus he’s the face of the wholeass agency, so. there’s that.

the only solution you fathomed was to pick up more patrols during work hours, leaving more often during the day to return exhausted and irritated at night whilst you dealt with office work. seeing your sour mood apparently was enough to turn bakugou- and everyone else, away.

your assistant has booked you spa schedules for almost every weekend. multiple of them.

avoiding bakugou evolved from the root of two problems. the first one being the whole gala fiasco, the second one being that you genuinely don’t believe it’s good for your health if he kept acting as intimate as he had with you. however, the more you thought about it, you’re not even sure if he’d treat you the same way he did before the gala and you’re also not risking any chance of finding that out.

“you got another commission at downtown honei! join the cops in chasing down the assailant who claims to be ‘lava man’. police recommend to bring another hero,” a voice from your operator calls and you quickly reply with a ‘on it’. your first thought was ridiculing the villain name: ‘lava man’. wonder what his quirk was.

adjusting your hero gear as you walk out of your office, you run into the exact gorgeous face you’ve been avoiding.

“y/n i need to- where are you going in such a hurry?” asks bakugou, scrunching his eyebrows upon noticing your haste. you continue walking past him and without thinking, he trails behind.

“commission. i’m going to get backup.”

“i can join-”

“-no, stay here. i’m calling kirishima on this one,” you say, sparing him a momentary glance to see a look of frustration appearing in his eyes.

he looks like he’s bursting at the seams to say something, but the blond shoves all protests down and shouts out a ‘stay safe’ before you’re turning around the corner.

the commission is easy enough and you solved it before the clock could progress another hour. the hard part was that you kept receiving mission after mission, unable to catch a break to have some lunch or retreat to the agency when you had to keep reprimanding villains. seriously, why did they all unanimously pick today to be menaces to society?

your muscles were getting increasingly sore, your body was starting to feel the after effects of your quirk, and you were grumpy for how little time you got to rest.

after reporting back your last commission for the day, you finally find some time to buy some food from your favourite ramen place. pathetically carrying the plastic bag all the way up to your office, you open the glass door with a grunt because of how much your body ached from one simple movement. you were going to be in even more pain tomorrow; maybe you should request a day off to see your physiotherapist.

as you leant against the front of your desk to search for the contact of your trusted physiotherapist, you jump about 2 feet when the door to your office slams open, revealing a fuming bakugou.

blinking once, then twice in fear, you feel cornered.

“uh… can i help you?” comes your meek greeting.

“yeah you can fuckin’ help me!” he booms, crossing the floor to stand directly in front of you, face only a few inches away from yours. “mind telling me why you’ve been avoiding me ever since the gala? and why you didn’t respond to any of my texts since?”

you cringe at the mention of the texts. whilst you were complaining your heart out to todoroki, bakugou was asking where you went and why you didn’t tell him you were leaving. messed up move on your part, but it genuinely pained to even read his contact name, let alone send him a text to pretend like everything was okay.

now that he’s this close again, you realise just how much you’ve missed him.

your heart is doing laps again, and your arms suddenly itch with a desire to pull him close.

“don’t try to say something stupid like you haven’t been avoiding me, because you clearly have,” he scolds but the hurt in his eyes are very visible. it was time to just give him the truth, even if it still hurts you to think about.

with a sigh, you decide to surrender to your downfall through the form of a simple confession.

“i like you.”

the tension in the room increases by tenfold. your lungs tighten from how suffocating his presence is, especially as he looms over you, allowing you no space to breathe.

then he does something incredibly unexpected: he kisses you.

you feel your mind spinning and your heart picking up even more than you thought humanly possible. the way he curves himself around you is too much, the fire he ignites within your stomach, burning you from the inside out with his passion was too much, and the feeling of how desperately he was holding you against him was too much. he’s bleeding with love and need.

bakugou’s lips move against yours with a hint of urgency behind his actions, and you don’t have it in you to deny him. so, you fully give in to the unstoppable force of bakugou katsuki, allowing him to pick you up and seat you on your office desk.

somehow your hands end up tangled in his hair and his are roaming all over your body, unable to find purchase for even a millisecond as he commits learning you to memory.

you snap back to reality when a grunt of satisfaction slips past his mouth and into yours, causing you to abruptly jump back whilst simultaneously pushing him away. you miss his warmth already, grip steady on his shoulders to keep him away.

the look of hunger and yearning in bakugou’s eyes tells you that he’s not yet satisfied.

“hold on- stop- we need to discuss this-” you stammer before being cut off by the blond.

“-i have been waitin’ forever for this fucking moment. discussion over-”

“-no, bakugou-” you push his face away, even as he keeps inching forward, hands tugging your closer towards his toned body, “-katsuki.”

bakugou perks up at the mention of his given name, stopping his struggle completely. you only ever use it to capture his attention but he wishes that you would use it for more casual means rather than purposeful ones. it sounds so nice when you say it after all.

“i need a second to think,” you explain, rubbing your temples.

“talk to me, pretty. i can only answer if you verbalise your thoughts.”

“so you genuinely like me? you’re not using me for, y’know, media rep and shit?”

the most flabbergasted, appalled, and astounded expression appears on bakugou’s face. he looks absolutely livid and you begin wondering why you ever assumed the things you did.

“the fuck?” comes his reply. “why the fuck would you think that? who the fuck made you think that?”

you feel small under his fiery gaze, unable to properly look him in the eye as you recount the conversation shared between you and the old, marketing representative of the support gear company. with each sentence bakugou’s scowl grows deeper.

one the story is over, you knew that you were in for a mouthful. in more ways than one.

“that stinky, old geezer was why you were ignoring me? i thought i messed up or something, but this was because you actually listened to that extra? are you fuckin’ kidding me? i’ve been dyin’ because of you refused to even look at me and some asshole is the cause of that?” he asks. “i’m about to blow a bitch up-”

“-no, katsuki!”

would you look at that. he’s calm again.

��don’t do that. it’s my fault, i let him get to my head and suddenly some insecurities i didn’t even know i had started emerging. if it’s anyone that needs to apologise it’s me, i’m sorry for how i’ve been treating you after the gala, and for doubting you.”

“yeah you better be. don’t do this shit again,” the blond commands. “you really think that low of me that i’d use you to help my reputation?”

“i think it was moreso i thought really lowly of myself. to me, it didn’t make sense that you would ever be interested in me.”

a beat passes. he flops himself against you again, letting you hold up majority of his weight.

“you’re kiddin’, right? you’re a fuckin’ gem and i’ll kill anyone who won’t treat you like one because i just had the worst few days of my life from this bullshit,” he complains, burying himself into the juncture of your shoulder and your neck.

the giggle of flattery escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you rub your hands soothingly along his spine before admitting a question that has plagued your mind ever since. “why’d you ask me to be your date at the gala and not beforehand?”

“i was nervous and chickened out every time i tried,” he confesses quietly, grumbling lowly into your skin. “when i saw you at the gala i swore i got a heart attack, and when that nerd almost swept you off your feet, i had to do something. i knew i’d lose you otherwise.”

“what, don’t want to lose to deku again?” you ask with a teasing tone. bakugou bites your skin. you yelp.

“watch your mouth.”

“you’ll be relieved to know that i don’t want anyone but you, katsuki.”

“ya sure?”

“i’ve been sure for a while.”

the blond laughs, murmuring a ‘you’re perfect. too good for me’ before connecting your lips again. you hum into him before muttering a ‘yeah i am’ against his mouth. it makes him smirk.

when you part, you pat his shoulder as a sign of surrender. “i need to get to working on some files so if you don’t mind-”

as you try to shuffle off your table, bakugou stops you before your feet can even touch the ground. “are you kidding?” he challenges in an accusatory tone. “you’re not doing shit, you’ve been on commissions all day. have you even had a meal?”

“i just bought some ramen for myself,” you say whilst gesturing to the bag on your desk.

he grumbles. “want me to warm it up?”

“no, it’s okay,” reaching around you to open the laptop sitting on your desk, bakugou’s quick to shut it close again.

“what part of ‘you’re not doing shit’ do you not understand? fuckin’ rest!”

life is a little surreal right now, especially with bakugou’s aggressively ambiguous way of nurturing people. then he grabs the noodles and rips opens the packaging, fishing for the chopsticks also provided before ripping that apart too. so shameless in everything he does, that’s a habit he’ll never lose, you suppose.

you unknowingly smile when considering the prospect that bakugou’s shamelessness is something you have to deal with even more now.

a small cat fight erupts when you realise that the blond had full intentions of feeding you the ramen himself and your dignity refused to let him. he eventually coaxed you by saying he’ll take your commissions for the next three days and the soreness of your muscles found the deal a little too tempting. with a huff, you give in.

“ramen smells good,” he comments absentmindedly.

“it’s my favourite place. not too far away. we should go someday,” you say in between mouthfuls.

he scoffs in dismissal but the pink tint of his ears contrast his reluctant attitude. “it better not let me down.”

you stop for a second, grabbing your phone and searching through your contacts again. “i need to book a session with my physiotherapist.”

“why?”

“she gives the best massages and my body is so sore right now.”

“i think i can help with that.”

“really?”

“don’t underestimate me,” bakugou says, paired with a wink. you can’t help but assume there’s a not-so-innocent undertone to his intentions, especially with the way he smirks. “i could help you relax in more ways than one.”

goodness, were you in for a ride.

#pls work pls work pls work #REBLOGS APPRECIATED SM #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #yeah excuse me if this is the worst fic you've ever read i didn't mean for it to turn out that way #i need some saving if only a blond hero could... rescue me... from my writing misery...

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lady-lauren · 2 years

Text

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: authority/power-play, boss/employee relationship, age-gap, size difference/size kink, public heavy petting/fingering, rough sex, desk sex, praise kink, use of “good girl,” light choking/breath play, hand pressed over reader’s mouth, hair pulling, creampie (Enji is implied to be divorced, no cheating) trapped in an elevator for a while, so warnings for claustrophobia and elevators in general.

A/N: Special thanks to @whats-her-quirk and @titan-fodder for reading over this bad boy, and extra special thanks to my power going out right as I was excited to post this. God how I’ve missed Endeavor. One horny thought turned into over 6k. Enjoy ❤️

Endeavor’s name and presence is all over his hero agency. On every letterhead, blazing neon red letters on the front of the building, on company sweatshirts and stamps, email signatures, and even every pen and notepad. Yet the man himself is hardly ever seen.

Working directly for the titular hero of the agency as his senior support staff means that you see him more than most, and even still, his flaming body is a rarity to you.

So it’s a shock to see him in the elevator this morning, fire extinguished due to the spacial hazard. He’s dressed casually, white dress shirt and navy trousers. It’s too early for his hero duties to begin, the clock having not yet struck 9 a.m.

“Good morning,” you whisper with your eyes averted; his proximity always makes you anxious.

“Morning.”

He greets you with a curt nod as you step into the elevator from the parking garage floor.

Your first instinct is to press yourself to the farthest wall away from him. There’s an obstacle, however, one of his many sidekicks already twiddling his thumbs with worriment against the right wall. Endeavor stands in the back left corner, arms crossed, muscles bulging. You stick to the front of the car, leaning against the cool wall near the control panel.

The top-most floor is where you’re headed—same as your boss.

An itch crawls in your throat to make small talk, to fill the silent, awkward void as the elevator doors close and the cables hoist the metal box upwards. But you keep quiet, even if it is a long ride to floor thirty-six.

Lights on the floor numbers flicker, passing the lower levels, only to stop on the main lobby.

You exhale heavily as another sidekick enters the space, this guy bigger than most, making you step back a bit closer to the number one hero.

More people continue to filter in, worker bees about to go to their respective places in the corporate hive.

One after the other, feet shuffle, each new body making you edge closer and closer to the behemoth in the corner. Some have the guts to acknowledge Endeavor, others have wide eyes and try to cram themselves as far away from him as possible.

