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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months
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dreamingofaizawa · 6 months
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You guys do know you're supposed to reblog things, right
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dreamingofaizawa · 6 months
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As a fat writer, I need y'all to know that when I say someone lifts reader (dare I say... effortlessly lifts reader?) I mean these dudes with superpowers and shit are lifting me. My fat ass. Effortlessly.
Even if I don't specify that reader is fat.
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dreamingofaizawa · 6 months
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There is a new subreddit called r/PeriodPantry that allows people who need period products to post wishlists. Many people are forced by poverty to chose between menstrual hygiene products and other necessities, and may end up skipping meals or suffering health problems or social isolation as a result of lacking hygiene products. Please feel welcome to post a period product wishlist, fulfill a wishlist, and/or reblog this post to help it reach others.
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dreamingofaizawa · 7 months
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Busy thinking about Kiri having a twin brother who doesn’t go the hero route but rather takes on the jobs his brother can’t thanks to the red tape of the damn commission.
Just as big and bulky as Eiji but with a dark under cut compared to his brother’s long dyed red hair.
Them meeting in a seeder bar late one evening, Eiji worn tired, enraged that some perp didn’t get what was really coming to him thanks to pay offs and other underhanded bullshit. His brother finishes off his beer and claps Eiji on the shoulder telling him not to worry, everything will work itself out.
And the next morning Eiji reads in a report about how both the villain and the judge who let him walk were beaten to a bloody pulp and remain in the hospital in critical condition.
* @twisteddaydreams1135 also gets credit for this idea ♥︎ *
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dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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^They're currently taking donations for Maui mutual aid
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dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗠𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗙𝗨𝗟
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summary. three months. that’s how long it takes before gojo poses a problem. | wc. 1.8k+
cw/ tw. fem!reader, nanny reader (he's your boss), gojo's kid is an oc, domesticity, pet names (ex. sweetheart, baby), feral behavior, intended for 18+ readers
an. the ad said 'nanny wanted,' but reader didn't know he was looking for a little wife instead v_v, also mildly self-ship coded, comments and reblogs are appreciated ༉‧₊˚.
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You sometimes wistfully imagine having a family of your own—a soft and sweet little bundle to cuddle and someone strong and capable, competent, at your side. But you can’t think of the last time you’ve been on a date where that person had the same interest in something more serious than casually sleeping around. 
Nannying seemed like the natural conclusion, especially when you’re still settling in a new city and barely scraping by for rent and student loans for a degree you don’t use. 
You pick up a few jobs just to get a feel for it: parents going away for a honeymoon, a last-minute call-in, a weekend business trip. Then a friend of a friend says she makes enough to afford one of those picturesque apartments that overlook tall high-rises and iridescent lights, the very ones you’ve dog-eared in real-estate magazines.
All it takes are a few phone calls and an interview until you’re packing up your apartment and taking the freeway outside of the city to somewhere remote and expensive, your car looking almost out of place parked beside the shiny new one in the long driveway.
You rap on the front door before you lose your nerve, and a few moments later, it opens, and you’re unsure who looks more out of place: this man with a smile too big, dressed for work, immaculate suit dampened by the baby rag slung over his shoulder and what looks like drool on his crisp collar, or you in your scuffed shoes and second-hand store clothes, standing in front of the nicest house you’ve ever seen.
“The nanny?”
“Yes,” you mutter, licking your lips. “That’s me.”
“Good, Ren just woke up from his nap,” he opens the door a little wider with a creak, the darkness behind him almost comforting.
You take a deep breath and pass over the threshold into his home.
The entire time, his hand stays on the small of your back to steer you toward the nursery, and a shiver threatens up the length of your spine.
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Three months. That’s how long it takes before your boss poses a problem.
It’s not that he’s a terrible boss; in fact, he’s quite the opposite. He lets you take over one of the many spare rooms in his massive house, pays you double the regular rate, and gives you time off when you ask for it.
It also helps that Ren is cute, only a year old, and still so sweet and tiny. 
Perfect.
The problem lies in that you know what he sounds like first thing in the morning, that he knows how you like your coffee, that he helps you fold laundry in the living room while the baby naps, how you catch him staring anytime you hold his son—his expression shuttered, a foreign thing that you can’t read. It’s all so terribly domestic. 
Terrible in that you think it’s a horrible idea to develop a crush on your boss, that you can’t help but get flustered anytime he so much as looks your way, even if it’s fleeting. How a sleepy smile before he retires to his room for the night can turn your thoughts into a scattered, ill-defined mess of what they used to be until all that’s left are words like spun sugar melting on your tongue.
But also, it’s not normal, at least not from your experience. 
You were lucky in the past if your employer even wanted to know about their kid’s day. Barely saying hello once they walk through the front door before sending money to your bank account.
Satoru—because that’s what he asked you to call him one afternoon while you were in the middle of feeding Ren mashed banana, a lazy smile curling the edges of his lips after you say it for the first time—wants to know everything: what Ren ate, if he laughed, how your day was, if you finally got your hands on that book you’ve been meaning to buy. 
“You don’t have to ask about my day,” you tell him shyly, accepting the glass of wine he proffers you after spending the past hour trying to put a teething baby to bed. “To make me feel better, that is.”
“Would it be so bad if I said I want to? You live here, too.”
You try to separate the two: that he cares as your employer and not for any other reason besides that.
Cool fingers cup your chin gently, thumb caressing the top of your cheek, now close enough that you catch a few of the warm notes of his cologne, a move that’s probably very inappropriate between a boss and an employee.
“I never say anything I don’t mean.”
You swallow, nodding, slightly shaky, breath caught in your chest. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” He retreats to his office before witnessing how those two words knock the wind out of you.
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He starts saying things like our shopping list, our car—because he gave you the keys to the SUV parked beside his car and hasn’t touched it since; for you and the baby, he said, plus it’s terrible on gas when I drive it to work—our house, our baby. You don’t think he means to do it; more of an easy slip in conversation.
But then, one morning, he’s rushing around the kitchen, hair still damp and smelling like his shampoo, as he grabs his coffee and briefcase from the counter, kissing Ren’s forehead first…and then yours.
You’re half convinced that you imagined it—that his lips hadn’t stayed there for a second longer than necessary—until he straightens his tie and heads out for the day with a ‘be good’ tossed over his shoulder, and you’re left wondering if he meant to say that to you or Ren.
It sets off a chain reaction of thoughts whirling away in your head, leaves you wanting and wondering—only ever allowing yourself to fantasize a little when the house is quiet and dark, the baby monitor humming on your nightstand, and images of your boss flit behind closed eyelids as you fit your hand underneath your soft sleep shorts.
In the morning, you worry he can tell what you did, his smile almost too sharp, too something—more teasing than what you’re used to—his hand resting on your lower back as he leans down to kiss Ren’s chubby cheek while you make breakfast.
“I have a meeting this afternoon, so I’ll be late. Want me to pick up some food on the way home?”
No, you think, there’s no way he knows.
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You spend most of the morning cleaning and folding the array of graphic onesies Satoru has a penchant for dressing Ren in, and the later half walking around the pool because it’s warm and Ren enjoys splashing around in the water. It’s enough to tucker him out for bed early, hardly able to keep his eyes open while eating a plate of mashed potatoes.
It’s also the first time in weeks that you have the night to yourself, no baby keeping you busy, no Satoru to—well.
After a long shower, you step out of the bathroom, moving into the hallway. And there are many reasons why you felt confident walking the few steps it takes to reach your bedroom. Most of them revolve around what Satoru told you that morning, so you don’t expect him to be standing there, shirtsleeves rolled up, piercing gaze sliding down the length of you wrapped in a towel and little else.
“I brought home those drunken noodles you like,” he says once his eyes focus back on your face, his whole expression softening into a smile.
A beat. “Thank you,” you whisper, unable to look away.
He tucks the wet strands of hair clinging to your cheek behind your ear. “Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll join you downstairs?”
The noise in your brain goes static.
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You’re unsure what causes it, but everything changes when he comes home early one afternoon and finds you and the baby napping in the nursery. He has this soft look on his face and something else you can’t decipher, eyes settled firmly on you.
Ren coos softly into your shoulder. 
When Satoru picks him up and settles him in the crib, then walks you to your room—here, let me help you—and when he hovers in your doorway, you let him in without question.
He doesn’t waste any time peeling off your clothes, eager to have you naked and splayed out underneath him. You cum on his tongue more times than you can count until you’re silently begging him to fuck you.
He laughs, large hands spread over your tummy. 
“Use your words, baby. I’m not a mind reader.”
You feel like you’re someone else watching you from the outside, another body rocking against the length of your boss’s cock, back arching every time you manage to find the friction you need. He’s hard against your back, thick in a way that makes you wonder if he did enough to stretch you out. 
“I-I want—”
All other thoughts are obliterated by the stretch and press of him against your cunt. 
“Think I’m going to keep you,” he rasps, lips dragging over your throat. “Keep this drippy little cunt spread open on my desk whenever I want while the baby naps. Would you like that? For me to fuck you full until you give me a baby.”
You clench, nerves shot.
“Gonna get all round with my baby, stay here forever,” he mumbles when he draws away, and you can’t tell if the words are meant for you to hear or slip out without him realizing. “Fuck—breed my little wife until it takes—”
Your eyes roll up, lost in the little promises he paints across your skin, body shivering over and over until you’re sobbing from it until he has to clamp a hand down over your mouth—shh, you’re going to wake the baby—going limp when he finally cums, pressing as deep as your body will allow, as if he can somehow imprint himself there. 
Wonders if maybe he’s been building up to this moment all along. 
It’s so easy to lay there after, blissed out while he litters kisses across your face and collarbones, letting him lift your hips up to slide a pillow underneath, even though the position is awkward when he tries to cuddle you afterward.
His fingers draw shapes on your stomach, giving you a wistful look, like he can’t believe he’s laying here with his cum still dripping between your thighs—no matter how many times he scoops it up and pushes it back inside you. “Do you think it’ll take?”
And you don’t have the heart to tell him about the little foil packet of pills tucked away in your nightstand.
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dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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guys, please consider donating to the maui strong fund organized by the hawaii community foundation to help the people of lāhainā who have been devastated by the wildfire. there are 80 people reported dead and over 1,000 missing. people have lost everything
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dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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i'm curious to know the ratio of writers to readers on ao3 so here's a poll. when i say writer, i mean people who have published works on ao3, doesn't matter if it's once, or if it was ages ago, or if it's a regular occurrence. when i say reader, i mean people who have never published a work on ao3. the reader vote still counts if you don't have an account on ao3. if you're a writer who is also an active reader, please still click on the "writer" option!
please do boost this so it reaches a larger sample space!
