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phasmwrites · 4 years

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safe with me || bakugou katsuki

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Female!Reader Warnings: Body Injuries, Mild Violence, Angst Word Count: 1841 Prompt: “I won’t let anyone hurt you, you’re safe with me.” A/N: This was a prompt request from a lovely anon! I hope u like it friend💖 I added a word into the sentence prompt I hope that’s okay 👉👈 I promise this is also fluffy!!

When you become a pro-hero, it means that you accept and understand the risks that come with the profession; you must be fully aware of the chances of getting severely injured on the job, or even worse.

“Ground Zero!” Bakugou’s current sidekick shouted as he sprinted through the debris over to the hero, desperately trying to catch his breath, “It’s Y/H/N!”

You and your husband, Bakugou Katsuki, knew what you were both getting into when you decided to become heroes. It was through this profession that the two of you met one another in the first place.

“What about her?” Bakugou’s own breaths were labored as he restrained the villain below him, digging his boot further into the criminal’s back to keep them docile.

Years upon years of intense training would never prepare Bakugou for the emotional turmoil his sidekick was about to throw in his direction.

“She’s- she’s…” The young hero mumbled, cowering at the harsh glare directed at him.

Bakugou narrowed his eyebrows further and gritted his teeth, “Spit it out!”

“She’s been taken to the nearest hospital-”

The moment the word hospital was uttered from his sidekick’s lips, Bakugou’s face visibly dropped along with his palpitating heart.

“Keep this fucker on the ground until the cops come. Are there anymore villains not restrained?” Bakugou waited for the young man to shake his head, “Good, if anyone asks where I went tell them to fuck off.”

It was on this day that the heroes reigned triumph once more in the fight against the villains, but Bakugou no longer cared about basking in his glory. His primary concern was finding out why he was receiving sympathetic glances from the nurses when he rushed through the hospital doors.

During your battle with one of the villains, you had noticed a small family huddled up hopelessly clinging to one another as the front of their apartment had been entirely decimated. You did the one thing Bakugou had always admired about you, which was rushing towards the family and aiding them in their evacuation.

Though you abandoned the fight for your sidekick to handle in your place, you failed to notice that they had fallen unconscious. It was then that you were promptly tossed into the nearest building by the mutation quirk-handling villain. The last thing you could remember was the agonizing pain your body suffered from the impact before you passed out, too.

Once Bakugou reached the door that held you inside, the doctors informed your husband that you suffered severe injuries to both of your legs along with shattered ribs and collarbone. It would take extraneous amounts of physical therapy and rest for your legs to properly heal from the emergency surgery, putting you out of commission for anything hero-related indefinitely.

The sobs that wracked through your aching chest were sounds Bakugou wished he could burn from his memory. Although the moonlight casted beautifully into your hospital bedroom on most nights, it did nothing but expose your tear-stricken complexion and bloodshot eyes to the ash-blonde who spent every night by your side.

After many weeks isolated in a hospital room, you had finally received approval from the doctor to finish your recovery in the comfort of your own home. Your husband was more than thrilled to bring you home; he hoped that a new environment would aid in your healing.

“Welcome home, baby.” Bakugou murmured as he held you close to his chest, pressing a delicate kiss against your temple. The wheelchair he had ordered for you hadn’t arrived on time, but he was more than content carrying you wherever you asked of him.

The first thing you noticed when the two of you entered your home was how pristine it was, “You cleaned up.”

“Yeah...” Bakugou shrugged, “The place was an absolute shithole and I’ve had some free time when I’m not at the hospital with you.”

When his agency got word of your incident, they insisted he step away from hero duties for a short while until you got back on your own two feet. It infuriated the hot-headed blonde at first, but he also refused to abandon you when you needed him the most.

“What do you want to do?” He asked while setting his car keys on the nearest table.

You took a moment to contemplate, “Can you draw me a bath? I still feel gross from the hospital...”

So he did just that as he stepped into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter and allowing your legs to dangle over the edge. Bakugou took his time in unraveling your bandages, remembering the strict instructions he was given from the “annoying” nurses.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was so hushed he nearly missed it, “Do you think my legs are ugly?”

He wanted to laugh aloud at the absurdity of your question, but harshly bit his tongue to keep you from getting the wrong impression. Sure, your legs were swollen with excess water retention and now scarred from surgery, but he didn’t find you any less beautiful than you were before.