Endeavor is still hot—literally—without his flames, the heat of his body making the elevator car feel like a sweltering humid day. Like the sun, torrid waves pour from his core, making sweat form at the base of your neck.

The elevator doors finally close, only for them to re-open just one floor up.

Someone leaves, but three more enter. Everyone has to displace like water, make room for the other employees.

You take your final step back before your heeled shoe catches the toe of Endeavor’s boot.

“Sorry,” you mumble, placing your hand on the wall next to him to steady yourself.

The Flame Hero only huffs, casting you a glance before returning his gaze that rests over every head.

“Geez, busy morning, yeah?” Someone breaks the ice, someone nods in return.

“Elevators, huh? They really have their ups and downs.”

You can feel Endeavor groan in annoyance behind you, his broad form just a hair’s width away from you. Your legs are stiff in your heels, back straight as you try to be mindful not to touch or bump him. It’s not that you’re afraid of him, you just dare not be inappropriate with your boss—with the number one hero.

But your efforts to keep a suitable distance between you and your colossal employer fail when, by floor ten, you’re pushed back against him when another influx of people rush the elevator.

“I’m so sorry,” you look up at him as you apologize, craning your neck back against his chest.

“It’s alright.”

When the elevator jolts back to life, surging upward, your balance betrays you. Endeavor catches your hip before you lose yourself to gravity, a large hand keeping you upright.

The touch should be brief—that’s what you expect. Instead, his huge, hot fingers stay put, lingering. His thumb feels like it’s scorching your body at the seam of where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

Your hair stands on end and you become acutely aware of just how much of you is touching him.

Your back is flush against his chest, his brawny thighs—spread wide—are on either side of your own, which are pressed together with nervousness. The top of your head bumps back against the collar of his shirt, the buttons down his robust chest are scraping against the thin fabric that covers your skin. His strong arm at your side keeps you from bumping into the elevator wall.

The two of you are rocking with the shifting and lifting of the elevator, shoulders bumping into the people next to you; the tall side-kick in front of you is nearly touching your nose with his back.

The elevator car creaks, the cables struggling.

“There’s a weight limit to these things, isn’t there?” A woman whispers near the front.

“Says here 1,500 pounds.” A little guy near the front reads the plaque above the floor buttons.

You can’t see beyond about three people around you, the height of the sidekicks blocking most everyone’s view. But if you had to guess, there’s about twelve people on the elevator, and at least four of the bigger heroes are well over two hundred pounds, Endeavor included.

“I think we’re over capacity, but we should be okay.” A different voice, one that makes people sigh with relief.

When the metal doors glide open on floor twenty, revealing two faces ready to enter the car, it’s Endeavor who speaks up.

“Elevator’s full. Catch the next one.”

No one would dare tell him no.

The rumble of his voice travels down your spine, makes your toes curl in your shoes that are starting to feel too-tight. Your ass is promptly placed at his crotch, the realization of which makes you flush.

Five floors whisk by, the next lit up button about to be reached, only for the elevator to shriek and rumble.

“Oh shit!” Someone yells as the world shifts, as the lights flash and the metal box shakes.

Endeavor instinctively wraps his arm around your middle, his free hand flying forward to stop the sidekick in front of you from crushing you between two muscular bodies.

A few of the ladies scream, a few of the men, too, a high pitched conglomeration of curse words and panic.

“Oh god we’re gonna fall!”

“From how high? What floor are we on?!”

“Fucking hell, we’re gonna die!”

“Endeavor save us!”

The electricity crackles before the lights go out, a faint flicker of hope before casting every face into darkness.

“It’s alright, everyone,” Endeavor sighs as he speaks, his hand rubbing against your side like he’s trying to soothe you, too, “we’re going to be fine. Just no one make any sudden movements.”

“Are we going to fall? Can you save us?!”

“Easy,” he tuts at the voice in the dark, “just stay calm. The elevator has shut down purposely in order to prevent it from crashing. If it was going to fall, it would have already. This is a built-in safety measure.”

“What do we do?” One of the sidekicks asks, eager to save the day.

“We wait.” Endeavor answers, finally pulling his hand off the back of his other sidekick, but not removing himself from you.

“Wait for what?!”

You sigh, resolving to let your weight fall back against your boss, tired of trying to keep yourself from being improper in this situation.

“Be quiet.”

A blue light comes to life near your side after Endeavor fishes his phone from his pocket. He dials a number quickly, pressing the speaker function since he can’t pull his phone to his ear due to the bodies cramped next to him.

“Hello, this is Ellie Vader, how can I help you?” A female voice chirps from the speakers.

“Ellie, it’s Endeavor. The elevator has shut down at my office, me and…” he pauses, ready to take a head count but unable to see in the dark, “quite a few people are stuck.”

“The Elevator Hero is at your service! Make sure no one moves suddenly—no jumping, no banging on the walls—I can be there in about fifteen minutes!”

“Thanks.”

And then the light is gone and people are exhaling in relief.

“There’s an elevator hero?” You mumble up to Endeavor, smiling even if he can’t see it.

“You’d be surprised how many elevators get stuck a day in this city. We’ll be fine.”

The blackout urges people to be quiet. It’s pitch dark, the absence of light making some go still, while others try to feel their surroundings, causing a ripple of “ouch,” “back off,” “don’t touch me,” “that’s my fucking toe.”

Soon, though, a few people are able to maneuver their phones into their hands, and dull screens make the packed space feel less intimidating. Two co-workers even start up a hushed conversation at the front, talking about the department meeting they dread today. Another pair strikes up a forced chat about weekend plans. They’re human, after all, awkward and trying to fill the silence.

Feet aching from heels you did not plan to be planted on metal floor for so long, you shift your weight between your knees, inadvertently rubbing yourself against your boss’s crotch.

“You alright?” Endeavor turns his face down to whisper to you, lips brushing against your ear.

“Mhm, yeah, my feet just hurt a bit.”

“I’m sure they do, given those ridiculous heels you wear every day.”

There’s a playfulness to his tone that you’ve heard from time-to-time. Though now, in such close proximity, it makes you warm, makes your palms sweat.

You murmur without thinking, “Yeah, but they make my legs look good.”

Regretting the words immediately, you press your lips together, ready to bang your head into the guy’s back in front of you.

Endeavor doesn’t respond right away, only chuckles, the arm around your middle retreating. He slides his big hand across your belly, slowly, like he wants you to feel it. Then his fingers are back to your hip, but moving down, down, down until his absurdly large fingertips are trailing the hem of your skirt.

“Indeed they do.” Endeavor speaks more softly than you’ve ever heard him before, just a breath of words for you to hear.

But anyone could hear him if they were paying attention. If anyone were to crane their neck and look back, they’d see the outline of number one hero creeping his fingers up his assistant’s skirt in the dark.

Hot can no longer describe how you feel pressed against him. The temperature goes beyond that—boiling, like he’s on fire and engulfing you even though his quirk is being suppressed. You’re flying far too close to the sun, being sucked into his orbit.

Your fingers clasp in front of you for sanity, knuckles squeezing tightly as you hold your breath.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never thought about fucking Endeavor.

It’s hard not to think about sex when you look at him. He ticks every primitive mating box: incredibly tall, handsome, the strongest of any pack he’s in. Everywhere he goes, he brings an air of authority with him. Making people cower is almost part of his charm.

Endeavor clears his throat and it makes you jump, the deep sound vibrating against your back. Two fingers come to a halt on the back of your thigh, just a few inches higher than your hem, just a few inches away from touching your backside.

“Are you alright with the work you’ve been given today?” He asks quietly, pointedly to you.

It’s code. You pick up on it right away, as it’s Monday and you’re lucky enough to not have any assignments yet. He’s asking if you’re alright with him touching you.

“Yes, sir—” you lick your lips as you think about what to say in response, “I think it’s going to be a very pleasurable day.”

Someone in front of you snorts, muttering a “yeah, after we get off this goddamn elevator, maybe.”

But the fingers that continue their voyage up your thigh tell you that this elevator calamity is about to be the highlight of your morning.

Endeavor shifts you both, pressing his shoulders back farther against the back wall, giving himself more space to get his huge hand farther up your skirt.

His other hand is quick to act as well. He grasps your ribcage, making you suck in a breath, fingers splayed wide so he can brush the underside of your breast without detection. Your bra stands in the way, an unfortunate barrier, but still your tit jiggles in the cup just enough to send heat straight to your cunt.

The elevator creaks and groans, like a ship baying in the ocean. A few shocked gasps echo around the space, which is the perfect cover for the sound you can’t help but make as your boss’s fingers settle between your legs.

Endeavor spreads the fat of your pressed-too-tightly thighs easily, two thick fingers rubbing against your panties.

A strained sound comes from his throat, like he wants to say something but is holding himself back. His middle finger strokes further between your thighs, pushing against your clit. You see stars for a moment in the dark, pleasure searing down into the pits of your stomach.

You’re both damp. Him from the heat of the elevator, mostly caused by him, anyways, his white shirt clinging to his plush chest. You’re wet between your legs, his touch immediately making your slick pool against cotton.

His fingers are languid but strong, repeating the action of sliding between your covered folds and toying with your clit until your thighs are clenching around his wrist, knees knocking together and shaking.

“Good,” is all he breathes down the back of your neck, concise praise that makes you bite the inside of your cheek to avoid whimpering.

Your head falls back to his chest, breasts heaving as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself. From the light of a phone screen in the corner, you can barely make out Endeavor’s features. Sharp jaw turned down toward you, thick neck with a pulse thumping as hard as your own. You can barely make out the jagged lines of his facial scar, a firm reminder of whose hands you’re in.

Desperately you want to tilt your head back just a bit more, offer your lips for him to kiss. But you can still hear people all around you, even if you can’t really see them. Coughs and shuffling, mutterings and someone on the phone up front toward the doors swearing that he’s not late, just stuck in an elevator with Endeavor.

It’s hard to grasp the concept that Endeavor is touching you, that he wants to touch you, and made the move himself to shove his fingers against your pussy. You’re just a pretty girl with a simple quirk and a talent for organizing his schedule.

Endeavor manages to pull his burly arm up a bit more on your side, weighty palm curving over your breast until his thumb and index fingers rest at the base of your throat. A contingency plan, you realize, for him to take quick action should you get too noisy.

Long fingers are deft, swift and pushy, pulling your panties to the side so he can really touch you, smear feverish fingertips through your wetness. You bump your head back against his chest in near defeat, eyes screwing shut as you focus on not verbally responding to the gratification of skin upon skin.

He’s good at what he’s doing, too good, playing you like the devil plays his fiddle as his index finger slips into your tight hole and his middle rolls against your clit.

You nearly lose your footing, having to plant one foot back between his stance in order to stay standing. You’re more open for him now, his thumb pushing at the fat of your ass and spreading you. Your cunt sucks in his finger willingly, wet and squishing, making you flush with embarrassment.

But no one seems to notice, there’s no sound of shock, no shadowy figures turning in the dark.

In a fucked up way, it feels like just you and him, a moth sucked into a dangerous flame.

“More?” Barely a whisper into the top of your head, breath hot and lost in your hair.

“Yes,” you sob quickly.

He moves the hand at your neck higher, squeezing just enough to feel blood pumping in your carotid arteries, to keep you quiet.

More than anything, you want to feel full, and he heeds your silent prayer. Endeavor stuffs two fingers into you, middle finger abandoning your clit in favor of curling against your walls. He pumps into you roughly, purposely, each thrust making your stomach tighten. He wants to drive you off the orgasmic cliff, force you to cum in his hand.

And you’re getting close, far more quickly than you’re proud of. His fingers are skilled, cruel, finding that perfect spot inside you that makes you want to scream. But you can’t. You swallow it down, grit your jaw until you hurt. His thumb and ring fingers are mean against your ass cheeks, packed against soft flesh as he coaxes more slick sounds from between your legs.