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dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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Reblog if you need this energy
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source
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dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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You've been writing to inmates in prison for almost two years now and have helped many feel more at ease with their current situations and possible futures. So it should come to no surprise when the warden of the most notorious prison seeks out your help with a difficult inmate they can hardly contain. The task proves difficult after you receive your first letter back from Bakugou Katsuki. More infamously known as Ground Zero, and you're not so sure you can help a man this far gone.
wc 6.8k warnings: dunno but he's mean and a villain so read at your own risk. MDNI 18+ content
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Congratulations!
You've been selected for a special project due to your credentials with previous inmates. Letters exchanged between you and other inmates have had a positive effect on their rehabilitation which is one step closer to getting them assimilated back to the normalcy of society. 
We ask that you help us by reaching out to inmate B-001174 Bakugou, Katsuki. He has not had mail correspondence nor a visitor due to his self isolation since his incarceration. We are hoping that a letter from the most well received correspondent begins to pave the way for a brighter future for B-001174. Please see the below instructions on what topics to avoid for inmate B-001174
Family members of any relation to inmate
Previous crimes by inmate or inmate's affiliates. 
Current crimes by inmate's affiliates or any such nature of crime 
Current events of any kind including natural disasters, diseases, political elections or anything of relation. 
Current hero rankings, change of status or death of any hero since incarceration December 18th 2XXX
Any mention of hero(es) who captured inmate listed as follows : Aizawa, Shouta - Eraserhead, Todoroki, Enji - Endeavor, Toshinori, Yagi - Allmight, Usagiyama, Rumi - Mirko 
Current known affiliates are listed as follows : Kirishima, Eijirou, Midoriya, Izuku, Shigaraki, Tomura and Todoroki, Touya. 
We appreciate your efforts in brightening the dull lives of inmates and hope you pick up your pen and do what you do best, change lives for the better! Please see the following attachments for instructions on how to address the letter and seal inside the pre-paid postage envelope before dropping it off at any post office.
Remember each letter will be opened and read for any sort of criminal activity before being passed along to the inmate. 
Sincerely, 
Warden of Tartarus Maximum Prison Facility
You flip the letter over and skim the instructions, the same as they always are expect this time there is an extra line to add, maximum security level ten, as if you had to notate some sort of alert to the mailroom for an extra thorough check of this particular piece of mail. You bite the inside of your lip, toeing off your kitten heels before padding over to your computer with letter in tow.  
The request comes as a surprise, mostly because they listed a specific inmate instead of your usual list of inmates who wished to receive mail but had ties cut from their own families or needed some semblance of someone on the outside to speak with. Never asking you to address some sort of conversation with someone who sounded like they didn't want to have one at all. 
Snarling your lip when you read the affiliates that you needed to avoid as if their government names gave you any idea of who they were, some of them anyway. 
Two with whom you were already exchanging letters with weekly. 
Your usual routine to wind down from work is lost to your undying hunger of who this person was. Although you had to admit Bakugou sounded eerily familiar. 
A quick search brings up his villain name,  Ground Zero, captured during a raid of some sort and he alone needed several heroes for his capture. His quirk was dangerous, explosions detonated by sparks along his forearms and palms from his sweat that contained nitroglycerin and it seemed as if his mental health was just as stable as the fuel to his quirk. 
Looking at him wrong set him off and he was powerful enough to level buildings from just a few juls of output from his intense explosions. Still curiosity killed the cat and you delved deeper. 
Wondering how Izuku, aka Deku, who was quirkless and Eijirou, aka Blood Riot who could harden his skin, which you knew from their letters, got caught up with a living, breathing nuke. 
Thankfully most of the documentation and footage involving Katsuki's arrest was released to the public with redactions and edits of course but what you needed was the raw data. 
Finding unofficially released footage from Mirko's body cam, the only surviving body cam between the pursuing heroes. It starts right in the midst of the action, sirens wailing  and people screaming in the background as the scene unfolds. Ground Zero and Mirko exchange blows evenly while Endevor tries to ambush him from behind. The hulking blonde smirks, as if he had no blind spot, swinging his large arm backward hitting Endeavor right in the mouth, hard enough it sends him flying.  Katsuki's bromine eyes flicker to what must be vantage points off camera as if searching for something. 
"Got that pesky ass four eyes on me huh? I'm hurt ya don't wanna play with me properly, hops." He dodges a kick to the chest, sliding back and it's obvious his prowess as a fighter is unmatched, even with his quirk silenced.
"Shut the fuck up. Ya talk too much."  Shifting her weight to fein a kick that he catches, pinning her thick leg between his sturdy ribs and strong arm as he wears the nastiest smile. One that Mirko wipes off quickly with a swift kick from her free foot straight to his handsome face. Turning his cheek and blood arcs from his mouth, still he does not stagger nor falter. 
He even still has her leg pinned as she stands awkwardly, back arched to him and her bunny tail twitches. The viewer can only see the ground and her free leg but the mic still very much catches what he says next and you're sure the smile he was wearing earlier comes back tenfold. 
"Careful hops, ya get any rougher with me and I'll cum." 
His laugh echoes shortly after and the sound should not cause your stomach to flip the way it does before the footage abruptly ends. 
Taking the time to scroll through a few more pictures and articles, trying to find where it all went wrong when really none of that was your business, still it killed you to know. 
And when you fail to find anything, fail to find that butterfly effect that puts his whole life askew, it does little to quell the uneasy feeling that gnaws at the pit of your stomach. If anything it fuels it yet still you rummage your desk for stationary and a pen. 
Sealing away the envelope once you were done and setting it by your purse to grab in the morning when you think you'll be braver. 
Or maybe less brave as you hesitate by the mail drop off box, your train fast approaching the outside terminal before you shove it into the slot quickly. 
Too late to take it back now. 
Besides what were the odds he'd even send one back?
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"B-001174, got mail." The guard grunts as he slips the already open letter under the cell door, finishing his rounds before the doors would open and the inmates could roam about the pod as they saw fit. 
Katsuki snarls, he didn't get mail, letters or pictures or even the cult following he once had he'd scared 'em all off. Tired of all the stupid bullshit they spewed at him, the ideals they placed on him or the words they shoved into his mouth. Worst yet were how they justified their actions, their own wrong doings in the name of Ground Zero, too pussy to even own up to their own actions. Katsuki hated that as much as he hated liars. 
Besides he didn't ask for all that shit, didn't care. He just wanted to watch the world burn. 
Wanted to set it on fire and Katsuki's philosophy was that anything was kindling. 
That everything is kindling. 
And he thinks he should just ignite the smallest spark despite the quirk "silencing" cuffs and let the letter be devoured by the heat of his palms. 
But the return address catches his eye, the name does. It's familiar in a way he can't quite place yet. Pulling the paper out of the envelope in the meantime. The first thing he notices is the faint almost perfumey smell of coconut from the paper, not from spraying the stationary but as if it were lotion rubbing across the parchment as you wrote in long looping letters, for a moment he finds the smell pleasant. His poisonous bromine eyes slide over the letter with ease. 
Dear Bakugou, 
I heard you don't get letters very often, if any, so I hope this one finds you well. The weather is warming up quickly, the cicadas are starting to scream even though it's barely June, we'll all be sweltering come August. Summer is my favorite season, do you have a favorite? Work slows down around this time and they usually grant us extra leave so we can enjoy the weather, which is quite nice. I hope you're getting to enjoy the sun as well. 
I know cooking is one of your favorite things, I can see why. It can be relaxing or make you feel good to nourish someone else. What other hobbies do you have aside from cooking? Any favorite books or authors? Maybe I can send your favorite one in! Just let me know. 
Do you have everything you need? Do you need any money for commissary? Don't hesitate to ask if you need anything at all, I'm only a letter away. 
Hope to hear from you and maybe soon I can call you Katsuki. 
Much Love
He snorts as he reads the last line and it finally dawns on him from where he knows your name. Lifting himself out of his prison cot with ease, the cheap thing groaning from his bulk as he exits his cell. Heading towards the neighboring cell that holds Deku and Riot, shoving his way into the too cramped space for the bulking men. 
"Ka-kaachan!" Izuku chirps, surprised to see the hot headed blonde out of his cell and especially surprised to see Bakugou in his own. Lingering by Izuku's half with a quirked brow, his eyes roaming until they found the hidden stack of papers. 
"Gonna grab breakfast with us?" Kirishima asks as he watches large hands snatch at the pile. Instantly Izuku stands, eyes darkening as he steps towards Katsuki.
"Put those down, Kaachan." It's that fake polite smile Izuku wears before a fight, the kind that never reaches his eyes and Bakugou doesn't heed the warning, "Please."
It's clipped and now Kirishima thinks to rise, doesn't want either of them to do solitary or to deal with the month long bickering if they do get into a physical fight. 
Katsuki looks over the letters, reading them quickly and appreciating that Izuku is meticulous enough to keep them in chronological order, each one signed off the same way. Much love. 
Such bullshit. 
Izuku shoves Bakugou when he still scowls down at the papers that also smell like coconut. Katsuki drops the letters unceremoniously and Izuku scrambles to keep them from hitting the concrete floor. Bakugou already on Kirishima's side who watches with a confused glare. 
"What are you-" But Kirishima doesn't get to say much else as Katsuki lifts the thin mattress from the metal frame to find the hidden letters. Tucked away safely as if the battle worn villain took comfort in the false words in shiny black ink. 
Same return address, same name, same bull shit sign off. 
"Katsuki!" Kirishima shoves him and the blonde hardly moves, Eijirou's skin half hardening out of habit before he tries to shove again. Katsuki hits his forearm harshly, a soft pop in warning although neither could do too much with the amount of sedation and silencing that came from the collar from around their thick throats. Izuku sans silencing cuffs, has no worries about a part of him being dulled. He was built like an ox with the metabolism of a pubescent teen despite being in his late twenties so sedatives or mood stabilizers hardly have any effect. 
Bakugou tosses the letters onto Kirishima's scratchy blanket before he scoffs. 
"Tsk, believe that bullshit?" He's rolling his eyes as he leaves the cell with nothing but the rustle of paper as they try to rehide what they act like is their dirty little secret. 