“How the hell can legs be ugly? They’re beautiful, just like you.” The last of the bandages collapsed into a puddle below you as he returned to the tub to make sure it wasn’t too hot for you. You watched as he stepped back over to you and aided you in removing the rest of your clothing, gathering you in his arms to slowly set you into the large white tub.

The warm water instantly relaxed your muscles, your eyes fluttering closed in bliss, “Thank you, Katsuki.”

“Tch, it’s not a big deal.” He brushed your gratitude off, “I’m going to start on dinner, yell for me if you need me.” Before he truly left you to your own devices he pressed his lips to your forehead again and made sure you could reach anything you needed.

While preparing your favorite meal, Bakugou hoped that returning home would help bring back the normalcy you desired from your time in the hospital. He himself desperately craved to see the sparkle in your eyes that had undoubtedly vanished since the incident.

He had gotten so swept up in his thoughts and finishing his cooking that he didn’t originally hear you crying from the bathroom. When your sobs finally reached his ears though, the large spoon he had been using clattered to the ground and his legs rushed him over to your aid.

“Hey, what the hell happened-” Bakugou slammed the ajar door fully open, his own heart crumbling at the sight of you so distraught.

Tears streamed down your cheekbones, mixing into the soapy bathwater. Your bottom lip trembled at the sight of your husband until your sobbing transitioned into broken wails of anguish. Collapsing onto his knees next to the tub, Bakugou ignored the dull ache from the impact and gathered your face into his large palms.

“Y/N, it’s okay, come on, I got you baby…” His voice was the softest you had ever heard in your entire life, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze met yours, “Come on, tell me what’s wrong, please?”

Your cries slowly silenced, dulling into small hiccups as you tried to catch your breath. Bakugou waited patiently for you, using one hand to caress your tear-stained cheek and the other to rub comforting circles into your shoulder.

“S-Sometimes…” You stammered, trying to collect your abundance of thoughts into words, “Sometimes my mind...it brings me back to being tossed into the building and I just feel all of that pain again and- and holy shit it hurts so bad…”

If you had continued to maintain contact with Bakugou rather than stare into the tub, you would have noticed the tears that silently rolled down his own complexion. Being empathetic wasn’t something Bakugou was known for, but seeing the woman he loved with his entire being so broken and traumatized...it was almost too much for him.

Following a brief silence, Bakugou stood back up as you watched him wipe his eyes and begin to disrobe his tank top and sweatpants. Once bare he gently nudged you forward so that he could slip his large figure behind you. He curled his muscular arms around your middle, your back now comfortably pressed into his chest.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you again, you’re safe with me.” Reaching for your hand, he began to toy with the wedding band on your ring finger as a silent reminder of his vows to you only six months ago.

You brought your now intertwined fingers up to your chest, holding his hand close to your heart, “The doctor’s warned me that I may not be able to return to being a hero...I don’t even know if I could…”

“Listen, you can do whatever you want, baby.” Bakugou took his hands back, but only to begin massaging shampoo into your damp scalp, “I’ll support the fuck out of you no matter what choice you make.”

“B-But being the top heroes was our dream…” Your bottom lip trapped itself between your teeth, feeling as if you failed both yourself and your partner.

You were slightly surprised to hear Bakugou scoff, “You want to know my other dream? Starting a family with the love of my goddamn life.”

“Katsuki-”

“I know I’m awful at romance, alright?” You went to protest but he interrupted you for a second time, “I know the kind of person I am, but I also know that somehow you still chose to marry me and support me. If you’re no longer a hero, that doesn’t change how I feel about you because I also made that decision to support you...until death do us part or however the fuck the saying goes.”

He began to rinse out of the suds in your hair when you leaned further into his chest, “You mentioned starting a family…”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind a little mini-me causing a bit of chaos in our life one day.” You could sense that he was smirking at the concept, one of his large hands pressing against your stomach as if he were imagining it already.

It was uncomfortable, but you tilted yourself back far enough so that you could look into Bakugou’s vermilion eyes, watching the way his gaze softened when they met yours.

What was meant to be a tender moment between the two of you was promptly ended by your next words, “You’re pretty soft, Bakugou Katsuki.”