Endeavor squeezes your throat, once, twice, like he’s urging you, commanding you. Do it, do it.

Delectable jolts race across your nerves, blending together at the apex of your thighs, deep in your belly. His fingers press in deeper, harder, velvety walls rich around him. You can feel every knuckle, feel how he spreads you, vicious and eager, like he doesn’t care that you’re practically dripping into the floor.

Your lashes are fluttering as you fully put your weight back against his chest, content to just feel him. His breaths are steady, calming, like he isn’t pounding his fingers into your cunt. His fingers are thick, insanely so, which only makes you hold in a whisper at how fat his cock must be.

Each press of his fingers makes you jump, makes your stomach tighten like some molten core is forming with every thrust. It all feels too good, like a hot, humid heaven where you’re being stuffed and satiated.

Your hips buck back against him, heels scraping the floor, his hard cock pressing right against the groove of your ass.

Feeling him behind you, Endeavor, number one hero, massive body, forearms straining against you, his cock aching for you, that’s what pushes you over the edge.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. One of your hands flies to the hero’s wrist around your neck for stability.

You absolutely shatter, thighs quivering, cunt cinching, orgasm flooding all your senses like you’ve been thrown into the deep end. Blood rushes to your ears, fills your cheeks, rushes south as you gush. You’re blissfully trapped, waves hitting you from every angle, knocking the breath out of you as you cream all over your boss’s hand.

“Fuck,” you have to say something, have to curse into the silence before you scream and explode.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers right away. He lingers, pressing his cock against your ass, moving his hand down to tug at your waist and get you to rock back against him. He delights in the friction of you against his slacks, practically purring behind you.

“Hey, what’s that sound?” Someone comments. Immediately you blanch, worried you’ve been caught.

But you hear it too, the cables tugging again, the machine of the elevator humming back to life.

“Oh my god we’re saved!”

“I thought I was going to die!”

It’s a chorus of happiness, one that easily drowns out the slippery sounds of Endeavor finally leaving the sanctuary of your cunt. You squeak at the loss of contact, feeling so very empty as he pushes your skirt down, wipes the mess of his fingers on his pants.

Still, the gigantic man doesn’t quite let you go. He keeps his hands on your hips, keeping you planted right in front of him. To hide the tent in his pants, you assume.

“Hi there!”

The elevator doors finally open on floor twenty-seven to Ellie Vader, smiling with a giant wrench thrown over her shoulder.

“Oh thank god!” One of the elevator passengers flings himself at her, wrapping her in a hug as he dramatically brings himself to tears.

“Goodness, it’s hot in there! Everyone out, elevator is fixed, but we can’t have this many people traveling anymore!”

Eager bodies shuffle out, shoulders bumping, quickly cursing before apologizing.

But Endeavor keeps his hands on you, firm, steady, telling you that you are not to follow suit.

“Thank you, Ellie,” Endeavor’s voice is a bit hoarse, but he gives her a forced smile from the back of the car.

“Any time, pal! It was probably you who weighed down the damn thing, anyways. Now off you go!”

The beaming hero smacks the up button on the outer wall, closing the doors and sending you back on the track to the top floor.

You don’t have time to process fully being alone with Endeavor.

Easily, far too easily, he pushes you against the elevator wall, hands on either side of your head as he cages you in.

Blue eyes spark with flames, low rumbling ones, flicking just hot enough to kiss your skin.

“Cancel everything on my schedule today.”

“B-but sir, you have—”

“I. Don’t. Care. Clear it, or better yet, message one of the other assistants to do so. You’ll be occupied the rest of the day.”

He takes your jaw into his hand as you nod in affirmation. You can still smell yourself on his fingers. Your cheeks squish underneath the might of his grip, and he watches you curiously, quietly, like a lion playing with a fresh catch.

The elevator chimes before he can kiss you.

“Follow me to my office.”

He turns on his heels, marching in a beeline out of the lift and straight to the large double doors of his office. You follow a few beats later, hands quick to find your phone and send out an emergency email to the rest of the support staff to wipe the boss’s calendar clean.

You’re a bit wobbly as you exit the elevator, panties still pushed to the side, but swiftly find your footing. You take long, brisk strides to the looming promise of Endeavor’s office.

Once you enter, he commands you to lock the door, which is not unusual given how he hates to be disturbed while he’s working.

“On the desk,” he has yet to sit down, too busy peeling off his dampened shirt and running a hand through red hair.

His office has always been intimidating. Far too large and nearly empty save his desk and a few couches, the floor to ceiling windows making it feel even more expansive as it overlooks the Musutafu skyline. You feel small against the oak wood of his desk, like a doll placed for decoration as you cross your legs nervously, like he hadn’t just had his hand between your thighs, in your cunt.

“Pretty little thing, aren’t you?” His words make you prickle with delight as his belt clinks, the leather being slid from his pants without a second thought.

“Thank you.” It’s all you know to say.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you.” He cages you in again, big palms flat against his desk as he leans down to brush his nose against your throat. “Thought about fucking you since I hired you.”

You’re overwhelmed by him, by his size, by his cologne, his proximity. He’s all encompassing so up close and personal. Your eyes are glued to his musculature, transfixed by the way his shoulders roll, how plush his pectorals are. He could easily crush you with his might, yet his hands are quick and soft as they push and pull at the buttons of your blouse.

“Kiss me.” You demand of him, your lips wet and begging for friction.

He indulges you without a second thought, one hand unclasping your bra as the other holds your chin. His mouth is heavy, hot, rough against yours like he’s taking what he wants. He swallows your moans, slides his tongue past your teeth so he can taste you. Warm, languid movements, consuming and intoxicating. He tastes familiar, like how he smells each day, but exotic, like he’s forbidden. And he should be. Yet your legs are spreading below him and your naked tits pressing against his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans and puts his hand on your back, smushing you close to him, slotting your body against his. He’s too tall for his cock to press against your pussy, yet you can feel it against your stomach, twitching against the seam in his pants. You wiggle yourself against one of his powerful thighs, desperate to feel some kind of contact between your legs.

Endeavor breaks your kiss by tugging at your hair, fingers weaving between the strands so he can pull your neck back and keep you still.

Blue eyes scan your spit stained lips before wandering down, stopping to watch your breasts heave from the breath you lost to your kiss.

“Always knew you’d have perfect tits.” He punctuates his statement by plucking at one of your nipples, rolling the bud between hefty fingers until it pebbles to his touch.

You can’t help but whine as he repeats the action, pinching and pulling just to watch your body’s reaction. He yanks the hand in your hair back, making your spine arch and tits press out further. He plays with your other nipple, balancing the sensations, making you grind down against him as you search for more pleasure.

Dipping his head, he places a long, flat lick across your nipple, leaving a cold trail in his wake.

“Enji!” You lean into the pull he has on your hair.

He sucks your nipple into his mouth, a grunt vibrating across your breast as he circles your sensitive peak with his tongue.

“Like my name in your mouth,” he says between breasts, lathering the other with plenty of attention as well. You shiver at his ministrations, the air conditioning making you bristle in the cold when his heat shifts across your body.

“Enji,” you repeat with purpose, “fuck, you’re spoiling me.”

And you mean it, it’ll be hard to walk into his office and not think of him nursing your tits.

“Just wait, sweetheart. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

You moan, feeling like he already has.

Enji releases your hair, the heel of his hand pushing against your shoulder to get you to lay flat against the papers on his desk. Ink sticks to your sweaty skin.

“Let me see the mess you made.”

Moving your skirt down your hips before you can even process, he opens your legs wide, gigantic hands pushing on the backs of your thighs so your slick, sloppy cunt and soiled panties sticking to your folds are on display.

“Mess you made,” you correct with a breathy giggle, staring up at the ceiling of his office.

“Didn’t hear you complaining in the elevator, sweetheart.” He runs a finger down your folds, your body convulsing at the touch. “In fact, I didn't hear you make much of a peep. Such a good girl, keeping quiet for me.”

“If your cock is anything like your fingers, I don’t know if I can be quiet.”

Enji plays with your messy cunt, curling two fingers against you before peeling the wet cotton away so he can look at you.

“Don’t want you to be quiet,” you both groan as his finger prods your hole, “though I’ll make you hush if you get too loud.”

You flush with a fresh heat as he pulls your panties down your legs, feeling strings of slick pop from where you were sticking to the threads.

“Look at that pretty pussy. Can’t wait to feel you around my cock. You were sucking my fingers so tight earlier.”

You never expected him to be so vocal and it makes you gasp, fingers trying to grip into the clutter of paperwork on his desk.

He’s aware of his strength as he grasps your hip, careful not to hurt you even as his blood simmers and his cock springs from his pants.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, eyes gone glassy as you close them against the fluorescent lights, “please, please.”

He grunts in affirmation, sliding his thick cock over your slippery folds, coating himself. There’s a vein that runs on the underside of him, hot and pounding, moving just right against your clit to make your thighs shake in his hands.

The urge to look at him, to actually see the monstrous cock you’ve been dreaming of, is strong, but his grip is stronger. You can’t move below him, his shoulders and arms working to press and secure you against his desk. All you can do is breathe and wait, feel his fat cock slip and grind against you.

“Deep breath,” he tells you, pressing his leaking tip against your cunt, “might hurt.”

Luckily, the mess Enji made of you makes it easier for him to pop past that first ring of muscle, cockhead hot and mean as his hips cant. He’s not gentle. Quick thrusts that spread you apart fast, make you open and create room for him inside of you.

You feel stuffed just from the first few inches, drunk already on the sounds he’s making. Primal, deep grunts from inside his chest as he stares down at where you’re taking him in, dragging along his length. He bullies his way inside of you, getting off on your whines and squeals as you stretch for him.

Your pussy is sloppy around him, wet squishes as he finds more rhythm against your tight walls.

“Shit, fuck,” you exclaim as he begins to bottom out, russet curls on his pubic bone meeting your clit. All you can think about is him; his fingers digging into your thighs, your name in his mouth, his sweltering body pressing against yours. The smell of sex starts early, sweaty skin melting together as he fully starts to take you.

He’s holding back, you can tell by the way his voice is caught in his throat. He’s keeping all his dangerous muscles, wicked instincts, at bay as he pulls out and presses in again. Rough, fast, but not enough to break you, just make you scream until you bury your face to the side and try to cover your mouth with your arm.

“Atta girl,” he mumbles, moving a bit quicker, snapping his strong hips against you, heavy balls against your ass, “just fucking take it.”

You’re practically folded in half and pinned below him, hips arched off the desk so he can find more leverage to barrel into you. The rhythm makes you swim, lost to the pounding of his cock against your insides. Over and over, in and out, spread wide and squeezing all the same as he has his way with you.

You get lost in the feeling of him in your belly, searing and harsh, fat tip rolling against the spongy spot inside of you until you feel like you might snap. You feel him in your ears, your head pounding with every snap of his hips. You feel him in your toes, lightning zaps of pleasure down your nerves.

“Feel so good, so full,” you know the praise works both ways, makes him flush and swell with pride.

“Yeah? You like being my little cocksleeve?”

You cry out for him because you can’t help it, delight bubbling in your throat every time he plunges in deep. He keeps his pace for a bit, all rushed and blazing, transfixed on watching you suck him in, leaving cream along his shaft. But quickly he gets rougher, more desperate, big hands squeezing from your thighs to your hips.

“C’mere,” but you don’t have to move, just let him pull on you like you weigh nothing.

Enji jerks you upright, cock still seated into your core. Smoothly he stands with you, hands gripping into your ass cheeks as you fling yourself against his chest, trying to get your arms around his massive shoulders.

“I’ve got you.”