God weak hearted fools were so fucking annoying. 
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Post through the prison system could take some time, especially when it came to newer exchanges. It could be anywhere between two weeks to two months before you saw a reply from Katsuki. If you got one at all. 
But the thought of his phantom reply slips to the back of your head what with your current workload and the other correspondents so when you see a sealed envelope the prison's return address you think nothing of it. 
Not until you open it to see an open envelope with your address but instead of your name is spelled out Fake Bitch. 
Blinking furiously you pull out the letter, unfolding it quickly to let your eyes scan over the page, each word burning into your retinas.
Piece of shit, 
Such a pathetic fuckin slut, writing any and every desperate man behind bars you think is hot, hopin you'll get a conjugal visit. Already fucked everyone at surface level ya gotta try prison dick? 
Or is it worst than that?  Mommy and daddy didn't love ya enough? Didn't give ya enough attention so you look for it in anyone that'll give ya the time of day? Prey on those with no one to talk to knowing you'd get a reply out of desperation. 
Lickin knives all ya know sweetheart? Pretty fuckin scummy if ya ask me. 
Fuck off and die, 
Bakugou Katsuki 
Now you've received your fair share of mean and asshole letters but this? This was different. 
This felt personal. 
It was rule number one you'd given yourself when you were asked to start penning letters while in a shitty place yourself. 
And yet here you were breaking it for some asshat who thought the cityscape was his to destroy. 
Heart ringing in your ears as you try to calm yourself, counting your breaths until you finally could see straight. Penning up something simple yet effective telling yourself that even if he didn't reply it didn't matter. 
You drop it into the mail the next day, two weeks later the same guard is slipping another opened letter under Bakugou's cell door. A snarl to his lip, he didn't expect you to reply and if he was being honest he may have forgotten about you, still the envelope was addressed to his inmate number and no longer is his name written in your cute script. 
While you may think you know everything there is to know about life and me, I'd like to point out your position over mine. 
Last I checked I'm not miles and miles in the ground, under heavy security, among other things a civilian wouldn't be privy to. However I will put it into lame man's terms as it seems your cognitive abilities have declined. 
I'm not the one behind bars, asshole. 
Much Hate
Bakugou clicks his tongue, he was used to the insult, wore it proudly most days but he knew his first letter would go one of two ways.
One, you'd cry when you read it and never replied to him again, which was his hope or two there was a very slim chance he'd get under your skin enough you'd feel the innate need to respond and defend yourself. 
Bakugou does what he does best and burrows further under your pretty skin twirling the pen he finds in the library with ease as he takes to writing out a delicious reply. 
Mail from Tartarus normally came on Wednesday or Thursday as if someone at the facility always forgot to send it out at the beginning of the week. So it became a part of your routine to check your PO Box you set up in a prefecture over in order to preserve your safety should something ever go awry with any of your pen pals or to receive online purchases. Mail day used to be a day you looked forward to, something to help you get through the remainder of your work week but today it was a day you dreaded. 
The excitement from seeing the others' responses in the mail is overshadowed by one particular envelope that slips out of the Manila folder that all of the letters to the same correspondent were sent in to save postage. 
You should be reading Touya's letter or hell anyone else's for that matter, yet here you stood, going for that obnoxious scrawl as he still refused to spell out your name and instead gave you some horrible insult. 
Pathetic Slut
If lying to yourself by writing half ass disingenuine letters to prisoners out of pity makes ya feel like yer changing the world then by all fucking means write away sweetheart. 
Just don't be surprised when you get an asshole response from an asshole behind bars. 
Cause we both know that's what you think of all of us don'tchya? 
Die, 
Bakugou Katsuki 
It shouldn't bother you, it shouldn't burrow so deep into your skin that his inky words scratch at your bones. Like his fingers could dig around in the marrow like maggots yet still it makes your cheeks heat. Makes your eyes burn from frustration and lack of blinking as your palms sweat. 
Soles of your feet burning as you walk further into your apartment to rummage through the drawers of your desk.  Uncaring how things topple over as you furiously grab for a permanent marker, pens and books scattering over the hardwood floors. 
Heart pounding as it resounds through your body like metal striking a bell. Each beat faster, harder than the last until you think your vision starts to ehb at the edges from how much hatred burns away at any of the kindness you built up over the last decade. 
Snapping the marker in half by the time you're done writing your final letter to the asshole. 
FUCK 
YOU 
You don't read it, don't care if it makes it past screening and he never sees it at all. Shoving it into one of your personal envelopes on your desk slapping on a floral postage stamp before stomping down to the express box that sat just outside of your apartment complex. 
It takes a full week for you to calm down, another week to stop thinking about it daily, and one more week to even reply to the letters you got almost a month ago. 
An email comes in from the post office, alerting you to something being placed in your box. You hope it's the new sun dress you bought as retail therapy after a long week and an even bigger bottle of booze that you'd drained. Spending quite a pretty penny on something you didn't even really have an occasion to wear it to. 
More like a nice date, the type of dress you could dress up or down depending on what sorts of accessories you paired with it. 
Taking the train three stops past your own to head into the post office. Turning the key to your decent sized box finding within the metal your promised package. 
And on top of that a familiar manila folder with the return address to Tartarus. 
You grit your teeth, holding onto the mail harder than you should as you take those three long stops back home. Swallowing thickly as you climb your steps, the folder and plastic bag package punctured from your sharp nails as you quickly press in your seven digit key code to get into your apartment and out of the sweltering mid August air.
When your door shuts it closed off the sound of the screaming cicadas and the few crickets that lie in the green space beside your apartment as you try to force yourself to follow your nightly routine. 
Remove shoes, take off makeup, eat, shower, sleep. 
But that damn folder was burning a hole into your fingers as you go to your desk, rocking your chair side to side before you just rip it open like you'd rip off a bandaid. 
This time the letter addresses you in a new way. 
Sweetheart, 
I dare you to come say that shit to my face. You fuckin better show up Saturday other wise I'll let your precious Izu and Eiji know just how much of a fake bitch ya really are. Imagine what it would do to them? Break their hearts I'm sure.  
Ya'd hate to mess with their progress wouldn't ya? 
Don't forget to wear something cute, it'd be nice to see some fat tits in my face at the very least. If a shitty woman like you even owns anything relatively sexy.
Fuck off 
Bakugou Katsuki 
You see red, breathing deeply as you re-read the letter again, who the fuck was this asshole? Black mailing you into visiting him so it wouldn't hurt your other correspondents because Bakugou was so fucking selfish. 
So black out angry you don't seem to wake up, not when you put yourself in that sleek summer sun dress that went to your mid thigh, not when you stare at your angry scowl as you apply light make up, and especially not on the hour drive and then two hour ferry ride to Tartarus. Especially not during the twenty minute descent in a cramped elevator box with a guard in front and behind you with AKs clipped to their chests, the sweltering heat seeping down this low in the ground due to body heat and poor ventilation of the prison. 
Not until the buzzer of the barred door in front of you screams its demands, that the handle was "live" and could be opened by the guard standing in the cage between the hallway that led back to freedom and the other where you could already see toxic bromine burning into your skin. 
This was a bad idea. This was a really fucking bad idea.  
You swallow thickly, it was too late to turn back now wasn't it? The door had already swung shut as the guard came closer to you for one final inspection.
"Dress is kinda short." Katsuki can overhear the guard mumble to you, can see how the guard's fingers twitch and for some reason his own do too. He watches how the guard lingers, how the man's hand press against your body and bunches up your dress as he pats you down a little too roughly. How you bite your lip when the man squeezes your ribs and under the weight of your breasts a little too roughly. 
Katsuki is starting to see red, sweat begins to collect on his brow. He hasn't even fully seen you at least not without an obstructed view but already he can tell he likes what he sees. 
Likes how the dress clings to parts of you you'd favor, the parts you want to really highlight. How the hem flusters higher with each step of your strappy flat shoes.
Loves the scowl that pinches up your cute face when the door buzzes to allow you into the room with him and another six guards. Likes how you straighten your spine as if you've gotten fresh resolve when you come in. 
Looking at him like he was trash and he smirks, like how you don't recoil from him despite how he looks now.  
Plexiglass spit guard with metal framing afixed to his face to keep more than his salvia to himself, more so to keep his gnashing teeth away from people's skin. How his throat is encircled with a thick black collar with a red light set far past stun and closer to kill that would send an electric pulse if he misbehaved but only if they could reach their remote fast enough. 
How the silver cuffs around his thick wrists chain him to the table top, thick forearms exposed from him rolling up his bright orange suit that was harsh on the eyes thanks to the flickering fluorescent lighting overhead. Soft ash blonde hair messy at the top with a self given undercut beneath, iris so bloody red it was as if he was born straight from the calf of Ares himself. 
"Hey Sweetheart." He purrs and his voice is pure sin. 
Pure fucking sin. 
Sending a jolt straight to your clit as his pretty lips curl up into a deadly smirk, showing his sharp canines. 
Bakugou can't contain the feeling of triumph that dances in his veins, purposely egging you on in his letter with the closest Saturday knowing you'd be allowed to come on such short notice. See, most visitors needed to have thorough background checks and intensive mental testing before coming to meet anyone in maximum security five hundred meters below sea level. 
But the conniving blonde knew you were special. 
Knew the warden of Tartarus favored you and would allow you to skip these precautions, especially after what that dumbass thinks you've done. In less than a month of writing to him, that damn Deku finally added Inko-san back to his visiting list, actually came to the visit and cupped her hands. Murmuring on and on that her baby boy with the wavy emerald curls was okay. Inko cried and returned every month since.
No different for Kirishima either, adding Fat Gum, who was like a father figure to him during their shared time at UA, to his visitor list. Surprisingly Taishiro came, still comes, him and Inko car pool together. 
Not even a few heartbeats pass between the two of you before you feel your tongue slicing up the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth. Of the hard bone of your teeth. 
"Fuck. You." The words drip with sticky poison that even one of the guards behind him flinches but not Bakugou. 
No never Bakugou Katsuki, the Ground Zero himself who leveled a city for the fucking fun of it 
He smiles, both sides of his mouth curling up and it should be disturbing how much he obviously gets off on your frustration, on your hate. But it isn't, it's almost mesmerizing how he looks at you. Like you're something to triumph and conquer, something he wants to keep for himself. 
With that you turn to leave, skirt fluttering from the movement and Katsuki can see the tattoo on your upper thigh, the ink making his mouth salivate as he wonders if he can find any more you've got hidden on that fine body. 