“I’m not soft! Shitty fucking woman.” He sunk further into the tub behind you, sulking childishly as your laughter rang out through the room. Even if your giggles were a direct result of teasing him, he’d let you do it forever just to keep that vibrant smile from never leaving your lips again.

It would be a rough while for you to fully heal from both the mental and physical trauma you endured, but you knew that you could take on anything as long as you had Bakugou by your side.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #phasm.writings

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rawmeanderson · 5 years

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for my best friend, @stupidpuckboys (as soon as i hit that @ sign your url popped in so yeah, there’s that) i love u

word count: 1.4k of absurd softness warnings: idk is there swearing? mentions of alcohol/drinking???? extreme softness?????????? if you really want to feel the full effect of the softness, feel free to go listen to Sure as Hell by This Providence and I Only Wanna Talk to You by The Maine

You’re in a mood, and you’re not sure why. The day had sucked for no real reason, and Josh having a game that night didn’t particularly help. Really, you should’ve gone to the game, but instead, you stayed home to sulk off the bad mood. You watched the game from the couch with a glass of wine and in one of his jerseys. The fact that he’d had a good game and you hadn’t been there made you feel guilty though, only adding to the churning in your stomach.

When the game was over, you relocated to the bathroom instead of bed. Running a bath, you sift through the cabinets, knowing you’ve got a few bath bombs tucked away for times like this. You’re sure Josh will be home before you’re out of the tub. Part of you feels bad that you wouldn’t be able to greet him immediately, but soaking out your emotions in a hot bath was more important.

The water was a little too hot when you settled into the water a few minutes later, the dissolving bath bomb still bobbing around. You’re able to relax as your body adjusts the the water, and you exhale a sigh through your nose as you lean back against the wall of the tub. Now was definitely a time that you appreciated the fact that Josh had a bathtub that was so large that it verged on comical.

Sinking down into the water a little more until it was at your chin, you heard the front door open followed by the sound of Josh’s footsteps. He’s moving around in the bedroom, likely changing out of his suit like he usually does. Normally, you’d be sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him as you talk about the game, and a pang of guilt hits you in the stomach.

When he knocks gently at the bathroom door, the sound makes you jump. “Baby, are you okay?” he asks, voice raised enough so you can hear him through the door.

You try to make yourself smaller in the tub somehow, hating that your head was such a mess that you weren’t quite sure how to answer. “I’m just taking a bath,” you respond, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that you were trying to avoid answering his question.

There’s a pause on the other side of the door, and your jaw goes tense. “Can I come in?” he asks, a bit of hesitation in his voice. You wonder what he’s thinking, if he’s put together that you’re not feeling like yourself.

Your stomach jumps at his question, though you’re really not sure why. You knew that Josh wasn’t one to tiptoe around when you weren’t feeling great, so you don’t know why you’d gotten it in your head that he wouldn’t want to come in and see you.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you say eventually, voice rather small as you sink deeper into the rose colored water.

When he opens the door a moment later, your eyes lift to him and immediately, your heart hurts. He’s shirtless, ready for bed in a pair of sweats, and he’s got a gentle smile on his face as he walks toward the tub.

“You look warm,” he comments, sitting on the edge of the tub. When you nod and smile up at him, the expression is a little forced. Immediately, his hand comes out to smooth your hair back, thumb brushing over your forehead gently. You lean into his touch and sigh softly, eyes closing as you relax against the wall of the bathtub.

Josh pulls back a second later, and your eyes open, thinking he’s about to leave. Instead, he moves to sit on the floor next to the tub so he’s at eye level with you. He leans forward, resting his elbow on the edge of the tub, chin resting on the heel of his hand as he watches you.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment, his eyes moving over your face slowly enough that it makes you self conscious.

Shifting, the sound of water rippling fills your ears as you shrug in response to his question, barely able to meet his eye. His brow creases in concern and you look down at the water as if that’d somehow silence the nagging in the back of your mind that you weren’t good enough for any of this.

He brings a hand up to your face again, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone. “What’s going on in your head, hm?” he asks, his voice as soft and gentle as the way he’s touching your face.

His words make you let out a heavy sigh as you try to piece together a response that would make sense. Really, you’d love to just shrug again and not dig into your anxieties right now, but that really wouldn’t do much good. You’re quiet for a moment, shifting in the tub again, and Josh’s hand moves to your hair, smoothing it back again just like he had earlier.