He bounces you once, twice, lets you whine into his neck and get used to the new angle. Gravity and his strength make you take all of him in, his cockhead bullying against your womb in the most pleasant way that makes your vision go blurry.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” it’s all you can do to stay sane as he becomes brutal, grunting and groaning as he thrusts up into you. Your nails sling to his dewy skin, losing purchase with every rebound. Pink lines etch into him, blending into freckles on his shoulders.

Your legs burn from being spread around his thick waist, any attempt for you to lock them around his back is useless due to his size. You go pliant in his arms, mouth sucking into his neck to smother your moans. Every hasty drive of his hips has the ridge of his cock sliding against the spongy spread of your walls, making you feel more stuffed every time you sink back down. With every sudden movement you feel the entirety of his fat cock; the veins are throbbing, skin heated and silken within you. And he feels you, smells you, aches for you.

“Never gonna get tired of this,” he roars with a bit of laughter, head rolling back as he lets pleasure take over.

“You’re fucking amazing.” And you mean it, awe overwhelming you as you fall against his chest, dwarfed by his brawn. Enji continues to lift you up and down, up and down, on his cock like you’re weightless. And you are to his strength, his muscles are bulging and corded expertly around his body. He’s trained himself to perfection; trained to be the best at everything.

Your hands move to his arms, nails sinking into the hard muscles of his triceps as you cling on for dear life.

He nudges your forehead with his nose, coaxing you to look at him so he can bounce you up a bit higher and capture your mouth with his.

“Can I,” he groans into your lips, “can I cum in you?”

His words make your belly coil, a fissure of revelry racing up your spine.

“Please, yes, fuck yes, cum in me.”

You don’t have it in you to explain your birth control, nor does he seem to care for you to. Your confirmation just spurs him to move faster, balls slapping against your ass so roughly you know you’ll be sore just from skin against skin.

“You first.”

Without breaking rhythm, he takes a step back and sits down in his office chair. You coo as you sit in his lap, his hands still planted on your thighs so he can move you however he pleases. He’s strong enough to bounce you with his hips, his thighs, one hand steadying you as the other dips between your bodies.

His thumb is merciless against your clit. You’re vulnerable to his touch, clit spread and on display from the stretch of his thick cock inside of you.

“Fuck, fuck, g-gonna cum, Enji,” you take a deep breath, throwing your head back as you buck and bound in his lap, “gonna scream, shit.”

Enji takes matters into his own hands, literally, continuing to strum your sensitive clit as his other hand clasps onto your mouth. It’s a suffocating feeling, a possessive one, like he’s smothering all your cries so no one else can hear but him.

With the safety of his hand over your lips, thumb arched against your cheekbone, pressing, prodding, you let yourself go.

You cum so hard that the world stops, your ears ring, your body goes limp. Enji’s hips don’t falter, just continue to slam up into you as he chases his own high. You suck around him, pulsing, feeling every inch of him. You’ve never cum around such a fat cock and it just prolongs your pleasure, like his penetration keeps you from squeezing your pleasure out right away. It’s mindless ecstasy, spit against his palm and nails raking down his chest.

“God you’re fucking pretty when you cum,” and his praise only makes it worse, makes your eyes wring until there’s tears down your cheeks and stars behind your eyelids.

And just when you think you’re done, that you’ll find a reprieve to the shattering, over-sensitive pleasure, he cums inside of you.

He stops to ride out his orgasm, cock throbbing, pulsing, spurting inside you until you feel fuller than you’ve ever felt. Stuffed so tightly with his cock, his cum gushes from where your cunt grips around him, messy and hot and spilling over your thighs and his. The sound he makes is breathless, all open-mouth and head lolled back as he purrs, satiated to find release in your cunt.

You can’t help but mumble nonsense against his hands, blissed-out praise of how good he feels, how you love feeling his cum. After a few heartbeats, his hand slips from your face, instead reaching back to run through his hair, catching the sweat beating down his forehead.

“Oh my god,” reality sets in as you lean forward, burying your face into his neck, drunk off the afterglow of sex, but aware enough that the smell of him reminds you that you just fucked your boss on a Monday morning.

“You alright?”

He pets your hair, palm burning down your back as you both come back down from whatever orgasmic plane you were shot into.

“Yeah, just,” you groan as you shift in his lap, his cock still hard and buried so deep in your cunt that you know you’ll feel his ghost for days, “just coming to terms with this.”

Enji laughs, deep and proud, and the rumbles of his chest make you jump.

“Thought I broke you for a moment there. Sorry, sometimes I forget myself. My strength, really.”

Clearly, your heads are not in the same place. He’s worried about your body while you’re worried about repercussions.

“No, you were—this was great, seriously, fucking you is…wild.” You shift in his lap, audibly moaning as you sit up straight, still stuffed full of him. “But you’re not going to fire me, are you?”

He laughs again, looking down at you in his lap with glee in his icy eyes. Running his hands down your shoulders, he hums, smiling.

“Fire you? No, no. Might promote you, though. Make sure you do more important things than just schedule my media appearances.”

He’s being playful, just as love-drunk as you are from sex, and his smile makes you warm, like he’s washing away all your fears.

You kiss him because you feel like you can, like you have the authority to just lean up and take what you want from him. He groans into your mouth, lips matching the movements of yours. It’s nice to kiss him, to take your time and feel him against you; breasts to chest, arms weaving around one another, necks turning and thighs clenching.

“Yeah,” he presses one last kiss to your lips before stretching his arms over his head, “I’m going to keep you, that’s for sure.”

#endeavor smut #enji todoroki smut #endeavor x reader #Enji Todoroki x reader #enji x reader #enji smut #enji todoroki #endeavor #my hero academia fanfic #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #endeavor fanfic #enji todoroki fanfic #bnha enji #bnha endeavor #bnha endeavor fanfic #bnha enji todoroki fanfic #bnha

5K notes · View notes

shotorozu · 1 year

Note

HEYYYY i really wanna see a shoto x reader with the HMM HOW DO I SAY THIS the started dating them to see if he could make them fall in love with him/ started dating them as a challenge but ended up falling for them trope WITH A HAPPY ENDING please help 🙏🙏🙏🙏

just a bet

ft. todoroki shouto (bnha)

use of Y/N and L/N, gender neutral reader, quirk’s not specific

bullet form -> full fledged fanfic (basically it’s written in a bullet form but it turns into your standard fanfic format with paragraphs and such)

fluff, angst with happy ending (shouto misinterprets things said)

note(s): i forgor my format so i made a new one 💀 btw i don’t really see shouto dating someone as a bet, but i can’t see any other way to write this request— so i made my own spin and interpretation on it 😁 anaïs from the future here, and i may or may not have gone overboard 😭

»»————-　♡　————-««

todoroki shouto

as mentioned in the notes section, i don’t see shouto as someone that’d date someone as a challenge— to see if they’d fall in love with him and such, or as a bet.

shouto’s not really invested in his love life when it comes to when he’ll find someone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t take it seriously.

he saw the domino effect his parents’ failed romance had on his family, and refuses to be in an imbalanced relationship— let alone date someone he isn’t dead set on.

so with that being said, a misinterpretation of words is what triggered the current set of events.

kaminari had noticed that the way shouto looked at you couldn’t be friendly, platonic yearning. whether or not shouto thought he was being obvious of not, or if he even realized it— he definitely had feelings for you.

and it was starting to become excruciating to watch for kaminari— to witness a cool, popular and attractive guy, not date this equally cool, popular, and attractive person he likes.

so then, that’s when it started.

scenario (pt. 1)

hook—

“i bet ¥1,200 that you can’t date L/N, todoroki!”

shouto stops in place, giving kaminari a side eye. “i don’t need ¥1,200. i have more than enough in my pocket money.”

line—

kaminari lets out a sigh, forgetting that todoroki’s pockets hurt. but he doesn’t falter one bit. “i meant that, i bet you can’t confess to them, ‘s all. the money was just a bonus.”

and that’s what really catches his attention. “confess to them about what?” he inquires genuinely, like he was trying to recall if he needed to tell you something regarding this.

kaminari’s eyes dart around, like anyone would be around to witness the absurdly. “that you like them? what else??”

shouto thinks for a moment, and it looks as if he’s trying to recall things from a different perspective. “… have i not been clear?”

“to me, yes. to them.. probably? maybe? most likely no.” kaminari says exasperated, hand now coming up to pat his shoulder. shouto feels stiff as a board under the brief contact. “you’re a popular dude, if they realized then you two would’ve been dating for months now!”

“i don’t think confessing right now is necessary. i believe i’m fine with just staying near them. our friendship.. is quite satisfactory.”

—and sinker.

“so you don’t have any courage to confess? does that mean you’ll just let someone else snatch them up?” after the words left his mouth, shouto makes a significantly obvious pause.

kaminari thinks to himself loudly, “hmm.. i wonder who will it be?” he questions, rhetorically. “should i do it? should class 1-B’s ever so cocky monoma do it? they seem to get along swimmingly. or maaaybe—”

“that won’t be a concern.” shouto coldly cuts in. “because i’ll do it.”

kaminari holds back his smile, instead— replacing it with a shocked expression (which isn’t really fabricated becaus he didn’t think he’d actually fold) “really? woah, i didn’t think that’d change your mind so quick.”

“but then wait, what do i get if you lose?”

“hm, what do you get when i lose..” shouto mimics the question— although its not said as one.

“yeah, we are betting on this, right?”

shouto shakes his head. “then it would be an unfair bet.”

“because i’ve planned on confessing and dating them regardless. i will win.”

and he did in fact go on and win the “bet” by a landslide (if you’d even call it one 😭)

he confessed his feelings— pulling you aside one afternoon after class, heart practically hammering in his chest, and stomach fluttering with butterflies.

and you accepted— which made all the anxiety worth it.

he was the ideal boyfriend. not just because he was tall, equipped with stunning and harmonious facial features with equally stunning manners, but it was also because he was just so good to you, and he allowed you to be so good to him too.

he did things he didn’t even have to do, and it all feels comfortably new even months into the relationship— which made you realize that as unbelievable as it sounds, you’re really dating your crush, todoroki shouto.

you felt so sure of yourself when you’re around him.

and that’s why you reacted so harshly when everything that was built up for months seemingly got demolished in minutes.

the two of you were getting warm drinks, when mineta appeared just a few feet away. “you two make me realize that the train tracks look good to lay down on.” he mumbles bitterly.

you laugh, stirring your drink “really now?” kaminari appears shortly after, agreeing. although he doesn’t look as bitter as your shorter classmate.

mineta perks up at that. “yeep. which makes me wonder.. how long are you going to do this for, todoroki? kaminari already lost, y’know?”

todoroki’s eyes widen at the question, “i don’t.. what?”

kaminari turns his head in mineta’s direction, like he said something of great offense, and was about to say more. “mineta, just don’t man.”

“no no, but i’m like, just super curious y’know?” mineta continues, “like, wasn’t it just a bet for you? how did you two get this far?! this is unfair! i didn’t know it would be that easy to get in a relationship!” your grape haired classmate whines, unable to read the sudden atmosphere change.

kaminari gulps, as you set your mug down.

“what does he mean.” you turn to your dual haired boyfriend, you try to steady your breathing to sound nonchalant, but the slight crack in your voice at the start of your sentence betrays you.

shouto opens his mouth, but it just confirmed it for you when he was a second too late to answer.

“you see—” kaminari scrambles to give an excuse, “it was proposed as a bet, but it wasn’t actually a bet, so technically—”

“that sounds like a bet, dude.”