He lunges despite the rattling chains that keep him close to the table, still he has enough leeway to grab onto your arm in one giant hand. Foolishly you try to pull free. 
"Oh come on sweetheart. I've got a whole hour of play time for this. Yer not leaving, sit down." 
His grip on you is tight, his hand big enough to engulf half of your forearm and it gets tighter still. Hot palm making your bones creak from the pressure as he smiles up at you cruelly. All you can do is glare down at him, bore all of your hate where the two of you are connected, his skin feels electric against yours. 
"Ya know, I could probably still blow your arm off." He doesn't bother to say it quietly, chuckles when you look at the quirk silencing cuffs and collar he dons, "They ain't shit against strong quirks." 
Your eyes flash, anger spiking your blood and stupidly you strike. Hand stinging as badly as the tears that come to your eyes and threaten to fall past your lash line. Clawed fingers met with the metal framing of the glass spit guard mask that covers his mouth. Still one of your claws cuts his cheeks and he howls with laughter. 
"Like I said-" He yanks you down harshly, playful tone from his voice gone as your ribs smack into the edge of the metal table, puffs of hot breath fogging the glass of his spit guard, "Sit." 
The awkward angle forces your knees to bend, settling on to the cold metal stool while his warm fingers leave blossoms of black and blue on the skin. As if returning the favor for the cut. 
"I can feel your heart pounding princess,yer pussy throbin this hard too?" He licks his lips, laughs when you lean away from him in disgust, "Ya like it. All sluts play hard to get at first." 
Your eyes flicker to the guards behind him, all six pretend not to notice, panic shoots through your veins and the realization of just how bad of a fucking idea this was settles over you harshly. Like ice water flowing from the nape of your neck.  
He follows your gaze, even cranes his head like he didn't know who was behind him and exactly where they stood. 
"Oh them? They ain't gonna do shit. They're too scared of me. Blew a guy's head off last week." He smiles and one of the guards suddenly finds the floor interesting, "Do ya know how drugged up I am right now baby? How much force these cuffs have to use to bring my quirk down to half power?" 
Choosing not to respond you let your eyes fall back on his handsome face watching it snarl as you ignore him. 
Oh he'd make you see him. 
"What cat got yer tongue now ya scared cause I'm so strong? Invincible?" Your eyes narrow as he speaks the arrogance of this man is far beyond your comprehension. 
"You bleed like every other man." He loves the way you speak, how you wield that sharp tongue. How he wants it pressed and slashing over his own as he's two fingers deep into your tight cunt, moaning into his mouth. 
He brings the thick digits of his free hand parting gift you bestowed upon him. The long thin slash as rough pads bring smeared blood into view so he can lick away the dark red beads. 
"Bloody men are usually the most dangerous, you never know if it's his or that of another's." He lets his hot thumb roll over the cut, cauterizing the small wound hoping it scars. 
Eyes widening as he blatantly uses his quirk as if there weren't armed guards behind him. You're watching his eyes closely as he does and finally you realize what he said is true. There is a dullness to them that was lacking in the raw footage you saw all those months ago. 
Then his eyes were vibrant, sharp and slicing, much more intense then the hazy glare he gives you now. It didn't make him any less of an apex predator. 
Still watching you, recording your small movements and committing your soft skin to his memory as he studies you. 
"Got a quirk?" He grunts out after a moment, after he collects whatever information he was looking for, "I wanna guess first. Manipulation?" 
He smirks at his own joke and you roll your eyes, trying to ignore how his thumb swipes at the underside of your forearm idly. How the motion twists your stomach violently with dizzying emotions. 
Rolling your eyes before you scoff an answer, "No. Besides you expect me to manipulate through what? Ink?" 
"Ya never know. Went to school with some asshole whose quirk was comic book sound effects." He leans back never letting go but now his hand is around your wrist. His fingers twitch when he looks at yours, fights the urge to roughly lace them with his own. 
"Well I don't. Manipulate I mean." You adjust in your seat, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny, "And I won't disclose whether I have a quirk or not." 
"Haaah? Worried I'll like it?" When you don't answer he adds, "Is it compatible with mine?" 
Slowly blinking at him trying not to read into what you think he means. He groans at your silence, the higher dosage of his morning meds finally catching up making him a little lethargic. Taking his edge off when all he wants to do is rise over the crashing wave of the pending high he can barely keep at bay and whisk you out of the depths of hell the two of you currently sit in. 
"So then what? You just used regular words to manipulate them?" He fights back a yawn. 
"Who?" Your ribs still ache from his actions earlier, it doesn't warn you like it should. 
"Don't play fuckin stupid, Sweetheart." He's lurching into your space again, hand moving back over your bruise. It makes your stomach clench when it shouldn't, especially not as the chains rattle against the metal table top, serving as a heavy reminder of the setting of this conversation. 
Still his breath comes in quick puffs as it fogs up the glass again, "Shitty hair. Deku." 
Your brows furrow for a moment, another groan from him. 
"For fucks sake." Light squeeze of your arm as he spits their names, "Fuckin nerdy ass Izuku. Eijirou."
"I can't talk about them." Looking away from his darkened eyes that flash with a fury of emotion.
"Who's stoppin ya? Them?" He tilts his head towards the guards, "I told ya-" 
"B-001174, you have five minutes left for visitation." A voice crackled over an old speaker in the visitation cell, "Please remove your hands from the guest or we will apply force." 
The small light on his collar flashes red and he just smirks, looking up, well above your head. Staring directly at the warden like he knows exactly where he stood behind the two way mirror. 
"Yea? You'll apply force? Go ahead. Nothin but a little shock t' me but t' her? She'll die warden." There is no mirth in his smirk, lips twitching as his eyes are shrouded in dark warning, "And we wouldn't want that would we?" 
The way he speaks sends a chill down your spine, the haze of whatever sedative they had him on is now gone and you're left sitting across from those vibrant radioactive eyes. Burning through the mirror to sear the warden's skin in a threat, a promise. 
A buzz rings out as the seventh guard comes in, he scrunches his nose and it makes his oddly shaped mustache twitch. 
"Miss." He grunts holding out his hand for you to take too close in your personal space for your liking. Slapping it out of your face before following your right arm down to where Katsuki held fast. Peeling off his thick digits with your finely manicured claws. 
He hisses at the loss of contact, glaring at the guard when his hands hover close and the older man is smart enough not to antagonize a literal monster. Katsuki stands suddenly, a scream comes from the bolts securing metal to metal as he rips the table out of the ground, unable to break the chains for now. 
Everyone but Bakugou in the room freezes, guns cocked and aimed at the bulking villain who rose to his full height, sticking his prison issued white shoe onto the seat he just sat on to push down roughly. Thick thigh muscles straining against the fabric of the bright orange pants. A smile to his face when the chains finally snap and he can move his hands more freely before ripping off the plexiglass spit guard letting it clink on to the ground. His large hands run through his hair as if to fix it. 
"I'm entitled to a proper fuckin good bye." He hisses at everyone in the room, they keep their guns aimed at him but make no move to pull any trigger. 
Katsuki stalks closer, a wall of muscle, broad chest and shoulders, slim waist that leads down to powerful legs and you try not to let your breath catch in your throat. 
Try not to let the big bad wolf win by letting him know just how scared you were. Over how impressive it was that he snapped reinforced titanium chains so easily. 
He's well within your arms reach now, so close heat radiates from his chest. 
"I'll see ya soon, Sweetheart." He bids you a final goodbye, waving his fingers that pop with burning caramel explosions. You're not sure why it sets you off, maybe it was the way he wore that stupid smirk on his face, maybe it was the way he demonstrated his power or his dominance in an attempt to intimidate you one last time. 
Maybe it's the way he was arrogant enough to think you'd waste six hours round trip on his ass ever again. 
Either way it makes your temper flair, burrows deep into your subdermis to scarpe at your bones one final time before you unknowingly seal your own fate. Not knowing how his body would react to your parting words. 
"There won't be a next time. I came here for one thing and that was to say fuck you." Delivered with just as much clotting venom as it was before, middle finger held high.
His smirk turns deadly, blowing out a snort as he leans closer as if to share a secret. You can smell the cheap commissary soap that clings to his skin that's starting to lose out to the rapidly building nimbus of smoking caramel that clouds the air as his lips press to your ear.  
"Don't have t'. I'll come to you." He pulls back and winks as you're guided out of the room, glare fixed on him as he stands unbothered. 
He's lying, prisoners lie all the time especially if they think they can get the upper hand. He couldn't come to you. He couldn't escape prison for starters and lastly there was no way in hell he'd ever find out where you lived.  The prison made sure of that by always including a fresh envelope with their own return address in the top left corner, you should know. You only triple checked each time you sealed away the letter, even a fourth time at the post box staring down at the address on the envelope making sure both were correct.
So fuck Bakugou Katsuki for being a dirty liar, fucking hypocrite.
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Shoving yourself into an oversized shirt after your body shower you finally get to plop down into bed. Relishing the feel of fresh sheets and blankets as you sigh deeply. It had been a long, long day and no amount of self care could get his toxic blood red eyes out of your head.
Switching on the TV to pull up some show to numb your mind with familiarity when the channel cuts out. Breaking news flashing across the screen makes your body go rigid. 
A prison break from Tartarus has occurred in the late evening hours, several high profile villains are believed to have escaped such as Shigaraki Tomura, Todoroki Touya, aka Dabi, Kirishima Eijirou aka Blood Riot,  Midoriya Izuku aka Deku and Bakugou Katsuki better known as Ground Zero. Please do not approach suspected escapees, please report any suspicious person or activities immediately. Most importantly keep all doors and windows locked at all times. I repeat do not engage with the inmates. 
A knock comes from your left, making you jump out of your skin as you fist the sheets. A cold sweat breaking out over your skin in goose flesh as your hearing rings in your ears. Unable to bring yourself to look at the sliding glass door to your balcony just yet as if you could ignore it and the cause of the sound would simply go away.
Another rapt of knuckles pulls your attention once more before you finally dare to peek to see glowing red eyes peering in. The devil himself at your door and you knew better than to let him in. 
Knew better that a locked door couldn't keep him out. 
Bromine burning in the night like ever fanned flames, orange jumpsuit obnoxiously out of place against the night sky, stained in deep burgundy red and ash grays, the same colors streaking his face before he knocks again. But this time it's in warning, hard enough to rattle the door that you both know he could rip off the track with ease.