Then, you let it go. You talk, not getting to deep into things right now, and Josh listens quietly, watching you the whole time. He makes sure he touches you all the while, either your face, your hair, your shoulder, and honestly, it helps. You know you’ve got his full attention, that he’s listening to you, and the way he’s looking at you makes your eyes fill with tears.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to the game tonight,” you tell him, sniffling as you meet his eye. Josh gives you a crooked smile that makes your heart flip over and he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart, I knew you were watching,” he says quietly, shifting to sit on his knees so he can lean forward to kiss your forehead. Your eyes close as you enjoy the contact, raising your hand out of the water to try and keep him close. “I want that head to stay here with me though, okay? I know it’s not that easy, but just...let me take care of you tonight, yeah? I don’t want you to have to feel like this.”

Again, tears were stinging in your eyes but you nod quickly, chewing on your bottom lip as he nods back at you once. He gives you a soft smile, murmuring that he loves you as he shifts to sit on the edge of the tub again. You return the sentiment with a weak smile as you lean forward to rest your head against his thigh, just needing a bit of physical contact. Almost immediately, his hand rests on the back of your head briefly before moving down to your back. His hand is heavy and warm again your skin, a silent reassurance the he was there.

You both sit there in an easy silence for a long moment and you’re finally starting to come down a bit for the first time all day. When you finally pull back, you’re quick to tilt your head up to look at him as your hands come up to pull him down to you for a kiss.

“You ready to climb into bed?” he asks, keeping close to you so he can press another light kiss to your mouth. When you nod, he gives you an easy smile before he stands. “I’ll go grab you some clothes, yeah?” This time when you smile it’s genuine and affectionate as you lean to drain the tub. Josh sticks around long enough to hand you the towel you’d set out, pressing another soft kiss to your mouth.

You take your time drying off, before securing the towel around your body and tying your hair up. When you come out to the bedroom, he’s unpacking his bag, and there’s a pair of your favorite leggings and one of his old Monsters shirts waiting for you on the bed. After getting dressed, you take the couple of steps toward him and put your arms around him, pressing your face into the back of his shoulder. He tosses the shirt that’s in his hands into the hamper before turning toward you to put his arms around you securely, pressing a long kiss to the side of your head.

His embrace is safe and warm, making you sigh into his neck softly. He’s rubbing a hand over your back as you lean into him, your hand grasping the fabric of his shirt.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, nosing at your hair lightly. “Time for bed, baby.”

#janderson

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[RF] All the Men and Women

The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world. -Edgar Allan Poe

On the morning of my first suicide attempt, I woke up. In itself, this was not surprising, after all, such is the nature of sleep. However, when I woke up that fine morning, I resolved to bring an end to my miserable existence, having really nothing better to do. Then – if a morning routine is something that simply must be described – came pancake factor number one, eyeliner rose hips and lip gloss. What fun! Of course, a red summer dress and some sandals are necessary before I can face the day. But all that was merely habit, what really mattered was what I would do next. I had suicide on the brain and nothing short of death would stop me from going through with it.

When I was young, I had the misfortune to read Crime and Punishment and ever since, I have wanted to die in an axe robbery gone wrong. Unfortunately for this dream, my darling Olivia had gone out for the morning, so there would be nobody around to hold the axe; as getting stabbed in the back is normally more of a group activity. If only I was one of those depressives who got a thrill from sliding a razor blade across their skin, then I might be able to recline in the bath as I exited this world. A similar displeasure accompanies the thought of wrapping a rope around my neck. That settles it! My head gently nestled inside an oven like a newborn with its mother will be the solution for me.

I suppose a note is what is needed now, to explain myself. Which is a shame as judging by the amount of rejection slips my short stories garner, I have never been much good at writing. I try too hard to make my prose look feminine; to capture in it the subtly affectation and dry sarcasm of an Austen novel. With the result of training myself to sound like the 19’th century, flaws and all. It’s strange, despite wanting to write such a document for so long, I have never put much thought into the mechanics of a suicide note. Should it be in free or blank verse? Is the characterisation ok? Does it feel believable? The genre of death notes, like any other, must have its clichés. It’s not really a proper suicide note if it’s not scrawled in hasty handwriting across a tear stained page, is it? If so, I shall write mine on a word processor and showcase the subversive wit that has brought me such fame as a bartender. And before that, as a pizza delivery girl. Olivia shall be it’s recipient, after all, she’s the one who will probably find me. First and foremost, an apology, then the reason for the inconvenience, I guess.