“mineta—”

“it’s not as it sounds. it wasn’t a bet.” shouto answers, “though.. the circumstances should’ve been different.” he admits regretfully, heterochromatic eyes drifting from your face to your feet, noticing how you shift away from him.

and his body runs cold like a quirk malfunction when you grab your mug— fingertips against the now cool porcelain “i.. i just.. no, nevermind, it’s alright. i’m gonna go now, so..”

you know your face and voice will betray you if you stay longer, so you leave.

and shouto stands there, wondering if he should give you space and watch your figure disappear into the dark hallway, or run after you.

he chooses the later.

scenario (pt. 2)

you heave when you finally reach your room, fingers gripping your mug so hard it might just break. your vision’s starting to blur with tears of all the things you’ve been feeling these last few minutes, which is causing you to drop your dorm room’s key and miss the keyhole several times.

when you get the key in, you turn the lock and almost crumble right in when you feel a warm hand placed on your shoulder. you try not to focus on how it’s grip is firm enough to keep you in place, and blazing with familiarity.

he says your name with desperation, and you open your door more and step into your room to create space— the framing of your doorway practically being an invisible barrier.

“no, just no, i can’t,” you say, feeling pathetic when your face started to become wet with tears. you’re still unbelieving that he’d even do this, but the fact that these few months happened under not so standard circumstances was…

“i thought this was— this was something that’d happen out of those stupid teen movies we’d watch, i thought you’d never— i thought—” you hiccup, bringing a hand up to wipe your face with a hand.

he doesn’t say anything, and just breaks the barrier by stepping in and closing the door, setting your mug down on your desk. he then closes even more distance— the space between his brows creasing as he frowns, looking just as upset as you definitely look.

“when did it start? was it before we became close? was it before you asked me out? who else knew? was it all real—”

“it is real!” his voice booms with volume, clearly panicked that the idea of you thinking that his feelings weren’t real was present.

he settles his hands on your shoulders, an attempt to gather your full attention “it’s.. it’s real. if there’s one thing i’d ask you to trust in right now, it’s this. there’s some things i’d like to clarify.”

“please explain,” you practically plead, “i don’t know what to do with this information. i also.. don’t want to break up with you.”

“if you must come to that,” though he looks at you like he prays it won’t come to that. “it must be under the condition that you’ve hurt me instead. not because i’ve caused you hurt.” he lets go of you to sit down on his knees and at your feet.

“shouto, stand up—”

“i.. it’s true that i didn’t confess normally.” he starts off, ignoring your request. “i’ve liked you ever since we’ve became close friends. the moment i realized it, i assumed i was being obvious about my feelings, but kaminari betted that i wouldn’t have the courage to confess and.. someone would get to you first. i took that as a threat.”

you almost laugh at the idea of a jealous shouto, but you don’t— instead, letting out a strangled cough instead. “but i did not date you just because of a bet. i was challenged, but it was never a bet. it wasn’t a bet because there was no chance i’d never confess.”

you sniffle, bending down to be at his level. he reaches up to wipe his thumbs under your eyes— thumbs grazing at your cheekbones. “did you get anything in return? for winning?”

“i got you. that was all i needed.”

“i see..” you lean closer like you were going to whisper him a secret. but instead, you finally touch shouto by circling your arm around him— one arm wrapped around him, and the other flew to entangle your fingers in contrasting locks of hair.

“my drink became cold.” you mumble, rubbing his back when you feel him shake just as you did earlier.

he wraps strong arms around you, returning the affection.

“i’ll warm it up for you.”

959 notes · View notes

ms0milk · 7 months

Text

𝟏𝟐 | 𝐏𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there."

cw brief description of drowning and a claustrophobic struggle with the ocean. suggestions of suicidal intention and self harm. reader tries to fight the sea and your prince has horrible misunderstandings about it. bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics pt 2, borrowed clothes, a fevered fireside confession in the bedroom you’ve been searching for 6.4k

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If Takoba is the edge of the world, Aldera is the center. You so starved for comfort, stand with your feet at the tip of the surf and tie your braids together.

You watch the sea at midnight and the winds coming off the water bite your scars before they chill your bones. Autumn at the edge of the world is miserable. Lakes freeze but the ocean is colder, and full of tides , like Todoroki said, which you’ve spent the day reading about. Unlike lakes and winter ice skating, the ocean has a taste. Salt and decay. It tastes unfathomably ancient. You watch its many maws foaming under the moonlight and seashells burn in frigid water when you step onto them.

In the view from Bakugou’s bedroom, you’ve lined your boots up neatly in the sand and stand watch beside them for a moment. You’re dressed to stop a midnight siege, in your white nightgown and padded habergeon, staring so small and far away from the warmth of his fireplace. You in a dark blue world, framed by his open window. Bakugou would have sipped his tea and rolled his eyes at his newly fucked up sleep schedule and how ridiculous you insist on looking in public if his cup wasn’t spilt on the rugs where he dropped it. If he hadn’t already ripped his door off its hinges in his sprint out of the castle.

You couldn’t sleep. You have no appetite and no mobility yet for sparring. Just books. Just Uraraka answering your questions about the sea while watching her men train. The ride with Todoroki yesterday was nice but it left your throat stiff and you are still in your kingdom’s service. Today in Takoba, tomorrow and forever behind your prince. Long before the blue gardens and scars, before the kitchen, before sticky crowds and white horses and cold hallways, something somewhere started to die.

You take another step into the swollen water, it rises with the moon, to confirm your suspicions and grimace when a crab scuttles over your foot. Another step and you’re up to your hem. It would all be easier if your heart was still a forest fire. When did that stop? When did the rain come? Up to your knees now. Seawater climbs your nightgown.

As it stands you’re no longer a dragon, just damp tinder. The black sea sways you side to side at the hips now so gently– keep walking, don’t look back. You will free yourself from doubt and you will fight a god to do it.

“Moon makes tides,” Uraraka yawned and slouched and stretched as you sat on your knees beside her in the pit.

“Can you swim in it?”

“In the ocean?” she squinted, “Yeah of course. But don’t tell me you want to swim in this weather?”

“I won’t.”

Shinsou could only pretend not to hear for so long from his spot beside you both this afternoon, “The moon makes tides, and tides make storms.”

Good. Up to your ribs now. Wear the rock there like an anchor.

In the cold water your body heat becomes that much more apparent and it’s lovely like home. Genuinely hot for a second. Your nightgown floats up around you and you sink quickly from chest to nose when the sand under your feet drops to freezing nothing. The sudden dip sends icy pain behind both eyes and the sensation of failing steeles every joint sickly sore. Walking through the ocean is like a fight, like driving a sword through someone solid, like braving a thunderstorm, but sinking into it is easier than sleeping.

You gasp and spit out the aftermath of losing your footing but you also fight too hard in anticipation of sinking and you’re suddenly in the open air up to your waist like a salmon leaping upstream. The weight of the nightgown settles you back down to your shoulders and it’s silent except for the sound of waves kissing the beach and one another. Whistling wind. You bob only some ten meters out from shore, just short of where Todoroki held you back for fear of drowning and something wild like greed blinks open a sleepy brown eye.

You hardly have to move a limb to keep your head above water; the sea is free and gentle. You float easily here, where a lake wants to watch you fight. It’s part of the fun at home and in exchange you are safe in freshwater. Salt stings– saliva pools under your tongue to keep it from getting inside– but it also holds you up in the foam like two hands under the hip.

Is this what you were so afraid of? This is the god you planned on killing tonight?

Every day in this miserable place you have been beaten. You have fallen apart in some way, your hair is too messy, your new clothes don’t fit right. You lose Aldera with every step, heel toe– earrings that are no longer yours, heel toe– a weapon you can't return, heel toe and stand at attention– a brooch you’re too afraid to wear, to lose too, so you keep it under your pillow and wear silver seashells instead. Blue fire took the first victory in the forest and you salvaged your prince with your life thin in your teeth. Takoba took the second victory and strung you out in your nightgown for nobles to pick at like crows. A driftwood table took the third and Bakugou stole the fourth. The only time you have ever won here is when you decided to die. When you churn the water with your arms a pain echoes across your back not quite inside your scars.

Kirishima on the verge of tears, Shinsou above your operating table, Uraraka at your side, Todoroki holding you back from the edge of the world– your prince, wet to his knees– you have never, not once in your life have you ever failed. Their gazes make your throat hurt and you spit again into a tiny rolling wave that lifts itself over your chin and into your ears.

The goddess of the sea does not pity you.

She pulls you into her arms and laughs when you rub your freshwater eyes. She tossels your hair with silent waves you could never have seen coming. She reminds you of her strength. And Todoroki told you that you couldn’t possibly challenge her– eat your words sealace prince. Even just this once, witness me. You are a gem in the crown of Aldera, the left hand of the golden family. Takoba is no setback the sea is not your master, you are a chosen servant, not a mistake. It is so wonderful to be in the presence of a queen again and at night her water is soft and black.

The shore is farther than you remember when you finally glance back at the world. You bob like a peach, a frozen peach, and realize you can’t feel the cold anymore. Time to head back. Today was just a test anyway, to make sure you could put up your fight. Maybe sleep will come now that you’re starting to breathe heavy and now that your muscles ache again after days without real training. Ice creeps up the back of your neck from wet hair.

The goddess of the sea plays with you for a few more seconds and you can’t wait to come back in the warmth of the sun to lay on your back with her to whom you no longer need to prove yourself. The ocean pulls in its depths just as much as it pushes at the shore so you brace your eyes for discomfort and duck under the surface to kick a good length forward. It would have worked in a lake, at the center of the world.

When you resurface you are somehow farther than before and considerably shorter of breath. The cold starts to press on your lungs now that you’re truly using them. It’s okay, one more time. You kick once to let the goddess lift you up with her salt and breathe in the free air before diving under again but all you actually do is stir bubbles around you exactly where you started. If anything even farther. Your boots are too small to see now.

There are no storms, no raging waves, no rain, no thunder, hardly wind, what is putting up the fight? Whatever. You paddle above water, thankful for light clothes, and weary of the growing ache under your jaw– the start of a pulsing headache. More than anything you are finally excited for bed, but no matter how hard you push there seems to be a growing distance between you and safety.

Dread drops in your peachpit stomach and you start to feel long pretty fingers tickle your heels in black water. The ghost of the flame mage happy to drag you with him to the bottom of the sea. Irrational like a fear of the dark, but still there’s no more time for testing pride, you have to get back to shore. The little girl inside of you cowers when you take one more heavy breath and then release it to sink yourself as deep as the salt will let you. You can see the breaking point, all you need is to reach the seafloor and kick yourself to it.

As you drift down into the pitch black something so much better than sand or ghosts meets your feet. You connect with rock as your lungs begin to ache for air and kick with every well trained muscle your legs have, forward towards the shore. Faster than freshwater, you rocket to the surface and gasp excitedly, blink rapidly, and infinitely closer to white sand, and then immediately the goddess pulls you under again.

Sure you found the breaking point, sure your toes tease the start of the shore you want to reach so badly, but that’s what waves do here. Break.

Something so silent couldn’t possibly be this powerful, but your head is forced back under as your hips are pulled back out and you tumble head over knees, mouth filled suddenly with salt and sand in the darkness. Resurfacing is no fun task, choking. You’re thankful it’s easy to float in the ocean but saltwater dries out your mouth as you retch it back out from your throat into the foam and then there’s another break over your head to remind you that humans should stay far away from god.

You’ll die just thirty meters from the shore. Salt blinds you. Water deep in one ear keeps you just dizzy enough to let this sea carry you out once again, and shouting isn’t an option. Shouting or gasping, you have to pick one. Ache has turned to paralysis; muscles so beaten and a heart beating so fast you’re already at the last limit reached by your master, training to failure. Striking and swinging until you can no longer hold your weapon. Hours of training reduced to fifteen minutes at sea.

The bruises of your shoulder protest every paddle you force out of them and go much stiffer much faster than the rest of you. In a way, the mage is drowning you. In every way the sea is much more claustrophobic than a war room.