"How- how did you?" Teeth chattering that you grit closed still refusing to give in to his tactics until he presses a small envelope against the glass. Your personal envelope with your real home address listed for return. 
Panic bubbles up your throat in a scream that dies at the back of your teeth as you sit frozen a minute longer while he gives a predatory grin, large hands pressing against the glass before his palms glow bright orange. Brighter than his jumpsuit before the glass shatters and your scream finally escapes your lungs. 
In an instant he's towering over you, palms pressing into biting shards as he cages you against the plush comforter dipping his head low so he can nose at your throat, hot palm at your ribs. Leave a searing bite pulling a strangled yelp from your soft lips that makes him laugh before his mouth is at your ear for the second time today. Finally speaking dangerously low.
"Told ya I'd see ya soon, Sweetheart."
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2K notes · View notes
dreamingofaizawa · 8 months
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-clears throat- prohero izuku is still a social loser and the only pussy in his life is his abused pocket pussy that can barely fit his cock
971 notes · View notes
dreamingofaizawa · 9 months
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Happy birthday!
Thank you sweetheart ❤️
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dreamingofaizawa · 9 months
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OH MY GOD
Okay, hold on, i just need a minute to stop SOBBING MY EYES OUT GOOD GOD
This was so beautiful, the emotions just so real and raw. The confrontation with katsuki, the “you’re not her” and “you’re not him” is such a good boiling point. God I’m just… I’m in love with this. Thank you for this masterpiece
Across every universe,  I’ll find my way to you
Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x Fem!Reader
Word count: 7.9k
Author’s note: This took me a despicable amount of time to finish. Shoutout to my IRL boyfie for letting me bounce ideas off of him. And an even bigger shoutout to my beloved angel baby @margumis I love you very dearly and I am kissing u and kissing u and– 
Also!! This is my first long fic, please be very gentle with me, I will cry.
Content warning: fem!reader, afab!reader, enemies -> lovers, but also kind of lovers -> lovers. it will make sense once you read, i prommy mommy (gn), slowburn, italicized sections are flashbacks, death, descriptions of death, character deaths, also there’s a brief like kidnapping scene, but it’s not actually kidnapping idk. nothing bad happens!! idk it’ll make sense i stg, eventual smut. OKAY! smut warnings: vaginal penetration, cunnilingus, mating press, creampie, !! breeding kink !!, slight possessiveness, squirting, dirty talk.
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Wind rustles as you make your way through the cemetery yard, hands clutching your bag closer to you. Today makes 260 days. 260 since you last held Bakugou Katsuki in your arms.  6,240 hours you could have spent in his embrace. 3,744,000 minutes that could have been shared between the two of you. Instead you wallow alone in an empty house. A house once filled to the brim with love, laughter, life. A small part of you died that day with him, and another joined when you watched his casket get placed in the ground. A staring match with the rich mahogany, praying to whatever lies above for the explosive blond to break out. Laugh in all your faces at your tears for him. Because nobody could kill Bakugou Katsuki. Until they did. 
A shaky breath escapes you once you step in front of the marker. You plop your bag to the ground, beginning your weekly ritual. But today, today was the hardest of all you think. Almost as hard as the day he was killed.  You whisper your greetings to him, a kiss pressed to the picture placed on his tomb. Reaching into your bag to pull out your supplies, you begin cleaning away the dirt from the marble. Humming softly as you begin your task, ensuring that it was cleaned thoroughly. He would hate this, you think, even death couldn’t stop you from washing away his smudged edges. You tell him about your week as you clean. How your boss made you work overtime, that you stopped at your coffee shop for the first time in months, about how well his plants are growing in the greenhouse out back. You tell him of his family, how you met with his parents like you do every Sunday. Your mom made your favorite, you whisper to him. 
When the stone reflects the shine of the sun, your work is done. Packing your things neatly back into your bag turning to face him again. “I bought you something,” you say, digging through the bag for the plastic box nestled there. “I was going to make something, but,” you shudder through your tears, opening the box to present the lone cupcake. You place it on a napkin upon the stone, pressing a candle into the sweet. A flick of your lighter, a shuddering breath. “Happy birthday, Katsuki,” you whisper, “make a wish.” A gust of wind causes the flame to extinguish, and then everything turns black. 
Distorted shouts fill your ears when you wake. You’re being pushed– no, pulled forward by an unnamed force. Opening your eyes to the darkness, you tune into your surroundings. A cloth pulled over your eyes, wrists bound, mouth gagged. You flail, hands moving to dislodge the scratchy cloth from between your lips. Your hands are yanked forward again, and you’re walking. Stumbling more like. There’s rocky terrain beneath your feet, the smell of sandalwood and pine reach your nose as your other senses kick into gear. You strain your ears, attempting to make sense of the garbled words being thrown around you.
“-- there’s no way.”
“What is he going to do with her? It. Whatever this is.”
“Who knows, but he won’t be happy. We should probably take care of this ourselves, spare him the heartache.”
“No, he needs to see.”
Your attempts at speaking to your captors prove futile, mumbled by the cloth shoved there. With no other choice at hand, you begin to walk. 
You walk for what feels like miles, and your attempt at gathering information from your captors does little to aid your distress. Loud jeers begin to overpower your companions, the sound of a crowd gathering around you has a pit of despair forming deep in your belly. The sound of cloth being pulled open falls upon your ears, the crowds’ sounds muffled by it falling closed behind you. “The fuck is this?” a gruff voice spits harshly. Your heart beats erratically in your chest at the familiar lilt, straining harder against your restraints. “It’s better if you just see,” one of your captors mutters. You’re pushed to your knees, slamming into the grass beneath you. You wheeze as the gag is torn from your mouth, the dryness in your throat causing a flurry of coughs to escape you. You wince from the light flooding your senses as the blind fold follows. A blurry face is brought into view as your eyes adjust. 260 days since you last saw the eyes that stare daggers into you. No longer filled with the warmth that rests there. 
“Princess?” he whispers. 
You gasp, tears falling steadily from your lash line, “Katsuki.”
You groan at the bright sun flooding through the curtains, turning into the vast warmth that rests beside you. “G’morning, princes,” he mumbles, voice raspy from lack of use. You grunt in acknowledgment, pressing a kiss to his chest. He pinches your side, chuckling lowly when you smack his chest lightly in retaliation. “Oi,” he grumbles, “said good morning, brat.” You pull your head to look at him, glare faltering at the wide grin spread across his face. A shiver runs down your spine as he tucks a loose hair behind your ear. “Morning, ‘suki.” He hums in delight, pulling your chin up to press a kiss to your lips. Crimson eyes stare into you, flooding with a warmth only he could hold. Kisses are pressed across his face, ignoring the grumbling that follows, feeling his cheek twitch as he fights back a smile. “Sleep well?” you ask, halting your assault on his face. “Always do when ‘m next to you.” You smile at that, tapping his nose. “So cheesy, Katsuki.” His jaw snaps leaning to nip at your retreating finger, “You like it.” The sound of his phone ringing breaks the tranquility settled between the two of you. He curses, pulling himself up to answer. 
“Bakugou,”  he speaks harshly into the phone. “Fuckers can’t go a day without me, hah? It’s my day off,” he argues. Your brows furrow, leaning up behind him to rest your head on his shoulder blade. He reaches behind him, searching for your hand, placing a soft kiss once you entwine your fingers with his own. “Alright, alright. This better be worth my fuckin’ time,” he seethes, sighing heavily once the call ends. “Emergency?” you ask meekly, a pit forming in your stomach. He grunts, turning to face you. “Sorry, princess. I’ll kick their asses and be back before you know it. Then I’m all yours.” You smile half heartedly, “Don’t go,” you whisper. His brows furrow, in the time you’ve been together, you’ve never once asked him to stay back, understanding what his work means to him. “I can’t, princess. I’ve got to go. What’s wrong, hm? Tell Katsuki.” Your fingers play absentmindedly with his, shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know, suki. I just have a bad feeling about this. Please, stay.” He sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Have a little faith in me, yeah? Nothin can take me from you. I’ll be back, okay? Love you.” You shake your head to rid the feeling from your chest, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Let’s go out tonight when you get home?” He smiles at that, kissing your lips slowly. “Anythin you want,” he mumbles. 
The feeling stirring in your gut grows worse as you stand at your front door to see him off, hands itching to hold him back. Make him stay. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he says, pressing quick kisses to your lips. You hum in response, pulling him close to you. “I love you, Katsuki.” A final kiss is pressed to your lips. “I love you more. Be home soon.” 
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Katsuki snarls, hands fisting the back of your hair. “Katsuki, how’re you— this doesn’t— I don’t understand,” you whimper between sobs, hands straining against the cloth that binds them. Begging to touch him, to feel him once more. “What clan do you belong to? Think I’m fuckin’ stupid, witch?” You subside your sobs to take him in. Chest on display, a cape of crimson over his shoulders. His scars are still in the same place, except one. A new one spread over his abdomen, the scarring still light compared to his faded ones. “Katsuki,” you whimper, “you’re here.” He growls at you, pulling you closer. “You think you can fool me with some cheap fuckin’ magic. She’s dead. Been dead. You ain’t her.” Your brows furrow in confusion, taking in the scene around you. A tent, with tables strewn about. A small group resides there with you, frantic eyes moving over the familiar faces. You lock eyes with all of them, noting the despair spread there. 
He releases his grip on your hair, turning his back to you. He turns to Sero who stands by his side, “Kill it. I don’t care where, I don’t care how. Get it out of my sight. Burn the body.” You cry out in protest attempting to stand. “Wait! Katsuki, wait! What’s going on? I-I don’t understand.” His back still faces you, shoulders tense under the crimson cloth resting there. “Please! You have to listen. You’re supposed to be dead! You died— I— I watched you get buried! This doesn't make sense!” He turns to face you, a snarl across his face. “Stop fuckin talkin.” he says dangerously. “You have to believe me! Today, I was— It’s your birthday! I was at your grave. I— I gave you a cupcake and then— wait. Where’s my bag?” You say, whipping your head around. “Check it! My stuff to clean your stone is still there. Please, Katsuki. I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening.” 