I feel like a failure. As a writer. As a woman. As a friend. A girlfriend. An employee. A person. And I don’t want to feel like that anymore! Enough talk. Now is the time for action. Let me run to the oven (preheated earlier, of course, so as not to overcook anything) and hide my head inside. The pungent aroma of gas filling my nose like I caught the world’s most noxious wedding bouquet. And as the darkness gathers before me, I shall finally escape the hollow emotions and petty tragedies people call life.

The first thing I felt – as my eyes opened and feeling returned to my brain – the first sensation I experienced was the coldness of the hospital gown against my skin. Then the soft warmness of the midday sunlight stealing through the opened window underscored by the cheerful song of an ECG machine. And then I saw Olivia’s concerned face staring at me from across the room. She noticed that I was awake and came towards me; the blend of light and shadow dancing across her face as she moved gave her features a flickering quality like they were made of pure liquid. A headache was growing deep within my skull and I pressed my hand against it to physically smother the pain. Olivia took hold of my hand with one hand and smoothed my hair back with the other.

“Are you feeling ok?” asked Olivia. “Would you like some water? Here, drink this.”

“Thanks.”

“Is that good? Are you feeling better now? You don’t want to dive out of the window or anything? Or bite down on a shotgun when we get home?”

“Yes, I’m fine now. And don’t worry I won’t be pulling a Hemmingway as soon as I get out of here.”

“Are you sure?”

"Yes!”

“Then what the hell were you thinking?” Olivia sat down on the edge of the hospital bed and let go of my hand. “I came home early, thank God! And I saw you passed out in-front of the oven, barely breathing, I wasn’t even sure if you were alive. I called an ambulance and they rushed us over here. Was it something I did wrong? Did I do this to you?”

“No, Olly, fuck no. I was just feeling so wretched and this insane delusion took hold of me.”

“I don’t mean to sound insensitive here, you can tell me if I’m wrong. But does this have anything to do with your transition?”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you just seemed so much happier before it. You know, I remember when we moved in together. It was like being in a fairy tale! Highschool sweethearts, and now we were living together, it was amazing. We made it. The great American cliché. Is being true really worth it if it doesn’t make you happy?”

“No shit, I’m not as happy as I was back then! My dad won’t talk to me, I have to put on clothes that don’t fit me just so the prick of a manager won’t fire me, and now this, from you?” Then came the tears. Olivia held me for a time until the sobs faded and the wet streaks on my face dried.

“I love you and I want you to do what makes you feel good. If that means being trans, then so be it,” said Olivia. “But what if you tried being a man again, for a while. You could always go back if it doesn’t work out, and nothing changes. Please, as a favour for me?”

“Do you really think that would work? Would it make me feel better?”

“Maybe. But even if it doesn’t, it’s worth a shot isn’t it? And I miss the old you. You look tired. Come on, lie down for a bit and get some rest. I’ll stop bothering you. Don’t worry about it, get some rest, and we’ll talk more later.” Olivia got off the bed and sat back down in the corner.

I pulled the thin threads of the hospital sheets around me as a protective layer against reality. I heard Olivia open a magazine and scrunched up my face. Oh, if only I hadn’t wasted so much time getting ready and writing the note! Then I wouldn’t be here, experiencing this. Fuck me, I was so upset about being a failure I even failed to kill myself, the one thing I’ve always counted on succeeding at. Why not try it Olivia’s way, then? Hell, I’d even try religion or other hard drugs if it made these emotions go away.

It’s a shame I gave up smoking, a little hit of nicotine would be just the stuff to cap off this mess of a morning. And Olivia’s right, I’ve never tried living, really. Only hid behind a succession of masks; each more absurd than the last. Be a writer! Be alive! Be Happy! Ha! Cheap fantasy designed to negate myself. When I feel ready to leave this place, I will throw away all the dresses and the makeup, put on the cargo pants and the flannel, and be the man Olivia wants me to be. Who knows, it might even be fun this time.

THE END

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