The moon watches you heaving for air stuck between beating waves and being swept back out to sea. She doesn’t do anything. You are pulled under again. The rocks beneath you scratch your soft skin this time and your instinct is to flinch which fills your nose with water and drowning is certainly not as peaceful as poetry makes it out to be.

Of course it ends like this. A soggy creature fighting gods alone.

Of course he’s watching you, his Captain, being stolen by the sea.

You surface forcefully with a grip on your scruff and while your body remembers how to breathe, magic every furious color of the rainbow arcs above your head. The water recoils for a moment around you in the force of his impact. Bakugou erupts from the sky as he always does into the tragedy of your life in Takoba and you have no control over your searing gaze when it turns to him above you, framed by sparks and stars. Halo from the moon.

You both fall back into the water but not so helplessly as a moment ago. Your prince hooks and arm across your chest, pressing your back to his front and with so much more strength than you could ever muster, rips his way through the water in half of a backstroke. Half of him focused on keeping you afloat and only half of him conquering the sea. His legs create their own current. He holds you and you’re sure you’re breathing loudly enough into his collar to hurt his ears.

You are an excellent swimmer. Weak children, drunk diplomats, tests from your master; you have dragged your fair share of victims out of rivers and as the victim yourself you know better than to struggle or panic in your prince’s grip as he drags you from the goddess, but you can’t help how your fingers scratch at his translucent tunic. Cling to the warmth of his bicep.

In twenty seconds he has reached the break. Strength like a war criminal, like a godslayer. He turns in the water, times it to match the swell of a wave for height, and pulls you chest to chest with a guiding hand on the side of your head to fold you into him. The sea drops you and you know what comes next. Bakugou anticipates your struggle, or a drowned man’s panic, any logical thing and wraps another arm around you tight as he pulls you both under, but you don’t fight a single second and neither do you breathe.

He knows the sea so much better. If you weren’t unraveling like a common soldier you would have realized too, just how much calmer the water is underneath its surface. Even with ears full of sand you can hear the wave crash above you but there is no pull underwater. The roll of the goddess back out to sea twirls through your hair but nothing else. She lets your prince push up to the surface and doesn’t stop you from catching your breath inside the crook of his neck. Eleven seconds to beat the break. What does he even need a captain for?

This time when the tide drops, you don’t quite drop with it. Knees in the sand. Back on solid ground you realize how hard a body can shake and then water is beating you down again from behind, and a warm hand has you by the back of the haubergeon to keep you from slipping out to sea or laying flat down to sleep in the surf.

Both hardly walking, and you more-than-half carried, you and your prince stagger over seashells like glass back to the spot where your boots rest like nothing bad has ever happened at all, chased the whole time by a disappointed tide. You collapse the second he lets you. You, useless with cold and vomiting seafoam.

“Why?!” Your prince chokes, similarly out of breath beside you, hunched over his knees from the effort of winning your war. You can feel the glare. You are warmed by it and then entirely numb again, in a terrible turn of events, to even his attention. The very last ember dies without smoke.

Bakugou, even in a temper tantrum, has never looked quite so disheveled. He’s been wet before, and pushed his hair back with big hands and caught his breath through his teeth just like this, but he’s never looked at you with such confusion. His eyebrows don’t sit right. Without a scowl his whole thing really falls apart, huh?

“Answer me, Eyes!”

You wheeze instead of speaking when you try to use your voice for the first time and spit out the last of the salt that comes up with it. He doesn’t move, catching his breath across the sand at midnight. Your prince really is so pretty and something inside is eating you alive to the beat of the wash of waves. He is a star and you are the bloody little creature beneath him always, not chosen at all.

You sit yourself up. Bakugou is beautiful. Broad chest and shoulders trained for his magic and a wet tunic that clings to every lovely shape, just a few feet too far away to touch. Unmarred face and shaggy hair. His eyes. His jaw slopes sharp, sharper still in the moonlight and dripping with water, up towards his hungry red eyes that eat everything they’ve e–

“Wake up!” He barks.

He’s not eating you. He brings back your focus and when you hold his stare this time it’s so obvious he’s not confused, or angry, not exhausted or embarrassed or exasperated. He’s six and he’s holding your hands in a velvet carriage, terrified.

Oh boy. You guess self-control died with your heart, because your shoulders start to shake in a chuckle. Bakugou stares. Any fold of his brows melts immediately at the sound of your soft laughter but he hardens again when he speaks.

“What about this is funny?!” and pulls himself up to his knees as you lower yourself to clamshells, not-quite-laughing but not fighting the smile either. This is exhausting. “You just tried to kill yourself!”

This makes you snort, which is ugly, and shuts your prince up entirely. One laugh like a lie and then another and you curl in on yourself, shivering arms folded above your head and forehead pressed flat to the sand. Something like an apology. You are redundant, not suicidal.

If it were a real apology you would wait until he spoke again to raise your head like Todoroki in the stables, but that’s not what you’re doing at all. You ache from the inside. Burn in fact. You chuckle again and spit salt one last time when you sit up, then grab for your shoes with muscle memory instead of feeling since the cold has stolen that from you too. Bakugou is staring again– it is irritating, you should do it less.

The ocean makes a lovely noise when you are not drowning in it. It’s much quieter and sounds a bit like laundry sliding over itself. Or apples tumbling into a basket. You are the first to your feet, clumsily, and you are not so delirious that you forget you need proximity to a fire. Anyone else might not be able to stand through this adrenaline trembling but how many apprentices have come so close to death so many times as you?

“Oi,” Bakugou growls, confused again by the wrong emotion for just long enough to let you escape.

The hill between the castle and the sea is overgrown with dune grasses tall enough to tickle your hips and that is what you decide to climb. Empty stomach, ruined shoulder, shaking legs, deep dead eyes.

Your clothes cling to you. They make you small. He can hardly breathe in the cold as he rushes to catch up, dripping what he's sure are icicles, and you look as if you could hardly stay conscious in it. Does your face feel as red as it looks? Friction or fever? “Captain!” And it’s obvious Bakugou can’t decide on his volume, but bulldozes after you nonetheless husky with exertion, “fuckin wait–”

There are sandy paths beaten into this seaside hill, small like children made them on their happy little way to swim. Bakugou makes quick work of it. You hike. You put all your effort into staying on two feet through a chill you could hardly ever imagine. Heat pounds in your temples, cruelly imitating Alderan fire when really it’s something poisoned like liquor.

“Please don’t follow me sir,” you call over the wind when the prince gets a few steps too close to catching up and he makes a sound almost like words, like words you shot dead in his throat. You know that sound because you have been shot at the same exact angle. Deadly isn’t it? He falls back.

Just for a moment Bakugou stops and watches, filled with something neither of you have the words for yet. Recovering just as quickly as you are succumbing to exhaustion.

Wait, he stares. Just– “Y/n.”

Wrapped in white, you are framed by rolling seagrass in the moonlight. You finally stop climbing and turn. You like a half-drowned painting. In a furred cape you might be a queen. From your spot smiling sadly at the edge of the world, your nose has started to bleed.

“Give me an order.”

Six and shaking in his hands. Eleven soaked in a fruit filled hallway, always working and fond of libraries. Sense of humor that doubles over his queen. Often covered in blood, staring too earnestly right now for him to remember that anger might fix this. Bakugou doesn’t breathe.

You turn back towards the castle alone and for the very last time, your body keeps the tears at bay. On a hill of swaying green grass and bright in the moonlight, your prince, frozen, looks so much like his mother you should kill him for it.

You always thought you were hiding from him on duty, only slightly more stealthy than a dragon. It got better when Jeanist stopped training you in chainmail, but your excitement at every small job bounced off the walls of his castle so obviously. Squirrel duty? You helped a hundred bastards back outside without pause. Sent up to swept bookshelves under the Great Oak and you're the only person he’s ever seen hum to themself so high in the air. Stable duty? Stable master more like. Seven and stacking stools to reach the saddles before Jeanist set you back on the ground by your scruff like his kitten. Bakugou can’t remember what went first, your heartbeat or his hearing.

The very first time you snuck up on him was in August under a plum tree, nine years old. He slept beside his book in the shade on a perfect day, perfectly alone and free of tutoring for the afternoon. Maybe because you were barefoot, but somehow even out of breath, the only thing that gave you away was your voice.

“Careful Highness.” He shot awake with that and figured for a moment that you were a dream while his eyes adjusted to the light through the leaves behind you– panting above him and holding tight to a plum. Like premonition your other hand lurched to catch another as it fell toward him, “they’re ready for harvest.”

Bakugou sat up. Off at an impossible distance for you to have run to catch plums, Jeanist stood beside a hanging line of red uniforms waving a beckoning hand.

“Laundry calls,” you whispered. As the little prince turned stupidly back to you above him, you set both plums on the grass beside his book and bowed.

Wait.

“Maybe a nap in the vineyard? Grapes won't bruise.”

Wait, I know you.

He watched you bow one last time and jog out of the shade back to Jeanist and Alderan laundry, just as he watches you stumble now in the dark, towards the faraway lights of a castle without the fire you need.

Wait!

“Y/n!” Bakugou bursts over the ridge and back onto marble pavement, what the fuck is he gonna do– your name won’t work twice, he’s wasted too much time. “Captain!”

You pay him no mind drifting away with your back still turned and with even less coordination than when you dragged yourself from the sea. You are deteriorating– fuck, fuck it. Bakugou, brimming with something to the left of anger, charges. If you hear him coming you do nothing to stop him. Not as he closes your distance with eight good strides and slings you over his shoulder.

"I–!" you jerk to strike instinctively, “Put me down!”

Good, you can shout. He still has time, you’re still alive. He’ll apologize for touching you later, for hesitating and staring, he will say everything he set aside in anger when you are not trying to kill yourself.

“Put me down,” you hiss like you know you’re one of three people that can make his skin prickle with threat.

“Not a chance.”

You grip the back of his tunic, clinging so wet to his body that you grab equal parts flesh and he turns away from your path to the glowing front gates all those hundreds of meters away, to kick in a door on an insignificant corner of an insignificant annex in the shadows of the castle that is only unlocked because it’s the same one he flew from, instead of his window, when he was trying not to startle you with his magic and into the sea.

You will spend summers in rainstorms and autumns in his orchards because you are Alderan and he will kill Takoban gods to get you there. Your nails on his back begin to burn with your silence and it’s haunting not only because you weigh less to him than a phantom, but because the smell of the sea follows you inside when there is no one else left to close the door. Immediately it is warmer without the wind but he will not slow until he finds fire, because you are gripping him instead of screaming again– because you are freezing to death and he will not let you win under new circumstances after he worked so hard to save you from the first.

This part of the castle is his, below the kitchens, the deep white underbelly in the cliff over the sea where no one will find him except cooks and staff who keep his secret and the queen who kindly ordered these quarters before she lost her mind. There is no difference of weight or warmth when he sets you down without a fight in front of the only red door in the hall. You aren’t a ghost. Even if you aren’t convincing. He throws the door open.

You would win in a contest but Bakugou too can make a steady fire. It’s still chirping bright in his fireplace when he crowds you inside of his quarters. Wood and furs. The smell of bread, everything so unlike Takoba. Small. Hard surfaces cushioned or covered in anticipation of winter, with red and gold and wool, forest tapestries from home– and it is a small victory that you take another step, then another, deeper inside without hint or suggestion.

“where are we?”

“You need to change,” Bakugou dismisses when you’re far enough inside to close the door, and pulls open a cherry chest of drawers at the foot of his bed. It’s draped in pelts and pillows. Faded herbs hang in bundles above you.

“have clothes in my room.”

“Didn’t ask.” When he looks over his shoulder, you are wobbling towards the fire like a starving woman, with two hands reaching subtly from your side. Good, shut up and warm up. Bakugou rifles through his options one more time and grimaces, raising his own black Alderan riding tunic aloft; it’s the only thing that’s going to be long enough to cover all of you.