He looks questioningly at the person standing behind you before a bag is tossed his way. He rips it open, dumping the contents onto the floor. “See! Look, my cleaning stuff. Open my wallet! There’s a picture of us in there. Please, Katsuki. You have to believe me.” Sero bends down, picking up the spray bottle that’s there. “What is this,” he murmurs to himself. He presses the handle, yelping as water squirts him in the face before dropping it onto the floor. He looks mortified, wiping his face furiously to rid it of the substance. “It’s just water,” you mumble to hum. He brightens at this, picking it back up. Katsuki squats, digging through your remaining possessions. He dumps out your pack of emergency tampons, holding one up questioningly before tossing it behind him. Your bag of spare hair ties follows after, before he finally picks up your wallet. “There!” you cry out, “Open it! There’s a photo of us!” He glares at you, causing you to snap your mouth shut. He picks the photo up slowly, eyes widening in shock at the sight of himself resting there. He stands, picture firmly in his grasp. “Get it out of here,” he says to Sero. “Wait! Please, wait! Katsuki—
“Get a message to Cheeks and Deku. Tell them to
come. Now.”
Sero nods in acknowledgment, tucking the spray bottle along his belt. 
“Get Red too, tell ‘im I need him.” 
Sero bows low, gesturing for the person behind you to pull you up. You’re yanked up, being pulled out of the tent. “Katsuki,” you call one last time, “I love you.” He doesn’t respond, choosing to turn his back to you. 
260 days since you last laid your eyes upon Bakugou Katsuki, and he wanted you dead. 
— 
A small smile graces Katsuki’s face at the sounds of your grumbling. It spreads even wider when you turn to him for comfort, nestling yourself in the crook of his neck. “Good mornin, princess,” he murmurs to you, hands running gently down your back. His heart warms as you press a kiss over it, grunting in response. He pinches your side, chuckling lowly when you smack his chest lightly in retaliation. “Oi,” he grumbles, “said good morning, shitty woman.” You pull your head to look at him, glare faltering to a grin to match his own. A shiver runs down your spine as he tucks a loose hair behind your ear. “Morning, my king.” He hums in delight, pulling your chin up to press a kiss to your lips. Bright eyes stare into his own, flooding with a warmth only you could hold. Kisses are pressed across your face then, a smile overtaking his face at your laughter. “Sleep well?” you ask, halting his assault on your face. “Always do when ‘m next to you.” You smile at that, tapping his nose. “So cheesy, Katsuki.” His jaw snaps leaning to nip at your retreating finger, “You like it, princess.” You hum at his words, tracing his features gently. He holds back a shudder at your movements breathing in the early morning air.
“Will you ever stop calling me that?” you ask quietly, “I’m a queen now, you know.” He rolls over you, forehead knocking gently against your own. “And what would your people say, if they knew what their queen did in her free time, hmm?” he says in a low voice, a smirk plastered across his face. “Katsuki!” you exclaim, quickly cut off by his lips pressing against your own. His brows furrow in irritation when you push him back, the glare on your face shushing him. “Not today, my king. I have to meet with Tsu! We’re going to the falls today.” He groans, flopping on top of you to prevent your movement. “Noooo,” he whines out, “stay here.” You chuckle at his fit, rolling your eyes at the way he burrows into you once your hands brush through his hair. “I’ll be back before you know it, my love.” He grumbles to himself some more, flopping off of you to get dressed. He accompanies you to the flap of your tent, still hanging from your back. “And what would your people say if they knew how soft their king was for his bride?” you tease, kissing his lips. He nips at you, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it,” you say, pressing quick kisses to his lips. He hums in response, pulling you close to him. “I love you, princess.” A final kiss is pressed to your lips. “I love you more, my king. I’ll return soon.” Katsuki shakes his head, flinging the negative feelings festering in his gut away as he watches your retreating figure. You’ll be back.
You’re brought to a tent set deep in the middle of the encampment, Sero nudges you forward gently easing you into the space. “I’m going to untie you now, okay?” He says, “Please don’t run.” You nod in response, taking in the small tent that’s become your new home. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” the person behind you says. You turn to face him, “Kaminari?” his eyes widen in surprise, waving lightly to you. “You know his name?” Sero asks, untying your wrists. You rub the ache, inspecting for damage. “Yeah, and you’re Sero. Is Kirishima here too? What about Mina?” They both stare at you in bewilderment, “It really is you, isn’t it?” Denki asks. 
Sero grabs your hand gingerly, pulling you forward. He mumbles apologies as an iron cuff is snapped over your wrist, chaining you to the pole resting in the center. “I mean— I don’t— I think so?” You stutter, “I don’t think I’m your yn. Just like he’s not my Katsuki.” The boys nod in agreement, flopping to the floor. “Sorcery,” Denki states matter of factly, “you think Midoriya and Ochako can figure it out?” He asks Sero. He looks deep in thought, fingers fiddling with the spray bottle that remains resting at his side. “Of all days for this to happen,” Denki whines, “it’s his birthday!” He winces, turning to you, “No offense.” You shrug in response, joining them to rest on the floor, pressing your back against the wood. Sero pulls a water skin from his side, taking a swig. He sees you eye it hungrily, offering it to you. “Sorry about before. With the blindfold and gag and whatnot,” he says sheepishly, “we just weren’t sure what you were.” You wave him, drinking eagerly from the leather. “So,” Denki says, “what can you tell us? What happened on your end?” They listen intently as you explain your story, even going as far as explaining Katsuki’s death to them. Well, your Katsuki. They sit there drinking your words in, before Denki looks at you with wide eyes. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” he says, standing up, “how long ago did he die? Your Katsuki.” Sero tosses something at him, glaring between him and your obvious distress. “It’s relevant. Please tell me. How many days ago?” You shudder, turning your face as a tear falls, “260 days.” 
“Holy fuck,” Sero says. 
“What?”
“You died 260 days ago.”
You pace anxiously around your living room, contemplating calling Katsuki again. It had been hours since he left, time stretching well into the night. Your heart races as a call comes through answering quickly without checking the name. “Katsuki? Where are you? It’s been—
A voice cuts you off, solemn. “Yn, it’s Kirishima. I— I’m sorry it took so long to get a hold of you. Katsuki, he’s—
“Kirishima. Where is he?”
“We’re at the hospital, you need to come. Now. It’s bad.” 
Tears fall quickly down your face, nodding your head although the man can’t see you. “I’ll have someone pick you up, okay? You shouldn’t be driving right now.” You nod again, not trusting your voice. 
You sit on your front porch as you wait, a bag packed with spare clothes for Katsuki hung over your shoulders. He always hated the feeling of the hospital gowns. You make your way down your steps as headlights pull in the drive, opening the door. “Hey,” Mina whispers, eyes bloodshot. You smile weakly in response, closing the door behind you. 
You make your way to his room once you arrive, but are quickly stopped by Kirishima. “Hey, Yn. Listen, he’s— there’s a lot going on in there. Do you want me to come with you?” You shake your head, squeezing his hand gingerly. A shuddering breath escapes you as you stand at the door, preparing you for what waits on the other side. You knock gently,
expecting no response. A sob escapes you once you enter the room. Katsuki. Your Katsuki. So full of life, lay ashen upon the bed. Tubes and wires spread on either side of him. You make your way to the bed, sitting down on the chair that lay there. It’s still warm— from Kirishima, you assume. You take his hand in yours, whimpering at the lack of warmth that usually resides there. You press a shaky kiss to his hand, rest your forehead upon it, and then you cry. 
“What?” you exclaim, “your, me? Or whatever, died the same day my Katsuki died. What does this mean? I don’t understand—
You’re cut off by the tent flap opening, a mop of green hair following. “Izuku?” you ask. He gasps, staring at you in shock. “Yn. He said, I mean. I know he said you— you really do look like her.” Ochako follows after shooing Kaminari and Sero out. They smile solemnly, bidding their goodbyes. “Oh my,” Ochako says, dropping her armfuls of utensils. “Um, hello,” you say sheepishly. Ochako is the first to snap out of it, picking up her belongings to begin spreading them across the floor. Izuku helps her, sparing glances at you all the while. Ochako circles you once they're done, spouting instructions for Izuku. “We need something reflective first,” she says, holding her hand out. Izuku digs through his bag, pulling out a small piece of mirror. Ochako stands behind you, holding it up to the two of you. “Not a changeling. The mirror would have revealed her true form.” Izuku nods, jotting down notes into a book as he mumbles to himself. 
Candles are spread around you, casting an eerie glow over the darkening tent. Ochako stands in front of you, hands spread out as she chants to herself. Izuku watches warily behind her, eyeing you for any sudden changes. Her voice grows steadily as her incantation grows stronger, flames rising on the candles. A gust of wind runs through the tent. Ochako collapses, Izuku quickly grabbing her body before she could hit the ground. The flames flicker out, the setting sun lighting the tent. Ochako groans as she sits up, rubbing her eyes. She lights a fire in the hearth to the side to brighten the room. “No change. You’re still the same,” she turns to Izuku. “It’s really her.” They both turn to you again, tears falling down Izuku’s face. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he mumbles. “Trust me,” you whisper, “I’m just as lost as you guys.” Izuku wipes his eyes, staring deeply into yours. “Tell us everything,” he demands. Ochako stops him with a hand to his chest. “Get him first. He’ll want to know, and it’s best to not make her explain everything twice. She’s scared too.” Your heart warms at her words, “Thank you,” you murmur. She smiles tightly, watching Izuku leave. “Don’t thank me yet.”
A breeze whips Bakugou’s coat behind him where he stands, arms crossed as he listens to Kaminari tell of his latest hunting conquest. He snorts at the electric blond’s overexaggerated tale. His brows furrow at the sound of shouts, head turning in the direction of the medical tent. His stomach drops at the sight of Mina running towards him, marching to meet her half way. “Bakugou,” she says breathlessly, “it’s yn.” He rushes past her, shouldering people out of the way to get to the med tent. He snaps the tent flap open, heart pounding the sight of you upon the cot. “My king,” Chiyo says, bowing deeply. “What happened? What’s goin on here?” he snarls, moving to you. His eyes cut to Tsu who stands at your side, what he assumes to be your blood splatter across her. He sees the tremor in her hands as she looks down at them, moving to wipe the crimson stain off of her. “Tsu,” he says, “Tsu. Listen to me.” Her watery eyes greet him, a whimper caught in her throat. “What happened? Tell me.”