He’ll sort out this shitshow step by step– dry you off, shout scream scold, get you warm, shout some more– a good Alderan lecture, and then tie you to him if he must since you obviously can’t be trusted alone. Walking into the sea when you thought everyone was sleeping. And for what? He grinds his teeth and grips the sids of his dresser with the realization that he’s probably not going to sleep again tonight. He’d kill you if that wasn’t what you so obviously wanted.

“Alright asshole, get ch–” Bakugou chokes when he turns back to you, sitting politely fireside with a dagger materialized in your good hand, blade pressed flat to your collar. He jumps, black tunic flying and shouts indiscernibly in a lunge for the weapon.

Not fast enough because by the time he makes one step, you’ve driven the blade down your chest and clear through your shirt. It falls open and your bare ribs seize in goosebumps this close to the fire, “told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Drop it!” He wails, as if to a dog.

Oh how you will haunt him until the end of time. A month with you, just some soldier from his castle– a prodigal apprentice in a kingdom of geniuses– an impersonable, silent, invisible guard, who should cause harm only when necessary and appear only in danger– a woman who does this job to a tee, and still somehow steals his attention to any corner of the room she conceals herself in– just a month and you have beguiled him. Reaping grim satisfaction from watching you wreak havoc in this place he loathes.

You sit in front of his fire in his secret room, half bare now that you’ve decided to cut your clothes off of yourself, and entirely bare when you run the lip of the dagger across your shoulder to catch the fabric and then rough straight down the other side. You are pink from heat and staring through him entirely unfocused, all chaotic braids and parted lips. There’s a dry track of blood smeared under your nose and he shudders to think what part of his back it was wiped on while he was carrying you away. The fingertips of your scar peek into free air. Bakugou can’t spin around fast enough, howling in anger.

You sound like you’re smiling again mournfully like last time, “following orders, sir.”

“Don’t call me that!” He roars and shoves the black tunic behind his back towards you. This room is small, maybe five paces wide, and so he sits as far as he can from you on the floor beside his bed, still within arms reach. Back turned.

What the fuck is so funny? This isn’t a headache this is sustained torture. Bakugou’s own wet clothes cling to him in dry patches of salt and stick and grit that he’s desperate to bathe away just as soon as you are tethered to another magician. In another kingdom. You breathe heavily behind him in a mismatch between effort and task and then a sopping thud reminds Bakugou that you are stripping to nothing behind him and piling your rags onto his fine rugs.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”

“you’ll be free of me in a moment.”

And it dawns on him, seasick irony, that there isn’t a person alive in this kingdom but him who could stop you from doing a single thing.

“If you think I’m letting you out of my sight you’re concussed.”

You pause your fiddling behind him for a second before resuming and you’re close enough that he can still hear your less than methodic pulling and ripping. A huff here and there. In the seconds it takes you to speak again your voice is still laced with the amusement that makes his skin crawl, “third time I’ve told you I’m not trying to kill myself.”

“Save it– just hurry up.”

“was just saying a prayer.”

“Save. It. An excuse that fulla holes wouldn’t even work on Kirishima the naif.”

“because nothing gets past the Champion.”

Bakugou erupts, out of unwounded fists to clench, and jerks around with every intention of barking at you. He’s not sure what he pictured before turning and he’s not sure where his voice went, but you are sat beside his fire draped in his black tunic with an expression he can hardly find the words for.

What is it in the way your shoulders hang? Exhaustion? The way your chin tips or your eyes flutter? Hunger? You watch him like you’ll eat him alive, like your life is the least of his concerns. The laces at your collar drape limp over your fingers from where you gave up their tying and so the shirt hangs loose and open, and much much too big. Bakugou has never thought of the shape your sternum makes between your breasts or what color the fine hair on your thighs might be. He knows the answers now because you’ve given up on posture like a selkie out of water and everything so unlike his Captain– because something inside of you is slipping.

“don’t bother the Champion with this,” your voice is still draconian. Even as your body fails, your eyes are still dark and infinite and possessive beside the glow of his fireplace and under a window that looks out over black water, “or Lady Mina, or your Lords. Don’t worry them with me.”

Bakugou mirrors you unconsciously in the way he sits close enough to touch. Why do you say that? You keep saying it, ‘Lady Mina,’ all month the same thing. Sir Sero, like he’s not a soldier in Jeanist’s rear guard. Like Mina and Denki didn’t grow up in the castle with you all to learn magic fifteen years ago.

“They’re not,” he admits because something about you unraveling by the sea sucks the malice like marrow from his bones. Maybe something inside of him is slipping too.

The pair of you slouch on the soft rugs from home and sticky with foreign salt, looking. Your next smile seems to take every ounce of strength, “what?”

“They’re not lords.”

And in a rush, such horror ignites in the eaves of this tiny room like an Alderan dollhouse. It is a grease fire film of oil on water. He is the match. You drop your head to your shoulder and start to laugh like Bakugou isn’t watching the life evaporate from the top of your head and out his window in the heat that pinks your cheeks and blotches your chest. You laugh like you have life to spare, “course they’re not.”

You manage enough coordination to hold the chest of his tunic closed with one hand as you rise, still giggling bitter, nothing like the bells you rang for Todoroki.

“Stop–” Bakugou reaches for you as you walk past him towards the door but stops short of touching even the air.

“dream something sweet Highness, I won’t interrupt again.”

“Oi, wait–” He gathers himself awkwardly barefoot and still dripping seawater, to catch the door before you pull it open. You bow your head and reach for the knob at the same time as he manages to slam his palm and weight against it in case you decide you have enough life left to fight.

“Told you, you’re not leaving my sight.”

Maybe staring isn’t so much a habit as it is a system to keep you from collapsing under the weight of Alderan sun. You who watch the world carefully so that when you attack it is silent and succinct. As long as you’re only looking, just watching carefully, the world will never be in danger of you spilling the secrets obvious only to you, and your kingdom won’t have to acknowledge the war crimes it takes to teach a kid how to kill.

Bakugou looms above you and rests against his door on a forearm. You raise your head like it’s lead to look at him. Your mouth even opens to speak but then something like fire punches to life in the blacks of your eyes.

It’s not a blink this time, it’s a stutter at first– and your face is so flushed that it almost looks like you’re glowing– before something you see feeds the kindling to roaring. For a blessed second you aren’t smiling. You stare so deeply into your prince he can’t look away for long enough to realize that you’re reaching for him.

Why? Why are you leaning closer?

The first heat pools at the hinge of his jaw and then scalding follows. Why are your hands so hot? You pinch his earlobe between thumb and pinky and let your fingers graze over the ridges of ear just so gently that sparks itch where sweat prickles at his neck.

It’s still for a second before chills, agonizing, erupt up his spine, bone by bone as he realizes– as your prince’s face drops and his own hand jumps to reach his ears and what’s no longer there. His right hand grasps at Alderan gold, a tiny sun. His left only cups yours, so much smaller– and the ghost of your earring lost somewhere deep at sea. Six and bleeding in his hands, all grown up and at his mercy.

“I hate you.” You smile in anguish.

You don’t bother pulling your hand from his, only rest your head against the door and let your heavy eyes finally close. Nothing to hold back the freshwater tears now.

Bakugou almost isn’t fast enough in his shock to catch you when you begin to slide down the wall in collapse, “Y– shit– Y/n!” One hand pulls up on your own and the other reaches around your back to try and bring you into him instead of hard against the wooden floor like he’s still a prince and not just a man whose heart won’t stop racing.

“Y/n? Y/n,” he shuffles you in his lap where you landed, and breathes the shapes he hopes make the sound of your name as he searches, distracted. You are limp in his arms and entirely too warm to have been freezing to death a few minutes ago. Lips parted and rolling like you’re trying to speak. Running to safety with you on his shoulder, the seachill must have hidden your fever from him. He cradles your head to check for blood and holds your cheek when his fingers come out dry from your hair, "c'mon, Captain."

“majesty..”

Your heartbreaking laughter still bubbles up in quiet sobs and incoherence murmured through abandoned ego, “..m sorry,” when you manage to see through the tears for a moment before falling unconscious again. Every apology laced always with “mitsuki.” You must have been holding it back. You must have been keeping the fever at bay by sheer force of will because now on the floor against him, your body is so hot it’s making his chest clammy. Sweat has soaked into the nooks of your black tunic and pools in salt licks between your breasts. Fuck Alderan fire.

Your prince gathers your shoulders and chest, your waist hips and exhaustion, into a bundle in his arms and pulls himself up with his doorknob because he will not let you drown, he will not let you freeze, and you will not win by setting yourself on fire. As he rises, blood leaks again from your nose. Tears fall aimlessly against his heart split to six like a pomegranate. When Bakugou is king there will be no child soldiers.

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tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @zombiewarprincess @kotarousproperty @strawberry-mentos69 @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @arayoflia @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @mecuryxmoonstone @onlysarcasm @ilovemushroomss @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @1astr0id1 @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl

#told you ch 12 was steamy #insofar as its hot and wet #can you tell im the eldest daughter?#a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #bakugou fantasy au #bakugo fantasy au

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4acoffee · 2 months

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Prompt: “Am I a hero or the devil’s son? Can’t figure out what side I’m on.”

pairing. todoroki x reader

word count. ~900

genre & warnings. fluff, insecure todoroki, comfort

notes. here have this edited repost of an old drabble i did a while while back... mans so difficult to write for but so gorgeous he's a trap in every sense i swear. only i would suffer stiff shoulders the rest of my life for him anyway <3

The steady hum of the air conditioner running at full speed filled the air and left your skin pleasantly chilled. Your room was dark, long curtains draped over your windows, and the soft plush of the mattress covers under you were steadily making your eyes more and more difficult to keep open.

You could have fallen asleep so easily, if it weren’t for the warm body currently pressed gently to your side.

Earlier, UA's resident pretty boy, Shoto Todoroki, had unexpectedly turned up at your room, head hanging almost sheepishly, and asking in his soft, world-peace-fostering voice if he could come in.

And although it wasn’t out of the ordinary to find him hanging around your room at the dorms, he was generally always accompanied by Midoriya, or Iida. Your cozy little room was somewhat of a designated rest area for your friend group with your extra pillows and blankets, and the fluffy pink beanbag that Uraraka often curled up on.

Which is why you peeked behind him uncertainly at the empty space in the hall, but let him in nonetheless.

When he had seated himself comfortably on your bed, you attempted to ask him if everything was ok, and the only answer you received was a simple nod.

He looked exhausted. While the young hero was not as volatile as one particular blonde classmate you have, you know he still struggles to express himself easily. You figured he would open up to you in his own time if he really wanted to. So you decided not to prod and plopped down on the bed next to him, doing your best to ignore the way your heart started to race against your will at the proximity.

As you messed around on your phone, over the course of an hour, you came to the sudden realization that the two of you had unconsciously gravitated towards each other. Soon, your legs were curled up to your chest, with one hand gripping your phone, and the other getting sore because of the deceivingly heavy head of silky half and half hair now resting, frankly, uncomfortably on your shoulder.

You would have believed he was asleep with how quiet and still he was being, but his fidgeting hands on the cotton of your oversized shirt proved that he was still awake.

Besides the coma inducing fact that his mindless fussing was making your top steadily reveal the skin of your stomach, even in your groggy state you could practically feel the current of thoughts plaguing Todoroki.

He radiated something anxious and tired at the same time, and you couldn’t help but steal glances at him to try and gauge what he was thinking.

Just when you figured that maybe you’ll never truly figure out the mystery that was Shoto Todoroki, his hands stilled, and he said something so softly you struggled to hear.

“...am I a bad person?”

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Did you hear him correctly?

You tilted your head at him and hummed in question.

He sighed deeply and you watched as his lovely heterochromatic eyes turned dark and sad.

“I’m trying my best to be the hero I always wanted to be as a child, but sometimes I wonder if I actually deserve to be here. My family has been through so much trouble because of me. Mom is in the hospital because she always had to protect me from him, Touya left because I had to be better than he could be, Fuyumi and Natsuro, father always neglected them because of me. It’s my fault that we couldn’t be a normal family. My fault the we can’t be together. All the time, I see real families, happy families around me, that need protecting — and I can’t help but think, — do I really deserve to be the one protecting them? If I can’t even keep my own family safe, do I really deserve to call myself a hero? Hero’s are supposed to be good, — am I good?”

You listened in astonishment as he rattled of reasons why he was a shitty person. His speach trailed into mutters and slurred words that you could barely put together. He sounded like he was barely concious and you think that at this point, he was more talking to himself.

In his sleepy rant of self-deprivation you did catch one thing as he buried his head further into your shoulder.

“Am I a hero or the devil’s son? I can’t figure out what side I’m on.” He said, dead serious.

A sputtered laugh was the only response you could muster, why did he have to be so dramatic sometimes?

He narrowed his eyes in indignation at your laughter and looked up at you through his lashes. You grinned apolagetically. “Sorry Todoroki, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You shifted to face him better, “It’s just — none of that is your fault. You know that right? No, clearly you didn’t know that or we wouldn’t be here.” You said, and he pouted further.

“It doesn’t matter what your past was like, we’ve all done some bad things in our lives, and what happened to you was completely out of your control. Just because you made some mistakes, doesn’t make you any less of a capable hero than any of us. In fact, it makes you better, because you know what there is to lose.” You reassured him.

He looked at you carefully, “Oh, you really think so?” he asked you, so hopefully you swore you felt a part of you melt.

“Of course” you told him, he spared you a soft smile.

You smiled back and nudged him playfully, “Now if your done moping, could you get off my shoulder, — I lost feeling in it hours ago.”

Masterlist

#todoroki x reader #coffee's fics #shoto todoroki #shouto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha x gender neutral reader #mha #bnha #todoroki x you

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sky-casino · 1 year

Text

dabi x reader: she was sunshine, he was midnight rain

pairing: dabi x fem!reader (within canon)

genre: angst, some fluff

word count: 2,300+

synopsis: you're a doctor in kyudai garaki's hospital and he chooses you for a special and highly confidential task: be the sole person to take care of the villain dabi and his burn scars.

a/n: this man got me in a chokehold istg 💀😭 dabi (and the todoroki family) got me into MHA last december. and so this is my first MHA fic. hope you enjoy~

when doctor garaki and AFO finally accepted LOV after shigaraki tamed gigantomachia, he intended to start taking care of dabi's scars. garaki and AFO wanted to make sure that everyone is in top shape, especially dabi since he's the only one in LOV who has a quirk that can be used for long-range combat.

so garaki hired you—a doctor who works for him at the jaku general hospital specializing in treating burns—to take care of dabi's scars and overall health. his offer entails you to leave your current position in the hospital to solely work for him and dabi. and of course, a pay that's much higher than your current one.

you're quirkless and a good person who have always wanted to help others, which is why you became a doctor. so you were terrified to know that your former boss is a villain and that you are now in charge of taking care of one. if you refuse, of course they'll have to kill you so you wouldn't tell anyone about what they just told you.

hence, your weekly session with dabi starts. garaki wanted you to facilitate the sessions in your own apartment so it'll be safe for both you and dabi, instead of the two of you having to go somewhere else which increases the risk of heroes and police finding the two of you, especially dabi who's a wanted criminal.

treating dabi's scars requires dabi taking his clothes off, except for his underwear because according to him, he doesn't have burns there. you agree without any further questions. it also requires you gently cleaning and exfoliating the scars to remove any dirt or dead skin. after cleaning, you instruct him to submerge himself in your bath tub where the water has some medication mixed in it to soothe the scars. after he dries himself, that's where you carefully wipe his scars with more medication using cotton balls and the like. overall, it's an intimate activity, which you are used to because you’re a doctor. but dabi seems a bit stiff and awkward sometimes, which he successfully masks under his perpetual smirks.

your first few sessions are mostly quiet and awkward. but as time goes by, dabi has started to become more talkative. he always asks you questions about yourself, telling you that he of course wants to know more about his own personal doctor. he asks simple questions like what's your favorite food, favorite color, hobbies. scared of angering him, you respond to his inquiries. eventually, you start to ask him about himself too but not forgetting the disclaimer that he doesn't have to answer them if he doesn't want to. you're afraid that he might think you're nosy. to your surprise, he smiles genuinely when he replies.

one day, you start finding takeout food on your dining table with a note from dabi on days where you two have no scheduled sessions. and eventually, he starts bringing food that you can enjoy together before and after your 4-6 hours sessions.

you begin to spend more time together but in an unplanned manner. he would suddenly knock on your door or even sneak through your window at night covered in dirt and fresh scars, which he gets from altercations against both heroes and petty villains. or from drunk fights at the bar. he'd ask if he can take a shower and if you could attend to the wounds, to which you oblige. sometimes, when it's too late into the night and he's too exhausted to go back to the league's hideout, you just let him stay.

in the morning, there are times where you'd find him cooking simple breakfast for the two of you as thanks for letting him stay. or sometimes he'd just leave food for you and be gone before you wake up. this amuses you, thinking that what he'd do in the morning depends on his mood.

unlike before wherein he leaves as soon as the session ends, now the two of you watch movies together while eating dinner. one time, you fell asleep before the movie ended and he carried you to your bed.

you're surprised to find that the villain has a warm and friendly side to him, which you didn't expect at all. you're the same age and you enjoy getting along with him.

and to be honest, there are times when you feel like he's flirting with you. but you dismiss the idea right away, thinking that it's impossible. knowing what you know about dabi, strength is important to him, so why would he be interested in a weak and quirkless girl like you?

but surprising you with food regularly and the vague words of flirtation would all be set aside when he begins making physical moves on you.

staring at your face and your lips as you meticulously replace his surgical staples and wipe his scars with medication.

closing the distance between the two of you as often as he can, like when you eat, watch movies, and wash the dishes together.

slithering his index finger into your medical glove and onto your palm as he stands closely behind you where you can feel his breath behind your head. your heart is racing as you feel and watch his slithering finger. after some seconds, you pulled away your right hand and walked away from him without saying anything, focusing on doing some work instead.

there's a short silence before dabi leaves and says, "bye, see you next week" normally, as if that whole intimate thing didn't just happen.

your next session is quieter than usual, which feels just like the first time. but now there's an unspeakable tension brewing in the air. it feels heavy. it's already evening when the session ends. your back towards dabi as you clean up. dabi is putting on his coat as he watches you, until he decides to finally break the hours-long silence.

"can i kiss you?"

"what do you want, dabi?"

"i just said it. a kiss-"

"why do you want to kiss me?" you finally face him.

"you know the answer to that, doll." he smirks.

"no. no, i don't, dabi." you're surprised to feel tears prickling your eyes as you walk towards him. "i'm not gonna kiss you just because you tell me to. i'm not here to play your games."

"it's not a game." his tone suddenly stern and serious, smirk disappearing.

"yeah? answer my question, then."

dabi takes a slow and deep sigh before he answers, his eyes not leaving yours.

"i want to kiss you because i want you. i have all these feelings inside me that i'm experiencing for the first time. even when i busy myself with missions, even when i'm not here with you and i'm somewhere else, you're all i can think of. i want to see you all the time, hear your voice all the time, feel your touch all the time... even though it's just to treat my scars because that's what you're paid to do." he says with a painful smile. "i don't know know what to do with these feelings. i really don't, y/n. so... i'm sorry if i made you think that i'm just playing."

you're too stunned to speak or move after hearing him ramble on about his feelings. it's hard to believe, but the villain right in front of you just confessed to you.

you don't even realize that the tears have fallen until dabi wipes them away. you see his worried face as he blames himself.

"kiss me... before i change my mind." you whisper to him as you close your eyes.

you two make it official and dabi begins spending more days and nights in your place. you're practically living together, except for when he has to go for missions and meetings with the paranormal liberation front. for some time, he considers bringing you to the mountain villa so you'll be closer to him, but his overprotective self doesn’t push through with it as he doesn’t want other villains around you. he’s also worried that you might be caught in the crossfire if ever the heroes find their hideout and ambush them.

for dabi, it's the first time something besides getting revenge has got him excited. it's the first time he has something to look forward to every day, and all of it feels surreal and foreign. it's the first time he feels love again.

when dabi is 100% sure that he can trust you, he divulges his identity and goals to you and only you, not even his comrades know about this information.

he tells you of his life as touya and how dabi was born. you cry as you listen to him and by the end of his story, you're a sobbing mess.

"why are you crying?" he laughs as he cuddles you.

"who wouldn't after hearing all that?"

you accept him for who and what he is, yes. but without being too pushy, you persuade him to just run away from everything. run away together to a more peaceful place where no one knows the two of you. start a new life together. he said that would be lovely, but as much as he wants to, he can't. he's gone too far now just to turn back and leave.

you let go of the run-away suggestion and move to plan b. the next time he stays in your place, you convince him that releasing the video publicly is enough to exact revenge on his father. he can let the angry mob do their thing and he doesn't have to stain his hands with the blood of his father and brother. to no avail yet again.

although the two of you are happy together, dabi can't help but feel guilty and inadequate. because of his identity as a villain and a wanted criminal, you can't go on normal dates like eating at restaurants and watching movies in the cinemas. you can't even go to the nearby grocery together.

he also feels terrible for making you worry every time he comes home with fresh burns and wounds.

one night, he watches you sleep and caresses your face. that's when he decides to write a letter for you.

it's the same letter that he mentions during his phone call with you as the heroes suddenly invade them in the mountain villa and in garaki's hospital. he quickly updates you with what's happening and also mentions that he has an important letter for you that you can find in the clothes drawer that you designated for him in your place.

after the call, you hurriedly looked for the letter which you find underneath all the clothes you bought for dabi before.

hi baby,

you're probably surprised to learn that i'm the love-letter kind of guy. me either. but i have no choice but to write this letter because i'm too much of a coward to say these things to you personally.

i love you. you know that. do not ever doubt that.

even for just a short time, i felt genuine happiness because of you. you're the only sunshine in my life's years-long darkness. but beneath our happy times, there was always this dread lingering in the back of my mind because i knew that ultimately, we wouldn't have a happy ending.

you deserve someone better. you deserve a good man who can give you the life you want, who can make you happy and take care of you, who won't make you worry all the time, a man who is not a villain.

this pains me immensely, and you may even get mad at me for this, but i need you to please forget me and move on. this is the best thing to do as we both know that you're not safe with me. the fact that you're reading this now means that we've reached the point where it's inevitable to part ways.

this is just wishful thinking and you would probably find it ridiculous, but perhaps there is another life out there in the universe—a life where i'm not a villain—where there's no dabi, only touya. and in that life, i will find you and i will love you again, so we can finally get that happy ending. i promise.

thank you very much, y/n, for accepting me, for taking care of me tirelessly, and for doing beyond what you were originally tasked to do. i love you.

P.S. honestly, i never thought i could ever love someone until i met you. and i still can't believe that i am loved by someone as great as you.

you're devastated as you cry for a long time, clutching the letter into your chest. then, the video he recorded suddenly interrupts the television broadcast. you already know everything he's going to say, but you still watch attentively.

later on, the heroes in charge of evacuating the civilians finally reach your street as you hear them from a distance.

you keep thinking about the last part of dabi's letter. you ask yourself why the two of you need another life to have a happy ending, when you can just try in this lifetime. you're not ready to give up on what you and dabi have.

you don't know what will happen now that chaos is ensuing, but you decide to go with the heroes because you still want to see and talk to dabi. you want to respond to his letter by talking to him face-to-face. and for that to happen, you still need to live.

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