She takes a shaky breath, sniffling all the while. “It was— we were at the falls,” he reaches his free hand across you, grasping hers firmly. “We— we were getting out. I didn’t see it coming!” she sobs, “If I would have seen I would have stopped it! My back was turned while I put my sheath on!” He squeezes her hand, fire burning behind his eyes as he looks down at your bloodied form. “Take a breath,” he demands, “would have seen what coming?” She does as commanded, taking a shuddering breath. “It was a boar. It was massive, it came from nowhere!” She’s moved to the side while Chiyo works on you. Chiyo turns to him, “it’s best if you leave, my king. I need the space to work.” He grunts in acknowledgement, brushing a stray hair from your washed out face. A kiss is pressed to your head, and he leaves the tent.
A silence washes over you as you and Ochako wait for Izuku’s return. She diligently places her belongings back into her bags, humming quietly to herself all the while. You sit straighter at the sound of loud voices, flinching as the entrance is torn open. “You,” he says pointing to Ochako, “you wanna tell me what the fuck is going on here?” She sighs, cheeks heating in annoyance at the outburst. “I’ve done everything I can, Bakugou. She’s not lying about who she is. She’s yn— sort of.  Not the one you— we all know.” He grunts in annoyance, eyes boring into yours. “I don’t care what you have to do, but you need to send her back. I don’t want her here.” Ochako lets out a noise of surprise, “I don’t know what I can do, Bakugou. Don’t you want to at least hear her story?” 
“No. It ain’t her. I don’t give a fuck what this fuckin’ wench has to say.”
With that, he leaves, leaving you alone with the sorcerers. “Well,” Izuku says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I would like to know, if that’s all right. I’m sure Kacchan will come around.” You wipe the tear from your eye before they can catch it. He may not be your Katsuki, but hearing his disgust at you sears a scar deep into your heart. “Okay,” you mumble, “what all do you want to know?”
Hours turn into days, days into weeks, and Katsuki makes no signs of recovery. The only thing keeping him alive are the wires attached to him. You’ve practically moved into his room, sleeping on the cot the hospital provided for you. You wipe your cheeks as his doctor enters the room, his parents following shortly after. His mother can barely look at him, eyes downcast. Masaru pulls you into a bone crushing hug. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but we have many things to discuss,” the doctor starts, “as you’re all aware, the only thing keeping Bakugou alive at this point are the machines. We need to know our next step.” A choked sob leaves his mother, his father pulling her to his other side. “Shut it down,” you whisper. “I’m sorry?” the doctor says. “Shut it down. The life support. He wouldn’t want this.” Mitsuki lets out a shout in response, Masaru shushes her, pulling her close. “She’s right, darling. He wouldn’t want this.” She clings to him as he supports her weight. “Are you sure this is what you want?” The doctor asks. The three of you share a look of understanding. “If there’s no other way to help him, put my son out of his misery,” Mitsuki shudders. 
The funeral is nice. A small event with only his friends. You’d wanted him to be cremated, but his mother refused. She wanted a place to visit. You sit there guilt ridden. Eyes dry. Katsuki had died the moment he laid in that hospital bed. You’d done your grieving. For now, you need to be strong. For his parents, your friends. For him. You stand to the side as the casket is lowered. Kirishima stays at your side. The crowd disperses, but you both stay. It isn’t until Kaminari bids his goodbye, leaving you and Kirishima, that you fall to your knees and cry.
Weeks had passed since you found yourself in this new land. Ochako and Izuku left shortly after you told your tale, promising to find a way to return you home. It’s hard to adjust at first. The tent remained your home for many days, until Mina finally convinced Katsuki— or was it Bakugou now? —to allow you to stay in her place of rest. She was just the same as your Mina. So friendly and sweet, providing you with clothes, food, and a sense of comfort. You find it hard to keep yourself occupied. Although Bakugou allowed you to remain unchained, you weren’t to leave the encampment. You also weren’t allowed in his general line of sight. This rule, you had made yourself. Heart plummeting every time his look of disgust met your own. It pains him to look at you, you’re sure. Mina herself had said so once you donned the clothes she had provided you, shedding her own tears. “You look even more like her now,” she had whispered. As days pass, Kaminari and Sero begin joining you in your isolation. You beg them to teach you their ways, aching for a distraction. They’re easy to comply, and it becomes easier to smile. You share laughs as they tell their tales, smiling when Sero chases Kaminari with the spray bottle he took from you when you’d first arrived. 
Kaminari teaches you to sew, and you begin making your own clothing. Sero teaches you what plants are edible, and which to stay away from. And— after much convincing —Mina teaches you to hunt. Out of everything you learned, this is definitely the hardest. The trio tried to teach you many weapons, and you embarrassingly failed at all of them. It’s then that you notice the lingering. The crimson eyes watching you as you train. It isn’t until you’re knocked on your ass by Mina— again, that he approaches. You scramble to your feet, eyes falling to the ground as he approaches. “Oi,” he calls out, “you.” He won’t utter your name either, you’ve noticed. “M-me?” you ask, eyes flickering to his. He rolls his own, tossing something into your arms. “Try this. Tired of watching your dumbass fail.” With that he turns and leaves, and you shove down the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at the familiar insult. Your new friends (were they really new?)  gape at you as he leaves. Your hands run over the bow and quiver he’d thrown you, fingertips tracing the marks etched into the juniper wood.
“Holy shit,” Sero murmurs. 
“What?”
“That bow, it was hers.”
Bakugou paces restlessly in front of the tent, his hair a mess from constantly being tugged at. His head snaps to the tent when he hears the cloth being pulled back. A snarl escapes him at Chiyo’s solemn expression. “No.” he says, dropping to his knees, “No, no, no! Please, no.” Kirishima rests a shaking hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “I am sorry, my king. I have done everything I can do. She is gone.” A scream tears through Bakugou’s throat at this, shoving Kirishima off of him before entering the tent. Tears run hot down his face as he takes in your lifeless form. “Princess,” he whispers, dropping to his knees. His hand grips yours, pressing a shaky kiss to the cold skin. “My queen, I am so sorry.” A solemn silence rests over the camp that night, the only noise heard is the crying of its king. 
Bakugou sheds no tears at your funeral. Face stoic as he stands in front of his people. Muffled words are spoken, but he hears none of it. He stands by your side, lights the fire that brings you into the next world. He stays until the crowd has dispersed. Kirishima remains, standing with his king. As Kaminari leaves, with one final goodbye. Bakugou falls to his knees and cries. 
Weeks turn into months as you await Ochako and Izuku’s return. You’ve slowly started adapting to life in your new home. Could you even call it that? You no longer have to be accompanied everywhere you go, and Bakugou’s eyes no longer shoot daggers into you every time you’re around. He ends up being right— about the bow —you pick up on it quickly. It seems you and your barbarian counterpart had more things in common than looks. It's hard at first, hearing about how you’re so much like her. But as you adjust, the comments stop, and you grow closer to your companions. Kirishima even starts talking to you, and offers to teach you more skills to help. You’re assigned tasks, and finally given your own tent. It isn’t until a night of celebration that things go to utter shit. A babe had just been born to another member of the clan. A boy, strong and healthy. You decide to turn in, one too many cups of the mead Kaminari had provided you making you just shy of drunk. 
You hum to yourself as you walk to your tent, a startled cry falling from your lips as you’re yanked back. Crimson eyes stare into your own, overflowing with fury. 
“Bakugou—
“You ain’t her,” he spits harshly.
“I don’t— I know, I’m so—
“You may have everyone else fooled, but you’ll never be her.”
You rip your arm from his grasp, fury bubbling in your stomach. “And you aren’t him!” you shout, “You’ll never be him!” His eyes widen in bewilderment, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You think you’re the only one hurt? The only one who’s confused here?! I lost him, too. I understand better than anyone else here what it’s like. To look at the face of your lover. Knowing it’s not really them.”
He stutters over his words, fumbling to grab onto you again, “I- I’m sorry. I had no— I didn’t know.” 
“Well if you’d take a minute to look around and think about somebody besides yourself, you would know!” Your hands shake with rage, tears falling from your eyes, “I offered to tell you my story, and you refused.” 
He stays quiet, eyes averting from yours. 
“It’s hard. It’s so hard to look at you. You’re him, but you’re not. You’re so much like him. It pains me. It tears me up inside. I want you, but I feel like I’m betraying him. Replacing him with this new version of you.”
A lone tear falls from his eye, and you will yourself not to brush it away. 
A gasp escapes you as a kiss is pressed to your lips, your trembling hand moves to grasp at his hair, pulling him closer. He pulls away, resting his head against yours. 
“You even taste like her,” he whispers. 
“Across every universe— 
“I’ll find my way to you,” he finishes. “You— she —used to tell me that all of the time.”
A whimper escapes you, hands tightening where they rest in his hair. “I know I shouldn’t want you,” you say, “but I do.”
“I know how you feel,” he responds, “I want you too.”
Falling in love with Bakugou Katsuki— again —is even more thrilling than the first. It’s the same, in most ways, yet vastly different in others. Dating him— no —courting, he calls it. Necklaces are replaced with fresh pelts, prearranged bouquets are replaced with hand picked flowers with dirt still resting upon them. 
“If we do this,” you had whispered, “I need you to see me. Not her. And I will see you.”
He grunted in agreement, “I look forward to falling in love with you again.” 
A shaky smile spread over your face at this, “So, you say, “we’re dating?”
“Hah? Dating?”
“Yeah, you know. Like exclusive. Only seeing each other. What do you call it?”
“You mean courting, shitty woman?”
“Courting. Yes, so I’m courting you?”
“No.”
Your heart drops, hands falling to your side, “Oh, I— I’m sorry, I just thought—
“I’m courting you,” he says with determination, “get that through your thick skull.” 
It’s funny really, how alike they are. He’s just as shy as he was the first time around. Cheeks turning red when your hands brush, stuttering a goodnight after pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. You learn so much about him. This Katsuki. All of your free time is spent together, sneaking out of your tent late at night. Letting him lead you to an open clearing, teaching you the names of the stars above. His eyes no longer stare daggers into you. The ice laid there finally melting under your warmth. 
“It’s weird,” you whisper to him one evening, laid under the stars, “I feel like I know everything about you, but at the same time, nothing at all.” He turns to you at that, eyes taking in your side profile. “I know what you mean,” he says, “but this is nice. Learning you again, or well— learning you. You know?” You hum in agreement, head turning to face him. You sigh in content, the cool night breeze rushing over you. 
“Cheeks and Deku will be back in two days time.”
And just like that, your heart shatters. 
“Oh,” you murmur, “I see.”
He leans up, turning your face to his. “I told them to come back. They can’t find anything anyway, and—
Even in the dark, you can feel the heat spreading to his cheeks. “I don’t— I don’t want you to go. Or whatever.” You smile, leaning up to join him. “I don’t want to leave either.” A kiss is pressed to your lips, you smile against his lips. “Good,” he murmurs. 
Months pass, and you fall into a sort of routine with him. You don’t yet live together, but you spend many nights in his large tent, preferring his warm bed over your own. You shudder awake as fingers trace up your spine, “Good morning,” he says, voice raspy with sleep. “Good morning, Katsuki.” He smiles gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Do you know what tomorrow is?” he asks quietly. Your stomach clenches with dread. “Yes,” you whisper. “I was thinking, why don’t we honor them both. Together.” A smile graces your features. “I would like that very much, Katsuki.” His face mirrors your own, pulling you to lay against his chest.
When dawn breaks on the following day, a heavy feeling sits in your gut. No words are spoken as the man next to you awakens, pulling you close to his chest. “You alright?” he finally whispers, breaking the silence. “Yeah, I just— never mind. It’s dumb.” He pinches your side, “Oi, shitty woman. Just tell me.” You sigh, “I just wish I had something to remember him by.” Your heart beats erratically as he moves you off of him, getting up to leave the room. “Wait! Katsuki, I didn’t— I wasn’t trying
to—
You’re cut off by your bag being plopped into your lap, hands tracing the familiar fabric. “You kept it?” He shrugs, sitting next to you, “Didn’t know what else to do with it.” He takes it from you, dumping it out unceremoniously on the bed. You take time to move through the pile, parts of your old life spread in front of you. “What’s this?” he asks, holding up a tampon. You snort, pulling it from his grasp, “It’s called a tampon.” He hums, eyes furrowed, “What’s it for.” You toss it to the side, “It’s for when you get your period— cycle. You put it up the vagina to stop the bleeding.” He looks at you confused, “The fuck would you do that for?” You laugh at his disdain, “Well, in my universe— the original one —periods are a lot more taboo than they are here.” He grumbles under his breath about how stupid it is, shaking his head all the while. “And this?” he asks, holding up a scrunchie. “It’s for your hair, to hold it back. Here look,” you say, taking it from his hands. You gather your hair, pulling it up into a tail. “See? Kind of like the binding used for the braids.” He nods, moving onto the next item. A stick of concealer rests in his hands, you take it from him before he can ask. “It’s called concealer, it hides your blemishes. I’ll show you.” You take a compact from the pile, opening it up to view yourself in the mirror. You dab along your eyeline, covering the circles that rest there. “See! Much better,” he makes a noise of disagreement, licking his finger before running it over your face. “No. Don’t like it, take it off.” You laugh, pulling a makeup wipe from the contents to smear it off. “A washing cloth?” he asks. “Kinda,” you respond. The picture is picked up next, smile faltering as he faces it towards you both. “What’s this?” he asks quietly. 
“It’s a picture—
You yelp as you’re cut off with a flick to the forehead. “I know what a picture is, shitty woman.” You stick your tongue out at him, removing the picture from his grasp. “It’s a photograph, you use a camera to take it. Or a phone. Oh! Here. Here’s mine.” You say, handing him the device. It’s dead, unsurprisingly. “It doesn’t work anymore, but you can use it for all kinds of things.” He tosses the phone to the side, picking up a mint. “That’s a lifesaver,” you tell him. “It heals you?” he asks. You giggle at his confusion, pressing a kiss to his head. “No, it’s a mint. It makes your breath smell good. Here, try one.” He eyes you wearily, so you pop another stray one in your mouth. Loud laughter fills the tent when he gags at the taste of it, spitting it out. “It burns,” he says with a pout. You wipe the tears of laughter from your eyes. “This is water right? Like what Sero took?” He asks, holding up a perfume bottle. You shake your head, “No, it’s called perfume, it makes you smell good.” You spray a little on your wrist, bringing it to his nose. It crinkles in disgust, and he pushes away your hand. “Don’t like it,” he says, pushing his face into your neck, laughing as you shudder away, “like the way you smell now.” 
“Yeah?”
“Yes. You smell like me.”
Heat burns through you at his words, shying away from him at the possessiveness. You look back towards the picture still in your grasp, running your finger along his face. “You okay?” he asks gently. “Surprisingly, yes. I don’t feel sad. I feel bad that I don’t, but— I don’t know. I’m at peace. I guess.” He nods in agreement. “I feel the same way. I still miss her, sometimes. But— I don’t know. It’s different with you.” You smile at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Yeah, yeah it is.”
“Yn,” he whispers. 
“Yes, Katsuki?”
“I love you.”
“I know,” you murmur, “I love you more.”
ONE YEAR LATER
Shouts and jeers are spread around the camp, music is sung, and drinks are shared. “There you are,” Katsuki whispers to you, hands wrapping around your middle, “was afraid you’d run off.” Your hand reaches back to brush through his hair, sighing in content. “I would never leave you, my king.” He makes a noise of delight, nipping at your neck. “Come with me,” he whispers, tugging you along. “You want to leave your own wedding celebration?” you tease, following him nonetheless. “Shuddup, Princess. Follow me.” You allow him to tug you along down the familiar path, giggling all the while. He pulls you into a familiar clearing, laying his cape down before pulling you to lay with him. 
“I can’t believe we’re married,” you whisper to him. “Again,” he says with a snort. You smack his chest, cuddling into his side. “I love you,” he murmurs, hand grasping your face, thumb running along your cheek. “I love you more, Katsuki.” He presses his lips to yours, groaning at the taste of you. His hands tangle in your hair, tongue running across your lip. You whine into his mouth as his tongue dances against your own, whimpering when he pulls you to straddle his lap. You break the kiss, breathing deeply, “I want you, Katsuki. Please.” His mouth presses against yours feverishly, laying you down onto the grass below. A moan escapes you as his teeth nip at your neck, hands and lips exploring the once familiar territory. A squeeze to your side has you whimpering. A nip at his neck has him shuddering. Clothes are discarded, heated skin meeting. His mouth travels down the expanse of your chest, leaving marks in his wake. You buck up into him at the feeling of his warm mouth surrounding your pert nipple, thighs clenching in anticipation. “Please,” you whimper out. He obeys, mouth trailing sloppy kisses down your abdomen, breathing the smell of you in. You cry out as he attaches to your clit, bucking hips stopped by his scarred arm. “K-Katsuki!” you whimper, fingers threading through his hair. He groans against you, the vibrations sending a jolt through your clit. A finger circles your drooling hole, sliding in with ease. “Fuck,” he murmurs, “so fucking tight.” You moan at his words, hips grinding harder against his face. A second finger quickly joins the first, the sounds of his fingers entering you fill the clearing along with your moans. “Kat-Katsuki, I’m- I’m cumming!” He moans against you, fingers angling to press into the spongy spot nestled in your center. “Cum for me,” he demands. You call out his name, hips bucking wildly as you cum. 
He eases you from your high, removing his fingers before wrapping them around his thick girth. His lips are quick to find yours again, running his tip through your folds. “Are you sure?” he asks gently, pulling back to look at you. “Please, ‘suki. Want you.” He’s quick to follow orders, rubbing his tip through you one last time to coat his cock in your previous release. He presses in slow, rubbing circles  onto your clit. He gives you a moment to adjust once he’s pressed all of the way in, soft kisses pressed anywhere his lips can reach. “Katuski,” you call out, “I love you.” His cock throbs at your words, “I love you more.” He begins at a slow pace, fucking you open on his cock. Little words are exchanged between the two of you, both of you unable to form coherent sentences as you’re finally joined as one. “Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his head to rest in your neck. “So fucking tight.” You whimper, “More, please. Fuck me Katsuki.” His eyes roll back at your words, eyes heavy with lust greeting your own. He quickly adjusts his position, throwing your legs over his shoulders. He hits you even deeper like this, and the first snap of his hips has you crying out, tears falling from your eyes. “Yes! Yes, Katsuki! Just like that,” you cry out. He growls, hips picking up their pace. “Yeah?” he says, “Want me to breed this pretty pussy?” You clench at his words, whimpers escaping your mouth. “Please! Please, give it to me, Katsu. Want it all.” His hand finds your clit, rubbing harsh circles. “C’mon baby, cum for Katsuki. Cum for me and I’ll fill you up just like you want.” You claw at his back at the stimulation, pleasure building deep in your gut. “Yes! Please, please, please! Make me cum. ‘m gonna cum.” He presses his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. “Cum.” Your cunt clenches down on him, crying out as you cum. “Fuck- fuck yes. Yeah, baby. Squirt all over my fuckin cock.” He moans, “Gonna give it to you, stuff you full of my seed.” Tears fall steadily down your face at the overstimulation, garbled cries pouring from your mouth. “Mine. Yer fuckin’ mine.” he murmurs. “Yes!” you call out, “m all yours. Only you.” His hips stutter, cock twitching as he calls your name. You cum again at the feeling of him filling you up, cries of his name falling from your lips. 
His hands rub down your sides as you come down from your highs, pressing soft kisses to you as he pulls out slowly. You hiss at the action, legs tender from how he had you spread. “You okay?” he asks gently, pressing a kiss to your sternum. You nod, pulling him down for a kiss. 
“Across every universe,” you murmur citing the vows you shared back to him. 
“I’ll find my way to you.” 
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dreamingofaizawa · 10 months
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:D happy birthday!! Do you think aizawa would enjoy whiskey? Some do some don't 👀
I absolutely think he’s a whiskey man. Probably Jack Daniel’s or some Canadian blended whiskey, y’know the ‘spicy’ stuff lmao. Guaranteed he likes it without ice too. I don’t think he’d take shots, definitely more of a laid back drinker. I think he drinks slow enough that he never really gets drunk either, nothing more than a light buzz y’know? Only sips at it for a while.
I don’t like the hard stuff though, probably the closest I’ll get is Crown Royal Peach. It’s really good tbh. I’m more of a cocktail gal myself, just cause I can’t stand the taste of alcohol. Bar nights definitely end with me wobbling around with him half carrying me out the place, if only cause I can’t taste the alcohol in my mixed drinks so I just keep drinking them like juice…
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dreamingofaizawa · 10 months
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YOOOO HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIRTHDAY TWIN!!!!
YOU TOO I HOPE YOU HAD FUN!!!!!
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dreamingofaizawa · 10 months
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I am officially 21 today lmao I’m gonna go get wasted
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